Taking It All (2 page)

Jordan

I fucking hate men.

They're all a bunch of sex-crazed users. Every single one.

They all think with their dicks. Not their heads.

That's it. I'm finished with men.

Finished!

Really.

I'm becoming a nun. Even though I was raised fundamentalist Mormon, not Catholic.

Yes-sirree, right now becoming a nun sounds fantastic.

Don't they take an oath of chastity? Like priests?

Oh, and poverty too.

Which is totally fitting. After this fucking debacle, I'm going to be destitute. More destitute than I already was.

And all because that asshole hadn't been able to keep his dick in his pants.

Men!

I can't believe I actually saved myself for that jerk.

He'd promised. Before we left Utah. I would be the
only
one. His
only
wife. Forever. We'd agreed to leave the church. We weren't going to practice The Principle. I despise plural marriage.

Liar!

In my apartment's parking lot, I slam my car's gearshift out of gear and glare at the shitty building. I already gave notice to the landlord. Like, two months ago. I'm supposed to be moving out this weekend, after the wedding (the one that isn't happening anymore). 

Now what? If they've found someone else to rent my place, I'll be homeless on top of broke.

I need to call the leasing office right away.

Dragging my hand under my watery eyes, I sniffle. I can't believe this is happening!

My fiance cheating.

Bastard!

And he expects me to marry him anyway, even though he already has a second wife on the hook?

Asshole!

I owe so many people money.

Dickhead!

What the fuck am I going to do?

I don't have enough money in the bank to cover everything. I don't even have enough open credit available on my one and only credit card to pay half of the bills.

Shit, shit, shit!

He should pay them. Asshole. After all, this is his fault.

Yes. He will pay them. He has to.

And then I'll...I'll...I have no idea what I'll do. I can't go home. No way. The priesthood council will have me married off to some geezer with a hundred children (most of them older than me) within weeks.

No. I can't go back. I can't be that girl. The sweet girl who never complains. Obedient. Docile. Malleable. I've never been that girl.

I shove open my car door and stand. I'm so stressed-out I feel a little light-headed. And more than a little sick.

The tequila didn't help.

I wobble across the parking lot to the building, making it inside without breaking my neck. It's a freaking miracle. I let myself inside my apartment and start crying all over again.

It's seeing my stuff. All packed up and ready to be moved into our new house. The new house I won't be living in.

My clothes are packed. My dishes and books and...my whole fucking life. Everything I've bought since leaving Utah. My living room looks like a storage unit.

I wiggle my way to the hallway, go into the bathroom, throw up, and then drag myself to my bedroom. My mattress is on the floor. I flop down on it, landing on my back, dig in my purse for my phone, and dial the leasing office's phone number.

Of course I get their voice mail. It's after hours.

Praying I can stay in this shit hole, that one thing will go right (is that too much to ask?), I leave a message then hit the button, cutting off the call. I let my phone fall out of my grasp and close my eyes.

I probably won't sleep. But I'm going to try.

It isn't working. I need more alcohol.

My mind wanders, taking me back to the country club.

Punching Dickhead in the face.

Then sitting in my car, bawling my eyes out.

Yep, more alcohol would be good right now.

Another memory flashes in my head.

Him.

Colbe Holt's friend.

When he knocked on my window, looking concerned, I thought maybe, just maybe, he was a nice guy.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I should have known Colbe wouldn't have a nice friend. After all, he's an asshole. Why would he have anything but assholes for friends, am I right?

No. I'm not stupid; I'm vulnerable.

It was only because I was so emotionally fucked up that I let him coax me out of my car and into his (big, strong) arms.

It was only because I was so fucked up that little tingles of awareness sizzled under my skin.

It was only because I was so fucked up that my girl parts got all warm and wet as he held me.

I was—am—an emotional train wreck. And the bastard took advantage of it. Rather, he tried. I have no doubt whatsoever that if I'd asked him to go home with me and have wild, angry sex, he would have done it. But I didn't cave in.

Ha.

Jerk. He's a jerk.

They're all jerks.

Though I gotta admit, he's a hot jerk. A sexy jerk. A jerk with a body that would make any girl melt a little.

Or...a lot.

My hand wanders down my body, cupping the juncture of my thighs.

There it is again, that pulsing sensation.

Wow, not even Dickhead made me feel that warm from a hug. Not even in the beginning, when everything was perfect.

Huh. I'm not going to think about that. Nope.

My hand starts moving. The pressure and friction feel good.

Maybe an orgasm will help me sleep?

I shuck my panties and spread my legs.

I may be a virgin, but I learned a long time ago how and where to touch myself to cum (yet another reason why I would never make a good plyg wife—I like orgasms). A girl can learn a lot from (forbidden but oh so eye-opening) smutty romance novels.

My clit is super sensitive tonight. I dip the tip of my index finger in my entrance, coating it in my juices, then drag it up to my hard little nub.

Ohhhh, that feels good. My insides clench as I draw slow circles, round and round.

Images flash in my head. Images of
him
.

The gorgeous jerk. The jerk I don't know.

Young. Sexy.

Aroused.

Instead of cooling off my burning bits, those images stoke the flame.

