Sweethand

by N. G. Peltier

  “So, this is where you’re hiding.” As if she’d conjured him with her filthy thoughts, Keiran settled beside her.

  Her body tightened, responding to his proximity, while he remained casually propped against the railing.

  “I’m not hiding.” She forced herself to relax. He was doing it again, trying to get a rise out of her.

  “Well, I’m here. Care to finish our chat from earlier?”

  She didn’t want to do this. She wanted to go home. She wanted to feel his strong hands cupping her ass again, massaging her flesh, stroking her thighs. Her fingers dug into the railing. She drank in the way his black sleeveless tank fit to his chest and showed off his arms but refused to let her eyes drop below his waist. No. She’d caught enough glimpses of his ass and thighs in those plaid boxers. His sleepwear wasn’t flashy in any way, but she’d had to mentally slap herself several times throughout the party to stop from gaping.

  “You couldn’t think of anything a lil’ less boring?” she quipped, gesturing at his get-up. She wasn’t in the mood to continue their earlier conversation right now.

  “My usual sleepwear isn’t quite this...decent.”

  “Oh.” She’d walked right into that. Dammit. She wouldn’t ask. She would not... “Are you saying you go bare-assed on the sheets, or?”

  His lips slowly quirked up. “Boxer briefs.”

  Oh, sweet Lord. That was somehow even worse. If he’d shown up here in tiny boxer briefs, that supply closet would have gotten more use, guests be damned. She’d bite into a shoulder to keep her ass quiet if she had to. Because Keiran, in tiny briefs, would break her. Her mind worked overtime, picturing that. His dick would definitely be pressed up all indecently at the front, fabric molding that ass in the back, and his muscled thighs would be on full display.

  He straightened from his casual lean, fingers drumming the flat top of the railing. “So, I threw on these longer boxers over them so I wouldn’t give anyone an eyeful. My public service for the day.”

  “How commendable of you,” she said wryly even as her throat dried out at the knowledge that he had those briefs on under his boxers. Now would be an excellent time for her to leave. Find her ride and get gone. But that pull between them that she just couldn’t seem to escape was taking the reins now, and she found herself closing the distance, hooking a finger in the waistband of his boxers and tugging him closer.

  He didn’t fight, allowed her to reel him in. A small part of her was confident that Keiran wouldn’t refuse her. She’d seen that heavy serving of want in his eyes enough times now to be sure of that. His reaction to her not-date with Jerome was proof too.

  Maybe. Doesn’t hurt any less.

  Those words should be enough to send her in the opposite direction. She was being selfish. She knew that. Using him to get off when he probably wanted more. She’d seen a spark of something other than lust in his gaze, too. But he hadn’t refused her yet, so was it so wrong if they both got something out of this? Even if Keiran wasn’t getting exactly what he wanted, he obviously wanted this.

  And she was so damn weak.

  “No one has to know.” She could have her cake and eat it too—as messed up as that was—because what was the point of having cake right there if you didn’t eat it? If Keiran was willing to be on board with it.

  “Is that what you want?” His gaze was intense, searching as if he was trying to root out what her real angle was here.

  “I can’t deny this sex we keep having is...distracting. I know I keep saying one and done, but we both see how that’s been working out. Tell me to go to hell if you want to. I’d deserve it for even suggesting this.” She kept toying with his waistband until his hand came down on her wrist, stilling her movements.

  “We’re both adults here. If we say what we’re doing upfront, no one’ll get hurt, right?”

  She looked up at him. “Right.”

  “What are the rules?”

  “Rules? We have sex when we want, then go about our lives. Lather, rinse, repeat. We don’t need to make a production of this.”

  He frowned, releasing her wrist, hand moving up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, basically, a booty call, and you still go on dates?”

  “Yes.”

  His hand moved from her hair to trace the shell of her ear. Cherisse shivered at the featherlight touch. “I suppose anyone’s a more feasible option than me. Can’t even say I blame you right now. I haven’t exactly been at my best.” His touch burned all the way down her jaw. “Just tell me when you’re done with me. When you’ve gotten whatever it is you need out of this.”

