F*cking Awkward (12 page)

I waste no time in joining him on his bed.

“Feel better?” He asks.

I straddle him, and his hands move to unhook my bra.

As it comes undone I panic and press my hands to my chest, holding my bra to me. “I should warn you. It was the bra that made my boobs look so good.”

He grins, pushing my hands away. “Let me be the judge of that.”

I gulp, letting the bra fall away from my body. He sits up, still keeping me straddling him and wiggles his glasses.

Slowly, so slowly every inch of my skin is tense with anticipation, his hands move back to my breasts. He cups them, squeezing them before running his thumbs across my nipples until they tighten into firm buds before his eyes.

“I have to say, these may be the most gorgeous tits I’ve ever seen in my life,” he murmurs before dipping his head.

He pinches one nipple while running his tongue over the tip of the other. I gasp, my hands moving to his head, holding him to me. If I thought I was turned on before that was nothing to now.

I ache for him, a throb radiating from the core of me.

I shift my hips against his, my skirt riding up so my wet panties press against his hard length.

I might make myself come just from this alone. He stops me though, pushing me backward until my shoulders hit his comforter. Then his hands roam, moving across my skin intent to drive me wild. They move over my breasts, my ribs, my neck, and my belly. Then, down to my thighs and under my skirt.

He pushes at it, uncovering me, his gaze coming to rest on my panties.

With one finger he pushes the fabric to the side and begins to play with my clit. Gasping, my hips buck.

“I could come just looking at you,” he groans, easing that finger inside of me.

My mouth drops open, I can’t take my eyes off of him. He’s so sexy with his now messy dark hair, his superman glasses and that silly diamond winking at me.

I could come just looking at him, his firm shoulders, his solid chest and abdomen. He doesn’t have the six-pack Paul had and I rejoice in it. No, there is something so sexy about Matt’s body in a rugged way Paul never was.

His hands move to my panties and I shift my legs, helping him pull them off of me. Then, my back still to his bed, he lifts me to his mouth, pausing only to throw my legs over his shoulders. Then he goes down on me like licking my pussy was what he was born to do.

“Holy crap,” I gasp.

His hands cup my ass, holding me to him. Even though his mouth was doing unreal things to me, what was even sexier was the way he locks eyes with me while he does it.

This is hot as hell, and I have no doubt in my mind that this is exactly where he wanted to be. This incredibly sexy man, wanted me, and he wanted me bad.

He was right.

I came so hard I screamed.

I’m still catching my breath as he eases my legs back down to his bed. Then he crawls up my body and kisses me.

I’ve never tasted myself; Paul never wanted to have oral sex. It was so unexpected to taste my pussy on Matt’s lips. It felt dirty and sexy and so amazingly passionate I get turned on all over again.

“Do you have condoms?” I ask, my hands pushing into his pants.

He breaks our kiss, pulling away to rifle around in the drawer of his bedside table. It’s weird, but I like that he has to look for them, like grabbing one was not a nightly occurrence for him.

Because, even though I was using Matt for sex tonight, I already liked him. And, to be honest, I could get used to him going down on me like that.

Once he has the condom, I pluck it from his hands and push him onto his back. I know I originally thought I wanted him to do me but I decided, I wanted to be the one in control.

While I tear open the condom wrapper, he loses his pants and boxers, leaving his log of a dick resting hard on his belly. Well hello big boy. I’m going to be sore tomorrow but it’ll be worth it after riding him.

I waste no time getting the condom onto him. Before I hop on, I unzip and slide off my skirt so we’ll be skin to skin. Any nerves I felt before his mouth went to town on me are gone. In fact, I feel freer than I’ve felt in a long time.

His hands settle on my hips as I move to straddle him again. Reaching between us, I grab his cock, lifting him up and lining him up to me.

There’s a delicious stretch as I slide down his cock. Once he’s rooted I take a moment to do nothing else but enjoy our connection, to glory in the way he fills me.

One of his hands coasts up my torso, between my breasts to the back of my neck where he grips me, pulling my mouth down to his. Our kiss is a crash, two birds in flight joined together mating on the wind.

I was wrong if I thought I’d be the one riding him. With his hand gripping my neck, my hair falling all around him, his hips piston upward. All I can do is hang on as both his mouth and his cock take me.

