Bad Boy Benefits: A Standalone Little Sister's Best Friend Romance Page 4

  I shake the thoughts out of my mind just as she catches my eye across the room and uses me as an excuse to push her way out of the group she’s in. The way she walks making the men in the room feel guilty about looking.

  “I’m flattered,” she says, glancing at a grandfather clock beside me, “only three hours late.”

  “I had to stop for gas,” I say innocently. “Anyway, I’m here now.”

  She smiles and places her long, feminine fingers on my shoulder. “And I’m just leaving.”

  “Already?”

  “I’ve got plenty I need to do tomorrow.”

  “But tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “No reason to waste it. Besides, we both know you didn’t come here for me. Why not mix and mingle? There are plenty of sweet young things to go around.”

  I know there are, but she’s drawn me in like a magnet already, and now it’s as if something inside me can’t bear to let her out of my sight.

  “I’ll walk you home,” I offer, and with those four words, I feel a sudden crackle of electricity spark between us.

  Our eyes lock, and Maeve smiles slowly.

  “That’s really not necessary, Toby,” she says, her voice gone sultry and teasing. “I live right next door.”

  “Predators only need a second to strike.”

  “Oh, I know—I think one’s striking right now.”

  I laugh and look around me.

  “You got a lemon at your place?” I ask.

  She narrows those cat eyes at me. “A lemon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I might,” she says. “Am I going to regret telling you that?”

  “This party’s a bore.”

  “You did ask for an invite.”

  I nod. “Sure. But if I’m going to salvage anything of my Saturday night, I’m going to need to drive my car somewhere more exciting—and I’ve had a glass of champagne. I’m not drunk, but just to be on the safe side, eating a lemon overrides the effects of the alcohol.”

  She says nothing, but her expression articulates more than words. A slightly incredulous gaze precedes a full eye-roll that then relaxes into a look of indulging someone.

  Without another word, she turns away and starts to walk. I follow her closely as she scythes through the crowd, which parts almost magically for her vibrant presence. A pause every now and then for her to say a goodbye and politely decline staying a little longer.

  Soon we’re outside, moving toward the front gates, and then stepping out onto the sidewalk. After the stuffiness of the party it feels like coming up for air. The sound now a muffled, mixed hum behind us. Maeve’s heels a loud click, mingling with the cicadas. The air aromatic with neighborhood’s carefully chosen citrus trees, blooming jasmine bushes, and gardener-maintained flowers.

  Without turning to look at me, her head high and elegant, she says, “That Ferrari back there was yours, wasn’t it?”

  “How did you know?”

  “You always were a show-off.”

  “No more than you.”

  As soon as I say it she stops and turns to me, offering me a wry smile. The sudden break in her clicking heels feels dramatic, intensifying the already-buzzing atmosphere.

  “Excuse me?” she says.

  I smile at her, enjoying the fact that I’ve drawn a reaction from her. With Maeve, that’s a hell of an achievement.

  “Maybe not a show-off…” I shrug. “But you can’t deny you like attention. Being talked about.”

  “There’s a world of difference between the two, honey,” she says, quickly walking again so I have to jog a little to catch up with her leggy strides.

  We turn to enter her gate, the trees around her Italian villa-esque home muffling the sounds of the party even further. It’s dark, but in the slivers of light from the street I catch the curve of her calf, her hair, the silky fabric of her waist-hugging dress, and I hang back a little so I can look at her. When she takes the couple of steps up to her door, her dress rides a little high up her thigh, and I start to feel like I’ve had a bottle rather than a glass of champagne.

  She unlocks the door and steps inside, as if I wasn’t there. I move into her house behind her and close the door as she hits the lights, tosses her heels away casually, and twists her neck as she moves toward the kitchen. It feels almost voyeuristic seeing her do that in the quietness of her house—her typical coming home routine. Strangely intimate to see that Maeve doesn’t spend every second of the day with diva-ish poise.

