Wreck Me: An Older Man, Younger Woman Standalone Romance Page 5

  Never in my life have I laid a hand on a woman, not even in a bedroom roleplay way. Last night I pulled Riley’s hair, slapped her ass so many times I lost count, and called her a dirty little slut. It was like I became someone else with her, someone…half-crazed. Possibly fully crazed.

  I owe her an apology, but if I apologize, that means I have to acknowledge what we did and I’m not ready to do that yet.

  Besides, I’m scared of being alone with her for even a few minutes. I don’t trust myself not to try and touch her again. She reels me in with her tight body and sexy flirting. Although, that will likely change after how I treated her last night.

  Maybe I’m turning into some old pervy man who preys on much younger women. But I haven’t even noticed the other girls with Sara. I couldn’t tell you their names or hair colors…nothing, except I’m pretty sure there are two of them.

  So, great, I’m not becoming a total creep. I just have a slight obsession with one girl in particular.

  No, I need to forget about her. I need to focus on spending time with my daughter, and try to survive the rest of the week without succumbing to the sexy temptress again.

  …

  Riley

  “What’s wrong?” Cheryl asks as the four of us sunbathe in a row of lounge chairs on the beach.

  “Nothing,” I mutter.

  “Liar. You’ve been moping all morning.”

  “Just haven’t been sleeping much,” I tell her, rather than provide the truth. Normally I tell my best friend about any makeout sessions or hookups, but I won’t tell her about this. The fact is, I wouldn’t even know where to begin since I’m not exactly sure what happened.

  We had sex and it was good; that truth doesn’t change, even in the light of day. Not even once did being with Mr. Harrington remind me of being used and abandoned on a baseball field. No, what he and I had was so much more intimate and passionate than the impersonal, heartless fucking this past spring.

  What I’m not sure of is why he became so angry once it was over. Did he regret it so soon? Was it not good for him?

  No, it can’t be that. Despite all my questions, that one is not up for consideration.

  The sex was incredible. It was the ‘after’ part that left me feeling hurt and…confused.

  I know all about how most single men roll. They want one-night stands and usually don’t want you to stick around and sleep in their bed all night. In and out is how they work. So why did I expect anything different from Mr. Harrington?

  Dammit, I don’t even know his first name! He’s right. I am a slut for sleeping with a man whose name I don’t even know.

  Deciding to actually do something about that, I get up from my chair, and grab my beach towel and suntan oil to head back inside the house.

  “Where are you going?” Cheryl asks, looking up at me through her big sunglasses.

  “Going inside to cool off and take a nap,” I reply.

  “Now? We were about to go over to hang out with Clint and his friends,” she says.

  This morning, Clint and his dog Roger walked over, and he stopped to talk again. The girls all excitedly took him up on the offer to come by for hot dogs at lunch.

  “You should go on without me,” I assure her. “I’m just not feeling very social.”

  “And now I’m really worried,” she replies. “You’re the social butterfly, Riley. It’s not like you to turn down a get together with hot, shirtless guys.”

  I glance back at the house, wondering where one particular hot, shirtless guy is, and if he left because he’s avoiding me.

  “Guess it’s time I start growing up, right?” I say before I make the hike through the sand dunes and up the steps of the house.

  Once I’m inside my room, I change into my pajama shorts and an oversized tee, then grab my phone and stretch out on the bed. In the search engine, I type in “Harrington photography in Topsail Island.”

  Boom.

  The first result is the website for “A Face in the Crowd Photography.” I know before it loads that it’s his because he named it after another Tom Petty song, just like the house’s name.

  Sure enough, the site says that the studio is owned and operated by a Brody Harrington. The photographs on the walls here in the house have a small lighthouse logo and the initials BH on them, so it must be him.

  Brody.

  The name fits, so masculine and strong. It reminds me of the word brooding, which he seems to do a lot of. Most likely because his daughter is a little shit.

  I scroll through his images for sale, in various sizes from five by sevens to canvases and gigantic wall pieces. They’re all beautiful outdoor photos, mostly beach and ocean-related, and the emotions they inspire are mind-blowing. It’s as if he puts a piece of his heart and soul into the animals and inanimate objects. The photos fill me with a sense of peace and calm. They’re so calming that I yawn into my palm as the weight of my days and nights of exhaustion finally hit me.

  …

  Brody

  “Sara?” I call out as I walk through the beach house. The chairs out front on the beach are all empty and the girls are not on the balcony. Since Sara’s convertible is still here, I assume they must have walked down the beach.

  Why does that thought gnaw on my stomach like acid so badly? They’re grown and as long as they’re all together, they should be perfectly fine wherever they venture out to.

  Oh shit!

  That asshole and his dog from yesterday…

  I remember Riley telling him she and her friends might stop by.

  Those guys could be assholes for all the girls know. As Sara’s father, it’s my responsibility to walk down the beach and check on them to make sure they’re okay. Not because I’m jealous, imagining Riley flirting with one of them in one of her skimpy bikinis. Nope. That has absolutely nothing to do with why I go back outside and down the steps, slipping my shoes off before I start tromping through the sand.

