The Feel Good Factor

by Blakely, Lauren

  He pushes up harder, faster, deeper. “Yeah, do that. Squeeze them. Tease your nipples.”

  Pleasure coils in my belly as I knead, as I squeeze, while he strokes up into me. My gasps grow louder, more frequent, and his thrusts turn more frantic. He keeps fucking up into me as I lose myself more and more to the sensations, to the utter intensity of this moment in the darkness of his room.

  Desire and lust radiate down my spine, ripple to my toes. Pleasure consumes every cell, and I want to fall into this moment, to ride this sensation to the edge of the Earth.

  “I’m close,” I whisper.

  “Let me get you all the way there.” With his hands still on my hips, he spreads his fingers wide enough to stroke my clit with his thumb.

  And the second he does, I know I’m gone.

  I’ve hit the point of no return, and I’m galloping toward the cliff.

  I see the strain in his jaw, the intensity in his eyes. He gazes at me with a longing I’ve never seen before. Like he’s as lost to this pleasure as I am. Like there’s never been sex like this before and we’re the only ones who’ve ever felt this wild, this intense, this connected.

  That’s what I see in him. That’s what I want to keep seeing, again and again.

  “So fucking sexy,” he murmurs as his thumb slides over me, and I shatter.

  Coiling, tightening, sinking onto him as I shake, the orgasm pouring its bliss from a pitcher, covering every inch of me. I fall against his chest, wildly bucking, coming apart, shouting incoherent noises of ecstasy.

  He grabs my ass hard and pumps up at a fevered pace. Before I’m even aware of what’s happening, he flips us over, moving me to my hands and knees. He drives into me, pushing his hand on my back. I lower my chest to the bed, lifting my ass, and he goes to town. Owning my body. Taking his pleasure. Giving me more. I’m boneless, mindless, melting into another orgasm that pounds relentlessly through me as he finds his with a feral roar. “Coming. Coming so fucking hard.”

  Growling, he unleashes himself, and it’s wild and crazed and the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

  It’s everything I wanted it to be.

  It’s everything great sex should be.

  And I don’t want it to end. I don’t want us to end. I want more and more of him.

  That’s the trouble. He’s in, far and deep, and my want for him has only multiplied.

  25

  Derek

  Perri clears her throat, shooting me a most serious stare. “Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

  I give her a sideways glance. Damn, she looks good curled up next to me, her red hair spilling over my chest. Absently, I stroke a few strands. “Elephant? What elephant?” I let my eyes stray down my body. “Oh, are you talking about my trunk?”

  “Perhaps I am.” She wiggles her eyebrows, tap-dancing her fingers along my abs, making her way to my dick, which is on a well-deserved five-minute sabbatical.

  “Ah, so that is what you want to discuss. Go on.”

  Her fingers tease my pelvis. “Well, yeah. You just gave me two fantastic Os with this magnificent dick. I would like to take a minute to talk about how magnificent it is.”

  Grinning like a cocky bastard, I park my hands behind my head and preen. “Sure, absolutely. I can listen to you praise my dick all night long.”

  She runs her hand along my thigh. “Let me put it this way: it’s everything I hoped it would be.”

  I smirk, meeting her naughty gaze. “You’ve been thinking about my dick, haven’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah. Just like you’ve been thinking about all my lady parts,” she says, shimmying her hips from her spot next to me in bed.

  “Busted. I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about all your parts.” I tug her closer, savoring the way she fits in the crook of my arm. I drop a kiss to her silky auburn hair. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of my access to her at last. My freedom to touch her, kiss her, explore her. “So tell me, how else have you been objectifying me?”

  She roams her eyes up and down my body, and as she does, a new awareness hits me. She’s not running down the stairs. We’re not making awkward post-screw conversation. She’s not hemming and hawing as she tries to get out of my room. She’s lying next to me, wrapped in my arms, and we’re talking. I didn’t plan what would happen after we slept together, but I like that this is the thing that happened naturally.