It’s fast, it’s hard, it’s rough, it’s everything I dreamed and so much more I didn’t even know to want.

It is also loud, the slap of our flesh bouncing off the walls of his bedroom. The angle at which he drives in, and my already primed sex have me stunned to feel something building inside of me.

He is going to make me come again. Holy crap and the way it is building, he is going to make me come even harder than he had before.

“Yes,” I groan. “Don’t stop Matt.”

If possible, he goes even harder. “I’ll never stop. God, never felt this good.”

I move my lips to his neck, only in an attempt to try and catch my breath. My entire body feels pulled tight but curled up in a ball at the same time. His hips, they just continue to pound against me. It’s too much. It’s too much. The building pressure, it’s so intense, it’s so big.

I stiffen and then break, coming with a sob. He does not stop, the thrust of his cock into my throbbing pussy only making my orgasm longer, never ending, something I didn’t even know was possible.

Then, as I continue to cling to him, my breaths coming in pants, he groans as he finds his release.

I’ve never heard a sexier sound.

His hands are vice grips on my hips, holding me down as he presses upward, his body shaking slightly.

I’m boneless, a glob of my former self laid out across him.

This is the sexiest, most insanely perfect night of my life. This handsome man has not only rocked my body but my world as well. I know in the moment that I don’t want this to be our only night together.

Be cool Sasha, seductive and cool.

As feeling creeps back into my muscles, I shift against him and press open mouth kisses to his neck.

“That was amazing,” I purr.

His hands loosen on my hips and start to caress my back, his cock twitching inside me.

Holy crap, maybe this guy was superman.

I push up on my elbows, and swing my head to the side, expecting my hair to follow so I could flick it over my shoulder all sexy like.

But no, my hair does not follow and instead, it catches on something and Matt hollers in pain.

“Matt? What happened? My hair is caught…”

I look down at him, my eyes widening.

Somehow, while riding him, my hair all over the place, some of it got caught and tangled with the back of his earring.

And, when I tried to be all sexy and throw my hair over my shoulder the force of it pulled his earring into his ear.

His eyes are pinched shut. His formerly re-hardening cock softens at light speed and starts to slide out of me. All I can do is stare at the earring wedged halfway through his ear lobe.

Then my stomach rolls and I look away, which only makes my hair tug on his earring again. He groans out, this time not sounding sexy at all but in total pain. His hands move to his earring, doing something to the back as he tries to untangle my hair from it.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s okay, just, please don’t move your head again,” he pleads.

That’s when I do it. That’s when I make a horrible mistake. I open my eyes to see what progress he’s made and see it, a drop of blood coming from his earring.

My eyes bug and I reach up to cover my mouth with my hands.

He watches my movement, his eyes widening. He shakes his head, crying out again as it must shift his earring. Another drop of blood appears and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I throw up on him.

Then, embarrassed, I start crying.

Somehow, even with his chest and neck covered in my puke, he manages to free my hair from his earring. He doesn’t even pause to enjoy that victory, no; he scoops me up and carries me to his bathroom.

I’m still crying and apologizing as he turns on the water. Then with a grunt, he pulls the stud straight through, and out the back of his ear. He drops it in the sink and turns back to me. I watch as he removes the condom, wrapping it in a tissue before tossing it in his trash.

There’s more blood now and I heave but luckily nothing else comes up. His eyes are soft and full of concern as he guides me into his shower.

With tears of embarrassment still streaming down my face he washes himself and then me. Once there’s no sign of my vomit anywhere he surprises me by kissing me.

I pull away but he only pulls me closer, his lips moving to my cheek and then my forehead as his arms band around me. “Don’t worry about it.”

I tuck my face into his chest, my hands coming up to rest on his hips. “I’m so sorry. I’m not good with blood.”

He chuckles, his chest shaking with it. “I can tell.”

I groan, “your bed.”

He shushes me and reaches back to turn off the water. “I can throw the comforter into the wash.”

“I’ll do it.” I offer.

He shakes his head and helps me step out of his shower before wrapping me in a towel. “Okay, close your eyes.”

I don’t question him. I just do it. I hear paper ripping but don’t peek.

“Okay, you can open them.”

He has a towel wrapped around his waist but it’s his ear that makes me laugh. He’s put two small Band-Aids on it, one on either side.

“In case it bleeds more,” he explains.

