Rival Page 40

Fallon was here, with her mouth on me right now, and I hated her. I f**king hated her, and I was going to f**k her with that hate until I came.

The nerves in my legs burned, leading in to my groin and everything pooled between my legs. I punched my h*ps up into her, going deeper and harder, while her tongue rubbed against my underside.

She took her mouth off me and then licked me up and down, before wrapping her hand around the shaft, stroking as she sucked the head.

‘“Madoc, please.”

“Fuck.” I jerked, arching my back and pulling my head off the bed.

I came in her mouth, gripping her hair at her neck and sucking air through my teeth. She worked me until I was done, and I collapsed back on the bed, letting her go.

My body always felt more relaxed.

Afterward.

But my head was in even more knots.

Fallon. It always returned to Fallon. I couldn’t get off anymore unless I thought of her.

I wanted to look down and see ears full of piercings and the random little tattoos she had all over her body. I wanted to see the sexy green eyes in black eyeliner looking up and killing me with everything inside of her that she tried to hide.

Why? Why did I want her so much when she kept leaving?

“Who’s Fallon?” I heard a voice tap into my head from somewhere.

I blinked and asked, “What?”

“Fallon. You said that name while I was . . .” She trailed off.

Shit.

“It’s no one. You probably misheard.”

Son of a bitch! Shit. Seriously, dude?

Brenna sat up. “You yelled it when you were coming. Are you into guys? Fallon is a guy’s name, isn’t it?” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, teasing me with a grin.

“It’s not a f**king guy,” I growled and then looked straight at her. “It’s my sister, actually.”

She laughed it off until she noticed that I wasn’t laughing. Then she shut the hell up.

“Um, okay.” She scooted off the bed, looking like she wanted to run. “That’s not weird.”

She dressed quietly and quickly, saying nothing before she walked out. The rumble in my chest broke loose, and I laughed miserably as I slid back under the covers.

• • •

“Hey!” I jerked up in bed. “What the hell?” I asked, because I had no idea why my ass was stinging.

“Get up!”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and peered up at my mother at the end of the bed. She grabbed the sheet and yanked it off of me. Thank God I had my basketball shorts on.

Her pink lips were pressed tight in disapproval, and her hands sat on her hips.

“Did you just slap me on the ass?” I pissed and moaned, falling back onto the bed and throwing my arm over my eyes.

“Get up!” she barked again.

Normally, I enjoyed seeing my mom. She was a lot of fun, and she was a pretty decent parent actually. She and my father each remarried fairly quickly, and I hated that she had moved away. Her new husband lived in New Orleans. But asking a kid to leave his home and everything he’d known was too much. I stayed with my father and his new wife.

Bright idea, that was.

I sighed. “I was sleeping. Why are you even here?” My exasperated tone told her everything.

I just wanted to be left alone.

“Your father called and told me what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” I lied, keeping my bored expression focused on the ceiling. Headlights from a car outside flashed across the ceiling in the dimly lit room, and I knew that I’d slept all day.

I heard my mother’s heels clunk, clunk, clunk across the wooden floor. “Get up!” she urged again, and the next thing I knew she was swatting me with a magazine.

I brought up my arms and legs to shield me. “Damn, woman!”

She fired the magazine across the room, tucked her long blond hair behind her ear and stomped toward my closet.

“And I fired Brittany,” she bit out over her shoulder.

“Who’s Brittany?”

“The housekeeper you’re bedding. Now get up and shower.” She threw clean jeans and a T-shirt at me and walked out of the room.

I shook my head at nothing, amazed with the women in my life.

Complete ballbusters.

I flipped over, burying my face in my pillow.

“Now!” She thundered from somewhere downstairs, and I punched my pillow in aggravation.

But I got up. If I didn’t, she’d be in with a bucket of cold water next.

After I’d showered and dressed, she took me to a quiet Italian place that was big on candles and Frank Sinatra. I ordered one of their pizzas, and my mother nibbled some pasta with olive oil.

“Why did Dad call you?” I asked, sitting back in the chair with my hands locked behind my head.

“Because he hasn’t seen any transactions on his credit card other than to the gas station. You’ve probably consumed nothing except Doritos and Fanta for weeks now. And he knew you’d rather see me than him, so . . .”

That was about right. I didn’t like to eat alone, so I snacked, and I was too pissed off right now to be sociable. Gas station food it was, then.

And I damn well didn’t want to see anyone, but my mom was preferable to my dad.

“Did he tell you . . .”—I lowered my voice—“that he’s getting married?” I didn’t want to upset my mom in case she didn’t know, so I tried to keep my tone gentle. I’d also heard that his current wife was suing for our house—my house—and it made me sick.

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