{"id":2754,"date":"2014-09-26T17:56:59","date_gmt":"2014-09-26T17:56:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/?p=2754"},"modified":"2014-09-26T17:56:59","modified_gmt":"2014-09-26T17:56:59","slug":"chapter-2-dirty-rowdy-thing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/2014\/09\/chapter-2-dirty-rowdy-thing\/","title":{"rendered":"Chapter Two – DIRTY ROWDY THING"},"content":{"rendered":"

Ahhh! You guys! We’ve blown past our first Dirty Rowdy Thing<\/a> preorder campaign milestone!! *glitter cannon* If you missed Chapter One, you can read it here, <\/a>and as promised, here’s Chapter Two! Tweet, Instagram, FB, blog, Milq, skywrite, and encourage people to preorder. When we reach milestone #2, Gallery Books will let us unlock Chapter 3, and you’ll get even more Finn. Dirty Rowdy and Early.<\/p>\n

(As a reminder, this excerpt contains adult themes and content and is intended for a mature audience)<\/p>\n

~~<\/p>\n

Chapter 2<\/strong>
\nFinn<\/em><\/p>\n

I don’t remember the last time I was at a house party surrounded by a bunch of obnoxious twentysomethings on their way to varying degrees of hammered. I am not a party guy, but I agreed to come along because Ansel is in town, and the last time we saw each other was Vegas, when the end of a fun reunion crumbled into matrimonial chaos. But somehow tonight I end up nowhere near the kid, with a keg cup in my hand, and halfway to buzzed for the first time in months, standing close enough to Harlow Vega to touch her.<\/p>\n

It doesn\u2019t surprise me that we\u2019re standing this close or that I\u2019d really like to touch her.<\/p>\n

What surprises me is that Harlow is the one separated from the rest of the party, hanging out in the kitchen with Oliver\u2019s stoner employee. Despite our Vegas nuptials and Vancouver Island bangfest, it\u2019s fair to say I don\u2019t really know much about her. But I d<\/em>o <\/em>know her type, and if there\u2019s a table at a party, girls like her are usually pounding, lying, or dancing on it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you in here and not wiping the floor with us at poker?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harlow shrugs, placing her hands on my waist so she can move me aside and open the cabinet overhead. \u201cI\u2019m distracted tonight.\u201d She frowns up into the crowded cupboard. \u201cAnd why is this such a mess? Dear God.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou going to rearrange their kitchen for them?\u201d I ask, smiling at the clinking sounds as she moves glasses around. \u201cIn the middle of a party?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dark auburn hair frames her face, which she tucks behind her ear as she stretches for the top shelf, exposing her long neck. I immediately think of sucking little marks into her skin, from her ear to her collarbone.<\/p>\n

\u201cPreoccupied this morning,\u201d I say, drinking in the sight of her bare shoulders. \u201cDistracted tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

She retrieves two clean shot glasses and pulls back to look at me silently in response. And now I remember the heat of her oddly hypnotic eyes\u2014more amber than brown\u2014and the temptation of her full, flirty lips. Unscrewing the cap from a bottle of pretty stellar tequila, Harlow blinks away before pouring each glass to the brim.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I can tell Not-Joe is doing a great job undistracting you,\u201d I tell her, \u201cbut you might want to slow down on shots with the guy who pierced his own penis.\u201d Honestly, when Oliver told me that story, I nearly choked on my sandwich.<\/p>\n

Harlow was beginning to hand me <\/em>a shot, but her hand pauses, midair. \u201cHe . . . what now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwice. One in the tip, one in the shaft.\u201d She blinks.<\/p>\n

I lean in a little and the way she\u2019s staring at my mouth is making my skin hum. \u201cAccording to Oliver, \u2018things happen\u2019 when Not-Joe gets drunk.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tears her eyes from my mouth and looks up at me, lifting her chin to indicate the table of people still playing cards across the room. \u201cYou\u2019re suggesting instead I go play cards with the people who\u2019re giving out shots of Clamato as penalty?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s even better than that,\u201d I say with a shudder. \u201cIt\u2019s Budweiser with <\/em>Clamato. It\u2019s called chelada, and it\u2019s pretty warm now.\u201d<\/p>\n

She makes the exact same face she made when the barista offered her a pumpkin spice mocha this morning\u2014complete and total horror\u2014and that drink she o<\/em>r<\/em>de<\/em>r<\/em>ed<\/em>. \u201cSomeone actually made that into a thing? There are people who drink and enjoy that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughing, I tell her, \u201cYou know, despite my better judgment I find it really funny when you act like a diva.\u201d<\/p>\n

