I wondered if Bellamy had taken that blonde home or into a bathroom, or out to his car, and the jealousy whirring inside me grew. I never expected to be anything to him--I never wanted to be anything to him, so why in the hell was I letting this get to me so bad? Sighing, I wrapped the thick towel around me and went back to Jackson’s room to grab one of his shirts.
“You know where his shirts are, huh?”
I’d barely set one foot out of the bathroom before my gaze landed on Bellamy closing the door and locking it. A sliver of guilt rose inside me, then annoyance. Because why in the hell should I feel guilty?
Folding my arms over my chest, I glared at him. “I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from your new friend. She seemed very attached. Limpeted even.”
“Right…” His chin dropped on a not-so-funny laugh before he started across the room. “You look really comfortable in your guy’s towel…”
He kept coming closer. And closer. Of course it crossed my mind to tell him that Jackson was not my guy, but then that blonde girl popped up like a bad smell, and well, I never pretended to be a rational human being.
My body hit the footboard of Jackson’s bed, and Bellamy was right there. In my face.
““And you know what?” he said, his voice deep and rough. “I fucking hate it.”
Tension mounted, so thick I could hardly breathe. Then Bellamy grabbed the back of my head and slammed his lips against mine in an angry kiss, shoving me back on Jackson’s bed.
“I hate you so fucking much.” He ripped the towel away, and his mouth was all over me--Lips and throat and breasts. Hands groping every bit of bare skin I had.
“I hate you more.”
“Seems like it.” His fingers reached between my legs. There was nothing gentle about the way he touched me. Just fingers reaching until they stole my breath. “Is that why you’re so wet for me, baby girl?”
I moaned into his mouth, each stroke of his hand contorting my body like it was his own, personal puppet. It felt like there was a bomb waiting to go off, and this bastard had been holding the detonator since the first time I’d met him.
His fingers worked deeper, his tongue teasing my neck before he gripped my waist and rolled me on top of him. One hand went to my throat, the other still pressing into me, teasing and pushing while I straddled him.
“Show me how much you despise me.”
With no shame, I ground over his hand, loving the way his grip on my throat tightened while I chased something I desperately needed. Something he’d been teasing me with for weeks.
Heat built in my body. I was seconds away from absolute bliss before he threw me back on the bed. “And like hell I’m letting you come first this time.”
He worked his belt loose, yanking his dick out and tugging on it before he straddled my bare chest. “You remember how I told you I was gonna come all over your pretty, rich girl face?”
I shouldn’t have wanted it, but I did. I needed Bellamy to be every bit as unhinged for me as I was for him. My anger bled through me as I raked my nails up his thighs, and grabbed his hips. And then I swallowed his dick, almost gagging when he touched the back of my throat.
“Fuck…” His hands went to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he thrust forward.
I dug my nails into his thighs. Hard, threatening him with a tiny bit of teeth, and he fisted my hair. His abs tensed. His muscles trembled. God, he was beautiful, and the sight of him had my frustrated body strung tight, on the edge.
Right when I knew he was about to come, he pulled away, grabbing his dick and pumping over it. His head fell back on a deep groan that echoed around the room as he came on my chest.
“I always knew that would look good on you, baby girl.” He swiped a finger at the corner of my mouth.
The door rattled, breaking the silence before a bang sounded over the wood. “Drew?” Jackson’s voice came from the other side.
Shit, shit, shit. I just let Bellamy come on me, in Jackson’s bed. I scooped up the towel and wiped myself clean.
“Do not answer that door!” I slapped his arm. “Give me two minutes,” I called.
Bellamy pushed off the bed with a glare. “And the shittiest part of this story: I actually fucking liked you…”
Guilt lanced through me, and again, I should have just said: Jackson was a friend and it wasn’t what it looked like. But then I remembered exactly why I’d let him think I was more than friends with Jackson.
“About as much as you like that blonde downstairs, I’m sure.”
I dove for the chest of drawers, taking out a t-shirt and covering myself right as he flipped the lock. He yanked open the door, then tucked himself back in his jeans. “‘Sup Bennett?” Bellamy’s massive frame filled the dimly lit doorway, practically dwarfing Jackson. “I’d at least let her clean my come off her first…”
Jackson’s arm drew back, but before he even moved to throw a jab, Bellamy knocked him clean out. Holy. Shit.
“Bellamy! What is wrong with you?” I gasped. He just knocked the guy out in his own house.
“I told you I was gonna fuck up your life, Drew…”
About Stevie J. Cole:
Stevie J. Cole likes to write realistic stories with raw, gritty characters you should hate but can't help but to love. She's obsessed with rock music, loves sloths, and has an unnatural obsession with British accents. Her books are not recommended for the faint of heart.
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About LP Lovell:
Lauren Lovell is a ginger from England. She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards. Lauren loves a mildly...or not so mildly psychopathic hero, and a dark, twisted tale. If you like like your boys very very bad, then hop on in.
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