Her breath quickens as she reaches inside the waistband of my boxers and shimmies out of her panties.
I yank my boxers down and lunge for my wallet to grab the gold packet inside. “Last chance. If you don’t want to do this...”
Another eye-roll. “Put the condom on and come on. Making me wait isn’t doing you any favors.”
“Favors, huh?” I roll the condom up the length of me and look down at her.
Thighs open for me to see all of her; she’s not shy at all. There’s something about a woman with confidence that drives me wild. Her hair is fanned across the pillow above her head and her eyes are hooded. Full pink lips are curved into the perfect pout, while also looking like they’re about two seconds from cussing me out and calling this whole thing off.
I drive into her in one thrust and temporarily lose myself.
Holy shit.
Her deep intake of breath tells me she’s feeling the same magic I am, and when she starts to buck her hips under me I have to take a deep breath. Coming in thirty seconds would be an embarrassing first for me and I want her to enjoy this.
Get out of your head, Emmett. Act like you’ve done this before. You’re not some sixteen-year-old virgin.
Her moans grow louder with every thrust and she wraps her legs around my back, digging her heels into my hips to drive me closer and deeper. I’m not going to last much longer and I’m not selfish.
I pull out of her and spin her onto her stomach. Pulling her hips up, I enter her from behind. The squeak she lets out makes me grin. She may act like a confident sex goddess, but something tells me she’s not as experienced as she’s leading me to believe.
I press my chest against her back and wrap my arm around her, pressing my fingers into her swollen clit while I piston in and out of her. I feel her clenching up, her head thrown back to my shoulder, arms shaking, before she suddenly explodes with a yell.
She collapses onto her belly and I pull out again, rolling her onto her back and entering her as quickly as possible. The sounds she’s making alone could make me come right here and now and I really want to be inside her when that happens.
A few more pumps, her hands tugging at my hair, and her content mews are all I can take and then I’m spent. I rest my forehead against hers, getting myself together. That was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I’m pretty damn experienced.
I open my eyes to find her staring wide eyed at me. “You okay?” I ask.
She turns her head to the side, avoiding eye contact as she shoves me off of her and starts to stand up. “Yep, fine and dandy. That was nice. You’re welcome to use the shower before you leave.”
And just like that she’s walking back down the staircase, still naked as the day she came.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
What did I just do?
Did I seriously just let a man I’ve never met walk me home from the bar and have his way with me? And then I got up and left him in my apartment? Alone?
I don’t even know his last name, but at least I have his first.
I keep an old pair of sweats downstairs for when I’m binding books and don’t want to get glue on my good clothes. So I go to the back to grab them and start pulling them on, my body still tingling from five minutes ago.
I have never finished like that during sex. On my own, sure. Which is mostly what happens around here these days. In fact, I think I’ve only brought three guys home since moving into the bookstore two years ago. I usually go to their places, but if I’m being honest even that has been few and far between.
I wouldn’t say I’m promiscuous by any means. I haven’t had a serious boyfriend since Landry, but I will occasionally go home with someone after a night out with the girls or on my own. I don’t do dating apps. Well, I don’t do dating in general. So the one-night stand kind of deal is the perfect arrangement for me right now. I just don’t do it as often as I should apparently, or sex with Emmett the mystery man would not have affected me like it has.
I hear him coming down the stairs and fight the urge to duck down behind one of the bookcases in front of me. Conveniently, it’s the poetry aisle.
Man up, Raven. You did the deed and now it’s over. No need for it to be awkward.
His bare feet come into view first, followed by his shapely calves and then his thick muscular thighs, the tops of which are covered by his black boxers. He’s still shirtless and I take this half a second to ogle his defined abs and perfect amount of chest hair before his face comes into view. Those electric green eyes scan the room before settling on me and narrowing.
Shit.
“Why did you take off like that?” His voice is soft, not accusatory, which puts me at ease, but I don’t want him getting the wrong idea.
“I wasn’t aware this was a thing. Aren’t you leaving? Figured I’d save us the awkward conversation and yet, here we are.”
He smirks. “You always been such a hard-ass?”
His question catches me off guard and I smirk back. If he only knew.
“Nope, not always,” I say. “Do you want a prize or something? An award? Nice dick, thanks a lot for walking me home, here’s a cookie for your troubles?”
“You don’t have to be so crass.” His eyes catch mine again and I feel my façade slipping.
Why is he so attractive?
“Why the contacts?” I blurt out, anything to take the heat off of me.
“What?” Those green eyes narrow into squints, and he looks at me like I’m insane.
“Your eyes. No one’s eyes are that green.”
“These are my real eyes, gorgeous. Promise.”
My head tilts and I don’t believe him. “Gorgeous? Really? How cliché.”
“Well, you didn’t want to tell me your name, and you are gorgeous. What would you rather me call you?”
“Raven. My name is Raven,” I almost spit at him.
Why I’m so offended suddenly, I have no clue. Running a mental self-check, I try to place my anger. He’s been nothing but nice to me.
Why am I acting like this?
Because I feel seen, and I don’t like to be seen.