With her head tilted to the side, eyes incredulous, she asks, \u201cBeing turned off by Budweiser mixed with tomato and clam <\/em>juice makes me a diva?\u201d<\/p>\n

Apparently I\u2019m buzzed enough to belt out a few lines of the only diva song I can think of at the moment: \u201cI Will Always Love You.\u201d And then I lift my shot and down it.<\/p>\n

Harlow looks at me like I\u2019ve lost my mind, but I can tell she\u2019s amused. A smile lingers in her eyes, even if her brows are pulled together disapprovingly. \u201cYou can\u2019t sing to save your life.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wiping a hand across my mouth, I say, \u201cThat\u2019s nothing. You should hear me play the piano.\u201d<\/p>\n

She narrows her eyes further. \u201cDid you just quote the Smiths?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m surprised you got that. It wasn\u2019t from a song eventually sampled by P. Diddy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughing, she says, \u201cYou have a pretty fantastic impression of me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI really do.\u201d The tequila slips into my bloodstream, warming me from my chest outward. I lean closer so I can get a good whiff of her. She always smells warm, <\/em>somehow, and a little earthy and sweet. Like the beach, and sunscreen and honeysuckle. I\u2019ve said more nonsex words to Harlow in the past five minutes than I did the entire time she was in Canada, but I\u2019m surprised to find that not only is she easy to talk to, she\u2019s fun. \u201cAnd, my impression of you is ever evolving, now that you aren\u2019t just a pretty face in my lap.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re one classy motherfucker, Finn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis speaking thing does wonders for expanding our horizons.\u201d<\/p>\n

She takes her shot, swallows, and winces before saying, \u201cDon\u2019t get ahead of yourself, Sunshine. I like our arrangement.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have an arrangement?”<\/p>\n

Nodding, she turns to pour us each another shot. \u201cWe fight, or we bang. I think I prefer the banging part.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, then I would have to agree.\u201d<\/p>\n

When she hands me the second shot\u2014on top of the three beers I\u2019ve already had with Ansel\u2014I ask, \u201cWhy did you come up my way anyway? I never got around to asking you that be- cause you were sitting on my face most of the time. The visit was . . . unexpected.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut awesome?\u201d she asks, brows raised as if she knows I\u2019d never deny it.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n

She licks the side of her hand, shakes some salt on it this time, and studies it, thinking. \u201cHonestly? I guess I wasn\u2019t sure I could trust my memory from Vegas.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean your memory that the sex was so good?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was,\u201d I assure her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know that now.\u201d She licks the salt, takes the shot, and grabs a slice of lime from the counter, sucking it briefly before murmuring through wet, puckered lips, \u201cToo bad the man attached to the penis is such an epic loser.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod sympathetically. \u201cTrue.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re fun,\u201d she tells me, pulling back a little as if she\u2019s only really looking at me now. \u201cYou\u2019re fun in this sort of easy, unexpected way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re drunk<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

She snaps her fingers in front of my face. \u201cThat must be it. The tequila I\u2019ve had is making you fun.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh, wiping a hand over my mouth. \u201cYou seem to be in a better mood tonight,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust have some stuff going on and trying not to think about it. And besides,\u201d she says, raising her empty shot glass, \u201cthis helps immensely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many have you had?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEnough that I don\u2019t care much, not so many that I don\u2019t care at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

This seems like a pretty bleak response for someone I\u2019ve assumed all along was chirpy and sexy and carefree. Really, though, I don\u2019t actually know much about Harlow\u2019s life. I know she\u2019s a pretty little rich girl, and probably has a line of pretty little rich boys lined up at her door. I know she\u2019s a loyal friend to Lola and Mia, and because she\u2019s apparently one of those people that need to help every human alive, she was a driving force in getting Ansel and Mia back together again. But outside of that, there\u2019s not much. I don\u2019t even know what she does for work . . . or whether she works at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnything you want to talk about?\u201d I offer halfheartedly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNope,\u201d she says, and tosses back another shot.<\/p>\n

My phone vibrates in my pocket and my warm, drunken comfort is quickly replaced by a sense of dread. Without having to look, I know this is the message I\u2019ve been waiting for. Back home my youngest brother, Levi, is running a safety check on the largest boat in our fleet, the Linda, <\/em>named after our mother, and with the way things have been going, I\u2019m willing to bet the news isn\u2019t going to be good.<\/p>\n

