The Album: Book One by Ashley Pullo Read Free Book Online Page B

my head, and I let her – I like when she responds to urges.
    I take a step back and toss my shirt to the floor. She unbuttons her skirt and shimmies it to her feet, carefully stepping out of it and then flinging it toward the couch. Her black cotton panties are simple, but hot as fuck and I want to slide my hand in there—
    “Take your fucking shorts off,” she commands.
    Shit. She’s amazing.
    “I’ll take them off when you finger your pussy,” I retort.
    She wiggles onto the desk and smiles. I cross my arms and shake my head. She opens her legs and blows me a kiss, but I respond with a dissatisfied sigh. She glides her hand down her stomach and into the black cotton.
    I remove my shorts.
    “Now, let me see all of you,” she says.
    “Put your fingers in your mouth,” I reply.
    She spreads her legs further and removes her hand, slowly taking it to her nipple. I shrug my shoulders. She pinches her nipple and smiles in delight. I start to reach down for my shorts. She thrusts two fingers in her mouth and sucks dramatically.
    I lower my boxers.
    “Holy shit! Fuck me,” she says.
    “Suck me,” I demand.
    She throws back her head in laughter then hops off the desk. Her mouth curls into a lustful pout as she walks toward me – but our encounter is playful and spontaneous, not dramatic. She pauses to lower her panties to her ankles, causing me to chuckle at my involuntary weakness – I would let her do anything.
    With her eyes green and hungry, she asks, “What’s your name?”
    Her hand moves from my erection to rest delicately on my hip. I feel her tracing my scar, so I thrust my fingers inside her and watch her shudder in pleasure.
    “Adam,” I say as something crashes outside the room. Her head whips toward the door at the sound of screaming and cheering further down the hall.
    Oh shit! Fight!
    The cops!
    Where’s my bong?
    Who’s that?
    “Oh fuck, what’s going on?” She quickly puts on her skirt and fidgets with her bra strap. I pull up my boxers and pick up my shorts, and then help her clasp the hooks of her bra.
    “We should stay here,” I suggest.
    I zip my shorts and grab my t-shirt – she frantically looks for her shirt. “I can’t! This is my house – I’m responsible for that shit out there.”
    I toss her the shirt and sit on the couch to put on my sneakers. “I thought this was Dylan’s house,” I say.
    “Yeah. Dylan is my little brother – do you have everything?” She looks confused and flustered but not as baffled as I’m feeling.
    I was wrong.
    She opens the door and looks back at me. “Next time,” she says as she runs toward the living room. I follow behind her and immediately get pushed into a pile of angry drunks.
    Knuckles slam against my stomach and my reflexes force me to pound someone’s face. Blood splatters onto my shirt and I’m pretty confident I broke the fucker’s nose. My stomach is throbbing, but I’m able to grab onto a chair and stand myself up . . . only to be kicked in the back by a combat boot.
    “Cops!” Someone screams.
    “Scatter!” I yell.
    I limp toward the front door, using my upper body to block all the assholes in my way. I elbow one guy in the neck and then dart past the mob of screaming girls. Tango is fifty yards in front of me, hanging onto his shorts and waddling to the car. There’s no sign of Jeff, but he knows where we parked, and I have yet to see an actual police car.
    When I reach my car, Tango scurries to the bushes with his pants around his knees and hurls. Leaning against the driver’s door, I check my beeper and wait for him to finish.
    “Yo, man, that Gold Schlager was ripe. I think E.T. curled up in my stomach and died.”
    “Tango, you dumbass, get in the car!” I laugh.
    “Shotgun,” he yells. He runs around to the other side and jumps in the front seat. I look down the sidewalk toward the house and there’s still no sign of Jeff.
    “Hey,” I say opening my door. “What happened in there?”
    “It was