I swipe the decline button, turn the ringer off, and toss the phone onto the seat again.
I can’t avoid him forever. I’ll have to talk to him eventually, but not now. I’m not ready to have a sensible non-emotional conversation with him.
***
When I get back to my house, I drop my keys onto the kitchen counter on the way to my bedroom. Before putting my phone on the night table next to the bed, I notice there are several messages and two more missed calls from D.
I can’t deal with any more D drama tonight. I don’t know what to say to him. Offering him my V-card and him turning me down yet again, like I’m a fangirl puck bunny begging for some action, is about as much humiliating rejection as I can take for one night.
Stripping off my Wolfe number 30 jersey, jeans, and bra, I drop them where I stand and grab a t-shirt from the folded clean laundry—still waiting to be put away—piled high on my Narl chair. Only after I slip it on do I realize it’s a Winds t-shirt with Wolfe’s name on the back. Gah. All my clothing is branded with his name. Just like my heart.
In the bathroom, I splash water on my face and give my pearly whites a quick brush to pretend I didn’t skip one, obligatory three-times-a-day brushing.
At last, I can climb into bed and get myself into a cozy, protected, fetal position under my puffy bubble quilt and sheets. I’m pleasantly cocooned under my bedcovers when I think I hear a knock at the door. Since the sheets are rustling around my head, I’m not sure if I imagined it.
I lie still for a moment, then shake my head at the deafening silence. You’re really losing it. But then another louder, more frantic knocking on the door confirms I haven’t lost my mind and I’m not imagining it. Sitting up, I glance at my phone. Who the hell is knocking on my door at eleven thirty at night?
I stomp toward the door like a grizzly bear who’s been disturbed from her winter’s hibernation. It’s not until I have the door halfway ajar I realize I didn’t bother to check or ask who it was before opening it.
When I see Wolfe standing there, all desire to growl is replaced by an immediate urge to purr. He’s gorgeous, standing there in a plain white V-neck t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, accentuating his bronzed skin and dark features. His distressed washed out jeans hug his bulging goalie thighs.
“Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?” With one look at his sly smile, I find myself crossing my legs again.
It’s ridiculous. I’m like Pavlov’s dogs—the human, sexual version. One look at him, one cheeseball pick-up line, and I’m throbbing with desire. Positive note, with all this clenching, I’ll never have to exercise my thigh muscles at the gym again. Negative note, every particle of my soul screams at me to slam the door. But I don’t listen.
Chapter Four
Wolfe
Damn. She’s got my t-shirt on. Nothing else. And it looks hot as fuck on her. I clamp my eyes closed for a second, but I still see her: tropical ocean blue eyes, plump lips, long legs. She’s in my head, every day, all day.
Coming here unannounced might have been a bad idea, but I have to make this right. I tried to call before coming over. She wouldn’t answer her phone. For once I’m trying to do the decent thing, trying to do what’s best for her.
“Well, I’m here. What are your other two wishes?” I open my eyes and deliver the dumb line to ease the tension. When I look at her again, I notice her long dark hair is tousled like she’s been satisfyingly fucked. Fucking hell. Did she do it? Is the dickwad still here?
“What are you doing here?” Her curt tone says she’s not amused by my funny line. She leans from side to side looking out into the street behind me. Maybe the dickwad isn’t here yet, and she thought I was him. Too bad. I’m not leaving.
“That’s it? What am I doing here? You can do better than that.”
“No. I can’t. I’m tired and not in the mood for any more stupid games.” Ouch. She usually giggles at my cheeseball pick-up lines, and I look forward to whatever cheddar she comes up with in return. It is a stupid game, but it’s our stupid game, the one we’ve shared for years.
“Where’s Gigi?” She spits the name out as if a bug flew into her mouth.
“I took her home. I wasn’t feelin’ it tonight.” I shrug.
“Wow. The great sloot slayer wasn’t feelin’ it tonight?” Uh oh. She air quotes around the words ‘feelin’ it.’ I know when Pippa starts air quoting, she’s pissed. “I’m shocked. Word on the street is D. Wolfe is feelin’ it somewhere with someone all the time.”
