Wrong Bed, Right Girl

by Rebecca Brooks

  He kissed his way down her body, then stood at the foot of the bed. He stepped out of his boxers and jeans, and she perched up on her forearms to admire the view.

  She hadn’t seen him yet—seen all of him huge and naked before her. He was cut stone, hard muscle, his cock standing straight up in front of him.

  He took it in his palm and started stroking, slowly, fist tight, his eyes locked on hers as hers were locked on him. His tattoos swept up both arms, sleeves of stormy seas, swirling over his shoulders and leaving his strong pecs bare.

  With every pump of his hand, his biceps flexed. The storm surged, and his cock jumped full in his fist.

  Talia’s mouth was dry. Her thighs ached with need. He was incredible to look at, incredible to be near.

  His eyes never once left her as he walked to the nightstand, opened a drawer, and pulled out a condom.

  Her breath hitched as she watched him put it on. She was really doing this, lying back, letting this man yank off her underwear and stroke her softly as he climbed on top of her, spreading her legs.

  She strained up and his body pushed her down. He kissed her neck, his stubble scraping her skin deliciously, and brought his hands, his mouth, to her nipples. She writhed in his grasp, feeling her desire build until it threatened to break her.

  He notched his cock at her opening.

  “I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice so deep it vibrated through her.

  “I want you,” she told him, and lifted her hips to meet him.

  But although her mind was screaming with desire, her body hadn’t quite gotten on board yet. He went to push inside her, and she felt her own resistance.

  “Too soon?” he asked.

  She shook her head underneath him. “Try again.”

  “Not a chance.”

  She started to protest, but he kissed her silent. She felt his fingers replace where his cock had just been. “I’m not going to fuck you until you’re nice and wet for me.”

  She opened her mouth but found she had no idea what to say. She would have expected Reed to want it hard. Rough. Quick and dirty, and then done.

  But any time she thought she knew him, he went and surprised her.

  No one had ever taken such time with her before. She’d be hard pressed to think of another guy who would’ve even noticed if she was ready or not.

  But Reed noticed. When they were both out of their minds with wanting, he read her body. He cared.

  He kissed his way down her stomach and buried his face between her thighs. He kissed her clit—not a lick, but a real kiss. Then a nibble. A suck. A tease.

  Holy shit.

  She bucked her hips up, her hands on his head to push him down. Get him closer, closer. God yes.

  Right. There.

  She gasped to let him know he had it. She couldn’t believe he knew so completely what to do for her. And was so eager to do it at all.

  He circled her clit with his tongue. Slow at first, agonizing. And then picking up speed, moving with the motions of her hips, driving her out of her mind.

  He slid a finger inside her as he licked. The anticipation of what was coming, of him inside her, of how he was going to fuck her, made her legs clench as her hands clawed at his shoulders.

  “Reed,” she panted. “I need this.”

  “Let me give it to you.”

  He pushed another finger inside. She let out a cry that lowered into a moan as he worked his fingers in rhythm with his tongue, flooding her with sensation.

  She gripped the bedsheets. Clasped his face with her thighs.

  He pushed her leg up, hitching it over his shoulder. The sensation intensified. It was like diving into deeper water, feeling the darkness, the pressure all around her. Losing every other sense, every distraction, and just being in it.

  His tongue flicked. It circled and pressed.

  And she dove.

  Her orgasm was like coming up for air, bursting through the surface and heaving a breath. She’d held on as long as she could, until everything was a prickle of need building inside her, until she was tension and tightness and longing itself.

  And then sunlight, the flood of escape, her body rolling and shaking with it, the shivers going down to her toes. He kept licking her, softly, so soft it was barely the touch of his tongue.

  This wasn’t some obligation oral, like he didn’t want to bother but would put in a few lashes with his tongue so he could get a blowjob next. He was lingering, kissing her sweetly between her legs, making all her pleasure last.

  Finally, he looked up. “How was that?”

  She reached overhead, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at him. He grinned and swatted it away. “That good?” he asked.

  “Is it a special agent thing to ask questions you already know the answer to?” She ran a hand over his shoulder, touching the blues and greens and grays of his inked skin where it met the insides of her thighs.

  He slid a finger over her opening. “That’s better,” he said and kissed her clit again. It was so…so…

  So not what she thought was going to happen.

  They were supposed to fuck. That was it. He wasn’t supposed to kiss her like that. There.

  Like he wanted it—wanted her—and wanted her to feel it.

  She didn’t know she could fuck and be kissed like that. That the two could go together, and she could demand it all.

  She closed her eyes, her body still pulsing, her head swimming. Trying to go with it, not think, not wonder.

  Reed kissed her thighs, her belly button, her breast. Her neck, her ear, and finally, her lips. She felt his hardness press into her stomach, straining against her.

  Looked like taking care of her hadn’t flagged his interest one bit. More like the opposite. He reached over and got something out of his nightstand drawer. Another condom?

  But it was a bottle. He opened it, squirted something onto his fingertips.

