Summer's Temptation (11 page)

“I’d rather you take me down and use me,” I grumble.

Disappointment flits across his face, just like it had earlier, and it knots my stomach all over again. “Why do you want to be like every other girl who passes through my bed?”

“I don’t,” I say. “It was a bad idea. You should leave.”

He throws his hands in the air and growls. “You’re so frustrating!”

“Me?” He’s the one who threw me out.

“Yes, you! I’m here to figure out what’s going through your head, and you’re shutting down.”

“That’s what happens when you act like a dick. Besides, two hours ago I would have been happy to tell you everything, and you kicked me out.” I slide down in bed and cover my head with the comforter. “Go away.”

Beneath the blanket, it’s nice and dark. The light from the lamp barely penetrates the dense fabric. Cocooned from Tyler, I feel safe, as if he can’t hurt my feelings as long as I stay hidden. After a few quiet moments, I think maybe he’s left. I nestle deep into my pillow, contemplating turning off my lamp, but I haven’t heard the door open and close. I’m probably not alone even though I want to be. I hear a shuffling noise, like feet on carpet.

His voice comes from close by. “I’m sorry for being a jerk to you. It’s my default attitude.”

I don’t respond. Fabric brushes my face, and light invades my insulated haven. I’m peering up at Tyler, who’s holding the hem of my comforter and looking down at me.

“I’m here to reconsider your offer,” he says, expression sober enough to convince me he’s serious. “But not until I understand why you want a fuck buddy. If you can’t give me that, then I’m walking out and pretending tonight never happened.”

He’s reconsidering? That’s why he’s here? I thought maybe he came over to apologize, but this bowls me down. I can’t even find my voice to respond, so I just stare at him.

His mouth twists. “Fine. We’ll pretend tonight never happened.” He turns and strides toward the door.

My breath hitches, and my hands dig into the mattress. My mind’s yelling at me to let him go. The rest of me demands he stay. “Wait!”

I want to suck the word back in as soon as it escapes, and at the same time, I’m glad it came out. I can’t let him leave without at least exploring this. Dear God, I must be losing my mind if I’m willing to give him a second chance, but I can’t imagine going through this again. I’ve made up my mind that I want a fuck buddy, and if it’s not Tyler, it’ll just be someone else who might humiliate me worse than he did. I sit up and push the comforter toward my waist. Air-conditioned air invades my warm shelter. A shiver races up my spine as he pivots toward me. I think I see relief in his eyes.

He cocks his head to the side and studies me. “So, Cassie Faye, what makes you want a fuck buddy?”

I blow out a long breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m done with relationships.”

This night’s already been humiliating; might as well go for broke. Thank God traces of tequila still warm my veins or I’d never have the nerve to lean across my bed, reach into my nightstand, and pull out my plastic phallus. I hold it up and give him a moment to absorb what’s in my hand. Less than a second later, his jaw hits the floor.

I go for the kill. “This isn’t working for me. So I either jump on the one-night stand bandwagon, or I find a hug buddy… er… fuck buddy. I was hoping for a fuck buddy, and I wanted that guy to be you.” I throw the vibrator at him.

He catches it, his eyes wide. “Holy shit. This thing looks lethal.”

“Trust me, it’s not. It’s barely even venomous.”

His gaze goes from me to the vibrator and back to me, over and over again. I swear drool is gathering at the corner of his mouth.

I point at the vibrator. “That
thing
was supposed to keep me away from men. I hate it.”

Tyler blinks a few times, his dazed eyes clearing. “Why do you hate it? ‘Cause I’d like to see it in action. Did you by any chance take a video?” He smiles wickedly and twists the knob at the base. The vibrator kicks on with a low hum. “I’d be happy to help if you’d like to give me a hands-on demonstration.”

I roll my eyes and hold out my hand. “Give it back.”

“No way. I’m still getting a visual.” He keeps up his visual tennis match between the humming vibrator and me.

My cheeks heat, and I sink under the covers again, only my head peeking out. “I need someone who can satisfy me enough to keep me from sniffing out a new relationship when I’m craving a man.”