Short in the wheelhouse, none of the controls are working.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Fuck.<\/em><\/p>\n

Although there are about a hundred curse words I want to type right now, I don\u2019t answer right away. Instead, I slip my phone back into my pocket, pour myself a shot, and throw it back. It helps.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay there?\u201d Harlow asks, watching me.<\/p>\n

I clench my jaw against the burn, feeling it warm my body as it settles in my stomach. \u201cJust a little distracted myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell then\u2014let\u2019s have another!\u201d She pours two more shots and hands me one. I know this isn\u2019t really going to help. I\u2019m going to sober up in the morning\u2014or maybe a bit later in the day than that\u2014and the controls in the boat will still be down, and our whole fucking livelihood will still be just as in jeopardy as it is now. But, damn, I\u2019d really like to forget all that for a while.<\/p>\n

I pick it up, look at the clear liquid before I lean into her, my lips almost brushing the shell of her ear. \u201cI think you and I both know the last time we drank tequila together it didn\u2019t end so well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrue,\u201d she says, pulling back just far enough to meet my eyes. \u201cBut there\u2019s no twenty-four-hour chapel nearby manned by some reckless idiot willing to marry us, so I think we\u2019re safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Point made.<\/p>\n

Harlow knocks back her shot and winces. \u201cOoooh . . . I don\u2019t think I can do any more.\u201d She holds up her hands, pre- tends to count out about thirty shots, and then smiles up at me. \u201cOne more and I\u2019d face-plant into the bowl of these Fritos London is so excited about.\u201d<\/p>\n

She may have lost count, but I haven\u2019t. Four shots into my time in the kitchen with Harlow and\u2014besides Vegas\u2014I\u2019m drunk for the first time in years.<\/p>\n

It feels like he\u2019s been gone for an hour, but Not-Joe finally returns in a cloud of weed-smell. As he approaches, he extends his hand to me, saying very slowly, \u201cI\u2019m Not-Joe . . . it\u2019s nice to meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughing, I remind him, \u201cWe met earlier at the store, when Oliver was doing the final walk-through?\u201d<\/p>\n

Not-Joe makes a little clucking sound, saying, \u201cThat\u2019s<\/em> why you looked familiar.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was three hours ago. This guy must not breathe unless it\u2019s through a joint.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re the lumberjack from Nova Scotia?\u201d he asks. \u201cFisherman from Vancouver Island.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harlow bursts out laughing. \u201cPoor Finn.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looks back and forth between me and Harlow. \u201cSo do you guys know each other through Oliver, too?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot exactly,\u201d she says, and then looks at me with a silly grin. \u201cFinn is my ex-husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not-Joe\u2019s eyes go as wide as saucers. \u201cEx-husband<\/em>?\u201d Nodding, I confirm, \u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n

The kid looks at Harlow, and then r<\/em>eally <\/em>looks at her. Like eyes moving up and down her body in a way that makes me want to slap him into awareness and so he\u2019ll stop fucking leering <\/em>at her like that.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t look old enough to be divorced,\u201d he finally concludes.<\/p>\n

I lean forward to break his attention away from her chest. \u201cBut I do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Now he looks at me, but with far less interest. \u201cYeah, actually. You\u2019re older than her, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d I say, laughing as Harlow giggles delightedly next to me. \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not-Joe digs his hand into a bag of corn chips on the counter, asking, \u201cIt must be weird hanging out at a party with your ex.\u201d<\/p>\n

She waves him off, saying, \u201cNah. Finn is an easygoing guy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I now?\u201d I ask her, and this makes me laugh because if there has ever been a phrase to describe me, it\u2019s not easygoing<\/em>. Easygoing is Ansel. I often get \u201ccontained.\u201d I am, admittedly, sometimes a little closed off. I am not easy-<\/em>going<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Nodding, she studies me for a breath and then says, \u201cYeah. You like long walks on the dock, making little dream catchers out of your extra fishing line, and evenings spent yukking it up with some Mountie MILFs at the local Mooseknuckle Bar.\u201d<\/p>\n

I burst out laughing. \u201cI do, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her lips come together in a sweet, thoughtful pout. \u201cMm-hmm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d I reply, \u201cyou\u2019re pretty easy to be around yourself. It helps that you\u2019re a fun-loving gal who likes shopping, nail polish, and . . .\u201d I pretend to think some more before finally repeating, \u201cShopping.\u201d<\/p>\n

