Hosed: A Single Dad and Virgin Romantic Comedy Read online

  Hosed

  Ruby Steele

  Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Steele

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, locations, and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons or places is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the express consent of the author.

  Contents

  Join in on the fun

  Sneak Peek into “Hosed”

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  A Teaser from Teacher’s Bet

  A Teaser from Her Boss’ Package

  A Teaser from Maid to Misbehave

  Also by Ruby Steele

  About the Author

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  Sneak Peek into “Hosed”

  Leo

  I shift again so that my mouth is only inches from her ear, my breath teasing her neck as I whisper, "Feel like what?"

  A tremble goes through her, but she doesn't answer.

  "Say it, Morgan. How do my words make you feel? What does your body do when I tell you that I haven't been able to get the image of your soap-slicked tits out of my mind? Or what it felt like to have your naked body in my arms?"

  A shudder racks her body, and I can hear her breath come out in heavy pants. I pull back a fraction until I can look into her eyes. Until I can let her see the raw hunger I'm feeling.

  "Say it, Morgan."

  "It—it feels..." Her gaze drops to my mouth, and she presses her lips together. Swallowing again, she draws in a deep breath. "It feels good."

  I lift a brow. "Just good?"

  She shakes her head. "More than good."

  Apparently she needs a little encouragement. "Let me help you out a little. Tell me how your body feels now."

  I reach up and cup the underside of one round, firm tit in my palm, watching her face for every nuance, gaging her response. She swallows and bites her lip.

  I grin wickedly as I brush the pad of my thumb across her tightened nipple, loving how her breath rushes out all at once, her eyelids fluttering.

  Then I stroke back and forth, slowly, teasingly, tortuously. When I roll the bud between my thumb and forefinger, applying light pressure, a needy moan escapes her lips.

  I was lying to myself if I thought I had any restraint when it comes to her. I can't wait another minute. I want—no need—to devour every inch of her.

  "That's what I wanted to hear," I murmur before I swallow her moans, covering her mouth with my own.

  1

  Morgan

  "Oh, God, YES! Harder! Please!"

  The headboard banging against the wall pounds out a furious beat, picking up speed as he thrusts faster and faster to meet every cry with an echoing groan of his own.

  Their moans reach a crescendo, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping if I try hard enough I can pretend I'm not hearing my neighbors have sex for the third time today.

  It's only four o'clock in the damn afternoon. These people are insatiable. It's crazy. I mean, really, I'm sure sex is great and all, but if sex fiends fuck like bunnies, these guys put the Energizer rabbit to shame.

  The literal banging on the wall gets faster and louder, and I toss my blankets aside and jump out of bed. So much for a little afternoon nap.

  I sigh as I cross my cracker box of a studio apartment and throw some Cup O' Noodles in the microwave and push a few buttons. It's only temporary, I remind myself for what feels like the millionth time. It won't be long until I get my dream job and get out of this place—and away from the nymphos next door. It doesn't help that this cheap ass apartment makes the term paper-thin walls take on new meaning. For a minute, I'm almost afraid they might come right through the wall and land on my bed, still going at it.

  Not for the first time, I wonder what it must be like to have someone so desperate to have you that they take you anywhere and everywhere. And at all times of the day and night. I have no idea.

  As I wait for my noodles to cook, I grab my phone and text my best friend Mina.

  Me: The neighbors are at it again. Kill me now.

  I add an eggplant emoji, followed by a skull. She texts right back.

  Mina: Why am I never there for the good stuff?

  Rolling my eyes, I toss the phone back on my bed. She thinks the whole situation is hilarious. If she only knew. Having to hear my neighbors every last moan and groan gets old pretty fast. Especially when I'm getting absolutely zero action myself.

  I head to the bathroom that resembles more of a closet with plumbing than anything, and decide to take a quick shower while my noodles cool off. At least that way I don't have to hear the neighbors. Assuming they'll be finished by then.

  As the hot water cascades over my dark hair and I soap myself up, I run my hands over my body, wondering what it would be like for a man to touch me like this. Judging from the noises coming through my wall daily, it must be pretty damn amazing. I wouldn't know. After working two jobs and going to school full time, my life has been a blur for most of the last four years. I've barely had time for a social life, much less the time to date. Somehow I made it through my entire college career with my virginity intact. Yeah, I know. It's sad.

  But hopefully, my situation is all about to change. I have several job interviews lined up over the next few weeks at some of New York's most elite private preschools. And until the end of summer, I'm working for an exclusive nanny agency. My first job starts tomorrow—if I do well in the interview. It should pay enough for me to quit my night job and save up to get out of this hellhole apartment.