He seems to ponder what I’m saying, then his gaze snaps to mine. His eyes narrow as if he’s just figured out an important piece of a puzzle, but he’s not happy with the way it fits. “I’m not the only guy on the list, am I?”

“Nope.” I know my answer shouldn’t make me feel so gleeful, but after the rollercoaster he’s put me through tonight, it’s nice to remind him he’s not the only man on campus.

He must get the message because he clutches the vibrator so tight, the silicon buckles beneath his fingers. “Am I the first you’ve gone to?”

“Yep.”

I don’t realize he’s holding his breath until he draws in a deep lungful of air. Rigidly, he walks to the bed, and the mattress shifts as he sits.

He stares at the wall, his finger running over a thick vein on the dildo. “I’ll do it.”

I want to snap, “Gee thanks. That’s so selfless of you.” But I bite my tongue. There’s no point in being snippy even if the man makes me feel like a charity case. That isn’t exactly a turn-on. “What if I don’t want you anymore?”

He pins me with a gaze that’s sharper than I remember, as though a lot is going on in his head. It makes me think there’s more intelligence behind his pretty face than he lets people see.

“The way I see it, you don’t have a choice,” he says.

“How do you figure that?”

“You want to keep this quiet, right? No matter who’s your fuck buddy.”

“Of course I do.”

“I can guarantee every guy on your list will snitch the first time they fuck you. They’d rather brag that they bagged you than actually keep you so they can have you again.” His eyes heat, and his breathing is a little shallower than before. “I’d rather fuck you, over and over again.”

My pulse quickens as I drop my eyes to his full lips, and my gaze follows the sharp blade of his jaw down to his throat. I’m overcome with the desire to know what it feels like to have every part of him touching every part of me.

My lips form the word, “Okay,” even as my brain screams, “This is a bad idea!”

One side of his mouth quirks up. “Good girl. Now answer one more thing. Why’d you put me at the top of your list?”

“That’s easy. You’re not my type.”

He laughs sharply. “Isn’t that my line?”

I twist the sheet in my hand, trying to come up with a good way to explain without hurting his feelings. I seem to remember he didn’t give a damn about my feelings earlier this evening, so I might as well return the favor. “You’re not the type of guy I’d fall for. That’s important. I don’t want to get emotionally involved. Plus you’re convenient. I mean, you live right next door.” I think he winces, but the expression disappears so quickly, I can’t be sure.

“Convenient with no boyfriend potential. You make me feel so special, cupcake.”

“Oh, come on, Tyler. Do you want me to fall for you?”

He hesitates before saying, “Absolutely not.”

“Well then, you’ll be especially pleased that I have rules to keep that from happening.”

He laughs, but when I lower my brows, he stops and looks at me funny. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely. Shall we get started?”

Even as he shakes his head, I inch closer to him. I can’t help it. I haven’t been touched in too freakin’ long, and dear God, he smells good. How much better would he smell without all those annoying clothes? I shudder at the thought of his skin covering mine, his fingertips pressing into my bare hips as he moves inside me. I have to stifle a groan to keep from sounding like a sex-starved lunatic.

“You okay, cupcake?” he asks. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I say more huskily than I intended.

After a miserable night, I have a fuck buddy. Hallelujah! I don’t think I could go through this again. Now that we’re on the right path, I have to air these rules fast so I can find out what’s so special about the boy next door.

Chapter 11

I
lean toward my nightstand and pull out a pen and the small pink journal I bought after Wyatt and I broke up. I had grand plans of expunging my feelings onto its pages as a way to cleanse my heart, but that required dwelling on my pain, something I avoid at all costs. It’s never been used, and the binding creaks as I open it.

“Give me a sec,” I tell Tyler.

His gaze goes from the journal to me, and his dark eyebrows squish together. “For what?”

I push a pillow against the headboard and relax into it. “To jot down all the rules.”

“It’s sex. How many rules can there be?”

“Five. I think.”

