Page 7

Brand New Me

F or a brief second, I consider spin kicking the smirk right off his goddamned face.

Instead, I re-cross my arms, giving him a look that drips with disdain. We are both too fucking old for this high school bully garbage. I’ve dined with the Pope, shopped with duchesses, and slept in castles. I’m not the paint covered, chunky nerd in braids anymore. I don’t have to put up with his elitist claptrap.

“ Buena notte , Edgar. What brings you to the slums this evening?”

Okay, that was petty.

I’m not above being Petty Mayonnaise when the leader of the nasty rich kids from my high school nightmares shows up at my door at ten p.m. on a random Tuesday. His family is all about the Southern manners and genteel behavior, so where was my official notice of a visit? Must have gotten lost in the mail, right?

His infuriatingly handsome grin stretches, showing perfect pearly whites against his lush lips and dark stubble. A hand lifts to rake through his messy coal black hair, and I swear to seven levels of hell, it actually makes it look better. I watch him, keeping a bored look on my face as I study the expensive athletic gear, Supreme Chucks, and tanned skin he’s sporting. He’s clearly been keeping up his all-state, college QB physique over the years because every inch of him is on display in this get-up, and let’s just say my libido has taken notice.

“Aw, Tilly, are you still holding a grudge about that stupid coming out party? It’s been over a decade.”

My brows furrow as I grit my jaw, hoping my facial expression remains impassive. He’s right—my coming out cotillion was a Carrie-esque disaster of epic proportions, but there’s a laundry list of other things I could hold a grudge over spanning all twelve years we were in school together. From ruined birthdays to school events and trips, society occasions, and even graduation, their group was always there torturing someone. Even if it wasn’t me, I never condoned their behavior, and I won’t let him excuse it now.

“Edgar, it’s late. I’ve been working all day, and I’m relaxing before a week filled with similarly exhausting days unpacking. You can’t seriously think I want to stand on my porch in my pajamas rehashing the past with you.”

His eyes widen and he squints at me as if just noticing that he caught me unprepared to receive visitors. I immediately regret drawing attention to my appearance when he rakes his gaze from my toes up my bare legs to the tiny silk shorts with Monet's waterlilies on them.

His smirk deepens as he hits my bare stomach, eyeing the glittering belly ring and intricate tattoo work that wraps around my left side, and follows the path to the lacy bralette. I try not to squirm—I refuse to give him the satisfaction—as he finally hits my face. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but my reflexes trump his. I smack his surprisingly elegant hand away from my face with a scowl.

“Ooh!” he says, shaking his hand and pouting. “Feisty. I like it.”

With a narrowed gaze and a belly full of unresolved teenage rage, I crack my neck as I work to keep my legendary temper under control. “Edgar, I won’t ask you again. You have five seconds to explain why the cock-gobbling fuck you’re here or I’m slamming this door in your face.”

I don’t have to tell you which choice I’m hoping he makes. I’d love to crunch that perfect nose of his with my cherry wood door.

“Language, Tilly. It’s not befitting a lady of your stature.”

“Five… four…”

Raising his hands in surrender, the smoking hot asshole finally caves. “Okay, okay. Bobbi Jo had paperwork to send your way today, and like a true gentleman, I offered to deliver it in person.”

Jekyll snarls at him. I arch a brow, looking down at the servals, noting their puffy tails. “Oh, Edgar. My friends here say that’s a lie. Try again. Three… two…”

“Sweet baby Jesus, Tilly. Call off the little shits.” He reaches into his back pocket and procures a manila folder, creased by his choice of storage space. “I’m only shading the truth a smidge. I was at the diner after you left today—listening to the buzz as usual—and Bobbi Jo came in. She said she was going to run these out to you, and I asked her to allow me. I was curious about the whispers, I’ll admit.”

I sigh, resigning myself to at least another fifteen minutes of this shit. I might as well do the whole ‘guest in my home’ Southern schtick now. He actually has a purpose for being here, though I suspect the timing and the true motivation for his drop-in is not the folder. “Okay, Edgar. Have a seat on the veranda and I’ll look. I’m gonna go get a pen and my drink. Would you like a bourbon? I unpacked the bar yesterday.”

His eyes light up like I’ve offered a meth addict a fix. “Single barrel, sugar? Neat.”

Rolling my eyes into the back of my head, I turn on my heel and head into the house as he plants his gigantic frame in one of the two hand carved rocking chairs. My father made them before I graduated, and they’ve always been my favorites, so it’s odd that he would pick those over the swing, rattan couches, or lounges. I flick the lamps on the lowest setting so I can see what I’m doing, but not high enough to bother my sensitive night vision.

