DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) (13 page)

“Oh, uh, um. Maybe we should talk after. Oh, right there,” she groans when I angle my hips and hit her so deep I swear I feel her womb kiss me.

The sex is not sex. No, I make love to her slowly, pushing her clothes aside as I reaffirm our bond and make her sing and sigh beneath me.

I feel her everywhere, sucking at me, loving me, and when we finally come together it’s a slow but breathtaking explosion that binds us together.

Th-th-th-that’s All Folks

Dot

I never got to give Paul my last surprise after he undressed me and got a load of my tattoo, spelling out his name and the words
wife of
just above my mound.

Something about it seemed to drive him completely wild and he fell on me like a madman, making love to me all through the day and into the night to slake the lust and need that we’d been denying ourselves for weeks since I walked out on him.

It’s early morning, yet as I open my eyes and read 4 a.m. on the bedside clock I bolt up and spring for the bathroom.

I puke so hard I think I tear something just before I feel a cool washcloth scrape over my nape and feel his hands on my back.

My groan is heartfelt as I lay in the toilet waiting for this to end.

I already apologized to the crab cakes and just bit the bullet on this one. Seems Mr. Super Sperm managed to get a swimmer past my contraceptive and he knocked me up.

I’m not complaining or anything, but I am not exactly impressed that I’m going to be a mom before I had some alone time with my guy.

I’m selfish that way. I wanted just a year or two with him before we had kids, but what can I say? I like sex with him more than anything, so I’m as much to blame as he is.

“Baby? You okay? Was it the ice cream?”

His innocent question makes me heave again and I turn to glare at him before spitting and flushing the loo, getting to my feet to brush the taste of death from my mouth and tongue.

“No. It was not. It was you.”

“Me? What…shit,” he says, going deathly pale as the realization hits.

That’s my Paul, quick on the uptake.

When he’s feeling less likely to faint and seems to snap out of the shock he just drops to his knees in front of me and clutches me to him, muttering something I can’t make out beneath his breath.

“You okay there? Should I go find some smelling salts?” I laugh when he just surges up with me in his arms and runs for the bed.

“You should be resting. Oh hell, are you still sick? Should I call the doctor?”

He’s not really asking at this point and I laugh myself green again when he starts pacing in circles before giving me the widest grin and pouncing for me.

“Dot.”

“Oh hush before I start bawling. I’m happy so don’t start having a meltdown on me, drama queen. The doctor says your little guys completely ignored the no-impregnation sign my uterus was flashing. You knocked me up probably right from the start.”

That smug grin gets wider and I find myself grinning right back when he kisses me and groans his joy into my neck.

“I love you, Dot. I never thought I could have everything I wanted but you just gave it to me. Marry me?”

“As if you even have a choice,” I purr, yanking at his hair to get his undivided attention. “This is the end of the road, buddy. No more hiding things to spare my little feelings, and you are definitely finishing the sale of your company. I don’t want to leave here, and you are no longer a suit. Got me?”

He smiles wide in response.

              I guess that damned psychic was right after all. I really was going to marry a man with the name of the seasons.

He is Coming

Percy

The sound of crying kids and laughing penetrates my fog and I look up at my family as they keep going nuts around me. We’ve all been here on Paul and Dot’s ranch for the last week as we geared up for their wedding and took a load off.

Jack, as Callie’s man and the leader of our motley band, hired two temporary chefs to help the one currently on the payroll to manage what we had on the books.

So here I am, up to my neck on nature and the smell of cow crap while my people all dance around and make general tools of themselves.

I’m happy that they’re all happy. It just turns out I’m miserable and plotting a murder as they all dance around me and don’t even see that I’m not into this.

The problem is that fucking psychic and her predictions.

I’ve been dodging life lately, trying to stay away from anything that could doom me to that prediction, and it’s driving me nuts.

There is only one man that I have ever loved that’s said to be headed my way, and just the thought of Marks coming back has my heart palpitating with fear.

