Take It Read online

  Take It

  Book 1

  by

  DJ Stone & B.E. Raj

  Copyright Page

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locals, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  An Original work of DJ Stone & B.E. Raj.

  Take It, Book 1 Copyright 2014 by DJ Stone & B.E. Raj

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Follow the rest of the story

  Chapter One

  Boring. The word is ringing through my head as Scott fumbles around with my black lace panties, pretending he knows how to please a woman. His lack of prowess is so unfulfilling that I have ample time to look over and take stock of the off-the-rack suit he’s tossed over the back of my leather desk chair. Fucking in my office should be exciting, but apparently no one let Scott in on the secret. His attempts at licking his way to my orgasm are futile, bordering on annoying. No, with that last weird swirl he just made it official. I am annoyed.

  Time to stroke his ego. Ironically, this will keep me from having to stroke anything else of his for too long. I let out some huffs and sighs, knowing he'll probably mistake them for sounds of pleasure. If faking orgasms were a sport, my trophy case would be full.

  What blows my mind, since Scott’s fumbling certainly isn’t, is the man doesn’t even realize I’m not the least bit wet. Doesn’t he know what the outcome of his tantalizing and licking is supposed to be? I have a sneaking suspicion I’m on a long list of women who Scott has left dry and disappointed. With a fake shudder, I tighten my legs around his head. For a second I consider using them to strangle him or snap his scrawny neck. Maybe if he passes out I can get dressed and leave him here. Instead, with a proud smile he slithers his way up my body and plunges into me. Oh hell, there better be more to it than that. Is he even in?

  Scott buries his face in my neck mostly because I’ve assertively avoided his attempts at passionate kisses. He’s a terrible kisser, of all regions. His tongue is having a seizure or something. After a few short pumps he’s grunting into my ear, his hot wet breath driving me crazy, but not in the way he thinks. I want to swat him away like a pesky fly. And judging by the size of his dick, he might be part insect. He slides out of me, peeling the condom off as he plants his bare ass on my leather chair with an undeserved look of gloating on his face. Sweat is covering every inch of his hairy body, and I just know his ass is leaving a stain on my chair.

  “That was so hot, Jenny,” Scott huffs, rubbing at my thigh as I force a smile. Can I really blame Scott for this? It’s not as though he was giving any indication he was a skilled lover. “I love your new office.”

  “It only took five years to be taken seriously here. I guess I should be glad it’s finally happened,” I say, quickly realizing he really doesn't give a shit about my job. This is post sex small talk. “Thanks for stopping by,” I grunt. I’m shimmying my pinstriped pencil skirt up my body and hastily buttoning my white V-necked blouse. I don’t have another meeting—the office is a ghost town this time of night—but I’m so ready to be rid of Scott. I’m praying he gets the hint.

  “Let’s go grab a bite to eat,” he offers, matching my pace as he gets dressed, fumbling into his cheap suit pants. I spin my long red hair up into a tight bun and take a peek at my eye makeup and groan, seeing my mascara has smudged. My pale green eyes look raccoon-like, and I fix them the best I can. Messy hair and makeup after a fiery romp in the sack is fine. It’s a trade off and well worth it. Looking like you got a good screw but not actually having climaxed is just inconvenient.

  A question is still circling my mind as Scott fastens his belt. What the hell made me call him? Nothing about him is impressive. He doesn’t move gracefully. He doesn’t speak with any sort of confidence. Everything about him is boring, so it was a safe bet this encounter would be no different. But I crossed my fingers, uncrossed my legs, and hoped he was better in bed than in the rest of his life. I was on the losing end of that bet. Like an idiot, a lonely desperate fool, I called Scott and got what I deserved out of this. Which is a whole lot of nothing. I thought if I set my expectations low enough I might be pleasantly surprised. There was nothing pleasant and the only surprise came in the way of his dick being smaller than my pinkie finger.

  Every morning Scott stands in front of me at the coffee shop ordering the same boring tea at the same damn time, telling the same stupid jokes.

  “I’ve got a lot of work left to do here. There’s a new medical trial that has me pretty busy,” I lie, knowing I just wrapped up my latest trial this morning.

  “Maybe tomorrow then. You know, I read you all wrong,” Scott says, tucking his boring shirt into his stupid pleated pants. “I mean, you’re in the coffee shop every morning. Always ordering the same thing at the same time. I figured you were kind of prudish and stiff. I didn’t know you’d be getting me so stiff.” He giggles unattractively at his own joke as I pull the door open for him to leave. He’s still short of breath and drips of sweat are still forming at his temples. He leans in for a kiss and I pat him on the shoulder with a stiff arm to stop him in his tracks. “Night,” I say flatly, patting his shoulder again.

