Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel Read online

  "You could use the workout." Yes, he went there.

  "It's funny you mention that, chicken legs."

  "At least I have an excuse."

  "I am so done with you today once I get you up the stairs. In fact, I plan to throw you back down. And my husky build will give me the perfect leverage to do so."

  He let out a quick burst of laughter from his gut, betraying his asshole act.

  Eventually, we made it to his bedroom and he plopped his ass on the bed, ripping at the velcro on this moonboots and kicking them off.

  "You know I was just kidding, right? Your body is perfect. I needed to get you angry so your superhuman man-strength would come through. You almost turn green whenever I piss you off. Been exposed to any gamma rays recently?"

  "No it's okay, I'm not 5'11, 110 pounds like your usual pick of the litter," I said, picking up clothes he had left strewn on the floor. Slob.

  "Oh cut it out, that's what I'm mostly around, but that's not my preference. Besides you are grossly exaggerating, most girls with those stats are like 16 years old, and I know you think very lowly of me, but I don't mess with that."

  "So what is your ideal?" I asked nonchalantly. I knew I shouldn't follow him down this path, but he sparked my curiosity.

  "My type?" He leaned back against his palms, and thought for a second. "Slender but curvy. I love shapely legs and a tight ass. Perky, round tits. Natural ones." I looked over from the corner of my eye and he was eyeing me. I wasn't sure if he was just describing me to make me uncomfortable, or that I genuinely happened to be his type. "Brunette, height doesn't matter as long as it's not freakish in either direction. I like exotic types. Almond shaped eyes." His voice slowed with each criterion, as if his mind was drifting into a daydream or all his blood was transferring from his brain to his penis (the latter was more likely). Then he went silent. That's when I realized he had stealthily stood up and walked the three or four paces to stand behind me while I was bent over picking up a t-shirt from the floor.

  "You aren't supposed to be on your feet without the crutches!" I scolded, as if that was the only thing wrong with this situation.

  "Come shower with me." He ran his hand under my mini floral sundress. I shuddered as I stood up and felt his hardened cock on my back. He slid his hand over to my hip crease and then his other hand did the same on the other side, pressing me against him. Oh god, he has two hands now. Someone save me. "Come shower with me," he begged in my ear as he grazed it with his teeth. His voice changed, and something about the way he could do that, could go from silly and juvenile to throaty and sexy, lit me ablaze.

  "No," I said, pushing my ass further towards his groin. He lost his balance for a second since his legs were weak, but he pushed back into me. One of his hands slid up from under my dress, flipping up the small ruffles at the hem, and slid up to my breast. Right then, I convinced myself I needed a do-over, I needed to know what it would feel like to have him eye-to-eye, both hands on me.

  He removed the hand from my thigh and brushed my hair away from my neck, teasing, kissing, biting softly. "I can feel how wet you are. Why do you feel the need to fight me?"

  "You know why," I said, giving him my neck. "Because you're a cock."

  "I'll give you my cock."

  "Case in point," I said as he ran his lips down my neck. I could hear him inhaling deeply, taking in my scent. "I know who you are. I had you pegged from the second we met. I am not one of your little whores."

  He slipped a finger inside of me. "You're not?"

  "Fuck you."

  "Absolutely."

  "You're such an asshole."

  "I know and that's why you want me to fuck you."

  I spun around. "You're just a pretty face Heath. It would serve you to shut the fuck up."

  He sneered and shoved his face into mine, our lips never lost contact as he plopped back onto the bed. I clawed at his shirt whipping it off over his head as he pulled down the top of my dress.

  "Keep it on," he said. I realized we weren't going to make it to the shower. He grabbed my ass and hoisted me on top of him, grunting like an animal as I rubbed myself on his cock. We were kissing hard, like we wanted to injure each other. He squeezed my ass painfully, but all it did was make me press against his body harder. It's like I wanted to get back at him for something by fucking him, although that made no logical sense. I wrapped my legs around his waist and in one explosive move I was under him. I was surprised at how agile he was considering he was not even close to his old self.

