STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1)

  “She’s not here,” I answer curtly.

  “She’s coming though,” Melony says. “I talked to her about it today. When I left Bellini earlier, she was still there, addressing envelopes to celebrities for the fashion show Bellini is putting on later in the year.”

  “Fashion show?” Hollis asks. “What is she going to show off? Different colored sweater sets?”

  “Dog fashion show,” Melony answers. “She’s created a line of religious wear for dogs. She’s gathering auditions now for models.”

  “Dog models?” Hollis asks, not quite comprehending the idea.

  “Dude, you know she’s fucking insane. Why do you even try to understand?” I ask, walking into the kitchen to grab a beer. Fuck it. It’s light. It won’t kill me to have one.

  “What if I want Taco to walk in the show? Might be a good opportunity for my little Chihuahua to get some exposure. You know I’ve been thinking about breaking her into the acting side of dog careers.”

  “You have a Chihuahua?” Melony asks Hollis.

  He sidles up next to her, his interest in her clear. “If you actually let me take you out on a date like I’ve been asking for a while now, you would know that.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I told you, Hollis. I don’t date.”

  “What about a late-night fuck? I’m sure you do those.”

  She sizes up his six-foot stature. “Not with men who drink light beers and own dogs smaller than a cat.”

  “Ouch.” Hollis feigns hurt as I laugh.

  “She’s got a point, man.”

  “So if I drank Guinness and had a St. Bernard, where would we stand?”

  A smart smile peeks past Melony’s lips. “Then I would probably be taking you to the back of Reese’s house right now to give you what you want.”

  “Hell,” Hollis mumbles, pulling out his phone and typing away.

  “What are you doing?” Melony laughs, trying to take a peek at his screen.

  “Searching to see if an Amazon drone will deliver a St. Bernard and a six-pack of Guinness to me right now.”

  “Pretty sure those drones don’t carry dogs, man.”

  “But what if they did?” There is hope in his eyes. The man can be beyond ridiculous at times.

  “I’m going to start getting dinner ready, why don’t you two go enjoy the sunset outside?”

  Taking another sip of beer, I slip into the kitchen and listen as Hollis and Melony walk out to the pool area, talking about Hollis’s dog, Taco, and why he found it necessary to name him after a Mexican delight.

  I purchased four steaks, some zucchini and summer squash to cook on the grill with hopes that Paisley would be lounging on one of my chairs, keeping me company. But by the looks of it, I’ll have to listen to Hollis try to score a date with Melony, a task he’s been working on for six months now.There is something about Melony that screams “no relationships.” I don’t know much of her background, but what I do know is she wants nothing to do with Hollis despite his endless attempts.

  And it’s not like he’s a bad-looking guy. He’s done a few modeling jobs as well, always wearing his hair longer on top and flexing to get attention. It works for him. If I tried such a thing I would look like a giant dickhead.

  After I wash the squash and zucchini in the sink, I dry them off with a towel and take them over to my cutting board. Memories of Paisley using my cutting board flood my mind, reminding me of how close I got to her that day I found her on the beach. It was the first time I actually got to wrap my arms around her.

  “Need help with that?”

  That voice stops my hands from chopping the vegetables in front of me. I set the knife down and look up to see Paisley leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, wearing a red sundress. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and her cleavage is on display.

  Fuck. Me.

  “Hey, handsome.” She smiles, walking toward me.

  My stomach sinks to the floor from the mere sight of her. My addiction, standing right in front of me, waiting to feed the need I have for her to be in my arms.

  “Where’ve you been?” I ask, leaning against the counter and playing it cool even though I want to maul her right about now.

  “Developing carpal tunnel,” she answers, standing in front of me and running her hands up the front of my chest and then wrapping them around my neck.

  I grip her hips, settling her between my slightly spread legs. “It better be from writing and not something else.”

  Her eyebrow rise in question. “And what might that other thing be?”