She puts her hand on my cheek, wearing a playfully adoring expression. \u201cI love how well we know each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSame.\u201d<\/p>\n

In unison, we lift our empty shot glasses and clink them. \u201cWhy did you guys get divorced?\u201d Not-Joe asks. \u201cYou seem to really like each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo we?\u201d I ask, not taking my eyes off Harlow. I didn\u2019t actually think I liked her all that much until tonight.<\/p>\n

She finally breaks our shared look to tell Not-Joe, \u201cThe truth is, we were only married for a night and, like, half a day in Vegas. We\u2019ve probably only spent a combined twenty-four hours together, most of it drunk or naked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr both,\u201d I add. \u201cSeriously?\u201d<\/p>\n

We both nod. \u201cThat is wicked<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was, trust me,\u201d she agrees, and then pretends to glare at me. \u201cV<\/em>e<\/em>r<\/em>y <\/em>wicked.\u201d<\/p>\n

I look at her lips just as she licks them and it sends a shock of electricity down across my skin and straight to my cock. In fact, I\u2019m nearly drunk enough to suggest she reintroduce that tongue to that cock.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s something I think everyone should do once in their life,\u201d Not-Joe muses, pulling my attention away from Harlow\u2019s now-smiling mouth. \u201cEveryone should: run a marathon, read Candide, <\/em>and get married in Vegas.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harlow laughs and begins to explain to him that it was fucking expensive and actually not all that convenient. We could have banged and parted ways for free. As she tells Not-Joe about the misadventures in Vegas, I excuse myself to go hit the head.<\/p>\n

Outside the kitchen area, the party is loud and drunk. London is belting out a song at the poker table; Mia is playing cards and wearing the sombrero while sitting on Ansel\u2019s lap. Lola and Oliver are the only ones who seem sober, and I laugh watching them for a few seconds. Oliver is notoriously competitive about cards, and here I can see the same determination on Lola\u2019s face. The rest of the table has dissolved into drunken debauchery, but the two of them seem to be trying their hardest to keep the game organized. It\u2019s like trying to tie a string around raindrops.<\/p>\n

When I come out of the bathroom, Harlow is there waiting for a turn. She slips past me with a cheeky little smile and when I turn to do something\u2014fuck, I don\u2019t even know, crack a joke, stare at her, kiss <\/em>her\u2014she closes the door in my face.<\/p>\n

I forgot how drinking makes me feel blurry at the edges, a little unwound. It\u2019s freeing, but in the corner of my mind I can sense the red flashing light: Danger. Danger.<\/em><\/p>\n

Looking down the hall, I consider going back to the poker table or to the kitchen, but my feet are planted, and even while I think about how fun it would be to play some cards with Ansel and Oliver, I don\u2019t go anywhere.<\/p>\n

Harlow opens the bathroom door to find me leaning against the wall opposite and she doesn\u2019t look even a little surprised. Not one little bit. She stands in the doorway studying me and then takes a couple of steps closer.<\/p>\n

She just stares up at me, and this is all so fucking new. She feels like a different woman than the wild Vegas party girl, than the hungry vixen who nearly broke down my front door. T<\/em>h<\/em>i<\/em>s <\/em>Harlow feels patient, and seductive, and fucking fa<\/em>sc<\/em>inat<\/em>ing<\/em>. Beneath the surface of her gaze I see something there I hadn\u2019t seen before, some depth she usually keeps hidden, as if tonight, some shield was stripped away. It can\u2019t just be the alcohol, because I\u2019ve seen her drunk. It can\u2019t just be that she wants to get off, because we\u2019ve done that before, too.<\/p>\n

The longer Harlow stares at me, the more it feels like my heart has become an inflatable raft she\u2019s slowly filling with air. My chest just gets tighter and tighter and tighter.<\/p>\n

I can tell she put on some more lip gloss in the bathroom, and her mouth shines red when she smiles a little. \u201cAre we gonna rumble?\u201d<\/p>\n

This breaks me from my trance and I reach for her arm, pulling her with me and turning us into the bedroom just to my left.<\/p>\n

