Stirred (Twisted Fox Book 1)

by Charity Ferrell

  I nod. “Agreed.”

  I assist her to her bedroom, stopping at her doorway this time—as if we are worried that, if I go any further, we’ll end up in her bed.

  “Good night, Jamie.”

  “Night, Cohen.”

  I trek down the stairs and make my pallet on the couch.

  I don’t sleep.

  All I do is lie there and think.

  I’m so fucked.

  “Don’t forget,” Noah shouts from the back seat, rocking from side to side. Kid had too much root beer at lunch. “I’m spending the night with Aunt Georgia tonight!”

  Every year for his birthday, Georgia and he have a sleepover where she spoils him rotten with sugar and fun before he passes out in exhaustion.

  They go to the movies and dinner, and he always looks forward to it.

  “I didn’t forget, buddy,” I reply.

  To say this morning was awkward is an understatement. Good thing my child loves to talk because it’s what saved me from engaging in too much conversation with Jamie. We woke up, packed our shit, said good-bye to everyone, and left. We stopped for a quick lunch through the drive-through, and I let Noah listen to his Kidz Bop shit, knowing damn well I’d have a headache from it later.

  Since Jamie’s car is at my house, I go straight to mine.

  She doesn’t utter a word as I do.

  Jamie sits in the living room while I pack Noah’s overnight back—vetoing him wearing his swim trunks with cowboy boots and a sweatband around his head.

  Where the hell did he even get a sweatband?

  When we’re done, Georgia and Jamie are in the living room, talking about Georgia’s classes. As soon as Georgia and Noah are out the door, I decide to jump right in before either I chicken out or Jamie leaves.

  If I hesitate, it might never happen.

  The question has been on the tip of my tongue since it slid into her mouth last night.

  “Jamie,” I say, sprawling out on the couch with my legs spread, “why’d you kiss me?”

  She stares at me with reluctance in her eyes. “I wanted to show you my skills have improved since high school.” The smirk fighting at her lips tells me she’s damn proud of her answer.

  Those were probably the words on her mind since we pulled away last night.

  “Definitely have improved,” I reply, and my dick stirs at the memory of how soft her lips were and how responsive she was to my touch. “Now, tell me the real reason you kissed me.”

  She hesitates, opening her mouth and then closing it before shutting her eyes and blowing out a long breath. “I kissed you because I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and out of all people, it has to be you.”

  I spread my palm over my chest. “That sure makes a man feel good.”

  “You know what I mean,” she says with a sigh. “The guy who’s definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt off-limits to me is you—the one I definitely, one hundred percent wish weren’t.”

  “Why am I one hundred percent, all the rest of the shit you said off-limits to you?”

  She winces. “You need me to answer that question? I never thought you were one hundred percent clueless.”

  “There are a million reasons it could be. What’s the main reason you don’t want me to touch you again? You don’t want my mouth back on yours?”

  Is it because of Noah?

  Heather?

  Because you think I’ll break your heart?

  All of the above?

  “You chose her.” Her response is merely a whisper, and I’m surprised I made out the words.

  My chest squeezes tight. “Why do you keep saying that? I didn’t choose her over you. You were younger than me—much younger—and I met you because I was dating Heather.” I throw my arms out. “There was never a lineup, an ultimatum, that said, Choose Heather or choose Jamie. At that time, you were my girlfriend’s little sister—too young, and no offense, but too immature. And I’m not going to lie to your face; yes, I was in love with another woman. I believed I was in love with another woman.”

  Her face twists in pain.

  My heart does the same.

  My words have struck a nerve.

  Hell, they have with me, and I was the one saying them.

  I continue before she smacks me in the face and leaves, “Did my thoughts sometimes change as you got older? Was there ever a doubt in my mind after you shoved me into that bathroom and kissed me? Yes. That night, the urge to pin you against the wall, to teach you how to kiss so I could keep kissing you, burned through me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. You weren’t mine—”

  “And you weren’t mine,” she shrieks, unshackling the hurt and anger my words created.

  “I wasn’t yours,” I repeat with a bowed head before tilting it up, my eyes set on her, hoping she can read the honesty in them. “I was a different man then. And I’m not spouting this bullshit because Heather is no longer around, and I see you as a second choice.” I slap my hand over my heart. “I let you in, Jamie, even when I’d sworn the door would never open again. I did that, not with the intention or the thought of the feelings emerging, because you’re the kindest fucking soul I know. I opened myself up because you’re beautiful, inside and out. I tried to keep my distance by not being around when you saw Noah, but that didn’t work.” My heart hammers against my chest. “I fucking crave you, Jamie. As much as I want to stop it, I can’t.”

  Her jaw drops as she gawks at me, and I stand in front of her.

  “This is it. Me handing my heart to you, giving you the decision to stay here, kiss me again, or tell me to go fuck myself. It’s your call, and if you leave, I’ll never bring this up again. I won’t take Noah away from you. We can speak in passing and remain friends.”

  I kneel on one knee, our eyes on the same level, and hers are glossy as they stare at me.

