Read 📚 Me👇

“Get your hand off of me,” she said between clenched teeth. I let go of her arm and held both my hands up. I tried for a more placid tone, but even I could hear it didn’t quite make it. “Were you. A virgin.” I could see her battling the answer. I could see her battling answering me. ... Her chin still lifted, her brown eyes met mine and held. There was a long moment of silence before she opened her mouth again. “Yes.”

***

Chapter One

Prologue

Mid-March

O’Gallaghers was the place to go if you were looking for a good time. The local sport teams hung out there after games, for one, but also because the O’Gallagher siblings were a sight to behold.

At least, in my opinion.

I grew up with the siblings, once upon a time. From the time I could walk and all throughout high school, my parents and I lived next door to the O’Gallagher family. Brenna, the youngest of the trio, and I had been best friends up until the fifth grade. Conor, the oldest, and Rory, three years younger than him, were wild, flaunted sex appeal like nobody’s business, and were fiercely protective of their baby sister.

They also didn’t seem to think she was every bit as wild and crazy as they were, which was actually part of the breaking point in my and Brenna’s friendship. By the age of ten, I was no longer good enough for Brenna.

While I remained the quiet, timid Mia, the only part that was wild and crazy about me was the brown, curly locks on my head. Two years after our friendship ended, and I still held on to my baby fat while Brenna was the first in our grade to get breasts, then her period. She was the first to grow tall in our class, too. Sure, we eventually all caught up and she became the shortest in our class, but it didn’t stop the boys from noticing her. She was a five-four, C-cup beauty with raven black hair and piercing green eyes, and we were only twelve years old.

By fourteen, rumor had it she lost her virginity in the back of a high school senior’s van. A classmate of Rory’s, no less.

By sixteen, the rumors started circling she was pregnant. She wasn’t, I don’t think, but it was a popular story, told again and again.

The thing with the rumors was that the people spreading them, the people responsible for them, were extremely careful to keep their words clear of Conor and Rory.

Brenna left for school in her conservative clothes and always returned home in them. She left clean-faced and was sure to wipe the make-up off before heading home.

I’m sure her brothers weren’t stupid, but with everything else going on in their lives—senior year, college, and the like—if Brenna showed up clean and fresh and like the angel they thought she was, they could go on and pretend the same.

Even though our friendship had fallen apart over petty things, I never spread the rumors.

It wasn’t that I was afraid of her brothers; quite the opposite, actually. At all of eight years old, I had fancied myself in love with fifteen-year old Conor. He shared the same jet-black hair Brenna had, but his eyes were the type of blue you could see from a mile away.

So incredibly brilliant. Piercing.

As much as I had missed Brenna’s friendship in our pre-teen and teenaged years, it was the easy smiles her brother always had for us that I missed the most.

Currently, I sat at a high-top table in O’Gallaghers, my eyes on the man running the bar, hoping to catch that blue brilliance, willing it to aim my way.

Conor O’Gallagher.

I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years so I doubted he would recognize me—but I certainly recognized him.

Gone was the lanky, tall, clean-faced kid from our youth. In his place was a taller, broader man with a short, yet thick, black beard. The only time he flashed his smile was when he was flirting and he always paired it with a sexy wink. Tonight though, was ladies’ night, which meant he brought the charm up one-hundred-fold.

The O’Gallagher siblings were second generation Irish-Americans; their grandparents were from Northern Ireland. Anyone with any knowledge of Irish history would know that the Irish didn’t wear kilts, but rather tunic things called lein-croichs.

Ok, maybe I looked it up.

But I had been pretty sure kilts were a Scottish thing.

Anyhow.

Thursday was ladies’ night, and Conor and Rory brought it up a notch by wearing solid black kilts—last week’s was saffron colored—paired with the forest green shirt that was part of the bar’s uniform. No other bartender did the same, just the O’Gallagher boys.

They also both wore tan work boots, which should have made the ensemble ridiculous but rather…

It was sexy as all get out.

