Her First Choice


Tyler Copeland was bored as fuck. It was possible he didn’t appear bored for the simple reason that he sat in a secluded booth between two women who were both vying for his attention—and there was no question, both of them were young and extremely beautiful. Unfortunately, their beauty couldn’t make up for the lack of an attribute that was essential to maintaining his attention. And to put it bluntly, the attribute they lacked was intelligence.

When had he become so damn picky about a simple fuck? Truthfully, he should just stand up and leave. The club usually held more appeal than it did on this night—right now getting on his bike and feeling it vibrate between his thighs was way more tempting than screwing either of the chicks who were practically begging him for it.

Neither of the women had grated on his nerves in the past. In fact, he’d fucked each of them more than once. Granted, no more than the two times he allowed himself with any one individual woman—and there was a reason for his unwavering rule. Shit became too tricky after more than a two-fuck fling. In his experience, if you screwed a woman more than twice, her personality immediately shifted. Seriously, you could make bank on that fact. After the third fuck, every woman wanted to sink her claws into you. Permanently.

And that wasn’t going to happen to him. No fucking way. At twenty-six, marriage wasn’t something that was even remotely on his itinerary, not now and not in the future. He needed a good fuck as much as the next guy, in fact, his libido demanded his attention too much of the damn time—which was the reason he was trolling for pussy right now.

But neither of the women trying to nail him down for the night was going to cut it for him—he knew that definitively. He not only didn’t feel any chemistry for either of them, but frankly, their lack of intelligence bored him to tears. He needed to extricate himself from the position he was in, but so far, he’d seen no one walk through the double doors of the nightclub who held even the smallest possibility of relieving the ache in his groin, so what was the point of standing and walking away?

He continued to mostly ignore the women beside him as he slowly consumed his second beer of the evening. He looked around, easily recognizing most of the women who were in the bar tonight. He was an analytical guy, and he knew without a doubt that he could slot each of the women into one of three categories as he watched them sitting at tables, dancing, or moving around the room with a speculative gleam in their eyes.

The first category was a small set of women who were there on a date, it was easy to see they were taken and not interested in anyone else. They’d already been with a man when they arrived, and it was more than obvious they intended the situation to stay on an even keel. Probably, these women were finally getting to have a night out with their pussy-whipped husbands after finally finding a babysitter they could trust. Jesus, when had he become so cynical?

The second category he pegged as the proverbial girlfriend. They were with the women who were looking for a man, but weren’t looking for one themselves for whatever reason. They were the support system, the female equivalent of a wingman, but more often than not, he’d found them to be nothing but a bona fide, you-aren’t-fucking-my-girl, cock-blocker. He’d learned the hard way to stay away from them and their girlfriends.

The third category of women was what he was interested in. They were looking for a man, but there were so many different levels of looking that he’d developed a kind of subset to this particular category. Some of them would let you fuck them in the parking lot. That could work for him in a bind, but for the most part, he’d given up that particularly tasteless form of relief years ago.

His gaze continued to glance across the room as he catalogued the women who were present tonight. There was the newly divorced woman who wasn’t going to waste another second of her life without finding the right one. She was the type who wanted a new marriage and she wanted it pronto.

It was the same for the single women approaching thirty. It was time—they were ready—and they were getting so desperate they thought they might find the perfect man in a scene like this. If you weren’t careful, these women tried to tie you down within forty-eight hours—not in his plans at all.

He continued to examine the room as his gaze leisurely came back to the entrance. Abruptly, he felt as if a fist had lodged itself in his solar plexus—he noticed the girl right off the bat. She stood just inside the doorway with a touch of petulance on her expression that intrigued him. She seemed both pissed and determined, so he quickly added a new subset to this category of women and fitted her into it immediately. Here was the woman who’d been cheated on—this girl was the epitome of the woman who’d been fucked over—he could tell that entirely just by the way she held herself.

What the hell kind of idiot would fuck her over?

As he attempted to control the heat coursing through his veins just from the delicate line of her profile, he realized that he knew her. He didn’t ‘know her’, know her, but he’d seen her around off and on during the years—and he’d been more than interested. They hadn’t gone to the same high school and he’d been a few years older than she was, so their encounters had been few and far between. A vague memory hit him and made him grimace as a hot lick of guilt settled in his gut.

He’d been eighteen or nineteen the first time he’d come across her, although he couldn’t remember where, but he damn sure remembered being mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she’d walked down the sidewalk. That had been the first time he remembered seeing her, and he’d known he was going to make a move; he definitely remembered wanting to fuck her from the very first look. Looking back on it now, he admitted that the cockiness of his youth had been exacerbated by the purchase of his first Harley—he’d been on cloud nine that entire month. He hadn’t even tried to stop himself as he’d pulled to the curb at her side and promptly shot off his mouth—something about wanting to fuck her and taking her for the ride of her life. It wasn’t until she’d turned to face him and he’d seen the shock and hurt in her eyes that he’d realized how damn young she was. But by that time, it had been too late, the damage had already been done.

It had been the arrogance of youth—life was a learning experience and he’d damn sure learned a lot in the intervening years. He’d learned you had to slow down and think before you opened your mouth and took a pop shot at somebody just for the hell of it.