  Rinsing the citrus-scented shampoo from my hair, I let my hands linger on my breasts, wondering if it feels as good as my neighbor seems to think to have a man tease them with his tongue, his teeth. I gasp as I feel myself become wet between my legs and pretend it's someone else's hand that finds its way to my heat, stroking, teasing.

  I don't know how much time passes as I pleasure myself, and it briefly crosses my mind that my noodles are going to be cold. God, Morgan, thinking about food while you touch yourself? I wonder if I'd be thinking about anything else if there were a sexy man in the shower with me. I'd like to think not. That someone could make me feel as uninhibited as my neighbors, even if they do drive me crazy.

  Suddenly, the door to my bathroom bangs open with such force that the walls rattle. Steam billows inside as I let out a shriek. Oh, God, this is it. My craptastic apartment complex is being raided. Or someone is breaking in thinking I have something worthwhile to steal. They're about to be sorely disappointed.

  But as I double over, coughing and choking, I realize that steam didn't come into the bathroom. Of course not. It's smoke—billowing black clouds that are so thick I can barely breathe, let alone see.

  Tears prick my eyes as the acrid smell hits me, suffocating me, blinding me.

  "It's
okay. I've got you," a low, rumbling voice calls out as the owner of it rips back my shower curtain. I briefly think I should cover myself, or at least be embarrassed, but with the thin barrier between me and the smoke removed, I begin to choke even harder.

  The next thing I know, I'm being tossed over the broadest, hardest shoulders I've ever felt, my ass in the air as I cling to the man holding me, my fingers grasping and fumbling for something to hold on to.

  I open my mouth, ready to scream and tell this asshole to put me down, but as I suck in my breath, I take a deep lungful of smoke. The terror of the situation hits me, and the last thing I remember is strong, firm arms coming around my body as I lose consciousness.

  2

  Leo

  Fucking hell.

  I try my damnedest not to look at the firm, round ass inches from my face. Not to acknowledge the silkiness of the woman's skin under my hands as I haul her from the blazing apartment. It's more than unprofessional. It's downright depraved.

  When I first kicked in her apartment door, it became clear her unit was the source of the fire. If not for the record response rate of my station—and the early call from someone in the building—this woman may not have made it.

  I feel her body go limp, and I wrap my arm around her waist tighter as I dart back through the door of her apartment, red-hot flames licking at my boots, black smoke obscuring my vision. The fire is spreading fast, but a few minutes longer and her entire apartment would have been a charred remnant.

  I try not to think of what a close call she'd just had, instead focusing on getting out of the building and getting her the attention she needs.

  As I make my way down the stairs to the first floor, the smoke subsides, and I shift her back into my arms, trying to preserve some of her dignity. It's not the first time I've rescued a naked woman, but I instinctively want to shield her from the eyes of curious neighbors and passersby, even the other members of my team.

  My mind flickers back to the look on her face as I ripped back her shower curtain. Fear, confusion, the expected emotions were all there. But there was something else in her eyes. Something that looked a lot like desire. I wonder what she was doing in that shower to put that look on her face.

  Jesus Christ, Leo. What the fuck?

  I have not once in my career ever thought of any of my rescues in any way other than professional. Disgusted with myself, I push through the front doors of the apartment complex.

  "Can someone get me a blanket over here?" I yell across the parking lot, jogging toward the ambulance that's just arrived. The paramedics get straight to work as I lie her down on the stretcher, covering her ash-blackened skin with a thick blanket and checking her vitals.

  "Is she okay?" I demand, watching them put an oxygen mask over her face, unable to step away for some reason. I know I need to get back in the building, double check that everyone is out, but there are other members of my team in there, and I need to know that she's not severely at risk before I'm able to focus on the task at hand.

  One of the paramedics glances up at me and nods. "Her vitals are strong. I think she just inhaled a lot of smoke. She'll be fine, but we're going to take her in just to be certain because she lost consciousness."

  I nod, knowing this is protocol, but still feel the pull to stay by her side. Her features look peaceful now, almost as if she's sleeping. Her dark hair, wet from her shower, is spread out around her shoulders, a contrast to her pale porcelain skin. I can vividly recall just how deep blue her eyes are, almost violet.

  "Jacobson, get your ass over here!" The fire chief's voice booms out across the parking lot, and I rip my gaze away from the woman, forcing myself to pull it together. I have a job to do. I never lose my focus. Giving myself a mental shake, I jog over to the chief.

  "Sir?"

  "Wilson says we've cleared the building. He also said you found the source of the fire?"

  "Yes, sir. That woman's apartment." I nod my head back toward the ambulance, not trusting myself to look that way. Chief Morrison would see in a second that I'm distracted. Something unacceptable in a firefighter. The job comes first, and focus is an absolute.

