Earning Her Trust: Braxton Arcade Book One Read online

  Earning Her Trust

  Braxton Arcade Book One

  Adore Ian

  Contents

  Warning

  I. Player Select

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  II. The Miniboss

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  III. The Final Boss

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  You’ve just finished Adore’s first book!

  Sexual assault resources

  Coming soon

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  WARNING: Adore’s books contain too much smut, ridiculous plots and are written for a twenty-first century audience. This book contains a strong female lead with a fainting problem and a creepy stalker, a hot alpha male, and lots and lots of sexy times.

  To everyone who never learned the

  difference between the vulva and vagina.

  Part I

  Player Select

  FEMME FATALE

  or

  PANTY-READING FORTUNE TELLER

  1

  Damian

  I hate everything about this club. It smells awful, the music sucks, and the laser light show is trying to give me a seizure. I would’ve left hours ago had it not been for Marrin Braxton—who’s currently grinding her ass all over some random bro on the dance floor. She’s wearing a short black dress and the leather jacket I like best on the floor of my apartment.

  But this isn’t my apartment.

  So I take another sip of beer and act like I don’t care.

  It’s my friend Vicky’s birthday and she decided she wanted to spend the evening dancing until some ungodly hour to some ungodly music. So here I am, holding up the bar with my best dudes Jayce and Hayden—who both look about as over this place as I am.

  At least I’m not suffering alone.

  I glance at Marrin just in time to see Mr. Frat House Douchebag run his hands up her bare thighs. Fighting the urge to break each and every one of his fingers, I remind my inner alpha male that Marrin is not my girlfriend and I am not her boyfriend.

  I also remind myself that no one in our group of friends knows we’ve been sleeping together.

  Vicky would freak if she knew. When she started dating Jayce, she announced to his friends that hers were off limits. I’m no stranger to this rule. Hayden and I have been friends with Vicky since high school, and after I ruined one of her friendships with a casual hookup, she set the boundary. I’ve respected it ever since.

  Well, until recently.

  My eyes slide back to Marrin. She taps our friend Devon’s shoulder and hitches a thumb at the douchebag with his hands all over her. Devon nods then swings her around so fast the dude pawing at her nearly falls over. An effective cockblock if I ever saw one. I make a mental note to buy Devon a beer.

  Mr. Frat House Douchebag takes the hint and moseys along to find someone else to grope.

  Bye, asshole.

  Marrin goes back to dancing with Tiana and Vicky, and I sure as shit can’t complain about the view now. She’s a fantastic dancer. I pull out my phone and shoot her a text.

  Damian: How come you never dance that way for me?

  About a month ago, I ran into Marrin at the arcade bar where she works. We’d hung out in groups but never really had the opportunity to talk. We’d had a great conversation and the night ended in my bed. It was only when she’d refused to sleep over that I’d realized she lived in my apartment building. She’d just signed a lease for a place right down the hall. Apparently, I’d been “elbows deep in some redhead” and hadn’t noticed her moving in. Her words, not mine.

  Of course I hadn’t tried to deny it. I need no help with the ladies. I’m handsome, rich, and gifted with the kind of soulful eyes every person, pet, and vegetable dreams of getting lost in. Not a brag, just the truth. A truth that’s made its way around campus and built me a nice reputation.

  A reputation that was perfect until the night Marrin Braxton found her way into my bed and then refused to stay over.

  I know for a fact I’m a fantastic lover—again, not a brag, just the truth. And it’s exactly what I’d been thinking a month ago when Marrin climbed out of my bed.

  “Stay,” I’d said.

  She’d looked at me as if to say, How cute, before heading to the door.

  I’d never chased a woman before, but damn if she hadn’t become the first. I’d jumped out of bed like a Golden Retriever after its owner and followed her into the living room where I then offered to make her breakfast in the morning. I straight up tried to bribe her back into my bed with waffles and omelets. Who does that?

  Me, apparently.

  Until that moment, no woman had ever denied me the pleasure of making her breakfast the next morning or seeing her home. That just didn’t happen.

  Women who stay the night in my bed know they’re in for three things: multiple orgasms, no strings attached, and the best morning after ever.

  Apparently, Marrin hadn’t gotten the memo, because while I’d stood there buck naked in my own living room, waxing poetic about waffles and omelets (like some street vendor peddling my wares), she’d looked over her shoulder and said, “That’s so sweet. Maybe another time.”

  Then she’d left.

  And I’d had no idea whether to be offended or impressed.

  The music in the club switches to some new techno horror. Marrin pulls her phone out, looks at the screen, then stuffs it back into her pocket.

  Did she just ignore my text?

  This woman is going to drive me insane.