  "I'm going to fuck the smartass out of you." He looked genuinely frustrated as his brow formed a glisten of sweat. He nearly tore his belt buckle open, and ferociously unbuttoned his jeans .

  "Good luck," I said as he pulled my thong so hard to the side, I heard a tear.

  "You know what to do."

  "Whuh?"

  "Tell me you want it. I'm not going to give it to you otherwise." He had his thick, long dick in his hands, and he was sliding the smooth tip along my wet lips.

  "No, you arrogant prick."

  "He pushed it in a little past the lips, right the to point of entry. I was so ready, I thought he might accidentally slip in. The thought crossed my mind again to be try and be responsible, but at this point that ship had sailed. I wanted to feel him inside of me again, no barriers.

  I grabbed his ass, tried to push him in but he resisted. "You're not going to walk away from this like and pretend it's all my fault. Tell me you want it."

  "Yes! Yes, just fuck me for god's sake!"

  And he plunged in deep, hard, I cried out, digging my nails into shoulders.

  "Fucking son of a bitch," he called out when he sunk into me.

  He bit my bottom lip and tugged on it. Again, we were all hands and hair, groans and curses, pain and pleasure. He bit the pale flesh of my breasts, filled his hands with one, sucked and tugged on the nipple with his teeth using the perfect amount of pressure. "Your pussy is so wet," he groaned in my ear. "God, your pussy feels so good," he said burying his face in my neck in defeat.

  "Fuck me," I demanded. I wanted him hard, I wanted him so hard that he might hurt me. That way, I wouldn't want to do this again. "Your dick, it..."

  "Tell me."

  "It feels so good in my pussy. Harder."

  The thrusting was violent, I thought I might see bruises tomorrow, but it was what I needed. I needed him hard and fast so that I would forget I was sleeping with someone I promised myself I wouldn't.

  Then he pulled some acrobatic shit.

  He wrapped his arm around my torso, the other supported my thigh, as my legs were already wrapped around his waist, and lifted up onto his knees. I was completely suspended, he was the only thing or person I was touching. My weight on him only plunged him deeper inside of me.

  "God!" I called out.

  "He can't save you now," he said, squeezing my thigh so hard I grunted from the thrill.

  "Oh fuck Heath...oh god," I called out as I grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled his face out of my neck, sliding my tongue into his mouth. He kissed me ferociously, while nodding, as if telling me it was okay to let go. His hips thrust back and forth bouncing me up and down, I could hear our flesh flapping and the sounds of moisture whenever our skin met. His grunts got deeper, throatier. His cock swelled inside of me.

  "I'm gonna come Sadie..."

  "Come, come inside of me," I called out just before the waves of heat and tension rolled away from the epicenter of my pussy. Who is this person? It's like I was possessed by his demon cock. I buried my head into his neck, and his delicious scent filled the air around me.

  He let out a loud groan as he held me close, my soft breasts pressing against his slick, firm chest. He collapsed on top of me, panting, sweating. It felt nice, laying there with him so close, but I knew I couldn't lay there for much longer. That would make it a thing, which we were not. We could talk and be friends, or we could fuck, but we couldn't do both at the same time because that would make what we were doin
g a thing. And we were not a thing.

  But he was large and he was on top of me, and part of me felt like he was doing this on purpose as part of some little mental game. So I came up on my elbows, signaling that he should release me before he fell into some sort of post-sex coma. He rested his chin on my chest. All that was left of the accident on his face was the tiniest cute scar above his lip, which I was sure would fade away within the coming months.

  "Before you go. I need to know."

  "Know what?"

  "Who was it? What did he do?"

  I knew exactly who he was referring to. I had him pegged from the start, but he pegged me too.

  "Just tell me one thing. So I can understand: Who was the asshole who made you hate assholes like me?"

  I thought at least it gave us something to discuss, and it was my key to freedom. Strangely, I also felt he had a right to know. The truth was, there were quite a few assholes, as I seemed to have an unhealthy addiction to the attractive, cocky type. But there was the one man who I thought was different. The other guys, I knew what I was dealing with, but the one who really fucked me up was the person I allowed myself to fully trust. I foolishly thought he would change for me, but instead, he broke me.

