Seven Dirty Sins: A Hot New Adult Erotic Romance Boxed Set Page 17

  “Did I hurt you?” He asked, pulling back.

  “No. Do it again. Please, Landon, do it again.”

  He didn’t waste any time and I felt him nibble on the back of my other thigh. His hand moved up until I felt his thumb sliding against me, and then inside of me.

  “I can’t… Landon, I can’t…”

  My plea for this sweet torture to release me came out a broken mess.

  “You can and you will.”

  He pulled my panties down and then pushed my legs open again. I heard the rustle of his pants. He was warm and hard against me as he moved himself over me.

  “I can take this slow, Meela. I can draw it out or I can fuck you. What do you want?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. He made me want things I didn’t even know I wanted until that exact moment and right now I wanted it hard and fast.

  “Fuck me, Landon. Fuck me.”

  “With pleasure, love.”

  He pushed inside of me quickly and smoothly, the surprise of it took my breath away and my fingers dug into the hard wood surface.

  His thrusts became faster and harder, the desk dug into my thighs, but I didn’t care enough to stop. I wanted to come, I needed to come and I wasn’t going to stop until that happened.

  The pit of my stomach tightened and my muscles around Landon clenched tightly, pulling him deeper inside of me. I wanted more of him, I wanted all he had to give.

  “Can you feel me, Meela?”

  “Dear God, yes. Don’t stop!”

  I felt his fingers winding in my strands, tugging until my back was against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding against my back and it matched my own.

  “Look how fucking sexy you are, Meela.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about until I caught our reflection in the windows in front of us. I hadn’t even realized they were open letting anyone who happened to see us, watch.

  My first thought was it was sexy, the idea of someone watching Landon fuck me. My second thought… what the hell was wrong with me and who was I?

  Still gripping my hair, his other hand wrapped around my neck. Not enough to hurt, but enough to turn me on even more. He turned my head and his lips found mine in a bruising kiss.

  “Are you ready?”

  Without waiting for me to reply, he pushed me against the table again and thrust into me over and over again. I wanted to scream his name, but I didn’t make a sound and that made my release even more intense.

  I was close, so close and with another few thrust, I hit my breaking point. My orgasm was hard, it shook my body and I felt it seeping down the inside of my thighs.

  “That was fucking beautiful.” He said, pulling out of me.

  Our bubble of passion busted with my orgasm and the reality of what just happened was like a Taser gun. My body was still feeling the aftershocks of what just happened as I pulled my skirt down and buttoned my shirt.

  “Are you okay?” I could hear it in his voice, there was an uncertainty as he tried to figure out where I was.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, so I shook my head, smoothing my hair in the process.

  “I didn’t make you scream so I know you didn’t lose your voice.”

  I knew what he wanted from me, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to give him the reassurance he needed. I knew I wasn’t going to get out of this room as easily as I wished, but I had to get out.

  “I have to get back to work.”

  I tried to bypass him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me to him.

  “Where are you going?”

  I didn’t look at him. “What do you want from me, Landon? I have to get back to work.”

  “And act as if I didn’t just fuck you like I just did?”

  “I can’t do this with you right now.”

  “So we’re just going to pretend it never happened.”

  Looking up at him, I gave nothing away. “That’s what I wanted after the first time it happened. It never should have happened again.”

  He didn’t say anything and then he let me go, taking a step back.

  “Fine, walk out that door and it never happened, Meela.”

  It’s what I wanted. I never should have slept with him and I knew that. I wasn’t this person and this was exactly why. I didn’t need this in my life.

  I told myself that as I took a step back and then another, turning and opening the conference door. This was the right thing to do, but as I left, leaving Landon alone. I wondered why my feet felt like lead.

  didn’t think you were ever going to call.” Kevin smiled at me from across the table. “But I’m glad you did.” He added as if I needed the reassurance.

  “Life of a lawyer. I rarely have time for a social life.”

  It was true, but not in this case. Carrie begged me to go out with Dillon’s friend and I had run out of excuses to give her.

