Disclaimer: Naruto and the Tool are the property of their respective owners. I am is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of the material. I don't own anything. I didn't write this story only put Naruto characters in place of the original characters. I didn't write this story only replaced various things. The original is by Sabrina Paige
Summary:
I call him "Tool" because he's a d*ck.Sasuke is nicknamed "Tool" because of what he's packing. Rumor is, he's well equipped.I wouldn't know. I've never had the pleasure.He's a cocky, entitled, insufferable a*hole who's as reckless with women as he is with that stupid motorcycle he races.He's also my stepbrother. Four years since he's made me so frustrated I could scream. Four years since he's given me that look, the one that makes me instantly wet.So it's just f*ing fitting that the first time I see him in four years, he's buried beneath three scantily clad blondes.Now I'm stuck here under the same roof with him while he recovers from a racing injury. An injury that clearly hasn't affected the use of his tool. The problem is, as much as I despise him, I just can't help myself. I want to find out what kind of tool he's working with.
Chapter 4
Sasuke POV
Fuck, I'm pissed off. I came back to live here after the accident because I needed to recover from surgery. Two surgeries and two months later, my tibia is no longer in a million pieces. And at least I can get around, even if it's in this goddamned boot that leaves me limping like an idiot. But I'm ready to get the fuck out of this place. It's been a lame couple of months, definitely not as filled with booze and girls and parties as I'd thought a few months of mandatory rest would be.
But that's not what's irritating me right now. That's the background, but what's pissing me off is this deal with my stepfather. I generally don't mind him. Even though he's a cowboy boot-wearing, born-and-bred Haruno, he's not a bad guy. He's not a drunk, or a wife-beater, or a gambler. The guy's biggest vices are hunting, cigar smoking, and buying insanely expensive scotch. And talking about Konoha.
But he tries to do right by me. This deal is a lot of money, and it's Kizashi's company. He's concerned about my "brand" – of course, he's also concerned about Haruno Oil's brand. That's where I come in – I can make big oil "cool and approachable" for millennials who don't trust big corporations.
If it were anyone else but Kizashi, I'd have said no to the whole "face of the company" thing. I don't want to tour Japan and smile pretty for the cameras, just like I didn't want to do that bullshit photo shoot with the models either. Sure, three hot blonds made it less painful, but I'm a racer.
I want to race. I miss the rush of adrenaline, sitting on the bench for the past two months. No amount of working out can match the rush I get going a hundred and fifty miles an hour on the back of a bike. You can't replicate that shit doing anything else in the world.
Except maybe when you're fucking.
But hell, good sex like that, the life-altering kind that mimics the rush of racing? That shit happens once in a lifetime, maybe.
I think that's the way it would have been for me and Sakura. I've thought about that a lot. More than a lot. Fuck, I've jerked off to her memory a thousand times. We never got quite that far.
And now Kizashi makes me feel like a jackass in front of her, a child who needs babysat because I can't be responsible enough to take care of myself. I'm an idiot for convincing myself that Kizashi thought I was a good investment, an adult and not an irresponsible kid. But that's exactly what he thinks, just like everyone else.
I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts I almost don't even hear the knock on the front door. There's no way it's Kizashi coming here to apologize; if there's one thing Kizashi doesn't do, it's admit he's wrong.
I pulled the door open, and Sakura stands there, looking nervous as hell. And hot. Hot and nervous as hell, in my doorway at eight o'clock at night. Shit. I'm already aggravated and pissed off -- and now I'm getting hard, too.
"Can I come in?" She tucks her hair behind her ear, the same way she used to do when she was nervous. I guess some things don't really change after all.
"What, did you trek all the way down here to gloat about how you're going to babysit my ass in Japan?" I stand in the doorway, blocking her entry.
"Why am I the bad guy all of a sudden, Sasuke?" she asks. "I thought we were getting along."