  When Marrin had refused to stay the night that first time, I’d gone over to her apartment the next morning and made her breakfast. Stupid, maybe, but I have a reputation to uphold. We’d had a nice morning that had led to my face between her legs and ended with me dumbfounded when she’d gotten dressed and left for work.

  She’d just walked out.

  Even had the audacity to tell me to lock the door on my way out.

  In less than nine hours, the same woman had walked away from me—twice.

  It was as if she’d declared war.

  The next weekend, we’d run into one another at a party I’d gone to with Jayce and Hayden. I’d honestly tried to stay away from her because Vicky was there with Jayce, and Marrin is technically one of her friends. I’d kept our conversation casual and made a point to be polite to the other women who’d been talking to me.

  Marrin hadn’t even batted an eyelash.

  But almost as soon as Jayce and Vicky had left the party, I’d once again found myself dick deep in Marrin’s skirt. We’d barely made it to my Jeep before I was inside her.

  Fucked. I was well and truly fucked. I couldn’t get enough of this woman.

  We’d exchanged numbers that night and had agreed we’d only see one another for sex—good, kinky sex—an arrangement that’d been working nicely for me until tonight, when I’d looked up to see some douchebag pawing at her. The dress she’d chosen to wear,
and the ample amount of cleavage bursting through the plunging neckline, aren’t exactly helping. I’ve been sporting a quarter chub since I walked in.

  I pull out my phone and send another text.

  Damian: You’re killin’ me, baby. Grindin’ that sweet ass all over your girlfriends. How about you follow me outside and grind that ass on me?

  I don't normally talk like this. Actually, Marrin is the only person I talk to like this. She made it clear that if we were going to start sleeping together, she wanted certain things from our encounters—or scenes as she calls them. Specifically: me being dominant, demanding, and bossy. Her words, not mine.

  Marrin checks her phone, rolls her eyes.

  Marrin: In your dreams. Too many witnesses. Why don’t you entertain the blonde eyeing you at the bar?

  Damian: Not interested. I only got eyes for you, babe.

  Marrin: Ha! Well you’re not the only one.

  Damian: I wanted to kick that guy’s ass.

  Marrin: Why?

  I don’t know why. We aren’t dating. I have no claim to her. Because that douchebag was pawing at you like some animal, I want to text. Because he shouldn’t have had his hands on you in the first place. Because I was jealous. I take another sip of beer and go with:

  Damian: He was sloppy. An embarrassment to guys everywhere. If those had been my hands, you’d be beggin’ me to take you outside. Your panties would be soaked.

  Marrin: How do you know I’m even wearing panties?

  My dick twitches and I have to turn around and face the bar before the whole club sees the tent I’m pitching.

  Jayce knocks back the last of his beer. “Another round boys?”

  “Always,” Hayden and I reply.

  While Jayce orders more beer, I turn to Hayden, desperate to think of anything but the possibility that Marrin is bare beneath her short dress. “Not to be a dick, but who’ve you been texting all night?” From the moment we walked in, Hayden has been on and off his phone.

  He fidgets and both Jayce and I turn our full attention to him.

  He sighs, defeated. “Who do you think?”

  Hayden is the stereotypical southern gentleman. He grew up on a farm (in what I’d consider to be the middle of nowhere), he studies sports medicine, and his views on dating are painfully mid-century. Meaning he pays for dinner, gets the door, and there’s no kissing on the first date. Then there’s Jayce. He grew up traveling the world with his parents, he studies art, and his views on dating are firmly grounded in the twenty-first century. Meaning his date can buy him dinner, get his door, and kiss him on the first date.

  “Jesus, dude,” Jayce says. “You’ve been after this Sasha girl all semester.”

  I hold up a finger. “Correction. He’s been acting like her lap dog all semester. Not the same thing.”

  Jayce agrees, clinking his beer glass with mine.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket.

  “I have not,” Hayden grumbles.

  Jayce says, “Have you made a move yet?”

  “Of course.”

  I make a sound like a game show buzzer for a wrong answer. “You carry her books and organize her study notes. Not moves, dude. Have you even asked if she’s seeing anyone?”

  His white skin flushes with embarrassment. “Pffft—yeah. Of course I have.”

  A total lie.

  “Have what?” Vicky says, shoving between us and throwing her arms around Jayce. I straighten and casually look for Marrin—but I don’t have to. She squeezes between Vicky and I, rubbing her tits along my arm as if she’s just innocently trying to get the bartender’s attention. Damn if my dick doesn’t grow three sizes.

  Remembering my phone, I pull it out and glance at the screen.

  Marrin: Unzip your left jacket pocket.

