McQUEEN:Las Vegas Bad Boys(27)

One house away, I pull over and call her cell again. As it rings, I see a few black SUV’s leaving her house. The gates promptly close once they leave the driveway.

Miraculously, she answers on the fourth ring. “You’ve gotta stop calling. I can’t do this, McQueen,” she tells me.

“I’m at your house. I’m coming in.”

“No. You can’t come here!”

“It’s not happening. I have to see you.”

“This is so stupid. I said no. What don’t you understand?”

Done with this bullshit, I get out of my car, lock it, and head toward her property.

“I’m walking up to your house now.”

“Don’t. McQueen, are you for reals?”

“Hell, yeah. I need to see you. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Oh my God. Listen. Don’t go to the gate. I’ll come around the side. Go to the left entrance.”

Smiling, I do as she says. Guess I just needed to be more demanding for her to let me in.

I turn left and dodge the security. I assume they’re all at the front gate.

“McQueen,” she whispers. I see her face poke through a small side entrance. She pulls open the gate and lets me through into a large patio holding an Olympic-sized pool. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses.

“I had to talk to you, and you won’t answer your phone.”

“Well, what is it?” she asks. “Just tell me and go.”

“Nope. I’m coming inside. I have to talk to you, for reals. Your dad too. Is he home?”

“My dad?” she shakes her head. Only then do I notice that her hair is loose and bedraggled, that she’s still in her pajamas—a tee-shirt hanging off her shoulder, and a pair of tiny cotton shorts. I’m guessing she isn’t wearing any panties. For a second, that turns me on, then I remember the fucking asshole who sent her a pair yesterday.

“Yeah, I need to speak with your father. About my intentions.”

Her eyes get wide, her head shakes. “No, this is bad. You’ve gotta go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“My dads not even here. He literally left five minutes ago with his crew.”

My eyes narrow in on her gorgeous face, her cute little ass in those booty shorts, her nearly see-through tee-shirt.

“So you’re alone?” I step toward her.

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “I am.”

“Show me your bedroom, JoJo.”

“Why?” she asks, her eyes stuck on my lips, and I know what she’s imagining. The same thing as me.

“Because I want to see the room where you touch yourself at night. I want to see the bed where you press your fingers into your pussy, imagining me fucking you.”

“Oh.” Her breath catches, and she blinks heavily.

“So are you going to show me?”

She doesn’t answer; she just takes my hand, and leads me to the house. I don’t let my eyes linger on the huge mansion, the long halls, and the kitchen the size of my house.

I just follow her to wherever she’s leading me. I follow her, ready to give her everything.

In her sprawling bedroom, she locks the door. Closes the blinds. She starts lifting the hem of her shirt, but I stop her. There are some things I need to say before I fuck her silly, before I make her scream my name.

“Wait, JoJo.” I step toward her, knowing I’m making this intense, because it fucking is. I don’t do commitment. I don’t do forever.

Until now.

Until her.

“What?” she asks, as I wrap my arms around her.

“You told me it would only work between us if I was willing to give myself over to your family.”

Her eyes search mine, confused.

“And I am,” I tell her. “I’ll quit dancing. I’ll do whatever they want. I’ll do anything if it means I can be with you.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head. Instead of joy washing over her, it’s as if terror is setting hold.

“No, it’s ... not that easy ... I can’t.”

“What?” I ask, my tone revealing my anger. I cup her face with my hands. “I love you, JoJo. I fucking love you. You can’t push me away this time. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

I kiss her hard. My mouth covers hers, promising things she doesn’t seem to understand. That I’m her man, and no daddy and no bad boy brothers are going to change that.

She needs me to join the fucking mob, to turn my back on my friends, fine. Done. Maybe my words didn’t make it clear, but as I kiss her, I know my body can make promises that she will remember.





JoJo


He tells me he loves me and doesn’t ask for a response. Instead, he starts kissing me. And as my body remembers his hands, his hardness, his fucking intensity, I give in to what it really wants.