  “The thing you did for me on FaceTime the other night.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  She wants to play with fire, fine by me. I lower my head to her ear and say, “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You better not have finger-fucked yourself without me around.”

  “And what if I did?” she shoots back, her body moving in close to mine.

  “Then there is no need for my services.”

  “You’re right, there isn’t.” She taps my cheek and pushes away but not before I can rein her back in.

  “I missed you,” I state, dropping the act. “You don’t return text messages now?”

  “You becoming an obsessive boyfriend now?”

  Fucking sassy woman and her comebacks.

  “Is that what I am, your boyfriend?” I ask in a teasing way but not before her face falls flat in question.

  “Um, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “And how did you mean it?”

  “You know, like . . . my boyfriend.” She does some weird contortion with her body and hands, as if she’s saying “my homey.” It doesn’t work for her.

  “I don’t like what you’re doing right now.” I chuckle.

  “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and tries to pull away once again, and this time I let her go.

  Turning around, I tend to the vegetables, chopping them precisely like I started before while I listen to her huff behind me, grabbing a drink from the fridge. I can feel her irritation from my avoidance of the word but I want her to bring it up again. Not because I’m a dick, but because I like playing around with her. I like it when she’s feisty.

  “Are you just going to stand there and chop things?” she asks, poking me in the back.

  “What would you like me to do?” I ask, talking over my shoulder.

  “Nothing.” She shakes her head and walks past me, heading for outside.

  Chuckling, I pull on her hand and twirl her into my chest. “You’re so damn stubborn, you know that?” I lift her chin and press a light kiss to her lips, loving the taste of her cherry ChapStick. “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”

  “Up to you,” she answers, her lips whispering against mine. “I’m neither here nor there about it.”

  “Oh, is that right? Seems like you are both here and there about it . . . if that makes sense.”

  “It doesn’t.” She laughs.

  “Just admit it, you want to be my girlfriend.”

  She shakes her head. “I will admit no such thing.”

  Pressing her up against the counter, I trap her body, igniting a flame between us. “Say it,” I demand softly, my nose running along her jaw. “Say you want to be my girlfriend, Paisley.”

  “Doesn’t . . . matter to me,” she answers breathlessly.

  Wanting her to admit it, I move my hand under her shirt and rub my thumb against her skin while I hover my mouth just above hers, barely a whisper between us.

  “Say it, Paisley, and I will be sure to treat you like my girlfriend tonight.”

  “How does that differ from any other night?”

  “Because,” I whisper, “when you’re my girlfriend, I will be the ever-pressing gentleman by letting you come first every time by driving my cock into you with such force you black out, only to cuddle the fuck out of you right after.”

  I hover, I don’t press my lips against hers until I hear
her say the words she wants to say, and I want to watch them come out of her mouth.

  “Say. It.”

  She looks up at me through her eyelashes, those steely greys cutting right through me. Licking her lips, she grips on to my sides and says very quietly, “I want to be your girlfriend.”

  “That’s fucking right.”

  Moving in that last inch, I capture her mouth with mine, reveling in her sweetness. She can be so edgy, so feisty at times, that I love the moments where she melts into me, shedding her hard exterior she wears on a daily basis.

  A low moan erupts up her throat as our tongues connect, our hands exploring more and our bodies lightly rubbing against each other, as if we’re trying to scratch a deep itch within our souls.

  “Dry humping is such a lost art, isn’t it, Melony?” Hollis asks, breaking the spell between Paisley and me.

  “I don’t know, I’ve have had some pretty good dry humping sessions recently.”

  “What?” Hollis questions while Paisley and I pull apart. I grip her hand in mine, entwining our fingers together. “I thought you said you don’t do sex things.”

  So prolific, my best friend.

  “I don’t do relationships,” Melony corrects him. “Dry humping and sex, now that’s a different story.”

  “I can do that for you.” Hollis sticks out his leg. “Go ahead, hump away.”