As he continued to watch her, he tried to analyze her thought process from what her body language was telling him. She didn’t really want to be here, but damn, she’d been the perfect girlfriend for how many fucking years and the douchebag had continued to cheat on her anyway? Yeah, the girl who’d just walked in was that easy to read. She’d finally dumped the asshole for good and now she was here to find a revenge fuck.

As he watched her detailing the room, there were things about her that he couldn’t possibly miss. For one, she was as pretty as she’d always been. And shit—it was almost like the more he watched her the more he could read her mind. She wanted her pick. She didn’t do this often—or at all—and by God, she should get to have her choice—that would be the perfect revenge.

Yeah, that was it entirely. The girl had been cheated on and now she was going to get her due.

Could he work with that? Oh, yeah, he could. He’d love to help her get the revenge she needed—if she gave him half a chance.

He continued to watch her as she moved toward the bar and placed her order. While she stood back and waited for her drink, it was obvious she wasn’t going to be here for long. He could see dudes already watching her. But he wasn’t worried. She was going to make her choice and then leave with him—he would make that happen.

She looked around the room, dismissing one man after the next, until she seemed to stall on one particular guy who stood holding a beer bottle while leaning against the bar. A slither of irritation slid down Tyler’s spine as he took a quick glance at the guy who was watching her as well. The dude was good looking—you know, what women would find to be good looking. His girl—yeah, he’d already decided she would be his for a while—anyway, she looked somewhat intrigued, but then, thank fuck, her gaze broke from the fucker’s and continued to make its way around the room.

He waited, anticipation wrapping around his throat—he could almost feel her inner feminine muscles clenching around him already. And about fucking time, too.

And then those glorious, orgasm-inducing eyes landed on him and Tyler felt the instantaneous tightening of his balls. Their glances held, and in her eyes, he read a thousand things at once. He was the one—the one she wanted. She recognized him and son-of-a-bitch, she wanted him, too. Satisfaction coursed down his spine, because he’d known that for once, his looks might not be enough to get him what he wanted. Not from this girl—not if she was holding a grudge against him for the distressed feminine tears that his teenage cockiness had wrought.

Unable to control the need, he slowly surveyed all of her. She was in a dress, a short dress that emphasized the length of her legs and the curves of her waist. He could lift that dress and tear off her underwear in two seconds flat if need be, although he seriously doubted she’d be wearing any panties—not with her agenda tonight.

He felt another hit of anticipation—more anticipation than he’d felt in a long, long time. His cock swelled, his fingers started itching to touch her and as he raised his eyes back to hers, an unmitigated stroke of pure heat damn near immobilized him.

Yeah, baby, she was the perfect fuck personified. He’d always known it, but now she was grown up some. She was just hesitant enough to make his hunting instincts go on high alert, but she looked pissed enough to go through with this—and he was just the guy to let her take advantage of him. In fact, as he studied her high, exotic cheekbones and the tempting curve of her mouth, he thought maybe he’d more than let her take advantage of him—maybe he’d let her blow him. His fingers tightened around his beer bottle at the fantasy in his mind. Her hair looked long enough to fist his hands into the silky strands as he pushed her down to his cock.

Was she good at giving head? Abruptly, he knew her experience or lack of it wouldn’t matter in the least. Just the vision of her mouth closing around him was making him swell against his jeans so forcefully that beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow.

As her gaze slid away from his and she seemed to study the width of his shoulders, he knew, unequivocally, that he’d enjoy letting her use him for whatever score she needed to settle—shit, he was ballsing for her, even now.

Just as the thought formed in his head that it was time—that he needed to rise to his feet to claim her for the evening, two things happened simultaneously. Her eyes came back to his causing another rush of searing need to land in his gut—and the bimbo seated at his left must have noticed his interest in the girl because she placed her fucking hand on his face, trying to get his attention.

He resisted; his eyes stayed tangled with the girl’s across the room but he saw in a heartbeat that her interest was waning—waning, hell. She was suddenly appraising the women on either side of him with a decidedly disgusted expression before her eyes snapped back to his with a look of contempt she didn’t try to hide. In the next second, she turned away from him and began walking with purpose toward the fucker leaning against the bar. Goddammit to hell! A roar of fury tried to leave his chest but he managed to cut it off as he brushed the bimbo’s hand away and stood to his feet.

He had better things to do than waste the night humoring two women he cared nothing about.

He had prey to catch.


Seriously, wouldn’t it have been easier to slash Mark’s tires? Whitney Jennings blew out a disgusted breath as she turned away from the dark phantom of her past and began to walk toward the ladies’ room, because she needed a moment to get a grip on the situation. For whatever reason, it didn’t surprise her in the least that Tyler Copeland was here tonight—yes, she’d made it her business years ago to find out his name—and this place seemed exactly like the kind of place where he’d show up.

Putting one foot in front of the next and trying to forget the hard lines of the masculine face that was still making her heart beat faster, she walked toward the back of the darkened club. Son-of-a-bitch—the guy was still perfect.

Literally—the dude was panty-wetting, climax-producing, can’t-wait-to-find-out-what-you-taste-like—perfect. He always had been. And he would have been perfect for what was on her agenda tonight.

