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Feisty girls, though, yeah… they made my dick hard.
Full of sass with brown eyes, black hair, curvy hips and a pretty Latina ass that would make any man drop to his knees, begging for a taste.
Goddamn fucking trouble she was, but she was exactly what my dick wanted.
Lila Garcia.
Too bad she didn’t want me anywhere near her.
I inhaled through the blunt one last time and exhaled a puff of smoke, not bothering to move my head away. I knew I was being an asshole, but hey… chicks like her wanted jerks like me – so who the fuck cared?
Dropping the now useless blunt onto the ashtray, I leveled her with a look. She scrunched her nose, but her eyes flared with determination. What she didn’t realize – I ate girls like her for dinner before spitting them out two hours later, no guilt with one very satisfied dick.
I curled a hand around the back of her neck, bringing her head closer. “You want a taste of me? We do it my way.”
She looked around again, her cheeks flushed, and she was already a little bit out of breath. “Do you even know my name?”
“Do you know mine?” I threw back, although the answer was obvious. Of course, she knew who I was. Miss-Fake-Tits was only here to use me like I was about to use her. Fair game.
“Who doesn’t? You’re Maddox Coulter. And for your information, my name is Madison.”
She thought she was special. Newsflash – she wasn’t the type of girl I’d wake up the next morning with. I arched an eyebrow with a tsk. “Here’s the thing, I don’t need to know your name to fuck you.”
Miss-Fake-tits, er… Madison, wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Her hips moved in a circular motion, quite tempting as she practically grinded against my dick through our clothes. Any passerby would have thought we were fucking.
She let out a fake giggle. “Didn’t your mommy or daddy teach you some manners?”
She was teasing; it was a fucking joke.
But the silent rage inside me bubbled over, threatening to burst through, without any care of the consequences. Fuck her. And fuck mommy and daddy dearest, too. Manners? No, they didn’t teach me any – just like they didn’t give a fuck if I lived or died, either.
I crashed the party because I wanted to forget.
But Madison, aka Bitch, right here, just pissed me off even more.
She reminded me of why I was here, made me think of my fucked up parents when I was so hell bent on forgetting their existence.
Daddy dearest caught me smoking today, lounging on the couch and watching TV. He walked in with his business associate. Oh, he knew I smoked, except he never cared. But Brad Coulter didn’t want me to set a bad example in front of his business partners; his image had always been more important than my health.
“You don’t smoke in my house,” he hissed in my face, taking a threatening step toward me. There was a time when my father was taller and bigger than me. He used to be intimidating, and his words were law in our house. But that time was long gone.
Now, I was bigger… taller… meaner.
He didn’t scare me.
Now, he just pissed me off more often than not.
“I’ve been smoking since I was thirteen. Never knew we had a rule. You didn’t seem to care before, father.”
His lips curled up in disgust, and I felt it. I fucking felt it – his anger, his disappointment, his revulsion. My hands clenched into fists, and I exhaled through my nose. At a young age, I had quickly learned how to mask my emotions until I became a solid wall of nothingness. You’d cut me open, and you’d find something hollow inside.
“I constantly question if you really are my son.”
When I was seven years old, my heart had frozen in my chest. But his words, to this day, could still fucking burn me like acid in my veins. My father held an arrow in his hand, the tip of it aflame, and it was aimed right at my chest – my goddamn heart was his target.
“Nah. I’m definitely your son. You’re an asshole, I’m an asshole. It runs in our blood.”
His blue eyes – the same as mine, darkened and his face was vicious.
“Brad.” My mother’s soft voice interrupted us. “They’re waiting. Let’s go. Maddox, go back to your room. This deal is important to your father.”
I heard her unspoken words. Please, for Christ’s sake, don’t ruin it.
He took a step back, his jaw hard and twitching. Without sparing me another glance, he walked away. I saw the look in my mother’s eyes, her parted lips, and I waited for her to say something. But there was nothing left to say, so she walked away, too.