I had been coming in a few times a week for the last three weeks, trying to get the nerve to go up to Conor. Re-introduce myself. See if he wanted to sit and talk, ease him into what I really wanted from him. Yet, every time I came in, I sat at this table, away from the bar and away from Conor.

I licked the corner of my lips as I lifted the glass of Irish ale to my lips, my eyes still on the man of the hour.

Each time I was there, I was helped by one of the female barmaids. If I wanted to be helped by Conor, if I wanted him to truly notice me, I would have to sit at the bar but I still had to form a plan because I wanted more than to just sit and talk and catch up.

You see, for all of Conor’s flirting, he always backed it up. Sure, he flirted with dang near every female in the place, but if he gave you extra special attention, you just knew where your night was going.

Allegedly at bar close, he took one of the remaining ladies up to his apartment for a wild rendezvous. Never a virgin; he wasn’t quiet about his lack of desire to take a virgin to bed. He liked the wild women who knew their own way around the bedroom.

Thursdays, rumor had it, he brought two up with him.

I didn’t want to be one of two tonight, no.

But I did want one night with him.

A night to learn the ropes of sex.

Because if anyone knew what he was doing, it was Conor O’Gallagher.

And I was going to be his first virgin.

***

Conor

I set the mixed fruity drink in front of the sexy blonde sitting at my bar and gave her a wink. Her drink choice needed work, but she would probably still be fun in bed.

Maybe she’d stick around for bar close.

I wiped my hands on the bar towel hanging from my belt and glanced up as one of my regulars-turned-good-friends came up to the bar, pounding on it twice with his fists, a huge grin on his face. “Yo, Conor.”

I chuckled and nodded upward, working on a drink order one of my barmaids brought up. “What’s up, Cael?”

Caleb Prescott was one of my regulars, yes. He played hockey for the city’s NHL team and often came in with his brother or the team as a whole. He and I would sit and make small talk sometimes and I grew to like the guy. He was younger than me, my sister Brenna’s age actually, but he was a good guy.

“I talked Syd into a date for the wedding.” Caleb moved to sit in what had to be the only open stool at my bar and leaned forward on his arms. Caleb met Sydney during a dating show.

I take that back. Sydney was the casting person, and Caleb fell for her, hook, line, and sinker.

“She finally decided she was going through with it, hey?” I grinned and slid the glasses I’d filled over to the end to be picked up. “Your mug is good enough for her?”

Caleb grinned wide. “Screw you, Conor. But yes, we decided on a date. And I want you to be there.”

I stopped wiping my hands on my towel. Caleb and I were friends, yeah, but I didn’t realize we were invite-you-to-the-wedding kind of friends.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to, or can’t come. We’re having it back in Wisconsin. But you’re one of my few friends here that isn’t on the team and Sydney likes you, so.”

“Nah, yeah, absolutely,” I said, reaching up to flip my baseball cap backward. “I’d be honored to go. Thanks for the invitation.”

“I only asked because of Sydney,” Caleb said with a smirk.

“Yeah, whatever, loser. You love me.”

Caleb shot me the bird before standing to pull an envelope from his back pocket. “Don’t tell her I gave it to you bent to heck, though. She spent a lot of time on them.”

I laughed and shook my head. The guy was whipped. I couldn’t imagine one woman for the rest of my life, but hey, if he was happy…

I reached for the envelope and put it back by the register and legal pad, which I would have to take back to my office before the night was over.

“You want a beer?” I asked as I turned.

Caleb shook his head as he pushed back from the wood. “Nah. Chief made dinner and we have a game tomorrow, so I need to pass. See you tomorrow though? You get those tickets?”

I nodded, holding my finger up to a pretty girl waving in my direction. “I did. Rory was ecstatic. They’re great seats, thanks.” Rory’s birthday was coming up and Caleb hooked me up with tickets to the Enforcers-Wild game the next night.

“Absolutely. Happy to help. Talk later,” Caleb said, holding his hand up in the air in salutation as he turned to leave. I shook my head, grinning, and went back to work, heading down the bar to the girl who flagged me down.

