Bang Theory

by Valente, Lili

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper against her lips. “In fact, I’m pretty sure making you come is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Best thing to happen to me, you mean,” she corrects.

  “No, I don’t.” I thread my fingers through her hair and make a fist, holding her captive as I show her exactly what I mean. I stroke my tongue into her mouth, letting all the hunger and longing I feel for her out of its cage.

  I kiss her like I’m never going to stop kissing her, like her lips are the last source of oxygen left in the world.

  I kiss her like a man who’s been in love with someone he can’t have for so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like not to go to bed with at least a little heartache twisted up inside of him.

  I’m wild, hungry, demanding, but Bridget doesn’t pull away or ask me to slow down. She presses closer, clawing at my clothes as I back down the hall.

  “Bedroom?” I ask in between kisses.

  “Yes. Please. Faster. It feels like I’m starving,” she pants. “That’s how much I want you.”

  “Ditto,” I agree, wrapping my arms around her waist and lifting her into the air. I spin toward the bedroom and haul ass, not stopping until I’m laying her on top of my comforter.

  I try to stand up and pull off my T-shirt, but Bridget clings to me, drawing me on top of her as her fingers tangle in the bottom of the fabric. “Let me,” she says. “I want to unwrap you. Like a present.”

  “Only if I can return the favor,” I say as I lift my arms, making it easy for her to draw my shirt up and over my head. Before the fabric can hit the floor, I’m already helping her out of her sweater and fisting my hand in the bottom of the long-sleeved tee she’s wearing underneath.

  And then I’m drawing it up and over her arms, revealing a white satin bra sheer enough to grant a glimpse of her nipples. They’re already hard, pulled tight and awaiting my worship. I’m helpless to resist them or the hungry look in Bridget’s eyes as I pop the front clasp and guide the straps down her arms.

  “Is it weird that I still think of this as second base?” she asks in a breathy voice as I cup her breasts in my hands, relishing the heft of them and every inch of silky soft skin.

  “Is it weird that I want to suck on your nipples while you pull my hair until it hurts?”

  Her gaze darkens as she shakes her head. “No. How much do you want it to hurt?”

  “As much as I turn you on.” I lean down, kissing her shoulder as I sweep a thumb over one tight tip, making her shiver. “The more I make you want me, the harder you pull.”

  “All right,” she says, fingers threading into my hair at the base of my scalp as I move over her. “But if you don’t have any hair left by the time we’re done, don’t blame— Oh my God.”

  Her words end in a gasp as I flick my tongue across her nipple, flicking back and forth before I close my mouth around it and suck while pinching the other lightly between my fingers.

  Within the course of no more than a minute of tasting her, teasing her, she’s writhing beneath me, tugging on my hair with enough force that it’s difficult to keep my mouth on the treasures I’ve discovered. Sensitive nipples are one of my favorite things on earth.

  Thank God for sensitive nipples and the smell of springtime flooding the air as Bridget heats up beneath me.

  “Please,” she begs, chest rising and falling fast as she rakes her nails across my bare shoulder. “Please, touch me.”

  I want to wait, to draw out the anticipation, but I also want to feel Bridget wet for me more than I can remember wanting anything.

  I slide my hand down the front of her stretchy black skirt and the panties beneath, groaning as my fingers find her slick and hot and obviously so fucking turned-on, I lose my mind a little bit.

  The next few moments are a blur of heat and breath and clothes flying through the air. By the time my head catches up with my body, I’m spreading Bridget’s thighs and pressing a kiss to the part of her I’ve imagined kissing way more often than I should have.

  But reality is so much better than the fantasy.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I murmur against her slick skin as I explore her with my tongue and my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. “And you taste so good.”

  “But not really,” she breathes, her thighs trembling on either side of my face. “It can’t really taste good to anyone, can it?”

  “You taste like fucking heaven to me,” I say, but I know actions speak louder than words.

  So I show her.

  I kiss her pussy like I mean it, like I have something to prove, like I’m playing a sold-out arena and I’m not quitting until I’ve left everything I’ve got on that stage. I make love to her with my mouth until she comes with a sexy-as-hell gasping, sobbing sound that drives me crazy.

  All I want in the world is to surge over her, kissing her hard and deep as I slide inside where she’s so wet for me. Instead, I slide two fingers into her tight heat and put my tongue back to work making her go again.

  This time, she screams my name, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die from the combination of pleasure and frustrated desire.

  But what a sweet death it would be. I’d gladly stay right here and die a little more with every passing second, but I know myself better than that. If I let this go any further, there’s an excellent chance I’ll do something both Bridget and I will regret. Her because she wants to know I’m clean and me because I want to do whatever it takes to make her happy.

  Even if it means leaving her when it’s obvious neither of us is ready to let go.

  I roll away, coming to stand beside the bed.

  “No!” Bridget says, her eyes flying open. “Come back.”

