The Substitute (The Bros Series Book 1) Read online

  Dedicated to The Universe: Thank you for allowing me to never have to substitute my dream.

  The Substitute

  The Bro Series #1

  The Substitute

  The Bro Series #1

  By Xavier Neal

  ©Xavier Neal 2017

  Cover by Dana Leah with Designs by Dana

  All rights reserved

  License Note

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization of the Author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in court of law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  NATE

  This is wrong. I know this is wrong. I know this is wrong, yet I don’t give a fuck. Does that make me desperate or pathetic? Both? How much worse does it make the situation that I don’t give a fuck about that either? It’s unlike me to not give a fuck anymore. To not care about the consequences of my actions. But I can’t stop this. Fuck it. I don’t want to stop this…

  Her top falls to the ground, exposing her ample tits, which are begging for attention, in a red lace bra. She backs up slowly. Each step away from me, away from the edge of the bed where I’m fucking panting like I’ve run ten miles, is taken with intensity and purpose. She’s well aware of the power she holds over this moment. Over me.

  The second she’s out of my reach, her fingertips reach behind her to the clasps. In a deliciously dirty tone, she declares, “Once you touch me, I’m all yours.”

  My cock throbs in response.

  No. She’s wrong. I can touch her, I can kiss her, hell, I can fuck her and still walk away from this. I can make this the onetime thing it should be. I have to. It’s not a choice.

  I watch the delicate item fall to the floor. Seeing her heaving mocha chest and dark chocolate nipples instantly darts my tongue across my lips. My mouth trembles from the begging it’s trying to hold in. Just the sight of her body is like being a recovering alcoholic staring at a round of top shelf tequila shots. I want her. Fuck that. I need her. My body needs hers. It’s a dependency I’ve never known before and I have no idea where it came from or why I have it now.

  Ainsley’s hand softly runs a path down towards the only piece of clothing left on her curvy body. Her fingers hook around the thin string. She lowers her bright brown stare to meet mine. There’s mystery and challenge. Wildness behind the mystique of innocence.

  Something primal inside of me breaks. In a voice I barely recognize, I instruct. “Don’t.”

  She ceases her actions instantly. Her obedience pours gasoline on a spark I thought had been smothered out years ago.

  “Here.” I widen my legs and point to the spot in front of me. “Now.”

  Without hesitation she plants herself directly in front of me. She stands completely still, completely vulnerable as if her body or her submission is some sort of sacrifice. The idea of being the first to wield such power over her is ridiculous. She’s not some poor, helpless virgin. She knew exactly what was going to happen when she followed me home. She knew exactly what she wanted. Fuck. She knew exactly what I wanted. And the truth is I don’t plan on stopping until I’ve taken it.

  My cream colored hands wrap around the string of her underwear and forcefully pull. The rip echoes around my tiny apartment bedroom alongside her sharp gasp.

  I examine the bare area with the tip of my finger. Hairless. Smooth. Soft. A clean canvas waiting for my signature. My finger grazes her clit and her breath harshly hitches. Her wetness soaks the little bit of contact it was given.

  “Watch,” I command.

  Ainsley lowers her attention just as I slide the finger into my mouth. The flavor callously conquerors my senses. My sanity. The taste of her on my tongue feeds the impatient monster who is no longer dormant. The one who will no longer be ignored. The one I’ve spent years proclaiming was dead.

  Her whimper is almost lost behind my growl. I slowly stand and my body brushes against hers. The feeling of her soft tits crushed against my chest causes me to repeat the vicious sound. She pushes her full lips together but stays in place. I shed my shirt, jeans, and boxers with her anxious body just breaths from mine.

  As soon as I’m back on the edge of my lumpy mattress, I yank her on top of me, dick piercing her pussy without warning. It immediately clamps around my cock and tries to push the intruder out. The unexpected tightness tears free a heady groan. This pussy hasn’t been stretched or worn out yet. It lacks the red flag of virginity but is waving the white flag of abdication. Ainsley’s muscles tremble around my shaft, begging for mercy before I’ve even begun. Any lingering logic about right versus wrong dissipates. I anchor my hands to her hips and slightly lift her body, directing it to slide down my dick again. This time when her pussy drags itself down we moan together. My teeth latch onto her nipple and I gently tug. She gasps, but her fingers thread themselves in my dark brown hair, feverishly pulling me closer. Her touch burns a different declaration into me than the one she claimed earlier. One touch and I’m all hers…One touch and I can never walk away. One touch and my life is ruined. Fuck. This feels worth being ruined over.