“Raven. Nice. Fits you.” His eyes gleam as he crosses the old wooden floors to reach me, running his hands through my black hair once he does. “Can you come back to bed with me? I can leave if you want, but I’d like to stay a little longer if you’ll have me.”
My gut reaction is to say no. But I don’t. “Sure, okay, but don’t get any ideas. This is still a one-time thing. So you’ve got the rest of tonight and then this is done. Deal?”
He chuckles and grabs my hand, leading me back toward the staircase. “I really do want to know why you have a hidden staircase, though. That’s a first for me.”
I notice he doesn’t say deal.
“A few reasons. So the customers don’t see a staircase and think there’s a second floor of the store for them to explore. So I can hide away at the end of the day, or during the middle if I need a break. And maybe a little so that I can feel like a superhero with a lair.”
“Knew it.”
I roll my eyes again and head for the kitchenette while he climbs back into my bed. I need a distraction and a second to sort out my feelings, before I consider breaking my double-dipping rule.
I am not sleeping with him again.
“You want a snack?” I ask him.
“Sure. I could use something to get my energy levels back up.” He smiles at the end, and I’d normally roll my eyes at a high-school-level joke like that, but I catch myself grinning.
“Bacon it is,” I say.
“Bacon? At midnight?”
“When else do you eat bacon?” I counter.
“Good point.”
My kitchen area is small, but I love it. White tile, a big window above the sink so I can look out at the street below, and gray slab countertops that I poured myself when I moved in and renovated the loft area.
“Do you want it crispy?” I yell to him.
<
br /> “The crispier the better. Burn it.”
“No,” I chuff. “You’re a monster.”
I finish cooking the entire pound of bacon and pile it onto a plate, some crispier than others.
He’s turned the TV on and ESPN is scrolling through the highlights, exactly where it was when I turned it off earlier.
“You watch ESPN? Or is there a boyfriend I should know about it?” His tone is light, so I don’t take offense to the sexist comment.
“Nope, no boyfriend. I like sports. Mostly football, but I can handle any of them. Except golf. I draw the line there.”
“Me too. Also not too fond of hockey but I can see the hype. Getting to smash into your opponent without getting a foul called on you probably has its benefits.”
I nod in agreement.
We sit in silence for the next half hour, watching the highlights from the Superbowl last weekend as we make our way through the pile of bacon.
When we’re finished, I let out a yawn and stretch, thinking he’ll surely get the hint and start getting dressed to leave. Instead, he rolls closer to me and pulls me into his side.
What the hell?
I thought most guys wanted a reason to head out after picking up a random girl in a bar. Why is he sticking around like this? Psychoanalyze in three, two, one…
“Soooo, what are we doing?” I can’t help it. I can’t leave good enough alone.
“Uh, well, we’re currently lying in your bed, listening to the sound of sports highlights, smelling like bacon grease, and enjoying each other’s company.”
“So…you’re staying?” I ask him.
“If that’s all right with you? Or I can leave.” With the last part of his sentence he presses his hips into mine again and I feel his growing hardness.
As much as I want to kick him out, I also sort of want to see if earlier was a fluke or if he’s always that good in bed.
I turn to him and let him kiss me, running my hands against the stubble on his face and letting his hands roam wherever they want to. I’m still wearing my downstairs clothes, which means I’ll have to remember to take them back down tomorrow morning, but the sweatpants are giving him easier access and I’m not wearing any underwear thanks to my hasty escape earlier.
“You can stay.” I whisper it, because whispers aren’t as serious as words said aloud and therefore can’t be held against me later.
Right?
An hour later, I’m exhausted.
He gave me two more orgasms and now he’s snoring softly behind me, spooning me.
He’s definitely good in bed, I’ll give him that.
And that’s the only reason I’m letting him sleep in my bed tonight.
In the morning, he better be gone before the store opens, and hopefully I can forget about this whole thing.
Hopefully I still want to.
The weight of a heavy quilt and the smell of old books remind me that I’m not in my apartment before my eyes even open. I reach across the bed searching for body heat and find none.
She’s already up for the day?
The sun isn’t even all the way up yet.
I’ve always been an early riser, blame it on my time in the Marines or on my father who had me up and ready at six AM, even in the summer. Sleeping in is a waste of precious daylight, but I would be willing to waste a few more hours if it meant I was wrapped around Raven in her bed.
I’d woken up a few times during the night to find her limbs entwined with mine. She tries to act like she has this tough exterior, but body language says a lot, even while sleeping.
I sit up and look around, taking in her apartment again. Everything is neutral; there’s hardly any color. A gray throw blanket hangs off the end of the couch, and there’s a basket of cream blankets in front of the old fireplace. Her couches are a light gray fabric, and the walls are painted a charcoal color. The appliances are stainless steel. Even the cabinets in her kitchenette area are a shade of the hue.
The only color that I can see are the pots of plants and greenery that seem to line every surface. The large windowsill and bench seat are full of them. There are hanging baskets in the windows with vines spilling out of the pots and trailing down toward the floor. On several of the walls there are giant book covers blown up in black and white. I wonder if they’re her favorites. Even though I don’t know her at all, I can tell her space fits her perfectly and I’m sure she decorated every inch of it herself.