  “Keiran.” God. His words made her feel like shit.

  He cupped her jaw. “Don’t feel bad about what you want. You’re being upfront with me. So, you set the end date, yeah?”

  “Fine.”

  He bowed his head, mouth hovering inches away from hers, waiting. She nodded, and he captured her lips in a soft kiss as if to seal the deal. She was already on edge, body wound tight, ready for release. She couldn’t do this softness. She pulled him into a corner of the porch.

  As their tongues tangled, she palmed him through the boxers. His erection tented the front of it. There was no way he could go back inside without giving the guests an eyeful. She sucked on his bottom lip, hand still stroking, tugging. “You got your car keys?”

  His head thunked back against the side of the hall. “Yeah. Handy pocket in this thing,” he panted out, hips moving in time with her hand.

  “Gave anyone a ride here?”

  “No.”

  She gave one last slow stroke that had him groaning. “Good. Take me home.”

  Chapter 25

  Keiran

  THEY’D BARELY MADE it inside her apartment before Cherisse was on him, biting at his lip as she pushed at the bottom of his tank top to scrape her nails over his stomach.

  “Get this shit off,” she demanded, eyes flashing with lust and a hint of lingering annoyance.

  “You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”

  “Is that why you keep pissing me off?”

  He laughed. “No. Just a pleasant side effect.”

  He wanted to go slow, bask in her body, but she wasn’t allowing it as she pushed him back until he bounced onto her couch. Seconds later, she was straddling him, and his hands went to her hips.

  “Cherisse.”

  “That isn’t what this is,” she breathed against his lips. “Fast. Hard. Make me fucking scream. That’s what I want.”

  Well, shit. He would be a fool to say no to that. For the second time, he swept her up in his arms, and she squealed.

  “A little warning next time,” she huffed as he took her upstairs.

  “You said faster. And this is faster than walking.”

  He’d barely set her down on the bed before her top was thrown off to the side and her pajama bottoms kicked off. Keiran nearly tripped while removing his boxers because, sweet Jesus, Cherisse wasn’t in the mood to wait. Her finger was already rubbing at the center of her thong. “Come take these off. Now.”

  So goddamn bossy. He loved it, and he loved the little sounds he wrenched from her, loved the crescendo of it as she got louder with every touch and stroke. In the end, he did make her scream, but it was the way she snuggled up next to him, head on the pillow she’d dragged into his lap as she sighed, that was nearly his undoing.

  At the risk of losing a limb, he took a chance and stroked her hair away from her face. Eyes still closed, cheeks flushed, and breath a bit ragged, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “I can feel you looking at me, weirdo.”

  “Do you think people will notice we’re gone?”

  “Probably.” She yawned. “Don’t care.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” It was a reasonable question. Snuggling wasn’t exactly part of their casual sex deal. Or was it? They hadn’t exactly hashed out a list of Dos and Don’ts.

  “What I want you to do is shush while I snooze. I
f you want to leave, that’s up to you.”

  “Wow, sex really mellows you out, huh?”

  Her finger unerringly found the one place between his ribs where he was ticklish and poked at it.

  “Hey!”

  “Shut. Up.”

  His phone rang from somewhere on the floor, and Cherisse groaned. “Maybe you should leave,” she grumbled.

  “That’s Eric. I should get that.”

  Cherisse got up from his lap, pillow and all, and flopped back down onto the bed as he got up to search for his phone.

  “How many squats you gotta do to get an ass like that?” Cherisse asked, and he looked over his shoulder to see her eyes dipped low.

  He chuckled as he retrieved his phone. “Too damn many.”

  “Hey, where are you?” Eric asked.

  “Um.” Keiran met Cherisse’s gaze as she waited for his reply. She turned onto her side, hand on her cheek to prop herself up. “Cherisse wasn’t feeling well, so I offered to take her home.”

  “I hope she’s okay.”