When I’m satisfied that he’s settled, I consider swapping my clothes to something less revealing. Hyde jumps up and places his paws on my ribs. The cats are almost as tall as I am when they stretch, and I wonder if they’re full grown before shaking my head.

Christ, I’m so easily distracted.

“I suppose that’s your way of telling me I look fine, buddy. I appreciate it. I didn’t have the easiest time when I was younger, and I worked like a goddamned pack mule to get where I am today. He brings out all the insecurities from the past, I guess.”

The cats tilt their heads at me, let out a resounding ‘mow’, and leap towards the kitchen. Even they think that’s silly.

I pull two Baccarat rocks glasses out of the cabinet, smiling when I remember the friend who gave me this set while I was working on reputation repair for a chef in Italy. Studying my selection of single barrels, I select Blanton’s, and pour three fingers in each glass. The training ingrained in my psyche immediately kicks in, and I find a tray to put the glasses on. I raid the fridge, making a small plate of cheese, fruit, and crackers, then add the bottle.

A Southern lady never makes her guests ask for anything, after all.

Putting the pen in my mouth, I lift the tray, balancing it like a pro, and make my way to the living room. I notice that Jekyll—the troublemaker—has grabbed the bag of meatballs in his mouth and is trotting along with a look of feline satisfaction. Hyde gives me a sheepish look, and I chuckle softly. I guess sets of twins are bound to have one good and one mischievous scamp—even in cats.

Edgar looks up as I pad onto the porch, his lips curling up. If he were as ugly on the outside as he is on the inside, this would be a lot fucking easier. He’s always looked like a stinking superhero come to life, and that only made the grip his crowd had on our school tighter. Boys wanted to be him, and girls wanted to hump him, so all the little nasty deeds he and his cohorts committed were swept under the rug as pranks.

The ‘Nip Tucks’—as the rest of the girls called the pack of rich witches who ruled over us like third world despots in Prada—weren’t much better. Their ‘pranks’ were vicious, and frequently escalated to injurious, but no one would acknowledge the damage they did.

My eyes fall on the folder on the table between the large chairs. I won’t be a chickenshit like the teachers were in my day. Even if I’m only there part time, I won’t allow whatever this generation’s bitchy crew does to go unpunished. I’m not looking for revenge, but I won’t turn a blind eye to kids’ suffering, either.

“Why, look at you, Tilly! Your mama would be right proud,” Edgar says, watching me carry my load without lifting a finger to help.

His mama would, too. Everyone in town knew that she treated her household staff as if she’d catch poor from them. I don’t say that, though; I give him a tight smile. After all, he has no idea the turmoil I’m feeling over the past since returning, nor does he seem to be trying to be nasty. He assumes that I have a deeper connection to my parents than I feel. That’s not his fault.

Sitting the tray on the table, I settle in the second rocking chair and wait for my furry guests to find perches on the closest lounge. I wasn’t keen on their presence when they barged into my home, but I have to admit I’m fast growing used to their silent support. “Tell me about the paperwork.”

He arches a brow, picking up his bourbon and taking a sip. His eyes widen in approval, and he gives me that shit-eating grin again. “Blanton’s is an excellent choice, Tilly. The paperwork is just normal new hire stuff. Take your time and run it down to Bobbi Jo before Friday so Maryellen can get you set up in all the systems.”

“Mrrrow,” Hyde mutters.

Edgar chuckles and shakes his head. “Your companions don’t like me very much, do they?”

I bite back a declaration of my agreement with them, and shrug. “I’ve always heard that cats are exceedingly particular about the company they keep. They must sense your more… mischievous side.”

He throws back his head and laughs, a loud, belly deep sound that has him flashing the pearly whites of his perfect teeth and exposing his throat. His pulse jumps, and I frown, not sure why I noticed. His amusement flows over me like warm honey, and I can’t help but smile along as I watch. When he catches his breath, his eyes catch mine, and something in them flashes, then disappears.

“Tilly, that’s the best laugh I’ve had all week. I enjoy hearing a Southern girl try desperately to call me a twat in the politest language she can. I was right about your mama the first time—she’d be even prouder now. All you needed to add was ‘bless your heart’ and I’d have a fork in me.”

I blink, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.

So much for being subtle.

Before I can gather the tatters of my dignity, he rolls to his feet, yanks me out of the chair, and pulls me into his arms. I’m so shocked that a panicked squeak escapes me as he wraps my hair around his fist and tilts my head back. I swallow hard, tingles shooting down my spine when the hard planes of his body jut against the soft curves of mine.

“Teddy, what in the actual fu?—”

The verboten moniker barely slips from my lips before he’s kissing me. The rough scrape of his late-night stubble makes me sigh, and my arms wrap around him involuntarily. Ignoring the voice in my mind that’s screaming ‘what the holy fuck are you doing’, I press against the hard planes of his broad chest and narrow hips. A low rumble echoes out of him, and his free hand slides down my side to my thigh, gripping it hard enough to leave a mark.

