by Staci Hart
“Can’t a guy just be happy for his buddy?” He pushed off the wall and rolled his eyes, the tension gone with a snap. “God, you’re so fucking paranoid. If nothing else, I’m glad you got laid. Your celibacy was disturbing, man. So congrats on the ass,” he said as he passed.
I watched him walk to the drum cage. The bet was over. Now Ian knew I was with Val. Everything was fine. I had nothing to worry about.
Ian would never betray me.
I turned my gaze to Val as she set up her music. The light of her stand lamp highlighted the curve of her forearms, the curls framing her face.
And I hoped to God I was right.
Val’s arm slipped into the warm space between my coat and shirt when we hit the sidewalk outside of the theater. “I can’t believe you survived dinner with my family.”
I adjusted the strap of her trumpet bag so the case wouldn’t bump her. “And I didn’t even end up with my shoelaces tied together or poisoned or anything.”
Val laughed. “I dunno. Pretty sure Abuelita wanted to drug you and keep you for herself.”
“If she made me paella every day, I’d go willingly. Really, I’d be ripping her off.”
“I told you my brothers were a nightmare.”
“No, you said they were a furry hurricane. A furricane. And I’m not worried about them. They said as long as I don’t make you cry, I’m safe. Little do they know that’s already on my vision board.”
“Oh my God,” she said on a chuckle. “I just imagined you sitting in the middle of your bedroom floor, listening to Katy Perry while you cut pictures out of Seventeen and wallpaper them to your closet door.”
“I prefer Taylor Swift and Cosmopolitan, but you’re not far off.” I tucked her into me a little tighter. “I had a thought.”
“Mmm? What’s that?”
“We shouldn’t go dancing.”
“No?”
I smiled at the trace of disappointment in her voice.
“No. We should go home instead and spend the night in bed.”
She squeezed my middle. “Yes, please. Tomorrow, we’ll dance.”
“Tomorrow, your birthday.”
A sheepish laugh. “It’s not a big deal. Please don’t make it a big deal. And tonight, your bed sounds like the only place I want to be.”
“No promises. And good.”
With a sigh, she settled into my side. We were quiet on the walk back, a content, introspective silence that never came between us. It was something we shared.
The night had held the potential for disaster, but I’d made it through unscathed. I had Dante’s tenuous approval, had eaten the meal of a lifetime, and had played with her grandfather and bowed to a master.
It had been a good night.
I wondered if she’d ever brought a man home before. From what I knew about her, I’d be willing to bet the answer was no. But she’d allowed me to crash that dinner, and the allowance was a testament to her trust in me and her faith in us.
Worry licked at my heart like fog. She trusted me. And I was responsible for nurturing that, protecting it.
I didn’t want to fail. Not at anything, but especially not at this. I couldn’t fail her.
Ian crossed my mind again. I hadn’t been able to shake our conversation, the sense that it wasn’t over even though he’d said it was. At least, I thought he’d said it was.
It’d better be over, I thought, shifting to press a kiss into her hair.
Ian had no reason to bring it up again. There was nothing left to say.
Possession surged in my chest. Possession and protection.
She walked up the stairs of my building with me trailing behind her by a step. And when I looked up, all I could see was Val. The curve of her cheek. Her curly hair. Her shoulder, her arm.
All I could see was her.
I stopped, tugging her hand until she stopped, too.
When she looked back, amusement and curiosity flickered across her brow. When she saw I wasn’t budging, she turned to face me.
She was far enough above me that I had to look up to see her. The hallway was dim, lit only by an old, out-of-style dome light, obscured by her head. The light lit her hair up like a halo, casting her face in shadow.
She cupped my jaw and smiled, lips together. “What is it, Sam?”
“It’s you, everything about you. I want…I want so much. I want to earn your smiles, your laughter. Your heart. Your pleasure is my pleasure. I didn’t know that your happiness would be my own, too. There’s so much I didn’t know.”
Softly, she laughed. “And here I thought you were supposed to be teaching me.”