“What do you have on under that kilt, Conor?” she asked. She was certainly hot, with her dark hair and grey eyes, and her most definitely surgically-enhanced chest. Maybe she’d be willing to play tonight. Her blonde friend beside her was pretty easy on the eyes, too. Maybe she’d be up for some play time as well.

I chuckled and lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Everyone with a true Irish bone in their body knew that kilts were a Scottish thing, and the kilts worn by the Irish were typically an American thing. When my brother Rory and I were trying to find ways to keep the bar from falling under the red line, we decided to go with the kilt idea. It didn’t matter that kilts weren’t a true part of our heritage, regardless of the Gaelic ancestry we had; we were Irish, and Irish-Americans liked to wear them.

That, and the ladies seemed to fawn over them.

So we wore them on Thursdays, which quickly became our best night of the week.

For the business and the bedroom.

I wasn’t exactly private about my affairs. Many a drunk woman would stick around until bar close, hoping I’d pick them in my nightly game of eenie, meenie, miney, ‘ho.

Some of those ladies were disappointed to learn that I wore boxers underneath, but only dimwits went bare under a kilt.

That and the phrase was “True Scot” and, like I said, I was Irish.

I walked down the bar to pour a lager that was ordered up from the floor when I could feel someone staring at me.

Keeping at task and filling a lager glass, my eyes scanned the bar as my ears kept focus on any requests from the patrons sitting at the bar. Finally, my eyes settled on the woman who had been coming into my bar a few nights a week for the last number of weeks. She sat at a high-top a few tables back from the bar, in the same spot she’d been a few other times.

I’m not sure what snagged my attention, to be honest, the first time I’d noticed her. She wasn’t striking like the half dressed women who sat at my bar. No, she wore little makeup on her face and had a crazy mass of curls that looked like she fought to put back in the bun behind her head.

She never came in with anyone, never met up with anyone. It was only just ever her, sitting at one of my high tops, nursing some lager or another. I idly wondered what her story was, and what kept bringing her in. The bar had regulars, don’t get me wrong, but she just didn’t strike me as such.

When her eyes shifted and met mine over the bar and a couple tables, she quickly looked down.

Ah, so she had been spying on me.

She didn’t look the adventurous type, but I had been surprised by women before. Maybe she wanted in on my fun tonight and was just too timid to make a move.

Sometimes it was the quiet ones that turned out to be the freaky-in-bed ones.

Recalling her drink, I poured her another and set it with the lager that had been ordered. When Emily, the quiet but beautiful—and therefore, great for business—barmaid we hired last week came back for the lager, I pushed the extra glass toward her. “High-top four.”

“Sure, Con,” she said with a small smile. I watched as she delivered it, my hands slowly wiping and bunching at the towel at my hip.

When Emily sat the glass down, Curly Locks looked up, wide eyed. I couldn’t hear whatever Emily told her, but before Emily left the table, Curly’s eyes met mine again. I offered her a wink then went back to manning my bar.

One of my bartenders, Greyson Stone, walked behind the bar from the swinging kitchen doors. Yeah, his parents were douches for naming him that. “Hey, bossman.”

“What’s up, Stone?” We clasped hands and pulled into one another, bumping chests with our hands between us. Typical greeting.

Stone came to work for Rory and me three years prior, when O’Gallaghers re-opened for business. I needed a trustworthy bartender and while I hadn’t known Stone from Adam at the time, he’d proven to be one of my best employees and a pretty good friend. That and he didn’t hit on my sister.

I filled orders as I talked to the man who wasn’t supposed to be working tonight.

“What brings you in tonight?”

“Ah, Rory asked me to cover his last hour.” Stone began going through coolers and chests, making sure all the fridges and condiments were how he liked them. The man was slightly OCD about it.

“What.. is Rory doing?” I glanced over at Stone, my peripheral on the lager I was pouring.

“Something about a girl,” Stone said around a chuckle. He grabbed a towel and hooked it into the back pocket of his cargo shorts.