  It’s been years since I’ve been in Maeve’s house, and though the paintings, furnishings, and even the color of the walls are different, the vibe is the same. Sophisticated and individual. Fashion photography on the walls, presented with as much attention as a gallery. Paper bags with designer labels neatly arranged in the hallway, presumably for her job. Dim mood lighting, arched doorways, and exposed beams. Only a few ornaments, but each one of them interesting. It’s a place like Maeve herself, meticulously put together and guarded—it makes you work to find its secrets, but you know they exist.

  “A lemon,” she announces as I enter the large kitchen. She places it in the center of the island, beside the dangerous-looking knives, puts her hands on the counter, and leans over it like a bartender.

  I step to the other side of the counter, meeting her mildly amused gaze. Oddly, there are some dirty cups over by the sink, a few plates and cutlery. Just a few, but even the smallest mess seems a large one in such a perfect home.

  “You want me to peel it for you? Cut it?” she offers.

  “I’m okay,” I say, pulling out the sharpest-looking knife with a loud, metallic sound. Maeve doesn’t even flinch.

  Within a few seconds, I’ve sliced the lemon and set the knife down beside it, Maeve watching me with an entertained interest. I look at her as I brace myself, then put the first slice into my mouth. I wince at the acidic sharpness, and for a second Maeve mimics my expression sympathetically, before shaking her head and laughing. I chew a little and swallow, then grab the next piece. Maeve only stops laughing for a second to look in disbelieving horror, then puts her hand over her mouth as she giggles, doubling over a little.

  I work my way through the rest, my whole head exploding with the acerbic citrus and Maeve finding each new contortion of my face hilarious, until the whole lemon is gone and only the rinds on the table remain. I step away from the counter, shaking my head and blinking my eyes. She scoops the rinds and throws them away.

  “That’s the most interesting thing I’ve seen you do in a while,” she says, turning to the sink to start washing dishes.

  “Hoo! Like a drug,” I say, still pacing, feeling ready for whatever party’s coming next. “You should try it some time. Hell of a wake-up.”

  I stop at the counter again and look at her back as she washes those last few cups and plates. Her movements causing the hem of her dress to jog gently up her thighs. The curve of her back impossible not to stop and stare at.

  “Oh, I’ll watch you do that any time, honey,” she coos, nonchalantly looking back at me over her shoulder, a strand of hair falling across her cat-like eyes, neck twisting beautifully before she returns to the dishes.

  Maybe it’s the lemon stinging my eyes, but the moment doesn’t feel quite real. Quiet on a Saturday night, nothing but the sound of the tap and the cicadas outside. Glamorous, unimpeachable Maeve leaning over a sink. Everything so out of place, and yet making such a strange kind of sense that it could be a dream. And the second I start to feel like this could be a dream—her dress still shaking against her thigh, her back still arched forward, ass out toward me—I let my imagination get carried away with me…

  I look down, trying to snap out of it. My hands are still wet with lemon juice, and Maeve left the knife on the counter. I take it and round the island to move beside her, a little behind her at the sink.

  “Careful,” I say.

  It’s a simple, innocent warning, as I bring the knife in front of her to put it in the sink, but it seems loaded,
metaphorical, about something else entirely. As if I couldn’t help revealing my inner thoughts, my inner fantasy, even in those two syllables.

  She freezes, and I’m not sure if she’s just waiting for me to put the knife down, or whether my closeness to her is catching her off guard. As if being this close she can suddenly read my mind. I drop the knife with a metallic clatter and she continues to wipe the inside of a glass.

  “I guess I’ll see you at Mia’s,” she says, and maybe my mind’s working in overdrive now, but there isn’t her typical sassiness in her tone.

  I bring my hand under the stream of water to rinse it, and she moves to rinse out the cup at the same time, our hands accidentally touching. It feels like a static shock, but instead of moving away we both freeze instead. My fingers on the back of her hand beneath the running water and neither of us is doing anything is the most intense thing we’ve done all night.

  I glance sideways at her, my head over her shoulder, my chest an inch from her back, and I see her eyes are closed. I push my fingers over her knuckles, then trail the warm soap suds back over the inside of her wrist. She drops the cup and starts to sway in front of me, shoulder brushing against my chest, head tilting, eyes still closed as I play tenderly with her fingers beneath the tap.

