STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1)

From the back of my neck, his hand travels along my jaw where his thumb strokes my cheek tenderly. Seductively, he removes his lips from mine and then traces his thumb along them, his stare full of heat.

  “Touch me, Paisley. Run your hands up and down my chest. Explore my body. I know you fucking want to.”

  He is right. I want nothing more than to trace every ridge and divot in his abdomen, to feel his taut and toned skin under my fingers, to know what it’s like to grip his length in my hand, and make him lose all common sense by the pull of desire.

  My entire body is tingling, there is a rapid thump in my core, begging me to proceed, to just take one peek down below, just this one.

  Not answering him, I take a deep breath and glance at his erection, standing tall and thick, ready to be stroked.

  Fuck me.

  Losing all abandon, I float my hands behind his head and pull him closer to me, mingling our mouths together once more. He groans, pleased with my decision, and wraps his hand in my hair once again, yanking on the sensitive strands so my mouth is pulled open. He proceeds to crush his lips against mine, feeding off my intensity.

  His hair is soft, thick, the curls wrap delicately around my fingers, while his beard is a complete contradiction, rough and unforgiving against my chin and my lips. I welcome the burn, the small abrasions, the rough to my soft.

  I get lost in him, in his touch, in his aggressive mouth, in the little groans escaping his lips.

  Needing more, I continue to let him take over my mouth while I move my hands south, to his erection that is pushing against my thigh. In one swoop, I capture his length in my palm, causing him to freeze in place and then melt against me.

  He’s rigid, yet soft. His girth is thick, unyielding, and his length has me questioning the tiny Speedos he wears in a pool daily.

  “Fuck . . . fuck,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing heavy.

  Unsure of what I’m doing, but knowing I need to taste him, I slide down his body and drop to my knees. He’s propping his body against the door behind me, his feet spread now, welcoming my new position.

  At eye level, I take in his cock, perfectly hard, straight with a slight curve leaning toward the sky, making my mouth water. He’s shaven, not bare, but short, showing that he still is a man, if I didn’t realize that already by the giant cock sitting in front of me.

  “Paisley,” he groans.

  Taking that as an indication of how impatient he is, I glide my hands up his thighs and grip his balls with my left, squeezing just enough that he shifts his stance. With my right hand, I grip the base of his cock and prop it up just enough for my tongue to run along his length.

  The minute I taste him, my mind goes blank and my mouth takes over. I run my tongue along the underside of his cock, from the very top to the base, where I flick his squeezed balls.

  “Christ.” I glance up to see one of his hands covering his face, his control slipping—one lick at a time.

  Satisfied, I continue to lick my way back up to his tip, and circle the head, once, twice, three times and then descend my entire mouth over his dick, sucking him into the back of my throat, letting his length fill me.

  “Jesus. Fuck, Paisley.”

  I don’t let up. I’m relentless. I match every suck of his cock with a stroke of my hand—my mouth and hand work together in tandem—pumping Reese to the brink of his orgasm. His body straightens and he tangles himself in my hair, gripping me tightly.

  “I’m going to come, Paisley,” he announces, but I don’t stop. I take that as a cue to dive down harder, never letting up until he’s moaning my name, pulling on my hair and releasing himself deep in my throat. “Motherfucker,” he groans just as his fist hits the door behind me.

  I wipe my mouth and stand up, still trapped between him and the door. His eyes have a heady feel, sleepy and satisfied. His entire body is relaxed, as if he just dropped a two-hundred-pound piece of luggage he’s been carrying around for months.

  With a goofy grin on his face, his hand cups my cheek and brings my lips to his, and he gently kisses them, passionately twines my tongue with his, slowly and methodically making out with me, sending chills once again down my body.

  Between kisses, I hear my phone start to ring, breaking the silence that rests between us. I pull away and look down at my bag. “I have to get that.”

  “Are you serious?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I bend down to my purse and find my phone. Without looking at the caller ID because I’m in such a daze I answer. “Hello?”