“A little harsh, don’t you think, Pip?”
“No. I don’t think, and I told you to stop calling me Pip.”
“No, you didn’t. You told me to stop calling you Pippa.” I smirk. She did, in fact, tell me to stop calling her Pippa, not Pip. But the semantic truth doesn’t stop her from trying to slam the door in my face. I hold my hand against it to stop her.
“Can I come in for a minute? Are…are you alone?”
“Am I alone?’ She hmphs through her nose. “Yeah. I wasn’t ‘feelin’ it tonight.’ She slaps my words back to me. I know she’s angry. But anger or not, her snarky statement is a relief and I regain the ability to take in a breath.
“You want to come in here?” Her voice raises an octave as she jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “You actually want to come into the lion’s den all by yourself?” she scoffs.
“C’mon, Pip…uh, Heaven. Give me a break. I just want to say sorry about what happened earlier.”
“What exactly did happen earlier, because I’m confused.” She quirks a brow and crosses her arms over her chest. I want to grab her and kiss the smug look off her face, but I don’t dare because I’ll never be able to stop at a kiss.
I blow out another huge breath. “Can we talk about it inside?”
Without saying another word, she steps aside and waves me into her house.
The arched oak-plank door, which looks like it belongs on a elves’ cottage, opens directly into the small living room. The house smells like her; caramel and vanilla. I close my eyes again and take in a deep breath, adrift in intoxicating Heaven. The door slamming behind me snaps me from my euphoria.
Even though I’ve never seen it before, I knew her bungalow would look like this. It has Heaven written all over it. Sky blue walls with vivid white molding surrounding the windows, floor, and ceiling. Her baby blue surfboard is propped against the wall next to the door. Framed artwork and photos cover the walls: breaking waves, surfing action shots, some anonymous people in various states of exercise.
It’s the perfect house for Pippa: small bungalow beach house, sunny and inviting—even though it’s close to midnight and there’s no actual sunshine contributing to the cheerful vibes. Nor—at the moment—is the mistress of the house.
“Welcome to my spider web,” she snarks. I guess my avoiding coming inside her house hasn’t gone unnoticed. It’s not that I don’t want to be alone with her. On the contrary, all I want is to be alone with her. And that’s the problem.
I inexplicably care about Pip to the point I can’t allow her to become another notch on my hockey stick. This is all new territory for me. I’ve never turned down a ready and willing woman. Pip’s a girl/friend I’ve watched blossom into the most gorgeous, amazing woman I’ve ever known. She is also a friend who has told me a hundred times how she’s saving herself for the right guy. As much as I want to help her out with her current desires, and as many times as she’s suggested I’m the right guy, she’s wrong. She’s waited this long. No sense in giving in to misplaced hormonal urges now. But Christ, when she was describing what she wants earlier tonight, I wanted to tear her clothes off and take her right there on the closet floor.
But Pip deserves way more than a quick fuck on a closet floor. She does deserve the right guy: the guy who’s going to worship her, love her, be devoted to her. Sure as hell isn’t me. I’d take what I wanted and walk away like I always do. Obviously, something you don’t do to a friend.
&
nbsp; “Have a seat. I promise I won’t bite, bébé,” she puffs out in a resigned tone, mimicking Gigi’s term for me—and anyone else she’s conversing with.
“Thanks.” I run a hand down the back of my neck. Damn. I don’t want things to be awkward between us. I don’t want to lose Pip as a friend, which is precisely why I can’t fuck her.
I have to set some clear boundaries and stay within those lines. I have to stop thinking about her rosebud lips, spellbinding turquoise eyes, perfect handful size tits, fuckable ass. Right. Seems I’m off to a shit start.
I walk between the two large, teal blue pod chairs and around the coffee table to take a seat on the small bright yellow sofa against one wall. It feels like it’s been stuffed with clouds. Under the coffee table is a rainbow-colored rug. The pattern resembles colorful abstract waves. The room screams beach, sunshine, and Heaven.