The shower is running, and I can see steam rolling out from under the door that leads to the bathroom—the only part of the apartment that’s closed off. I consider getting up and joining her, but the water shuts off, so I watch the rest of the sunrise through her large picture window before she eventually comes out. Wrapped in a towel, hair wet and hanging in loose waves down her back, I can see water droplets on her skin that she didn’t dry off thoroughly. I suppress the desire to go lick them off of her and clear my throat instead.
She jumps a little and spins around, eyes narrowing when she sees me. “What are you still doing here?”
“Oh hey. Good morning to you too, gorgeous.”
“Raven,” she corrects, not letting the nickname slide. “Seriously, are you ever leaving? Or are you moving in? If so, I’ll expect rent on the first of every month. We can prorate this month since we’re two weeks in already.”
I chuckle and slide off of her bed. Her eyes dip down and I realize I’m still naked, with some nice morning wood going for me, which isn’t going away with her standing in front of me the way she is. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to outstay my welcome. Hell, I didn’t mean to stay at all. I’m leaving now. I’ll use your bathroom so you can get dressed in peace.”
She nods and heads over to her armoire.
I watch her ass sway as she walks, and I head into the bathroom before I go back on my word. Last night I only came in here once, and I didn’t turn the light on because I didn’t want to wake her. Now I see that it’s easily the grandest part of her place. It’s at least half the size of the main apartment, with a matching large picture window. There’s a massive clawfoot tub in the center, and a shower built for two off to the side. White tile everywhere, double sinks, and a vanity with makeup scattered all over the counter. Gray towels and accents, of course, and even more plants. It smells faintly like apples—must be her shampoo.
I make quick work of using the toilet and washing my face off at the sink that looks like it goes unused. I wait a few more minutes before coming out, hoping to give her enough time to be dressed.
I emerge from the bathroom and she’s nowhere to be seen. My clothes are folded neatly on the end of her bed, and there’s a note in her tall skinny handwriting.
Emmett,
Thanks for last night. Seriously. Sorry I’m such a bitch.
Lock the door when you leave.
Raven.
She’s not here. She seriously left her own apartment without saying goodbye?
That seems a little cowardly for the girl who seems to stare everything in the eye and take it head on.
Also, who puts a period after their name?
I head downstairs and sure enough, she’s gone. I do as she asked and lock the door of the storefront on my way out, but not before scrawling my number at the bottom of the note she left. A little part of me is hoping she calls, but I know she won’t. I’ll have to keep myself from turning into a stalker and coming by the bookstore.
Something tells me she won’t be as easy to forget as I hope she is.
I flew out of the bookstore as fast as I could.
At least I left a note, right?
And I was running late. That’s my excuse for my behavior. It has nothing to do with the butterflies Emmett gave me all night, or how ridiculously comfortable it felt to wake up in his arms this morning. I glance down at my Apple watch—it’s seven after eight.
Elli is going to kill me.
The coffee shop we meet at every Saturday morning is one block away from my bookstore s
o there’s no reason for me to be late, and she will for sure point it out. I jog past the florist shop on the corner and almost run into a lady holding a dozen daffodils.
It’s a miracle Elli hasn’t called me yet. Actually, it’s unusual. Normally she’d be calling me one minute past eight, asking why I had the audacity to keep her waiting. I love my best friend. We’d bonded over our mutual inherent bitchiness. However, that’s about where our similarities end.
Elliott—or Elli for short—is petite, with proportionate curves and a curt blonde bob that is angled so sharp it could probably cut you. I’m tall, willowy, and my black hair flows down my back, hence my name. Elli is a lawyer, a bona fide ball buster, and she takes zero shit. She’s a little materialistic and lives in a nice modern penthouse suite uptown. I’m a licensed counselor who opened a bookstore to take a break from seeing patients, and then moved in to the loft above it.
I’d say I don’t take any shit either, but I let a stranger convince me to let him stay the night, so…
But the sex was great, and I avoided the awkward morning after conversation, so who’s the real winner here?
I round the next corner and enter the coffee shop. It’s a cute little shop with a lot of character. I head straight to our corner but stop short when I see our normal table is empty.
What the hell?
I approach the counter while pulling out my cell and flagging down Missy, the owner. She’s a short round woman who loves coffee and baked goods so much that she couldn’t stand the corporate world any longer and sold everything she had to buy this historic shop downtown.
“Missy, has Elli been in this morning?”
“No, I was just getting ready to call you. It’s unlike her. You haven’t heard from her?” Missy’s face crinkles with worry lines and I get a sinking feeling in my gut.
I shake my head and check my phone, having no missed calls or texts from Elli. I dial her number four times in a row while I stand at the counter, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. “She isn’t answering.” I bite my lip, trying to decide if I’m overreacting, but I know I’m not. “I’m going to head over to her apartment and check on her. Can you have Jason run down and open the store for me at ten? Just in case I’m not back in time?”
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