Him.

And I’m glad he touches me instead of talks, because I can’t bear to tell him that I’m marrying Grotto in a week. The same way I couldn’t tell my dad about the stalker. I’m a chicken shit, but I’m also alone in my room with the man who has undone me in all the right ways.

I kiss him back.

My tongue finds his, and his hands find the buttons of my pants. Our bodies only part to slide off our shirts, to inch down our shorts. Our skin collides, his body warm and my center hot. My hand reaches for his cock and his fingers run over my back, causing my spine to prickle, my entrance to quiver.

A hand pulls back my hair, exposing the pale skin of my neck, and he covers it with kisses, his other hand on my tit. My nipples are hard on contact, my pussy clenching in anticipation. His cock twitches in excitement. The room is filled with desire and my body drips in the heat.

I want him. In me. Under me. On top of me. I want his hands to graze my opening, to part my folds and to make me wet.

I want him to lick me, to kiss me, to show me how to fuck and how to bend and how to believe in the sort of love he confesses.

I want him to stay. I want to be brave enough to go. I want to forget and remember … and mostly I just want Ryan McQueen.

Now.

And forever.

I want the thing I cannot have.

My eyes fill with tears as he carries me to the bed, as he kisses me again.

“You okay?” he asks. His voice is tender and real and not at all the player asshole I met a month ago. Not at all the man-whore stripper who bragged about threesomes and hookups and forgetting to call.

No, this man who lowers himself on top of me, with his soft dimples and his rock-hard chest, with his massive heart and even more massive cock, is the man who says he loves me. The man who says he will sacrifice everything to have me.

Me. Josephine O’Malley. A girl who has already given her commitment to someone else. To someone I’ve never even met.

“I’m okay,” I tell him. The simple words are lies. He deserves more. He just gave me his everything.

He presses himself inside me and I moan in pleasure, but also pain. He’s so big, but that’s not what hurts.

We come together, and it doesn’t take much. My body responds to his, he thrusts into me, my core is ignited. He is the flame and I am the tinder. Together, we ignite.

His rod fills me, and I bite my lip, moaning in delight. As he runs his hands over my breasts, I feel my release pouring out of me.

I rock my hips against him, wanting to go faster because it feels so incredible, but also wanting time to stop.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he tells me, blowing warm air into my ear. The breath sends shivers across my body, trailing down to my entrance, where I come harder than I ever have.

I grip his shoulders, frozen in place, as he thrusts deeper in me. My entire body goes still with the shock of the sensation.

The moment he pulls out of me, I already feel an emptiness, a longing, a desperate desire to have him inside of me.

He kisses me softly, and he smiles.

“We can do this, Jo. You and me.”

I don’t answer, I just swallow. I’m totally terrified at the mess I’ve made with promises; I can’t keep them all.

My body is bare, and so is his, and it doesn’t seem fair to be this entwined with a man I can’t keep.

There’s a knock at the front door, which is odd. I’m expecting a large group to be returning for lunch in an hour, but they’d never knock.

“I have to see who it is,” I tell him. “Don’t move.”

He sits up as I get out of the bed, the spell broken. Reality returned.

“No, I’ll go with you. I told you, you don’t have to face your family alone. Not any more. I got you, girl.” He flashes me a smile, and it’s clear he really doesn’t have a clue about the situation. Because I’ve kept everything from him.

“No,” I tell him, pulling on my shorts and top. But he isn’t listening. He’s up and dressed faster than me. “It will be better if I just—”

“Let me be a man here. Okay, babe? I’m ready to show my ace and offer my service.” He smiles, and then leans in to kiss me again. I close my eyes, not knowing how to stop this hurricane.

He walks downstairs, seemingly on a mission to just tell everyone that he isn’t going anywhere.

I don’t know if it’s the stupidest thing or the bravest thing. His willingness to fight for me.

He pulls open the front door, and standing in the doorway is my worst nightmare: my soon-to-be husband and the father of my future children.