Billy Jeffers: Rockers of Steel (21 page)

“No, none of it does.” He paces a bit and then stops. “It doesn’t fucking matter. I’m over it.”

“Billy?”

He turns around and looks at me.

“He bought the house, trying to make retribution for forcing her to give up her daughter.”

“Like hell he did.” He laughs. “I bought it.”

“I know. It’s wrong, so very wrong, but they do love each other and—”

“That’s not love. Neither of them know a damn thing about love.” He looks at his watch. “And because of that, neither do—” He stops. “You’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” He looks at me. “Look, I am beyond sorry for bringing you into all this. I’m fucking embarrassed that they are my parents, and I’m overjoyed that Penelope had a decent upbringing. But—”

“She did, and you didn’t.”

“No, I did a damn good job of practicing what they preached. Too bad they didn’t. I am done. I couldn’t give a shit less if he goes to jail, if I go to jail, if—”

“No. No, you can’t go to jail, because I would lose my fuck buddy, and I am not ready to do that.”

He looks at me oddly, the kind of odd that makes my stomach not settle right. I hold my hand over it and close my eyes.

I finish my sentence. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I’m not taking your money. I will pay back the other investors, talk to the guys, and make sure my name is off the damn mortgage on the property my parents’ twisted sense of guilt bought for her child. A child that doesn’t even know about her.”

“Your sister,” I whisper as I slide off the stool, grab my cup, and dump it in the sink.

“Yeah, well, lucky for her, she doesn’t have to know that.”

“If she knew you, she would never wanna stop. She would love you.” I rinse out the cup, fill it with water, and drink it down before changing the subject. “I really could use your help launching this idea.”

“Run, Madison, run as fast as you can. I don’t want you involved.”

I keep my back to him, and like in a cartoon, a light bulb appears above my head.

“Well, if I can’t get you to help, I guess I could ask Charles’s family. I mean, he and—”

“I’ll help you,” he snaps. “But you need to wait until I see if I can work this out.”

“How are you going to come up with half a million dollars in such a short amount of time?”

“I’m selling this apartment, and then I’ll have two hundred and fifty thousand to come up with.”

“Or you could just take my check and help me. It’s the quickest way to end this, Billy.”

“I’m not taking your damn money.”

I turn to look at him. “You’d be earning it.”

“How would I be earning it? In the bedroom?” He laughs, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No, I need a face for Sweet Things.”

“What is Sweet Things?” he asks as if I am pestering him.

“Did you like the panty set I wore yesterday?”

“Madison, what does that have to do with an app?” he huffs out in irritation.

“I have a slight obsession with undergarments. I also love shoes and clothes. You’d know that if you ever came to my house.”

He looks irritated.

I roll my eyes. “I designed an app where women take pictures of their skin tone, hair style, body shape, and it matches them up with the right color, shape, and style for them. I am going to save some money by being the face of ‘Her Things,’ and being the very shrewd business women I am, I thought who better to be the matching style for ‘His Things’ than, well, your thing?” I joke.

“You want my dick in women’s underwear?”

“No!” I giggle. “I wanna have some pictures taken of you in men’s underwear to help launch my app. For a celebrity endorsement, it would cost me a million dollars; you’d be saving me a ton of money.”

“You are going to be seen by the world in the type of thing you were wearing for me last night?” he asks, poking himself in the chest.

“It’s not types of things, Billy; it’s Sweet Things. But don’t ask for any royalties for the name. I won’t give them to you.”

“Have you thought this through, Madison? What are you even selling?”

“I have a manufacturing company working on the launch line.”

“Who designed it?” He takes a drink.

“The same person who designed the ones gracing your bedroom floor.” I walk into his room, pick up the bra, and turn to walk out, finding him right behind me. “I did. They are all high-end garments at an affordable price. People can sign up for a monthly subscription and get that month’s design automatically delivered to their door. There are no returns or refunds. Being subscription–based, we have a good idea of how many items need to be produced each month. We bill a month in advance.”

“When did you come up with this idea?”

“Oh, well, I have been thinking about it for a year. When my professor first asked if I was willing to sell Basic Black, I said no, but in the back of my mind, I was always into intimate items.”

“I’m not parading in front of a camera in my underwear, and you aren’t, either.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, but I am, and I am doing it this weekend. So, if you’re out, I need to find another last minute male model.”

“What? You just assumed I would do this?”

I gather my things and start to dress.
Yes, I did,
I think.

“Madison, you really don’t want your half-naked body exposed to the world, do you?”

I continue to ignore him. Mom would be proud that I’m holding my damn tongue. He throws on a shirt as he follows me to the door.

“It’s late. I need to go.” I finally say.

I don’t say a word as we drive to my mom's and my house. He pulls up to my house and throws it in park and turns towards me.

“You’re not thinking, Madison.”

“I’m thinking just fine; you aren’t,” I snap.

“You want the world to see you in …” he pauses then sputters, “intimate apparel?”

“I suppose I do.” I reach for the door. “I mean, for a year, I’ve known you wanted to fuck me, and it felt really good. Apparently, I have issues. At least I own them.”

“For a year?” he huffs.

“Go ahead and deny it again. Regardless, we’ve already had this conversation.”

“No, you’ve had this conversation. Hell, you never
stop
talking.” He chuckles darkly.

“Well, it’s with or without you.” I get out of the vehicle and look back. “I was pretty sure you were going to be too much of an uptight ass to do it, so I have a backup in place.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What, that you’re uptight? It means—”

“No, Madison, who’s my replacement?”

“Two guys from Notre Dame and a couple gym socks.” I slam the door behind me and stomp toward the house.