  “Hey sweetness.”

  “Hey Jonathan,” I say before thinking what comes out of my mouth. I glance up at Reese who now has anger in his eyes.

  “Are you coming home for dinner?”

  Have you ever answered your phone in front of someone else and known right then and there that the volume is too loud on your phone, and the other person can hear everything the person on the phone is saying? Yeah, that’s happening to me right now. I fumble with my phone to turn the volume down, to only turn it up.

  “I made dinner for us.”

  A dangerous tick in Reese’s jaw starts throbbing as he grinds his teeth, his hazel eyes so dark I can no longer see the gold flecks that speckle his irises.

  “Um, yup. Just have to drop some things off, then I’ll be back. See you soon.” I hang up before Jonathan can say anything else.

  I loop my arm through my purse, tuck my phone away, and stand back up. Reese now has his towel wrapped back around him and every muscle in his body has tightened with anger.

  “Who the fuck was that?” he hisses at me.

  “That was Jonathan—”

  “Are you fucking someone else and didn’t tell me? If you have a boyfriend, Paisley, you could have mentioned that before you went and sucked me off.”

  Like a slap to the face, his words insult me. Does he really think so poorly of me that I would drop down to my knees in front of him while I have a boyfriend back home, making dinner for me?

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fuck!” he shouts, running both of his hands through his hair, curls springing from his fingers. “Do you understand what you’re doing to me, Paisley? I can’t fucking concentrate on my swimming, as you’re all I can think about, and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me you’re in a relationship? At least I was open and honest with you.” He pauses and turns to me. “Did you at least have fun? Sucking off The Silver Stroke? Are you going to go brag about it now?”

  That’s it. I don’t take much crap from people, no matter how gorgeously hot they are. Without thinking, I slap him across the face, this time meaning to hit him.

  “Fuck you, Reese, and your asinine assumptions. Jonathan is my roommate; we make dinner for each other when the other is not home yet. He was just calling to see if I was going to be home, not that I have to explain any of this to you.” I grab the handle of the door and open it. Before leaving I look back at him, his hand is to his face and his eyes sorrowful. “This wasn’t what I wanted, you were the one who pushed me, so don’t blame me for your inability to get your head out of your ass and swim. It’s not my damn fault.”

  With that, I left, leaving behind a satisfied, yet abandoned Reese King.

  ***

  “What an arrogant prick,” I mumble to myself, opening the door to my apartment. Maybe I misjudged him.

  I spent the entire drive from Reese’s beachfront property to my crappy inner-city apartment stewing over the irritating, irrational, yet gorgeously attractive man. How dare he think so poorly of me that I would allow him to kiss me when I have another man at home. I know my general appearance doesn’t read virginal saint, but never in my life have I been a cheater, and I don’t plan on starting now.

  “You’re home,” Jonathan calls out from the kitchen. “I made chicken and broccoli casserole.”

  Mentally exhausted, I drop my items at the front door to be picked up later and head to the kitchen. Jonathan isn’t wearing a shirt, only a pa
ir of khaki shorts—his boxer briefs poking out from underneath—and oven mitts cover his hands.

  “Where is your shirt?” I ask, flopping the upper half of my body on the counter, too tired to hold myself up.

  “In the hamper. I pumped it up at the gym today, wanted to flex my muscles for you.” And he does just that, impersonating an early eighties Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  “Wow, very impressive,” I deadpan.

  He stops mid-flex and straightens up. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Drawing closer he examines my face and says, “Why are your chin and cheeks all red?”

  Instinctively my hand caresses my skin and I think about the beard that was just rubbing against it.

  Shit.

  “Uh, sunburn probably,” I lie. “It was really hot out today, and I guess I didn’t apply sunscreen properly. That’s what happens when you’re running around a production shoot, trying to accommodate your prima donna boss.”