"Getting along?" I ask, feeling a surge of anger. I'm not irritated with her; I'm angry because I agreed to do this thing I don't even give a shit about, because I thought her father respected me, but it turns out he doesn't. I know I shouldn't be taking it out on her, but I can't seem to help myself. "Yeah, we used to get along, didn't we? Did you come down here to see if you could help yourself to that old style of getting along?"
Sakura's face colors red, the way it does when she's angry, or embarrassed, or upset. She's probably all of the above right now, I imagine. Does she think I forgot what passed between us?
"Don't take it out on me because you're pissed off, Sasuke Uchiha," she says, punctuating her words by poking my chest with her fingers. I wrap my fingers around hers, pulling her against me, and she inhales sharply, the hiss of air audible in the silence of the evening.
"Pissed off?" I ask. Her body feels warm against mine, and I want more than anything to kiss the ever-loving hell out of this girl. Scratch that -- I don't want to just kiss this girl. I want to tear her clothes off right here, right now, and plunge my cock between her legs. "Did you come down here to the guest house because you wanted to talk about a work trip that's a month away? Or did you come for something else?"
Sakura struggles against me. "Let go of me, Sasuke," she hisses.
"You sure you want me to, darlin'?" I ask. I run my other hand along the side of her neck and she tilts her head to the side, into my touch. She's practically purring as I touch her. She looks at me, her green eyes wide.
"I don't know what you're implying, Sasuke," she whispers.
"I'm not implying anything, Sakura," I say. "I'm outright saying that you waltzed that little ass of yours all the way down here from the main house at this time of night for something that couldn't wait."
"You should let me go," she says, but her voice is softer now, the edge from before suddenly gone. I'd let her go if her pupils weren't as big as saucers and her breath weren't coming in short gasps.
"Or what, Sakura?" I ask. "You're so hot for me you're practically panting. I bet if I were to reach between those legs of yours, you'd be soaked."
"Don't be disgusting," she says. This time, she yanks her hand from my grasp and pushes away from me. Apparently, suggesting she came down here to screw me was one thing but talking about putting my fingers between her legs crossed some kind of imaginary line.
Her reaction makes me want to keep crossing that line, pushing that same button over and over and over. What can I say? I'm a fucking child. So I guess Sakura's father had a point after all. Maybe I'm not maturing as I get older. It's funny how Sakura makes me feel like a damn teenager.
"Whatever you say." If she's going to babysit me, I might as well give her something to fucking babysit.
I can see Sakura's jaw clench and she tugs at the edges of her shirt, smoothing it. "What happened between us was years ago," she says, her voice hard. "It was a lifetime ago."
What happened between us. She doesn't say the actual words. She doesn't describe the kiss that started everything that summer, the kiss that sent both of us spiraling out of control, reckless in our pursuit of each other, until it came to a crashing halt just before anything went too far. She fails to mention the stolen kisses when we were left alone, the frenzied groping that carried the promise of more. More that never happened.
And I've never forgotten about it.
"Right," I say. "And you've never thought about any of it in the past four years?"
She waits a moment too long to respond. "I don't think about it at all."
"Liar," I say.
"If you think I came down here to get some of your...tool..." Her eyes drop down to my waist, then lower. "You'd be wrong."
"You tell me why you walked your fine little ass down here then."
"I came back to Konoha to work, Sasuke," she says. "That's it. And that's why I came down here tonight. To say I want things to be professional."
"Professional," I say.
Sakura nods. I want to kiss that serious expression right the hell off her face. "Appropriate," she says.
"Appropriate," I echo.
I definitely don't do appropriate, and I'm sure as fuck not doing appropriate with Sakura Haruno. In fact, getting under Sakura's skin and making her behave inappropriately just might be the kind of cure for boredom I've been looking for.
Disclaimer: Naruto and the Tool are the property of their respective owners. I am is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of the material. I don't own anything. I didn't write this story only put Naruto characters in place of the original characters. I didn't write this story only replaced various things. The original is by Sabrina Paige
