Page 22

Charlie

It wasn’t my intention to bring Morgan home, but some sick part of me wants Bailey to know that I am, in fact, not pining after her. I want to watch that pretty little mouth eat its words. So, when the opportunity presented itself at the bar tonight, I jumped.

Morgan was just as eager as I was to get back to my place. I let her kiss me, even if it feels wrong. Visions of Bailey moaning my name, wrapping her palm around my cock and fisting her fingers in my shirt flash through my mind. If I could just chase these thoughts away, I could get hard. I could fuck her out of my mind. I could forget about her, for good.

I lead Morgan into my room, kissing her up against the wall that Bailey and I share. Two can play dirty.

I’m disappointed when my cock’s not throbbing like it normally would be. Morgan’s all in, gripping me through my jeans, but I know I’m barely hard. She doesn’t seem to care, dropping to her knees in front of me. She undoes my belt and the button of my jeans, pulling them down to free my cock.

“You want to fuck my mouth, baby?” she asks, her eyes smiling up at me as she takes me in her hand. She flicks the tip with her tongue, rolling it around. I try to close my eyes, but every time I do, images of Bailey on her knees flash through my mind. I lean forward, placing my palm flat against the wall a little too aggressively.

My cock starts to harden, just from sheer force of will and I let out a sharp breath.

“Just like that,” I urge. I try to force myself to focus on the moment, feel how eager Morgan is to please me, feel her soft mouth swallowing my cock, but it refuses to cooperate. I can taste Bailey; I can hear her soft moans as I fucked her with my fingers in the pool.

“Please, Charlie,” Bailey’s voice begged.

I’m on the verge of coming, succumbing to my thoughts and letting Bailey carry me there, but a sharp rap at the front door breaks through the haze.

A voice comes through the door and I only catch one word. Police.

“What the fuck?” Morgan gasps, clambering to her feet.

“Goddammit, Bailey,” I mutter under my breath, my blood sizzling. I tuck myself back in my jeans and head to the front door. Sure enough, four cops stand outside, their flashlights trained on me as soon as I open the door.

I hold my hands up, instructing Morgan to do the same thing behind me.

“New Orleans Police Department, we got a call from a neighbor for suspicious banging,” an officer says, shining a flashlight in my face. “Can you tell me your name.”

“Charlie Coulter. I live here,” I say, gritting my teeth. I should have known Bailey would have something up her fucking sleeve.

“Can you step out here and show me some I.D.?” the cop asks and I oblige. They get my wallet out of the back of my pocket and sit me on the steps beside Morgan. Suddenly, I don’t even want to look at her.

“Okay, your neighbor called and said she thought you weren’t home. She heard suspicious pounding on the wall and thought she should call.”

“Are you kidding me?” Morgan snaps, rolling her eyes. “What kind of psycho neighbors do you have?”

“You have no fucking idea.”