I shook my head. Everyone knew I’d take a woman home at the end of the night, just like everyone knew Rory wasn’t above taking one home in the middle of his shift. “Always a girl.”

“You take a break lately?” Stone asked before his attention was snagged by a customer at the far end.

We split the bar, each taking a side, as the night hit a busy spurt. Thirty minutes later, the rush ended for the moment, and I remembered Curly Locks. I looked toward her table, sure she would have left by now.

But nope, she was still there, nursing the glass I had Emily send over.

“Stone, I’m going to take that break,” I said over my shoulder. I grabbed two bottles of water and, carrying them in one hand, made my way out from behind the bar. I tossed my towel on the back counter by the register just before clearing the bar.

“Hey, Conor.”

“Conor, my man, how’s the night?”

Everyone knew who my brother and I were. Not only had we grown up in this town, but O’Gallaghers had been a prime establishment since our parents opened the doors twenty years ago. Five years ago, the doors closed when our parents decided to do the empty nester thing, traveling around the country in a RV of all things. When I mentioned wanting to take over, I refused to accept the bar as a gift. They went on and on about how it was us kids’ namesake and I should be willing to just take it, but I wanted to give them a sensible down payment. Between Rory and me, we accomplished that in just about a year, and roughly eighteen months after the doors closed, we re-opened.

The patrons who came on Thursdays were generally the younger crowd. And the ladies, of course. I would say that on any given night, I knew at least half of our patrons from either back in school or around town.

I made general small talk with customers, some I knew, some I didn’t, on my short journey toward my destination.

The entire time, my eyes were on Curly Locks. She knew I was coming for her.

There may have been loud conversation and music playing all around me, but the only thing I could hear was my breathing and the slight thump of my Timberland work boots.

The closer I got to her, the wider her eyes became.

Trapped, baby.

I’ve got you trapped.

Chapter Two

Mia

When Conor first caught me staring at him, I battled the need to leave. But then he sent the pretty waitress over with another drink. It was rude for me to leave then, even if I knew I wouldn’t drink it.

I had a limit, and I was pretty strict about it. I had to drive.

When the bar got crazy busy, I almost slipped out then. I wanted to be unnoticed. I wasn’t ready to ‘meet’ Conor. I had to come up with a plan!

Unfortunately, I found myself glued to my chair and when Conor’s eyes found mine yet again when the crowd dwindled…

I had been frozen to the spot, unsure of what to do.

He stalked his way toward me now, black kilt hardly moving around his legs. My eyes traveled down, taking in his hairy but muscular calves, ending in short socks and tan boots. I brought my eyes back up to lock on his and sat up a little straighter.

Did he recognize me? Did he know who I was?

He finally reached my table and put a bottle of water down in front of me. “Your lager is probably warm and undrinkable by now.”

His voice had deepened more in the last fifteen years. I mean, I knew it was going to happen. It had started well before the last summer I spent with his sister. But it was low and gritty, and it alone had my heart pounding behind my breasts.

I licked my bottom lip before bringing it in my mouth to bite gently. I watched as his eyes focused on the movement.

I hadn’t been intending on the highly sexual movement to be anything more than a reflex of my nerves, but the way his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated… Shoot.

“You like what you see, Curly Locks?” His eyes slowly moved from my lips to my eyes.

So he didn’t know me.

I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or embarrassed.

“I do.” My voice held a huskiness I wasn’t aware I was capable of.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Oh my God. This was happening.

I hadn’t properly planned and wasn’t expecting anything to happen tonight but oh my God.

It was happening.

I shifted in my seat and tilted my head to the side. I guess I was going to have to play it by ear. With a mental shake and a deep breath, I brought out my best bravado. “Nothing.”

“I bet I could turn your nothing into a great night.”

He leaned into the table, his forearms resting on the wooden top and he lazily slid his bottle of water from hand to hand, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Well, he probably didn’t.

He could have his share of women in this bar.