  She squirmed uncomfortably against him.

  “Always prepared,” he said, rubbing the slippery liquid over his cock. “I mean, not always,” he added quickly. “That sounded bad. You’ll notice the bottle is basically full. I haven’t had much use for it since—”

  He cut off abruptly. “Since?” she prompted, intrigued about where this little confession was going.

  “Just since moving in.” He put more lube on his fingers and brought them between her legs.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m—” she started.

  “That you’re what?” he murmured as he slid those slippery fingers inside her, so excruciatingly slow that she writhed her body, arching her hips so he’d put them in deeper, harder, faster and fuck her already. The very thing she’d just thought she couldn’t take.

  “That you’re wet?” he said, letting the word drip luxuriously off his tongue. “That you need this?”

  “That I’m not—” she tried again. He pushed his first two fingers in deeper, and she swallowed whatever she was going to say with a groan.

  “Not ready yet?” He stroked her steady, steady.

  “That I’m not—I can’t—”

  She thought he was going to keep torturing her, that she was going to lose the power of speech altogether while he made her come again. And probably again, and again after that, turning her into nothing but babbling jelly, liquid in his hands.

  But mercifully he let up. Barely, but enough to pull her back from the edge he’d been pushing her toward.

  “That you won’t be a good fuck if we have to use lube,” he said, low and dirty in her ear, that word fuck making her clench around his fingers, a spasm of pleasure running all the way through her.

  “Something like that,” she murmured weakly.

  He took her hand and brought it to his cock. She wrapped her fingers around it. It was thick, slippery, and very, very hard.

  “You think this isn’t going to be good?” he asked seductively.

  She whimpered. Fuck, no. This was going to be good.

  “You think I
don’t want it?” he went on.

  She whimpered again. She was always a talker, but she couldn’t form words. He obviously wanted it. Bad.

  He positioned himself back on top of her. The head of his cock nudged her open and she spread her legs to make room. His hand went to the base of the condom, holding it in place. “I want you relaxed, wet, and begging for it. Think you can do that, beautiful?”

  “Please, Reed.” She was practically sobbing with need. “Fuck me, please.”

  He’d pushed her over the edge, but he was jumping right in after her. He pinned her arms down, spread her legs, and thrust in.

  She was wet, she was slippery. He was wet, he was slippery. The stretch inside her, the smoothness of his thrust, was so perfect, all she could do was close her eyes and let the feeling take over.

  “That’s it,” he said, his voice urging her on. She felt his heavy breathing, his desperate eagerness to be inside her. As deep as he could go.

  He began to move on top of her, faster, harder, deeper. As the pleasure built between them, the slow, careful push was gone, replaced with nothing but need. It should have been too much, everything about it too close to the edge.

  But it wasn’t. She found herself whimpering, pushing her hips up to meet him, raising her right leg to brace against his muscular frame and take him deeper. Her arms went around his shoulders, her hands down his back. Nails on his skin, grabbing his ass. Feeling the taut work of his muscles with every thrust.

  It was hot, it was sweaty, it was incessant. And it was so, so dirty.

  Reed in his regular life was gruff, closed off. She practically had to pull words from him. What was he thinking? Where was Stacey? What was happening on his case?

  But this was different. He was different.

  The same present, intense, focused man she knew. Only now, he was holding her so tightly, like he had to be closer, closer. Like she could give herself over to him and trust that he’d never let go.

  The thought should have been terrifying. But instead, it made her wild.

  “You’re going to make me come again,” she gasped as he pressed into her, his cock just right where he thrust.

  “Good,” he whispered in her ear. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you come.”

  That was it. The wave that crashed through her tore her breath away. She clung to him, her whole body trembling, as she came hard. Through the fog in her mind, she was spinning. Had anyone ever made her come not once but twice before he did? And then paused until she was ready for him?

  But Reed did, until she hooked her heels over the back of his legs to pull him closer, telling him more. And he listened, drilling into her so hard, so deep, that she was still trembling with her own pleasure as he shuddered against her and came.

  She’d felt his power with every thrust, his incredible strength. But when he collapsed on top of her, rolling partway off, he held her with a different kind of power, a different kind of strength.

  She had to remember not to get wrapped up in it. Not to think about how good it felt, how much she wanted it. How it was exactly the kind of feeling she craved when she lay alone in bed at night, pressing herself against a pillow, wishing there was somebody out there in the world who could fuck her and still hold her after, and wake up with her the next morning to do it all over again.

  But it felt so damn good, she just wanted to shut her mind off and enjoy it before it inevitably came to an end.

  Because these things always ended, didn’t they? At least they always seemed to for her.

  Chapter Nine

  Reed woke up with his body wrapped protectively around something too warm to be a pillow. Not to mention that he had too much space to stretch out—what was he doing not contorted on that uncomfortable couch?

  He opened his eyes.

  In a rush, it all came back. Talia. His bedroom. The sex.

  Oh God. The sex.