  “Well, I definitely fantasized about your body. It is kind of crazy-hot. You know that, right?”

  “And you better know that you’re wildly sexy. Also, I’m glad you like what you see,” I say.

  She squeezes my biceps. “Let’s be honest. You’re a fine specimen. Like, you could be in a zoo somewhere.”

  I laugh. “You’re going to put me in a zoo?”

  “Yes, a man zoo. If there were one, you would absolutely be the most popular exhibit. All the women would be coming to check you out. Men too, probably.”

  “And in this man zoo, would I be naked, or would I get to wear . . . I don’t know . . . say, a thong, or a fig leaf?”

  She taps her chin and stares at the dark ceiling. “It would depend on the day. If I ran the man zoo, I would make a schedule.” Her fingers travel along my chest, stopping at my pecs. “On Mondays, you’d wear a fig leaf.” They ladder down to my abs. “On Wednesdays, you’d wear a thong.” They jog to my hips. “And on Fridays, it would be nude day, because everyone knows Friday is the best day of the week.”

  “And would Fridays be the most popular day at the zoo?”

  “Absolutely. The lines at the man zoo are so long on Fridays because everyone wants to get in. But tickets are hard to come by.”

  “Makes sense. I’d be a prized exhibit. Tickets would be bartered on StubHub. Wait, do I do a show at the zoo? SeaWorld-style or anything?”

  She shoots me an inquisitive stare. “Do you have any talent? Can you dance? Do backflips? Catch fish in your mouth?”

  “I’m a killer dancer. Do you want me to dance for you right now?”

  She arches her brow as if she’s thinking about it, then she cuddles closer, settling deeper into my arms. “No, I kind of weirdly like snuggling with you, so please don’t get up and dance,” she says.

  “Aww, you like snuggling with me. Admit it—you like me.” As soon as the words spill out, I freeze. Was I supposed to say that she liked me? Is that what this is about? But hell, maybe it’s become that. Because I like this woman so much that it’s well beyond like. It’s moved to the next level.

  She raises her face, but her expression reminds me of her aviator shades. It’s practiced and gives nothing new away. “I just let you bang me after we played a massive resistance game. I think it’s obvious that I think you’re the cat’s meow.”

  She didn’t quite answer my question. But I’m not entirely sure I was asking it the right way.

  I switch back to an easier topic, since I don’t think she wants to venture down this do you dig me road. Come to think of it, I’m not entirely in the mood either. That’s not what we’re supposed to be about anyway. This is an itch we’re scratching, and she’s made it clear from the start that she has no interest in a long-term scratching partner. Nor do I.

  “Let’s talk more about this snuggling,” I say, keeping it light. “Tell me why it’s weird that you like snuggling with me. Is it weird that you’d like banging me and snuggling with me?”

  Nervousness flickers across her eyes. Gone is the stoic gaze when she answers, “Banging, no. Snuggling, yes. It’s kind of weird to like it. Don’t you think?”

  And maybe that wasn’t an easier question at all. Neither one of us quite knows if we’re supposed to be snuggling, or if we’re supposed to be yanking on underwear, waving goodbye, and saying, Thanks for a great screw.

  I do my best to ease the tension once and for all. “It’s not odd in the least. I’m an awesome snuggler.” I demonstrate, tugging her closer and dropping kisses to her forehead, her hair, her jawline. Because fuck w
eirdness. Screw labels. I like having her in my arms, plain and simple. We don’t need to discuss it. We can just do it.

  She sighs happily, relaxing again and reminding me it’s best if we keep whatever this is on an easy level. “So you’re good at snuggling, you’re willing to participate in my man zoo, and you have a magnificent dick. You’re a prize, Derek.”

  I blow on my fingers. “You haven’t even mentioned my awesome sandwich-making skills or my chicken stir-fry talents. See? I do have special abilities for my man zoo exhibit.”

  “You sure do, because you’re pretty amazing in the kitchen.” She pats my stomach. “And watch it. If you keep talking about food, I’m going to make you go whip something up in the kitchen.”