  “This is a bad idea…” she murmurs.

  “I know…” I reply, locking fingers with her and then drawing them up her forearm as she turns her palm to mine, my breathing getting heavier.

  She’s right. It’s a bad idea. We’ve already gone too far. But we’re just touching fingers and we could still make excuses…

  Except my need for her is bigger than me now, overwhelming. My lust gathering too much momentum to turn away. Her soft, purring breaths turning me on too much, too fast.

  My other hand behind her lifts the hem of her dress. She jumps a little when I bring my fingers to the back of her soft thighs, to her inner thighs, up to the curve of her tight ass. A finger between her panties and skin, down again as she squeezes her thighs together, a soft touch turning into a firm press, a desperate pull at her flesh. My nose is at the nape of her neck now, breathing heavily against her skin as her head lolls. Close enough to smell the champagne on her breath, the warm rush of her blood.

  “We shouldn’t…” she purrs.

  “Then tell me to stop,” I whisper back.

  She says nothing, and instead pushes her ass further back onto my hand, winding herself over it so my fingers slide between her ass cheeks, towards her wetness, her thighs squeezing my hand as if to pull them inside. Her hand teasing and twisting her fingers with mine while she braces herself against the sink with her other hand.

  She catches her breath enough to say something else, but it only comes out as a soft moan. Her head leans toward me, her temple touching mine, that strand of hair tickling my face, and something clicks. It feels suddenly too intimate. A gesture too tender to write off as simply physical satisfaction. A feeling too profoundly gratifying to dismiss as a simple carnal urge.

  As hard as it is, I manage to pull back from her, unwinding my fingers from hers, my hand from between her legs, and step back.

  4

  Maeve

  There’s nothing crueler than a tease. People get used to pain, they can even draw a perverse pleasure from the nobility of suffering. But to show someone something they want, to make them want it, and then not give it to them? It’s the ultimate punishment. I should know—I’ve built my entire personality around it.

  And I’m not used to having it done to me. Which is why when Toby pulls away, I turn to glare at him almost angrily, and not just a little impressed. A man with restraint is a hell of a turn-on.

  He stares back at me blankly, breathing slowly but deeply. I reach behind me to turn the tap off and the silence that follows seems to close the world until there’s nothing but both of our excited bodies and the intense space between them.

  “Why did you stop?” I say.

  Toby smolders at me like we’re in a Mexican stand-off. His only movement the rise and fall of his chest in that sexy suit, which frames his muscular, broad body beautifully. A shift in his jaw, a dimple, as if he’s clenching down to hold himself back. His eyes dart away from mine, down across my body, to my legs and back, sending a little shiver through me. He looks like a mind bottling up something immense. A man one nudge from exploding. How can I resist that?

  I reach forward and roughly grab the lapel of his suit, then say, “I didn’t tell you to,” as I pull him toward me.

  It’s just a tug, but it’s all he needs, and he crashes into me like a freight train.

  A mouth that tastes like lemon meeting mine hungrily, tongue a citrus sting. He slams me back into the counter with the force of his kiss. Hard chest squeezing my breasts, the bulge beneath his belt pressing me into place. I suck his tongue into my mouth until the acid makes my eyes water. My arms around his neck, clinging to him as we devour each other.

  His rough fingers grab aggressively at the hem of my dress, lifting it roughly over my waist. They grasp and pinch at my ass, my hips, my thighs, until he takes a hold and lifts my legs, pulls them around him, feet off the ground.

  My body is throbbing and soft for him now. The little buzz I was on from the party, the excited tingles from his game with the fingers at the tap, it’s all deepened into a craving I can’t hold back. The need for something hard and forceful to fill me up. For something big and determined to crush this heat out of me. And right now Toby is exactly that.

  As soon as he sets my ass down on the counter, cold marble against my thighs, I tear my lips from his and nuzzle against the side of his face, biting his earlobe as he licks my neck. I reach down to his pants and start to unbuckle his belt.