“I don’t do threesomes.” I lifted my brows in challenge.

“Ah, so you’ve heard about the other Thursday night special.” He chuckled, one side of his lips lifting with the movement. “I can work with that. You see, Curly, I’ve seen you here in my bar, by yourself, a few times now. And I’ve felt your stare. I think you want to go upstairs with me.”

There were so many things my mind wanted my mouth to spit out.

You know me.

How are your parents?

What has Brenna been up to?

I’m really proud of you and Rory.

YOU KNOW ME!

But I fought to keep those words back. Instead, I focused on his intense gaze and ignored my heart battling in my chest. “So what if I do?”

He winked and pushed away from the table before uncapping his water and taking a long, long drink from it. My eyes watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulp. When he put the bottle back down, it was more than half gone.

“Stay put and I’ll make your wildest dreams come true.” He recapped the bottle and walked back to the bar much in the same fashion he had when coming toward me.

Proud. Confident.

Cocky.

Oof-- I couldn’t wait.

***

Conor

I had been near positive Curly would leave in the hours between our chat and close, but nope. She sat at her high top, one leg crossed over the other, nursing the bottle of water I left with her. Sometimes she’d lean against the table, others she’d sit up straight. But always, her eyes were on me and my movements.

I knew what women like her saw when they watched me.

A man whom she considered was just out of her league. A man who would never take a moment to appreciate the plain shirt and jean-clad legs, hair in a mess of a bun, while women with perfect hair and perfect faces and perfect breasts falling out of their hardly-there shirts leaned over my bar.

I glanced over my shoulder at the clock before turning back to the last of the bar’s customers. “Closing time, ladies.” As was usual, I was the last to be in the bar. My cooks left at eleven; the last of the barmaids left an hour ago, and Stone left an hour before that.

“What are you up to tonight, Conor?” a gorgeous brunette asked me. Her eyes met mine, but not before checking out my junk.

Not that she could see much of anything under the heavy fabric of this kilt.

I was up, all right, but it wasn’t for this brunette. It was for the one who kept her heavy gaze in my direction, who kept licking her pink, full lips. Kept drawing in that lower lip. Kept squeezing her knees together as she sat with her legs crossed.

She was just as impatient as I was.

Most of the women generally were.

The brunette at the bar leaned over as she pushed her glass forward, a twenty under it. Assuming it was to cover her tab, I took the bill and turned to close her out. When I returned with her change, she winked. “You keep it. But tell me, Con. How much does a girl gotta pay for you to take her virginity?”

There was no way this woman was a virgin. Not with how provocatively she dressed nor how strong she was coming on.

Her girlfriend beside her giggled into her hand. Either she was a happy kind of gal, or she had one drink too many. Considering I always watched out for my customers and their limits, I would say she was a happy girl.

“I don’t do virgins, sweetheart.”

I reached over with my towel to wipe down the bar beside these two. My rule against virgins wasn’t anything bred from a terrible past or knowledge of horror stories of the whole deflowering process.

Nope.

Actually, I just didn’t think it was fair to the woman.

I wasn’t there to coddle, I wasn’t there to make sweet love.

I wanted to throw the woman down on the bed, rip her out of her clothes, and enter her without the preamble of foreplay and being sure she was ready. They were always mostly ready, some tighter than others, but always thick and hot and welcoming.

The pain, the tears, the blood; yeah, no thank you.

“Well, that’s too bad, sugar,” the girl said, pushing the change I just left her toward my end of the bar. “I’ll just have to come back. Have a good night, Conor O’Gallagher.”

The women left, leaving only Curly Locks in the establishment. I flicked my towel over my shoulder and rounded the bar, grabbing my legal pad and Cael’s invitation on the way. I continued to walk toward the door, but addressed her. “You’re still game?”

I looked over my shoulder, sure she would nod her response, and was pleasantly surprised to find she now stood near me. She grinned up at me, not looking nearly as naïve as I had pegged her as, and nodded. “Still game.”

