Handled

  HANDLED

  HANDLED

  S.E. Hall and Angela Graham

  Copyright © 2014 S.E. Hall & Angela Graham

  All rights reserved

  Cover: Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creations

  Shauna Kruse, Kruse Images & Photography

  Cover Model: Sean Smith

  Editor: Erin Roth, Wise Owl Editing

  Formatter: Joni Wilson

  This book may not be reproduced in any form,

  in whole or in part,

  without written permission from the author.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  DEDICATION

  To those who handle our "spontaneity" with love.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Handled, Part 2

  In Case You Missed

  Check Out Packaged

  Connect with S.E. Hall

  About Angela Graham

  Prologue

  “Hell yeah, baby, just like that.”

  Powerful, commanding hands grip the back of my head and weave through my hair, directing the speed and angle as I suck him deeper down my throat. My tongue strokes the thick vein of his cock while I bob faster, keeping up with the frantic rhythm of his thrusts.

  On my knees, one hand fondling his balls, the other wrapped around his thigh for balance, I close my eyes and give him exactly what he wants. Rough and depraved.

  “So close,” he pants, digging his fingers further into my scalp as he begins to fuck my mouth even harder, reckless now. His balls draw up and tighten in my palm, his dick growing impossibly rigid. He’s about to explode, bucking forward once more and roaring as he finally comes.

  “Fuck, don’t stop, Holly!”

  What the hell and who the fuck? Stop is exactly what I do, falling back on my heels as his cum shoots over my lips and across my cheek. He grabs his cock and milks the final drop, release not to be cut short by minor details.

  “Holly?” I leap to my feet, venomous bordering on murderous, using the bottom of my shirt to wipe his spunk off my doused face that’s now pinched tight, my eyes glaring right through him.

  Mouth agape, breathing labored, his own eyes bulging, he’s unable to form a coherent sentence, remaining annoyingly mute. Men don’t realize, they’re busted either way they choose to go in times like these. No words scream, “I’m gonna dig my hole deeper if I talk because you’ll outsmart me” louder than actual silence. And if they speak? They’re right—we will, in fact, one up them until that deceptive foot is shoved directly in their mouth.

  “Answer me!” My hands fly to my hips. “Holly as in the new the girl at your shop, Holly? That one?”

  “Shit,” he mutters, stuffing his somewhat stubby, mediocre at best, dick back in his jeans. He holds his hands up and out defensively. “Baby, it just fucking slipped out. Doesn’t mean anything.”

  “There’re two times men don’t lie: when they’re coming and when they’re about to come,” I hiss, eyes narrowed. “You need to leave. Right now.”

  “Paige, come on, calm down. I’m sorry, alright?” He’s desperate and whiny. Huge turn off. “I swear, I’ve never touched her.”

  I shoulder check him as I storm out of the living room, where I’d planned to have a XXX kind of night, toward my bedroom. Fuckwad, aka my soon to be next mistake, Corey, follows right on my ass, catching the door as I try to slam it in his face.

  He forces his way into the tiny room, pathetic puppy dog eyes and bottom lip pooched out. “Paige, please.”

  “Corey, seriously, just go. I can’t be held responsible for what happens if you don’t.” With this much anger bristling through me, I’m surprised at how composed I sound. That’s not a good sign for him at all. I’m not just hurt, I’m pissed. At myself. When will I learn?

  Sure, we’d only been fucking a few months, but that’s the longest stretch for me ever. And for once, I finally felt myself opening up a little, letting him dip a toe or two into the cesspool that is my untrusting heart…only to wreck it some more.

  I lied. I’m not just pissed, I’m livid.

  “Dammit, Paige. Listen to me.” He grabs my arm and whirls me around. “I never did shit with her. She’s hot, all right? So yeah, I sometimes think about her. But it’s totally innocent! 100% superficial.”

  “You flirt with her at work?” I ask, arms crossed over my chest. Not that his answer matters—we’re done here—but I might as well see how deep the typical bullshit runs.

  “No more than anyone else,” he says, popping his shoulders.