  “And would you wait here for me?”

  “Would you serve me in bed?”

  “If you wanted me to, I’d serve you in bed.”

  Because I want you to stay here so I can have you again, I think to myself.

  Propping herself on an elbow, she returns to exploring my body, her fingertips trailing over the ink on my arms. “What’s the story with all your tattoos? When did you get them?”

  She continues tracing the canvas of sunbursts. This is a conversation that’s easy to have. I don’t need to worry about hidden meanings or the secret language of women. “As soon as I turned eighteen,” I tell her.

  “You were jonesing for ink?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve always been drawn to it. Probably because my father had a lot of tattoos.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was an EMT. Like father, like son. He actually took me to get my first tat.”

  Her chin drops. “That’s unusual.”

  “I know, but he said if I was going to get one, he wanted me to go to the best, to a shop he trusted and an artist he liked.”

  “And which one was the first design?”

  “The sunbursts.”

  “What do they mean to you? Do they represent anything special?”

  “Good question. They can mean a lot of things, but in most cases, and for me, they mean life and energy. And that’s what I want to focus on. Both in my job and in how I live every day. Fully, with light and with vitality.”

  She smiles, the kind of smile that spreads nice and slow, like she’s enjoying learning this detail. “I love it. I love that it’s not some dark reason. But it’s one that matters to you. A personal mantra.”

  “Exactly.”

  She draws her fingers over the bird silhouettes. “These are sort of unusual. Why birds?”

  “Birds are awesome. Think about it—how much would you like to fly?”

  Laughing, she answers, “Flying would be rad.”

  “Exactly. Whenever someone asks what your superpower would be, flying has to be up there on the list. Wings are the best. They give you freedom to make choices.”

  She tilts her head, raising a questioning eyebrow. “What held you back from making your own choices? Did you have a good relationship with your parents?”

  I smile, glad I can answer that one painlessly. “I had a great relationship with them. I’m a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. As for the birds, I believe in freedom, but I don’t mean it in some crazy gung ho way. I mean, we should all be free, all humans. To pursue our dreams, to be the best people that we can be, to live in peace.”

  “I like peace,” she says in a Californian surfer drawl. “Is it odd being a cop who likes peace?”

  “No. I would imagine that’s exactly why you’re a cop.”

  “Sometimes I wish we weren’t needed, but we are, and I feel like ultimately that’s what I’m striving toward. To keep the peace.”

  “Did you always want to be a cop?”

  She nods against my chest. “Arden, Vanessa, and I used to play cops and robbers, and I was always the cop.”

  “You were never the robber?”

  She shakes her head. “Never. Not once. I remember this one time, they pretended to break into a jewelry store, but it turned out Vanessa was the owner and needed the insurance—”

  She stops talking, blinks, and says, “Holy shit.”

  I sit up straight. “What is it?”

  She stares at me, her eyes widening as she sits up in bed too. “I think I know who broke into the jewelry store a few months ago.”

  My brow pinches. “Vanessa?”

  She shakes her head, then launches into a rocket-fast explanation of a jewelry store theft that has bedeviled the chief. But she gives no details about who she thinks is behind it.

  “I’m not following. Should I be following?”

  Laughing, she shakes her head. “No. I can’t go into the specifics, but I think I’ve got it figured out.”

  “Do you need to go write this down? Call the chief? Or go arrest someone?” I roam my gaze down her bare body, savoring her curves and praying she won’t have to leave my bed anytime soon.

  She points at the dark window. “Yeah, I’m going to go knock on doors and haul in bad guys right now.”

  “Put some clothes on first, will ya?”

  “Yes, that’s it. I’m going to interrogate suspects in my birthday suit.”

  “I like your birthday suit.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Want me to interrogate you, then?”

  I let my eyes stray downward to my crotch. “You can interrogate me with your sexy mouth, officer.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mr. Trouble. I will do that soon enough.”

  I gaze up at the ceiling and press my palms together. “Thank you, Lord.”

