Well, whatever he's doing, he's clearly busy. He clearly doesn’t need me.
Or want me.
I'm about to skulk off to the elevator—or maybe even the stairs, so he won't catch me in the hall—when he turns toward the door and his eyes catch mine.
I'm caught. Without any rational explanation.
But Shane's face immediately lights up when he sees me, without a moment of hesitation, and I feel myself relax. He is happy to see me. But I keep telling myself I’m imagining it.
“Keeley! Hey!” He goes to the door and I straighten up, smoothing out the front of my shirt. “You remembered where I live! Cool!” He leads me into the doorway of the apartment. “Keeley, this is Esther Marz, my neighbor. Esther, this is my friend Keeley—the one I've been telling you about, who's been helping me so much.”
“Very pretty,” Esther says, looking me up and down approvingly.
“Um, thank you.” What else can I say to a comment like that from a total stranger? And he's been telling her about me? I can’t escape the ripple in my stomach that keeps pulling me back to my thoughts of a future with this man.
“Well, Esther, it looks like I have an unexpected visitor to entertain,” Shane says. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”
“No, I should be fine now.” The smile on the woman’s face is contagious. “Thank you so much, Shane. I love it when you visit.”
“Okay. If you do think of anything else, I'm right next door, so don't be afraid to knock, all right?” He gives her a parting smile and wave, and I follow him to the door of his own place.
“So what was that all about?” I ask. “Did they already send you the Nicebombing options for tomorrow?”
He waves that comment away. “Nah, nothing like that. Esther just moved in last month. I saw she was in a wheelchair and having trouble getting her groceries into her condo, so I helped her out and we got to talking. It turns out that most of the important stuff in her kitchen is too high for her to reach. She was going to wait until her son came over to help her, but I figured hey, I'm here now, so why not just do it for her.”
My words stall in my throat. “Right. And you came up with that idea all on your own? Even though it wasn't part of the app?”
He grins. “Of course. I couldn’t just let her struggle and walk into my condo without helping. I’m not a complete asshat.”
I spear him with my gaze, a wave of heat flowing over me. Like two halves to a whole, we gravitate toward each other. Seeking. Finding something inexplicable in the depths of the other. And it’s something I didn’t even know I needed. Closing the gap with one step, my hands find his body and I press his back against the door.
This. I don’t deny it. Don’t want to.
This is what I came over to do.
Chapter Fourteen
Shane
Before I can process the implications, the possibilities, Keeley envelops me like a beautiful blizzard. Her hands seem like they're everywhere at once—my back, my neck, my chest, caressing every inch of me. The hard surface of the door pushes against my shoulder blades and the back of my head, making them ache somewhere high above the pleasure, like cinders dancing in the air over a roaring fire. I fumble for the doorknob and manage to turn it, nearly sending both of us to the floor when it opens behind me.
We both laugh at the near-miss, but our frantic kisses smother the sound.
My brain scrambles to make sense of this, even as my body rides the wave without question. Keeley’s not the kind of girl to pop in unannounced at a man’s home just to jump his bones. Why now? Is she just feeling this way because of Esther? Because helping my friendly new neighbor wasn't anything special—it was just what anyone would do. Anyone with a heart.
“Keeley, are you sure?” I hiss, drawing her even tighter to me.
“Shane… yes.” My name escapes her full lips on a strangled moan, and I realize that I have to take control and sweep the questions from my mind. She’s here. My Keeley.
And she wants me.
Her talented hands flutter over my abs, then to my waistband, and my mind stills as if the force of her touch snapped off the frequency.
Kicking the door shut with my toe, I run my fingers through her hair and stroke the nape of her neck, stiffening under her touch. A low moan rises from the back of her throat and seems to vibrate all through my body, like a thousand hummingbirds buzzing in my veins.
Her chest presses against mine, her nipples pebbling through her shirt. My hand instinctively travels lower to caress one, and her voice enters my mouth again, louder this time, more insistent. The words are all reduced to gibberish, but their message registers.
