My Personal Bad Boy Read online

  MY PERSONAL BAD BOY

  Bethany James

  Copyright © 2016

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Bethany James, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  To every reader who lives out his or her dirty fantasies in the pages of a book, this one is for you.

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  “Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight . . . Seven . . . Six . . . Five . . . Four . . . Three . . . Two . . . One! Happy New Year,” the overly spray tanned announcer booms as the camera pans to the crowd below and the couples kissing.

  A soft snore draws my attention down and to my right. Marco, my eight-year-old nephew is fast asleep.

  He tried so hard to stay awake so he could see the ball drop, but passed out almost an hour ago. On my left is my niece Jasmine. She’s a year and a half younger than Marco and crashed long before he did.

  Leaning down, I press a kiss first to her forehead and then turn to do the same to Marco’s.

  Awesome New Year’s kiss Nic, I think to myself.

  It’s a three-year streak for me. Why hire a babysitter for your New Year’s plans when your little sister is a hermit loser with no life. With a sigh, I scoop Jasmine up into my arms and carry her small body upstairs to her room.

  Before we camped out on the couch, I had the kids put on their pj’s and brush their teeth. That way I wouldn’t have to try and change them out of their clothes and risk waking them up. Learned that trick the hard way years ago.

  Marco smacks his lips when it’s his turn to be carried up the stairs but thankfully stays asleep. Once both kids are tucked in their beds, I head back downstairs and turn off the TV.

  At this point New Year’s is just depressing. Everyone is all new year new you and crap but it’s bullshit. Does anyone actually ever stick to their New Year’s resolutions?

  Say, the one I made last year where I swore I’d get a life and not be available to babysit New Year’s? That worked out real well, didn’t it?

  Let’s see, I’d also have a boyfriend that wasn’t in my ereader and I’d go out instead of scurrying home to do absolutely nothing each night.

  Granted, there was one resolution I made that I had stuck to, not that it did anything for me. I read somewhere that if you wore ridiculously sexy lingerie everyday that it would build your confidence. That you would exude this sexiness and get noticed more.

  My underwear has been so hot it sometimes made me blush. Problem was there were no guys stopping me to get my digits anywhere. Yes, I felt sexy putting them on but the second my regular clothes covered them all of my sexy vibes vanished.

  Besides, Robin, my sister hadn’t even bothered to ask me if I’d watch the kids this year. She had just assumed I would. So, she’s off at some fancy hotel with her high-powered lawyer husband living it up.

  The problem with New Year’s resolutions are, half of the time you have no idea what you’re doing or no one to guide you so you give up. Power Pump, the gym I work at is like the perfect example of that.

  Every January a ton of people join the gym and drive all of our regulars insane for the month. They take up all the treadmills and if they can’t find that or an elliptical to work out on they wander around the rest of the equipment.

  We try to feed the newbies into classes and have them work with trainers but for some crazy reason they think they can do it on their own.

  Holy shit.

  That’s my problem right there, I don’t know how to have a life but what if I could find someone to guide me. What if I placed an ad online for someone to help me with all of this?

  With quick steps, I make my way to my sister’s office and log onto her computer. There’s a local everything site where you can list stuff for sale, personal ads, similar interest groups, whatever.

  With a click I select the in search of link. When I go to the create an ad spot, it prompts me to create a free account. It takes a couple minutes to get it all set up and then verified but then I’m good to go.

  In Search of . . .

  What do I want?

  I know I want my life to change, but in what way?

  Should I play it safe or go wild?

  With my fingertips hovering over the keyboard, I let my fantasies come to the forefront of my mind. The things I’ve imagined doing. I gulp, pressing my thighs together as my body reacts to my naughty thoughts.

  Lowering my fingers to the keys I decide to not hold back.

  I’m searching for wingman or woman. I’m seeking corruption and I want you to be my guide. I’m average, from my average height, to my average weight, to my average hair and my average clothes. I spent New Year’s babysitting when I wanted to be anywhere else. I want a tattoo or maybe a piercing. I want to kiss a girl and have a one-night stand, not necessarily in that order. I’m not a virgin but I may as well be. I want to experiment and gain experience. I’m sick of being the wallflower. I want to be so confident with myself and my sexuality that when I walk into a room head’s turn. Most of all, I want to live.

  Reply to this message if you think you have what it takes.

  Before I can submit my ad, I have to title it. Without thinking, I type I want to be bad.

  Did I really just do that?

  It’s not like anyone could ever find out it was me. The whole website is anonymous, that’s why you have to link it to an outside email account. With a few clicks, I log off of the site and my email account before I shut off their computer. Then, with a yawn I head to their spare bedroom where I’m crashing for the night.

  Robin and Keith won’t be home until tomorrow, um today, anyway.