It’s only after she sits next to me I realize I should’ve sat on a chair rather than the sofa. Her leg brushes against mine when she sits. I’m hyper-aware of the sensation shooting straight to my balls.
“I like your place.” We both make an awkward shift, trying to create some space between us. But the sofa is small and soft, and I’m…not. Not with her this close. Boundaries.
“Sloot slayer,” I taunt to distract my suddenly attentive dick. “Where’d you get that? Have you been perusing the Urban Dictionary again?” I hold back the grin from spreading across my face. She’s so damn cute when she’s being all feisty. She’s like sunshine with a little bit of hurricane.
“Oh. Yes. In all my virginal spare time I memorize the Urban dictionary so I can communicate with you in the coolest way possible.”
She’s not too far off the mark. Not about communicating with me or memorizing the dictionary, but about spending her ‘virginal’ spare time reading tacky romance novels when she’s not studying or surfing.
“I know you don’t do it to communicate with me. But it wouldn’t be the first time you surfed through the Urban Dictionary to find out what the quirky terms mean they use in those trashy books you read.”
“You’re ridic…”
“How about the time you looked up the word ‘robocoitus’ because you didn’t know it meant having video chat sex?” I chew on my lip to keep from smiling.
“When I asked you, you didn’t know what it meant either.” She crosses her arms over her chest and flops back onto the sofa.
“Oh, right. I’m a computer geek in my spare time. Of course, I knew what it meant. But you wouldn’t believe me. You said I was wrong, had a one-track mind, and you were going to look it up. I remember how much you hated having to admit I was right.”
“Well, I wasn’t wrong about you having a one-track mind.” She tilts her head and smirks. “And the romance novels I read are not trashy. They’re beautiful stories about love and devotion.”
“Sure. You read two a week because they’re such a huge contribution to the literary world of art and love.” I give her a crooked smirk right back. “Not what you said when you were reading the chapter to me last week on the beach. You know, the one where the guy was standing behind the girl, ripped off her panties and…”
“Whatever.” She waves me off. “I think they’re an enormous contribution to bringing more love and happiness into the world.” Her voice softens. “And I also read them because they’re good learning tools: references on the hottest, most pleasurable ways to have sex.”
Fuck. Her voice may have softened, but I didn’t. Her words succeed in wiping the smirk off my face and dropping my thoughts right between my legs. Boundaries.
“Um.” I shift again and attempt the impossible task of making the sofa stretch a few inches. But in shifting, my leg brushes hers again, and we jump like we simultaneously stuck our fingers into an electrical outlet. “Which brings me to the reason I came over tonight.”
“To read swoony sex scenes and get some pointers?” she teases, stretching her long, toned legs across the antique trunk which serves as a coffee table.
My gaze follows her legs and then drifts up to where her t-shirt has shifted a little higher on her legs. My cock twitches in expectation. Down, boy. This is Pippa.
“We’ve never had a problem being straight with each other. Have we?” She shakes her head and nibbles on her thumbnail. “So, let’s be honest now. I know what you want. I mean, I get it. Maybe I can help.”
“Really?” She pops up excitedly and tucks her legs under her. Lunging toward me, she wraps her arms around my neck. “I knew you wanted this too. This will be perfect.”
Climbing onto my lap and straddling my hips, she grinds down on my more than eager cock. Christ almighty. They both seem to be misunderstanding my intentions since they didn’t give me a chance to finish my statement.
“I promise I won’t get all clingy or expect anything from you. I just don’t want to be the first one in history to start graduate school as a virgin. There’s no one else I’d rather share my first time with.”
I lean away from her, but my back hits the sofa arm. There’s nowhere to go without throwing her off me. She presses herself against me and crashes her lips onto mine. Her sweet lips are soft and delicious. When her tongue traces the seam of my lips, game over. I may be experienced, but I have no experience whatsoever in practicing restraint.
I open and delve my tongue into her mouth: probing, investigating, tasting her, my tongue dancing with hers. I grab her plump little ass and pull her further against my hard-on. Her shirt is pushed up to her hips. The only thing separating my fingers from the woman I’ve been fantasizing about for so long are her satin panties.