  Wrong answer. But I’d say there’s a little more room left for that foot in his mouth. “You ever jack off thinking about her?”

  His hands tug at his hair, head dropping with a tormented sigh. “Honey, all guys...”

  “Cheat, I know, thanks for the reminder. You can get the hell out of my house now!” I pry open the door he’s attempting to block.

  Corey releases a deep rumble of frustration. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? I said her name, that’s it! I didn’t cheat!”

  “Yet!”

  “Paige, I’m being honest with you and you’re acting like a total cunt.”

  No, I’m wasn’t, but I’m happy to show him the difference. Moving back, I open the drawer to my nightstand and pull out my .22, the only dependable thing in my life.

  “Grab your shit and leave.” I turn so he can see I now hold a gun, my eyes deceptively cool. Overreaction? Probably. Am I tired of being shit on? Yes.

  “Are you insane?” he yelps.

  Perhaps.

  “Goddamn it, Paige!” Backing up slowly, hands in the air, all color drains from his face. “Put the gun down!”

  “No, not until you leave. You may not have screwed her, but you just proved that I’ll never be enough for you.” I gulp down the annoying weakness I can hear edging my voice and reaffirm an icy tone. “So we’re done. D-O-N-E.” I smile sweetly, half tempted to curtsy.

  When he stops to stare at me, waiting for God knows what, I release the safety, point the gun at the ceiling, and pull the trigger. Good thing I’m on the top floor.

  And just like that, the most recent asshole flees from my life.

  “Tell Holly I said hi!” I yell as the front door slams. Plopping down on the bed, I stare up at the cracks surrounding the bullet hole, chunks of plaster falling on my head.

  Guess I’ll be moving again. Like soon.

  Happy New Year to me!

  Chapter 1

  “It’s Amelia, I’m not in right now, leave a message after the beep.”

  Six days and fifteen messages later…I still get my cousin’s answering machine. Something’s definitely wrong. Amelia used to be the one calling me, often, to talk about everything from the ridiculous little things her cat did to the latest book she read. And now I hear nothing? My concern has reached a whole new level—fear.

  I drive twenty over the speed limit the entire way to her place, lugging everything I own, my car packed to the brim. Sadly, it all fits in my rusted out Sedan, but I digress. Either Amelia’s dead or being held hostage somewhere. No other options make sense. This is Amelia we’re talking about…she’s not exactly the poster child for spontaneity.

  By nightfall, I’m pulling up to her apartment complex, hoping like hell she’s there. I stow my trusty .22 in my purse, then pull the hood of my coat over my head while jogging through the snow to her door. I knock a few times, impatiently waiting, then finally resort to pounding with my fist.

  Nothing. I lean in
, ear to the door, but the only sounds from the other side are distressed yowls from Lucy. Luckily, I still have the emergency key Amelia gave me when she moved in here.

  I open the door slowly, more concerned than ever. Amelia would never leave her cat to fend for herself.

  One foot inside the apartment and I feel, rather than see, her rub against my leg.

  “Lucy,” I whisper, scooping up the fluffy ball of fury, hoping she’s not declawed and ready to unleash her wrath on any jack-in-the-box intruders lying in wait. Buy me some time to grab my gun, sacrificial feline.

  My other hand fumbles blindly for the wall switch, and a sigh of partial relief escapes as I flip on the light. The apartment looks the same as the last time I was here, months ago, minus Amelia or any signs of robbery. Shamelessly holding Lucy way out in front of me, I creep as stealthily and silently as possible toward the bedroom. Wishing I had some WD-40 handy, cause you know this damn door’s gonna creak on volume bullhorn, I push it open and toss the poor front man of this operation—the cat—on top of the lump under the covers.

  “Wake up!” I shout at her.

  Please let it be her. I really don’t want to have to fire any warning shots.

  “What the fuck?” a throaty voice yells back. Make that a very deep, very masculine voice, compelling even over Lucy’s subsequent snarling blaze out of the room. My jaw drops, heart racing as I grapple for another light switch and watch the covers go flying, exposing the bare upper body of a large, well-built man.

