mr. badboy

Part 32

said we weren't sleeping with anyone else. And luckily, the tests came back negative. I've been on the pill forever, so it's just been so much easier and sex has gotten that much better. There's nothing like the feel of his raw, hard cock inside me.

I just hope I haven't scared that cock away.

"Well he hasn't responded yet so maybe..." I trail off, wondering if I should quickly send another text, telling him I've changed my mind and would rather go alone. But what if that makes him feel rejected? Wait, can Blake even feel rejected? I'm not sure that's emotion he's capable of, along with empathy, sympathy and shame.

"He'll say yes, don't worry," she says with a sigh, heading into the bathroom. "Time to wash this off."

I watch her go and then nervously head back into my room, eyeing the phone as it sits on my pillow, like it's going to lash out at any moment.

You can fix this, I tell myself.

I gingerly pick up the phone and peer at it.

Blake finally texted back, for once not calling.

Sounds great. When do we leave?

Ah.

Shit.

***

It's Friday morning and I'm standing on the curb outside my place, waiting for Blake. The sun is just starting to peek out over the maples, streaming through in columns of golden light. There's always been something magical about summer mornings. I guess because when I was younger, the summer meant vacation and if you were up early during the summer that usually meant you were going somewhere fun.

That's true today, even though I'm excited about heading to the cabin for the weekend, I'm also flat-out nervous as fuck. I woke up before the sun even rose, taking my shower and spending extra time on my appearance, like I'm going on a date. And in some ways, it is a date—a really long one. I also went through my duffel bag for the millionth time, packing and repacking my clothes. I want to stay comfortable, earthy and sexy, which is somewhat of a tall order. The girls in the Free People catalogs can pull it off, but I'm another story.

Even though I'm the one who invited Blake and we're going to my family cabin, he insisted on taking Mr. Mean. Can't say I have a problem with it. The Cooper is cute but Mr. Mean is a sexy beast, just like its driver.

Butterflies toil in my stomach, heating up my spine and cheeks. I suck in a deep breath and somehow manage to hold it in as I hear the roar of Mr. Mean's engine and see the black car coming around the corner.

Blake pulls up alongside the curb and gets out, shooting me a grin that I wish didn't weaken me at the knees.

"Madame, your chariot awaits," he says, sliding his aviators to the top of his head. "Sorry I'm late, I literally rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago."

"It's fine," I tell him, coming over with the bag. To my surprise he takes it from me and puts it in the trunk, then opens the passenger door, gesturing to it. "After you."

I shoot him a wry look. "How very gentlemanly of you. You feeling okay?"

"Darling, you should know I'm not a morning person by now," he says, going around to his side while I get in. "And you should know that they make me delusional. Appreciate the gentleman while it lasts." He starts the car and slips his shades back down, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "I'm certain all vestiges of decorum will vanish the moment I get you alone."

"A," I say to him, holding up a finger. "We're alone right now and B," I tick off another finger, "you need to stop reading the thesaurus. It's good in a bind and that's it."