Malcolm - The Meeting (A Cocky Smiling O Story Book 3) Read online

  "Do you think you'll ever be a forever kind of guy?"

  Shit! That wasn't what I expected.

  I sigh as I lower myself to the warm rock and stretch out my legs. "I really don't see it. I don't see me being committed to anyone but myself. That makes me sound like an ass, and I probably am, but forever is a really long time."

  Jess nods as she sits beside me. "What if I never find that forever guy?"

  I reach out and squeeze her hand. "You will, but if you don't, you'll always have me."

  "Always?"

  "Always."

  PRESENT

  "No, no..." Jess's words trail away as she shakes her head.

  The whiskey burns as I take a long sip. It doesn't dull her pain, but it helps calm my rage at her no-good asshole ex. Even half-wasted, she's adorable. I love the way her long, wavy hair becomes curly in the summer's heat. She hates it. She always has, but I can't stop myself from reaching out and tweaking a long blonde curl, just to watch it bounce.

  "Stop it!" she says, pulling away and laying her head against my sofa.

  Her eyes half close and the glass of wine in her hand tips one way and then the other.

  "Jess, let me take that," I offer as I reach for the wine.

  Her grip on the long stem tightens.

  "No. I'm going to drink this wine. I'm going to drink all"—her arms fly open wide as I capture the glass once more. This time I grab it as the liquid sloshes and just before my light brown leather sofa has a nice red stain—"the wine you have." Her plump lips purse and change to a pout when she realizes the glass is gone. "Fine, take the glass, only because I know you're going to refill it for me. Aren't you, Ash? You wouldn't let me stay sober, not after..."

  Her words trail away and a tear falls from the corner of one of her green eyes.

  "He's not worth it." It's the same thing I've told her fifty times since she got to my apartment. "He's not worth the wine or the headache you're going to have in the morning. He's a slime. A douche. An asshole. And coming from one asshole, I know assholes. I never did know what you saw in him anyway."

  Her arms cross over her tits, not in anger, but in the way she does to protect herself, shield herself from everyone else.

  Placing my whiskey and her wine on the end table, I tug on one of her hands and shine my cockiest grin. "Besides, wouldn't you rather be here with me than with him?"

  I've grabbed her left hand. I hadn't meant to. It was just the closest. We both look down at her empty ring finger. Just a few hours ago it had been wearing a diamond engagement ring.

  Jess pulls her hand back and her words slur. "We were fucking supposed to be married!"

  No longer sad, she springs up from the couch. In only a moment, she changes from jilted fiancée to the Jess I've known most of my life, the one who threatened to kick my ass when we first met at five years old, the one who wouldn't let some asshole walk all over her, and the one who's been my best friend for the last twenty-three years. Finally pulling herself out of her wine-induced funk, she staggers as she says, "In three weeks!" She holds up three fingers, narrows her eyes as she concentrates on them and then repeats, "Three!

  "Holy shit," she continues, "do know how much money my parents are spending on this wedding? Have spent? As in, can't get it back? Fuck! My mom. Oh my God, my mom is going to have a coronary. And my dad, holy fuck, Ash, he may never recover."

  I stand ready to catch her if she wobbles again.

  With her green eyes glistening, Jess stares up at me, silently demanding an answer.

  "I don't know how much they've spent. But I do know they hated his guts."

  "No they didn't," she answers defensively. "They loved him. Everybody"—she elongates the word—"loves Jack. Jack and Jess. Jess and Jack. The perfect fucking couple."

  "Jack, the asshole who fucked some other woman in your bed." I shake my head. "Your dad would have voted him off the island a long time ago."

  Her dad has this obsession with reality TV. That and zombies. If there were a reality zombie show, he'd be set for life, or the apocalypse. And then, after years of watching Survivor and The Walking Dead, I'd definitely want him on my team. I already have him programmed in my phone, for phone-a-friend, just in case. According to her dad, Paul, you should always be prepared.

