Chapter 1: What Big Eyes You Have

“Do you like that?” he asked after his warm, wet tongue ran along my painfully sensitive nipple.

He knew perfectly well that I did.

Pleasure bloomed throughout my body. His mouth caressed and licked my breast. No other guy I’d ever been with knew my body the way he did, which should have been ridiculous because this was the first time he was acquainting himself with the most intimate parts of me.

“Please,” I finally whispered.

I needed him inside me, momentarily not caring about how wrong and dangerous it was. I hated myself for wanting it, but the desire was too powerful to ignore. And I had gone too far already, I told myself. I’d hate myself later; now I would do my best to enjoy it. Looking down at his head on my breast, it definitely wouldn’t be hard to enjoy it.

I shifted uneasily beneath him. “Just do it already.”

He laughed against my wet flesh, his hot breath fanning across me and making me shiver. Green, desire-drenched eyes met mine. “So impatient. What do you want?”

My eyes clenched shut. Why did he have to make me say it? Couldn’t we just fuck and get it out of our systems? I’d be guilty enough when it was over—did I have to have memories of begging for his cock to haunt me, as well? Maybe he wanted me to have those memories, just to be a dick. I wouldn’t be surprised.

“What do you want?” he repeated, his talented mouth moving down to kiss and lick my belly.

I sighed, knowing nothing would happen until I answered him. He’d always been stubborn. “I want you.”

He muffled a laugh against my belly.

Slowly, so slowly I wanted to scream, he pulled my panties down. The fabric and his rough fingers tickled my skin. My wet pussy clenched as the cool air rushed against it.

“And what do you need?” his sinfully low voice asked.

I was ready to kick him in the face, but that would mean he couldn’t fuck me and I couldn’t have that.

“You’re an asshole,” I muttered, closing my eyes.

“Tsk, tsk. Open your eyes and tell me what you need.” A finger toyed with my soaking lips. My body arched on its own.

“You,” I whispered, tears nearly coming to my eyes. I had never needed to have sex like this before, and I had never been more turned on.

He shook his head playfully. “You know what I want you to say.”

I couldn’t fight him anymore. I was too desperate. “Your cock.”

Savagely he tossed me across the bed. I loved the roughness, which surprised me. I’d always been made love to tenderly, slowly. With emotion.

But this was totally different. This was going to be straight fucking. There would be no caresses here, no sweet kisses, no deep looks.

Plain old fucking.

And somehow that eased my conscience a little bit, as fucked up as it sounds.

Suddenly he was on top of me, nudging himself between my thighs. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about—”

“It’s okay, Nina,” he said, almost gently.

“This is so wrong,” I nearly cried. He didn’t say anything.

His rock hard cock bumped against my wetness and we both moaned.

“Just this one time, Patrick, and we never bring it up again. Promise—oh,” I had to pause. He had his hot, wet mouth over my nipple, sucking it desperately like a newborn. Two fingers were pushing in and out of my far too ready pussy. “Patrick!”

“Yeah, yeah, one time,” he muttered distractedly, kissing his way down my body.

“I’m fucking serious! Promise! Promise me. One time and that’s it, and we never mention or...”

But he stopped me again when his mouth found my pussy and I could only moan. I’d had a few guys go down on me before and I loved it, of course, but the image of Patrick’s cinnamon-colored hair between my thighs as his electric tongue laved my lips and tender clit had me sobbing. He added a finger, fucking me with a ferocity that had me writhing and grasping at his hair. His lips sucked in my clit and his tongue flicked against it frantically.

“Oh my God, Patrick,” I said over and over. I didn’t think I’d speak coherently ever again. ‘I can’t ... I don’t...”

Before I finished my statement, his large frame was back on top of me and his hardness was pushing its way through my slick pussy. There was a delicious resistance, but after a few ruts he was blissfully inside me. We both cried out.

He whispered the filthiest words in my ear:

Your pussy was made me for me.

I can’t wait to come in you.

I’m going to fill you up so much, cum’s going to dribble out of you for days.

I bet you’ve never been fucked like this. Get used to it. I’m going to fuck you every way imaginable ... I’ll have you scream my name like you don’t know any other word.

He pounded inside of me, the wet sound of him moving through me turning me on. Not to mention the way he looked into my eyes, like I was the only woman he’d ever fucked—which I knew was far from the truth.