  “Dude, a shred of self-respect.”

  “He’s right,” Melony adds. “Maybe if you weren’t so desperate, I’d be more interested.”

  “So the fact that I’m a five-time Olympic gold medalist with a part-time modeling contract and a nice-sized bank account does nothing for you? I have to play hard to get to gather your interest? Well then, game on, baby.” He winks and then turns to me. “I’m hungry, jackass. Can you stop making out with Paisley and start grilling? I think this light beer is going to my head.”

  “Not surprised.” I reach behind my girl, grab the cutting board and steaks, and bring them out to the grill while everyone follows behind. Hollis and Melony—reluctantly—sit by the pool, their feet dangling in the water.

  Paisley comes up next to me and wraps her arm around my waist, looking up at me with pride in her eyes. I place the steaks on the grill, lower the hood, and then turn to her.

  “What’s that look for?” I ask, kissing her on the nose.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  I point to my chest. “Little old me?”

  “Yes, you.” She laughs and pinches my side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay through the entire meet.”

  “You already explained yourself.” I rest my palm on her cheek. “It’s fine.”

  “I still feel terrible. I really wanted to be there for you. Bellini was being a massive cad the entire time.”

  “No need to hash it out again, baby. Lucky for you, Bellini won’t be able to escape the games in Rio. Not only will the camera crew for the show be there, but, so will all the network cameras. She’s going to have to stay the entire time, and so will you. The trials weren’t that big of a deal. What really matters is what happens in Rio.”

  “Damn right!” Hollis calls out from his position. “The dorms better be nice this year.”

  “I heard they don’t have air conditioning,” Paisley says, stopping both Hollis and myself.

  “What?” we say at the same time.

  Wincing with regret from her statement, Paisley says, “Uh, I read an article about it the other day. They cut out air conditioning because of expenses.”

  “There will be no air conditioning, in Rio, during the summer?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  “No.”

  “What the hell!” Hollis shouts. “How do they expect us to survive with no air conditioning? We’re going to melt at night.”

  Melony deadpans, “Do you see why I won’t sleep with you? You’re too much of a lady.”

  “Because I demand to be comfortable at night? Well then, color me purple. Sorry that I would prefer to have a restful night’s sleep before a big competition. And you know what?” Hollis loops his fingers in his jeans. “Want me to prove I’m not a lady, I will give you an eyeful right here, right now.”

  “Not necessary,” Melony says, quickly covering her eyes.

  Cutting in before things get out of hand, Paisley adds, “I heard you could buy an air-conditioning unit for your room if you want, though.”

  Visibly Hollis and I relax. “Well, that will be the best money I ever spend.” Looking over at me, Hollis asks, “Steaks ready?”

  ***

  The moon shines through the white linen curtains blowing over my window. Paisley runs her fingertips along my stomach, and while her head is nestled on my chest, I play with her silky strands.

  Tonight was exactly what I needed: some fun with friends only to quickly kick them out after dinner so I could bury myself ball deeps in my girl. Her panting, the curse words that flew out of her mouth, the incoherent sounds she made while she was coming all over my cock, were not only memorable, but they are now ingrained in my mind.

  “Do you know what’s weird?” she asks.

  “Umm . . . that I already want to turn you over and fuck you from behind?”

  “No.” She laughs, slapping my chest lightly.

  “Hmm, that you want to get a tattoo of my face?” I kiss the top of her head. “That’s not weird at all, baby. I will give you a good picture to take to the artist.”

  “You’re so stupid.”

  “Mmm, not in the teasing mood?” I ask, nuzzling her hair, taking in her intoxicating scent. “Fine, what’s weird?”

  “Whenever I smell chlorine, I get a flutter in my belly. The smell reminds me of you.”

  From the bottom of my belly a laugh erupts.

  “Why are you laughing at me?” Sitting up, her hand on my chest, her brow comes together. “It’s not funny.”