More. Harder. Faster.
I pull her shirt off in a single smooth motion. As soon as her arms pop free, they rush to undo the buttons on my shirt, yanking it off and tossing it away. A tiny voice in my head jokes about the cost of my dress shirt, but I laugh it off. I can't remember ever feeling this level of intimacy with another person, can’t remember ever wanting a woman like this—like I want to possess every inch of her—and I don't want to ruin the moment with nervous one-liners. My soul demands that I embrace this moment, soak it up with every cell in my body, and pray it never ends.
Feeling her insistent pull, I glance behind her, the couch hovering ever closer. I follow her lead, planting a series of kisses down the side of her long, pale, lovely neck. The neck I’ve considered devouring every single time I’ve seen it since we met. Her lips hover right next to my ear, her hot breath washing over me as she lets out a lusty sigh.
And it sounds like a symphony. The symphony I used to love to attend before…
Snapping me back to the present, the armrest of the couch bumps against her legs and she releases me, letting the momentum carry her backward until she flops down on the cushions. Her eyes don't leave mine as she undoes her jeans, sliding them down her long limbs. The sight of her silky skin makes my insides feel like molten copper. The look in her eyes is a question, a promise, an invitation.
It’s fucking everything.
I unzip my pants and shuck them off along with my underwear, kicking them across the floor in a tangled bundle that slides to a stop under my desk. I've been naked with plenty of women before, but I've never felt so truly exposed, so vulnerable.
Because this woman—this woman really sees me and not just the façade I present to the world to avoid experiencing any pesky emotions I don’t want or need. But now… I want them all.
Every. Single. One.
Keeley spreads her thighs, draping one leg over the back of the couch and my mouth waters as I stare at the baby pink scrap of lace covering her pussy. “I want to taste you, Keels. I’ve thought about it so much.”
“Yes,” she moans, closing her eyes, her head rolling back onto the armrest. After swiping the barely-there panties from her body, I part her folds, staring at how wet she already is. Knowing I do that to her. Stroking her for a few strangled heartbeats, I listen to her tiny pants of breath to lead the way.
Teasing her, I circle her clit with my fingertip until she writhes underneath me. Not wanting to wait one more second to experience her on my tongue, I lick up her folds, then place my mouth over her engorged clit, taking it gently between my teeth and flicking it with my tongue. She cries out, and the air between us heats, the sound of her passion consuming me. That scent that’s uniquely Keeley—strawberries and cream—intoxicates me. Fucking unravels me with every inhale. Her hand finds the back of my head and she runs her fingers through my hair, hungrily controlling me like her personal pleasure dispensary.
As my lips continue to move against her heavenly skin, I slowly push one finger inside of her, then another. Her voice escalates in pitch, high and whispery as she says my name over and over, like a secret prayer. Her reactions make me wild as I press on her G-spot and enjoy the way her back arches sharply, driving her against my mouth even harder.
My name fades away now, leaving behind just strings of ecst
atic vowels. My hard cock aches, straining and jerking, pressing hard against the side of the couch. I want her, need her, right now. But not until she comes. Her pleasure means more to me than my own.
Ramping up the pressure and speed, I flick and nip her with my tongue until she bucks up into my mouth, coming all over my tongue. I lick her gently through her explosive orgasm, her strangled moans like a love song that pierces my heart.
“Fuck me, Shane. Right now.” She peers down at me through hooded eyelids, her skin a rosy shade of well-pleasured woman. My chest puffs with pride because I did that. And that thought shoots a flame through my veins that catches me off guard.
I succeeded. Me. On the very first try.
Fishing my wallet from my jeans, I fumble around for a condom and tear the wrapper open. My hands actually tremble with desire. For her. For us. For the possibility of a future. Embarrassed, I glance over to see if she notices. But her eyes are serene and welcoming, her legs parting even farther for me.