  He eyes me skeptically, and I try not to wilt under his stare. Letting up, he rounds the corner and pulls me into a hug, his warm chest pressing against my beard-burned cheek. As Jonathan hugs me tightly, his muscles wrapping around me, I’m reminded of the man I’d been kissing passionately only minutes ago.

  Oh my God. I made out with Reese King.

  Better yet, I gave him a blow job.

  In his entryway . . .

  On his welcome mat.

  I’m that girl.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I feel compelled to give in to his temptation, let alone place his dick in my mouth?

  I told myself if I gave in, this could end terribly. Jonathan warned me to stay away, and what did I do? Did I listen? Ohhhhh no. That would be too easy to listen to reasonable logic.

  Nope, I like to torture myself, make things complicated.

  So, I dropped to my knees and sucked the man off.

  And holy hell, I loved every last minute of it. And you know what? If Jonathan hadn’t called, I would have probably sat on Reese’s face and asked him to return the favor. What kind of person did that make me?

  A horny and desperate one.

  “I’m sorry you have to deal with Bellini, but I’ve heard great things about your swim idea. Jasper was raving about it to Wally on a conference call. You’re making an impact, sweetness. You just have to hang in there. This will open doors for you, I promise.”

  Guilt weighs heavily on me. Jonathan stuck his neck out for me and here I am, fooling around on the job, something he told me not to do.

  But for the life of me, I can’t stop. I can’t keep my eyes off Reese. I can’t help but be drawn to his swagger, his athletic stature, his captivating hazel eyes, or the way he gazes at me, as if I’m the only woman on this planet, one who’s been made for him.

  And then there is his voice, rasping into my ear, begging me to touch him, asking me to finally give in.

  I’m confused, frustrated, and horny for the one man I should stay away from.

  Tears well in my eyes from the emotions building inside me, and Jonathan pulls away from me just in time to see them.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, wiping away the tears that stain my cheeks with his oversized oven mitts.

  I shake my head, my throat tight with remorse, unable to speak.

  The timer goes off in the background, indicating the casserole is done. Taking a quick look at me, his lips quirk to the side in concern, and then he retreats to the kitchen to pull out dinner. A wave of heat floods the small space and a cheese-coated baking dish is pulled from the oven. Jonathan turns off the timer and the oven and then pivots in my direction, both hands mitt-less and pressing against the counter in front of him.

  “Why are you so upset right now?”

  Jonathan has been my best friend for years. He’s been the one person I’ve relied on ever since I left my family in Temecula. He’s been my backbone, my cheerleader, and I’ve never lied to him, but ever since I took this job, I haven’t been able to tell him the truth.

  I’ve been unable to confess my feelings about Reese and the way he consumes every last inch of my body, how he makes me feel, like I’m the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, or how he refuses to let up on his pursuit, how he’s worn me down to the point that I’m weak around him, unable to stay away.

  “Paisley, why aren’t you talking to me?”

  I hate that look in his eyes, a part of me thinks he knows what’s going on. He’s perceptive and can read me like a book. I kind of wish he would just say it and get it over with.

  I clear my throat and say, “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” My confession is on the tip of my tongue. All I want to do is get this heavy weight off my shoulders, but then Jonathan’s disappointment would be too strong, so I chicken out. “I’m on my period.”

  “Eh, gross, Paisley. Damn, we’ve talked about this.” He turns his back to me and starts grabbing dishes from the cabinet. “We don’t talk about womanly problems.”

  Offended, even though I’m not on my period, I defend all womenkind. “Don’t say gross. It’s a natural process of the human body—”

  “No, the human body would include men. You don’t see us bleeding out of our buttholes.”

  “Um, that’s called hemorrhoids.”

  He shakes his head. “This conversation is ending. We are not talking about menstruation, womanly things, or hemorrhoids while we eat this rockin’ casserole. You hear me?”

  He puts two plates on the kitchen bar with two cups of green tea. Pulling up a stool next to me, he sits down and starts digging into his dinner, blowing viciously on the steaming casserole before he sticks it in his mouth.