But, no matter how determined she was to let loose her inner slut, she couldn’t, or at least, not with him. He looked good enough to eat, positively, and even now, her palms were feeling a little sweaty as her heart rate stayed at an elevated level.

How could it not? The guy had ‘come fuck me’ eyes—and shit—she wanted him to be the one. In fact, she’d always wanted him to be the one, that was the reason she’d made damn sure she knew his name, even though she was sure he’d never known hers.

When she’d been young and completely untouched, she’d dreamt of him kissing her, even though he’d been too old and too tough looking, not to mention she’d never spoken to him. A few years later, he’d finally noticed her and spoken to her, but he’d scared her shitless in the process. It didn’t matter though, she’d still fantasized about him, had still dreamt of him being the one.

Of course, that had been years ago when she’d been a virgin, but even now, the little devil-girl inside was screaming at her to go back and choose him—he’d be happy to fuck her. It was in his eyes—it had always been in his eyes! But damn, things hadn’t really changed at all—he was still a little too scary looking, with shoulders broad enough to rival J.J.Watt’s and a scar on his right cheekbone that looked like someone had tried to carve their initials into him permanently—and had probably died trying.

And then, on top of it, there were the women—two of them—who’d already staked their claim. She wasn’t going to get embroiled in that mess of convoluted shit. Nope, no way. Bitches looked like they could take her down in a heartbeat—and she didn’t do bitch fighting.

No, she had to ignore the arrogant asshole across the room and stay focused on her goal for the night—to get even with her ex. (But in a sane manner—definitely not with a guy who would tell a sixteen-year-old girl that he wanted to take her for a ride on his bike after stripping her naked and fucking her from behind. No matter how badly she wanted it.)

As she continued to put distance between her and Tyler Copeland, because really, that was too fucking scary to seriously consider, she thanked God she’d never moved in with Mark. At least she wasn’t faced with having to throw him out. But still, she felt it in her soul—she deserved to get even, for her own sake. Because what did you do when you were twenty-three years old and your boyfriend of four shit-tastic years cheated on you?

The answer was easy. The first thing you had to do was dump his ass—hopefully in front of his loser friends while you were dressed to kill. So, check. She’d done that. And it had been totally sweet.

After that, all that was left was to make yourself feel a little better. There were different ways to accomplish that, of course. Anything Michael Kors always made her heart beat faster, but she was on a budget, dammit, and comfort shopping didn’t do a whole lot of good when you had to return everything to the store the next day. Ugh.

No, a hookup would be so much more satisfactory than retaliatory shopping. Mark hadn’t cheated only once. Oh, hell no, when she’d found him out it had all come spilling out—fucker had been cheating on her with an array of different women since they’d been together. Fucker. Had she mentioned that he was a fucker yet? Dude had a small penis, too—for real, tiny—and probably the reason he felt like he needed to prove something by fucking other women.

She couldn’t come up with a single reason she shouldn’t get even. What the hell, why the hell not? She’d never done anything like this before, so why the hell not?

And her first choice would have been perfect if the terrifying asshat of her dreams had at least been alone. Maybe, just maybe, she could have gotten over Tyler Copeland’s menacing look—if he’d been alone. Shit, the dude had hawt written all over him and for whatever reason, he’d looked as if he’d been almost salivating for her. (Still. Yay!)

Yeah, the temptation was definitely eating at her to turn around and at the very least, check him out one more time.

Sure, she could choose bachelor number two, the dude standing near the bar, but he wasn’t the right one—he wasn’t her first choice. For this to work, to be able to get the extreme satisfaction she needed from this little episode, she wanted to make her choice from every single guy in this bar. She should get to choose the one she really wanted.

And she wanted the yummy, scarred up, un-fucking-believably-good-looking dude who’d always looked as if he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and have his wicked, depraved, biker-like way with her. Had she mentioned that he was a biker?

She took a sip of her drink as she continued to stroll toward the back of the club, her mind racing. She had a damn decision to make—and she needed to make one fast before she chickened out completely and went home to do a little online shopping.

As she got closer to the restrooms, she realized that she was only about three feet away from bachelor number two and he was staring straight at her with a twisted smile on his face. He wasn’t so bad—he looked doable enough. He was handsome, he didn’t look scary in the least, and he was, even now, sliding his leg into the aisle to stop her from walking past him.

Hmmmm. . .

She never made it even an inch farther—in thought or in motion. Her wrist was caught and held from behind, and without her volition, she was pulled to a complete halt, her body twisted in a one-eighty until she faced the man behind her, her torso slamming against his chest with a speed that left her light-headed and slightly winded.

Holy shit.


“Where the hell do you think you’re going after the look you just gave me?” Tyler tried to keep the harsh words from spilling from his mouth, but his brain had gone on a walkabout. Up close, the girl was almost too good to be true—even better than before, refined with age or some such shit. It was her eyes—and the curves of her body that up close, were doing a number on his libido.

She stared up at him, her arms trembling, and before he was accidently (or purposely) drenched by the sticky-looking concoction in her glass, he took the drink from her and set it on the bar.