Rolling the condom over my cock, I position myself over her, my hardness pushing against her opening. Even through the latex, I can feel that delicious heat envelop the tip. I take a deep breath and push forward into heaven, and it feels like diving into a steaming heated pool on a cold night—instantly soothing and comforting, bathing every cell in my body with warmth and happiness. She says my name again, and this time, it's not a prayer but a joyous little shriek that fills every corner of my apartment.
As I thrust inside her, I can feel the muscles in her pussy squeeze and relax over and over. They're wrapped around my shaft so tightly that I feel lightheaded. All the blood in my veins rushes toward my cock in a tidal wave of pleasure more intense than anything I've ever felt before.
And it’s not lost on me that it’s her doing this to me. Keeley. No other.
Reaching between our tangled bodies, I strum her clit with my thumb, watching her face for an escalation in her pleasure. Our hips grind together, and just as I'm about to explode on a wave of violent pleasure, she does too—we crash against each other in a fevered dance, our voices lost in each other's mouths as we kiss our way through it.
After we’re both sated and calm, we talk for hours. And then make love again. And talk again. And make love again. And with each word—each touch—I fall deeper and deeper into the depths of something special. Because I’ve never experienced anything even remotely close to it. Something about Keeley flips me sideways, and I can’t right it.
I lose count of the times and ways we connect with each other. I don't remember when we made it into the bedroom or when we fell asleep in a twisted mass of limbs.
But it's the best night of sleep—of anything—that I've had in a long, long time.
Chapter Fifteen
Keeley
Shane’s arms circle my body, with shafts of morning sunlight shining through the slats of the bedroom window. I hear him sigh happily and look up just in time to catch him beaming down at me.
“Thank you for last night,” he says, kissing me. “It was...”
“It sure was.” I savor another kiss, then follow it up with a playful peck on the tip of his nose, like a heart dotting an ‘I’. “And you definitely don't have to thank me for that. It was a group effort. How long have you been awake?”
He palms his phone. “Just a few minutes. Long enough to check for the new Nicebombing options.”
I hold the sheet to my naked breasts. “And?”
He grimaces, grabbing his phone and pulling up the app. “First on the list is a doozy. Help teach arts and crafts to underprivileged children. After the last couple of attempts that involved children...”
I nod. “Right. Hard pass. What's next?”
“Cook for a local soup kitchen. Gotta be honest about that one. I'm a terrible cook. Can’t even boil water or scramble an egg. Don’t even ask me about the toaster. Burn it black every time and then have to risk electrocution by sticking a knife down there to dig out the charred remains. Seriously, there's a better than average chance I'd end up poisoning everyone in the place.”
I nod again. “That would certainly be a video worthy of YouTube. Let’s not risk it. You’ve already pissed off everyone in Hollywood, let’s not go after Gordon Ramsey too.”
“Yeah, if only the old adage about bad publicity were true,” Shane says ruefully, suppressing a shiver as I imagine the star of Hell’s Kitchen throwing a steak knife at me while he yells at me to fuck right off. “Which leaves the third option. Volunteer at a library.”
I imagine dusty old volumes of Poe and Plath. “That one sounds promising. Doing what?”
He scrolls down the phone screen with his thumb, then shrugs. “Doesn't specify. Whatever library volunteers do these days, I guess. Dewey Decimal System-type stuff? Rearrange the card catalogs? Help readers find their selections? Run around with your pointer finger to your lips telling everyone to use their inside voice?”
I laugh. “I'm pretty sure they've got computers to do that stuff now.”
“You're probably right. Christ, I feel old. So... shelve the books, work the front counter? Or have they invented robots to do that stuff too? I don't actually remember the last time I was in a library. Not since college and I’ll freely admit, I didn’t go there much even then.”
Actually, it sounds kind of intriguing to me. “Well, one way to find out, right? Hit the button and let's find the nearest library!”
