My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)
My Rules: Chapter 4

My hands are curled through his hair; his head bobs up and down between my legs, and I moan as a deep shudder runs through me.

“Fuck yes,” I whisper into the darkness as my toes curl.

Big hands are on my thighs, holding my legs back as he loses control, and his face thrashes from side to side as he completely devours me. His stubble burns my skin with a familiar sting.

Fuck . . . so good.

Hell, I needed this.

He slides three thick fingers into my sex, and my body ripples around him as my back arches off the bed.

“Ahhh . . . ,” I cry.

The sound of my voice jolts me awake . . .

Gasping for breath, I look around my dark and quiet room.

Nobody is here.

Oh.

I pant as my brain catches up with reality . . . it wasn’t real; it was just a dream.

Disappointment fills me.

I close my eyes and throw the back of my arm over my forehead.

“Fuck.”

I’m alone . . . always alone.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and drag myself up to a seated position. My skin is wet with perspiration; the orgasm was so close, I could taste it.

What the hell is going on with me lately?

That’s three nights in a row I’ve dreamed about sex.

I know we had a wild party—hell, I can’t even remember what happened—but whatever Taryn put into that punch must have awoken a monster in me.

A fuck monster who’s craving it hard.

I don’t know where I am in my cycle. I must be ovulating or something; this is so unlike me. I let out a dejected sigh and drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I flick on the light and stare at my reflection.

I’m disheveled and flushed; my hair is wild, but the only thing I can see is a primal hunger. There’s a glow radiating out of my body and bouncing around the room.

A tangible force that not even I can control.

My body needs a good working over from a strong man.

For so long, sex has been the last thing on my mind; after all, it is the one sin that stole my perfect life from me.

But it’s not a want anymore—it’s a need, and if I have to screw my vibrator one more time, I’m going to go crazy.

I wash my face and amble back to bed. I lie there and stare at the ceiling while I go over the last three days. Why do I feel so different?

There are a lot of things that I don’t know in this world, but there is one thing I am 100 percent sure of: I’m not going to be able to sleep until I come.

I reach over to my bedside drawer and take out Bob, my trusty partner. The one man who never lets me down. He gets the job done every single time.

I part myself and bring him down to the lips of my sex. My eyes close as I feel the tip of his cock.

Hmmm . . .

Now . . . where were we?

Monday, 1:00 p.m.

I walk into the café and see the girls sitting in the back corner. I give them a wave and make my way over. “Hi.” I fall into my seat.

“This is a nice surprise.” Chloe sips her coffee. “How did you get the afternoon off?”

“Staff development day.” I pick up the menu. “However, there is no staff developing going on today for me.” I look around for the waitress. “Have you guys ordered food?”

“Not yet,” Juliet replies. She picks up the menu to look over the choices. “I’m going to have the salad and grilled chicken.”

“How’s the wedding dress fitting now?” I ask.

“Tight.” She widens her eyes. “Why the hell would I buy a dress that was already fricking tight? What was I thinking?”

“Like everyone, you were under the assumption that we are all going to lose weight?” Chloe replies for her. “You look great in it anyway; it’s not too tight at all.”

“Lose weight, ha! If anything, I’ve bulked up.” Juliet slams the menu shut in disgust. “I’m eating everything there is to eat on this honeymoon.”

“Including a lot of dick, I imagine,” Chloe replies as she studies the menu.

“This time in two weeks, you’ll be a married woman.” I smile.

“I can’t wait.” Juliet hunches up her shoulders in excitement. “Oh, did you hear the boys are going to Vegas this weekend for the bachelor party?”

“They are?” I wince.

“One guess whose idea it was?” She looks at me deadpan.

“Dr. Grayson?” I smirk.

“Why is he so out of control?” Juliet adds. “If he thinks this is going to be a reenactment of the Hangover movie, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”

“Oh no.” Chloe holds her temple. “I’m having bad flashbacks.”

“Of what?” I sip my water.

“I have hazy memories that we had the talk the other night at the party.”