  I scurry back, mentally devising my “get to and grab gun mission,” but only manage to less-than-tactically trip over something. Whatever it is wraps around my left foot, and before I can stop myself, I’m falling. I tense and squeeze my eyes shut, arms out, braced for the impact that never arrives. Instead, firm, capable hands grip onto my hips and steady me.

  “Whoa, easy girl. Never had a chick run away so damn fast before,” the owner of said strong hands jokes.

  “Let me go!” I swat at his grabby paws, my heart pounding, breathing rampant…but not so much in panic anymore. One stolen peek at his lighthearted slate eyes reveals amusement, arrogant challenge, and an obvious ego—but no danger. Also pretty telling? It’s been a good three minutes and he’s yet to bust anything over my head, strangle, suffocate, and/or attack me in any way.

  “How ‘bout trying thank you?” He drops his hands and lifts a brow, head cocked to the side.

  Brain still sputtering, adrenaline washing away, I roll my eyes and take a needed minute under the convenient excuse of unwrapping the jeans wound around my ankle. All the while, his rich chuckle reverberates behind me. Once I’ve got my shit somewhat together, the possibility of death no longer pending, I peer back at him, eyes slanted in contempt.

  “Who the hell are you?” I throw the jeans, which I assume are his, at his smart-ass face. “You’re so not Amelia’s type! Which, I’m guessing,” I glance about sarcastically, “is why she’s not here?”

  Everything about him, from his formidable presence to his mischievous aura and the glint in those eyes, reeks of danger and sex. Throw in the black hair, disheveled in that way most men strive for but rarely attain, massive arms, impressive shoulders, and abs cut like a warm knife through butter…damn. My tongue darts out, wetting my lips despite the specific mental command I just issued to remain unaffected.

  “You ‘bout done lookin’? I’ll let ya touch, sweet thing, if you bring that fine ass over here.” He winks, his long, dark lashes sending out a ripe gust of confidence. “And I’d be more than happy to show you a thing or two about a thing or two while we’re at it.”

  Despite the heat settling across my cheeks, I don’t stare a moment longer, conveying a challenge of my own. This smug asshole just met his match.

  “Tempting.” I twist my lip and mock-ponder at the ceiling. “Copious rendezvous with possible vagabond in my missing cousin’s bed. Hmmm.” I tap my chin, then again meet his eyes with my own. “Nah, I’m gonna go with door number two, if you don’t mind. Where’s Amelia?” I might yell the next part, hands perched on cocked hips. “And if you’re dating her, I’ll help her kick your ass for hitting on me!”

  That infuriatingly sexy “I’m enjoying this” sound he makes comes out again as he stands, unashamed, a pair of black boxer briefs the only stitch worn…too damn well. He takes the few steps between us and stands directly in front of me, but I don’t budge, holding my own.

  “Amelia’s too sweet for me.” The back of his hand strokes down my cheek, but I rob him the satisfaction of any reflex. “I like my women rough around the edges.”

  Now I react, smacking his hand away with a scoff. “Fascinating, really. Hey,” I feign excitement, “know what’d be super sweet? Her whereabouts. As in you tell me ten minutes ago!”

  His lip curls up into a wicked grin, the effect as devastating as he meant it to be. “I like that mouth of yours. Let me know when you want to do more than just run it.” He winks and brushes past me, the heat of his body pressing against mine sparking a flame I struggle to extinguish.

  I only steal a couple seconds to compose and remind myself why I’m here before following behind him. Slipping on his jeans in the bathroom, door wide open, our eyes meet in the mirror. “Where’s Amelia?” I ask, patience wavering.

  “Upstairs in my apartment,” he answers, opening the mouthwash. A gurgle and spit later, he walks out past me, not bothering to put on a shirt.

  Only entertaining this continuous and uncharacteristic game of follow the leader for my cousin’s sake, I again trail behind, absolutely not taking another sweep at my lips with the new view of his broad back. Or more specifically, the intricate cross tattoo covering it. “Why are you here and she’s there?”