Utilizing our old friend, Google, we find a small one on Belmont Avenue that seems like a good choice, so after a few lingering kisses, we get out of bed, put our clothes on, and head over.
Shane asks for the head librarian, and the clerk introduces us to a short woman in her early sixties named Simone Gransen. Webs of wrinkles nestle at the corners of her sympathetic eyes, and her lips tug upward with a thousand-watt smile that seems designed to instantly put people at ease. As she approaches, I hit the Record button on the app, discreetly aiming the camera so it won't freak her out.
“What can we do for you folks today?” she asks. “Do you need us to order a certain title for you? We've got a short form you can fill out.”
“Actually, we're here to see what we can do for you,” Shane says with a grin. “My name is Shane, and I'd like to spend a few hours volunteering here today, if that's all right.”
Simone tilts her head at him, squinting. For a terrible moment, I think she might recognize him from YouTube and tell him to kindly get the fuck out of her library before she calls the cops and demands he be arrested for being a love-hater. Instead, she smiles again.
“That's very nice of you, young man,” she says. “Actually, you're just in time to help us out with something quite special. In a few minutes, it'll be story hour in the children's section. You can read to them!”
We look at each other with horror and my jaw drops. I can't believe it. Is someone following us with a hidden camera for a prank show or something? What are the odds of this happening? Part of me expects Shane to turn around and run out of the library immediately, and frankly, I wouldn't even blame him. The chances of this blowing up in his face after those other times... anything involving kids ends up in a flaming disaster.
But no. He pales a bit, but he inhales and stiffens his spine. He pauses for a few seconds, swallows hard, and nods. “Okay. Let's do it. Anything other than Red Riding Hood, okay?”
As we walk toward the colorful painted murals on the walls of the children's section, Simone asks, “Would you like us to choose a book for you, or did you have a particular one in mind that doesn’t involve the big, bad wolf?”
Shane shakes his head, his eyes glassing over as he glances around. “You should choose, you’re the book expert. Although, I do have one memorized that might work.”
Simone raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Would you mind if I just ask what it is in advance? We wouldn't want you to tell them any inappropriate stories. Liability and all that, you know.”
“Yeah, like Little Red Riding Hood, for example,” he mumble
s. “That story is so inappropriate.”
Her eyes narrow. “Pardon?”
“Nothing. The story I had in mind is...” He leans in close, whispering into Simone's ear.
She nods, smiling. “Oh, that's a good one! Well, go right ahead.” She claps her hands around her, raising her voice to attract the attention of the children who sit at the tables and read. “Kids! Gather round! We have a special guest with us today for mystery reader. His name is Shane. Now, what do we say?”
The kids form a loose semicircle on the floor in front of an easy chair, raising their voices in a jagged chorus, “Hi, Shane!”
“Wow, that's some kind of welcome,” Shane says, smiling as he sits down. “Thank you so much! I'm very happy to be your mystery reader today.”
Simone stands in the corner, smiling. Okay. So far, so good. Shane doesn't even look that nervous.
“Now,” he begins, “who here likes stories about kings and castles? Raise your hands.”
Almost every tiny hand shoots up eagerly. One kid rises to his knees and gives Shane a look saying, “Does the king have a sword? And a dragon?”
Shane nods encouragingly. “Is there any other kind of king? And who here knows about the Holy Grail?”
One of the older children, a girl with frizzy red hair who looks about ten, raises her hand and clears her throat. “My mom told me the Holy Grail was what Jesus drank out of at the Last Supper.”
“Your mother is an extremely smart lady because that is exactly right,” Shane replies. “So, this is the story of The Wounded King. Once upon a time—long, long ago, in a faraway kingdom—there was a king who wanted to find the Grail. He believed it would grant him health, happiness, and long life.”
Another kid, a boy with braces and thick glasses, raises his hand timidly. “But what about the other people who lived in his kingdom? Was he going to share it with them too? My mom and dad always say sharing is caring.”
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