He makes me wait in the bathroom while he puts his comforter in his washing machine. Then, I cringe as I hear an aerosol can spray. Crap, his room must smell like puke sex.

Gross.

He then comes back into the bathroom, offering me a t-shirt to change into.

“If you want I can go,” I offer knowing he has to want me gone.

I mean, I injured him and then threw up on him. Why wouldn’t he want me gone?

“No way. If you leave now you’ll avoid me because you think I care that you threw up.”

He reaches into the cabinet below his sink and pulls out a toothbrush, still in its plastic wrapper. “I don’t. I like you and I want you to stay. Just think,” he passes me the toothbrush, “If this works out we’ll have a great story,” he lifts his hand to his mouth and whispers, “minus the hot sex,” then lowers his hand, “to tell the grandkids.”

He then leans down and kisses the top of my head before leaving. I turn and face the mirror, unwrapping my toothbrush, smiling so big my face hurts.

I injured him, and then threw up on him and he still wants me.

Yep, he’s a keeper.

C
arey Heywood is
a New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author. To date, she has published thirteen full-length contemporary romance novels. To learn more about her books, head over to
www.careyheywood.com

“
S
hit
, come on. We’re going to be late,” Julia says, yanking me down the hallway by the elbow toward the conference room.

I stumble on my heels and laugh. “We have five minutes. It’s not going to take five minutes to get down to the end of the hallway,” I say, thumbing a tweet about the dangers of stilettos and being late. The hallway smells strangely like a tuna sandwich—one that had been left out over night—in the heat.

“Just hurry up. Gail is going through pitches and I
need
to get the interview with that hockey player and his sex tape.”

I stagger into the conference room and dig my heels in to the rug, “What?” I ask under my breath, watching everyone’s eyes lift in our direction. “You don’t even like hockey.”

“I like him and I know all about sex and tape,” she whispers, giving me a wink and pushing me through the doorway. “And I’m dying to talk to him about how he
pucks
.”

I can’t help but laugh. That’s so Julia. I’d bet she’ll be
pucking
him twenty minutes after the interview ends. There would definitely be a video and plenty use of tape or rope or whatever crazy, kinky thing she could come up with. The poor guy won’t be able to sit for days after.

“So nice of you to join us,” Gail chirps from her seat at the head of the conference table. I give her a curt nod and take my regular seat. There’s no need to rush. We’re not late, and seriously, I know exactly the article I’m getting stuck with. Either the one about the
sexiest eye shadow trends this month
or the
hottest novels to jill off too
.

I’m barely focusing on the meeting, tapping out another quick tweet about people in the workplace who bring tuna for lunch and how they should be fired on the spot, when Gail’s bird-like nose whistles in a deep inhale. “
How to not get caught cheating
. Gavin you take this. You seem a champ at it.
Great ways to enhance blowjobs
. Nice pitch, but let’s take it from a guy’s point of view. Zeke, you write it.”

Zeke’s face reddens and I slap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing. Of course, Gail catches it and offers up her best smirk to me, “Jane, I want you doing the front piece on one-night stands.”

Wait, what?

“That was my pitch,” Zeke cut in, leaning forward. “I’m a much better—”

“And you’re a man,” Gail snaps, standing up and slapping her palms down on the table. “The opposite view from a lonely, shy, frumpy girl in her mid thirties would be a fuck of a lot funnier. Kind of like
My Big Fat Greek Hook Up
.”

Mid thirties? I’m only twenty-seven
.

I swallow the knot in my throat and speak up, “How am I supposed to get research?”

Gail blinks rapidly in my direction. “You want to write articles for this magazine right?” I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes blinked faster. “You want to be part of this team, right?”

I numbly shake my head and try not to vomit.

“Good girl. Oh, and how many followers do you have on Twitter right this moment?” she asks, smirking.

“A little over half a million,” I whisper.

“Good. The one night stand…I want it tweeted live,” she says, smiling wide.

Holy shit.

T
weet
: The epic saga of The One Night Stand begins in 3, 2, 1 #HeLooksDifferentThanHisProfilePicture #LikeHeHadHair

“Wow,” he says as he reaches the table where we agreed to meet. “Aren’t you…cute.”

Aren’t you…bald…and possibly ten years older than you promised?
I slap a smile on my face so wide it actually hurts. “Well, thank you. I guess.”