He sighs, toes off his runners, and shrugs out of his cranberry button-up. “I have a feeling this is going to take a while.” He tosses the shirt toward the foot of the bed, and it lands on top of a wooden bedpost as if he’d carefully hung it to prevent wrinkles. With a self-satisfied smirk, he draws his long legs up, crosses them at the ankles, and reclines against a pillow to watch me.

He smells good, like soap mixed with a little clean sweat. I want to throw the journal on the ground and jump him, but my list is essentially a pre-nup. I can’t make him agree to anything after the deed is done, so this is my one chance to make sure we’re both comfortable with our arrangement. Nibbling on my lip, I write the rules while Tyler’s gaze trains on my moving hand. At his angle, he can’t see the page, and I’m glad. I don’t want him to dispute the rules before I’ve catalogued them.

After writing the fifth rule, I gaze down at him and smile. “I’m done.”

He props up on both elbows, and his white T-shirt pulls taut over his torso. I can easily make out the hard ridges of muscle on his stomach and chest beneath the thin fabric. His black tribal tattoo peeks out from under one short sleeve. My heart skips a few beats, and I’m desperate to get our arrangement hammered out. I draw in a deep breath, and I clear my throat.

Before I can speak, he rolls on his side and throws his signature one-sided grin my way, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know, you should feel privileged. I’m not usually this patient with girls.”

Even though I think he’s serious, I chuckle. “I’m honored. Now let’s get down to business.” I hold up a finger. “The first rule you’ve already brought up. You can’t tell anyone about us.”

“You don’t have to worry about that one. I’d like to keep you for a while. And I don’t want anyone to think you’re my girlfriend. I’d never get laid again.” His grin widens, but at the same time, his eyes seem to dim. “Except by you, of course.”

I stiffen, and my fingers clench the journal. I try to relax before he notices my white knuckles, but I know I’m too late.

His eyes narrow, and he draws in a shallow breath. “I’m not gonna stop bagging other chicks just because you’re satisfying your needs with my rod. You did know that, right?”

I
should
have known that. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I did, but I chose not to dwell on it. Tyler isn’t the type to stick to one girl. I stare at him, trying to figure out if I can live with him screwing other coeds. A certain amount of ick factor is involved, but at the same time, it makes sense. If he’s only with me, the situation’s laden with potential pitfalls.

Slowly, I nod. “I think that’s a good idea. It’ll keep me at an emotional distance. But”—I tap his chest with the cap of my pen for emphasis—“absolutely no sex with me on the same night you do another girl. That’s rule six. Understood?”

He grabs my pen to stop the poking and nods. “Got it.”

I realize there may be another pitfall to overcome. “How many girls are you with every week?”

He smirks. “Do you want the mean, median, or the mode?”

I roll my eyes and yank the pen from his grasp.

His smile grows by a degree of ten. “What? You’re a math major. I want to make sure I give the specific number you’re looking for.”

“The mean will work just fine,” I reply, tapping the pen against my notebook.

He peers up at the ceiling, his mouth moving as though he’s doing math. I’m afraid he’s killing brain cells attempting all those calculations without a computer. I consider asking if he needs a glass of ice water to cool down his motherboard, but I don’t think now is a good time to be condescending. Our relationship is fragile enough.

His lips stop moving, and he looks at me. “One-and-a-half.” I’m about to tell him that’s not as bad as I thought it’d be, when he adds, “Except during the summer. Then it’s closer to three.”

Ugh. He’s such a man-whore. My lips compress so tight, I’m sure they disappear into my face.

He shrugs. “We have a lot of parties during the summer.”

I sigh, wondering if Tyler is really the right guy for the job or if I’ve made a hormone-induced mistake. Maybe I should have found someone a little less desired by the opposite sex. “How am I supposed to compete with your revolving door of women?”

“Call me before nine, and it won’t be a problem.”

I shouldn’t feel vindicated that he’s given me dibs, but I do. I smile smugly, until I contemplate all the women who’ll be using the same tackle as me. “You do use protection with them?”

He slides his hand into his jeans pocket and pulls out a thick, foil-wrapped condom. I feel my eyes widen as I read the gold packaging.
Magnum XL
.