  “I can’t,” I grit out. “I need to be done for the day.”

  She shakes her head. “No. I need more. I need to touch you, to feel you.” She reaches for me with one arm. “Please come back.”

  Curling my hands into fists, I force myself to take a step away from the bed. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Not until all our clothes are back on.”

  “No, you need fewer clothes, not more,” she insists, her gaze flicking down to linger below my belt in a way that makes my aching cock threaten mutiny.

  But I’m the captain of this ship, and I’m calling the shots.

  “Clothes back on, or I’m going to have to step out for a while,” I say, sweat breaking out on my upper lip as Bridget comes onto her knees on the bed, looking so flushed and sexy I have to clasp my hands together behind my back and hold on to keep from reaching for her.

  Bridget’s lips turn down and a pained expression flashes across her face. “Why?”

  “Because I want you so bad,” I confess in a rush. “If I stay, I’m going to end up inside you.”

  The heat that floods into her eyes is code-red dangerous.

  I hold up a trembling hand. “No. We agreed that wasn’t happening.”

  “But if you have a condom,” she starts.

  I cut her off with another firm shake of my head.

  “No. That’s not what we decided.” I reach for my shirt, pulling it on even though every inch of my skin wails in protest. “Clothes on, or I’ll see you later.”

  She holds my gaze, nibbling on her bottom lip until she decides there won’t be any reasoning with me and reaches for her bra with a sigh. “This is the saddest day ever.”

  “No, it’s the best day ever,” I say. “I got to taste you and make you scream my name. I’m never going to forget it.”

  “Me, either,” she says, adding in a softer voice, “Though, I wish I’d gotten a chance to taste you, too…”

  More sweat on my bottom lip and now I’m sweating between my shoulder blades. I back toward the door. “See you in the living room. I’ll put on that house hunting show you like.”

  “Are you running away from me?” Bridget asks, sounding amused.

  But there’s nothing funny about how close I am to jum
ping back on that bed and fucking her until neither one of us can walk quite right tomorrow.

  I head into the living room and park my ass forcibly on the couch, where I cover myself with every fleece blanket in the basket beside it, turn on the TV and concentrate on thinking pure thoughts.

  Or at least thoughts that aren’t too terribly dirty.

  Bridget emerges a few minutes later. Mercifully, she’s dressed and appears to have given up on the idea of getting me naked again. She collects her cupcake plate from the counter and joins me on the couch, sitting close, but not too close as she says, “I know I didn’t do much, but any performance notes for the knowledge and skills part of the experiment?”

  “Nope,” I say, eyes glued to the screen. “You’re all good.”

  “You swear?” she asks.

  In my peripheral vision, I see her licking icing off her finger and huddle deeper into the covers. “I can’t even look at you for fear I’m going to jump on you, Bridget. You’re better than good. You make me fucking crazy.”

  “Oh…” She trails off with a happy sound that makes my heart feel lighter than it did before. “Good. I mean, not that you’re crazy, but good that it’s the wanting to jump me kind.” She sighs and licks her finger again. “And just FYI, I want you to jump me, Shep. Or maybe I’ll jump you. If that’s okay.”

  I risk a glance her way and nod. “Yes. Please. As soon as we get the test results back.”

  She arches a brow that seems to ask if I’m sure about waiting that long. I ignore it as I reach for the remote, not trusting myself to answer. “Holiday Home Hunters or Tiny Place Pickers?”

  “Holiday,” she answers, granting me a blessed reprieve from talking about sex. “A Halloween one since it’s right around the corner.”

  I turn on an episode about a couple looking for a home to double as their annual haunted farm and cornfield attraction and we pass a relatively uneventful hour before Bridget says she should get home to start her dish for her weekly dinner with Kirby, kisses my cheek, and heads out the door.

  But even after she’s gone, I can’t stop thinking about her. I replay every second of our time in bed over and over again until I’m so hard I have to retreat to the bedroom to take care of myself. But even after I’ve come into my own hand with enough force to leave me shaking on the comforter, she’s still there, dancing through my head, making me ache for things I can’t have.

  She won’t ever be mine for the long haul.

  But at least I get this, a few precious weeks of Bridget in my bed. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have, and it will be enough.

  Because it has to be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  From the texts of Shepherd Strong

  and Bridget Lawrence

  Bridget: Shep, I have a very serious problem.

  Shep: What’s that?

  Bridget: I can’t stop thinking about you. And this afternoon. And how pretty you are when you’re half naked and how much I want to be all the way naked together. Like, right now. This very second.

  Shep: That sounds like heaven.

  Bridget: Then come over. I’ll meet you at the front door and race you to the bed.

  Shep: Not until my test results come back.

  Bridget: We’ll use a condom. It’ll be fine!

  Shep: That’s not what you thought yesterday.

  Bridget: Yeah, well, yesterday I was stupid.