I stroke faster, imagining it's his hand down there. He's lying next to me, watching me writhe as he torments me with his touches and kisses.

Faster.

He tweaks one of my nipples, rolling it between his finger and thumb and murmurs, “That's it, baby. Open those pretty legs for me. Let me see all of you.”

My legs part as if I'm obeying his command.

Faster.

My muscles are tugging into tight knots. My blood pounding through my body.

He kisses a scalding path down my stomach and replaces his finger with his tongue.

Ohhhh... I'm dying.

My inner thighs stretch.

Wider. I open wider.

Inside, my walls clench. I'm empty. Achingly empty. I want him inside. Need him inside, stroking away this terrible agony.

His tongue flicks up and down over my clit and with each quick stroke the throbbing increases. I'm tight all over. Burning up. Breathless.

“That's it, baby,” he says, his low, husky voice vibrating through my body. “Let me see you cum. I want to watch.” He laps at my pussy. “Damn, you taste good. I want to taste your cum. Let go. Let me eat you up.”

Wave upon wave of pleasure ripples through me. With each throbbing pulse, I feel my body trembling more, tightening more. The tension is unbearable. I toss my head from side-to-side.

“Cum now,” he demands.

Whoosh. An inferno blazes from my center out. Up to my scalp. Down to the soles of my feet. My empty pussy spasms. Sensations I can't even describe blast through me. It's the most powerful orgasm of my life. And I want it to last forever. I keep stroking. He's eating every last drop of my honey, lapping it up, and growling like a hungry bear.

Thump, thump, thump. My racing heart pounds, sending scalding hot blood throbbing through my veins.

Ohmygod, I'm going to...

A second orgasm tears through me. Another blast of heat rockets up and down my body. My inner walls spasm. Delightful tingling electrifies every nerve, from my head to the tips of my toes. I'm soaring on a current of bliss. I've never felt anything so mind-blowing.

This time I stop stroking my clit. It's too sensitive now. I ride the waves of pleasure, savoring every second, until they're tiny ripples. The spasms ease to little twitches. The heat cools. The thumping in my chest slows.

Holy shit, that was insane. And it was just me
imagining
him.

Do I want to know what it would really be like?

Yes.

No.

Maybe. Even though I shouldn't.

It doesn't matter. It won't happen. I'll never see him again. I can be content to fantasize about him.

My body is heavy.

Relaxed.

I think I just might...

Fall...

Asleep.

* * * * *

Nooooo!

Stupid alarm!

My body is tingling all over.

What a dream! Wow. If only I could have recorded it. I would watch it again and again...and again...

I don't want to get up. I don't want to go to work.

Reality sucks.

I smack my screaming alarm clock, roll out of bed, and drag my (still tingly) body to the bathroom to get ready for work.

Work.

Colbe.

Sigh.

Despite having an orgasm while I slept, I'm in no mood for work today. Actually, I'm in the mood for work; I'm in no mood to deal with my supervisor, Colbe. But a girl can't change some things. Nothing I can do about it.

I hurry through my morning routine, dump a pot of coffee into my travel cup and head to work, slurping and singing (shrieking) along to Blink 152 as I maneuver through morning rush hour traffic. It's one of those rare perfect days when it's neither too hot nor too cold. So I enjoy the fresh air blowing through the window. A rare treat in Michigan.

I make it to work with a whole whopping two minutes to spare, steer into the parking lot and...chug, chug, chug...

My fucking car dies. With the ass end hanging out in the street.

The kind, patient (*eyeroll*) driver in the car behind me lays on the horn. Because everyone knows that honking will miraculously get a stalled car going again.

Humanity sucks.

I crank the key. The car turns over but doesn't start.

The jackass in the car behind me honks again.

So I honk back. And I gift
him
(he's being a total dick, so he has to be a male) with a gesture that's sure to convey my undying affection for him.

Up yours, asshole.

Then I let my head fall forward and smack my forehead on my useless, debilitated car's steering wheel.

Could anything else go wrong in my life?

I may be homeless in a couple of weeks.

I'm in so much debt I'll never dig myself out.

And I've recently acquired an
ex
-fiance.

Frustrated and furious, I shove open my car door and glare at the car behind mine. The stupid black Jaguar, catching a break in traffic, backs up slightly then steers around me. But instead of continuing through the driveway, it stops.

Great, the asshole is determined to make my day even shittier.

I open my mouth to tell my impatient coworker to just get the hell out of the way so anyone else who's running late has a chance of getting inside before they hit the thirty-minute-late mark. But before a word comes out, I literally bite my tongue.

Why do I bite my tongue?

Because it's in the way.

Why is it in the way?

Because I'm not thinking about what I'm saying or doing. I'm concentrating on
that face
.

It's him. Colbe's friend.

Does he work for Parker Enterprises? 

I'm new. And it's a big enough company. It's possible. Highly probable, actually.

His mouth is agape. I guess he wasn't expecting the crazy girl flipping him the bird to be me.

Ha. He doesn't know me very well.

His lips curve into a semi smile that makes me forget I'm standing in the middle of a narrow driveway, blocking traffic.