“The talk?” I frown, confused. “With who?”

“I don’t know, I remember . . .” She frowns as if concentrating. “Why were we so drunk that night, anyway?”

“I don’t know what Taryn put into that punch, but it was lethal,” I reply.

“For real.”

“Oh hell. I hope Blake doesn’t remember.”

“Remember what?” I ask her.

“I vaguely remember that I told him I had a crush on him before I met Oliver, and he . . .” She shrugs before cutting herself off.

“He what?” I ask.

“He said something, but I don’t know what. The conversation is hazy.”

“I don’t even think I saw you talking to him.” I frown.

“Oh, that’s right,” she gasps, wide eyed. “I forgot about that.”

“Forgot what?”

“I walked in on him and Taryn,” she says.

“He was with Taryn?” Juliet gasps.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “They were in the laundry room together with the door closed.”

What?

“Were they . . .”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Juliet sips her coffee. “He’s the world’s biggest fuckboy.”

I sit back, annoyed. He’s always told me he doesn’t replace Taryn in the least bit attractive.

Ugh . . . men are all such liars.

“So what did he say when you told him you had a crush on him?” I ask.

“I don’t remember, and I sure as hell hope he doesn’t.”

“I don’t think he does. He was blind drunk . . . we all were,” I reply. “When did you have this conversation, anyway?”

“When we were playing golf.”

“When were we playing golf?” I frown. “I seriously have no recollection of this at all.”

“At one a.m. at the top of your voices,” Juliet snaps. “Honestly, what happened to you guys that night? I came home from work to replace Henley asleep in our front garden.”

I bubble up a giggle. “He was?”

“Oh yes.” Chloe nods as she remembers. “He was sitting there watching us play.”

“Who was there?” I ask.

“Carol, Ethel, Winston, Hen, Ant, and Blake, and then Heath and Levi from the Navy House came over too.” Juliet shrugs. “I could hear their voices when you were playing golf, but it was late by then.”

“What the hell were Carol and Ethel and Winston doing playing golf at one in the morning?” I screw up my face in question. “I don’t remember this at all!”

“Being very loud, apparently.”

“I think Blake took you home by then,” Chloe says.

“Why did Blake take me home?”

“You know how he is with you.” Juliet rolls her eyes. “He thinks you’re his little sister that he has to look after all the time.”

I’m still reeling about him hooking up with Taryn. “Why does he think that?” I huff. “It’s so annoying.”

“Be grateful you got home without being gangbanged by the Navy House.”

There’s a house at the end of the street where six Navy SEALs live, and they have a reputation for sharing their women.

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” I widen my eyes. “That actually sounds like exactly what I need right now.”

“What’s wrong, Bec?” Juliet smirks. “Hungry, kitty?”

“Starving.” I sigh. “Why does Taryn get all the dick around here, anyway?”

For fuck’s sake, I’m annoyed if Blake hooked up with her. I turn my attention to Chloe to change the subject. “How’s Oliver?”

“Dreamy.” Chloe smiles. “He’s taking me somewhere special tonight for our three-month anniversary.”

I smile and take her hand in mine. “Good for you.”

Blake

I pull into my driveway just after 8:00 p.m. It’s been a hell of a day.

Back-to-back appointments with two interns in tow, and then to top it off, just as I was leaving, one of my patients who has an infection took a turn for the worse. I rushed to the hospital and ended up staying for the last two hours until we could stabilize him.

I turn the car off and sit in the silence for a moment. This is the first minute of silence I have had to myself all day.

Bang, bang, bang sounds loudly on the window, scaring me. “What the hell?”

Antony is standing on my driveway in the dark. He opens my car door.

“What are you doing?” I huff.

“Did you replace out anything about green cocks?”

“No.” I climb out of my car and slam the door. “Why are you still obsessed?”

“Well, did you read the full story yet?” He begins to follow me up the path as I walk.

“I haven’t had time to fart today.” I unlock my front door.

“It’s been a week. You haven’t even looked at it again?”