              I am a Naughty One. One of Gruffy’s adopted waifs and a member of the “kick life’s ass” crew. I take this all very seriously and I love the position I have in our little club because it’s given me an escape, given my life meaning since I was five and my mom made me aware of the facts of life. Mainly that it’s not fair and I shouldn’t ever expect it to be.

When I got with my girls and they pulled me into their love with Gruffy, I dug in and did anything and everything to stay.

Me and Indie, we’re the muscle. The mouths. The bad chicks who live fast and party faster. And harder. I have a man for every day of the week, except weekends, cause a girl’s gotta rest, ya know.

I’ve been me for the last eight years since college and that one fateful year that hardened me, ruined me for anything and anyone else.

See, I went and fell in love. With the football jock. The hot guy. The popular asshole who was so not my speed but I couldn’t resist.

I took one look at Markus Marks and my soft bits went molten. My brain went mush. My heart went boom.

It was hard and fast and when he turned my way, saw me with all my bad attitude and multicolored hair, well that was it for me.

Percival Reginald Leighton, the loud-mouthed rebel, was in love with a clean-cut jock with no piercings, tattoos, or swag. It’s so freaking trite when I think of it now, but as it stood I was the bad girl who went for the good, wholesome boy.

And man, did that good wholesome boy make me believe that we were destined to be.

After my first stammered hello and a blush that should not have happened but did, he smiled back at me we were inseparable after that.

I spent all my free time with Marks, as I have always called him. I lied to my friends, letting them down time and time again because he was it for me and I wanted to be with him whenever I could.

I was pure up till Marks. He took my heart and my innocence and he made me so happy in that year that I was in love. I started believing in fairy tales and all that stupid shit females believe because Hallmark tells them to.

We were together just shy of a solid year when one day I went over to his dorm and he wasn’t there. I don’t mean he was out and I missed him or something that simple.

I mean he was gone. All his stuff, everything I’d given him as little gifts—all gone.

His roommate, this dorky kid I liked but avoided because he had a love of garlic, told me he’d left and that was that.

Marks just disappeared on me without a word, without a thought, and I was left heartbroken, crying alone in a dorm room smelling of garlic.

It hurt so much I was in a daze for weeks before my friends finally lost patience and threatened to call in the Gruffinator with her cane and dirty mouth.

I shaped up quick after that, not wanting to even breathe a word of how I’d been secretly dating a guy for a year and lying to them.

Plus, I just felt like a moron for ever believing that a guy like Marks could see me and think long term.

I shook myself and got back to life but I kept remembering Mom’s words that life’s not fair and the thoughts I couldn’t ignore when I thought of him.

All the time.

I closed off then and became harder, something that I never thought possible because I was already jaded at that point.

Marks and his bullshit only softened me a little. Now I was stone cold. I swore never ever to feel that way again and made up my mind never to give of myself to another man.

That’s been easier than you would think and I’ve spent the last few years being a total bitch. I have a man for every night. They know the score with me and never expect more than a quick roll in the hay or, more often than not, we just watch TV and chill together.

Because I choose the ones like me, you see. They’re just as jaded and in need of an escape every now and then. Monday, I like him a lot. He likes Animal Planet and beef potato chips.

Tuesday is a napper. If we have sex he goes home immediately after. If we don’t he spends a few hours sleeping with me wrapped around him and then leaves in the morning with what he came for.

Wednesday is a closet gay man. He gives me makeovers and experiments with me to see if he can stay in that closet or if he needs to come out one of these days. Love that guy, he’s magic with a nail buffer.

Thursday is my crier. We do have sex but it’s not like I’m that into it since he weeps all the way through it and goes mental when he comes. Poor lamb. I keep him because if not me, who else?

Friday is my end of the week buddy. Most Fridays we just hang out and pet each other a little, except for those days he’s had a really bad week. Then I give him stress relief he can’t get anywhere else.

They’re my therapy and my “fuck you” to the world at large, because I just know they’re judging me anyway so why not go big?