  “What’s happening? Is Cherry alright?” Ava piped up in the background. Dammit. The last thing they needed was them worrying enough to come over here.

  “Yeah, she’s okay. Really. Just probably tired. I sent her straight to bed.”

  Cherisse’s grin turned naughty, fingers trailing down her side, drawing Keiran’s eyes to the curve of her hips then down between her legs.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Ava sounded mildly panicked, having taken the phone from Eric.

  “Nothing. She’s fine. I’m coming back to the party in a bit,” he choked out as he followed the motion of Cherisse’s finger. Up and down, then, oh God, in and out. “Okay, bye. I’ll see you in a little.”

  He ended the call, tossing the phone back onto his discarded clothes. Before he could move back onto the bed, Cherisse crawled over to him, reaching up to trace his lips with the same damn fingers. “Remember how I said to shut up?”

  He nodded as she put his mouth to better use.

  Chapter 26

  Cherisse

  SHE SHOULD’VE KNOWN the fatigue from the wedding shower was the first sign, but she’d ignored it, worked up a different, more delicious kind of tired with Keiran back at her apartment. He’d left her sated, her entire body languid.

  Now, two days later, after somehow bullshitting her way through a client meeting without collapsing, Cherisse felt like shit, probably looked it too. Keiran’s lie to Eric and Ava had become a reality. She was sick. Achy and tired, she had to actively work to concentrate on where the taxi was going so she wouldn’t fall asleep and miss her stop.

  She staggered into the apartment, and Remi looked up from her laptop, caught sight of her, and jumped to her feet.

  “Jesus, you look horrible!”

  Cherisse tossed her handbag on the couch, body thumping down next to it. “I might be coming down with something. I don’t have time to be sick,” she wailed, arm covering her eyes as she thumped her head back on the couch. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed glass.

  “Did Keiran infect you or something?” Remi’s voice came from above.

  “Shit, I probably spread my germs to him. I should text him.”

  “Symptoms check,” Remi demanded, her pseudo-mom voice switched on.

  “Achy, sore throat, head’s pounding. Just...tired.” Her bed and meds were much needed. “Ugh, our birthday’s soon. I can’t be sick.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m making you tea. Then you can have some of the fun drowsy stuff, and bed.”

  She peered up at Remi. “Okay.”

  Remi’s eyebrow winged up. “Oh lord, you’re sicker than I thought. You’re actually going to drink tea without kicking up a fuss?”

  “Your honey-lime concoction thing worked last time when you forced me to take it, so let’s not get carried away. No other tea-like beverage shall touch these lips unless they’re in dessert form and made by someone that I trust cuz you know I don’t willingly put tea in anything I make.”

  Remi patted her head. “Alright, Miss Tea Basher, I’ll take care of you.”

  Remi did just that—made her the tea to soothe her fiery throat, got her some drowsy meds, and helped her up to bed. Cherisse waved Remi off when she offered to bring her work up. Remi was busy sorting photos to upload to the Island Bites site, as well as some test shots for her first gallery showing that she had coming up in the next few months.

  “Don’t be a weirdo. I’ll text if I need anything.” Cherisse waved her phone.

  She wanted to shoot Keiran a quick text too. It was the right thing to do, in case she had unknowingly shared her germs. She didn’t need Remi hovering around for that. She’d already made her feelings about the casual sex with Keiran known—silently, with a heavy dose of side-eye. Plus, the meds were doing their thing. Her limbs felt heavy, and she needed to send that text before the phone fell on her face or something.

  “Go.” She shooed Remi, who still hovered in the doorway.

  “Fine. Sleep.” Remi left the door slightly ajar, and Cherisse rolled her eyes. Sometimes, Remi was a worse worrier than Cherisse’s mother.

  Cherisse tapped out a quick text to Keiran:

  Cherisse: think I’m coming down with the flu. So heads up flumaggedon maybe heading your way.

  Keiran: oh damn how you feelin’?

  Cherisse: I’ve been banished to bed and drugged up. Remi’s orders. Anyway meds kicking in so before this phone meets my face...