  Shep: You weren’t stupid. You were in your right mind. And that’s when you should make important decisions about your health and future, not after sex that ended before you got everything you needed.

  Bridget: That’s exactly the way it feels. Like something was missing, even though I absolutely reached the finish line. More than once.

  Shep: I remember. I’ve been replaying that part in my head all evening. The look on your face. The sounds you made.

  Bridget: Don’t. You’re going to make me even crazier than I am already. I am, right? Crazy? Why else would I still be so keyed up? It’s not like you worked me up and left me hanging, the way I did you.

  Shep: Because that’s how I wanted it. And you’re not crazy. All the other stuff is fun, but there’s no substitute for the real thing. Not for me, anyway.

  Bridget: Me, either, I guess. I have zero interest in a dildo right now. Or even more of what we did today. I just want you. All of you. On me. And…

  In me.

  Shep: Damn, woman.

  Bridget: I know. I can’t believe I typed that. But I did, and I don’t regret it. Not even a little bit. I seriously don’t know who I am right now. I think I might be having a psychotic break.

  Shep: Nah, you’ve just got a bad case of sex on the brain.

  Bridget: Right? Seriously, I swear there are penises hidden in the wallpaper.

  Shep: LOL.

  Bridget: And for the first time in my life watching porn sounds like an okay idea. Like, maybe I might even enjoy it. If I can find something with some semblance of a plot and none of the rough stuff.

  Shep: Don’t do it. Porn only makes sex-brain worse. Besides, you’re not going to find any porn stars with a beard as thick and glorious as mine.

  Bridget: It IS thick and glorious. And I’m not just talking about your beard. I can’t wait to touch you, Shep, to taste you the way you tasted me.

  Shep: Jesus, Bridget, you’re killing me.

  Bridget: Too much?

  Shep: No, not too much. If I were a normal guy, I would be halfway to your place by now. I’m telling you, you don’t need this experiment. You’re on fire. All you need to do is decide what you want and give yourself permission to go for it.

  Bridget: No way. Like I said today, no backing out. I intend to finish what we started. And I think you’re perfectly normal. If you can resist me, then I’m not ready to rock just yet.

  Shep: I can resist because I know you. And I care about you.

  Bridget: Well, hopefully the next man I sleep with will know and care about me, too, so that argument has a couple of holes in it.

  Shep: Yeah. Maybe. And I hope so, too.

  I need to go, okay? Got to get the cabinets off the wall in the kitchen tonight or it’s going to be a cluster fuck when the painters show up tomorrow morning.

  Sleep tight. And don’t worry. Next week will be here before you know it.

  Bridget: Okay. Good night. Call me when you’re done tomorrow? Maybe we can go for a bike ride or something. Burn off some of this excess energy while we move on to the next part of the experiment?

  Shep: Which is?

  Bridget: Part one, of course. We jumped way ahead with the STD test talk and the skills practice. Now we have to go back to the beginning and cover establishing the initial connection. The meet-cute, if you will.

  Shep: Meet-cute?

  Bridget: The adorable way I’ll meet my future true love, which he and I will remember forever and ever and tell our grandchildren about every year on Valentine’s Day.

  Shep: No pressure or anything.

  Bridget: Or we explore less romantic and more practical ways to meet guys. I’m open to that. See? I’m becoming less rigid already. Having sex on the brain is good for me. Except for all the penises suddenly popping out all over. How have I lived here for years without realizing that my kitchen walls are obscene?

  Shep: You’re funny. And I like you.

  Bridget: You’re funny, and I like you, too. Are you sure you won’t come over and help me solve the mystery of this suddenly sexy wallpaper? And maybe help me dispose of all these stupid clothes I put on for some stupid reason?

  Shep: Go to sleep, Temptress. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  Bridget: Good night, shepherd of my loins. *winking face emoji*

  Shep: You’re trouble, woman. Trouble.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bridget

  Trouble.

  He called me Trouble.

  I’ve never been called Trouble before, and I certainly never imagined I’d like it. I’m a member of the follows-the-rul
es club from way back. I don’t even jaywalk, not even when the road is completely clear in both directions.

  But as I help Theo roll silverware post lunch-rush at Claudio’s, I can’t help feeling like Olivia Newton John at the end of Grease, after she’s ditched the sundress for those skin-tight black pants—sexy, powerful, and a little bad in the best way.

  “I would ask if there’s something you’d like to share with the class,” Theo mumbles beneath her breath, “but you’ve made it clear you’re committed to keeping secrets from your best friend, so I’ll keep my mouth shut. Even though you know seeing that wicked grin on your face and not pumping you for information about it is like asking me to stand on my head and juggle dessert plates with my feet with my shoes on.”

  I will the smile from my lips. “Sorry. I just… I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

  “So you and Shep are back on, then?” She tosses the question out casually, without lifting her eyes from the silverware she’s rolling into a navy cloth napkin, but I can feel her curiosity prickling across my skin.