Strong and Wild (Lakes Hockey, #2)

by Sloane St. James

I want to test her limits and see what she’s like when all her complex layers are pulled back. “You really think you can rattle my cage with that?” she asks. “I know I can.” “You won’t. I eat boys like you for breakfast.” “What time is breakfast?” I ask with a half smile. She’s probably a demon on her knees.

“Seriously, give it up, dude. I’m not interested. This isn’t going to end in your favor, I promise you.” “Normally, when a girl gives me lip, it’s because I pull down my zipper.” He leans over and whispers, “Is that my dick I smell on your breath?” Setting my beer down, my hands turn into fists. She gets right back in the dude’s face, throws her thumb over her shoulder and leans toward him to reply softly, “If you do it’s ’cause I just ate out your sister in the bathroom.” I’m caught midswallow and aspirate on my beer, sputtering and coughing like an idiot. Did she just tell that guy he fucks his sister? I’m chuckling along with everyone else who caught her little retort. The red on his face proves she hit her mark. He’s embarrassed. He should be. “Jokes on you, my sister’s dead!” “That explains all the dirt,” she mutters.

Can you cover for me? I’m gonna run to the restroom.” “For sure. You good?” “Yeah, just need a minute.” “That guy was a twat, don’t let him get to you.” “Girl, that’s an insult to twats everywhere,” I mutter as I walk toward the back hall.

I knock on her door. When she opens it, I’m tempted to laugh. She’s a mess. She’s wearing an oversized flannel with no pants, every button is mismatched by one or two holes, and there’s something hanging out of her pocket, is that a pretzel or a churro? I try hard to keep it together, she’s the most adorable trainwreck I’ve ever seen. Fuck, I miss this girl. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, but I miss her texts and the anticipation of her videos. What does that say about me? She’s the only woman who could look like this and smell like . . . cheese sauce? And I still want to fuck her brains out. “Wild night?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. She starts to shut the door on me, but I shove my foot in the doorway. “Too soon. You’re right, I’m sorry.” Her weight shifts from one foot to the other. “For what? Commenting on my presentation or something else?” I squint my eyes to look closer. “What’s on your face?” I reach out to the smear on her chin, but she slaps my hand away and brushes it off. “Um . . .” I point at her shirt. “I think you have a soft pretzel hanging out of your pocket.” “I know! It’s there on purpose!” she snaps, slapping my hand away a second time.

By 9:45 a.m., I’m standing in my kitchen, staring at the swollen ball of dough like it offended me. “You know why you look like that, don’t you?” I say to the ball. “It’s because you let him grab you and toss you around like a damn ragdoll. How about you show a little self-respect today, huh?” It stares back at me. “Stop looking at me like that. This is about you. Not me.” No response. “No, I’m not saying you were asking for it!”

“Okay, serious question, ready?” “Lay it on me.” “Tacos, pizza, pasta. You gotta fuck one, marry one, kill one. Go.” “Oh, wow.” I chuckle, considering my options. My brain runs through the different scenarios. “Um . . . Fuck tacos. Marry pasta. Kill pizza.” “You’re going to kill pizza?!” “Well, I’m certainly not going to kill pasta or tacos.”

Me: You want me to. It’s what you need isn’t it? For me to call you my good little slut and take over so you can let go.

It's too*

They say if you’re not dating for forever, you’re dating for heartache. But what if I just want to date to get my vagina licked again?

When he lets go, he gives a tender slap to my face and returns to gripping my neck. I form an O with my mouth and blow out. Keep it together. My feminism takes a backseat while my kink rides shotgun.

“Where are we going?” She leans forward in my truck, looking around. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” She turns and narrows her eyes. “Maybe I hate surprises.” “If you did, you wouldn’t say maybe. Also, you told me on Followers you liked them. And even if you did hate them, maybe I don’t give a fuck.” “You should. I could make your life a living hell.” “You already make it a living hell. Being around you is like having a migraine and an erection at the same time.” “Fuck you.” She laughs and pokes my shoulder. “I’m lovely.”