I climbed one step, bringing me level with her lips. “Oh, no. It was you who were teaching me all along.”
And before she could speak, I pressed my lips to her sweeter ones, breathed her in for a moment. Just a moment. Felt the curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin, the beat of her heart.
Up the stairs of my building we climbed. I opened the door, and she strode in, lazily stripping off her coat. She tossed it on the back of the couch and crossed her arms over her waist, grabbing handfuls of her shirt. With a glance over her shoulder and a seductive smile in my direction, her hands rose, her shirt rising with it, exposing first the curve of her waist, then her ribs, her shoulder blades. Her curly hair spilled out of the neck, brushing her shoulders. And then she tossed it away.
She never stopped walking.
I shed my jacket, my shoes, my shirt, following the trail of her clothes. She disappeared into the dark portal of my doorframe.
When I passed into the darkness, I reached for the light. And when the bulbs of my lamps flared, there she was.
She sat perched on the end of my bed, her eyes bottomless and lips wet. She was constructed solely of smooth, tan curves, shoulder and arms, breasts and hips, thigh to knee to calf to the tip of every round toe. Shadows sank into every valley, light brushed every peak.
And her eyes, those endless eyes, called me, whispered my name.
I strode across the room, caught her face in my hands, felt the silky strands of her hair against my knuckles, her skin against my fingertips. For a moment, I was a captive despite holding her in my palms.
And then I kissed her.
The girl who had hidden her body from me had gone, replaced by a woman who wanted to be seen. Those places she hated were forgotten in the safety of my arms—she knew I wouldn’t betray her. She knew I wouldn’t make her feel anything but perfect and desired.
Because that was the truth. And my honesty had affected her, changed her. Made her a believer.
She sighed into my mouth, her hands working my belt open, then my pants down, reaching for me as I stepped out of them. Her fingers trailed the length of me, the tip of me. I leaned into her. She broke the kiss to sigh against my swollen lips.
“Lie down,” she whispered, and I did, though not before kissing her again and not without taking her with me.
She lay a trail of wet, slow kisses down my chest, her fingers brushing my nipples. Down further, down the planes of my abs to the ridge of my hips. Her hands roamed, touching, teasing, never the place where I wanted her most. That place was aware of every fringe touch—a lock of her hair brushing my length, the curve of her cheek skimming the sensitive skin of my crown, the tip of her nose as she kissed the eager skin so low between my hips.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take it, she wrapped her fingers around my shaft and stroked. Her face rose, her lips parting, her tongue darting out to slick them. I gathered her hair, cupped the back of her head, watched her, lashes down, nose small, mouth open as she descended. Hot and wet, soft and slick—the sensation overwhelmed me, amplified by the sight of my cock disappearing into her, inch by inch.
Her moan sent a vibration down my shaft and deep into my body.
No, this was not the same girl who had asked me to kiss her so she’d know the good from the bad. This wasn’t the girl who hadn’t dated and had never had an orgasm by a man. This
was a new being altogether, one who touched me with all the confidence of a woman who knew what she wanted and what she needed.
And she knew exactly how to get it.
I lay there underneath her, holding her hair, trying to breathe, trying to hang on. She picked up her pace, bringing me up with her, my ass flexed and hips forward. She slowed, let me wait for only a breath before bringing me to the edge again.
I drew my hips away, held her head where it was, exiting her mouth with a quiet pop. I breathed her name, and she smiled, climbing up my body at my command.
She paused when she reached my lips to kiss me, still on all fours instead of spread across me. I grabbed her ass and squeezed, telling her where I wanted her, but instead of acquiescing, she broke the kiss and reached for my nightstand.
Her breasts were in my face, and I took the invitation, pressing them into each other, testing their weight, bringing the peaked tip of one to my lips, my mouth, my tongue. She sucked in a breath at the contact, lowering her hips enough that I could reach between her legs and stroke her.