Our lips break for a second—almost long enough for me to put a stop to this madness—as he releases my hair. I open my mouth to protest, but he swoops in again, capturing my lips with a hunger that I can taste. He grabs my other thigh and lifts, wrapping my legs around his waist as he walks us towards the front door.

It occurs to me that my fierce protectors haven’t so much as moved a whisker even though this brick wall of a guy is manhandling me. The feel of his teeth nipping at my lower lip brings me back to the asshat in question, and I raise my eyes to his. The aquamarine eyes I’ve admired since childhood are a dark blue green with flecks of jade as he looks at me as if he’s waiting for something.

In what may prove to be the worst decision I’ve made since Thailand, I bury my fingers in his raven locks and yank his mouth back to mine. My body hums with excitement, pinpricks of electricity tingling over my skin like fireworks. Rocking my hips against his as he carries me one handed, I tug on the stylish waves at the nape of his neck.

Our entire childhood feud flashes through my mind, but something lurking low in my gut demands that I listen to my aching pussy. It’s been a very long time since I was physically intimate with someone, and I rarely know more than a first name and what they had to drink at the event I met them during.

I’ve always been a one and done girl, and I was careful to keep my selections away from the professional menu. You can’t work for the Prime Minister of wherever if they find out you’ve fucked one of their relatives in the coat closet of an embassy. I never climb on the bull and ride with someone I know as well as I know this man.

“Stop thinking so hard, Tilly,” he mumbles, nibbling my earlobe in a way that makes me shiver.

The nickname should put the flames in my belly out—it’s a cruel reminder of the past—but something about the way he’s saying it makes me clench in the best damned way. “Teddy… we…”

“Shh.” His reply is almost hissed as he nips his way down my throat.

Hands squeeze my thighs as he carries me to the spare bedroom I camped out in until I deal with the master. I don’t know how he found his way here, but he climbs onto the bed with me in hand, stretching over me like a goddamned panther. Heat floods through me, and I know without a doubt that he’s going to fucking destroy me. “But...”

A huff escapes his lips, and he lifts off of me. I don’t open my eyes for fear that I finally scared him away, and I’m not sure if that’s really what I want.

Scratch that. It’s definitely not what I want, and I might actually cry if I did.

The bed dips with the weight of a knee in the mattress, and I almost whimper in relief. Soft silk slides over my torso, making the plethora of bare skin goose-pimple as it travels to my face. His lips touch my ear again, his tone low and husky. “Brattiness has consequences, Tilly.”

I have no idea what he plans to do with one of my silk scarves, but in for a penny, right? “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Teddy.”

The nickname makes him growl, and my clit throbs in response. “When I say ‘shhhh’, I mean it, sugar.”

The scarf whispers over the marks he left on my neck until it reaches my lips, and I realize he plans to keep my big, fat mouth from ruining this. He allows me to refuse, and when I don’t, he slips the fabric between my lips. His long fingers tie the material in a loose knot at the back of my head, but he gives me room to wiggle it loose if I choose. My nipples harden at the thought of those hands on me in other places, but since I’m effectively gagged, I rely on tactile sensation to make my point.

Edgar Olivier Boone III has a domination fetish, and I’m on board. He’s also moving far too slowly for my taste now.

I grab his hips and yank him closer, arching up to grind my core against him. A chuckle tickles my collarbone, followed by a firm nip, and I wriggle under him again, trying to force him to move at my speed. His hands slide from my shoulders to my thighs, and he yanks them apart to settle his hips between mine. The feeling of victory swells in my chest, but he simply continues biting and leaving marks across my collarbones.

“Sugar, I can promise you that there isn’t a thing in the entire universe that’s gonna rush this. If I need to take more drastic measures to keep you still, I’ll do so.” A gentle tug on my nipple piercing and the wetness of his mouth dampening the fabric of my bralette punctuates his last remark.

I sure as fuck didn’t plan on this when I dressed for lounging in my house with a milkshake, but I’ll be damned if my legendarily fickle luck hasn’t struck again. A sharp rap on my hipbone brings me out of my thoughts, and I make a sound as the sting travels straight to my eager vagina.

“Get out of your head, Tilly. I want you present and accounted for, especially if that means you’ll give me more of that bratty attitude,” Edgar orders as he peels my top off and tosses it like it didn’t cost an arm and a leg.

I’d answer if I could speak, but since I can’t, I do the next best thing: I tug on his hair hard, pulling it in my best effort to give him the impertinence he asked for. I want him to fuck me, and I want it now, and if he doesn’t, I’m going to leap off this bed and find something to help my damn self.