  “‘Cause as much as I like them, not real big on listening to her and Shaw fuck.” He stops mid-stride and looks back at me over his shoulder. “Which they do, loud and often.”

  I shake my head, brows pinched. “Who’s Shaw?”

  He turns to face me fully, hand raking through his hair. “The guy fucking Amelia. Thought I just explained that.” He leans down to pet Lucy, who’s weaving herself through and against his calves, purring. Some guard cat. Thank God he turned out to be non-homicidal.

  “Seriously,” I heave, suddenly exasperated. “Er…what’s your name?”

  “Vaughn Stone.” He takes a step forward, offering me his hand. “And you are?”

  “Worried about my cousin. Please,” I reply, tone resolute as I squeeze his accepted hand then drop it.

  The humor flees from his face and he nods. “Alright. Shaw’s my roommate, and Amelia’s boyfriend. When they get too…noisy, I steal her key and come down here to catch some Z’s.”

  “Why don’t they just stay here?”

  His eyes go wide, face animated. “Right? I keep asking them that same question and they go on and on about how they will, but they never fucking do.” Squinting his eyes, he adds absently, “I think Shaw’s trying to drive me out.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” I drawl, a tinge of regret hitting me instantly. Where it came from (the regret, of course) is unknown, a place I’ve never visited.

  “Hey, I’m a helluva roommate! I’m not even home most the time.”

  I smirk, unable to resist. “‘Cause of all the other beds you simply must pay a visit?”

  His face splits into a broad grin. “You’re cute, but no, I drive a truck.” He struts away, and my feet force me to follow him into the kitchen where he grabs two beers from the fridge. “So,” he offers me one, “what about you, No Name? How do you fill a day?”

  I move toward him and take the bottle, twisting off the cap. “It’s Paige. And right now, nothing. I’ll be job hunting first thing in the morning.”

  He leans back against the counter, sipping his beer, regarding me thoughtfully over the end of it. “Paige,” he murmurs, leaving it to hang in the air a second. “Yup,” he says with a quick jerk of his head, “suits you.”

  “Thank God.” I clut
ch my chest. “Now I can save hundreds on the whole name change debacle.”

  A mere twitch of his lip, he eyes me up and down. “You from around here?”

  “No, just got to town tonight. I was worried about Amelia.” My head dips and I pick at the label on my drink. “Also kinda hoping I could use her extra room till I get some money saved.” I look up to gauge and defend myself from his judgment, but find none.

  Rather, his eyes glisten, smile growing. “Ah, so we could be roomies.”

  “Not likely,” I quip, nose scrunching at the idea. “If Amelia lets me stay, I’ll be discussing your sleeping arrangements with her first thing.”

  He shrugs, all cool and easy like. “I’m sure we can work something out.” He throws me a flirty wink. “You can wrinkle that lil’ nose all you want, but trust me, you’d rather have me sleeping a room away than listening to their hourly soundtrack. The artist formerly known as Amelia is a bit of a squealer. No, scratch that, cancel the bit part. Not sure what they’re into, but your cousin sounds like a baby pig rolling in shit.”

  Beer spews everywhere and I beat my own chest to stop the choking. Few people ever truly shock me, even less earning a sincere laugh…Vaughn just did both. “Hot, very hot,” I manage to get out in a gravelly, respiration-not-fully-restored struggle. “Don’t talk all fancy and romantic on account of me, really.”

  “Paige,” he hums under his breath, lightly hitting me on the back a couple times, “if you live, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

  “Can’t wait,” I wheeze, setting my bottle on the counter. “Any chance you could go get Amelia for me?”

  “Sure.” He starts off, then pivots. “What kind of job you’d say you were looking for?”

  “I didn’t. But anything will work. Just need a paycheck.”

  He chugs the rest of his, then my, beer and tosses the empties in the trashcan. “You scare easily?”

  “What? No!” I crept up on your sleeping ass, didn’t I?