  He pulled his arm off from where it had been covering her and sat up slowly, as if testing his limbs to make sure they still belonged to him. He hadn’t been possessed last night by some demon that made him do impossible things, even if it felt like none of this was real.

  He looked over, watching her sleep. She was splayed out on his bed, her long limbs tangled in the sheets. Early morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, lighting up her body.

  Carefully, desperate not to wake her, he slid out of bed. He grabbed his clothes and tiptoed out of the room.

  It wasn’t like leaving a woman’s place, knowing he could escape and get back to his own space, his own life, no questions asked.

  It wasn’t like having someone spend the night, either, knowing they’d be gone as soon as they woke up.

  Talia was in his bed. Her things were in his bedroom. Her toothbrush was next to his in the cup on the sink, and he stood staring at it, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. What the hell am I doing? But his eyes blinked back without any answers.

  He took a shower, dressed, brewed a pot of strong coffee, and drank way too much until it buzzed right through him, pricking his senses.

  He felt pleasantly sore, tired, content. The way he’d expect to feel after a night of fucking.

  And not just fucking, quick and then done, but good fucking. Really good fucking. Long, hard, dirty, athletic fucking where he worked up a sweat, worked up a lather, and didn’t stop until both of them were breathless and spent.

  Goddammit, he needed to stop thinking like that. He put the mug in the sink. Focus.

  He wanted to go back into his bedroom and gather his things. But Talia was in there. Talia was everywhere. Her red dress was still on the floor where she’d stepped out of it last night. Their plates were on the table, the pans on the stove, the candles burned down to nubs.

  He couldn’t handle any of it. The reminder of her, of what they’d done. The fact that she was so here.

  He was washing last night’s dishes when he heard her come up behind him. He turned, the water still running.

  She was wearing his button-down shirt from last night, with only two of the buttons actually closed. The shirt draped over her like a dress, a low V exposing the hint of her breasts, the bottom riding up her thighs. Fuck, she looked good in his shirt.

  She’d look even better with it off. With the buttons open, the shirt falling over her shoulders, her legs spread around him. Her ass on the kitchen table, his cock jamming into her—

  He turned the hot water hotter, until it burned.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice sleepy.

  “Hey.” He kept washing the dishes.

  “There any more coffee for me?” she asked, reaching over and picking up the near-empty pot.

  “I have to run,” he said, “but you can make more.”

  He shut the water off.

  He had to run? What was he thinking? Where did he have to be so urgently that he couldn’t spend his Sunday lounging around the apartment, going for a run, doing fuck-all with the time he could steal before work swept him up again tomorrow?

  But as soon as he said it, he was committed. He had to get out of there.

  He’d bet his badge she wasn’t wearing anything under that shirt of his, and if he lifted the hem he’d find nothing but her legs, her ass, and that sweet place he wanted to bury his tongue until he made her scream. But he couldn’t let himself find out for certain.

  Talia put the coffee pot down. “Sorry, I didn’t realize this was make-your-own-coffee day,” she said, an edge of…something…in her voice.

  It was true that he’d made plenty for both of them every other morning. Every other morning that they’d woken up separately, with their clothes on, tiptoeing around each other the way strangers should.

  He made a noise that was maybe an acknowledgment but definitely not a response.

  “Reed,” she said.

  He turned the water back on and kept washing.

  She said his name again.

  Then she reached over him and turned off the faucet. The brush of h
er arm against him sent electricity zinging through him, too much at once.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just have a lot to do today.”

  “On a Sunday?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ve got to go to the office. Work on this case.”

  There was a pause. Then she said, “Oh.”

  Softly, just like that. One little syllable. Oh.

  “It’s an important case,” he said.

  “I never said it wasn’t.”

  “Then don’t—” he started.

  And then he saw her face.

  The sentence died somewhere inside him. He wasn’t even sure what he was about to say. Whatever it was, it was gone.

  He stepped away from the sink, grabbing a towel to dry his hands. Talia kept standing there in the kitchen, in his shirt, her eyes liquid, her lips pressed tight.

  He had a feeling that if she could make herself disappear on the spot, she would’ve done it in an instant, just to get away from him.

  He reached for the coffee, a new filter, and started brewing another pot. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’ll be back in a minute. I think this is another one of those life events where one should be wearing pants.”

  She went to the bedroom, closed the door, and came back a moment later transformed. Jeans, a black shirt, obviously a bra. Her hair pulled back neatly. Like armor. Like a stranger on the street, someone he’d never met and never would.

  He was doing this to himself. Not just to her, he knew, but to himself.

  But it had to be this way.

  “Look,” he began. He didn’t want to say anything, or get into any of this. But he couldn’t stand to see the look on her face if he didn’t.

  “You asked me that first night we met how long I’ve lived here, why I moved. Basic questions. I know you were just making conversation. But the answer is that I moved here eight months ago. Eight and a half, if you want to get technical. My girlfriend at the time—” He paused, inhaled. Backtracked. Said it right. “My fiancée, Lisa. We’d lived together in Brooklyn. We were supposed to get married this year.”