  Just a few houses down, I find the group sitting together under a canopy. At least they’re protected from the sun.

  As I get closer, I start counting and realize that there are only three girls in the group and at least four guys.

  Someone’s missing, and it only takes a moment to realize the gang is short one sexy brunette.

  Where the fuck is Riley?

  My blood pressure skyrockets as I look back to the yellow beach house behind them, wondering if she went inside with one of these fuckers. If so, I will go in there and drag her ass out!

  “Dad?” Sara says, raising her sunglasses to the top of her head as I approach.

  “Is she in there?” I ask through gritted teeth, pointing over to the house that I’m ready to charge into.

  “Who?” Sara asks wrinkling her brow in confusion.

  Fuck. I need to calm the hell down and stop acting like a jealous lunatic. Otherwise I should just go ahead and hire a plane to write, “I fucked Riley” in the sky.

  “Aren’t you one girl short?” I ask more calmly, taking deep breaths to try and bring my anger down a few notches.

  “Riley’s back at the house,” one of the other girls with short brown hair speaks up. Her amber eyes seem to hold more understanding in them than I like. “She wasn’t feeling good this morning,” the girl adds.

  “Oh,” I mutter in relief, before my anger switches over to worry, hoping she’s not sick. “Well, you girls don’t know these boys so you shouldn’t go in their house.” I’m beginning to sound like a pain in the ass father in front of their friends, so I add, “You can all come back to the house if you want.”

  “Thanks, Dad, but we’re fine,” Sara grits out. Looking away, she lowers her sunglasses over her eyes, effectively dismissing me.

  “Good. Glad you’re all safe,” I reply, before turning around to head back to the house. I’m pretty sure I hear the dickhead with the dog ask, “Are you all sisters?” Most likely because Riley told him I was her father as a joke.

  Back at the house, I go straigh
t up to her bedroom and find her door open. I raise my hand to knock but freeze when I see Riley. She’s stretched out on top of the covers, asleep, like she wasn’t planning to take a nap but drifted off right then and there, her cell phone still in hand.

  Stepping back out into the hallway, I grab a fleece blanket from the linen closet and take it back into her room to cover her up. She doesn’t even stir.

  Before I leave her, I can’t resist easing my palm down over her forehead just to make sure she’s not feverish, after one of the girls said she didn’t feel good. Her temperature is perfect, so I leave her room that still smells like our sex from the night before and tell myself not to go back.

  Chapter Seven

  Riley

  I wake up after what I’m certain was a century-long nap, feeling well-rested for the first time since I can remember. The sun is still up, shining through the bedroom’s glass door that I keep the blinds open on for one particular reason, so I must not have been out too long.

  When I roll over to look out at the ocean, I notice the soft, blue and white blanket draped over me. Either one of the girls came in here while I was passed out, or…

  The house is silent, so Sara, Allison, and Cheryl must still be on the beach. Does that mean that Brody is home?

  I roll out of bed and freshen up in the bathroom, brushing my hair and washing my face to wake myself up before I go and look for him.

  Pots and pans rattling around in the kitchen tell me where he is.

  Brody’s back is to me as he washes dishes, his gray tee molding to the muscles of his upper body, and his shorts are similar to the ones I took off him last night. I could stand here and watch his backside all day, although I would rather he be naked while I did it.

  “Hey,” I eventually say in greeting before he sees me just standing there, staring.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he gives me a quick onceover and then turns back to his chore. “Hey. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “No, you didn’t.” I climb up on one of the wooden stools at the bar.

  Brody switches off the water and reaches for a dish towel, drying his hands before he turns around and faces me, resting his back against the counter.

  “I owe you an apology for last night,” he starts, without making eye contact.

  “Damn, right you do,” I mutter, causing his gaze to finally lift to mine. “Please, continue,” I tell him with a wave of my hand.

  “That’s not me. I’m not sure what got into me and I’m sorry for being too rough when we were, well, you know.”

  That’s not exactly the apology I was expecting. “In case you didn’t notice, my four orgasms were all the proof you needed that I like it a little rough.”

  Brody’s sea green eyes widen. “Oh,” he mumbles. “Either way, I shouldn’t have pursued you, so I hope we can move past that while you’re here the rest of the week.”

  “Nope. Uh-uh,” I say, not letting him off that easy. “You still haven’t apologized for being an asshole.”

  His lips part as his brow furrows. “But you just said…”

  “Not the sex, but how you acted after it was over,” I prompt, raising my eyebrows.

  “Right. That.” He clears his throat while studying the floor. “I was angry and disappointed in myself for my lack of restraint, so I may have taken it out on you.”

  “Ya think?” I scoff sarcastically. “I would never tell anyone, and it’s not like you took advantage of me. I’m a big girl, Brody.”

  He looks up at the sound of his name and flashes me a smile that could melt polar icecaps. “Guess you finally figured out my name, huh?”

  “You could’ve just told me your first name any time over the past two days, but I think you like it when I call you…something else.”

  Brody’s smile disappears and his eyes darken, telling me that if I were to put my hand down his shorts, I would find him getting hard.

  Good, so he does still want me; he’s just being stubborn.