And over a candle lit table at this shitty chain restaurant with its cheery, perky wait staff, I explain the article to him. He does what any other man in the universe would do: yank my chair closer to his and jams his tongue down my throat. Jonathan Theodore Titan Gaster Junior is his name, but everyone just calls him Jon he said…
Jon-boy
.

There is no way in Hades I’m calling a grown-assed man anything that ended with
boy
. Not without laughing hysterically in his face, anyway.

After reclaiming my tongue, Jon…boy asks the waitress for the check, snapping his fingers wildly in the poor girl’s face.

I sip at my drink and choke as I swallow. “But we didn’t even order dinner…”

“Let’s get right to this article you have to write. It’ll save time and money and you’ll get your research done. It seems fair.”

Tweet: First rule of a one-night stand: Never begin with it being a one-night stand. Especially if you’re hungry. #CheapAss #ProtitutesGetPaidMore

“Hold on, Jon, wait,” I say as he tugs me down the street quickly. My legs can’t keep up with his, and just to match his pace, I’m jogging alongside him.

“Jon-
boy
,” he corrects me, pulling me close and wrapping his arms around me. His lips collide into mine again and my back presses against the outside wall of a building down the street of the restaurant. His tongue is insane, pushing into my mouth, devouring the entirety of it and moaning softly into it. “I live just down the block,” he whispers, dragging his hands across my backside and squeezing a handful of my bottom.

It makes me feel a bit
wanton
. I’d never done anything like this before. It’s shameless and dirty. His hands lift up and pinch lightly at my nipples. The sensation makes me kiss him back; giving in fully to the deplorable dirty things I want to have done to me. He could take me up against this wall right now and we could be done with it. I’d never have to see him again—just this once taking what I needed—and walking away without any care. It feels powerful.

I bite my lip as he grabs onto my hands and pulls me farther down the street. There’s a big old Victorian house at the end. A beautiful wrap around porch hangs off the front, but that’s all I see because his hands yank down the cups of my bra and his lips and tongue are sliding down my neck.

We’re at a side door of the house and my shoulders shove up against it as something rock hard just under his zipper rocks into me. Somewhere inside the house, a dog yaps continuously.

His hands fumble with the keys. His fingers are shaky, he’s out of breath, and I feel powerful that it’s because of me. I’m doing this to his body.

We stumble awkwardly through the door, slamming up against a wall. He kicks at the door, trying to close it, but doesn’t reach. Cursing underneath his breath, he backs away from me and shuts the door behind me.

Next to me, a wet nose nuzzles into my hand.

“That’s Mr. Fluffy Pants,” he whispers against my neck, grabbing the hem of my shirt and lifting it over my head.

His dog lifts up his head and watches. My shirt lands on his floppy ears.

Our clothes fall everywhere as he walks me, kissing and groping, through a long hallway and into a dark room. The dog’s claws scratch along the floor with us. I freeze in the doorway.

Mr. Fluffy Pants licks the back of my hand.

But that’s not what gives me pause. Nope.
What gives me pause you ask?
Well, that would be the smell.

Jon…boy flicks the lights on and I swallow back a gasp. “Is this your little brother’s room or something?” I ask, holding a hand over my nose. It reeks of sweat and cologne
and sweat
, then multiply that times fifty and pour in some more
sweat
.

I swear the dog is whining because he has sympathy for me. He jumps on the bed and sniffs then growls out another whine. “Jon,” I croak behind my hand.

“Jon-
BOY
,” he corrects, again.

“It stinks in here.” I cough.

His eyes get round and he holds up a finger. “My bad. Laundry day isn’t until tomorrow. Hold on,” he rummages through a huge pile of clothing that I swear have those wafting cartoon smell lines waving above it, pulls out a bottle of generic air freshener, and starts spraying down everything.

When the room is saturated with the smells of a beach, he points to the small bed. “Hop on.” His eyebrows wiggle.

I totally lost the mood. And honestly, I think there’s probably a weight limit to the single-sized bed he’s pointing to, and Mr. Fluffy Pants is already taking up most of the space.

“I’m not sure about this…” I stutter as I watch him pull Mr. Fluffy Pants off the bed by his collar.

“I promise you a night you will never forget.”

