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Then he would cross the room to me, his body vibrating with alpha male certainty, with primal promise of a pleasure I had never experienced before. He would kneel at the edge of the bed, knees on either side of my thighs, keeping me a willing captive.
    His hands would move upward, nothing tentative, nothing uncertain, as his hands grabbed the cups of my bra and yanked them down, covering my throbbing breasts with his large palms and squeezing hard. Then they would be off my breasts, ripping off my panties. Then as he pushed off the bed, grabbing my hips and turning me, throwing me face down on the bed, he would haul my ass in the air, and shove in hard and deep.
    I came on that thought, groaning out my release as my body shuddered hard.
    I got up, threw on jeans so tight they in no way invited the idea of someone trying to peel them off, and Roman's old baggy red and white Stanford sweatshirt that I stole when he visited the first time he came back home for winter break, marking the longest we had ever gone without seeing each other since birth.
    "Pull it together," I murmured to myself, finding a hair band and tying my hair into a messy knot at the top of my head. For good measure, I walked into the bathroom, slipped out my contacts and put on my huge hipster glasses, nodding at my reflection. It had a certain nerdy appeal, but it was in no way a sexy look. I considered it another guard against ill-advised sex with with the hot guy in my kitchen. Nothing about how I looked right that minute screamed 'take me now'. If anything, it said 'hey can you hold my library books while I look for my retainer'.
    So then I flicked off my lights and went back downstairs, hoping for some answers.
    And not sex.
    Nope.
    Not at all.
    Totally didn't want that anymore.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Four
     
     
     
    Paine
     
     
    One year.
    I hadn't even needed to so much as lay eyes on one of the Third Street guys in a full year. The last time I did, one of my best friend's girlfriend's lives was at risk. It was probably the only situation I would have dealt with them again. I had fought my way out of that life; I had done things that would wake me up in a cold sweat even now, years later.
    So having to so much as speak to a member of Third Street didn't exactly make my week.
    But having to do it to save another chick? Yeah, I guess that made it worth it.
    Unfortunately for me, she wasn't just some chick who got caught on the wrong side of town at night and caught some unwanted attention. No, she was up to something. She was up to something and she had no idea how much danger she was in. Things had changed in Third Street over the years under different leaders. Five years alone had three separate faces. As such, the men were wild, unpredictable, sometimes calling their own shots instead of following orders.
    That meant whatever the pretty blond Elsie was involved in could have any number of unforeseeable results. Oh, and she was pretty too. Fucking gorgeous actually. D wasn't wrong calling her Barbie. She definitely had that look- tall and lean, a body that was testament to either pilates or yoga and a strict diet: all shapely legs, a nice rack, and an ass that could make a man cry. While whatever color she was sporting wasn't natural, if her brows and lashes were anything to go by, she was a natural blond. Regardless, it was nice hair and she had a fuckuva lot of it, just begging for a man to take a good handful of it while he fucked her from behind and yank it hard. The blowjob lips comment, yeah, that wasn't that far off either. They were full and pink and just begging to be kissed. And, if what I had seen in those blue eyes of hers were anything to go by, she was due for a good makeout session that led to a good fucking session.
    I had every intention of letting her walk out of my life with her hand wrapped up with her not-boyfriend's. I had no reason to get involved. But I had a mostly sleepless night tossing and turning and wondering