Part 1
By
Elizabeth Thorn and Sunny
Starr
"You're out of your fucking mind," I say, not
certain I heard right. But I know I did.
I know because there is no denying the damn
bulge that leaves me breathless, heart racing. My light green eyes
narrowed, I flash daggers at the arrogant shit, stomach twisted
into nods. Of course he isn't intimidated.
Jimmy doesn't
do intimidated . He
intimidates you instead just by being his usual obnoxious
self.
Blood rushes to my neck and face. Fast. As if
every drop is competing to get there the first. In seconds my face
and neck are the same deep red as the hair that hangs down my back,
all the way to my bubble ass.
The same ass he just made clear he wants to
tap. Together with the rest of me. His hard on the tool he intends
to mark the newly conquered territory with. Damn pervert.
Stuck between the impulse to kick the little
shit in the nuts and the disgust that wants me to turn my back on
him, I stand frozen in place like a statue. Thing is, in my thong,
he'd get a great shot at my ass.
He'd love that. I'll be damned if I give him
the satisfaction.
Jimmy, every gorgeous inch of him, doesn't
look impressed. Few things do. Mr. Cool. Mr. Hot. A guy I love to
loathe.
"What?" he says, thumbs hooked in his
pockets, back straight. Abs hard as rock. So goddamn hot it makes
me want to puke because it brings physical cravings to the surface
I can't afford. The kind that puts me to shame.
Square chin
raised, he throws me a look that says : You got problems, girl. That is
Jimmy for you.
"What?" he
says again when I stay silent, too busy getting a grip on the
surealnes of the situation.
He makes it
sound like I am being unreasonable . He is good at that.
Good at making you feel there is something wrong with you, not
him.
He can make
it seem like you should be grateful for him going out of his
way to make you see the light of reason, and his muscular broad
chest and ample pubic bone too.
That is not even mentioning the sight of hard
cock stretching the fabric of his shorts to the point of tearing,
an impressive cock judging from the looks of it. Impressive enough
to trigger a heat in my belly that I try hard to ignore.
His look speaks volumes.
A look that
says he thinks I'm falling short by not dropping to my knees. You
know, to give him the sloppiest blow I have in me. Just to show
how grateful I am for the privilege of his
presence.
That is Jimmy. Blonde, tall, handsome, and
the most arrogant bastard you will ever meet. You won't ever meet a
close second. Ever. Guaranteed. Mr. Douchebag. A total asshole.
"What do you
mean what ?" I finally spit back, transpiration breaking through my
skin, ignoring the worrisome tingling between my legs.
Jimmy's grin grows wider, revealing perfect
teeth, and he pushes his shorts down another inch, revealing more
pubic bone covered by short light blonde hairs.
Fuck.
My breathing quickens, my pulse too. I can't
believe he is willing to sink this low. Me. Of all people, he knows
he shouldn't even have thought of it.
But he has.
There he is
openly eye-fucking me, blue eyes bright. That is the way you know
he is messing with you: the shine in his eyes. Bright and lively,
and as blue as blue gets, an attention grabber as much as his
he-man muscles.
Too damn good-looking for his own good. That
is why he is popular with the sluts and it has spoiled him beyond
the point of return.
Pussy? Jimmy doesn't chase pussy: pussy is
thrown at his feet by sluts who are only too happy to sink their
pink wet snatch down on the cock he wants to make my
acquaintance.
But that is what sluts do, not me. I'm a
decent girl who wears her status as a virgin like a batch of honor,
not shame.
My idea of fun is reading serious literature
in bed late at night, sheets pulled up to my chin, not hit the
clubs looking for stiff cock and an STD.
That is what sluts do, not me, no siree.
I don't wear contacts, I'm perfectly happy
with my spectacles, nor do I ever put on makeup, and
By
Elizabeth Thorn and Sunny
Starr
"You're out of your fucking mind," I say, not
certain I heard right. But I know I did.
I know because there is no denying the damn
bulge that leaves me breathless, heart racing. My light green eyes
narrowed, I flash daggers at the arrogant shit, stomach twisted
into nods. Of course he isn't intimidated.
Jimmy doesn't
do intimidated . He
intimidates you instead just by being his usual obnoxious
self.
Blood rushes to my neck and face. Fast. As if
every drop is competing to get there the first. In seconds my face
and neck are the same deep red as the hair that hangs down my back,
all the way to my bubble ass.
The same ass he just made clear he wants to
tap. Together with the rest of me. His hard on the tool he intends
to mark the newly conquered territory with. Damn pervert.
Stuck between the impulse to kick the little
shit in the nuts and the disgust that wants me to turn my back on
him, I stand frozen in place like a statue. Thing is, in my thong,
he'd get a great shot at my ass.
He'd love that. I'll be damned if I give him
the satisfaction.
Jimmy, every gorgeous inch of him, doesn't
look impressed. Few things do. Mr. Cool. Mr. Hot. A guy I love to
loathe.
"What?" he says, thumbs hooked in his
pockets, back straight. Abs hard as rock. So goddamn hot it makes
me want to puke because it brings physical cravings to the surface
I can't afford. The kind that puts me to shame.
Square chin
raised, he throws me a look that says : You got problems, girl. That is
Jimmy for you.
"What?" he
says again when I stay silent, too busy getting a grip on the
surealnes of the situation.
He makes it
sound like I am being unreasonable . He is good at that.
Good at making you feel there is something wrong with you, not
him.
He can make
it seem like you should be grateful for him going out of his
way to make you see the light of reason, and his muscular broad
chest and ample pubic bone too.
That is not even mentioning the sight of hard
cock stretching the fabric of his shorts to the point of tearing,
an impressive cock judging from the looks of it. Impressive enough
to trigger a heat in my belly that I try hard to ignore.
His look speaks volumes.
A look that
says he thinks I'm falling short by not dropping to my knees. You
know, to give him the sloppiest blow I have in me. Just to show
how grateful I am for the privilege of his
presence.
That is Jimmy. Blonde, tall, handsome, and
the most arrogant bastard you will ever meet. You won't ever meet a
close second. Ever. Guaranteed. Mr. Douchebag. A total asshole.
"What do you
mean what ?" I finally spit back, transpiration breaking through my
skin, ignoring the worrisome tingling between my legs.
Jimmy's grin grows wider, revealing perfect
teeth, and he pushes his shorts down another inch, revealing more
pubic bone covered by short light blonde hairs.
Fuck.
My breathing quickens, my pulse too. I can't
believe he is willing to sink this low. Me. Of all people, he knows
he shouldn't even have thought of it.
But he has.
There he is
openly eye-fucking me, blue eyes bright. That is the way you know
he is messing with you: the shine in his eyes. Bright and lively,
and as blue as blue gets, an attention grabber as much as his
he-man muscles.
Too damn good-looking for his own good. That
is why he is popular with the sluts and it has spoiled him beyond
the point of return.
Pussy? Jimmy doesn't chase pussy: pussy is
thrown at his feet by sluts who are only too happy to sink their
pink wet snatch down on the cock he wants to make my
acquaintance.
But that is what sluts do, not me. I'm a
decent girl who wears her status as a virgin like a batch of honor,
not shame.
My idea of fun is reading serious literature
in bed late at night, sheets pulled up to my chin, not hit the
clubs looking for stiff cock and an STD.
That is what sluts do, not me, no siree.
I don't wear contacts, I'm perfectly happy
with my spectacles, nor do I ever put on makeup, and
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