“Get off my case already.” I walk inside and put down my things.

“So Hen and I have been thinking about this.” He continues to follow me.

I roll my eyes as I undo my belt. “This is what you thought about all day?” I pull my belt out of my pants. “Green aliens with two cocks.”

“Hard cocks.” He widens his eyes. “Weeping, hard cocks.”

“I swear to god, you two are gay.” I sigh as I go to the fridge.

“We think it must be Taryn.”

I drink the milk from the carton. “Why?”

“Who else would have two-cocked green men on their brain?”

“Apart from you two, you mean?” I roll my eyes and take another swig.

“Yeah,” he continues. “So basically . . . you fucked Taryn.”

I frown at the thought. “That is not . . . great news.”

My phone beeps a text, and I walk back out to the hall to read it. Rebecca.

I made you lasagna.

Do you want me to bring it over?

“Thank god.” I sigh. “Finally, a useful friend.”

I text back.

Just got home.

I’ll be over soon.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have something going on tonight, so you have to leave.” I walk toward my stairs.

“What do you have going on?” He follows me.

“Stuff.”

“Can I have the flash drive for the night if you’re not going to look at it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Finders keepers.”

“I want to read it.”

I stop halfway up the stairs. “You’re really into Mr. Green Cocks, aren’t you?”

“His name is Ezra.” He smirks. “And no . . . I’m not into it. I’m just intrigued as to who wrote it.”

“Go. Home.”

“Well, what am I going to tell Henley?” he calls. “We’ve been waiting for you to get home; he’s going to come over.”

“Henley is waiting to read it too?”

He breaks into a guilty smile, and I smirk. “You two are like old women. Go watch some porn like normal men.” I walk into my bedroom.

“You’re fucked,” he calls. I hear the front door close as he leaves.

I look in the mirror at the huge love bite that’s still on my neck. It’s not fading fast enough. “Literally.”

Half an hour later, I’m showered and wearing tracksuit pants and a T-shirt as I make my way over to Rebecca’s. “Hello,” I call in through her screen door.

“Come in.”

I walk in and inhale the heavenly scent. “Something smells delicious,” I say as I turn the corner into the kitchen. Rebecca is in flannelette pajamas, makeup-free, and her hair is in a high ponytail. Just the sight of her brings a smile to my face.

“Hello.” She smiles. “Somebody told me you wanted lasagna.” She frowns when she sees my scarf. “Your neck is still stiff?”

“Yep.” I take a seat at her kitchen counter. “Something smells good.” I try to change the subject.

“It’s the least I can do when you’re helping me.” She begins to dish our dinner into bowls.

“About that.”

She keeps serving.

“You know you don’t need to do this photo thing?” I tell her. “I can loan you some money.”

She stops what she’s doing, as if annoyed.

“What?” I reply.

“I’m sick of relying on men. I want to be financially independent. Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?”

I knew she was going to say that.

“If you don’t have the time to help me with Foot Finder, that’s fine. I get it.” She puts the bowl down in front of me with a thud. “Trust me, uploading pictures to a pervert website is the last thing I ever imagined doing.” She slumps onto the kitchen stool beside me. “I feel like such a failure. I think I’ve hit rock bottom. If anyone ever found out about this, I would die a thousand deaths.”

Shit.

I need to be a better friend.

I take a bite. “You’re the best Italian cook I know.”

“Except that I’m not Italian.” She keeps eating.

I go over her choices. “Look, I don’t necessarily think Foot Finder is a bad thing; it’s a different thing, but not a bad thing.”

Her eyes search mine.

“Well, why don’t we put it this way . . . if you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were.”

“Yeah . . .” She stares at me for a beat. “That’s a good way of thinking about it.”

“And who cares what anyone thinks anyway.” I keep eating. “I don’t give a damn what people think of me, and you should be the same. Being financially independent is a good goal to have and something to be proud of.”

She gives me a lopsided smile. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You always have a way of making me feel better.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I shrug. “Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t even set up your profile properly. We need to come up with a name before we can go any further.”