Her mouth opened to answer but before she was given a chance to retaliate, the son-of-a-bitch at the bar decided to make a play for her. The fucker stood to his feet and came up behind her and laid his hand on her shoulder—as if he had the goddamn right. Tyler saw red when the guy touched her and he quickly shoved her behind him, readying himself to knock some sense into the dumb fuck. “Let it be, asshole—I saw her first.”

“Yeah? Why don’t we let her decide?”

Tyler was attuned to the feminine body at his back and he felt the girl trying to see what was going on so he tightened his fingers around her wrist to keep her in place as he glared at the intruder. “She wants me, buddy. You need to turn around and mind your own business—you’re out of this, got me?”

Asshole’s eyes lowered and Tyler knew the guy was searching the girl’s face. “That true? You want this guy?”

To Tyler’s infinite satisfaction, the girl remained silent but he could feel both the trembling in her limbs and her accelerated pulse rate as she stayed still and made not a single move to get away from him.

He lifted his chin, squaring off with the guy. “That answer enough for you, buddy?”

Instead of making a reply, the dude gave him one last look before turning on his heel and going back to his place at the bar.

Tyler wasted no more time—he needed a moment of privacy with this chick before the guy changed his mind and challenged him again so he continued to hold her clamped behind him as he shoved his way between the crowd and made his way to the semi-privacy that the restroom vestibule would afford him.

Swinging her against the wall, Tyler felt an electric current scorch him as he braced his forearms on either side of her head and looked down into her upturned face. This was the first time he’d been this close to her—the first time he’d touched her and his eyes narrowed as he studied her. He racked his brain, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name or if he’d ever known it. “What’s your name?”

She stalled only a moment before answering. “Whitney.”

He studied both the delicacy and the strength in her expression. “Whitney, huh?”

Color whipped into her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“You remember me?”

She began chewing on her bottom lip. “Yeah.”

He probably owed her an apology. “Name’s Ty. You want to get out of here?”

At his question, her complexion paled before it filled with heat. She remained quiet as if debating the choice in front of her as she looked him over. With lips that quivered in a way that had his pecker about to explode, her eyes stalled on the scar on his face before dropping and appraising his upper body. A shudder reverberated through her as if she were about to make a deal with the devil—or not.

Well, fuck. She couldn’t back out now—he was primed and ready to go. “You want a sample, sweetheart? I’ll make it worth your while, baby, that’s a promise.” As he said the words, he slowly lowered one arm from the side of her head and as gently as possible under the circumstances, he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her up and into him. He didn’t altogether understand why he felt the need to be gentle, but he did know he was feeling a smidgeon of guilt for the way he’d acted toward her in the past.

The movement brought her pelvis into his and the contact was so fucking perfect that he had to grit his teeth and tighten his abs to stop himself from palming her tit right at that very moment. Fuck it—too late—his brain shifted into low gear while his body took over. His arm came down and it went exactly where he’d always wanted it—his fingers wrapped around her breast so tightly he felt her suck in a breath and sway against the wall. Oh, yeah, baby, her responses were perfect—she was like putty in his hands and he seriously doubted he could wait very much longer.

He would kiss her and remind her of the douchebag she wanted to get even with—but even as he had the thought, he changed his mind. Oh, hell no. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her thinking of another guy right now—not even once—not a single thought. When he plowed her, and he would, he wanted her focused on him. He wanted to be all she was thinking about, all she was capable of thinking about. With that dictate running through his mind, he lowered his head and kissed her, unable to wait another second before tasting her.

His lips landed on hers, and he thrust his tongue inside. He felt two things simultaneously when she immediately whimpered. Sexual heat smoldered down his spine as he felt the silk of her nipple under her clothes, and a punch of pleasure so strong that it felt almost addictive—as if he’d tasted his first sample of something that he’d never be able to get out of his head again. He didn’t know if he loved the feeling or hated it—but he knew he wasn’t about to give it up until he’d had it all.

With that in mind, he continued to kiss her breathless while he ran his thumb over and over her nipple, determined to send her senses into such a tailspin that she readily walked out of this place with him—he’d give it about thirty seconds.

She tasted sweet; he smothered her lips and sought out her tongue, dueling with it only to change tactic and begin sucking on it as he squeezed her nipple.

She gyrated against him and his brain shut down, her movements bringing a response in him that threatened to completely cut off his intelligence, leaving him nothing more than a feral animal.

He nipped at her, tasting the heat between her lips while his cock throbbed for her touch. He kissed her quickly and then slowly, the experience turning purely sensual as his heart beat in an erratic rhythm. He felt a shiver shake her and instinctively, he drew her closer into him, the scent and feel of her driving him wild.

Feeling out of control, he lifted his head, stared down at her, waiting for her eyes to open. She sucked in oxygen and his abs tightened in response. She licked her lips as if tasting him and he almost lost it. Finally, her eyelashes lifted and when her eyes tangled with his, he saw something in the light blue orbs that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover from.

He didn’t care, he’d deal with any fallout later.

For now, for this moment in time, she was his and that was all he cared about. “Let’s get out of here.”

His heart thudded while he waited for an answer. She seemed both hesitant and ready, if that made any sense at all. He just needed to get past whatever hang-up she had so he could do what he did best—with her. With this chick who was making the pulsing knot in his stomach clench into a ball of need.