  The responses to my ad so far have been unimpressive. There have been five dick pics, nothing else, no message or nothing, just a dick. They weren’t nice looking dicks either. Why send a stranger a picture of an unimpressive dick? It makes no sense.

  Another answer to the ad was pure and total gibberish. Something about an undiscovered planet and if I could help get there. Seriously, what the actual fuck? There was one responder that seemed nice. He asked me if I’d like to go out sometime.

  When I replied and asked him what his idea of a fun night was, he replied that he was a homebody and mainly played video games for fun. How the hell is someone like that going to show me how to live?

  Opening up my email, I decide that if I don’t get a legit reply to my ad in the next couple of days, I’m going to delete it. It’ll be my sign that this is the life I’m meant to live and I’ll just have to learn to accept that.

  As I move a mes
sage to trash, a new one comes in. The subject line reads I can teach you to be bad.

  Intrigued, I open it.

  Dear Wannabe Bad Girl, There’s something so sad about an average girl who can’t find her inner badness. It’s there, I can show you how to find it. If you’re interested call me at 932–0543 tonight.

  Your Personal Bad Boy.

  Before I call him I have to Google how to make my number come up as private. If this guy is nuts I’d rather he not have a way to get ahold of me.

  With more courage than I knew I had, I call the number.

  “Hello?” A husky, very male voice rumbles.

  “Um, hi. You answered my ad and said to call you.”

  There’s a pause and then a slow chuckle, the sound of it hitting me deep in my belly, making it flip. “My little bad girl?”

  His words make me press my thighs together, surprised at the wetness pooling between my legs. There was a private quality to his voice, like he was leaning into you to whisper something dirty in your ear while his hand drifted up your skirt.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Text me a pic and I’ll let you know if this will work.”

  “What?” I breathe.

  “And don’t filter the fuck out of it. I want to see what you look like.”

  “Pardon?”

  He huffs and even his annoyance sounds hot. “You want me to corrupt you? Well, I’m looking for a new toy. If I like the way you look trust me, I can teach you how to be very bad, thing is, you’ll be taking my cock while I do it.”

  Oh fuck.

  “I don’t know if I can—“

  He cuts me off, “and you said you wanted to be bad?”

  “I do,” I argue. “But what if I’m not attracted to you?”

  He laughs and my nipples harden. “I’ll reply with a pic of my own.”

  “Fine, but I don’t feel comfortable giving you my number. I’ll reply to your message with a pic and then if you like it you can reply with yours.”

  There’s that chuckle again. “Sure thing sweetness.”

  Before I snap my pic, I change out of my work uniform. No point trying to remain somewhat anonymous if my work’s logo is front and center on my shirt. Not wanting to look like I’m trying too hard, I change into a plain white tee.

  My hair is still in a ponytail and I’m not wearing any makeup. There’s no point trying to entice him with something I’m not. Five minutes after I send my pic, I have his response.

  Ignoring his response all I can focus on is the pic he sent. Holy, holy fuck. The pic matches the voice to a t but why on earth would someone that hot need to answer a personal ad?

  He’s shirtless on his back lying on a bed. The angle of the pic starts from above his head but tilted in a way that you can see down his body.

  He was nothing short of gorgeous. Dark hair that was longer on top but faded down to a buzz around his neck. It was tousled in that sexy something to hold on to during sex kind of way. His vibrant blue gray eyes were focused on the camera, a smirk curving his full lips.

  Stubble covered his jaw and it made me imagine the scrape of it between my thighs. He had a broad chest, almost entirely covered with bright intricate tattoos that flowed over his shoulders and down his arms.

  He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, a bulge unmistakable in them. Finally, after taking my visual fill of him, I read his email.

  Bad Girl,

  I like your lips. I want to see them wrapped around my dick. Meet me at 643 Prescott Terrance at ten o’clock. If you come, I’m fucking you tonight.

  Wes

  His name was Wes, and he wanted to fuck me tonight. Yes, I wanted to have a one night stand but with a stranger on our first meeting? A million scenarios run through my head, each one more fantastic than the next. Could he be some front man for a sex slavery operation? I want to live and be bad but not gang raped against my will. Maybe he’s a crazy mass murderer? He only wants to chop me up into a million pieces.

  Since I’m not sure if he’ll reply to another email, I send him a text.

  “How can I be sure you won’t rape and kill me?”

  His response is immediate. Call Me.

  I do.

  “My name is Wes Matthews I work at Yarborough Ink off of Jefferson. The owner of the shop is Vincent Yarborough. You can call him right now, describe my tattoo’s and he’ll vouch for me. You can even write up a note and leave it on your kitchen counter with my name and number. Trust me, I plan on violating you but in ways we both know you’re gonna want.”