  I sighed, trying to blurt it all out quickly in one breath, but it took at least two. The faster I got it out, the less it would hurt to tell, I hoped. "His name is Kenny--Kenneth. I had known him since high school. We were close friends, he was popular and a huge flirt. He didn't see anything in me other than friendship. That is until we got older and I wasn't a tomboy any longer. And finally, the guy I wrote about in my shitty diaries wanted me. I thought that because he had known me as a friend for so long it would be different. And I reeaaaally believed that for the nearly two years we were together," I said over a sarcastic laugh. "But I made the mistake of borrowing his phone and I learned of the women he had been seeing through almost the entire course of our relationship."

  Heath's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped.

  "I appreciated the extra dose of humiliation when I thought back to all the company parties I went to with him, where everyone but me knew he was sleeping around. Oh, I forgot to mention, we were planning our wedding when I found out. So, like I said, I know the type and I know people never change." The tone of my last sentence indicated I was done speaking about it.

  "Wow. I don't know whether to be insulted or honored that you would put me in the same category as that caliber of asshole," Heath sighed groggily.

  "Take it how you will. That's just the truth. Now you answer me one question."

  "What's that?"

  "How the hell did you lift me up like that without sending yourself back into the hospital?"

  He laughed under his breath. "My tibias were fractured, not my femurs. And if you were impressed by that, you have no idea."

  I snickered as he leaned over to the side, releasing me so I could continue my little ritual of forgetting this ever happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A few days later, I returned from a quick visit to my Nonna. I hadn't seen her in person since I came up to the Hamptons, but I spoke to her for a few minutes almost daily. I planned on bi-weekly visits, but with Heath being all broken, I couldn't just leave him locked in the bedroom for a few days while I headed to NYC.

  During my time away, I pretended to check in on Heath on a professional basis with courtesy texts. But really, I wondered if he was starting to call up all those people who had conveniently vanished now that I had left and he was alone in the house. I took solace in the fact that I knew him well enough to know he wasn't going out into the world in that way until he didn't need the moon boots and crutches to move around.

  I thought a few days away from Heath would be like some form of detox, but I found myself missing my life in the Hamptons. I chalked it up to the house and the beautiful beaches, but I knew there was a lot more to it than that.

  I dreamt about him every night.

  I headed back early that morning, convincing myself it was so that I could get back in time to grocery shop and catch up on things, but really it was because I just wanted to get back to the place that now felt like home. I arrived at about 8:30am, my heart beating through my chest as I drove past the bamboo and water fixtures. The day of Heath's cast removal was the last time we did anything, mainly because I was gone, but I was still really proud of this non-accomplishment. When I was in NYC, I spoke to Mindy briefly and I lied like a terrible human being. I emphatically told her how I regretted hooking up with Heath so much, and how it wasn't even worth it. But I was beginning to wonder if it wasn't. I mean, who needs dignity, right?

  I entered the house quietly, as we set up a downstairs bedroom for him in my absence so he could avoid the stairs and I thought he might still be asleep. As I tip-toed into the living room I heard the strum of an acoustic guitar and a voice singing outside somewhere behind the house. The voice was raspy and melodic. I assumed Heath must have a guest over. At least it was a dude this time.

  I quietly followed the music past the pool and over to the rock garden. As I got closer, I recognized the song. I loved that song. I arrived to the entrance of the rock garden and peered over the fence, and to my surprise, it wasn't a guest at all.

  He was sitting on a bench, the same bench where we started these shenanigans, his legs crossed out in front of him. He was barefoot--sans moon boots (bad Heathy)--and his eyes were closed as he belted the crescendo of the song, his body rhythmically rocking as he strummed the strings of the guitar. He sounded...beautiful. I was a little embarrassed watching him like this and considered leaving him to have the moment alone, but he spotted me, and without missing a beat in voice or instrument, gestured for me to come over by cocking his head.