  She didn’t wait for his reply. The phone had already almost slid out her hand, so she pitched it next to her and let the drowsiness pull her under.

  SHE WOKE UP GROGGY, eyes burning. She had no idea how long she’d slept. She squinted at her curtains, which told her nothing. Then she remembered her phone.

  Cherisse patted the bed beside her until her hand landed on it. Keiran had messaged back. She’d slept right through that.

  Keiran: hey, you like soup right? I can bring you some?

  That had been three hours ago. She checked the time, already after 6 p.m. Why was he trying to bring her soup? This wasn’t part of their hooking up. It hadn’t explicitly been said, but Cherisse was sure she’d made it clear this was just sex, hadn’t she? That didn’t involve soup.

  Did it involve post-sex cuddling?

  “Shush, you,” she hissed at that annoying inner voice. She was definitely worse off than expected if she was openly talking back to herself.

  Cherisse: yes and not necessary. Not part of the deal. Thanks tho.

  Keiran: oh you’re up. Well uh I’m not saying I’m downstairs but...

  What? He couldn’t be serious. She opened a new chat window for Remi.

  Cherisse: is Keiran here?

  Remi: uh...

  Cherisse: dammit Remi!

  Remi: he brought food. Otherwise I wouldn’t have let him in. I think it’s soup. Which is kinda sweet, I guess. How u feeling?

  Cherisse: like shit.

  She thought about going downstairs and decided she wasn’t ready to move yet. Fucking flu. She burrowed deeper under her covers. Her fan was on full blast, adding to her chills, but reaching across that short distance to turn it down or off completely felt like a chore. She was hungry, too. Her tummy rumbled. At least she hadn’t lost her appetite yet. That soup sounded like a good idea. She should tell Remi to bring it up, and...

  She woke up again, thinking she’d slept another few hours, only to see twenty minutes had passed. The damn meds always dragged her under deeply, throwing off her sense of time.

  “Hey.”

  Cherisse’s eyes jumped to her bedroom door. Keiran. Oh, God, why? He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure how she’d react. If she had any energy at all, she’d throw a pillow at his head.

  “No,” she said, tossing her cover over her head. “Why’re you still here?” Her voice came out muffled from under her blanket cocoon.

  “I have soup. Remi said I could come up.” His voice sounded closer.r />
  “I’m gonna kill her.” Seriously, what was Remi even trying to pull with this?

  “Not entirely sure this isn’t some set-up for me to face your wrath. She told me I should be able to find your room on my own, considering.”

  Cherisse huffed, pulling the cover down just enough so she could glare at him over it. She was hyperaware of her hair falling out of the bun she’d wrestled it into at some point.

  “Hi,” he grinned, gesturing with the tray. “It’s really good, promise.”

  She pushed herself up into a sitting position, letting her cover fall away. “Did you make that?”

  “Yes.” He placed the tray on her lap. “Can I sit?”

  He’d made her soup. It was sweet. Nope. Stop that right now. She glared harder. “No.”

  Seemingly unbothered by her curt reply, he stood there, rocking back on his heels. Why wasn’t he leaving? Was he actually going to watch her eat the damn soup?

  “You served your purpose, you can go now.” She was being rude, but she hated being sick.

  “You’re cute when you’re irritable.”

  She ignored him and took a sip of the soup. Damn, that was delicious. “It’s good.”

  “Course it is. I know what I’m about where soup’s concerned.”

  She slurped up more soup. Her throat still ached, but the soup was easier to eat than anything too solid right now. More broth than anything else, with a bit of noodles, she could manage without too much pain. A round of honey and lime was in order after this or more of Remi’s tea. “You this eager to get yourself sick?”

  He shrugged. Even feeling like death, she could appreciate his shoulders in that white t-shirt. She dipped her spoon in the soup again, brought it to her mouth so she wouldn’t actually say that. She felt grimy. God, she needed a shower, and he was here, being all nice and looking sexy. She hated it.