  Her head falls backwards, wavy brown hair swaying with each stroke. Within mere seconds, the devouring of her nipples turns ruthless. My nips become bites. My tugs transform into sharp yanks. Her moans morph into cries of surrender, still I cruelly continue my savage consuming. I lightly rub the tip of my thumb back and forth against her clit. She shudders at the added friction and eagerly attempts to feel it each time she moves with me.

  In a barely audible voice she requests, “Come for me…”

  A new hunger forms and I free her flesh from my clutches. “Beg.”

  Ainsley’s body bucks at the command. She returns her face to mine. “Please.”

  That word…that tiny, simple, six letter word has never sounded so goddamn perfect in my entire life.

  I thrust harder, dick fearlessly diving to her depths with determination it shouldn’t possess.

  All of sudden her pussy screams as she does, the sound of my name my own undoing. “Nate!”

  Her blazing heat melds against the burning burst erupting inside of her. In an unexpected oscillation, our orgasms attempt to absorb one another’s. My eyes crave closing, wanting to be completely submerged in the ride of the high, but something else compels them to watch the intoxicating sight in my lap. Ainsley’s entire body shakes and sings its praises. It commends my cock as it begins to wilt in a delightful defeat. She collapses against me and my arms impulsively swoop around her, the instinct to protect her as strong as the one to fuck her.

  The two of us remain completely still for some unknown amount of time.

  I know I should be trying to undo this. Reflecting on the mistakes that were just made. I should be raking myself over the coals for being irresponsible. Fuck. Beyond irresponsible. I should be kicking my own ass for sleeping with her to begin with, then add the insult of choosing not to wrap my dick and I should be smashing my own fucking skull in with a rock. But I’m not. And that’s a huge fucking problem. Almost as huge as the fact that I never want another man to have what I just did.

  Ainsley slips out of my grip and I stifle the urge to groan from my cock’s loss of warmth. She begins to silently collect her things, a soft smile on her seemingly sweet face. I quietly watch her slide on her jeans, the process creating an unusual pang in my chest.

  I try to i
gnore the feeling because she should get dressed. She should fucking go. She shouldn’t fucking be here in the first place. She damn sure shouldn’t stay even if I want her to. Fuck. I shouldn’t want her to.

  Once her bra and black v-neck sweater, that had my dick swelling half the night, are back on, she saunters over to me and drops her lips onto mine. The action is so natural it causes the pain I was ignoring to deepen. My tongue captures hers, instantly needing to know it won’t be forgotten. That it won’t be replaced. She hums pleased into the kiss and allows for her previous submission to continue. I wrap one hand around the nape of her neck to keep her steady. To keep her close. Our tongues roll together until the sated beast begins to lift its head again.

  As if she can sense it, she pulls back, and presses her lips beside my ear. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Teach.”

  Ainsley gives me a wink before walking out of my barely lit bedroom.

  My entire body stays completely frozen until I’ve heard the front door of my apartment close. At that moment, I cover my face with my hands, and fall backwards onto my mattress.

  What the fuck have I done?

  Ainsley

  A sharp thud hits my bedroom door. On a displeased groan, I cover my head and try to return to sleep.

  To no surprise, it flies open. “Ainsley! What the hell are you still doing in bed?”

  I bite my tongue to stop the reply. The same shit all the other normal people do in bed.

  “I don’t pay for you to go to that damn private school so you can sleep in at home,” my mother scolds from the doorway of my room.

  Technically she doesn’t pay shit for me to go to it. Never has.

  “If I wanted that shit, I would’ve sent you to public school. Now get up before you’re late for that damn bus!”

  Whenever she’s this bitchy, I immediately remind myself it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the high she’s coming off of or the high she’s anxious to chase.

  She hits the light and it floods the entire room. With one final grunt, I toss my blanket off, and drag myself up. Why the hell does school have to come so early? Who thought starting it at eight in the morning was the responsible choice?

  I yawn and stretch my body, feeling a new found soreness in my muscles that makes me grin wildly. The image of coming on Nate’s cock instantly ignites a heat between my thighs. My mind transports my entire system back to relive the moment all over again. I can feel his hands holding me securely in place. The beads of sweat collecting between us. His cock splitting my pussy apart like no matter what he tries, he still won’t be buried deep enough.

  “Ainsley!”

  “I’m up!” I shout back, shaking away the hypnotizing thoughts.

  After a quick scan of the clothes I have clean, I make a mental note to do laundry when I get home from school. I’m a little shocked my mother wasn’t bitching about that when she started her rant. It just means she has what she needs for work. Not that that should surprise me. She always makes sure she’s taken care of. My needs rarely matter. They haven’t for years.