  “It’s time we set this straight, and by setting it straight, I’m letting you make the decision. You have more to lose than I do. Me? I’m one hundred percent in. There’s no question that the feelings I have for you are much more than platonic. You make the call.”

  23

  Jamie

  “I fucking crave you.”

  “One hundred percent in.”

  “You make the call.”

  Like the night I came over when Noah was sick, this moment will change everything.

  Our lives.

  Our relationship.

  Our hearts.

  What makes you a stronger person?

  To hold your happiness, so others won’t lose theirs?

  To break your own heart?

  If I say yes, I’d be choosing him over Heather.

  He stares at me in expectation, waiting for an answer—if I’ll break our hearts or dive into something I’ve wanted for years.

  My brain scrambles with indecision.

  I’m not someone who makes rash decisions.

  If my feelings weren’t this strong for Cohen, if being with him didn’t set my heart on fire and it was only sexual attraction, I’d already be out the door.

  I’m not out the door because I don’t want to lose him.

  To lose what’s happening between us.

  “Cohen …” I search his face for any apprehension. There’s none. “Will you break my heart if I do this?”

  “No,” he replies with no hesitation, and his hands stretch over my thighs. “I know the pain of your heart being shattered, and I’d never put you through that. Never.” He gently squeezes my thighs. “That’s why I’m stopping myself from kissing you, from pinning you onto the couch and touching you. Don’t think there isn’t fear on my end. You can break my heart just as much as I can break yours. And to be honest, while doing my best not to sound like a pussy, I’m not sure how I’ll recover from yours with how deep I’m starting to care for you.”

  Honesty is in his eyes.

  I reach out, splaying my hand over his chest, feeling his heart beating madly.

  As my answer, as I make a decision
that will spin my world on its axis, I lean forward and press my lips to his.

  “Thank God,” he breathes against my mouth, tasting like fresh mint, and he cups his hand around my neck, deepening our kiss.

  His hand moves from my thigh to circle my waist, and he pulls us up. As he gets to his feet, I wrap my legs around his waist, a struggle at first with my swollen ankle. He cups my ass, keeping a tight hold on me. We devour each other, and no questions are asked when he walks us to his bedroom and kicks the door shut behind us. With me in his arms, he flips on the light before gently laying me down on his bed.

  It’s my first time in his bedroom.

  Black bedding. Black furniture. Deep gray walls.

  More masculine than the rest of the house. Definitely Cohen.

  Chills run down my spine. The weight of his body over mine is perfection. Our movements are slow, our touches soft, unfaltering.

  Unlike last night, there’s no uncertainty with us.

  I want this.

  He wants this.

  We need this.

  My legs tremble, and his hands are chilly as they strip me of my shirt. He tosses my shoes over his shoulder and slides my pants down, goose bumps following his every touch. His breathing is labored when he draws back and levels himself by pressing his palm against the mattress. My breathing matches his as he drinks in my half-naked body.

  “Perfection,” he whispers, reaching out with his free hand and skimming the base of his knuckles against my cheek. “So damn beautiful.”

  He gently squeezes my chin, and the air becomes heavy as he moves down my body. With each inch he drops, the harder my breathing drags. I’m close to a heart attack when his head aligns with my black hipster panties—not exactly the sexiest panties, but he shows no complaints while dragging them down my legs. As soon as they’re flung to the side, he pushes my thighs apart, situates himself between them, and starts torturing me.

  His facial hair is rough around my thighs, and his tongue teasingly strokes my slit once.

  “Holy shit,” I gasp, hearing a light chuckle from him.

  “You like that?” he questions, peeking up at me, his brows raised.

  “Definitely like that,” I whisper.

  He nods, delivers a smirk on his lips, and mercilessly drives his tongue inside me. I lose count of how many moans escape me when he dips his fingers inside me, moving his tongue to gently suck on my clit, and I moan, losing myself.

  My eyes shut, and I’m close.

  Close to Cohen giving me the best orgasm I’ve ever had.

  Sure, I’ve done this before but never like this, never with a man who seems to already know what sets me off.

  And he does know because as soon as I’m on the brink, he shoves another finger inside me.

  “Mmm, you’re about to come for me,” is all I hear before I let go.

  I arch my back.

  Lose a breath.

  The need for more sets me on fire.

  His mouth meets mine, his kiss hard and deep, and I taste myself on his tongue. My head spins as I lift forward, clutch the bottom of his shirt, and drag it over his head, flinging it across the room.

  “I want to see your cock,” I say, boldness taking over me.

  He pulls back, allowing me room to rise, and his hips are aligned with my eyes. His erection strains against his jeans, and my mouth waters.

  That’s from me.

  I did that.

  I’m aching for him.

  Soaked for him.

  With shaking hands, I unbuckle him. The slow movements are long gone. We’re back to our frantic touching as I shove his pants and boxer briefs down his waist. His cock springs free, so hard and inches away from my mouth, and his head falls back when I suck on the tip of him.

  “Fuck, Jamie,” he groans.

  I shift, angling myself to take the full length of him inside my mouth. His hand reaches down, cupping my head, and he pushes more of his dick inside.

  I might have a big mouth for shit-talking, but a mouth for taking in a cock as large as Cohen’s isn’t one of my traits apparently.

