Page 1 of Badd Ass

Chapter One

Mara

It tookme a few moments of blinking in the darkness to pull my thoughts together and figure out where I was. I stared around me, my breath coming hard and fast, my chest heaving, sweat dripping down the small of my back. The walls seemed close and the ceiling low. Out of the small window I could see moonlight reflected off the rippling water…Alaska.

Right. Alaska.

Shit…why was I in Alaska again? And where was I, exactly? Think, Mara, think.

Wait…why was I naked?

I twisted in the bed and hung my feet off the side, touching the floor—the carpeting was thin with a tight pile. I heard a noise behind me and turned to peer over my shoulder at the bed—and nearly screamed.

A man.

Big.Huge.Massive. And fuckinggorgeous. He was on his back, an arm thrown over his forehead. Buzzed brown hair that showed signs of being allowed to grow out from a standard military high-and-tight. Muscles upon muscles, and more muscles, lean and hard and shredded, as in maybe eight or ten percent body fat at the most on a six-foot frame…and the muscles he was packing put him at two hundred pounds easily, if not two-ten or two-fifteen.

He was sleeping, but somehow I just knew he had a pair of brown eyes that looked like shards of polished mahogany. I’d tossed aside the blankets upon waking, so they were bunched down over his thighs, and the moonlight in the bedroom was bright enough that I could clearly make out every inch of him, andJeeeeee-sus, there were a lot of inches. The man was hung like a horse, and this was when he was limp as a wet noodle. Hard? My throat tightened and my stomach flipped, and my hoo-ha ached, because erect he’d be jutting a monster cock so big he could be a porn star.

Come to think of it, I was achy and sore down there, and I was naked in this guy’s bed, and he was naked in his bed…two plus two equals four, Mara. Ding ding ding! You slept with another stranger, you hopeless slut.

How shocking…not.

My head ached, and my mouth was dry, which explained my difficulty in remembering things. I’d gotten hammered.

So, think.

Remember.

I remembered his eyes. Somehow, those were seared into my memory, mainly because I could remember his eyes searing into me as he moved above me. Oh, yep, here we go. The memories were bubbling up—guess all I had to do was think about fucking this gorgeous god of a man and the details would come back all by themselves.

I remembered the way he’d picked me up in the kitchen, carried me in here as easily as if I were a rag doll, and then tossed me onto this bed. And then…he’d shoved my legs open, spread my pussy apart with a pair of big, callused, but gentle thumbs and his tongue had performed some kind of sorcery on me, bringing me to a thrashing orgasm so fast he had to have made a deal with the Devil to acquire oral skills like that. Within seconds I was biting back screams. And he’d just gotten started. He’d licked and sucked and fingered me to orgasm three more times, and then he’d crawled up to kneel over me, reached into the drawer of his nightstand and produced a condom. Rolling it on, he gave me a look that had asked me if I was ready, or if I wanted to back out. I’d taken a long gander at his cock, and had almost backed out, because yeah, goddamn, that thing was a fucking club.

Just kidding. I hadn’t almost backed out. A man as gorgeous as Zane? With a body like his, a face like his, and a cock like his? You don’t back out of that, even if you are a little scared of what his Godzilla dong might do to your poor little lady bits.

There had been no need to be scared, though, because he was clearly no novice at making sure he didn’t hurt me. He’d gone slowly, easing in gradually, and his mouth had been doing exciting things to my nipples, and I was all loose from the multiple orgasms, so it almost hadn’t hurt at all. Then he’d pushed all the way in, and the ache and the burn as I stretched to accommodate him had turned to rapture, the like of which I’d never felt before—and then he’d started moving, and rapture had turned into something else so crazy hot I had no descriptor for it. Like, literally, he’d fucked me so good I didn’t have adjectives for how good it felt, and I’m pretty decent with my words.

Just then I remembered his name: Zane Badd.

I scrubbed my face with both hands, letting out a soft sigh as more details flooded back. God, he’d been incredible in bed. Normally after a one-night stand, I was gone the moment I woke up. I’ve made an art out of sneaking out of men’s beds, and it’s not a walk of shame if you don’t feel shame, right?

Yeah, who am I kidding? Not myself, that’s for damn sure. I was going to do the walk of shame in about three minutes. My record time for going from waking up to out the front door is ninety seconds, and I’d only managed that because I’d stuffed my bra and underwear into my purse and run out the door wearing my LBD, purse in one hand and shoes in the other. The guy I’d slept with hadn’t been entirely honest about his relationship status, it had turned out, which had gotten him a black eye, his girlfriend a sincere apology from me, and myself a month-long case of self-recrimination, and a feeble attempt to answer the question: what the hell is wrong with me?

Today’s walk of shame is brought to you by the letter D, fordamn, do I wish I could stay and ride his D one more time.

But no. I don’t dare. I remember very clearly the conversation we’d had, how I’d been the one to insist this was a one-and-done. I hadn’t missed the stubborn look in his eyes, though, which meant I had to make myself scarce before he charmed, flattered, flirted, and seduced me into sticking around for another round of mind-blowing sex. Which, no, didn’t sound bad at all. If I was honest with myself, I was kind of longing for some sober sex, especially with a Don Juan of this guy’s abilities. The part that sounded like hell was the sure-to-come fallout, the part where he’d turn out to be a complete ass-bag, and I’d get attached and then end up with a broken heart.

I cast another long, appreciative glance at Zane, at his acres of lovely man muscle, and his California Redwood of a penis.

Still asleep, thankfully, both the man and his dong. I mean, if he’d gotten morning wood, it might have been—ahem—harder…for me to leave.

Chicks can make dick jokes, too, you know.

I slid carefully out of bed, scrounging on the floor for my bra and underwear. I stepped into the underwear and tugged them up, hooked the bra in front, slid it around to shrug into the straps and into the cups. The jeans were tricky, because those bitches weretight, necessitating me doing the tight pants shimmy until my big ass finally squeezed into the skin-tight denim. Shirt, shoes, purse, and done.

Now the hard part: leaving without looking back. It was an especially challenging operation this time, because Zane Badd was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on, and he had, by far, the most talented mouth I’d ever felt, and the most perfectly sized, well-proportioned and aesthetically pleasing cock I’d ever had the pleasure of being pleasured by.

Stop thinking about his dick, Amarantha Quinn, I scolded myself.