My weekends are all me. I spend that time pretending I don’t care and smoke and drink with Indie while she laments a love she won’t tell me about.

I get that, too. I mean, we’re two peas in a pod.

If not for Gruff and Callie we’d have ended up in juvie a long time ago, and my color would be orange as we speak.

That’s my life. That’s me in a nutshell.

All I know is that a part of me got lost all those years ago and the only thing short of running out to find Marks that I can do is just ignore it and keep going.

              So why then am I sitting here worrying about something I absolutely cannot control?

“What a fucking ass,” I mutter, shaking it all off and rising to go steal a kiss from Dot.

I kiss her every chance I can now because Paul goes nuts and all caveman when I do. What? You haven’t kissed Dot. It was an epiphany for me, and while I am not into chicks, that woman has the softest lips I’ve ever smooched.

“No!”

I ignore her and lay one on her, stopping just shy of tongue and laugh myself sick when Paul comes barrelling over and hoists her into him for a tongue kiss that makes even me blush.

“Animal,” he mutters, smiling a little when I wink.

“You know it, cowboy. You modeled those chaps yet?”

His blush and narrowed eyes serve as the distraction I need so badly and I spend the next hour dancing and just enjoying the loons that surround me as the past shakes loose and sets me free again.

It won’t be for long but it’s enough that I can have my moments without wanting to rip at my hair.

“Hey, ugly.” Indie laughs, shaking it over my way with a bottle in her hand and a glint in her eye.

“Hey, crone. What’s up with you? I thought you were tongue-bathing that little cowboy”

“Nah. Campbell’s too into the bad girl image. I like my men unbiased.”

“Then maybe you should cut some of the black and kill the new tattoos,” I suggest, taking a drink and passing the bottle back as she spins around me and shrugs.

“Nah. This is me, ya know. Just wish they wouldn’t see the ink and just assume.”

I feel saddened for her because I know how she feels.

People look at me too and see a cold bitch when actually that is so far from the truth it makes me gag. Not that I’m not completely that way, it’s just I got layers too.

              “I get that, but I have got to tell you, babe, you sort of push it a little far sometimes. I get why you do but not everyone is like them, Indie. You should give people a chance before you write them off completely.”

“What about you? It’s been months since Cleo had you running scared and you have yet to tell me what that’s about. Plus, I’ve seen that panicked look you get when we go to parties and you see a dark head.”

              Damn I wish I wasn’t so easy to read for Indie, but I guess that’s what I get for letting the ass know me so well.

“That’s old history, babe. Old, old history,” I mutter, dancing my way over to a table and falling down with a sigh.

Indie follows and I join her in a toast before glugging a bottle of water and pulling a plate of cake my way.

“I think you’re lying. Come on, tell the love guru what ails you and we’ll fix it together.”

“No. You know I hate emotional talks and you know that I’m more of a slugger than a hugger. I’ve got shit under control, that’s all you need to know,” I mutter, groaning when Luci’s chocolate cake bursts against my tongue.

Damn. Woman can bake a cake.

“You sure? Everyone needs a little help sometimes, Perce, ain’t no shame in it.”

Oh, but there is because then I would have to confess my lies and outright foolishness and I can’t do that. They’d be pissed and I’d feel like hell and then things would just spiral. I prefer my little boxes closed and I’m not about to open them for anyone.

At least that’s what I think until I look up, smiling at Dot and Paul where they’re greeting someone. I lose the smile on a dime when he turns and I think I may shriek a little in fright when those eyes land on me and the past shoots right out of its little box.

“Oh shit,” I whisper as the years fall away and that same feeling I’d had in that dorm room hits me.

It’s like having my ribs cracked open and letting someone stick their filthy fingers straight into my beating heart. It hurts and I can’t breathe, but most of all it feels like I’m that same broken girl who cried for something I never truly had.

I’m angry too because he’s just as shocked before he starts smiling at me in that way I used to love.

“What? Oh man! That is one fine ass man. Shit.”

              I concur as my worst nightmare comes sidling my way.

~~~