  Morrison nods. "I expect a full report from you. You know the drill."

  I do, and I get back to work, pushing all thoughts of the dark beauty from my mind as I fall into the rhythm of my job. When I'm finishing up, making one last round of the building as a precaution, I find myself standing outside the apartment I pulled the woman from. It's now a charred, blackened mess. I shudder, thinking of how close she could have come to losing her life.

  The investigation team is inside, and I step through the doorway. "The fire started here?" I confirm.

  The team leader nods. "Microwave caught fire." He holds up a bag containing what looks like a remnant of some type of cup, though it's barely recognizable.

  I nod, wondering what exactly happened. My weekend shift is over, and I know I should just go back to the station, do my paperwork, and get home to Adley. But something is stopping me. Something I don't want to acknowledge because if I do, I'm crossing a line.

  Making sure my rescues are okay is one thing. Taking it beyond the scene is entirely different. So as I look into the bathroom and spot a pile of clothes on the floor, part of me feels like the ultimate creep as I pick them up and check her sizes. The other part feels a rush of adrenaline as I recall the look on her face as I pulled her from the shower.

  That part wins out. I call out a hasty goodbye to the investigation team, then pull out my phone as I make my way back to the parking lot to head back to the station on the truck, tapping out a quick text to my sister.

  Me: Had a fire. Leaving scene now. Can you keep Adley a bit longer?

  Serena: You know I will.

  I get my work finished up, then head out to the crowded New York sidewalk, knowing I should turn left and walk my ass home.

  I turn right.

  3

  Morgan

  "Yes, Mom, I promise I'm okay." I roll my eyes as she breaks into another round of tears, her barely coherent words coming through the ancient hospital room phone.

  "No, you don't need to come up here. I'll be fine." I wind the cord around my finger, wondering how much longer it will be until she shows up anyway. She doesn't have any more money that I do, and the two-day drive alone is time she can't afford to take off work. "I have Mina. She's on her way now."

  Mom sniffles. "I just love you, baby. I need to make sure you're okay."

  "Well, I'd send you a picture, but I probably lost my phone in the fire, so it will have to wait. Just trust that I'm fine. You don't need to come here," I repeat, squeezing my eyes shut at the thoughts that hit me next, the ones I've been trying to avoid. Not only did I probably lose my phone. I probably lost everything.

  "It will be fine," she says, going quickly from fretting to reassuring. "Your renter's insurance will take care of everything."

  I swallow hard, unable to tell her that I didn't have the money to pay the premiums the last six months. Not with tuition as high as it is these days, and the cost of living in New York is a complete joke. Two jobs still barely kept the lights on and kept me fed.

  A knock on the door draws my attention, my head snapping up to find a man leaning against the frame, a shopping bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. But the appearance of this total stranger is not what renders me temporarily speechless. That would be the t-shirt stretched over insanely broad shoulders and biceps that are thick enough to put Hercules to shame.

  "Hello? Morgan, are you there?" my mother's voice echoes up to me as if from a distance. That's when I realize the receiver slipped from my hands and fell on the floor. I scramble to pull on the cord, reeling it in until I have it pressed to my ear again.

  "Mom, I'm going to have to call you back," I say, my eyes glued to the man in my doorway with the lazy half-smile across his stubbled face, dark hair falling over thick brows that frame the most piercing green eyes I've ever seen. Have I died after all? I
wonder as I fumble to place the phone back on its cradle, not waiting to hear my mother's response. Because this guy is too fucking gorgeous to be real.

  "Hi," he says, his voice deep and gritty.

  I feel a flurry of sensations all over my body at once, the assault causing me to feel a little dizzy. Flips in my stomach, tingles up my spine, a slow pull in my core. My mind goes blank, then a barrage of images flit through my brain. Those sensuous, insanely kissable lips on mine. Exploring my body. That stubbled jaw rubbing against my inner thighs. My headboard banging against the wall in a fervor that puts the neighbors to shame. Me screaming this guy's name...

  "Who are you?" I blurt out.

  He chuckles. "May I come in?"

  The way he says it sends another round of shivers through my body as if there is a base sexuality to him that infuses everything he says or does. Hell, maybe there is.

  I nod, not sure why I'm inviting some stranger into my hospital room. Maybe he has the wrong room number? Because he looks like he comes bearing gifts. Well, if he's in the wrong place, I'm going to enjoy him being here as long as it lasts.

  I let my eyes take him in, absorbing every last detail. The faded jeans slung over slim hips and strong legs, the abs that surely are more of an eight-pack than a six-pack, judging from the way his black shirt clings to them. Yep, based on my total inexperience, I'd say he's fuckable.