We eat in silence for a while.

“What name do you think?” she asks.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this, and if you want my honest opinion—”

She cuts me off. “I do.”

“Maybe we make it more like a porn name, something super sexy that would appeal to a mass market.”

“Not foot related?” She frowns.

“I don’t know; it doesn’t allure me.”

“But you’re not into feet.”

“True, although I have to admit that yours are pretty cute.”

She smiles softly, and I feel it in the pit of my stomach.

Stop it.

“Okay, so what’s my stage name?” she replies with renewed excitement.

I stare at her for a moment. “Bambi.”

“Bambi?” She scrunches up her nose. “Why Bambi?”

“Because when they see you, they are going to be deer in the headlights.”

She rolls her eyes. “Dear god.”

“Trust me.” I smile. “They don’t stand a chance.”

She goes back to eating. “So we have enough photos for the week?”

“Yep, you just have to finish making your profile, and as soon as it’s approved, we can get started.”

“So how much did your friend make when she did this?” she asks.

“She was getting up to sixty dollars an image, and that was ten years ago.”

“If I could just make one hundred dollars a day, then my life would be set.”

“Well, at least until we work something else out,” I reply.

“Right.”

We finish dinner, and she gets out her computer and sits at the table while I lie on the couch and flick through the channels. “I swear this is the best couch of all time.”

“Pretty comfy,” she agrees. She keeps typing. “I heard you hooked up with Taryn the other night,” she says without looking up.

I sit up, horrified. “Who told you that?”

“So . . .” Her eyes stay on her computer screen. “Did you?”

“I . . .”

Fuck.

“Well?”

“Not that I . . .”

“What?” she snaps.

“Know of.” I wince.

Her eyes rise to meet mine. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means Taryn’s stupid punch totally screwed me over, and I can’t remember a damn thing.”

She goes back to typing.

“I don’t like her,” I stammer.

“Whatever, Blake.” Her eyes stay on her computer. “I don’t care who you sleep with anyway. It’s none of my business.”

Disappointment fills me, and I lie back down.

She stays silent as she types, and I continue pretending to watch the movie.

Great.

Now she hates me.

“Are you angry?” I ask.

“Nope.” She hits the keys with force.

“You’re acting angry.”

“I just . . .” She shrugs before cutting herself off.

“You just what?”

“I just replace it fascinating how you always say that Taryn isn’t your type, and then the first time you have too many drinks around her . . . you just . . .”

“I just what?”

“You act like a typical horny dickhead of a man.”

Nailed it.

I drag my hand down my face.

Taryn . . . good god, not Taryn. Anyone but Taryn. What the hell was I thinking?

Seriously . . .

Why can’t I keep it in my fucking pants?

Rebecca

I stare down at Blake. He’s fast asleep on my couch. His hands are up above his head, and his bulging biceps are peeking out of his T-shirt. My eyes linger over his strong body.

No matter how much of a fuckboy Blake is . . . there’s no denying he’s a beautiful man.

My eyes drop lower . . . to the bulge in his crotch.

Virile.

My eyebrows flick up in disgust at myself. It’s official.

I need a man.

If I’m even perving on my friend, who I have absolutely no intent to ever like that way . . . I need a man.

Blake’s words from earlier come back to me. If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were.

I blow out a defeated breath. He’s right. I know he’s right.

And yet . . . how do I change what I’ve always done when I’ve only ever been myself?

I pull a blanket over Blake and tuck a pillow under his head. He rolls onto his side and snuggles in as he gets comfortable. I go into the kitchen and take out a notepad and a pen. I need to make sense of all this.

I walk upstairs, lie on my bed on my stomach, and flick the pen around while I think.

Okay . . . so . . .

I think for a while. I can’t work out what I want until I really know who I am.

What am I now?

I begin to list my attributes.

Intelligent

Kind

Soft

Not flirty

Mommish

Sensible

I twist my lips as I think some more.

Predictable

Boring

Yep . . .

The last one’s the killer.

Boring . . .