  Rolling her eyes, she nudges my waist with her elbow. “There’s no rush on the investigation. I’ll deal with it tomorrow and discuss it with the chief when I see him.”

  I tap her forehead. “Also, since you mentioned my magnificent dick, can we talk about this magnificent brain? The way you put that together right now in the middle of a conversation about cops and robbers was damn impressive, kitten.”

  She mimics me from earlier, blowing on her fingernails.

  “I mean it. Watching you crack the case was hot. Though that might be because you’re naked in my bed, with that just-been-fucked look. Incidentally, you wear the just-been-fucked look quite well.”

  “Do I?” Her voice dips into sexy, smoky territory.

  In response, my dick heads to the land of the upright. “You wear it spectacularly well.” I trail my hand down her side, groaning appreciatively at the intoxicating feel of her soft flesh. “Hey, Perri?”

  “Yes?” Her voice is vulnerable.

  We’re side by side, and she looks at me as I run a hand along her hair. “You’re beautiful.”

  She smiles shyly, and I’ve never seen her look like that, but it suits her. That hint of sweetness, that touch of demure. “So are you.”

  In that moment, with the moonlight slicing through the windows, with the night wrapping around us, something shifts. We’ve stripped off the teasing; we’ve removed the barbs and the jabs. And we’ve given in to the physical.

  But this second goes further. It feels emotional. It feels possible, like we could be more than two housemates who are hot for each other.

  Trouble is, I don’t know how we stay on this level. I don’t know if she wants to.

  With my gaze locked on hers, I swallow then ask an open-ended question. “So where do we go from here?”

  She throws it right back at me. “Where do you want to go?”

  And maybe this is the snuggling question all over again. Maybe it’s best if we focus tonight on the horizontal.

  “I feel like you’re not out of my system.” The words don’t quite come out like seduction. They come out like the truth. They have a double meaning, although I suspect the bedroom definition is easier for both of us.

  “I feel like you’re not out of my system either.” She punctuates her words with a soft, barely-there kiss. A kiss that seems to reveal that maybe we’re on the same page.

  But pages like this are hard to stay on when you’re not enti
rely sure.

  They’re hard to stay on, too, when you’re hard.

  She wraps a leg over my hip.

  I yank her body against mine, bringing her closer. “So, should we try to get out of each other’s systems a few more times?”

  Her eyes are flirty, giving me the answer I need for now. “I think that’s a really great idea. You do make me feel pretty damn good.”

  “I can make you feel good again, kitten.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I can definitely give you more of the feel-good factor.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “I’ll take it. Why don’t we work on feeling good till the kissing contest?”

  I smile. “It’s a deadline.”

  “It’s a deadline,” she repeats.

  A deadline and a deal.

  I roll her to her back, put on a condom, and do everything I can to get us out of our systems.

  26

  Perri

  Jansen points at me, shaking a finger in admiration. “You’re brilliant.”

  I beam as we talk in his office the next day. “That sounds possible, doesn’t it? An inside job?” Excitement blasts through me as I review the details I didn’t share with Derek last night.

  From his spot behind the desk, Jansen lifts his coffee cup, nodding as he drinks. “Sounds not only possible, but likely.”

  I tap the desk. “And insurance money has to be the motive.”

  “I agree with you there. I’ll review it later, but good work on this, Keating.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I leave his office, walking on sunshine and hope.

  For the rest of the day, I have to force myself to stop smiling. To wear my serious cop face as I finish my patrol work. But inside, I swear I can taste the promotion. I’m reaching for it. I feel it in my grasp.

  When I leave the station that evening, I’m the one bopping down the steps, and it’s not because of a viral video or a dance move. It’s because I might have proven I’m the best man and the best woman for the job.

  I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for going after the promotion and trying my hardest to nab it. I flash back to Derek’s advice from the other night. He was right. He kept me focused. He kept me from spiraling into a worry that’s far too common for women. And I’m damn grateful because I love my job and I love this town.