  “I have a girl coming over tonight, hope that’s okay.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to ask me every time.”

  “I do when I’m kicking you out of the living room. You’re going to have to spend the night in your room.”

  “I don’t care,” I say, blowing on some food. “I’m probably going to go to bed early anyway. Long day out in the sun wore me out.”

  “Good news for me.” He raises his fork in triumph.

  “But can you please just make sure to keep all your mingling private parts in your bedroom?”

  He thinks about it for a second before answering. “Just because you’ve already seen my penis this morning, I will keep sexual intercourse to the bedroom.”

  “You’re so kind,” I respond sarcastically.

  We spend the rest of the evening eating dinner together, talking about the girl Jonathan is having over for a Netflix and chill. He says he plans on actually trying to watch some Netflix, but by the fresh shower smell coming off him and the fact he’s eating dinner with me, I’m pretty positive we are looking at a certified booty call.

  I help Jonathan clean up and then grab my purse from the entryway and head back to my bedroom, which thankfully is on the opposite side of the apartment from Jonathan’s, while he preps the living room. The minute I get into my bedroom, I hear the knock at the door, followed by Jonathan saying, “Hey sexy. Glad you found the place.”

  The man is a whore, a glorified, no-questions-asked manwhore.

  I get ready for bed in record time, slipping on a pair of boy shorts and a loose tank top—thanks to the hot night—and flop onto the white fluffy comforter that adorns my bed. It feels like a cloud in the middle of the sky, sucking me into relaxation.

  Not quite ready to shut my eyes, I grab my phone from my purse and I’m instantly assaulted by a barrage of text messages and missed calls from Reese. My immediate reaction is to read them, coo over them, and swoon like a teenage girl in the nineties attending her first New Kids on the Block concert.

  But I refrain . . . for two seconds, and then I open them.

  Listen, I have no will. NONE!

  Reese: Paisley, I’m sorry. Will you please come back so I can talk to you?

  Reese: Clearly you’re not answering your phone. I need to talk to you, Paisley. I was an ass and overreacted.

  R
eese: Please, Paisley. I need to talk to you.

  Reese: If you’re not going to talk to me, then I will have to come see you.

  My heart stops in my chest as I read the next text message. He can’t come here. Jonathan would lose his shit, probably de-friend me, in real life and on Facebook, the ultimate disconnection of friendship. I’m about to hyperventilate when I realize, he has no clue where I live. I heave a sigh of relief and look at the last text message.

  Reese: Lucky for me, I have some awesome connections. I’m headed over to your apartment right now.

  I jackknife out of bed and run around in place, unsure of what to do. There is no way he’s coming over, right? He’s just messing with me, trying to get me to talk to him. He’s bluffing.

  From behind my closed door, I can hear Jonathan and his girl laughing at something and I wonder what the hell he would do if he saw Reese King standing at our apartment door, looking to come in for a little chat.

  Jonathan would kill me.

  Yup, he would slaughter me in my sleep, shove me through the wood chipper, pretty much rip my nips off and feed them to a wild pack of mangy dogs.

  I check the time on the text message and realize it was quite a while ago.

  “Shit.” I look around, wondering what I should do. He can’t possibly be serious, right?

  My phone dings with a text message. With one eye open, cringing, I look down to see Reese’s name pop up on my phone. Frantically, I open the text message and read it as fast as I can.

  Reese: Headed up the stairs to your apartment.

  “Fuck!” I say, a little too loudly. I text him back, my fingers flying faster than I can think

  Paisley: Book do t co rui here

  I look down at my text and swear. “Fuck you, phone!” I try again.

  Paisley: Boom do t co evil here

  “Dammit!” I shout, hating my frantic fingers. Before I can type another response, a text from Reese swoops in.

  Reese: I think you’re trying to tell me something, but I can’t really tell what it is.