  “That’s it, honey,” I hiss into his ear. “Give it to me.”

  “Oh, I’m going to give it to you,” he growls as his hand works its way up my thigh and inside to my pussy. “I’m gonna tear you apart.”

  The sex in his voice, hard and flinty, a primal sound that could only emanate from a man’s lust, makes me smile. A half laugh, half purr emerging from my wet lips as I push my tongue into his ear. His fingers massage more wetness out of me as I unzip his fly and stroke the dangerous bulge in his boxers. The two of us intertwined now, arms grabbing and pulling as he pulls a condom from his back pocket and puts it on blind.

  He brings his hand back to my panties, pulling them aside, and it feels so good I can’t help biting a little harder on his earlobe. He recoils with the pain, hand at the back of my head, grabbing my hair to pull me away so we’re both looking at each other. I give him a sultry smile and a tiny smirk appears in his expression of stern lust.

  “Fuck, you’re sexy,” he snarls at me before smashing his citrus lips against mine again in a ravenous kiss.

  I twist away, still enjoying the tease, and say, “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

  He glares at me like it’s a challenge, and a second later I hear the sound of smashed glasses as he sweeps them into the sink and dives into me. His teeth at my neck, hot breath like steam against my skin, fingers digging into my ass cheeks as he pulls my center against his, right onto him. I have to reach backwards to steady myself on the counter, squeeze my thighs against his sides, wind my feet around him like I’m taming a wild bull.

  His cock presses against my pussy, hard and unyielding, our movements too desperate and instinctual to be anything but inelegant, and his head ends up pushing against my clit, shaft against my lips, though even this draws a gasp from me.

  I grab his cock and guide him inside, and it’s the last time I’m able to control myself, because Toby fucks me like he’s taking revenge. As if the years of flirtatious teasing were just the longest foreplay he’s ever had. As if he’s aware that once this moment is over we’ll have a whole lot to deal with, so he’s damn sure going to make the most of it.

  He’s got me off the counter now, slamming the small of my back, my ass, against it for purchase. He claws at me almost viciously
. Pounds his cock into me like he’s trying to break me. Lifts my dress higher so he can squeeze and pinch at my breasts as if he wants to rip me into pieces. His mouth on my shoulders sucking and biting as if he wants to swallow me whole. Toby the fun-loving romantic’s dirty secret is how rough he likes it—a fact I learned years ago and which I’m glad hasn’t changed.

  I let out the kind of moan I haven’t been able to make in years, my voice vibrating to the rhythm of his lust.

  “You like that, huh?” he mutters through gritted teeth like it’s a threat.

  Somehow, even in the throes of sensation, with one hand having to grab the tailored collar of his suit to keep steady, I gain enough control of myself to bring my head down and our eyes catch, lock, and we stare at each other like combatants. The animal desire in his eyes fascinating me. The unhinged lust in them making me feel divine. Until I lose our little game of chicken and have to toss my head back, his surging cock hitting the spot and sending an earthquake through me.

  I forget where I am, what I’m doing. As if my soul is spinning in a bliss so rich and deep it’s beyond time. Unable to think, my body only reacting instinctively to his, everything gone but this sensation of drowning in absolute pleasure. Spinning and flying weightlessly…

  It’s only when he slams me back up against the refrigerator, its cold, hard metal against my back, that I realize he’s carried me off the counter. The shock snaps me back into the present with a gasp, and I open my eyes to find his face close to mine. Tiptoes of my left leg down on the floor as he squeezes me into the cold surface, uses it to steady me as he pulls my thigh up against his side and continues to press a hand under my dress.

  “You sexy bitch…” he growls in between lip-biting kisses. “You’ve been driving me wild for too long…”

  A throaty laugh turns into a hissing breath in my mouth, suffocating slightly between his heavy chest and hammering cock. Squeezed and pressed by his hardened muscles until the sensation of blissful elation is compressed into a warm glow in the center of my body that pulsates with every thrust he makes and threatens to explode.