Page 8 of Johny B

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” JB holds three fingers up to the side of his head, trying to come across all innocent. “Scouts honor.”

“Fuck me,” Smoke huffs out. “Like you’d ever make it into the scouts. Robert Baden-Powell will turn in his grave hearing you say that shit.”

Smoke stares out JB, and I can tell he’s weighing up his options: insist on staying and piss me off, or leave as I’ve asked. Turning to me, he says. “You’ll ring me if this asshole gets out of hand or if word gets out that he’s here?”

“The very minute,” I promise. I think about doing the three-finger scout thing, too, but I’m not sure he’d find it amusing based on his mood.

Reluctantly, Smoke stomps over to his ride while slamming his lid on his head. He isn’t happy, but he’ll live.

“Come on.” I walk towards the back door, but when I go to open it, I’m beaten to the post by JB. He swings open the door, giving an exaggerated flurry of his arm, beckoning me to enter first. “You can cut that flirty, male chivalry crap out for a start,” I warn. “You seem to forget that I know exactly why you’re here.”

“What?” he says once again, his face a mask of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean and besides, you shouldn’t judge a person before you at least hear their side of the story.”

“This jury is out, and the verdict is guilty,” I throw back at him as he follows me, far too closely, might I add, through the kitchen and up the stairs to where the rest of the living quarters are.

“Well, I prefer to make up my own mind,” he counters as we walk to the bedroom that was mine until I moved into my mamma’s old room. I push open the door to a space I haven’t had time to de-feminize. But he’s staying here gratis, so he’ll just have to suck it up and put up with the floral.

I mimic his arm flurry of earlier, gesturing for him to enter his new sleeping accommodation, but before I get the chance to step back to give him space, he steps forward, wedging us both just inside the open doorway, face-to-face, the length of our bodies way too close for comfort. Instead of moving into the room, he stays where he is. With the back of his hand, he sweeps it across my cheek, then captures a loose ribbon of hair that has escaped from a clip holding back my curls. He fingers it with a gentleness that makes me suck in a deep breath.

“Redheads are supposed to be wild and sassy, impulsive and quick-tempered.” He leans in a little further until his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “The temptation to find out is real, but I promise to do my best to resist.”

With that, he steps away, closing the door behind him, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and wondering what the hell I’ve let myself in for.

Johny B

Being told by my Prez that I had to get out of town wasn’t something I was happy about. In fact, I was fucking livid, but I’d dipped my dick into a high-risk chick and only had myself to blame. Prez had stated that staying around Florida was too risky, but fucking Nevada? Jeez, I could have just gotten out of town and laid low for a while until the heat was off. But no, Cannon insisted that I was shipped off to stay with another chapter of the YOMC, someone who he could trust and watch my back if the fuckers did manage to track me down. Personally, I think that it’s overkill. The Chief is all fucking hot air and piss, and if he’d been showing his wife the attention she was due, then she wouldn’t have been so easily distracted. Although, I do seem to have this irresistible attraction that pulls in the ladies. I’m never short of a lay when I want one.

It wasn’t until we pulled up outside Velvet’s, where I’ll be staying for the foreseeable future and saw the fucking red-headed beauty waiting for us, that I realized why Smoke had been ranting on about keeping my dick in my pants and my hands firmly to myself. All the females were strictly out of bounds. No one was to find out that I was here. Not to forget the threat that if I so much as looked at my host the wrong way, Smoke would take immense pleasure in removing my manhood, leaving me singing soprano and wearing my ball as earrings.

Fuck, she was stunning. The color of her hair was like nothing I’d seen before. Rich, dark red and vibrant with the softest of curls, pinned up in places, yet some falling longaround her shoulders and down her back. She’s curvy in all the right places. As we walked towards her, I caught sight of her emerald green eyes that sparkled like precious jewels, filled with confidence and knowledge yet still housing a hint of innocence. For sure, she’s not one of the working girls; she’s too soft, unjaded and untouched.

I could very well be waving goodbye to ever having any kids. But hell, just one taste of her could be worth being demoted from Johny Bravo, lothario and man whore to a pathetic dickless eunuch. The temptation is real.

Chapter

Seven

Scarlett

It’s been two weeks since JB arrived, and it’s been far from easy.

First of all, I’m used to it just being me in this self-contained living space. The kitchen is on the lower floor, totally sealed off from the rest of that level, with a private entrance. On the upper floor there are two bedrooms, a bathroom and a general living space. A door on this floor gives me access to Velvet’s, which automatically locks and, except for one key that Smoke has, I’m the only one who can move freely between the two domains.

So, having someone invading my privacy is driving me insane.

Secondly. He has the ability to irritate the fuck out of me.

It’s not so bad in the evenings because I spend most of my time downstairs, front of house in Velvet’s. But if the evenings are quiet, I usually take advantage of the time to study. However, I have found this near impossible when the larger-than-life JB takes up valuable space in the living area, which doubles upas my office. With his current confinement, he has taken to books. Not that it’s a bad thing, but he has this annoying habit of verbalizing his reactions to the storyline. The sniggers, huffs and tutting are both irritating and distracting in equal measure. Not to mention that he seems to suck all the oxygen out of the room, which has me cursing furiously under my breath, while taking the back stairs, fleeing out through the kitchen until I’m outside breathing in the clean air and regaining a modicum of composure.

Thirdly. He’s an outrageous flirt.

The way he comes up close when it’s totally unnecessary.

For example, he sneaks his hand around me to reach into the refrigerator to grab something at the exact time that I’m there checking out what groceries we need.

When I find time to catch a movie, and I’m sitting cozy on the sofa, he comes in looking so fucking hot in his jeans and a tight T-shirt that it should be illegal. He drops into the seat beside me, close enough that our thighs are touching, when there’s a perfectly good, and comfortable, armchair that he could make use of. The body heat he radiates is off the charts. I end up giving up on the movie due to being too hot, too distracted with my level of annoyance at boiling point, my heart racing, and urgently needing to put some distance between me and his irritating ass.

And then there’s the number of times I’ve caught him watching me.

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