  I’d finally agreed, letting her set it up, but here I was whishing the night was over and I was in bed.

  I was tired of crying like a teenage girl because apparently that’s what I was now. But mostly I was tired of thinking about Landon and I was hoping going out would get him out of my head, but here I was and thinking about Landon was all I was doing while Kevin went on about something I hadn’t bothered to listen to from the start of the conversation.

  It’d been three months since I’d walked out of the conference room leaving Landon alone and I hadn’t heard a single word from him since, which was exactly what I wanted.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” he chuckled. “I work for a real estate agency.”

  “Do you like it?” I sipped on my water wondering how long I could make small talk.

  I wasn’t feeling good and I was sure I was coming down with something. I hated getting sick and I hated it more when I had a big case to prep for.

  “It’s okay. I’ll like it better when I get my license.”

  “When will that be?”

  Before he could answer the waiter was there with our food. He put Kevin’s plate down first and then mine asking if we needed anything else. I shook my head and the aroma of my steak made my mouth water.

  When we were alone again, Kevin picked up the conversation and I was more than happy to listen to him talk about nothing in particular.

  I learned all about his, his two brothers, one sister and adoring parents who were about to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary. I also learned that he’s gotten out of a very serious relationship a year ago, but he felt like he was ready to move and I was his first date.

  I was happy for him, but a part of me felt like I should tell him this would be our first and last date. When he smiled and told me he was having a good time, I didn’t have the heart to tell him.

  An hour later he was walking me to my apartment door. Two months I’d been living in the apartment without Carrie and I missed her every day. We talk constantly, but it wasn’t the same.

  “I had a nice time. It wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be.”

  I laughed. “You were scared to go out with me?”

  “God, no!” He laughed with me. “Sorry. I meant dating in general. You actually made tonight easy. Despite whatever was distracting you.”

  I looked up at him, but I didn’t have it in me to fake it anymore. I was exhausted. “I’m sorry, Kevin. I’m getting ready to start this big case and it’s gotten me on edge.”

  “It’s okay. Hopefully the next time you’ll be less distracted.”

  It was time. “This case has me completely wrapped up-”

  “It’s okay. I understand. I kind of figured that was coming- but maybe when your big case is over.”

  I smiled. “That sounds like a plan.”

  “Goodnight, Meela.”

  He leaned in to kiss me and the strangest thing happened. And by strange I mean completely embarrassing and 100% unexpected. My stomach rolled and I turned, throwing up dinner in the bushed next to my door.

  et me
bring you some chicken noodle soup.”

  “No thank you.”

  “But you love chicken noodle soup.”

  “My stomach hasn’t loved anything the past few days.”

  “I hate that you won’t let me come over to take care of you. I know what a baby you are when you’re sick.”

  I am not.” That was a lie because I was without a doubt a baby. “Besides, I have no idea what I have. I’ve never been sick like this before and I’m not going to give you or the baby whatever I have.”

  I knew it was probably just a stomach bug, but with no accompanying fever, I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t want to take the risk.

  “It’s probably just food poisoning. Have you talked to Kevin to see if he was sick too?”

  It hadn’t even crossed my mind to call him. I wasn’t exactly sure where you stood with a guy you almost threw up on seconds before he kissed you. I didn’t want to listen to Carrie lecture me about my dating life or lack of one so I lied.

  “Yeah, he’s fine.”

  “Hmm… well are you at least holding down water?”

  “Barely,” I mumbled. “I’m just going to try to get as much rest as I can. My case starts in a week and I can’t be the walking dead for it.”

  I curled my knees into my chest and laid my head down on the back of the couch. For the next two days I planned on wearing nothing but sweats and a ponytail until I kicked this.

  “If I didn’t know any better I would think you’re pregnant too,” She started laughing.

  “Funny.” I responded grimly, but it was far from funny. “You have to- I stopped suddenly as I realized the cruelty of my unfinished, but not un-thought, statement.

  “What?” She asked confused.

  “Nothing.” I whispered into the phone.