  I deliberately skip the idea of panties, slip on a bra, grab my loose, long sleeve cream colored knit sweater dress, a pair of worn out gold flats, and a long gold chain necklace with a turquoise pendant, from my cluttered dresser. I swipe my cell from where it’s charging on the messy floor beside my bed and swing by the bathroom to give my teeth a good brushing. During the process, I stare at my reflection, noting the subtle changes to my complexion. There’s an undeniable brightness to my face. A lovely light rose color to my cheeks and a shimmer in my eyes. I swear it almost looks like I’m actually glowing. Guess it’s true what my mother says about a good lay. It really can change your life. At least I’m sure as shit hoping it does.

  Once my mouth is clean and my hair has been given enough product to make my bedhead look presentable, I exit the bathroom, which is where I run straight into my mother, reminding me yet again why I hate living in this tiny two bedroom, one bathroom house with her.

  She tries to veer out of my path during her undressing. “You’re not going to put on makeup?”

  I shake my head. “Late remember?”

  “Ainsley, you really have to learn how to do a great job with that in a tight time frame,” her lecture begins as I continue my route for the kitchen straight ahead. “How many times have I told you the importance of dressing to impress?”

  Enough times that I’ve considered getting the words tattooed across my ass, so I can flash her every time this recycled line of nagging occurs. The main problem with this conversation is I never plan to try to impress people the same way she does. Not even if it meant starving to death.

  “I buy you makeup and designer clothes as a reminder. Why do I bother wasting my money if you’re not even going to make an effort?”

  An abundance of clothes I don’t give a shit about and perfume that makes me smell like I’m for sale the same way she is, is a necessity in her opinion, but the basics like food, water, and electricity are debatable. God, I can’t wait to graduate and get the hell out of here.

  “Are you even listening?” She bitches from behind me in the open living room.

  I shut the fridge door, disappointed yet again at the empty contents, and turn around to face her. I glare at the tiny red strapless dress. The thousand dollar black pumps on her feet. The flawlessness in her tanned skin. Her beautiful, thick curtain of blonde hair dangling perfectly like a goddamn hair commercial. Standing here, even after a long night of escorting men to wherever it is they need her to go before they slip away into the bedroom, she still looks like every wet dream she’s probably made come true. Sometimes when I stare at her I wonder who my father would be more disappointed in. Me, for the inability to care anymore about what happens to her when she walks out the door, or her for choosing to suck cock for a profession.

  “Did you pick up the mail yesterday?” I manage to ask, the faint sound of the bus rounding the corner filling my ears. “Hoping for an early acceptance letter.”

  She huffs and points to the kitchen table that’s overrun with body altering products.

  I offer her a forced grin of gratitude.

  “Try to go the grocery store when you get home from school,” she states. “I need a nap before I have to meet Mikey for a pick up. Then, I have a hair and spa appointment at three, followed promptly by a new client at six. I’m not sure if I’ll be home before morning, but either way it would be nice to have a glass of orange juice to start my day.”

  Nothing washes away the taste of a senator’s cock like good old fashion, freshly squeezed, orange juice bought by your daughter’s hard earned cash.

  I let out a sigh, push the nail products out of my way, and search for my ticket to freedom.

  The first honk to indicate the bus has arrived causes my mother to complain, “Ainsley, go to school.”

  “That’s the plan,” I mumble more in reference to my future than this moment. Going to Ashwin University to study film is the only thing that gets me through the long mornings like this and even longer nights after my shift. I even started working at a bar downtown the week I turned 18 just to be closer to the environment I feel I belong to. It’s a cute hole in the wall place almost always packed with students from the university. Yeah, it blows to have to walk a few blocks to catch the bus and then take it home again late at night, but it beats the shit out of serving my classmates and their shit parents who already look down on me. I prefer to be around people who have no idea what my mother does rather than those I know use her services. People who have conversations about Van Gogh and the importance of proper lighting. People who talk about art as if they’re politics as opposed to actual political problems they know nothing about. While my mother hates the idea of me not being something she feels her blowing the Dean of Admissions is actually worth, like a doctor or a lawyer, she hates the idea of me becoming an escort more, which is what I threaten any time she stands on
her soapbox about my life choices. She knows it’s a bluff, but always backs down. I’ll be honest, her determination to keep me from ending up another “doll” in the Doll House’s collection is the only non-selfish thing she does. I guess in retrospect it’s probably the most important.

  The bus honks again just as my fingers wrap around the envelope.

  “I’m not driving you to class if you miss that goddamn bus.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, with the piece of paper tucked in my hand alongside my phone. Quickly, I walk by her, snatch my shoulder bag from the couch, and toss a wave over my shoulder. “Later.”

  Brisk January wind slaps my legs without consideration. My head falls to the side in instant defeat for forgetting a jacket.

  With a frown, Willis, the charter bus driver, sighs, “Come on, Ainsley, you’re going to make me late. You know how the Headmaster is if we don’t arrive at our specific designated time.”