  Jess takes a deep breath. "No, he wouldn't. Dad was thrilled that I was marrying Jack. And well, no one knows about that other woman thing—no one but you and of course Jack and her." She nods her head. "Yep, that's everyone. Hell, they were so into it, I doubt they even know I was there."

  I run my hands over her arms, up and down. "You should have grabbed a lamp and cocked them both upside the head."

  A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "That's why I love you. Violence is always your first thought."

  I shrug. "Usually fucking is my first thought. But...well, that was already happening."

  She playfully hits my shoulder. "Thanks for the reminder."

  "Ouch! Be violent with Jack, not with me."

  As I wrap my arms around my best friend, she falls against my chest. The scent of strawberries tickles my nose, and I take a deeper breath. For just a second, Jess seems to relax and melt against me. Our friendship has seen it all. We know each other's deepest, darkest secrets and we're still here—through childhood, our teens, college, and now. Always.

  The one thing we haven't done, not ever, is move beyond friendship. It is our agreement, the one we made when we were young. Never would we cross that line.

  That was easy when we were running around the neighborhood or swimming in the lake. Then it was like we were brother and sister, but sometimes now I wonder what it would be like to be with her, inside of her, loving her.

  But then I remember our agreement.

  No matter how fucking beautiful she has become, or fun, or happy, or sad, we are friends and we can't jeopardize that. If we did, I'm sure I could help her forget that asshole, if we crossed that line, but her friendship is worth more than keeping my dick happy.

  It isn't like my dick is sad. It gets plenty of action. I've taken many women places they didn't know they could go, all in the name of forgetting some asshole who wronged them. But that wouldn't be how I help Jess.

  'No, sorry, boy,' I say silently to my dick, 'you're staying put.'

  Earlier tonight, when I got Jess's hysterical call, I was on my way to a date and my dick was happy. The date was just drinks and supposed to be with some chick from the gym. We've talked a few times. Her name starts with K or a C. I can't remember. It's like Kate or Catalin. All I know for sure is that she has great tits and a nice ass. And when she invited me to drinks, I didn't think about saying no. I also didn't get her number.

  Now I'm the douche who stood her up. Remembering her body, they way her tits bounce when she runs on the treadmill, I'm most certain that she won't be alone for long. And since I can't remember her name, I'm not too brokenhearted. My dick, well, he's a little put out.

  I reassure my lonely dick that the next time I see Miss Tits and Ass at the gym, all I'll need to do is flash my baby blues, wipe the sweat from my forehead with my shirt, showing off my tight abs, and claim that a heartbroken friend kept me away. Then I'll ask if we can reschedule. Ten to one says she doesn't hold a grudge for long.

  What's sexier than a good-looking successful guy who went to a friend's recue?

  'Don't worry, boy, you'll be balls deep in that chick before the end of the week. Tonight's about Jess.' My dick and I both agree that she's the only one we'd make the sacrifice for.

  Besides, the chick from the gym gives off the same vibe I do. She's not looking for anything other than some fun and a good fuck. Those are my goals, too, but the order of significance is most usually reversed.

  Jess and I have always had different life goals. Not for hard work or dedication—we both kick ass at that. We've worked hard and it’s paid off. We both have great jobs. My old truck is now a sleek black sports car. My apartment is in the best chic part of St. Louis. She
has it all too, or did, before her recent engagement ended. Nevertheless, she has the great job and the apartment she was sharing with Jack Dickhead is in her name. In most ways, we're both living the dream.

  It's just that our dreams for a relationship—a forever, until I die thing—have always been different.

  Jess has been searching for that for as long as I can remember, while I've been content with right now. And believe me, there are plenty of right nows everywhere I look. She'd thought she'd found it, her forever. Unfortunately, Jess's forever just fucked his coworker—in her bed.

  "Hey, how about I order some dinner," I offer. "I can have sushi here in twenty minutes?"

  Jess sighs against my chest. "I deserve better." Her voice is soft, but determined.

  "You sure as hell do. Maybe pizza?"

  "No," she tips her chin upward until our eyes met. "Jerkface, not food. I deserve to be happy."

  That's my girl.

  "And sushi is the perfect start."