When she looked like she was about to shake her head, his grip tightened and his tone turned challenging. “You know you want to.”

She lifted her chin as her eyes began sparkling. Sparkling. Seriously. Fuck. “Where do you want to go?” she asked.

The shifting of her body weight from one foot to the other was enough to tell him she wanted to be with him, but there was a hint of something in her eyes that said she was afraid.

Girl was smart that way—even he was questioning whether he’d be able to let her out of his bed after a single fuck. He wasn’t sure he could—already he was feeling a primal urge to maneuver her into lock down mode. So, he set out to alleviate whatever fear was holding her back because giving up at this point was untenable. “We can go to my place, or your place, or the Holiday Inn around the corner,” he soothed in a tone he didn’t altogether recognize.

“Not your place,” she responded quickly, telling him she wanted some control.

“Holiday Inn’s nice—you ever been?”

“My apartment is like, three miles away, so no, I’ve never been,” she answered with a strained voice.

“I’d love to go to your place sweetheart, but if you’d feel more comfortable on neutral territory, like I said, the Holiday Inn’s nice.” He held his breath and waited, his balls turning a deeper shade of blue by the second.

Finally, and much to his relief, she gave a simple nod of her head.

He waited not a second longer, he gripped her hand in his and turned on his heel to leave.

The parking lot was well lit as he began walking toward his bike. She balked and began tugging on her hand. The stroke of frustration he felt damn near alarmed him. What the fuck? What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

“I need my car—it’s over there.” She pointed as she continued to try to pull free.

Her words calmed him down a notch, just enough to let go of her hand, which was the last thing he wanted to do at this point. But as he trailed her toward her vehicle, he realized that he didn’t trust that she’d follow him to the hotel. Although he had no idea why exactly, he felt the need to at least nail down her phone number.

As she deactivated the locking system on a two-door, late model coupe, he whipped his phone out of his pocket. “Give me a number in case you get lost.”

As she settled herself gracefully behind the wheel, she lifted her face up to his. “I know where the Holiday Inn is, dude.”

Smart-assed little girl. “I want your number—so sue me.”

She lifted a single brow as she eyed him, but conceded by rattling off ten digits as fast as humanly possible.

As he positioned himself in front of her door so she couldn’t close it, he keyed in those ten numbers and pressed send just to make sure she wasn’t fucking with him.

Her phone began ringing but she made no move to pull it from the tiny bag that hung over her shoulder. Her eyes stared up at him, challenging him. “So it’s all good, yeah? You want to get this moving along now, please?”

What the fuck? She wanted to blow into his life and then take off again that fucking quickly? He felt almost used—but goddamn, if it was all he could get, he’d take it. He reached down and lifted her chin with one finger to let her know he was dead serious about this. “Follow me.”

She jerked her head away from him and said combatively, “I will.”

He stared at her for a few seconds before shutting her door. He turned and walked to his bike like he didn’t give a shit, but he felt a bolt of heat as nerves tracked down his spine. Would she follow him? He didn’t like to admit that her disinterest was stressing him somewhat. He wasn’t a perfect guy, shit, he knew that, but she’d started it with him tonight by staring at him like she wanted to suck him off.

As he pulled onto the street, her headlights were behind him.

As he pulled into the hotel parking lot, her headlights were still behind him.

He parked and walked to her car where she climbed out.

The lobby was quiet at this time of night and she hung back while he secured a room. In silence, they went up together. With his hand behind her back, he ushered her into the room, flipping the deadbolt on the door.

It clicked loudly into place, jarring the otherwise silent room. A rush of infinite satisfaction lodging in his throat, he turned to face her. Recognizing the need that was blazing a path straight to his cock, he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d be able to wait.

With dedicated purpose, he took one step forward, almost unable to believe that he was finally going to get to fuck this chick.


Whitney didn’t even notice the hotel room. As she took a deep breath and turned around, all she was capable of seeing was Ty, a complete stranger really, moving toward her with controlled, precise steps that would have him in her personal space within seconds.

Her heart beat loudly in her ears as the seconds passed. She swallowed hard; his hands landed on her shoulders as he pulled her into him. Her chest slammed into his and with a whoosh of air, the oxygen was expelled from her lungs. Her eyes flew to his and she found them staring down at her, the molten heat scorching through her. Hot and brown, his eyes were like dark chocolate she wanted to drown in. She tried to breathe, tried to calm down, tried like hell to quit thinking about dropping to her knees and pressing her face directly into his junk. She wanted it that much.

He was that hot and her crazy idea of revenge against her ex slipped completely from her mind because all she could focus on was Ty and the hot bulge of his cock as he pressed his hips against her.

How many times had she thought about him? How many times had she wondered where he was and who he was with? How many times had she fantasized about him when she’d been with her ex?

None of that shit mattered anymore. Today was now and guess what? She was finally going to find out if Tyler Copeland was worth all the time she’d wasted thinking about him.


Thank fuck he’d jacked off in the shower tonight. If he hadn’t, he’d never be able to get a climax out of the girl before he popped off. Just the feel of his hands curving over her shoulders was causing a drop of pre-cum to squeeze out against his will. Shit, it was going to be good. He’d always known that it would be—if he could just catch her for a bit.