“What will Memphis think?!” I hear and then the vehicle door slams.

I spin around and watch as he storms up to the porch.

“What do you think your brother will think when he finds out?”

He grabs both sides of my face, and I know he is going to kiss me and probably hate-fuck me against the door. Therefore, I turn so he gets my cheek. His hands immediately drop, and he steps back.

I turn my back to him and punch in the code. “I don’t give a shit what Memphis says! No one knew about Basic Black except you, so I’m sure they won’t know about this, either.” I slam the door in his face and lock it. Then I cup my hand, blow into it, and sniff.

Thank God I didn’t let him kiss me. It would most definitely have led to something else, and with morning breath, yuck.

Little brat! No, not today. Today, she is a straight-up foot-stomping, tantrum-throwing, spoiled, little bitch.

I peel out of her driveway and head home. I need a shower.

I look down. I need this hard-on to subside.

Why is it that I want to fuck her even more when she is an insolent, little brat?! What the fuck is wrong with me?

I look down at my tented sweats and yell at Cassius, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She needs to be fucked. Fucked hard and left limp.

I reach into the glove box and pull out a package of tissues and set them on the console. Then I reach into my pants and grip my dick.

“You, Cassius, are only getting off because the minute you see her, your traitorous self will cause a fucking uprising of one. It won’t go over well in a supposedly professional environment, that is already borderline fucking incestuous.”

I give hard, angry strokes, nothing like hers were last night.

“Unbelievable that she needs people to see her.” I tighten my grip on my cock and pump harder. “Rocking little body in those sexy as fuck underwear.” I sigh. “Fuck, this isn’t gonna work.” No. No, it fucking won’t.

I spit in my hand and rub it around my tip.

“Much fucking better.”

The phone rings, and I look at the dash, seeing it’s her.

Well, fuck.

“What?” I answer.

“You need to come back.” She demands.

This may work to your benefit, Cassius
, I think.

“Why? Do you regret not taking the kiss while you had the chance?”

“
Pft
, you must be out of your mind. I left my purse in your vehicle.”

“Well, I hope you have a spare key to shove in your … lock, because I’m not coming.”
Not yet, anyway.

“Why? Because I wouldn’t kiss you?”

“Maybe…”

“You and I both know what would have happened if I did,” she says, all sorts of pissed off.

Here we go.

“No, I have no clue. How about you tell me?”

“Your big, old dick would have gotten hard like it
always
does around me.”

Yes. Yes, it is, especially right now, you little brat
.

“My big cock is always hard around you, huh?” I pump faster.

“Please, like you could hide it.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, but last night, you wanted to marry my cock. And let’s not forget”—I tighten my grip and bite my lip to stifle the moan—“if you weren’t able to hide that little pussy of yours underneath those”—
fuck yes
, screams inside my head as I picture her in them—“nasty, naughty—”

“Sweet Things. They are, from here on out, called Sweet Things,” she says in an angry, breathy voice.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Your pussy would be soaked from thinking about how badly you wanted my cock inside you.”

“Well, at least it wouldn’t be sticking straight out, practically begging for me to suck it.”

That’s it; keep talking, sweet thing
.

“Then choking me before filling my mouth full of—”

“Hot wet jets of cum you couldn’t get enough of,” I interrupt. “Your lips love my cock. You love the taste of my cum. Best you ever had.”

I am so close.

“True, but do keep in mind, your dick is the only one I have ever sucked, so it’s not like I can compare it to anything.”

I focus on that sentence … hard, opting to totally disregard “so it’s not like I can compare it” part.

“I would shove it down your throat right now and make you gag on it just to shut you up,” I groan.

“Is that so?” she asks with a little growl that I am pretending is a moan.

“Then I would slap your face with it.”

“I’d bite it!” she cries. Okay, maybe not cried, but this little fantasy is working out just fine for me.

“I’m close,” I say.

“To my house?” She has a nervous, little quake in her voice. It works for me. “Are you coming?” she asks, totally making my balls tense up.

“Not yet,” I answer, and it’s the most honest part of this conversation yet.

“When are you coming?” she whines.

Hot!

“I need my purse,” she says, almost ruining it.

I need to focus.

“You don’t want me there right now, because I would rip your panties off and shove my finger in so I could prove how hot and wet you get around me.”

“I would squeeze your dick in my hands until you thought it would burst.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I groan.

“I’m not one for threats,” she groans, growls, or in my head, moans back at me.

“No? Is that a promise?”

“If it didn’t hurt, I would squeeze your balls and make sure I left a mark.”

Even that sounds good right now.

“I’d pull away and throw you down on the end of the bed and rip that ridiculous”—and very sexy—“bra off you and eat your tits.”

“Eat them, huh?” she whispers like someone may hear her.

“No, but I’d suck so hard you’d feel your heartbeat in them.”

God, she has great tits.

“Like that scares me,” she says, feigning badass.

“Fine, I’d shove two fingers up that little snatch of yours and finger-fuck you until you came all over them. Then I’d make you lick them while I drove my double-sized dick inside you and wait until you came to fill your pussy so full you would be dripping me for days.”

“Oh, God,” she says, and I fucking grab the tissues just in time. “You are such an asshole.”

“You have no idea,” I comment as I spill into the tissue.

“Fuck you.” And she hangs up.

“Thank you, Madison.” I sigh as I drive up to my building.

I walk into the apartment and set an alarm for ten. I don’t have to be in to work until the meeting at noon. Then I toss the phone on the nightstand and fall face first into the bed. I can sleep for a good three hours.