[Hemsworth Brothers 01.0] The Slam Read online

  “Of course,” he said. “I’m pretty sure there’s some pizza in the basement.”

  Pizza! Now he’s talking!

  We scuttled down to the basement where the air was stale and the music was louder. There was a metric ton of red plastic cups strewn around, keg stands, and people yelling, “SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!”

  The room spun around me. I tried to breathe slowly, to calm my senses, but my heart kept racing faster and faster until I felt as if it would burst from my chest.

  “Miguel,” I muttered woozily. “I feel dizzy. I think I need to sit down.”

  Grabbing a firm hold of my arm, he frog-marched me to the nearest couch and I sank into it with an agonizing groan. “Stay right here.” His eyes clouded with worry. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”

  I concentrated on breathing and stared mutely at him. “Pizza,” I murmured at last. “Get me some pizza. Seven slices.”

  “You got it,” he said. “Water and pizza.”

  “Seven slices,” I reminded him.

  “Seven slices,” he repeated my order before taking off, disappearing into the sea of people.

  Moments later, a guy sporting a baseball cap joined me on the couch. “Hey, baby,” he slurred. “What’s your sign?”

  Sign? I blinked. Does he mean road sign?

  “Stop! Caution! No entry!” I blurted out.

  He tried to say something, but the corners of his mouth began twitching madly.

  Good God. I feared he was having a stroke. It was such a relief when he started slurring his words again. “You’re different,” he said.

  “You’re drunk,” I said.

  The poor guy sounded completely sloshed and his breath smelled like feet and Windex.

  “By the way,” I said politely, whipping out my phone. “Do you happen to have the Wi-Fi router name and password for this place?”

  “Sure,” he said amiably. “The Wi-Fi network is ‘It Burns When IP’ and the password is ‘Sugar Tits.’”

  “Hmm,” I said, pressing my lips together and tapping my phone screen using one index finger. “Is there a space between Sugar and Tits?”

  “I think so,” he mumbled.

  “Thank you,” I said breezily. “That’s very kind of you to share it with me.”

  “No probs,” he muttered. “Hey, if I can haz wireless, you can haz wireless.”

  I smiled serenely.

  Silence hung for a moment.

  Though I so desperately wanted to browse on my phone (I was about to check WebMD for my symptoms), it appeared that he wanted to chat.

  Where are my manners? I smiled again and put my phone away.

  “I’m Pubes, by the way,” he mumbled. Then he lifted his baseball cap. “See,” he said, gesturing to the tight curls on his head. “They call me Pubes because my hair looks like pubes.”

  “Oh, how hideous,” I said. When his face fell, I hastily added, “Not your hair. I think it’s hideous that they call you Pubes.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said bleakly, staring off into space, into nothing.

  “What’s your name?” I asked the lost soul.

  “Byron,” he replied vacantly.

  Looking directly in his eyes, I gave him a firm, brisk handshake. “Delighted to meet you, Byron.”

  He nodded miserably, his hand limp, like a wet fish.

  “If it’s any consolation, Byron,” I said compassionately. “Justin Timberlake had hair that looked like pubes when he was younger. But Justin didn’t care. And a lot of people thought he was just another Mickey Mouse Club has-been. They thought he’d vanish into the ether after NSYNC broke up. But Justin didn’t let those people sidetrack him. He just focused on the work, on his art and his music, and look at him now.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Yeahhhh, son.” Byron began bobbing his head in time to the music. “Look at him now. That could be me someday.”

  “Correct,” I said emphatically. “In fact, you can be better than Justin.”

  “You’re right,” Byron agreed. “That wasn’t cool... what he did at the Super Bowl, exposing Janet’s nipple during the halftime show.”

  “Not cool.” I shook my head fiercely. “To be honest, I’m still waiting for Janet Jackson to bring justice back to the universe by popping up at the Super Bowl halftime show and pulling JT’s penis out of his pants.”

