Home > Rascal (Rascals #1)(13)

Rascal (Rascals #1)(13)
Author: Katie McCoy

“You think you’re hurting me, but you’re really just hurting yourself,” he told me, his face getting that angry red coloring he always got during our conversations.

I was getting pretty heated myself.

And he wasn’t done. “You’re being completely selfish,” my father said. “Think of the family—think of your mother. Do you think she likes having to lie to people about what you’re doing with your life?”

“I don’t know why she has to lie,” I countered. “There’s nothing wrong with managing a bar.”

I was done. I was so done. I threw my napkin onto my half-empty plate, finished my drink, and stood.

“Sorry, Hayley,” I told my sister, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “But I can’t stay.”

“Sit down,” my father ordered, like I was eight years old and he could boss me around whenever he chose. But I was a grown man now, standing on my own two feet, and it meant I could use them to walk out the door whenever I chose.

“I have worked my ass off to make this bar a reality,” I said, somehow managing to keep my voice steady even thought I was fuming. “And I’ve done it all without your help. You have two choices—you can support the decisions I make about my life, or you can get the hell out of that life. For good.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heels and left.

I could hear my dad’s voice following me the entire way back to the bar. I could have gotten a cab, but I decided to walk, fueled by anger and just enough whiskey to keep me warm during the cool spring night. I kept replaying the conversation over and over in my head, knowing that I shouldn’t have lost my temper.

But no matter what I did, it would never be good enough for my parents. The bar could be a huge success and I could become a self-made millionaire—instead of a trust-fund brat following my father’s footsteps—and it still wouldn’t please my father. He had such fixed ideas about success and status, it felt like he cared more about controlling me than he did about my own personal happiness. To him, being a Hayes man meant a steady job in the family firm, a big house in the right neighborhood, and a dutiful, sweet wife from another country-club family: functions and charity events, golf on the weekends, and vacations on the boat.

Just thinking about it made me wince.

I knew that Rascals may crash and burn, but wasn’t it worth the shot? To put my own effort into something, with my friends; work hard to get ahead, instead of taking a promotion somewhere based on my name. My father liked to act like this bar idea was just that: some boyish whim I decided on out of thin air, but the truth was I’d been planning this for almost seven years now. I’d paid my dues, bartending through college and spending the past few years working my way up the management side at the hottest bars and clubs around the city. I asked questions, went the extra mile, and soaked up every last piece of info I could get my hands on. And now, I was getting to put it all into action. Do things my way, instead of following blindly in his footsteps.

And damn, he hated that.

I was practically vibrating with adrenaline and frustration by the time I got back to the bar. Chase was there, supervising the remaining contractors, and I was about to shout for him to grab me a drink when I noticed that we had a customer.

Alex was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer of her own.

She hadn’t noticed me yet, her head bent over a pile of paperwork. It looked as if she had come straight from work—with her hair in a tight bun at the base of her neck, dressed in a simple black suit and heels. Nothing special about any of it, except for the woman herself.

Lust roared through me, and without thinking, I stalked over to the bar and grabbed her hand. She started at my touch, relaxing immediately when she saw it was me.

“Emerson!” Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in surprise.

“Come with me,” I told her, practically pulling her off of the stool.

She followed me without hesitation as I led her to my office, slamming the door shut behind us and flipping the lock.

“Emerson, what is going on?” Alex asked, her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Are you OK?”

“I will be,” I told her, and then took her face in my hands and kissed her. Hard.

Yes.

She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around my neck. I groaned against her lips, gratified for her eager response. I deepened the kiss, tasting beer on her tongue as I thrust my tongue into her mouth. She let out a soft moan, her hands clutching my shirt, her hips pressed against mine.

I slid my own hands down from her face to her shoulders and then lower still. I grabbed her ass, pulling her against my hard cock, wanting to show her exactly how much I wanted her. How much I needed her.

Because that’s exactly what I needed right now. To completely lose myself in Alex’s gorgeous mouth. Her perfect body.

“Tell me to stop,” I growled, fumbling with the buttons on her jacket.

“Not a chance.” She nipped at my ear, shrugging her jacket off her shoulders once I had gotten it free.

I groaned as I dragged my hands up to cup her breasts, feeling the lace of her bra through the thin silk of her shirt. Her nipples were hard against the fabric, and I wanted so badly to take them in my mouth.