How the hell did I end up boring?

I was never like this. I was the fun one. I was the spontaneous one. The girl that John wasn’t good enough for. He chased me for years in college before I caved and went out with him.

John was the sensible, boring one, and somehow, as we got older, we switched places. He blossomed into a successful surgeon, and I became the dutiful doctor’s wife who always put his needs before my own.

I stare at my list for a while as the words sink in, and as much as it pains me, I know that every word is true.

I drag myself out of bed and get into the shower. I lean on the tiles under the hot water as a tidal wave of regret washes over me.

Why did I let him change who I was? I guess it was so gradual that I didn’t even realize it was happening.

Always doing the right thing, always putting others’ needs before mine, worrying what people think of me.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

Little Miss Perfect.

The truth is, I wish I could be more like Blake. He sees something that he wants, and he just goes for it without hesitation.

I finish up in the shower, put on my pajamas, and climb into bed. I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness.

They say that everything comes into your life for a season or a reason.

Maybe the reason is that I have to replace the girl I once was.

To feel whole again.

So what . . . my marriage failed. Millions of marriages fail every year.

I didn’t fail. He did.

This is on him; I don’t know why I’m feeling guilty and beating myself up about it when he sure isn’t.

Honestly . . . I’m done with this crap.

Tomorrow I start working on trying to get back to the real me.

The old me . . . the fun me, the girl I was before I met him.

If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were.

Blake’s right.

I need to be more calculated with my choices going forward. I need to learn how to use my douchedar and see the red flags. I mean . . . this is need-to-know information.

I flick my pen as I think, and I write down the heading of a new list.

A better-way-to-do-things list.

The dos and don’ts of dating

Hmm, where do I start?

Attributes I want in a man

He must be:

Hot

Honest

Kind

Sensitive

Caring

Funny

Romantic

Family-oriented

Red flags—Men to avoid

He can’t be:

A liar

A player

A cheater

Cold

Selfish

Controlling

Mean

Nasty

Heartless

If there’s a god out there, please hear my prayer.

Please let me meet a man who is worthy of my love.

I’m losing faith that he exists.

Blake

My phone alarm vibrates on the coffee table, and I drag my sleepy eyes open.

Where am I?

Rebecca’s couch. Damn, I must have been tired last night.

I’ve got to get moving. I drag myself up and walk out into the kitchen. Rebecca must still be upstairs; I’ll take her up a cup of coffee before I go.

I’m still feeling guilty about Taryn . . . who could blame Bec if she hates me. I kind of hate myself right now. I make her coffee, wrap my neck in my stupid scarf, and head up the stairs. I walk into her bedroom to see that she’s on her side and still sleeping. I carefully put her coffee down on her side table and sit on the edge of her bed. Her dark hair is splayed across her pillow, and her chest rises and falls as she breathes.

Her long eyelashes flutter across her cheeks, and I smile as I watch her.

So angelic.

I could watch her all day, but I’ve got to get to the hospital. I stand, and as I walk out of her room, I notice a notepad and a pen on the end of her bed. I pick it up and read it.

Attributes I want in a man

He must be:

Hot

Honest

Kind

Sensitive

Caring

Funny

Romantic

Family-oriented

Red flags—Men to avoid

He can’t be:

A liar

A player

A cheater

Cold

Selfish

Controlling

Mean

Nasty

Heartless

If there’s a god out there, please hear my prayer.

Please let me meet a man who is worthy of my love.

I’m losing faith that he exists.

I read and reread the last two lines.

Please let me meet a man who is worthy of my love.

I’m losing faith that he exists.

Sadness fills me.

Her list of attributes she wants in a man . . . I’ve never met anyone who . . .

I sit back down on the side of her bed and watch her for an extended time. My mind is racing with a million thoughts. None of them good.

She doesn’t deserve any of this. She never did.

I want her to be happy. I want her to replace the man of her dreams. I want someone to love her as much as she loves them.

I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, and I know what I need to do.

I’m going to replace her a good man . . . even if it kills me.