That’s not enticing if it ends with me
wanting to forget about it
. But I follow him down and squash in next to him. I don’t know why I do. My stomach is rumbling. There’s a dog watching my every move, and I’m about to have sex with a complete stranger. My giant ass hangs off the bed.

His elbow leans on my hair and I’m pinned to the bed awkwardly. He doesn’t notice. He just yanks down his boxers and pulls out his penis.

And I’m saying the word penis in the nicest way.

He shifts himself up on the narrow bed, making me tumble onto the floor. He sits up chuckling and helps pull me up, cock level.

And now I’m looking Jon right in the dick.

“Oh, Jon,” I say it with heavy pity.

“Jon-
boy
,” he whispers, running his fingers along the length of it.

I smile up at him, no longer having the inclination of leaving out the boy part.

It’s the strangest dick I’ve ever seen. I was at once entranced and horrified. He didn’t seem a big fan of manscaping. The
main attraction
was quite thin, having the same girth as say, my thumb, with a crooked mushroom top that looked more like a top hat on a frail old man. If the before mentioned old man wore it on, say, his ear.

“Oh, lemme get some condoms and lube,” he mumbles to himself, reaching over me and opening up a drawer.

I blink up and freeze in abject horror and absurdity. As he twists his body, right there on his left ass cheek was a tattooed rose that said
Mom
.

I sit back on the bed and try to figure out a way out of this mess.

Across the room, sticking straight out of the wall is a very furry, life sized horse head. I’m paralyzed with the craziness of it all, and I barely feel him sliding my panties down my legs. The only thought I have is I hate the fact that I wasted a good waxing for this.

I take a deep breath but before I could let it out, his head is between my thighs. Jon-boy is touching his tongue to my clit and violently shaking his head, trying to turn his entire face into a vibrator. I tap a tweet
:
Men Stop believing in the myth. Just move the tongue. Women as a whole do not appreciate the whole motorboat thing between our legs. Thanks. #WorstThirtySecondsOfMyLife

Immediately after starting, he pulls his head up triumphantly and smiles, “Nice, right?”

“Can I…um…use your bathroom?” I say, jumping up.

He rolls his eyes and waves to the door, “Two doors down on the right. Don’t go up the stairs.” He looks at me hard, “
Stay. Down. Here. Okay
?”

What’s he hiding? His last date chopped up into tiny bite-size pieces or pureed and frozen in little ice cube trays?

Just focus
. A one-night stand should not be this hard. I close myself in the tiniest bathroom on earth and look at myself in the mirror. My face has a look of mild panic across it. I run cold water over my hands and dab my cheeks softly with them. I sneak a peek through his medicine cabinet, looking for any medications for sexually transmitted diseases. I find a lot of bottles of antacid. And a mysterious bottle of something neon blue. I clutch my cell phone to my chest and read through my tweets. My one-night stand is trending. So is
#HorseHeadFucking
.

If he puts that horse head on, that would lead to a whole new level of awkwardness.

Tweet:
I can feel myself shifting from the: I’m a young sexy single woman phase to a fresh new get me the fuck outta here panic mode.

Some wonderful follower on social media has made a poll about this whole debacle—fifteen percent of my followers believe I’m too much of a chicken to go through with this—eighty-five percent of the people thought I was an eighty-year-old woman.

Fuck this. Sex with motor-boating Jon-boy should last no more than five minutes. How much worse could it get? I walk out and try standing in the doorway seductively. It takes him a few minutes to realize I’m back. He was busy…petting the horse head.

“I love to get a little freaky in bed, do you?” he asks, those stupid eyebrows bouncing up and down.

I eye the horse head. “No. No, not really.”

He eyes the horse head as well and frowns. “I have these plastic handcuffs I could…”

“No thanks, really.” I slowly sit next to him.

He shrugs and pops open a bottle of lube with his teeth and squeezes out a handful. That’s right, a
handful
into his palm. Then he slathers my nether regions with it.
I gasp out fifty shades of put that shit away
. I don’t think he heard.

There has to be a blurry spot in my memory, because the next thing I know, Jon-boy is humping the inside of my leg with complete wild abandon. There’s so much lube down there he thinks the cavernous gap of my thighs is my vagina.
I have found the loophole to this disaster.
There’s seriously no penetration going on. He better hurry or this shit is going to get real sticky.