But the tiny little buttons on her blouse were proving impossible, even for my practiced hands. Thankfully, Alex batted my fingers away and made quick work of the shirt, which was tossed to the other end of the room, revealing her in all her black-laced glory.

“Fuck,” I swore, staring at the gorgeous tits that were now on display, her rosy pink nipples poking through the thin lace.

I dragged my thumbs over them, gratified by the way that Alex bit her lip and arched into my hands. Unable to help myself, I reached behind her and unsnapped the clasp, letting the bra fall away. Then it was my hands on her bare skin. Like silk.

“You like that?” I asked, my voice husky.

She nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I licked my own lips before I lowered my head to take her nipple into my mouth.

“Emerson,” she moaned, her hands tangling in my hair as I dragged my teeth over her taut skin. I loved the sound of my name on her lips.

I backed her up against my desk, pausing only to sweep aside some paperwork and lift her so her gorgeous ass was perched on the end of the desk. Then, I cupped her breasts, lifting them to my mouth as I teased and sucked her.

She wrapped her legs around me, locking her ankles behind my legs as she rolled her hips against mine, her skirt bunched up between us.

I wanted to touch her. I wanted to touch her everywhere. I dragged my hand down her stomach and then over the skirt that was rolled up around her hips. Sliding my hand beneath the hem, I inched my way up the inside of her thigh as she strained against me, her mouth hot on mine.

When I touched her, she arched forward. I could feel her heat through the thin fabric of her thong. She was wet. I was hard. Incredibly hard. And yet, all I cared about was her pleasure. I wanted to see her come.

I traced my finger along the waistband of her thong before slipping my hand inside. She sighed against my mouth as I dragged my thumb against her clit. She was so hot and so responsive that I almost came in my pants.

She was panting now as I touched her, my fingers wet from her. I slipped one finger inside and then two, thrusting slowly, imagining how good it would feel to have my cock inside of her. She was tight, and she rolled her hips as I pumped her with my fingers.

“Yes,” she moaned against my mouth. “Yes, yes, yes. Right there.”

I pressed my thumb hard against her clit and she came, clenching around my fingers, her cries swallowed by my mouth.

10

Alex

What. The. Hell. Was. That?

OK, I knew what that was. That was an orgasm. The first one I’d had in a long time that hadn’t come courtesy of my trusty vibrator. And it was a damn good one, still vibrating through my body.

I slumped back on Emerson’s desk, my limbs like jello. I could barely move, my legs splayed out, my skirt bunched up around my hips, and one of my shoes dangling preciously off of my toes. The rest of my clothes were strewn around the room.

As the high from my orgasm began to fade, I became self-conscious of my position. And very aware of the bulge in Emerson’s pants. Obviously he hadn’t found any relief, but he didn’t seem to mind very much. In fact, the whole time he had seemed utterly focused on my pleasure and my pleasure alone.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had been with a guy who hadn’t been looking out for himself in the bedroom.

Then he surprised me even further.

“Go on a date with me this weekend,” he said.

I blinked at him, not sure if I had heard him correctly.

“A date?” I repeated dumbly. “You mean like dinner and a movie? Didn’t we just kind of skip that part?”

He laughed. “No. that was just a preview.” His eyes smoldered, and I felt it everywhere.

“I’m too busy to date,” I said automatically.

He gave me a smirk. “So make time. It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He leaned over and kissed my bare shoulder, and I shivered.

“OK,” I whispered, my body humming.

“Great,” he said, straightening up. “Saturday? I’ll pick you up.”

I nodded dumbly, still lost in the afterglow.

If this was just the previews, I couldn’t wait for Saturday.

Sex had ruined my brain. At least, my orgasm had. All week I couldn’t focus—my mind returning time and time again to what Emerson had done to me on top of his desk. I couldn’t wait to find out what he could do on another, more forgiving surface.

Say, a bed.

I told myself that the whole thing was a bad idea. Because it was. I hadn’t been lying when I told Emerson I was too busy to date. But he was a pro at getting me to forget myself—and all the boundaries I’d created.

He distracted me. All day. All week.

I didn’t want to want him. But I did.

Maybe after we’d had sex, I’d lose interest. Or he would. Isn’t that what usually happened with guys? It was all about the chase. So when the chase was over, then maybe this infatuation, or obsession, or whatever it was, would be over too.

   
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