  “I’ll let you rest, but if you’re not feeling better tomorrow I’m coming over.

  “Okay.”

  It was an automatic response and I barely remember saying goodbye to her as I hung up the phone.

  I chewed on the inside of my lip until I felt blood. My mind kept telling me it wasn’t possible, but I probably wasn’t that lucky.

  I traded in my sweats for yoga pants and a hoodie as I dared the rain and made my way to the nearest drug store.

  I was back at my apartment twenty minutes later with three different pregnancy tests all stating to be the best. As I held the stick in my hand, I was dealing with foreign territory, enemy territory, and it was the longest two minutes of my life.

  As I waited I thought about the last three and half months and for some reason all I could see was the sign of the club glowing brightly in my head.

  Lust.

  I wondered how things would have turned out had I not taken the pink bottle. Landon’s words echoed in my head s I picked up the stick and took a deep breath.

  Come on, Meela. Have fun. What’s the worst that could happen?

  Lust was responsible for my lapse in judgment.

  Lust was responsible for my reckless night with Landon.

  And lust, lust was definitely responsible for the two pink lines I was staring down at.

  Thank you so much for reading Lust and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. A big thank you for buying Seven Dirty Sins Box Set & I hope you enjoy the other stories included!

  Happy reading!

  Be sure to check out more from Melissa Andrea!

  Darkness Duet Series

  The Edge of Darkness

  The Grace in Darkness

  The Discover Series

  Flutter

  Shatter- Coming Soon

  A Mortal Sin Novel

  The Wrath of Sin

  (Co-Written w/ Tabatha Vargo)

  The Black Novels

  Little Black Book

  Becoming Black (Prequel) –Coming Soon

  (Co-Written w/ Tabatha Vargo)

  Speed Dating

  Volume 1

  (Co-Written w/ Tabatha Vargo & Dawn Robinson)

  Stalk Melissa Andrea

  www.melissaAndrea.com

  wwwFacebook.com/m.andrea.author

  Sloth

  A Seven Dirty Sins Story

  By Ella James

  Chapter 1

  CLEO

  When I deliver their orders, I have everything all cute and tidy: product inside a baggie, tied at the top with a little slip of ribbon (sometimes, I even do different sorority colors), then the baggie tucked into a Bell Jar with an adorable colored lid. (Sometimes, I make the lid match the ribbon—if that’s possible, given my limited selection of colored Bell Jar lids).

  Like everything else I do these days, I make dealing drugs look positively effortless.

  (And, for the record, it’s not really “drugs.” Just marijuana, which is legal some places and will probably be legal everywhere in another five or ten years. {Yeah. That’s right. I’m blazing trails here, bitches}).

  Despite how cute my Bell Jars look, getting them all organized is not an easy task. For starters, my bedroom is the size of a square of Chiclet chewing gum. It’s located in a sorority house, which is not exactly the most drug-friendly location in this town. And that’s not the worst thing. You want to hear what is: it’s wedged between the bedrooms of Mila and Stephanie—my sorority’s president and vice president, neither of whom, you might have guessed, is showing up for any pro-marijuana rallies. (In fact, last year at a social, I swear I think I heard Steph say she thinks it shouldn’t even be available to young children with seizures who might die without it. Gasp!)

  So…yeah. I have to be covert. And that means packaging in my closet.

  It’s not a big closet. It’s where my desk is, and also where I keep my stash of LELO products—and it’s bright pink, courtesy of the last Tri Gam treasurer—but it’s probably smaller than the handicapped stall in a school bathroom.

  Good thing eighteen years of gymnastics made me flexible.

  Right now, I’ve got less than thirty minutes until our Wednesday night chapter meeting, and here I am. Slaving away over my precious buds. Picking out stems and seeds that Kennard told me wouldn’t be there this time. Freaking Kennard. Medical marijuana-grade my tight, tanned ass. This shit is barely even mid-grade. Bitches like Holly and Neda will probably try to get a refund. Or a discount, at least. I can’t do discounts. Not this week or any week.