The room is empty but for a pile of bedding, a low dresser, and some cardboard boxes in the corner.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho the hell has an empty bedroom in a place like this?\u201d I ask, walking to the floor-to-ceiling loft windows that line one wall. This place has three bedrooms and is twice the size of my house <\/em>on Vancouver Island. There\u2019s a sweeping view of the harbor and, in the distance, what I think must be Coronado.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis was Ruby\u2019s room,\u201d Harlow says, leaning against the wall to my right. \u201cLondon inherited this apartment a few years back. Ruby just moved out a couple of weeks ago, right after Lola moved in. She got some amazing internship in London.\u201d<\/p>\n

I look over at her, feeling confused. Drunk, mostly. \u201cRuby . . . and London?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRuby moved to London, England,\u201d she says more slowly. \u201cAnd yeah, I know. Her roommate was London; she moved to London. The jokes were endless. It was like Abbott and Costello up in here.\u201d Pushing off the wall, she takes a couple of steps closer to me and looks out the window at the water. \u201cThey\u2019re looking for a new roommate so if you know anyone who wants to flee the oppressive regime in Canada . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou won\u2019t move in?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cI like my space. I like living alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod. I like living alone, too. My hometown is small enough as it is; sometimes it\u2019s nice to imagine I can close my door and get some distance.<\/p>\n

Not that even at a thousand miles away I can really distance my thoughts from all the bullshit going on at home. My phone feels like a lead weight in my pocket, and I slip it out, putting it on the flat top of a cardboard box. Harlow watches me do it, and then does the same, pulling her phone from the pocket of her frayed-hem denim skirt and laying it facedown beside mine.<\/p>\n

I step forward and she turns her face up to me, closing her eyes when I slide my hand along her neck and into her hair. \u201cYou smell like a fucking dream.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod, but she misses it, eyes still closed. \u201cGive me your underwear.\u201d<\/p>\n

No pretense, no warm-up, and she doesn\u2019t even startle. My worries are safely placed on top of a cardboard box four feet away, and what I have in front of me is a soft, warm girl to make everything else evaporate. With a little glance up at my face, she reaches under her skirt and shimmies out of her panties, giving me the tiny blue handful of lace. I slide them into my pocket, and then bend, kissing her.<\/p>\n

This, too, is new. It\u2019s sweeter, more honest than the wild, biting, savage kisses we knew before. I kiss her once, just a touch, and then again, groaning as her hands slide up my chest and around my neck. Her lips fall into an easy rhythm against mine\u2014there\u2019s no physical negotiation or uncertainty, only Harlow offering me her full bottom lip, little strokes of her tongue, and her eager little gasps. I can taste a hint of cherry lip gloss, the shots we did together in the kitchen. She\u2019s not sloppy drunk, but her cheeks are warm from the alcohol, her body pliable and relaxed. I\u2019m sure I could bend her however I want. I could spread her out on the floor, put her legs over my shoulders, and fuck her so hard that people out in the living room would hear the slap of my skin against hers.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think about fucking me sometimes?\u201d I ask, pressing a kiss to her neck, slipping a strap off her shoulder, and trailing my lips and teeth along her skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s my go-to when I get myself off,\u201d she admits without hesitation.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you think of me like five times a day?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harlow laughs and it catches in a little hiccup when I push her skirt over her hips and lift her onto the dresser, spreading her legs and stepping forward. I\u2019m already hard and the feel of the bare warmth of her pussy against the denim over my cock is enough to have me hissing against her mouth, pushing my hips forward.<\/p>\n

She presses into me and I slide my hand between us, reaching to touch the soft, slick skin between her thighs.<\/p>\n

Fuck.<\/em><\/p>\n

She\u2019s gasping these perfect little breaths and shaking against me, and I\u2019m so hard it\u2019s all I can do to not reach for my fly, pull out my dick, and rub all over this, but instead I slide my fingers over her unbelievably soft body. She\u2019s the only woman I\u2019ve felt in so long, although I had been tuned into Live sex cams<\/a> now and then when I felt the uncontrollable urge to relieve myself from the difficulty of being without a woman for as long as I had. It\u2019s hard to not let my mind instinctively tattoo her with mine <\/em>when I kiss her neck, her lips, her shoulder. And it\u2019s easy to pretend everything beyond this room has evaporated or, at the very least, been put on pause, and that relief\u2014even if imagined\u2014sends a thrill down my spine, coiling tightly at the base. I\u2019m so hard for this girl; she makes me harder than anything I can remember. I swear I can still feel the echo from almost two months ago of her lips kissing down my cock, her hands guiding me into her.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have any idea how this feels to me?\u201d I step back enough to watch my fingers slide up and over her clit and back down, lower, inside. I fucking love how they look when they\u2019re wet with her. \u201cGod, when did your pussy get so sweet?\u201d I look up to her downcast eyes, the lip trapped savagely between her teeth as she\u2019s watching me touch her. A searing fire iron of a thought stabs at me: \u201cYou let that asshole kid lick you here last night?\u201d<\/p>\n