“I want to fuck you all day,” he told me, sucking my lobe. “I think I’m going to be hard for the rest of the night, even after I come.”

Then he couldn’t speak anymore. Our hips slapped together, our sweat dripped down our bodies and our tongues toyed playfully with one another. Our moans and hisses filled the dark room, creating a beautifully erotic soundtrack to our union. I knew I’d go home later and finger myself to the memory, and that thought made me feel dirtier and hornier than I already felt.

My hips lifted up to meet him. I couldn’t get enough of his cock inside me. He breathed harshly through his nose at the sensation of me fucking him back, and then continued pounding me deeply. His hand snaked between to grab my breast, pressing against the nipple with his thumb. I jumped and my pussy automatically tightened.

Cursing, he picked up his pace. He bent his head over to latch onto my nipple. He sucked it for a few minutes and then ran his hand down to my slippery clit. He didn’t bother teasing; he went straight to circling it with his finger, over and over again. His aim was to make me come, which plucked the chord of desire inside me. I gasped and clutched his forearm. My vision blurred at the indescribable pleasure. I briefly wondered if he was fucking me blind, but all thoughts vanished after a particularly rough thrust.

His movements started growing sluggish and less focused. I knew the end was coming. Finally I felt his teeth bite down on my shoulder and I lost control of my body, coming in a way I never had before. It was so good it was almost painful. I didn’t think it would ever stop. He let out a litany of curses and stopped thrusting, grinding deeply instead. With one final curse he came, shooting a healthy-sized load inside me. I wondered when he’d last fucked.

He’d been insatiable with me. Wild. Brutish. God, it was divine.

After we caught our breath and cooled down a little, he placed an almost possessive heavy hand on my hip. “We’re not finished,” was all he said.

And that’s how I started screwing my sister’s ex-husband.

I never liked my sister’s husband.

First, he was a smug asshole. He thought he was gorgeous and charming; he also thought he could win over just about anybody. Fine, he was gorgeous and, okay, quite charming. But I wasn’t just anybody. I told anyone who’d listen about how ridiculous his eyebrows were, or how he only cared about how he looked, or he was as charming as a cold sore. We had a bizarre tension between us that made me want to leave the room as soon as he entered it.

He had thick rusty colored hair that always looked unbrushed and wet green eyes that gleamed with constant amusement. He thought everything was funny. Especially me.

The real reason I disliked Patrick was the way he looked at me. It was like he could see straight through me. It sounds clichéd, I know, but it’s how I felt. When I caught him looking at me, it was like he could see how small and insecure and vulnerable I secretly thought I was and I didn’t like it. I needed to be strong, and I so desperately needed people to think of me that way.

And then he loved to tease me.

“New boyfriend, Nina?” he asked one Sunday night he and my sister, Chloe, decided to visit.

Since he knew damn well it was a new boyfriend, I glared at him and gave him some murmured answer.

“So what’s your name?” he’d asked the poor guy, who fiddled with his silverware nervously under Patrick’s unnerving gaze.

I knew the feeling.

“Uh, Thomas.”

“Thomas,” Patrick said, nodding as if he were programming it into his head. “I’ll try to remember but I’m terrible with names.” There was a pause in which Thomas gave a polite nod and went back to his mashed potatoes. But Patrick, of course, was never polite, and I was already expecting some comment. He didn’t disappoint. “Especially with Nina’s track record. Last month it was John, tomorrow it’ll probably be Rob. I need to develop some kind of system to remember.” He gave Thomas a friendly smile and started cutting his steak.

Needless to say I never saw Thomas again.

My sister was married to Patrick for two years before she decided she couldn’t handle it anymore. They had dated five years before they got hitched, and it seemed like they were officially sick of each other. He said she nagged him all the time; she resented the hours he put in at work. He didn’t seem to care much about working out their problems, and his nonchalance over the situation made her throw things at him. Literally. That was kind of a funny sight, I have to be honest.

So he moved out—into my neighborhood, of course. I saw him out constantly, and while he was never really with girls, I gave him the stink eye all the time because, hey, I was a loyal sister.

Or at least I used to be.

It happened as these things usually happen: I had too much tequila.

It was my friend’s birthday and, as these things go, she demanded I meet her shot for shot. So I did. I was getting out of a brutal break-up and welcoming any and all things to end my pain, anyway.