Well, he had her now and his body was going on automatic pilot—his dick in full control of his actions. His fingers tightened over her creamy skin, his thumbs rubbing against her collarbones.

He held her eyes as his hands slid closer to her neck, his thumbs coming together to press lightly against her windpipe.

Her eyes flared and then slipped closed, her eyelashes fluttering in agitation. Lust hit him hard, gripping him by the throat and making his own eyes shut. He leaned in and kissed her, savoring the taste of her lips and the scent that lingered around her before pushing his tongue inside.

Yeah, he wanted to push inside, wanted to push inside every way that he possibly could. It was almost as if his dream was coming true—even if it was just a wet dream from his fantasies. But still, his cock was as hard as a rock and if he was going to make it without embarrassing himself by spilling it before it was time, then he needed to make her come and damn soon. Sure, there had been times in the past when he couldn’t have cared less if he made a woman come—but this wasn’t one of those times.

It was imperative that she come first—it had to happen—it was that damn important to him. Unable to control his actions, he hands slid down and he gripped her at the waist and then he lifted her off her feet and spun her around, dropping her to the foot of the bed.

She began to shimmy up the mattress and away from him, but he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her back. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

She shook her head, her gaze locked with his, her lips opening a bit as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. It was enough to make his abs tighten as the same magnetic force that always seemed to linger around her threatened to mesmerize him and pull him in.

He locked his free hand around her other ankle and pushed her legs up and apart. He tried to hold her eyes but the allure was too compelling; he dropped his gaze to the magic between her thighs.

Panties. Fuck. But just as a hit of aggravation almost made an appearance it quickly went away as he felt an arrow of ease. Panties were easy to lose; he was glad she was wearing them. He didn’t know why—but he was glad.

But nevertheless, it was time to deal with them before he lost all patience and tore them away. She didn’t need to know he had damn near zero control where she was concerned.

Taking a stabilizing breath, he eased his hands up her silky legs, up her thighs and to her hips where he fisted the material of her boy-briefs in his hands and grabbed hold. His eyes found hers again and a shot of electricity radiated from her body into his. She bit her lip and took a gulp of air; he responded by ripping her underwear down and off before tossing them aside.

She froze as his eyes dropped to her throat. He could see the telltale pulse in her neck; he swallowed hard and then dropped his eyes farther down.

Jesus. He took another gulp of oxygen as he fastened his hands around her ankles again, trying to stop his fingers from pinching into her but knowing he wasn’t succeeding.

Pussy perfection glimmered back at him. Seriously, pussy-fucking-perfection. She was smooth—completely free of hair and her mound was gloriously hot. She looked tight—her lips so sweet and closed that he could see only a hint of the soft pink hole he’d been lusting after for years.

As he looked down, he maneuvered her knees apart another couple of inches—he needed the visual, dammit. Her feminine lips opened wider, the provocative pink hole opening just that much. His guts clenched, his heart rate accelerated—a ferocious feeling of rabid intent gripped him by the throat as a primal need to mate with her and her alone became his sole goal.

He dropped to his knees and put his hands on her, his fingers stretching her inner lips apart. He felt her make a reflexive jerk and he growled a low warning noise in the back of his throat before he lost it completely and smothered his face in her pussy.


Whitney almost came off the bed when Ty’s fingers bit into the flesh of her inner thighs. When he swiped his tongue down and then up again, her heart almost stopped beating. She felt herself cream with moisture—not that she needed more moisture. She was already so wet she could feel it dripping down, soaking her.

Her tummy muscles clenched as her hips lifted into his mouth. Shit. Tyler Copeland was sucking her off. Fuck yes. She’d wanted this forever—every damn time she’d seen him around town. She closed her eyes and sank her fingers into his hair. His hair was dark, almost coal black. It smelled so good and was soft and silky and having her fingers in his short locks wasn’t doing a thing to slow things down.

It wouldn’t take long. One thing she loved more than giving head was getting it. And this was something that she would remember for the rest of her life. If only she could have it forever. Her hips lifted again, a stroke of lightning rushing her insides as he continued to tongue her. She whimpered and he growled in response, his finger coming to her center where he teased for just long enough to make her moan and beg. “Please.”

“Please, what?” he hissed out.

When she didn’t answer, because she was incapable, he teased his finger around her again before moving it to her clit and demanding, “What? Tell me what you want.”

“Put it in,” she found herself begging.

But she didn’t have to beg; he conformed to her wishes immediately, his finger coming back to her center and sinking inside, all the way past the tight restrictiveness of her inner muscles.

Her muscles clamped tightly around him. The feeling was ecstasy—pure unadulterated ecstasy.

“You like that, baby?” he growled, his voice so deep and low she almost came, right then and there.

“Yes,” she panted, as another wave of heat rolled through her.

He made an impatient, fevered sound and then she felt his teeth on her clit. She pumped her hips and he began pumping his finger—and it was sheer bliss.

Her fingers tightened in his hair as her hips started moving faster. It was heaven—he was heaven. She’d always known he would be.

He started growling as his teeth continued to scrape against her. Whitney felt a hot rush of anticipation and then a kaleidoscope of colors exploded in her head. “Ty—I’m coming,” she heard herself wail.