  I look down at my getup. At my Seven jeans, my Gucci boots, my pink Kors sweater. These things don’t buy themselves, you know. I need money to make it here, in the lifestyle to which I’ve grown accustomed. Without my dealing, I’ve not nothing but a scholarship and a room down at the mold-infested swamp dorms. I might have good grades, and I might go to a lot of trouble to keep myself looking nice, but you think the campus’s most exclusive sorority would let me in if I didn’t keep forking over giant quantities of the green stuff? (No, not that green stuff, you silly pothead. I’m talking about Benjamins). The answer is no. No, they wouldn’t. Not a chance in hell.

  People here think I’m a rich girl. A rich, delinquent girl who likes pushing boundaries and breaking dumb rules. It’s a giant lie. My mother is a seamstress and my dad died when his eighteen-wheeler rolled over, hauling logs from Georgia up to Memphis. I’ve got two little sisters—Robyn and Miranda—and both of them are getting free lunch at my family’s local public school. I know, because I did, too. And it was fine. For high school. I made up for being poor as dirt by being reasonably well-put-together and doing really good in gymnastics. Oh, and dating Brandt Kessler.

  College is a different bird.

  I place the last of my Bell Jars in a little row on the edge of my dresser, and mentally tick off my regulars. My sorority regulars, that is.

  Holly buys a half an eighth a week, and so do Megan, Kelsey, Lora, Chole, Amber, Ricci, Katy Peterson, Hannah, Solena, and Lindsey. They all get charged $65 instead of my regular $70. Greek discount. Neda only buys a fourth of an eighth, because she says when she smokes at the same time she’s Vyvancing, she gets a rash. I
charge her $50, because geez, I’ve gotta make some money off her. And then I’ve got a bunch of quarter customers. I walk my fingers over these jars: Julie, Sarah, Molly, other Molly, Forrest, Anna Maria, Christy, Elizabeth, Joanna, and Jordan. These chicks are where I make some real money. I make them cough up $145 a jar for a quarter of an ounce. More, when the weed is really good.

  This week, it’s pretty much my norm. Import stuff from nowhere in particular, gotten from Kennard, my old across-the-street neighbor down in Albany. Bradwell University is about forty miles southwest of Atlanta, so every Sunday afternoon, I drive an hour and a half home in my ancient, white Mazda Miata, and drive back up with several grocery bags full of my grandma’s cookies and brownies, plus a pound of bud concealed in patterned Tupperware.

  I peek into the portable cake carrier on my closet floor and cringe.

  Just like last week, I’m running through my stuff too fast. I take the Ziplock freezer bag out of the cake carrier and sit it the scales that stand on the carpet, in the nook under my desk.

  Shit. After I get rid of all my Bell Jars at chapter, then deal about a fourth a pound tomorrow at the football scrimmage, I’ll be running really low. And I’ll still have to make it through the post-scrimmage band parties. Which means at the frat parties Friday and Saturday nights, I might run out.

  It happened last week, and I used up all my emergency, just-incase-Kennard-dies-suddenly stash.

  I guess I should be glad. I’m growing my client base. Instead, I feel anxious.

  I pick up my phone and scroll to “K.C.,” but I don’t dial. K.C. is this sketchy guy I met at a bar last year. When I get really low, I buy a few ounces from him, but I don’t like to. He’s not like…cop sketchy. He’s more the looks-only-at-my-boobs kind of sketchy. Let’s just say I don’t want to be alone with him in a locked room.

  I rub my lipsticked lips together and decide I won’t call K.C. unless I get a surprise order tonight. At this point, almost all the girls in my sorority and our BFF sorority know I deal, and so do some of their boyfriends. I’m dealing to a dozen or so frat guys, mostly because of that. I also deal to some people from my classes. Add that to a handful of townie adults who swear they’re cool, just love pot and can’t get their hands on it, plus my yoga instructor and a few guys at the ten-minute oil change place downtown…and I’ve got a pretty big client list. For a one-girl operation.