She closes her eyes, pushing into my hand, and I lean in to kiss her neck. Her silence is as good as a yes <\/em>and it further sparks a fire in my chest. And then I remember how she looked this morning: like she simultaneously wanted to fuck me and beat me.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me you like my mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n

She whimpers, choking out, \u201cI like your mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me you remember coming on it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many times?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harlow coughs out a laugh and it turns into a groan when I slide my thumb around and around and around her clit. \u201cA lot<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember telling you to crawl across the room to get it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her nails dig into my shoulder. \u201cDick<\/em>.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cBut you did.\u201d I kiss her neck, her jaw. \u201cAnd I love licking it. I love your obscene little sounds.\u201d<\/p>\n

A knock on the door cracks through the quiet room and we both startle. Against me, Harlow tenses, reaching to hold my arm so I don\u2019t stop touching her.<\/p>\n

\u201cFinn?\u201d<\/p>\n

Fuck. <\/em>It\u2019s Ansel. \u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, uh . . . we are leaving, in case you wanted a ride back to Oliver\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can practically feel Harlow waiting for my response; her body is tense all around me. \u201cWhen is Oliver going?\u201d I ask, contemplating my options.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe left about ten minutes ago to swing past the store one more time.\u201d<\/p>\n

I groan and, without realizing it, move my hand away and use it to wipe my mouth. But my fingers are covered in Harlow. And now I can smell her, and taste her, and I\u2019m so fucking hard my jaw clenches tightly with tension.<\/p>\n

She watches me, but it\u2019s hard to see her face since she\u2019s backlit from the city lights. If I don\u2019t leave with them, I\u2019ll need to cab it. And the Roberts family business needs every one of the measly five thousand we have in the bank, so I really don\u2019t think I should pay thirty bucks for a cab tonight.<\/p>\n

\u201cI gotta head out with them,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d She doesn\u2019t sound angry or even all that disappointed . . . just tired.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t try to drive home,\u201d I tell her. \u201cYou\u2019ve had too much to drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

She blinks, and when she looks back up at me, I can see whatever shutter she keeps over her emotions has been slotted back in place. Disappointment cools me when she says, \u201cDo you think I\u2019m an idiot?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d I move to retrieve my phone, sliding it into my back pocket. Oddly, I feel a little like she\u2019s played me tonight. \u201cDo you want a ride home with us?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shakes her head. \u201cI\u2019m good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll see you tomorrow?\u201d I lean in to kiss her, but she turns her head away and pushes me. It\u2019s half annoyed, half playful.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo away, Sunshine. Goodbyes with emotion aren\u2019t part of the arrangement.\u201d<\/p>\n

Right. This detached Harlow is much more familiar. I adjust my cap and give her a little nod before walking to the door.<\/p>\n

~~<\/p>\n

Ahhh!! FINN!! Chapter Three is . . . well, just trust us, it’s fun. Thanks for all your support and let’s get this party started!<\/em><\/p>\n

Target<\/a><\/p>\n

Barnes and Noble<\/a><\/p>\n

Amazon<\/a><\/p>\n

Chapters Indigo<\/a><\/p>\n

Books-a-Million<\/a><\/p>\n

Indiebound<\/a><\/p>\n

Audible<\/a><\/p>\n

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Ahhh! You guys! We’ve blown past our first Dirty Rowdy Thing preorder campaign milestone!! *glitter cannon* If you missed Chapter One, you can read it here, and as promised, here’s …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":2757,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[204,457,1],"tags":[426,239,433,449,450,459,458,460,461,446],"class_list":["post-2754","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blogs","category-extras","category-uncategorized","tag-ansel","tag-contest-2","tag-dirty-rowdy-thing","tag-finn","tag-harlow","tag-mia","tag-preorder-campaign","tag-we-love-you-guys","tag-who-brought-the-cookies","tag-wild-seasons"],"acf":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/09\/DRTPromoInsta1.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2754","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2754"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2754\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2757"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2754"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2754"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2754"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}