His shoulders seemed to grow wider, his strokes stronger. “Damn right you are, baby.”

His tone, his touch, his arrogance pushed her over the edge.

Stars cascaded around her as she felt the wire snap. Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah.

Doing Tyler Copeland was sheer bliss and already, she was afraid she might never want it to end.


The sound of Whitney coming damn near did him in. Tyler gritted his teeth and continued to push his finger inside, wanting her to experience a feeling she’d never be able to get from anybody other than him.

Why did he have that thought? It didn’t matter—he didn’t care. He was too far gone to care. He just needed to come.

He needed to come like he’d never needed it before. Not just the need for an orgasm, he felt the need to drench her with his seed—but he knew he couldn’t.

She was just coming down from her high and he couldn’t wait another second. He disengaged as gently as possible, and while she was lying back with a dazed look, he tore off his boots and clothes in seconds and rolled a condom on. The condom irritated the shit out of him when using one had never bothered him before—something else he refused to think about.

She was pink in the face watching him, and a hot bolt of need radiated from his cock to his balls and then back again. He climbed on top, putting one knee on the bed and then the other.

He had a full-on erection, and she’d been staring at it until his face was over hers and prevented her from taking another peek down. “You like what you see, sweetheart?” he couldn’t keep from asking. She looked blind-sided and damn if it didn’t make him feel good.

“Yeah,” she mumbled in a rush.

He couldn’t stop the smile that twisted his lips. Something about this chick made him happy—and horny—always had.

He wrapped his hand around her jawline and lifted her face to stare down into her eyes. “You ready?”

Her chin lifted just that much and he took it as consent. Lodging his knees between her thighs, her pushed her legs apart and mounted her. He brought the head of his cock to her softness and held it there, pushing inside just that much. Tension wrapped around his heart when she moaned and sucked in a breath.

“You okay?” Jesus. She had to be okay. He’d go fucking ballistic if he had to stop.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, her hands coming to his shoulders as her legs wrapped around his hips.

Thank fuck, that was exactly the answer he needed. He slammed his lips onto hers and kissed her long and hard, and then he sank inside with one clean stroke.

Her body arched under his, whether from pain or pleasure, he didn’t know. “You okay?” he forced himself to stall and ask again.

“Yeah,” she answered, holding still underneath him.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. He began thrusting, stroking inside and out repetitively, taking on a motion that had her joining him within seconds.

He’d wanted to fuck her for so long, the anticipation almost killing him. But it had been worth the wait. She was perfection personified and he ate it up now, stroking in and out with a rhythm that had him riveted. Fuck. It was good. She smelled sweet—smelled like something he wanted to feast on for a lifetime.

She began moving with him in perfect tandem as the air around them electrified. The smell of sex began to permeate the room, his sweat blending with hers. Fire smoldered down his spine as the need to come became paramount.

He tried to hold out, tried to make her come again but he couldn’t wait—it was beyond his control. He lifted up onto his hands and looked down between them, his cock pushing in and out, glistening with her juices.

His pecs tightened, his tendons jacking up, cording into ropes of iron as lust gripped him and primal instinct took over.

He made a grab for her hands and nailed them to the sides of her head as he stared down at her, never losing a stroke.

Her eyes flew open and he felt himself engorge with a new rush of blood to his cock. He plowed into her, the feel of her prisoner underneath him making him pummel her all the harder.

He felt a pounding in his head, a throbbing in his temples as he fought his own arousal. It was too good to let loose but he couldn’t maintain it. She was so wet and tight around him that she fisted him like a glove. He became more rigid, baring his teeth as he watched her. She stared at him with wide eyes before shutting him out—he felt a mad rush to see her eyes but it was too late, a stroke of hot pleasure gripped him and he let go as the first wave of orgasm rocketed down his spine.

He pushed inside and held it there, a flame of pure perfection exploding in his head and coiling down through his system. He milked the feeling, taking every drop of pleasure he could and knowing instinctually that it would never be enough.

Her eyes shot open and so did his; they stared at each other, each dragging in oxygen so hard that it made him almost light-headed.

Light-headed? That was fucked up. He wasn’t going to worry about it, because after he’d had her five or six times, he’d be back in control.

Her eyes were cornflower blue as she stared up at him and he was struck at how truly beautiful she was. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and bussed her on the lips before studying her intently, trying to figure out what was in her head.

There was a slight flush on her features, as if she were embarrassed, but she’d been so damn perfect in bed that he knew that could never be the case. She was a fucking dream lay and for whatever reason, he knew well and good that his two-time fucking rule was about to blow out the window. He literally couldn’t get a grip on how badly he wanted to do her again and goddammit, if he wanted her for a while, he would have her.

Her mouth opened as if to speak but she stalled and licked her lips, staring at him with hesitation. He felt his eyes narrow as she pushed against his hands. He tried but couldn’t keep the words from spilling from his lips. “Where do you think you’re going, baby?”

Her eyes dropped as if worried and then came back to his. “Um, well—aren’t we done?”

A stroke of irritation bled down his spine as he raised an eyebrow. The chick was not getting away that easily. “Done?”