  Byron threw his head back and let out a rip-roaring laugh. And after that impromptu pep talk, I was starting to feel marginally better. My head was no longer spinning and I was feeling good about doing my bit for humanity.

  That boy with coarse and wiry hair—he now had hope, and he would no longer be defined by the texture of his follicles.

  Without much effort, I got to my feet and bid Byron adieu. “Godspeed,” I said meaningfully.

  “Go with God, good human,” he slurred in return. “Go with God.”

  With a little pep in my step, I made my way back up the stairs in search of some nourishment.

  My stomach churned. God, I was so hungry I could devour a whole pizza.

  Make that two. Speaking of which...

  Where on earth is Miguel? I wondered as I padded down a narrow and sticky hallway.

  I saw only a flash of a red plastic cup before I slammed into something or, rather, someone, almost toppling backward in the process.

  “Ender?” I blinked, keenly aware that the front of my dress was now soaked with beer.

  His strong arms slid around my waist to steady me. “Adelaide?”

  “Bloody Oath!” I said accusingly. “You’re so hard I feel like I just slammed into a freight truck!”

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I wanted to know what this Greek tradition was all about. And now I get it!” I said luminously. “It’s all a cover for getting wasted and laid with the help of a bunch of elite friends who you’ll contact years later for jobs and legal advice.”

  He said nothing. He simply stared, his darkening gaze burning into my skin.

  A new silence coalesced around us.

  He hadn’t let me go and his grip tightened around my waist.

  The air around us took on an electric charge, and a warm and humming energy connected us. I felt his presence... Dark. Feral. Heady. Overpowering.

  My breath caught and I wet my throat, tasting the thickness of the air around me.

  The dark intensity of his gaze never wavered.

  For some inexplicable reason, my lips parted and I caught his stare lingering on my mouth.

  My body simultaneously wanted to bridge the gap between us and shove him away.

  Feeling confused, I ached to know what this was. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to kiss me or bite me or—”

  He captured my mouth in a deep, hungered kiss, and backed me up against the wall, kissing me harder, deeper, as if searching for something more.

  I moaned into his mouth as his tongue slipped inside, stroking, teasing, exploring.

  At the grinding pressure of his lips, one of my legs hooked around him, locking him in place. It took me a moment to realize I was kissing him just as fiercely, joining our tongues in a sensually erotic dance as he pressed me roughly against the wall.

  A low whimper eased from my throat as he sucked my lower lip between his teeth and nipped erotically, biting down on my lip, holding it hostage before gently releasing it.

  As he drew back, we stared at each other in silence, as though neither of us could quite grasp what had just happened.

  “Oh, fun! Cool! Great!” I said at last, my voice slightly more high-pitched than usual. “Not at all awkward. Ha ha ha.”

  Heat flared in my cheeks, my neck, my ears.

  God. I must look like an heirloom tomato.

  What is happening to me? I felt so... nettled.

  “You bit me when you kissed me just now,” I blabbered on. “Here I was wondering if you were going to kiss me or bite me, and you literally did both.” Then I let out a shrill laugh.

&nb
sp; More tense silence.

  In time, Ender released a long, controlled breath. “You’re coming home with me,” he said evenly. “Now.”

  My voice leapt up at least an octave with nerves as I stammered, “But Miguel told me to—”

  His face hardened. “Fuck Miguel! He never should have brought you here in the first place.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Adelaide.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “We’re leaving.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but something in the tone of his voice and the set of his jaw made me not want to argue with him.

  “Fine!” I said as though it was my idea to leave all along.

  In the meantime, Ender was already stalking toward the front door at breakneck speed.

  “Wait!” I called after his disappearing back and quickened my pace. “Can we stop at Papa John’s on the way home?” I said urgently, hurrying to catch up with him. “I could really use some pizza.”

  GOSH. I WAS COMPLETELY knackered after that party. I could socialize in small doses, just not as long as most neurotypicals. The minute we walked through the front door, I flopped down onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. “That frat party was beyond exhausting.” I let out a monstrous yawn. “I think I’m suffering from a social hangover.”

