He was a pig, a jerk, selfish, callous, crude, tactless, prone to outbursts and gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous where you didn’t even attempt to hide the fact that you were staring. I knew the type: His entire life he has coasted on his good looks, artificial charm, and sex appeal. Everyone wanted to be on him or be him. I had been hurt by jerks like him before. He was like those guys but far worse.
I was the unfortunate sucker to be offered a gig I desperately needed as his live-in chef for a Summer in the Hamptons. But I wasn’t like the other girls, the models and socialites who came through the revolving door of his bedroom. I would bite the bullet, take the gig, deal with his sexist comments, his expectation that I would fawn over him, and have no problem letting the door hit my ass on the way out when I was done. But then something unexpected happened that changed everything and I realized that there maybe more to him than the labels I had affixed to his character. Maybe. But if he really wanted me, it wasn’t going to be easy, not like everything else in his life. He was going to have to work, I was going to make him miserable. He was going to hate wanting me just as much as I hated myself for wanting him back. Heath Hillabrand: International Supermodel. Womanizer. Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel.
Nina G. Jones was born and raised in Bronx, NY and currently resides in Milwaukee, WI with her
husband and two crazy Boxers.
She is the author of the Strapped series, and is currently working on an Erotic Romance,
Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel, slated to be released in Spring 2014. Nina lives a pretty wholesome life,
but is fascinated with the dark side of things and has the mouth of a sailor. She loves watching true
crime TV shows and it creeps her husband out to no end. Nina has a degree in Psychology and uses
her characters as a vehicle to explore the human psyche.
I ate my food silently. The chirps of birds and our forks clanking against our plates were the only sounds on the patio. I was stewing in self-hatred. How could I have fucked this pompous ass? Sure, just like Mindy said, assholes make great friends, but that's only if you never crossed the line, and I didn't just cross the line, the line fingered me, then I gave it a handjob, then it fucked me and ate me out. I am such an idiot.
That's when I noticed him looking up coyly at me from his plate, hiding a grin. That sly look on his face was like an invisible force tugging on my panties.
"What is it?" I said firmly, taking a sip from my morning tea.
"Are we going to play this charade every time? I'll admit it's cute, but it's a bit of a mindfuck. Maybe that's what you're going for. I don't know." I hated how blunt he was. Couldn't he just deal with innuendo and mixed signals like the rest of us human beings?
"There's no charade," I said casually.
"It would be a lot easier on you if you just admitted to yourself that it's okay to want me. I get it, I'm awesome."
"As if."
"I'm not even sure what that means."
"Don't flatter yourself is what I am saying."
He laughed in disbelief. "Am I living in another dimension? You rode me last night. You came to me and told me to shut up and fucked me. There, I said it!"
"So, what do you want me to do? Write a dissertation on it?"
"I want you to stop being such a fucking coward." Woah, that veered sharply into WTF territory. Heath and his not-quite non-sequiturs.
"Don't call me that."
"You fucking take what you want from me when you want it and then run away when you're done and you are goddam lucky I can't chase you."
"You mean what you do to everyone else? Someone can't take what they dish. What, you expect me to fawn all over you? I know your game, and I am not going to play into it. I am not the one!"
"So, that's what you think of me, some kind of emotional puppetmaster?"
"Not quite, since that would take cunning. You are a pompous, egotistical, arrogant, rude, tactless, asshole."
"God you're a bitch. I don't have to take your attitude, I have been more than nice to you. You know what you are, you are an uptight...yeah I know you love that don't you? Uptight, stuck-up, prissy, prudish, snob. And your pussy is wound up so tight that whenever I get close to it, you don't even know what to do with yourself."
I froze for a moment. That barrage of words might have been the most he has ever strung together since we met. I had taken advantage of his laid-back manner. He was an asshole, but in a dismissive way, not an aggressive way. But now I did it. I triggered something in him that royally pissed him off. And that was the point, I think, to turn him against me, to make him hate me, so that he would push me away and fucking wouldn't be an option. My plan was working, but why did it ache when he said those words? And why in holy hell was my crotch lighting up?
"Fuck you. I don't owe you an explanations and I don't need to take this. Mindy's coming later and she doesn't know shit and she better not know. You're on your own until then." Clear. Now all I had to do was march back into the house and this argument would have bought me (hopefully) another day without wondering what his dick would taste like in my mouth. I stood up sharply and turned to walk away, but then I felt a firm grip on my wrist. I tried to pull away, but it was solid, which was surprising considering how inactive he had been from the shoulder injury.
He pulled me back hard so that I stumbled towards him, and as I got closer he quickly pulled my night shirt so that I landed on his lap and the monument he had erected for me in his boxers.
I let out a hiss of air through my teeth. Just feeling his hard cock on my backside made all of my manufactured rage convert into something else.
June 16
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