She blushed again but her smart-mouth was still in working order. “Yeah, you know, done, finished, it was really good and thanks so much?”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage. But he retained enough sanity to know that he should probably keep both emotions in check. “I don’t think so,” he said neutrally.

“What do you mean?” she asked hesitatingly.

“I mean we’re not done, not through, not even close to finished.” Even as he said the words, he felt his erection grow to full strength again. He took advantage of it and taking a stroke, he pushed inside more deeply and held it there, his fingers tightening around her wrists.

She sucked in a breath. “So, you mean, you want to do it again, like now?”

He measured her for a moment, hesitating. “Sure, that’swhat I mean.” Yeah, that’s exactly what he meant—and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.

She watched him a tad suspiciously before a small grin split her features. “Then is it okay if I get on top this time?”

A bolt of relief hit him hard. He’d take it, for now. Later was soon enough for her to find out she wouldn’t be escaping from him anytime in the near future. But there was no need to make her anxious now, not when she was wet and creamy and willing.

He grabbed her by the waist and flipped onto his back, bringing her over him. His fingers locked into her hair as he brought her down onto his shaft, one slow inch at a time. When he was fully seated inside, she collapsed on top of him and their hearts began pounding together. He bit into his lip until he tasted blood, until he had some control.

When he found it, he ran his hands up and down her spine and whispered in her ear. “Baby, I thought you’d never ask.”

Twelve months later

Whitney leaned back in the bathtub as she ran the razor from her ankle to her knee with a clean stroke. Ty was late but that was okay because she was running late herself. She wanted everything to be perfect when he got home—she couldn’t believe it had been a year since they’d started seeing each other. Would he remember today was their anniversary for lack of a better word? It really didn’t matter either way, because whether or not he was as attuned to the calendar as she was didn’t mean he wasn’t as vested in the relationship.

He was vested, she knew that for sure—it was blatant in both his looks and actions. As she took another swipe up her leg, her heart started pounding a little harder when she thought about the protective and territorial streak that he possessed; it became more apparent as the days rushed by.

And the night before—her tummy quivered from the memory. Jesus, he’d been insatiable, just as insatiable as he’d been twelve months ago, like they’d just met and he literally couldn’t get enough. That was good, right? It was good for her, and although they never really talked about the future or long-range plans, she thought that their relationship was progressing at a reasonable, normal speed and she was happy with that, for now. You couldn’t rush guys into marriage, at least, not too much. It took time for guys to make a forever commitment, and although she was getting there herself, she wasn’t worried, because it was early days yet.

As she stepped from the tub and wrapped a towel around her torso, she heard the back door slam and then the slow, steady pace of Ty’s boots against the tile floor.

Butterflies went off in her stomach as he came to the bathroom door that she’d left about halfway ajar, and he slowly pushed it all the way open. As he stood in the doorway, his eyes met hers and she sucked in a breath as she felt the same charge of electricity that always volleyed between them. He put his hands on his hips and then his gaze slowly dropped, undoubtedly taking in the mess of her still damp hair and body. His eyes narrowed sharply as his nostrils flared. “Looks like I’m right on time.”

She licked her lips, wondering how many seconds she had left before he invaded her personal space and seized her with the same pagan force he always used. As his eyes stayed on the tops of her thighs with a hint of red slashing his cheekbones, her pulse escalated.

Her stomach flipping over, she perused the man in front of her, anticipation licking down her spine. He was so fucking fine—his muscles like steel, his biceps bulging against the short-sleeved t-shirt he was wearing. She looked him up and down, studying the perfection of his torso, the strength radiating from his corded muscles as he stared back and slowly cracked his knuckles one by one. Her eyes dropped to his fisted hands—and she almost had a heart attack. “What’s that?” she asked, tipping her head toward his left hand, her pulse pounding triple-time.

He took a single, predatory step forward and lifted his fisted hand, displaying his ring finger almost challengingly. “What, this?”

She nodded her head, unable to speak as she stared at the brand-new and still reddened tattoo that banded around his ring finger like a—like a—

He took another step forward and then another as he came within inches and lifted her chin. “Finally had all the bullshit I can stand at the convenience store. Bitch won’t leave me alone and I don’t want to have to buy beer farther away. This should shut her up, yeah?” As one hand threaded through her hair, he casually showed her his tattoo, a circle of italicized W’s that banded his ring finger—a symbol that couldn’t fail to make a bold statement.

And the statement it was making was sending Whitney’s emotions into a tailspin. “But it’s permanent,” she mumbled, still in a state of shock—and happiness.

His hand dropped as he wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her torso slamming into his. “Yeah, so? What did you think, babe? That I’m only half in?”

A thrill rushed through her as their eyes locked. “Are you all in?” she whispered.

His arm tightened like a steel band. “Are you all in?” he asked harshly.

Her heart slamming, she took a leap of faith. “Yes.”

He was infinitely still for a moment and then his expression changed to a look of relief. “Yeah? Good. We can make solid plans.” He planted his hands on her waist and lifted her, swinging her into his arms and walking toward the bed. “Later.”

Her heart singing with delight and her body trembling with need, Whitney landed on the bed and held out her arms.

Books Lynda Chance

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