  “Really?” Ender said without expression.

  “Really,” I said, stifling back another yawn. “My social ‘cup’, so to speak, fills up very quickly. And,” I added, “just in case you were wondering, yes, I have conquered idioms.”

  Ender stalked into the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink. “If you don’t like the scene, why were you even there?”

  “I already told you,” I said wearily. “The Greek fraternity tradition intrigues me and besides, Miguel invited me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrugged. “You never asked.”

  We lapsed into a dreadful silence. “What about you?” I said at last. “Why were you there?”

  Lifting the glass to his mouth, he knocked back his scotch. “Besides being the president of Sigma Chi, I was supposed to meet Mira at the party.”

  “Mira?”

  “She’s my, erm... friend,” he said with a certain degree of irritation.

  “Oh,” I said. “Like a girlfriend?”

  “No.” He poured himself another scotch. “I don’t do relationships. We’re friends with benefits.”

  “Benefits?” I mused aloud. “Like earning cash back, travel rewards, and other perks with everyday purchases?”

  “We’re fuck buddies, okay?” He downed his drink and slammed his glass on the counter. “That’s all we are.”

  “Right,” I said, curling up on the sofa. “So won’t Mira be mad that you’re no longer at the party?”

  “Her flight was delayed.” He checked his watch. “But she’ll be here in an hour. I told her to just come over and meet me here.”

  “Hmm.” I bit down on my lower lip. “Mira must really like you to hop on a flight just to see you.”

  Ender joined me on the sofa and propped his feet on the coffee table. Then he reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. “She’s a flight attendant.”

  “Really?” I said. “When I was little, I dreamt of becoming a flight attendant. I thought it was such a glamorous job.” I found myself smiling at the memory. “And it was a glamorous job back in the sixties. “These days, being a flight attendant means being a babysitter in the skies... a nanny in the clouds, so to speak. Not to mention, you have to be a peanut pusher, a trash collector, and a squasher of anti-ISIS sentiments in the skies. Such a demanding job.” I let out another monstrous yawn. “Gosh. I’m so tired. I’m almost comatose. I think my social hangover is kicking in.”

  Ender sat with his eyes glued to the TV. “Social hangover?” he said without taking his eyes off the screen. “You sure you’re not suffering from a pizza hangover?” A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Considering you just scarfed down a whole pizza, you’ve probably got some low ass blood sugar right now.”

  “Stop making fun of my blood glucose levels.” I delivered a solid punch to his arm. “And stop teasing me about how much I eat.”

  He playfully punched my shoulder. “You’re like a bottomless pit. You can eat and eat and eat.”

  “Hey!” I said a tad defensively. “So can you.”

  “Not as much as you.” His face lit with humor and his mouth began twitching, first in one corner before curling into a grin made more charming by the fact that he tried to suppress it. Shaking his head, he reclined to the cushions and linked his hands behind his head.

  For the next half hour, we sat in companionable silence and watched the tennis match play on TV.

  Well, mostly he watched. My eyes were so droopy, so heavy with exhaustion that I kept nodding off. But I forced myself to stay awake.

  For some unfathomable reason, I wanted to meet this Mira person.

  Try as I might, my eyelids kept fluttering as I listened to the ‘THWOP... THWOPS’ of tennis balls on racket strings bouncing back and forth across the court.

  Ah. I found the sound exceedingly soothing.

  “THWOP... THWOP.”

  “THWOP... TWHOP.”

  “THWOP... TWHOP.”

  Snuggling into the cushions, I gave a great yawn.

  So soothing. I yawned again. So very, very soothing.

  In time, my eyelids drifted shut and I allowed the thwopping sounds to lull me into a deep and restful sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  ENDER

  I TRIED TO KEEP MY eyes fixed on the TV screen but they kept straying over to Adelaide. That dress showed off her lean and athletic physique, her long, toned legs, and her smooth, tanned complexion.

