So Toxic(Bad Boy Next Door Book 4)(61)

But I need more.

“I need your pussy.”

I slide my hands beneath her ass. She wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me in so my hard cock rubs her folds through the towel hanging between us.

She wiggles against me. “You want pussy. Everyone should learn the difference between wants and needs. I learned that in Mrs. Fry’s Kindergarten class.”

“I want beer and football. I need your pussy.” I pick her up.

Jo grips my shoulders and squeaks. “Put me down, you idiot. Your bone may not be strong enough.”

I shake my head as I carry her to the bed. “I’m done waiting. I’ve behaved as long as I can.”

After I toss her onto the mattress, I rip the towel off and lay atop her, settling between her thighs. I lean most of my weight on my good arm, but I don’t think she can tell.

My erection grinds against her bare folds as I say, “See? My bone is plenty strong enough.”

“Ha. Ha. Smart ass. Fine. But if you maim yourself for life, don’t go blaming me and my pussy.” She checks her watch. “You have thirty-nine minutes. I have a phone interview with that design firm in Arlington, Virginia.”

Arlington Schmarlington. Jo’s not going to pack up and move that far away—away from Stevie, her one friend in this world, or from me.

No. She won’t want to be that far from me.

I push the niggling doubts beneath the covers as I grin and go lower. I trail open-mouthed kisses down her neck to her full breasts. I let my tongue linger over each tightly beaded tip, massaging them as I suckle and bite gently until she squirms in my hands. “That’s not much time, but I’ll make it work.”

I move further, her bare belly smooth and sexy as it leads me below her navel to her mound of raven curls. She’s scented with berries or mango or some sort of fruit. My chin rubs, my whiskers rasping over her clit. Jo lets out a little gasp.

I flick her bud with my tongue to soothe any scrapes my stubble might’ve left. Her hips flinch as I latch on, sucking as I run my hands up between her thighs. I pull her pussy lips apart and dip my tongue into the cream waiting there for me.

“So fucking sweet.” I lap up the sugared wetness and slather my tongue down her slit to her other hole.

Nice and tight.

My cock hardens to an almost painful level.

The vibration from the nightstand precedes the special ringtone I set up to ensure that I never ignore calls from this number.

I pull back from Jo. “Sorry, love. That’s Marcus—could be news about Caden.”

She frowns but nods. “I understand.”

I lean over to grab the phone. “Hey, what’s the news?”

“Not good, I’m afraid.”

I hold my breath as every little bit of sexual excitement flees to be replaced with a looming dread.

“You there, Tyson?”

I let the air out of my lungs and give a grunt to let him know that I am, in fact, on the line, waiting for the ax to fall.

“Without your name on the birth certificate, combined with the absence of a positive paternity test, there’s no leverage. I’m really sorry. My hands are tied.”

My grip tightens over the phone as I shoot to my feet.

“Fuck this shit!” I hurl the useless device across the room, where it shatters against the wall and falls in pieces to the floor.

I shake my fists at God and turn in a full circle, looking to the heavens and yelling, “All of this. Jo. The house. The wedding. It’s gotten me nowhere, and I’m out of options. It’s all been for nothing.”

I drop my hands, hoping for a soothing touch.

But there isn’t one.

The bed is empty.

Jo’s gone.

I tap on the closed bathroom door. “Jo?”

“Busy. I’ve got my interview in a bit.”

Busy?

I turn the handle, but it’s locked.





I stare at the stupid girl in the mirror, leaning in close so I can see every pore and flaw. “So. This is it. You have to kill this interview. Murder that fucker. You need a way out. A new life. A new beginning.”

I head toward my closet, where the acoustics are better for a phone conversation.

Tyson finally ceased banging on the door a couple of minutes ago.

Thank God.

Ignoring the sting behind my eyes, I yank a box from the stack on the lowest shelf. I fold the flaps at the bottom together so it will hold until I put some tape on it. Setting it on the dais in the middle of my closet, I proceed to throw anything I think I can’t live without in the immediate future into it—shoes, underwear, t-shirts, and jeans.

Then I sort through the clothes hanging on the racks for the ones I need now versus those that can wait until another day to be packed up and moved.

My phone rings.

Interview time.