  How could I have missed the obvious irony of this situation? Here I am thinking what a loser this guy is for his schedule, but if I weren’t doing the same thing I’d never be there to see him being such a tool. Am I really the female version of Scott? I look down at my clothes and wonder if maybe we bought our suits at the same place. Mine is nothing fancy. It’s conservative and plain. Maybe Scott and I have more in common than I thought. I mean, shit, minus the tiny little thing in his pants maybe we’re more alike than I’m willing to admit. I didn’t do anything to impressive in the sack either. There were no moves preformed, no dirty talking, and frankly my underwear choice probably left much to be desired. Sure, Scott seemed perfectly fulfilled, but should that be my bar? Should that really be the level I’m aspiring to reach?

  I’ve poured my life into this damn job, giving too much of my personal time to all the wrong guys. I finally have a better position here at BioSim, but, I haven’t had a decent date or a crazy mind-blowing, bow-legged-for-weeks fuck for . . . well . . . ever. Something’s got to give.

  Chapter Two

  Finding a new coffee shop is a necessity. Running into Scott is not an option. I could be the easiest person to stalk apparently, with my clockwork schedule but that changes today. Not that anyone will bother stalking me. What will they see other than me curled up with a good book and a pint of ice cream after a tough day in the office? Or me running on the treadmill in my apartment wearing dirty sweats and a holey, bleach-stained shirt? I probably can’t even get a serial killer to follow me around. I’m too dull to even get murdered.

  “I’ll take a venti espresso with two shots of—” A commotion behind me draws my attention to a man, elbowing his way to the front of the line. His cologne hits me before his hip does. It’s a subtle musk of earthy origins layered with hints of rosemary and cedar. I’m shocked at how good he smells, it’s not the cheap stuff most men bathe themselves in. His scent is a powerful smell that grabs my full attention. I stumble sideways when he finally cuts in front of me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, not even looking my way. “I’m in a real rush. I’ll take a mocha latte and pay for all these people in line.” As he slides his credit card across the counter I admire his powerful hand rimmed by a flashy gold watch. The card is something I’ve never seen before. It’s not gold or platinum but a shiny black card with red lettering. I’m assuming it’s incredibly elite and held only by the very wealthy.

  Completely insulted by his rudeness, I shove him aside with my hip. I don’t know if it’s my pent up sexual frustration or the long hard look I’ve been taking at myself lately, but I’m in a pissy mood today and this rich, yummy smelling bastard just cut in front of the wrong woman.

  “Great.” I fold my arms across my chest obstinately. “I’ll take fifty venti dark roasts with extra whipped cream. Better throw a couple dozen scones in there too.” I’m sure the bill still won’t be anything this man can’t handle but I’m trying to make a point. Just because you’re rich, and smell good and have magnificent hands doesn’t mean you get to push the rest of us out of the way without c
onsequences.

  The baristas and everyone in the line behind us fall silent as the intimidatingly tall man releases a hearty laugh, looking half amused and half aggravated.

  “Well, you heard the woman. Just put it all on my card.” With that the baristas shoot into action and are quickly handing the man his order. He bends down toward me, so close to my ear it makes my cheeks hot and pink, as he whispers. This is much different than Scott’s panting that left my skin crawling. The minty cool breeze of this man’s breath, mixed with the low raspy tone of his voice, has me instantly tingling. If I turned my face even a couple inches we’d be kissing. Our lips would be touching and I could find out if he tastes as good as he smells. I have to bite at my lip to control myself.

  “You might not want to have too many of those scones. They’ll go right to your ass, and you wouldn’t want to screw up something so amazing.” He lingers for a moment, his lips hovering over my ear, as my mouth drops open. I paint my face with indignation, but it’s a struggle considering how turned on I am. Just the sound of his voice has my nipples erect and aching to be touched. A prickling heat rolls through my stomach and settles between my legs. I'm wet and I want this man.

  “Cancel my order,” I shout and quickly follow the man out of the coffee house. I’m working through the right version of a lecture as he is about to step into the back of a town car. Pretentious jerk, getting chauffeured around. “Are you some kind of asshole?” I ask louder than is probably appropriate on a busy street this early in the morning. He freezes. I can see his wide shoulders lift slightly with a little laugh.

  “I am some kind of asshole. The best kind,” he says, and I’m taken aback with his incredible looks. Standing by his side in the coffee shop, I knew he smelled good, I knew he was tall, but I had missed so much. His brown-sugar skin and blue eyes are a combination I’ve never actually seen up close before. The contrast was breath taking. As his lips part over his glistening smile I try to organize my thoughts. “I’m in a hurry,” he replies with a shrug and I can see the tightness of his stomach under his crisp blue button-down shirt. There isn’t an ounce of doughy flesh on him. I imagine what it would be like to press my naked body against his. It’s not my fault really. All the men I’ve been with lately have fallen so short of fulfilling my desire; I’m a little punchy at the moment.

  “Apparently, you couldn’t live a moment longer without your coffee? You just had to push your way in there to show what a big shot you are?” I’m trying to get a rise out of him. Hopefully in more ways then one. I want to hear what kind of snippy comment he makes about my ass now. I want him to engage me, staying long enough for me to fully picture him ravaging me. I want to cement the image of him thrusting into me in my mind so I can keep the fantasy forever.