  I swallowed with a dry throat. Not only did I know she wasn’t wearing underwear, I could tell.

  That powder-white dress left little to the imagination, the thin material almost translucent against her sun-bronzed skin.

  At some point during the match I noticed that Adelaide had dozed off.

  Flicking off the TV, I gazed at her sidelong, allowing myself to openly stare at her, to drink in the sight of her.

  The golden lamplight played over her face, her bare shoulders and the perfect, gentle curve of her breasts. My breathing deepened and I felt my cock stir as my gaze raked over the shadow of her nipples, stiff and proud, pushing against the fabric.

  I wet my throat. At the party earlier tonight, my cock had strained against the zipper of my jeans at the mere sight of her. Not only was her dress see-through-white, it was low-cut, hanging from thin spaghetti straps, and for a moment I thought I’d been staring at an angel.

  Not a heaven-sent angel. A Victoria’s Secret angel.

  Goddammit. That scrap of cloth wasn’t a dress; it was fucking lingerie and Adelaide looked mind-numbingly hot in it. Sweet. Sexy. Innocent.

  And I openly stared at her in a way I hadn’t before.

  I swallowed hard. The girl didn’t just look innocent—hell, she was innocent.

  Adelaide hadn’t the slightest idea of the effect she had on men. Right now, she was making me so goddamn hard my cock was going to have a permanent imprint from my zipper. I almost wished for her ill-fitting clothes.

  Fuck! I dragged a hand through my hair. And why had I kissed her earlier?

  What the fuck was that all about?

  Needing to put some distance between us, I pushed myself off the couch and stalked to the kitchen to pour myself another scotch when a sharp rap sounded on the front door.

  In several long strides, I crossed the living room and swung the door wide open.

  Mira didn’t say anything, merely gave me a seductive smile and stepped inside. Her high heels made a sharp, clipping noise as she sashayed over the marble floor.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked.

  “Wine,” she purred.

  Turning from her, I headed toward the kitchen, expecting Mira to follow. She did, but her strid
e hitched as she passed the living room. “Who’s that pretty little thing sleeping on your sofa?”

  I opened a bottle of red wine, poured her a glass, and handed it to her. “A friend.”

  “Is she now?” A slight, feline smile curved the corners of her generous mouth. “Your new play thing?”

  Lounging against the counter, I scowled. “No.”

  Mira gave me a sultry look as she approached me, her generous hips swaying gently. The way she moved, it was sleek, graceful, predatory... like a feral animal ready to pounce.

  I’d always been into slightly older women, especially since I liked sex rough, hard and raw, and that required someone like Mira.

  “Do tell me more about her.” Her voice was a smoky whisper. “She’s a doll.”

  My scowl deepened. “Did you come here to talk or to fuck?”

  Mira took a long sip, set the wineglass on the counter, and then got down on her knees. “To fuck of course.”

  “Mira.” My gaze locked onto the figure asleep on the sofa. “Not here.”

  “Why not?” Her breathing was a deep, seductive rasp as she tugged at my jeans and removed my boxer briefs, freeing my raging erection. “You’re already rock hard.”

  A ragged groan scraped from my throat as her tongue traced the shape of my cock. Then she licked the blunted crest before drawing the entire length of my shaft into her mouth, softly sucking it all the way into the back of her throat.

  Fuck. I winced at the acute pleasure. As she let my cock slide back out to her lips, I kept my gaze trained on the sofa.

  Adelaide was awake, watching us.

  Gripping the edge of the counter, I held her stare, my hips arching forward as Mira’s mouth sank down the stalk of my cock, her tongue and lips devouring every inch of me.

  Adelaide’s gaze shifted, and her rapt attention was now focused on Mira’s mouth bobbing up and down the length of my shaft, her lips cinching around my dick, stroking me greedily with her tongue, the roof of her mouth, her throat.

  I watched Adelaide take in the scene, her curiosity honest and real.

  My body was strung tight, my cock throbbing in agony as I took in her reaction.