  I sat in the sand and raked my fingers through it as he finished the song. I have to admit, it was nice. Really nice.

  "Was that King?"

  "You like Weezer?" He seemed surprised.

  "Yeah, I especially like that song. Your rendition didn't make my ears bleed." That was about the nicest thing I could muster.

  "Thanks."

  "I didn't know you played guitar."

  "You've barely known me with two functioning hands. I'm using guitar playing to get my dexterity back," he said making spirit fingers. "The PT said it was a good idea." Shit, from what I could tell the other day, his dexterity was just fine and dandy.

  "How's Nonna?"

  He remembered I called her that. "She's doing well. Still sharp, but her hearing is going slowly."

  "So she wouldn't mind my singing then," he said with a smirk. He leaned towards the guitar, into the path of a ray of sunshine, and the way the sun reflected off his golden locks and his freshly sunkissed skin took my breath away.

  "Well, I am going to run errands. Do you need a ride to the PT?"

  "I extended a car service figuring you would be back later today."

  "I would've done it for you if I wasn't going to come back in time," I said. I hated when he did things I was supposed to do. It threw me off and also gave me the underlying assumption that he didn't think I was on top of things. This feeling was now amplified by the fact that he had stuffed one of his body parts inside of one of my body parts and I didn't want him to think I was taking advantage of the situation.

  "Don't worry about it."

  I was trying to be adversarial, but he wasn't having it, he was enjoying the freedom of his functioning limbs and his guitar. "You need to put on your moonboots!" I scolded.

  "Two weeks and I'll be running marathons," he shouted as I walked back to the house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Heath surprised me with the news that his best friend was flying in from Milwaukee. That's right, Heath is a good ol' fashioned cornfed Midwesterner. I didn't know much about this person, I only knew about the poshy socialites Heath gallivanted with when I met him, but apparently Josh was the biological son of the last foster mother he lived with. He stayed with that family until he was se
venteen, when he was discovered (it was his foster mother who insisted he send in pics to agencies). She had since passed away and Josh was the only trace of his childhood that he cared to remember and the closest person he had to family.

  He rarely saw Josh, who worked at a plastics molding injection company, but Josh took his few days vacation to see his "bro" as they called each other. This was good, I told myself. It would give us time to go back to the pre-sex days and then we could just, ya know, kind of stay there.

  Even though Josh was in no way related to Heath, in my mind's eye I expected them to look a lot alike, but he was nothing like Heath: prematurely balding, a small belly affixed to a body with skinny limbs, and maybe about five-foot-eight or nine. He was also ever the gentleman. He shook my hand, didn't give me the eye-fuck the way Heath did when we first met, and didn't walk around like he was the heir to Earth's throne. My plan was to leave them alone, but they invited me to spend the evening outside with them under some tiki torches with some beer so I obliged.

  Apparently Josh played the guitar too, in fact he was the one who taught Heath. Much of the night was not spent talking, but singing along to random songs they tried to piece together from memory.

  "Any requests, toots?" I don't even have to tell you who asked that question.

  I rolled my eyes. "Hmmm. I'm going to make you work. How about Yesterday from the Beatles?"

  "She's tryin' to get us all teary eyed!" Josh joked.

  "Okay, okay, I got this," Heath said. It's actually a very simple melody."

  "But you gotta put your soul in it. No fucking around Heath," Josh chided.

  "Okay, okay," Heath said, putting a finger up to his lips to shush us all. Josh chose to sit this one out. As Heath tucked his chin down, closed his eyes, and started playing the familiar chords; my heart sank involuntarily. I instantly regretted the decision to request the song. Heath couldn't have possibly known, but my dad used to play Yesterday for me while my mother sang along. It's one of the only memories I have of them. And Heath didn't know it, because I told him his voice was just okay, but his voice wasn't just okay, it was really lovely and he sang with his heart, not just reciting the words like he was some empty vessel. Occasionally, between looking down at the guitar and rocking his head back as he hit some of the more difficult notes, he even looked me when he sang the words.