  I suck in a breath as she reaches down, awakening my dick, purposely rubbing my jeans.

  "What are you doing?" Though I’m asking the question, my dick knows the drill.

  Jess blinks her eyes. Her tears have dried, and her damn green eyes are filled with something I've never seen before, not from her. Her cheeks rise as her pink tongue darts out to her lip and then disappears. "I think I have a better idea than food, something that will make me feel better."

  Buy Now

  I didn’t sleep worth a fuck last night. How could I, when I saw her face every time I closed my eyes?

  I imagined fucking her in no less than ninety-nine different ways. The horny lobe of my man brain was more than happy and able to supply all the images to accompany the fantasies happening in my head. My favorite was the one where she was lying on the bed with her legs spread, inviting me to eat her pussy. Fuck.

  She was sleeping just down the hall, wearing only that short, tiny silky gown. My dick knew it and the fucker stayed stiff all night. Dammit, why’d she have to come into the kitchen wearing that? My cock and the devil sitting on my shoulder tried to convince me all I had to do was walk the short distance to her bedroom and I could be inside her pussy within a few minutes. And no one would know.

  Emma Briggs. Within my reach yet completely unobtainable.

  I was six when she was born; I’ve known that girl all of her life and most of mine. From the time she could walk, she spent her days tagging along behind Ryan, Brantley, Drake, and me.

  Always slower. Always weaker. Always so soft, sweet, and delicate.

  She’d have chosen death over admitting a single one of those facts back in the day. But we didn’t care. She was Ryan’s baby sister.

  Our little Em.

  That was then. This is now. And our little Em isn’t so little anymore. She has grown up, and she’s making me fucking miserable as I lie here on the sofa in the Briggs family room.

  I need to jerk off. Maybe cumming would bring relief from the ache in my balls—or at least make the discomfort bearable. And I bet getting off would better equip me to handle being around Em today. Fuck, it’s spring break. I’ll be seeing her all week. No way I can take seven days of this.

  I slip my hand into my shorts and grasp my cock, leisurely doing the five-knuckle shuffle under the quilt as I recall seeing Emma last night for the first time in more than a year.

  Holy shit. I’ve never seen her look that way. She stole the breath from my chest. Knocked it from me like I’d been run over by a goddamn eighteen-wheeler.

  Her dark, thick hair is longer. She’s always worn it straight but last night it was curled and swept over one shoulder. And her eyes—fucking sapphire magnets. I’ve seen them no less than a million times yet I could hardly stop looking at them. I think it’s the first time I can recall being so strongly drawn to something on a girl besides her tits, ass, or pussy.

  The red backless top she was wearing was sexy as fuck––one of those where it comes up and around the neck, leaving her shoulders and back completely exposed. Her sun-kissed skin called out to me like a siren. A seductress. A fucking temptress. Touch me, Ben. Kiss me. You know you want to.

  Damn, damn, damn. Her perky tits looked like nothing less than perfection pressing against the fabric of her top. And I’m pretty sure I drooled a little when my eyes followed her mile-long legs until they disappeared beneath the tight denim skirt hugging the curves of her hips and ass. I swear to God those curves weren’t there the last time I saw her. I would have noticed.

  Her shoes pissed me off. Fuck-me pumps. She had no business wearing those for another guy.

  Emma ran over for a hug the second she saw me, same as she has for years, but this time was different. My dick immediately recognized the change, too. The fucker spasmed and came to full attention when our bodies collided. And then, too soon, I had to release her and watch my Em go out the door with another guy.

  On. A. Fucking. Date.

  Brutal. Nearly killed me seeing her leave with some asshole, who I knew without a doubt, would try to get under that skirt and between her legs. I will kill that fucker if he touches her.

  I was glad when she came home—a little too glad. I had to keep myself in check so Ryan didn’t pick up on what I was thinking and feeling about his little sister. He would kill me if he knew what was going through my head about her.

  I spent all night imagining her legs wrapped around me while I pounded my cock into her tight, wet pussy. And that’s how I got into this shape now. My own fucking fault. I shouldn’t be having thoughts like that about Em.