As if he heard my thoughts, the bully from my youth dives in and takes a nipple in his mouth at the same time as his hand snakes right up the leg of my shorts. His elegant fingers strum over my mound, a low growl vibrating around my ring when he discovers that I’m commando under the waterlily shorts. His fingertips slide along my slit, spreading the embarrassing flood of wetness there, and I close my eyes. The shudder that rocks my frame is not subtle, and he lifts his head, blowing cool air on the stiff peak he was suckling.

His voice is a whisper against my stomach as he moves down my body, trailing kisses and nibbles and sharp bites like he’s tasting me. He yanks the shorts off quickly, his voice low and snarling. “Tilly, I’m going to make you scream so loud the neighbors will wonder if someone murdered you. And when I’m done with that, I’m going to break this motherfucking bed, so you have to buy a new one—preferably larger.”

The last addition makes me snort, and his lips curve into a smile against my skin. He doesn’t know that I don’t intend to do this ever again, especially since we’ll be working together, but if it makes him feel like he’s in charge, he can pretend to demand things.

Then his mouth touches me and every fucking thing I’ve learned in my damn life falls out of my head. His lips graze the bare skin lightly, tracing around the shape of my sex slowly. The tip of his tongue follows the same path, and I want to scream in edged frustration, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I dig my nails into the ugly ass comforter and physically will myself not to move or make a sound.

Mostly because I’m afraid if I let one slip, I’m going to turn into the banshee he promised, and I’ll never live that shit down.

“I said, get out of your head, Tilly,” he murmurs, before flicking his tongue over my clit so quickly that I almost think I imagined it.

The shocks flying up my frame disagree, and I bite back another groan. I am so incredibly fucked and I don’t mean by that monster I felt rubbing against me earlier—at least, not yet.

I lift my head, opening my eyes to look down at him lounging between my thighs as he waits for me to do as instructed. His lips glisten with my juices, and his fingers are tapping the apex of my pussy in a light rhythm that’s making my thighs shake. If I had use of my mouth, I’d snark about performance anxiety, but I tuck my chin, bite the scarf in my mouth, and smile invitingly.

His eyes widen and he tilts his head for a brief second before throwing my legs over his shoulders and fucking devouring me. Lips, teeth, and tongue go wild on my slick heat, and my legs fold around him so tightly that I worry I might actually suffocate him. The sound he makes when he thrusts two fingers inside of me and bites my clit is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. There’s a slight pinch and before I know it, my mind is flying like I’m on molly.

Blinking, I arch my back and let out the longest, loudest moan I’ve ever heard come of out of my body as spasms make my limbs jerk and twitch. The orgasm feels like it’s wringing every drop of energy from my body, and my fingers tear into the comforter for purchase. Something soft and feathery coasts over my thighs, tickling the sensitive skin and making me writhe more.

My heart thuds, my blood crashes through my veins like I’m going to explode, and my lungs can’t seem to find enough air to fill them. His skin is a furnace against mine, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how he got naked without me noticing.

As I tremble, Edgar slithers his way up my body, his eyes shining brilliantly as he removes the makeshift gag and ducks his head to kiss me. Our mouths battle and before I can recover from the intensity of my climax, his hips jerk and he’s inside of me. The stretching of my muscles to accommodate him burns, fanning the liquid lava in my veins, and something deep in my belly stirs.

I lift my arms, wrapping them around him, and digging my nails into his hips hard. He must like it, because a snarl followed by a soft sound echoes out of him. When he moves, I try to find my bearings, but my mind is scattered and euphoric as the sensations sizzle over my skin. There’s no coming back from this experience, and I’m not a girl who has lacked for sexual partners when I chose to find them.

Edgar Olivier Boone III is ruining me, and I can’t find a single fiber of my being that seems to care.

“Son of a bitch ,” he whispers as he lifts his head to allow us both to catch our breath, his hips still pounding against mine.

The sheer force of our coupling may actually break the goddamned bed as he promised, and the spark in my belly that stirred grows. I can feel warmth seeping out of me like tendrils of energy licking over my skin to get to him. When it reaches him, his head jerks up from my neck, and his eyes flash from aquamarine to a deep black and back again. His chest rumbles and his hips speed up, moving impossibly fast with mine, driving me into the mattress like a prowling beast.

The moment the second orgasm hits me, I know it triggered his because an unearthly roar escapes his lips, and he throws his head back as our bodies tense. A cool wind comes out of nowhere, breezing over us in a gentle touch, and a low whisper of sound accompanies it. Holding onto him tightly, I ride out our pleasure as our limbs stutter and fall to the bed.

“ Drugar .”

That’s the last thing I hear before everything goes dark.