WIP: You’re Great in Bed, But You Are A Jerk

I’m feeling a serious need for action and female badassery. Maybe it’s spring? But Laurel is getting tougher, becoming more womanly, I guess. That’s a rather dated word, but it fits. In this unedited snippet, Laurel gets a first hand look at what an alpha male does the morning after he gets the drawls. On their walk after breakfast she says she needs to go to the grocery store…

“So what do you do for fun outside of work?”

So, as they walked, she told him she liked to take pictures. No camera though. She took them on her phone. She was saving up for a camera. He asked to see some, and after a moment’s hesitation, she showed him. She was surprised when he was complementary, but not as surprised as he obviously was that they were good.

Man gets spanking“You should take pictures and use them at work.”

“I don’t know enough about architecture to do that.”

“You don’t have to. The city has some great buildings. Just take pictures of what you like. Do a little research. You don’t even have to caption things if you don’t want to. Or, you could just offer the address. Besides, Instagram for The House shouldn’t just be about buildings. It should be about beauty, construction, lines, interiors.”

“You Instagram?”

“Sure. Don’t you follow my feed?”

“Well, yeah, but I always assumed someone else did it for you.”

He gave her a look. “Who? Someone like the social media manager?”

Good point. “You didn’t have a me before I took the job?”

“Nope. Marketing handled the feed for The House, but not as well as I wanted. We needed a dedicated person. You should get on Instagram. It’s a great place to build a portfolio and show it, and it forces you to work because you know you have to feed your followers regularly to keep them engaged.”

He waited more or less patiently in the grocery store while she squeezed lemons and eyeballed avocados. He even carried the bags full of salad and turkey bacon and almond milk.

“Is that stuff good?”

“Almond milk? Yeah. You wanna try mine?”

“Yeah?”

She stopped, would have gone in the bags to take it out, but he stopped her. “Wait ‘til we get home.”

Home? “Home where? Your place?”

“Yeah. That okay? You got something else to do? I kinda wanted to spend a little alone time.”

She stared at him.

“What?” he laughed. “You’re lookin’ at me like I’m nuts or something. Is it that weird that I’d wanna fuck you again? You’re awful cynical for a broad who was a virgin less than 24 hours ago.”

Cynical? Pot, meet black. “Yeah, well, pardon this broad, but you told me you were a one night stand kinda guy. I thought breakfast was about as far as we were gonna go.”

He kissed her. Hard and thorough. So thorough, after a moment she forgot they were standing on the street, that their, whatever, was supposed to be over. He kissed her so good, she wasn’t even aware he’d turned her around and started walking back to his apartment.

She’d never known a kiss like that existed. She’d thought them fabricated for romantic comedies and poetry readings. But when it was over her head was spinning, her panties were damp, and the tips of her breasts were tight against her bra. She wanted to rub them, but her brain had unfrozen by then, and she was mortified at how easily he’d manipulated her.

“Don’t do that again.”

“What?”

“Kiss me on the street like that.”

He just laughed at her.

“What’s that mean? Whatever? I’ll do what I want and you can’t stop me?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “Yeah. Pretty much. What are you gonna do about it?”

She glared impotently, but he knew he was right. She wasn’t going to do anything. Was she?

“I’m just gonna go,” she said, looking at her bag once they were in his place.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” he said, slowly and distinctly, like he was sounding the short word out for someone who’d never heard it before. “You’re gonna stow whatever attitude you’ve drummed up for no reason, take off those fucking clothes, and go lay on your back in the middle of my bed. While you’re waiting for me to come fuck you, I’m gonna put your nut milk in the fridge so it doesn’t spoil before you do go home. Whenever the fuck that is.”

And he turned and walked away.

Laurel thought seriously about leaving anyway, without her groceries. She didn’t need some jerk telling her what to do like he owned her. She’d already had the experience she wanted, and she’d chosen wisely. Sam was a wonderful lover. As a person, however, she’d had just about enough. It was time to go home…

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