  Every inch of her sweet little body called out to me. All. Fucking. Night.

  I know she’s still a virgin. That sweet cherry is in there. Ripe. And mine for the popping.

  I close my eyes and pump faster as I picture Emma lying on the bed with her legs spread, inviting me to touch her. “Emm.”

  “Yeah, Ben?”

  I open my eyes and see Emma leaning over the back of the couch. Fuck, I can see straight down the top of her gown. And I was right. Her tits are pure perfection.

  Her smiling face hovers above mine but then her eyes move and widen as they become transfixed on the jerky movement of my hand below the covers. “Be … ennn?” Her voice is low but thick with shock.

  Hearing my name on her lips in that particular moment is all it takes for me to detonate. I reach up and grab her behind the neck, pulling her down for a kiss as I blow a huge load beneath the covers.

  “Uhh, Em.” She swallows my groan as a soft moan escapes her lips.

  She opens her eyes when I release her. And stares at me, saying nothing.

  Fuck. Me. I’m in deep shit. I just kissed Em.

  While. I. Jacked. Off.

  My best friend’s little sister is all grown up. And I fucking want her.

  She will be mine.

  Emma has come to help Ryan and me pack our belongings at our apartment in Chattanooga; we’re moving home. Clarification: Ryan, Brantley, and Drake are moving home. I’m renting an apartment in Lynchburg about ten minutes from the Briggs residence so I can be close to my girl.

  I took extra hours and graduated a semester earlier than Ryan, Brantley, and Drake. Got my master’s in accounting seven months ago and started out commuting to my job in Lynchburg. Ninety minutes one way from Chattanooga. It made zero sense to spend fifteen hours a week driving back and forth, but more importantly, commuting stole precious time from Emma. Staying at my parents’ house in Lynchburg made more sense. And it meant I could see Em whenever she was able to slip away from her parents. Damn, we’ve done a lot of sneaking around to be together for the last few months.

  The five of us—Ryan, Brantley, Drake, Em, and I—are in Chattanooga tonight. Tomorrow is moving day so it’s our last night in the two neighboring apartments we’ve shared for the last four years. I’m not sad but my pals are seriously mourning the loss of their freedom. It has to suck knowing you’ve been living on your own for years and now you’re moving back
to live with your parents. No more college fun for those three fuckers. Time to adult.

  Leaving this life behind doesn’t bother me. I have everything I need waiting for me in Lynchburg.

  What does bother me is that Em’s asleep across the hall. Ryan gave her his bed for the night. Sort of. He got trashed and passed out on the couch downstairs.

  Emma Briggs: within my reach yet completely unobtainable.

  Ain’t that always the case with her?

  Sleep isn’t even close to claiming me when my bedroom door opens and a soft, warm, luscious body slides in next to me. “Em, what the fuck are you doing? Ryan will kill me if he finds you in my bed.”

  “He’s had so much liquor he’s dead to the world … at least until lunch tomorrow.”

  Emma crawls over my body to straddle my hips, kissing the side of my neck, and rocking her pussy against my erection. “Why do you do this to me when you know I can’t touch you?”

  “You’ve been saying for months you can’t touch me.” She grabs my hands and puts them on her waist as she rolls her hips in a circular motion. “I. Say. You. Can.”

  That’s what my dick keeps telling me, too. I think the two of them are in cahoots.

  Touching her now could end badly. I won’t chance ruining this. “The state of Tennessee says I can’t but it’s really not about the law. It’s about your brother, my best friend, and what he’ll do to me if I touch you one minute before you turn eighteen.”

  “Tennessee is so dumb for making eighteen the age of consent. It’s sixteen in almost every other state. But I have news for you, Ben. You’re still going to be six years older than me after my birthday. I’m never going to catch you. Ryan isn’t going to be on board with us being together regardless of my age. I’m always going to be his baby sister.”

  “I have a better chance at survival if we wait.”

  It’s been three long months. My cock has stayed hard with only the little bit of relief my hand could provide. I’ve ached with need to be inside this girl. Every. Fucking. Day.