Looking down at her, I couldn’t help but feel that I knew who she was.

It was something in her eyes.

She looked strong yet slightly wary, a look I’m sure I’d seen a thousand times before. Maybe that was why.

“Alright then.” I locked the front door and flipped a switch, turning off the neon advertisements and the “Open” sign.

I couldn’t help but want to take her hand, but that wasn’t me. What was that about? So instead, I walked ahead of her. “Follow me then, Curly.”

Chapter Three

Mia

I nibbled on my lower lip as I walked just behind him.

I was nervous.

The entire time between now and when he had left me at the table with just a bottle of water, I thought about what would be happening tonight.

I wasn’t a stranger to sex, per se. I had toys. I knew my body and was comfortable with it. Sure I was a little on the bigger side; my yearly biometric screening labeled me as “overweight” even though I was about twenty-three percent body fat. I spent many years as a child battling my weight and finally as an adult, found a way to shed most of it. These days, I had muscle and was toned, but the pudge in my tummy and the extra under my chin when I tilted my head down… they bothered me.

But I fought hard for my body and I was proud of it.

So yes, I was comfortable with my body and knew what got me off. At least, what got me off by my own hands.

I had vibrators, dildos, and this fancy little toy that sucked and pulsed around.. But the actual penetration from a real, live man was what was new to me, and I couldn’t help but be a little fearful for it.

Tonight though… Tonight was my ultimate dream come true.

I followed behind Conor as he walked toward the other end of the bar, flipping off the last of the lights. He pushed through the kitchen swinging door, hardly even holding it for me but for the tips of his fingers as he continued on through the kitchen.

I slipped through before the door swung closed on my face.

He obviously didn’t bother with sweetness or gentlemanly acts. Was this all part of his show? To scare away the girl who wanted that sweet gentleman? He wasn’t going to scare me away though. Nope.

I quickened my step so I was closer to him, but only in fear that I would truly end up hit in the face by a door. At the end of the kitchen, he turned a corner and reached into a room to flip off the light. Before he pulled the door closed, I recognized the room as an office.

Still, I followed him until we reached the end of this back room. After locking one more door, he opened up the last of them and reached into the hall the door led to. He flipped on a light in the hall, revealing a staircase, before turning off the light to the room we just cleared.

Up the stairs we went, to what I assumed would be his apartment.

Great observation skills on my part, you know.

He opened the unlocked door at the top of the stairs. This time he waited for me. He stood against the open door, his back propping it open and his muscled forearms crossed over his chest.

“You change your mind yet, Curly Locks?” His eyes were challenging me.

I cleared the last of the steps and, chin held high, gave him a challenging look of my own. “Nope. No, I have not.”

I slipped into the dark apartment in front of him.

***

Conor

Maybe I was wrong about this chick.

She had a bit of a bite, and I liked it.

I reached over to hit the switch, bathing the living area of my apartment in bright light. Stepping away from the door, I stood back and waited for the door to latch before moving toward Curly.

“Grand tour,” I said, giving my general spiel with a heavy sigh. I tossed the pad and invite down on the coffee table before gesturing in the direction of the couch. “Living room.” I pointed to the kitchen, which was clear due to the lack of wall between the two spaces. “Kitchen slash dining.” I stepped past Curly, skirting my comfortable, well-worn leather couch, and headed toward the single hall in this place. Assuming she’d follow, I pointed to a door as we passed it. “Half bath.” I kept walking to the end of the hall, heading toward the only other door, and walked into the bedroom.

This dude was bigger than the living room and kitchen combined.

I had a California king in the middle of the far wall. A leather ottoman thing at the end of the bed. A dresser. A huge television. Door to the attached bathroom. Nothing horribly special in there yet, but I wanted to at least redo the shower. Nix the tub.

When Rory and I bought the bar from my parents, one of my projects was renovating the apartment above as well. Rory had his own place due to some investments he made in college, so I got to call the apartment my own. It had been a two bedroom with an office, and I wanted it to be a full blown bachelor pad.