But the connection was brief. She backed up, rose up on her knees, her hands tearing open a condom, her fingers on my cock, the condom rolling on. And I watched her, letting her do what she would. Because that was what she wanted.
And what she wanted, I wanted.
My hands shifted on her thighs, my eyes locked on the rippling flesh at the apex. She guided me, stood me upright, stroked herself with my tip. And she spread those legs, those glorious fucking thighs, and sank onto me, not stopping until she was flesh to flesh against me.
I pulsed inside her. She flexed in answer.
Her body was a wave, her palms resting on my chest, her breasts caught in the cage of her arms.
I watched, jaw clenched and hips high.
My eyes traced her curves, each one magnified, exaggerated by the stretch of her body. Her shoulders high and tight. Her heavy breasts bouncing with every revolution of her hips. The smooth trough from her ribs to the bend in her waist. The grand swell of her ass. I reached for that swell, held it in my palm, let my hand ride the rhythm of her body.
Faster she moved, tighter she held, her nails abrading my skin, her ass bouncing. Her face pinched, her eyes closed tight, her face turned to the side, covered by her hair. I traced her jaw, swept her hair away, and for the briefest moment, she opened her eyes. Fear was there, but when she met my gaze, when she saw me, it dissipated, softened her face, arched her back, gave her peace in her pleasure.
She lost herself wholly, committed completely. She took my hand and laid it on her breast, rolled her hips faster until her ass slapped my thighs. And she came, squeezing me so tight, I couldn’t breathe. Gasping and writhing, she came to me, mewling and grinding. She came for me, wanted me to see her, wanted me to watch.
She granted me the gift of her fearlessness, of her brazen desire.
As she slowed, I sat, sweeping her up by the face and the neck to kiss her, to pull her into my body, to tell her I saw her. I understood. I wanted. I needed.
My arm hooked around her waist to flip her over, but she shifted in the opposite direction, stopping me. With her palm on my chest, she pushed me to lie down again, still astride me, riding me gently, knees buried in the bed, nestled into my ribs. Her hands trailed up her body, over her breasts, up her neck, into her hair, stretching the lines of her body out like art.
Once again, her hands braced my chest, and with a mournful shift of her hips, she released me.
Her smile said to trust her. And I did, though my hands sought every inch of skin they could touch.
I didn’t realize what she was doing until it was nearly done. In a breath, she was straddling me again, though this time backward.
Her palms found my thighs, her feet tucked into my sides, her ass—God, that ass—in front of me. My hands were full of it, pulling her cheeks apart to feast my eyes upon the puckered hollow, the fluttering flesh beneath, her swollen lips. Her hips rose higher, and my hand slid to my cock, hooking the base, raising it to meet her.
Once again, she slipped the tip of me into her heat. Once again, she lowered her hips.
But this time, I could see everything.
She swallowed me whole, her skin pink and slick. Her ass spilling from my hands, the slap of our skin, the force I pulled her down on me. The vision of my body joining her body, of entering her, of her holding me, the hourglass of her body and the gentle moans in time to every thrust, every wave, every motion as we came together and fell apart.
Noisily, I breathed. Tightly, I held her. Deeply, I drove into the center of her until I reached the end. The end of her. The end of me. The end of my composure and the end of my will.
I came with a thundering pulse, hard and hot and blinding as she whispered her yeses in sighs and cries, and I moved her body at the speed mine needed.
And then I slowed her, settled deep in her. She shifted her hips side to side. I felt every movement from tip to root.
I sat, bringing my chest to her back, winding my arms around her waist, laying kisses across her shoulders, her spine, the base of her neck when she arched into me. But it wasn’t enough.
Shifting, I rolled us, pulling out of her in the same motion. I held her against me as I lowered us onto the bed. Our legs tangled. Arms hooking and hands searching. And we kissed, skin to skin, heart to heart.
It was a long time before we slowed, a long time before we were sated.
For a moment, I just looked down into her face, and she looked up into mine.
This was what it felt like. Intimacy. I’d known so many women, known their bodies. But I’d never known body and soul. Mind and heart. They amplified every physical touch, threaded every breath with something deeper, something more.