  I obey the text then pivot toward Marrin so we’re pressed together from thigh to chest and—holy shit—I’ve never been so glad to be in a crowded club in all my life. The view of her tits is amazing. They’re soft, round, and just begging for me to let them out of that restrictive red push-up bra, which I can totally see from my vantage point. Her white skin glistens with a sheen of sweat that catches the many laser lights, reflecting the colors like glitter.

  She looks down the bar and the top of her high ponytail brushes my mouth. It smells like citrus and I know she’s rubbing it in my face on purpose because she knows how much I love her hair. It’s that trendy silver-white all the girls are doing. It’s soft and long and shiny, like liquid starlight…

  Jesus. I’m drooling over a woman’s hair. What the fuck’s wrong with me?

  “Can I get a bottled water?” Marrin shouts. I press my stiff cock against her hip and don’t miss the bob of her throat or the too-deep breath she takes trying to calm herself.

  Fuck. Yes.

  The bartender returns with her water but before she can pay, I tell him to put it on my tab. I lean in close and whisper, “Left pocket’s open, babe.”

  Heat glosses her eyes and she smirks, taking the most inappropriate sip of water I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Down, Damian,” a slightly inebriated Vicky shouts from behind Marrin. “You’re not allowed to be this close to my friends.”

  I put my hands up. “Only buying the lady a water.”

  Vicky’s eyes narrow. “If you said something inappropriate to her, I’ll kick your ass.”

  She probably couldn’t kick my ass, but I’m not willing to find out. She’s like a scary Shirley Temple—all golden, curly, and angelic, until you piss her off and discover she’s got a mouth like a hardened criminal.

  “It’s fine,” Marrin sighs. “I’ve heard worse from better.” She gives me a disinterested once over then links arms with Vicky. “I have to pee.”

  They walk away.

  Hayden leans in. “Brutal.”

  I try not to bristle. “Please, she only looked at me like that because she knows she can’t have me. Vicky’s rule, remember? I’m sure it applies to the girls as much as it does us.”

  “That rule doesn’t apply to me, dude. Vicky only acts like it does so it won’t hurt your feelings.”

  I turn to Jayce.

  “Don’t look at me,” he says. “You’re the one who fucked his way through her friends in high school and never called them back.”

  “It was one friend,” I protest. “One. And I made it clear it was just a hookup. Not my fault the girl caught feelings.”

  “Whatever the reason,” Jayce says, “you don’t want to get involved with Marrin.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  Hayden leans in. “I heard she put a guy in the hospital last year.”

  Whoa, what?

  Jayce nods just as the laser lights above us shift, tinting his dark brown skin in an eerie shade of yellow. “I don’t know exactly, but I think her family is kind of weird. She and Vicky were roommates freshman year. Vicky said one day she walked into their dorm and Marrin’s cousin was there. You know Alice Braxton—hot blonde who owns the bar?” Hayden and I both nod. “She’d packed up Marrin’s things and told Vicky that Mar had some family stuff to take care of and wouldn’t be back or something. I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” I say, trying not to seem too curious.

  “I mean, I don’t know. When she came back the following semester, she had a waiver to live off campus. And there was this one time…”

  I stare at him. Then flourish my hand. “There was this one time…”

  “I don’t know, dude,” Jayce says. “She moves a lot. One time Vicky asked me to help move her into a new apartment in the middle of the night. It was weird.”

  I know that look. The one Jayce is giving me—he’s hiding something. But before I can ask what, Vicky and Marrin return.

  Vicky throws her arms around Jayce and the two start making out. Marrin brushes against me just as I tell them, “Get a room.” A request they both answer by flipping me off.

  I look for Mar and find her dancing with Tiana. M
y phone vibrates.

  Marrin: Left pocket.

  I move my hand to my jacket pocket and find it zipped. Clamping down on my excitement, I discreetly unzip it, slipping my hand inside. Jesus H. Christ. My fingertips brush silky, lacy fabric.

  Marrin’s panties.

  They’re still warm.

  All the blood in my body rushes to my dick, and once again, I have to turn around and face the bar to hide the evidence. She must’ve taken them off in the bathroom. They’re folded into a tiny square, and as I run my fingers over the fabric—holy shit—I find a damp spot.

  Clenching my jaw, I rip my hand away, trying to think of anything but the fact that Marrin’s wet panties are in my pocket. That Marrin’s bare pussy is just one wardrobe malfunction away.

  Drowning puppies. Pat Sajak. Vomit. Jayce and Vicky making out—

  That does the trick.

  “Are you all right?” Vicky asks, finally disconnecting from Jayce’s mouth like Neo waking up in The Matrix.

  “Peachy.” I glare at Marrin.

  Damian: Look at me.

  She checks her phone and looks up. I make a show of sniffing the fingers of my left hand. Her lips part and she stares at me for entirely too long.

  I smirk in a way that lets her know I’m ready for a scene.