  “Calm your tits, baby. I’m not laughing at you. I’m just laughing at—”

  “At me,” she huffs.

  I can’t help the smirk that escapes me. “Fine, I’m laughing at you. But it’s cute, does that make you feel better?”

  “Last time I tell you something.”

  Flipping to the other side of the bed, she pulls the covers over her shoulder and faces away from me, boxing me out. It’s funny to me that she actually thinks turning away will stop me from talking or touching her. Scooting to her side, I palm her stomach and with one swift yank, pull her into my chest. I land my head over hers and kiss her cheek.

  “Are you looking for attention, baby? I can give you attention, just tell me where.” I kiss her cheek, down her neck, and rest on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. With a nip, I get her attention.

  “Stop that,” she says with a light tone. “You can’t try to charm me with your sexual ways.”

  “Well, how the hell else am I supposed to charm you then?”

  “Maybe with your mind.” The pompous but humorous tone doesn’t escape me.

  I pull away from her and rest on the mattress, my hands behind my head and my gaze at the ceiling. “My mind, huh? What a novel idea. All right, how’s this? About one hundred people choke on ballpoint pens every year.”

  Nailed it!

  Slowly, Paisley turns around, pulling on her ear slightly, confusion written all over her face. “What did you just say?”

  “People choke on pens.”

  “Why is that something you would tell me?”

  “You told me to charm you with my mind. So I told you a fact. Chicks dig smart guys.”

  She shakes her head, turning completely around to face me, the sheet falling just above the crest of her breasts. “Not guys full of useless facts.”

  “Useless?” I repeat, insulted. Sitting up, using my elbows to prop my body up, I say, “How is that useless? It’s far from useless, more like a public service announcement. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “How is that?”

  I think about my answer, giving myself time. “Next time you?
??re writing away in your little notepad and come to a halt, trying to figure out what else to write, and you find the need to bring the plastic flute up to your mouth for a little nibble, you will remember my VERY USEFUL factoid about choking on a ballpoint pen.”

  “I use felt-tip,” she counters, the smart-ass.

  I press my lips together. Shit, this girl can cut a man down at his knees. “Last time I share with you.” Pulling a Paisley, I turn to my side of the bed, this time boxing her out. See how she likes it. Too bad I can’t hide the smile that graces my lips.

  “Oh my God, are you really going to pout?”

  “My feelings have been hurt, I’m a wounded man, bleeding from my soul.”

  Hopping on my back and straddling my body, she laughs and says, “You’re so ridiculous.”

  I don’t budge. “Please, let me nurse my wounds in private. It’s the least you can do after castrating me with your comment.”

  “Well,” she hops off me and onto the bedroom floor, “guess I’ll head home then.”

  Damn her!

  Sprinting out of bed, I run after her, naked parts flying around my bedroom. Her giggle fills the room, and right before she escapes the bedroom, I hook her around her waist and pull her back to my bed, corralling her body with mine.

  Pinning her hands above her head, I say, “Why can’t I ever win with you?”

  “I’m smarter.” She winks. “It’s the jock in you.”

  “Hey now.” I chuckle. “I know things.”

  “Random, nonsensical pen facts.”

  Outraged with laughter, I say, “These facts save lives.”

  “I’m sure they do. All I can say is, thank God you’re pretty.”

  “Pretty?” I ask, a raise to my eyebrow.

  She raises her chin, sticking to her term. “Yeah, pretty.”

  “Not ruggedly handsome? Sexy? Some might say I have the body of a Greek god, but that’s just hearsay.”

  “I can’t stand you right now.” She chuckles.

  “That’s disappointing, because I was getting ready to lick the fuck out of your pussy, but I guess if you can’t stand me—”

  “On second thought.” She palms my head and pushes it down between her legs.

  “Fucking horny woman.”

  “Whatever.” She settles into the mattress. “You know you like it.”