I should have been afraid. I realized it distantly, like a light on the horizon, a curiosity.
But I wasn’t afraid. Not of her. Not of my own heart or feelings. Because it was as I’d told her—I didn’t do things even halfway. I went all in.
And now that I knew what I wanted, I committed completely.
There was no choice. Only fact. And the path before me was simple.
When she closed her eyes and pulled me in for another kiss, I knew I wouldn’t miss a single step.
28
Make a Wish
Sam
The music bounced. We bounced. The whole world bounced with us.
I spun Val out and tugged to bring her back to me. Spinning and laughing and perfect and mine. The second I could reach her, I grabbed her ribs in one hand and her hand in the other, pulling her around with our hips and feet in perfect, harmonious time.
The club was hopping. Literally hopping, a sea of heads bobbing around us to the music. All except for one.
Ian stood near the edge of the crowd, eyes narrowed and locked on me.
On us.
I’d been ignoring his bitchy attitude all night, the snapping commands he’d thrown out during our set, the scathing looks that had been strikingly similar to the one he was directing at me right then. I found myself glaring back at him. But only for a second.
Then I remembered the girl in my arms and forgot all about Ian.
Mostly.
The song ended, and we stopped to offer our applause.
Amelia appeared at Val’s elbow. “Come on. You apparently have to take birthday shots.”
She laughed. “Seriously?”
“House rule. That’s what Benny said at least. Come on!” She tugged at Val’s arm. “They’re on the house. Ladies only though. Sorry, Sam.”
I shrugged, laughing. “I’ll try to move on.”
“Well, if they’re on the house, I guess I really can’t say no,” she said before lifting up on her tiptoes to press a kiss into my cheek. “Be right back.”
“Be right here.” I smiled like a fool, slipping my hands into my pockets.
She walked past Ian, not seeing him following her with his eyes like he wanted to douse her in gasoline and light a matc
h.
My smile flattened, my jaw popping. I strode over to him, cool on the outside, molten fucking lava on the inside.
“Something on your mind, Jackson?”
He sipped his whiskey. “You’re awfully fucking chipper.”
“And you’re awfully fucking bitter. What’s your problem?”
“Just processing my disbelief over you and Susie Spitshine.”
“I told you not to call her that, asshole.”
He chuffed and took another drink.
“What do you want? What’s your damage?”
“What do I want? God, you are so fucking naive. Guess. Guess what my fucking problem is.”
My jaw clenched. “You’re pissed you lost your wingman.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Sam. Try again.” He took a drink.
My brows drew together. “You’re mad you lost the bet.”
“Warmer.”
And my frown fully set on my face. “You’re mad because I won?”
“Hotter.”
“You’re mad…because I’m with Val?”
“Ding, ding, ding. Somebody get this guy a drink.”
“But why?” I asked, searching my brain like a man who’d lost something vital. “I don’t get it. Why would you give a shit that I have a girlfriend?”
His eyes narrowed, his face pinched, his lungs expanded. And he snapped like a firecracker. “No, you don’t fucking get it, do you? You are such a dumb motherfucker. Always the honest one, always the hero. Your fatal flaw? Taking everything at face value. You trust everyone. Everyone. Do you have any idea how easy it is to play you?” His jaw tightened, his spine stretching to give him a couple of inches over me. “One of three things was supposed to happen with the bet; you were going to feel like a piece of shit for leading her on, or you were going to hurt her. Or—my best-case scenario—both.”
Fury rose in my chest, sending tingling heat down to my fingertips. “You didn’t ever want her.” I realized the depth of my mistake far too late. “You just wanted to fuck with me.”
He shook his head at me like the fucking idiot I was. “I’m always the one who gets slapped or gets a drink thrown in my face. And you’re always riding in to save the day. I’m fucking sick of it. I’m sick of living in the shadow of your high fucking horse. It’s your turn to wear the black hat. It’s your turn to be the bad guy.”