  Turning his back to me, maybe even to hide his arousal, he says, “Let’s try and forget that happened. I’m sure the girls will be back soon.”

  “I bet they will,” I agree easily. “A shame too,” I say, baiting my hook. “With no one else here, we could’ve been as loud as we wanted.” Brody’s back tenses as I cast my line. “But then you said it wouldn’t happen again so, oh well.”

  “No, they could walk in any second,” Brody replies, bracing his hands on the sink counter with his head bowed, trying to talk himself out of it. Too bad he’s already circling, nipping at the bait. All I have to do is get him to sink his teeth in so that I can reel my line in.

  “If only there were a way to watch for them coming down the beach while you make me scream your name,” I say, knowing he’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about. Please don’t let him reject me.

  Chuckling, his back still to me, he looks up at the ceiling and asks, “How is it that you already know all the right things to say to break me?”

  Thank God! The breath I was holding whooshes out in relief.

  “Are we gonna waste time talking about it or just do it already?” I ask him as I climb down from my stool, that certain of his answer. He wants to fuck me again. And I want him inside me, giving me more orgasms so I can feel some sort of happiness, even if it’s only temporary.

  When Brody turns around and faces me, his cock is trying to rip open his zipper.

  “You’re on birth control, right?” he asks.

  Of course he wants to fuck me without any barriers between us. Now I know just how amazing it feels without a condom too, and I want to do it again. Brody’s the first person I’ve given permission to come inside me, and only because I trust him. He seems like an incredibly responsible man. He is a father, after all.

  That’s why I tell him with a hint of sass, “Yes, sir. I’ve been on the shot for several months and tested for everything. So, don’t worry, you can come inside me all you want.”

  “I would put you on your knees and fuck that smart mouth but since we’re short on time, I would rather make you scream,” Brody says as he starts for me. “Just one more time?”

  “Sure, one more time,” I say, even if the words burn my throat because I want more. Or at least, I want him to want more.

  When he’s right in front of me, he reaches for my ass with both hands as his mouth crashes down on mine, hot and needy as he lifts me off my feet and against his hard body. I wind my arms around his neck and wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to my bedroom. He doesn’t stop until my back hits the smooth, cool surface of the sliding glass door. The position is perfect for lining up his bulge with my core. We moan into each other’s mouths before he pulls his lips away to kiss down my neck. I know he’s uncovered my mouth because he wants to hear me loud and clear while we have the chance. Is that the only reason he agreed to a second time?

  “Your skin tastes like sunshine,” he tells me as he lifts my shirt over my head, bringing his mouth down to my nipple and sucking on it. Pulling back, he flicks his tongue over it rapidly, making me moan, and reminding me of how it felt to have his tongue between my legs. “Which bikini did you wear today?” he asks, moving over to show my right nipple the same treatment.

  “Pink.” I throw my head back against the window. “Full bottoms,” I add, knowing that’s what he’s asking, wondering if I wore the thong.

  “Good,” he replies, biting on my nipple gently. “I would burn that thong but I want to see it on you again. Now lower your legs so I can get to your pussy.”

  Not needing to be told twice, I put my feet on the floor. Brody yanks on the front elastic waistband of my shorts, tugging them and my panties to the floor in one swift move. I quickly step out of them while he strips off his clothes.

  In broad daylight, Brody looks even bigger and better naked. From his wide shoulders, arms the size of boulders, a chest and stomach carved from granite to accentuate each and every line, he has all of the possible muscles a man can
have. His cock bounces up, thick and proud from between his thick legs. Then there’s his face, framed by dirty blond hair that’s a little longer and messy on top, a scruffy beard that makes him even more masculine, and his piercing light green eyes with dark lashes. Ones currently heavy lidded as he admires every inch of me.

  “Gorgeous,” he whispers before both of his strong hands reach around to squeeze my ass and heft me up against his body again, like I weigh no more than a rag doll. Resting my back against the glass door, he tells me, “Get your pussy wet for me.”

  “It already is,” I reply, but I slip my fingers between our bodies to play with myself.

  “Show me,” Brody orders.

  Using the wetness on my fingers, I rub the head of his red, swollen cock, making his eyes slam closed and he releases a hiss through his teeth, as if he’s in agony.

  “Give me a taste,” he says, when his lust-filled eyes slant open again.

  I plunge two fingers back into my wetness before I pull them free and press them to Brody’s lips. His tongue darts out and licks them one slow time before his lips cover them.

  “Mmm,” he moans, his eyes fluttering closed again while he sucks off my juices.

  I should feel ashamed or embarrassed by his response, but I’m not. All I am is so damn horny.

  “Fuck,” Brody curses suddenly before he glances out at the beach over my shoulder. And I just know that our time is up.

  “Are they back?” I ask, trying to look over behind me, but then we’re moving and Brody is sitting me down on top of the mirrored, lowboy dresser.

  “No. I just realized that I need to lick your pussy at least once when you don’t have to keep quiet,” he explains before he goes down on his knees, his eyes in line with where I want his mouth to be. “Now put your feet flat on the dresser and spread your legs wide open for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply as I do as he asks to give him full access. I wrap my arms around my legs to keep myself open in offering.