Pretty Dirty (Dirty Bad Things Book 2)(44)

Yeah, it had been entirely too long since I’d been touched. So much so that a pat-down on the side of the road had my body needing release.

I tried to imagine what sort of cocks the two of them had underneath those tight, crisp uniforms. I pictured them coming up on both sides of me, kissing my lips and my neck as two sets of hands roamed my body and two big hard cocks pressed into me.

Spreading my legs as wide as I dared, I eased a finger into my tight slit as I brought my other hand down to slip beneath my bottoms and rubbed my needy, aching clit. I began to fuck myself slowly, easing a finger in and out of my tight opening as I moved my other fingertips in small deliberate circles around my clit.

Thinking of two big men taking me hard on the side of the road, and thrilling at how brazen I was being despite the beach being obviously empty had me gasping in no time. My fingers rolled over my clit, the heat came rushing through my body, and I came — hard. Biting my lip to be as quiet as possible, I felt my whole body seize up and release as my subtle, desperate climax ripped through me there in my beach chair, while I thought of the two hunky cops.



There was a scrawled note on the kitchen counter from Tim when I got home late in the afternoon.

“Went out for a while with a potential job prospect. Please ask before you take the convertible, Sam.”

That was it.

“Please ask before you—”

Oh, fuck off, Tim.

I wasn’t sure what I was even going to say to him when I came home, or even if I was going to say anything at all. But finding him gone took the wind out of my sails right there. And that whole bullshit about a “job prospect”? Please.

I ignored the storm raging through my head as I poured myself a healthy glass of chardonnay.

Suddenly, I froze. Jesus, I knew exactly what he was doing. I could picture him, groggily waking up from his bender the night before, coming downstairs for coffee, seeing his phone where he’d assumed he’d probably left it the night before. He’d probably felt relieved that I hadn’t seen it, especially when he’d opened it up to see the messages from her.

Her.

That’s where he was right then. Suddenly, I felt like even more of an idiot. Just earlier, I’d actually admonished myself for having even a fantasy about another man — or men — while my cheating, scumbag fiancé was on his way to actually see another girl!

I gritted my teeth and started to storm out of the house, when I stopped. There, over on the side table was his phone, just sitting there.

I walked over to it, and slowly found myself picking it up and opening it up. There, right there, was the same text message conversation with the same little slut from before. Only now, instead of a picture on the screen, there was an address.

I bit my lip, staring at the address. I knew this was a terrible idea. And maybe the glass of wine I’d already half-slugged down had gone to my head more than I’d realized, but I didn’t even stop to consider turning around until I was past that point anyways, speeding off in the convertible.





5





Blake




The squad car jerked as I swung sharply into the parking lot, Dustin swearing next to me as I took the corner hard.

“Fuck, man.”

I shot him a glance. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling the clawing feeling digging inside of me as I braked hard into the parking space out front of the coffee shop. I could feel the all-too-familiar need raging inside — the demon of addiction that I kept locked up tight in there with an iron chain.

But locked up didn’t mean he wasn’t loud as fuck sometimes.

I’d been sober for four years now, and I loved it. I was sharper, and healthier, and just better in every aspect of my life without the guy I used to be fucking shit up anymore. But that didn’t mean I didn’t still have days where I felt like I could murder for a sip of whiskey.

And on those days? Well on those days, I drowned that screaming craving down with my new addiction.

Caffeine.

“Got it bad, huh?”

I glanced at Dustin as I shut the car off, my jaw clenching, my teeth grinding, the roaring of my addiction threatening to explode out of me.

I nodded, and his face went grim.

“You want to call anyone?”

I shook my head. “I’m good. Just…”

“Black, one sugar?”

I nodded again, breathing heavily.

“I got you, man. Sit tight.”

My friend was out of the car in a second, jogging to the door of the coffee shop.

Dustin had seen me through the worst of it, back then. We’d been best friends since, well, shit, I don’t even know since when. Before I could remember, that’s for sure. We’d done it all together, growing up across the street from each other — playing with GI Joe’s, taking on bullies on the playground, playing football, chasing girls.

Hell, we’d lost our virginities on the same night, to the same damn girl, at the same time.

Well, technically speaking, Dustin had lost his first — something he’d never gotten tired of jokingly reminding me of over the years.

After school, we’d gone to the same college to play ball, signed up on the same day for the Marines, and done two tours together in Afghanistan. We’d come back home to SoCal, breezed the policeman’s exam, aced our detective’s tests, and now here we were.