  “Okay,” I breathe.

  “Good. See you tonight. Don’t wear any underwear.”

  With that, he hangs up.

  It’s six now. Normally, I’d be sautéing a chicken breast and steaming some veggies to go with. There is no way in hell I can eat anything now. If I did, I’d probably throw up.

  So, I hop in the shower and spend an absurd amount of time shaving. Then I moisturize myself from head to toe. When it comes to my hair, I’m low maintenance and just let it air dry after scrunching some product in it. My dark blonde hair has a natural wave to it and goes all the way down to my bra strap.

  For now I’ll leave it down but I’ll bring a clip to throw it up just in case.

  Makeup wise, I go light. Last thing I want to deal with is worrying about washing it off.

  Since he told me not to wear underwear. I slip on a pair of dressy shorts and a blousy button up tank.

  Just pulling my clothes on, knowing I have nothing on underneath them is making me wet. I’m torn between wondering what the fuck I’m doing to pure anticipation for what the night may bring.

  It’s not like I’m a virgin. Henry Pruit popped my cherry when I was in eleventh grade. We were supposed to be at the library but instead, we were getting it on in the backseat of his car. We dated through most of our senior year but broke up before summer break since he was going to college on the east coast and I was staying in Texas.

  While I was in college I dated Wade Burk off and on for two years, until I found out he was cheating on me. After that I kept it casual. I dated some and had a friends with benefits thing with Chad Andrews. If I hadn’t of stopped that with him we’d probably be married with kids by now.

  Problem was I only slept with him when I was bored or lonely and the sex was so awful I regretted it every single time. As long as this Wes guy doesn’t kidnap me and make me his slave, the worst thing that may come of tonight is crappy sex.

  Considering it’s been so long, I’m willing to settle for crappy sex versus another night of fucking myself to get off. Besides, if he looks anything like his picture, I’m willing to risk crappy sex just to touch him.

  When I get to the address I cringe when I realize a house party is in full swing. Hopefully, this isn’t like some practical joke where he’ll take one look at me and turn me down in front of a room full of people.

  Sitting in my car, too nervous to walk in by myself, I pull out my phone to text him.

  - I’m here, parked outside.

  Not long after I send it, the front door opens and he steps outside. Wow. He’s just, wow.

  He’s taller than I imagined, broader than I imagined, fucking sexier than I imagined too. Shoving my phone and keys into my purse, I slowly open my door and step out of my car. His legs eat up the distance between us and he greets me by putting his hands on my hips and looking down at me.

  He says nothing and then spins me, pressing his front to my back and shoving me up against my car.

  “Should I fuck you like this?” He asks.

  There is a definite bulge pressing into my ass.

  “Oh My God,” is all I manage to reply.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he murmurs into my ear.

  Then he’s gone, spinning me back around and taking me by the hand.

  “I should warn you,” he says when we reach the door. “This is a swingers party.”

  He doesn’t give me time to react before tugging me inside.
<
br />   His words didn’t prepare me for the sight that meets my eyes. Swingers party? Shouldn’t people be having sex? It looks like a normal party to me. There are guys and girls standing around talking and drinking.

  “Really?” I ask, wondering if he’s playing a joke on me.

  An amused look crosses his face. “You don’t believe me?”

  Again, I glance around the room. “Aren’t people supposed to be doing it?”

  He laughs, “it’s still early. Why, are you that eager?”

  I chew on my lip and shrug. Mentally, I had prepared myself for a one night stand with him. I wasn’t sure I wanted an audience or any additional partners. Was this some sort of trial by fire?

  Reading my hesitation, he pulls me toward the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

  “Sure,” I reply, all over some liquid courage.

  The sight I had expected in the living room greets us in the kitchen. There’s a woman, on her knees giving a blow job to a guy leaned up against the counter.

  They ignore Wes as he moves to the fridge and pulls out two beers. I’ve seen people have sex before. It’s been awhile but my college dorm mate my sophomore year had a very active sex life and it didn’t seem to bother her if I was in the room or not.

  Still, it’s not something you see everyday so I can’t help but stare.

  “That turn you on?” Wes asks.

  He doesn’t wait for my answer. He just sets the beers on the kitchen table and shoves his hand down the front of my shorts. His fingers slide over my clit and straight to my pussy, confirming just how wet I am. My hands wrap around his forearm. I’m not sure if I should hold him to me or push him away.

  I’ve said a handful of words to this man and his hand is down my pants. This is insane but honestly, I’m too turned on to care. There’s something about him that draws me in, I want to be in his space and I sure as hell want him in mine.

  He did not hesitate. With his other hand he reaches for one of the beers and passes it to me.

  “My hand is busy,” he says, pushing one of his fingers inside me. “Open that up for me.”