“My dick’s
always
shrink-wrapped.” With a flick of his wrist, the wrapper unravels accordion style, and five more foil squares hang from the first. “Always.”

My gaze goes straight to his crotch. I can’t help it. I mean, who wears extra-large condoms besides porn stars? Certainly not my two ex-boyfriends.

“Uh, cupcake?”

“Yeah?” I say, still staring at his zipper and the silver Levi-embossed button fastened at his waist.

He presses a curled finger beneath my chin and tips my face toward his. “My eyes are here.”

His smug smirk makes heat invade my cheeks, and I’m reminded that, though I may not be a virgin, I’m still an amateur in his eyes. I think I just proved how green I am by ogling his package. Another flood of heat rushes up my neck to my face. I’m treating his dick exactly the way guys treat my boobs. I’m not only green, I’m also a hypocrite.

I return my attention to my journal. “Where were we?”

He folds the condoms and pushes them into his pocket. “Rule two.”

I blink hard, trying to get the image of the oversized condoms, and everything they represent, out of my head. “Right. Rule two.” I underline it with my finger as I read. “You’re at my beck and call, not the other way around.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I don’t like that rule.”

“This is about keeping me out of a relationship, not becoming your sex slave. I’ll give you one guaranteed booty call a month.” I know I told Liz I’d give him two, but I figure I should start low and work my way up.

“Not enough. I’m a contributing member of this arrangement, so I think it’s only fair that I get as many as I want.”

“I don’t think so. Two tops.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“Three.” When I glare at him, he says, “Two-and-a-half?”

“Tyler—”

“The half should be good for a blow job. Right?”

I’m ready to move on, so I concede. “Fine.” I amend the rule to include his half booty-call, then hold up three fingers. “Third, we only have sex at my house. That’s kind of a carry-over from rule one. Liz already knows, and it’s easier to keep us a secret over here.” I don’t mention that I have no desire to lie on his sheets after all the girls he’s taken into his room.

“What about the back alley of Wormy Dog Saloon?” He smiles, his adorable dimples deepening. “I hear that’s a sweet spot to have sex.”

I know he’s teasing, and I chuckle, but it dies quickly as I imagine myself half-naked, pressed against a grimy brick wall, my legs wrapped around his waist. The notion is shameless and intriguing and full of possibilities. “As long as there’s no chance of getting caught, I’m game.”

He pokes my arm with the vibrator. “I knew you had a little freak in you.”

I swat the plastic penis away and hold up four fingers. “Fourth rule, no staying the night.” I’m not too keen on this one, but Liz was right to suggest it. The more time we spend together, the more chance I could get attached.

He sits up against the headboard, almost, but not quite, touching me. “What if there’s a blizzard outside?”

“In Texas?”

“It happens.”

“I’ll buy you some snow boots and a reindeer coat.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But if I can’t stay the night, then there’s no after-sex spooning.”

“Oh, come on. There’s no way you’re jumping out of bed and throwing on your pants as soon as we’re done. We can end this arrangement now if that’s how it’s going to be.”

He settles in closer, his body pressed against the length of mine. “Then I can stay the night.”

The combination of his warmth and the thrilling tingle it sends down my spine almost makes me relent, but if I allow him to sleep over, I’m afraid I’ll long for him to become a permanent fixture here. I can’t have that. “I can’t let you. Besides, if you stay, Dylan or Josh might catch you leaving my house in the morning. That breaks rule one.”

He’s silent for a moment, brows drawn low and hands in his lap in what I believe is his thinking pose. One long finger taps his thigh. “How about I can stay the night if it’s raining or cold out?”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

He shrugs and runs a hand over my purple-and-yellow striped comforter. “Your bed’s comfy.”

“Do you let girls stay the night at your house?”

“Well, no—”

“Exactly. This shouldn’t be any different.”

“Once a month,” he says.

“No.”

He sighs and folds his arms across his broad chest. “I’ll wear you down. What’s the next rule?”

I stab the pen next to the fifth rule. “No sharing personal information, so no more asking what my future holds.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, seeming to ask God for patience. “Would you like to make a list of acceptable conversation topics?”