I can feel her moist warmth through my jeans. Moving my hand down between us, I stroke her through the wet fabric. She shivers in my arms. I move the meager obstacle to one side and run my fingers over her soft damp curls before sliding one finger inside her. She lets out a gasp and clenches around my finger.
Damn. She’s so tight, and her silky warmth is dripping for me already. Fuck. I want her so bad I’m ready to explode. But this is her first time. I need to make this special for her.
She whimpers when I circle my thumb over her throbbing clit. I continue stroking her gently and wonder if any other man has ever touched her like this. I push her back onto the sofa and stretch out over her. She hasn’t said one word, just keeps making soft mewling sounds. Thrusting up into my hand, she silently begs for more, as I continue to tease her clit and fuck her with my fingers. She bites down on her bottom lip like she’s savoring every sensation. Her eyes are pinched shut, but my eyes stay fixed on her. I’m enthralled. I’ve always thought Heaven was a beautiful girl but at this moment, flushed in longing, she’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
Her eyes open in a drowsy, half-lidded gaze. The sparkling eyes which stopped my heart the first time I saw them are darkened with lust, pleading for something I know Heaven has never had before. My cock thickens against my jeans, aching to be inside her. As I reach down to unzip my pants, she whispers, “Mmm. Are you a campfire? ’Cause you’re hot and I want s’more.” Only when she purrs out the silly pick-up line, do I snap back to my senses and down from my Heaven. Literally.
“Wait. Heaven.” I slip my fingers from her warm, clenching pussy and stand up so fast Pippa nearly topples off the sofa.
“What…what’s wrong, D?” Pippa’s voice quivers. “Did…did I do something wrong?” I want to kill myself for putting the insecure quiver in her sweet voice.
“No. No. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re…I’m…I’m sorry. This…this is a mistake. Fuck!” I scrub my hands down my face. What the fuck am I doing? “You…you misunderstood what I meant by ‘help you.’”
“Misunderstood?” Her shirt is pushed up, revealing her tiny waist and tanned, flat stomach. Her skin is covered in goosebumps, and she’s trembling. I can see her dark curls glistening with juices from the unfinished arousal I caused. Her chest is heaving up and down with every breath she takes, offering up her puckered nipples t
hrough her shirt.
I want to bend down and suck one of those taut buds into my mouth right through the thin fabric and then continue down to lick and suck those sweet juices. Finish what I started, send her into a sensual delirium, make her feel all the pleasure she’s been longing for.
This is Pippa. Boundaries. My self-inflicted safe words pound over and over inside my head, matching my manic overexcited pulse. How the hell did I let this happen?
“I…I didn’t mean we should…I should…” I try to explain through my sexually muddled brain.
Blowing out a big breath, she adjusts her skewed panties, tugs her shirt down to her knees, and sits up so guardedly it appears to be slow motion. She tilts her head, and her angel-like face scrunches into a perplexed look.
“You said you wanted to help me,” she whispers, as those shimmering, questioning eyes drill right into my heart
“I did. I do. But not…not like this.” I run my hand down the back of my neck again and will myself not to reach out for her. Fuck. What a mess!
“No? It certainly looks and feels like you want to help me like this.” Looking straight into my eyes or maybe it’s straight into my soul, she leans forward and runs her hand down the hard shaft pressing against my jeans. My throbbing dick doesn’t want to accept the abort message from my brain. He has no experience whatsoever in restraint, either.
I place my hand atop hers to stop her from stroking me. I can’t take much more. I’m trying to do the right thing, be the good guy for once in my life. But I’m no fucking saint. “Listen to me, Pip.”
“Oh, we’re back to the innocent baby Pip thing again, huh?” She lets out a frustrated sigh and flops back against the sofa.
“You’re always going to be my innocent, sweet Pip,” I confirm, as I sit down next to her and reach over to brush her hair behind her ear. But she slaps my hand away.
Cross Crease (On The Edge Book 3) Page 5