  “Actually it’s for the driver. He has a terrible headache and a very long day ahead of him. I told him I’d stop and get him something. I thought the caffeine might help,” he says, gesturing to the driver.

  Not believing a word of his story I peer down at the driver who’s sipping slowly on the hot beverage. Damn.

  “It’s still really rude. And sometimes caffeine makes the headache worse,” I insist as I turn away feeling like an idiot for so many reasons. What did I actually think I would accomplish by chasing this man out of the coffee shop? I guess I’m in the market for yet another place to get a drink in the morning because I won’t be coming back here.

  I’m so grateful when his voice stops me. I feel like I’m drowning and he’s just thrown me a lifeline. I don’t want to walk away from him. I want to see his sexy dimpled cheek again. I don’t want this to end. His words have me soaked; I’m actually wondering if I’ll need to change clothes before going to the office.

  Given the opportunity, and boy would I like to give him the opportunity, he could slide his cock into me without an ounce of work. My body is already prepared for him. That’s never happened to me before. I’d need no foreplay, no labor on his part at all. Although, I certainly wouldn’t beg him to stop if he insisted on it. The look on his face and the sound of his voice make me think he might. It’s actually frightening to me. But this is the best kind of scared I’ve ever felt.

  “You want to scold me a little more? I have to be honest, I kind of like it.” He raises a goading eyebrow in my direction, and I feel a jolt run through my folds. Fuck me, I keep thinking,

  and hope the words don’t actually form in my mouth. Take me and fuck me please, the way it’s meant to be done. The right way. Fuck me until I’m begging you to stop.

  “You deserve it,” I snipe, shrugging off his attempts at humor and trying not to let my eyes seem so desperate. “Without lines there is just anarchy.” A change of subject might cool my burning loins even though I know I’m sounding like a complete idiot right now. But I’d rather be here talking to him than walking away, even if that means I need to sound like a fool.

  “Yes, cutting the line is just one step away from a takeover by a dictator who’s hell-bent on genocide. I may have pulled a lynch pin that will set off a whole list of apocalyptic repercussions. All for a coffee.”

  “Possibly,” I agree, though I know he’s mocking me. I keep a deadpan look on my face because I know if I smile, it will be one of those gosh you’re so dreamy smiles that makes me look like an infatuated schoolgirl.

  “If you aren’t done, then hop in. I’ll drop you wherever you’re heading. And on the way you can punish me some more.” The glint in his eye is devilish and heavenly all at once.

  The offer takes me by surprise, but it’s what I was hoping for, right? “I thought you were going to be late?” I counter, trying to stall. I’m not ready to answer. My body might be ready for him to devour, but the brain attached to it is a coward.

  “I didn't want to be late because I was waiting in line for coffee. But, getting yelled at by you might be worth making a roomful of lawyers wait.” He gestures for me to hop into to the car. The look on his face is so enticing I want to run to him. I take one step forward and then freeze. What the hell am I thinking? There is no way I’m getting in the car with this stranger. This beautiful, statuesque, sexy stranger. A vision of hiking up my skirt and straddling him in that car flashes before me. He looks like a man who could have me screaming his name, once I learn it, and writhing with pleasure in an instant. Isn’t that what I’ve been begging for?

  I’ve watched enough after-school specials and crime shows to realize this could be the last choice I ever make. Damn you, society, for scaring me out of the best thing that might ever happen to me.

  “I can’t. I mean, no thank you.” I turn on my beige high heels and quickly head toward my office. He doesn’t call out to stop me or even ask my name. I hear the door swing shut and the car pull away. He leaves, clearly not as hot about this as I am. I receive the message loud and clear. While I’m burning with desire, encounters like this are probably a dime a dozen for him. And I bet most women get in the damn car.

  My vagina has every right to hate me right now. I wouldn’t blame her for packing up her panties and finding a new body to live on. She deserves to find someone who can jump on, quite literally, the golden opportunities right in front of her. Rather than settling for the dull half-hard, two-pump-chump fools who keep letting her down. Goodbye va-jay-jay, you deserve better. Go forth and find your dream cock.

  My mind has vivid images of what that man could be doing to me right now if I’d had the guts to just get in the car. Yes, maybe he's a murderer and I’d be chopped into little pieces by now, but I’d almost settle for that, just to have those huge hands on me. Am I really so deprived of good sex that I’m willing to risk my life with a dangerous stranger just for the thrill? Yes. Wholeheartedly, unequivocally yes.

  Sure, I feel that way right now. But apparently in the moment when it counted, when I’d been invited into his car, I chickened out. I’ve been blaming this string of boring men and mediocre sex on everyone else. It’s time to look in the sexual mirror. I don’t think I like the reflection I see. I realize I am standing in my way. I’m my own cock block.