“No. As long as we talk about mundane things—classes, sports, stuff like that—we’ll be fine.”

“This is turning into arbitration, cupcake. Should we call Liz in to mediate?”

I have a comeback on the tip of my tongue, something about
arbitration
being an awfully big word for him, but my snide remark dies when he runs a fingertip up my arm. He grazes my skin so softly, I’m sure if I close my eyes, it’d feel like the touch of a feather. His finger glides higher, across my bare shoulder and up to the delicate skin of my neck. When I swallow, he follows the motion to my chin and slowly tips my head so I’m looking up at him.

With heated eyes, he says, “I thought this arrangement was supposed to be enjoyable. When’s the fun going to start?”

He kisses the edge of my mouth, one delicate press of his lips that makes every inch of my body stand at full attention. If I had any concern about our chemistry, he alleviates it in one simple touch.

“We discussed the last rule,” I say against his mouth. “We can be done.”

He shakes his head, and his lips move achingly against mine. “I have one more rule.”

“What’s that?” I whisper, willing to agree to anything if he’d just kiss me deeply.

“When you call me to take care of your needs, I can have you as many times as I want.”

I try to answer with a
no problem
, but his lips come down on mine—hard. I can’t speak, can’t think, can’t do anything except drop my journal, twine my hands in his hair, and hold on while he plunders my mouth. When he pulls away a few seconds later, I’m panting, sure I’ll never breathe steady again.

“That was… nice,” I puff between ragged lungfuls of air.

He laughs softly. “You’re a bad liar, cupcake.”

It was fanfreakintastic, but he already has a big ego. I don’t want him stuck in my room all night just because his head won’t fit through the door.

“Okay,” I admit casually. “It was better than nice.”

He brings his lips back to mine, brushing them softly against my mouth. When he speaks, his words vibrate my lips. “I’d better go.”

The tingle makes me shiver, and my brain takes a few moments to kick in and process his words. “Go?”

He sits up straight, plants his feet on the floor, and pulls his cell from his pocket to check the screen. “It’s late, and I’ve got class tomorrow.”

So do I, but I don’t care. I want more of his kisses, more of his everything. “Stay a little longer?”

He stands and stretches, raising his hands high above his head. “Too tired.”

I glimpse a tantalizing strip of toned skin between his shirt and the top of his jeans. A dusting of dark hair creates an enticing path, hinting at what lies below. I desperately want to see more. “Please?”

He shoves the phone back in his pocket. “Sorry, cupcake. Where’s your cell?” He scans my room. “Never mind. I see it.” He grabs it off my dresser and punches numbers in. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“You can’t leave now. I’ve got needs you’re supposed to be meeting!” I’m fully aware I sound like a tantrum-throwing toddler, and I don’t care. He’s supposed to be gunning to drive me, not walking out the door before he’s even taken my body for a test spin. What kind of guy leaves a willing woman unsatisfied?

He strolls toward the door and opens it. Over his shoulder, he says, “I’ll meet your needs later.”

“No! They can be met now!”

He turns toward me, standing just outside my room. “Are you always going to be this demanding?”

“It’s been two months. I’m running on empty.”

“I’ll fill you up tomorrow.”

My comforter’s pressed against my chest, so my best womanly assets aren’t on display to tempt him. With a quick drop of the blanket, I thrust my chest out, fully aware my nipples are puckered beneath the thin fabric of my tank top. I peer up beneath my lashes. “One more kiss before you go?”

His gaze sweeps down my neck, across my collarbone, to rest on my chest. A low growl rumbles in the back of his throat. “You’re asking for trouble, cupcake.”

I smile seductively. “I know.”

He kicks the door shut and strides toward me. “Just remember this was your idea.”

I don’t care whose idea it is. I’m just giddy he’s coming back, and I lick my lips with anticipation. He grasps the comforter and tugs it down my body. His eyes following the descent of the fabric, growing darker with every inch of retreat. His sudden laugh startles me.

“That’s a big-ass monkey.”

I look down to see George’s head peeking out of the covers. Mortified, I kick the stuffed animal out of the bed. “Rule number seven, no making fun of George.”