Dream it, do it, you know?

“Bedroom. Where the magic happens,” I finally said, turning to watch as Curly walked into the room behind me.

Usually the woman would say something at this point, or start stripping—something—but Curly just looked around. I followed her with my eyes as she stepped past me, moving along the wall and taking it in.

“It’s a bit big for just you, don’t you think?” she finally asked. She had stopped near the bed but turned toward me.

“The room or the bed? The bed is sometimes too small.” I smirked at the memories.

Good times had been had in this room.

Good times.

Curly looked like she was torn between shock and rolling her eyes. I liked the shock factor.

“Strip,” I told her, reaching behind my head to pull off my shirt. No more talking. Down to business. I wanted her naked and spread on my bed.

I had an ache in my junk that having her eyes on me caused. All night, she stared. Every time she bit that lip of hers, I got a little harder.

It had been a long night downstairs, and I was long and thick to prove it.

When my shirt cleared my head, I saw that she had done the same, leaving her in just those skinny jeans and a bra.

Her breasts were huge on her body. Her belly and hips were soft, but she had a small gem hanging in her navel, showing me she wasn’t one of those insecure girls who thought a little extra meat meant she was fat. The piercing proved it; she wasn’t afraid to show off her belly.

I moved to sit on the bed, grinning to myself when she shifted at my nearness. I had a huge bed and yes, I was going to sit next to her as I finished undressing.

I leaned forward to remove my boots and socks. I stood again so I could remove the kilt and my black boxers from underneath.

“You’re moving slow, Curly.”

I dropped everything and stepped out of the puddle of clothes, standing bare in front of this curly-haired woman.

I saw her rake her gaze over my body, lingering on my thick, hard member.

Her fingers faltered at the button of her jeans. That’s right, Curly, I was big.

The women loved it. Often I was told it was my best asset.

And let’s be honest. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, so who cared if the best thing about me was my privates and what I could do with it?

“Get on with it, Curly Locks, or else your jeans won’t make it home with you.”

I liked nothing more than ripping clothes off a woman, and depending on the chick, I would do it without the warning I just gave her.

Curly lowered the zipper on her jeans antagonizingly slow, but when I caught her eyes, I saw just a hint of mischief there. Girl knew what she was doing.

She lowered them with a bit of a shimmy and when they were off, leaving her in her bra and, to my disappointment, plain cotton boy shorts, I grabbed her hips and pushed her back onto the bed. Her eyes flared wide for a moment but I dropped my mouth to the top of her breast, sucking and biting.

Curly lay under me, her hips moving against the bed but she kept her hands to herself. I needed more participation from her.

I pulled down the fabric cupping her breasts and groaned at the sight of her puffy nipples. Oh man, I loved puffies. The way they felt in my mouth, an extra cushion around a pebbled, hard peak.

I pulled back from her breast, allowing my teeth to bite down a bit harder than what could be considered gentle, and revelled in her open mouthed moan.

Sitting back on my knees, I covered her breasts with my hands, kneading and pushing the globes together then apart. Her hands faltered on my member but that was ok. I pushed back, my hands still on her chest, until I was partially leaning over her. I moved my hands only so I could finally undress her fully.

I wasn’t one for the foreplay, but her taste was addicting.

I let go of one of her ankles so I could wrap my arm around her leg, laying my forearm over her hips to hold her down. As I put my mouth to her again, this time sucking and moving my face against her, I put my hand to the back of her other leg, pushing her thigh closer to her hip. The action trapped my hand against her but it also opened her up for me. Not wide with full access to her sweet spot, but long, giving me access to her.

Her hips bucked under my arm as I went to town on her. Sucking, thrusting, biting, nipping. I sucked and feasted on her as she bucked and moaned and whispered my name. Her hands were in my hair, fisting the locks so hard it hurt.

Give me more, Curly.

Pain with pleasure was the best line to cross.

I released my hold of her leg and her heel dropped to the bed beside me.

I sucked her into my mouth one last time before she shattered around me.