  I gag for a moment, and he pulls back, his cock falling off my lips.

  “Shit, sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, my eyes watering. “It’s been a while, and you’re huge. I’ll probably need to practice that a few times before I become a skilled head-giver—”

  I’m cut off by him pushing me down on the bed and hovering over me.

  “We can practice that skill later. I’m sure your pussy can handle my cock just fine.”

  My eyes widen.

  That might take some adjusting as well.

  He kicks off his shoes and starts undressing while I focus on his hard cock—its size and how amazing it’ll feel inside me. My attention moves from his dick at the sound of a drawer opening. He withdraws a condom, tears it open with his teeth, and slides it on.

  I hold in a breath, hoping my vagina won’t be as difficult as my mouth in the whole Taking in Cohen’s Cock game, and he positions himself at my entrance.

  He levels his hand on my stomach. “Breathe, baby.”

  I nod, biting into my lip, and do as I was told.

  “You good?”

  “I’m good.”

  His hands grip my thighs as he pushes himself inside me. My lip twinges as I bite into it, Cohen’s size stretching me, and I relish in how perfectly he fills me.

  “Fuck, Jamie, you’re tight,” he hisses, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re intense—a look I’ve never seen before.

  “You good, baby?” he asks, his hips raised but not moving.

  I nod. “I’m perfect. This is perfect.”

  With my words, his hands move from my thighs to my ass, and he tilts my hips up before giving me one hard starting thrust.

  Then another.

  And another.

  He grips my waist in ownership as he pumps in and out of me. “How do you want me to fuck you, Jamie?”

  “Oh my God, just like that,” I whimper, rocking my hips in sync with his.

  I’m drunk on him—his touch, the filthy words flying from his mouth, and his cock.

  Our hips slap together.

  Our moans are loud.

  The sound and smell of sex are in the air.

  My arm reaches back, and I clench the sheets when he drops my waist, his sweaty chest hitting mine. He pumps his hips forward, the headboard now beating against the wall as he fucks me.

  “Tell me you’re close,” he says, reaching up and squeezing my breast.

  “I’m close.”

  His mouth crashes onto mine.

  I come apart first and nearly break a nail as I take my orgasm out on his sheets.

  My eyes fly open when his pace quickens, and his face squeezes before he groans my name.

  Damn, he’s hot when he comes.

  “How are we going to explain this to Noah?” I ask Cohen.

  After another round of sex, we raided the kitchen for snacks.

  Who knew screwing could work up such an appetite?

  After I scolded him for buying sugar-free fruit snacks, he lifted me onto the counter, fucked me, and told me to shut my mouth. I then proceeded to tell him his pudding selections were trash, to which he then ate me out on the kitchen table.

  We’re back in his bed, and I pop a pathetic excuse for a fruit snack into my mouth while waiting for his answer.

  Beggars can’t be choosers.

  I’m going to need to up Cohen’s snack game if he wants another sleepover with me.

  “Whatever we tell him, guarantee he’ll be one happy-ass kid. He loves you.”

  Do you love me?

  My stomach clenches.

  I should’ve asked more questions before I allowed him to screw me senseless and nearly choke me to death with his cock.

  He squeezes my thigh. “What’s going on in that complicated mind of yours, babe?”

  Deciding honesty is best
, I turn to face him. “Do you love me?”

  He gags on his fruit snack, his hand groping his throat, before clearing it as the snack goes down. “Do I love you?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Did I not make myself clear in the living room?”

  “You said you craved me.” I pull the sheet up my naked chest. This talk feels more intimate than us actually being intimate.

  “That, I definitely do.”

  He leans forward to brush his lips against mine. I taste the fruit snacks, minus the sugar, and he gives me one last simple peck before drawing back.

  I lick my lips, savoring the taste of him. “But you didn’t say that exactly. Didn’t say those three words.”

  “Neither did you,” he deadpans.

  Are we ready for that yet?

  How is it easier for us to have sex than to say I love you?

  Why is it harder to give yourself away emotionally than physically?

  He clears his throat. “Should we save that conversation for another day?”

  I nod.

  He rolls on top of me, using his legs to separate mine, and laces our fingers together, holding them over my head. “I don’t want to scare you away.” He licks a line up my neck before trailing his mouth back down with soft kisses.

  I tilt my head, giving him better access to do with me what he pleases, and wiggle my hips at the feel of his erection sliding against my leg.

  “What I feel for you, I’ve never felt for anyone else,” he whispers into my ear before shifting.

  I grab his chin, no longer caring about the words, and press my mouth against his.

  Sex now.

  Anxiety-inducing talks later.

  24

  Cohen

  I’ve never heard a ringtone more annoying.

  It’s loud.

  Some classical music-sounding shit.

  And it’s ringing over and over again.

  Jamie slides out of bed and starts hopping around the room on her good foot, scrambling through the clothes tossed around the bedroom.

  “Where the hell is it?” she mutters, tossing a shirt behind her, and she finds the phone underneath it. “Hello?” Her eyes widen as she listens to whoever is on the other line, and she shrieks, “What?” seconds later.