by Ava Kendrick
He shook his head. “Come on, man. I’m not a fucking statue,” he growled hoarsely.
I held my breath as he parted my legs. He leaned forward and pushed the head of his shaft against my entrance. Even that fraction of an inch gave me the delicious feeling that he was spreading me open.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, as he grasped my hips and pushed inside me.
There was no taking it easy now. He pushed hard, entering me deeply until I could feel him stimulating what felt like every nerve-ending in my body. He pulled out and thrust inside me again. And again, pulling me down the bed and rearranging himself so he could fuck me deeper.
I was surprised to feel the pressure begin to build in my body again. I’d never had two orgasms in a row. Now it was like all he had to do was click his fingers and I was coming for him on demand. My body clenched around him as he thrust; I felt him harden inside me and knew from his labored breathing that he was close. Relief washed over me again; I closed my eyes as my muscles clenched and twitched in a way that was just on the right side of painful.
As the intense rush finally started to subside, he grabbed my hair and thrust inside me harder than before, groaning like a wild animal as he came.
I lay under him for a long time, staring blindly. I couldn’t even begin to put into words what he’d just set off in my body. There was no doubt about it—my body was hooked. So much for a one-night thing.
Fourteen
Roman
I eased myself up off the bed, careful not to wake Cleo. I stretched, never taking my eyes off her naked body. It was like I couldn’t get enough of it.
Ever since that first night when she’d slept at my apartment, the only thing I could think about was what lay underneath that practical bra and those granny panties. It had consumed me. Were her nipples pink or brown? Big or small? How would she taste? Did she cry out or whimper? For me, she’d turned into that Christmas gift under the tree, the one that was wrapped differently to the others. I’d been obsessed with unwrapping her ever since that night.
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. This was different, though. Unlike those gifts, which I’d unwrapped and then forgot about, I still had the same strange sense of curiosity about her. I mean, it didn’t make sense.
We’d fucked.
I’d seen every inch of her body.
The itch should have been scratched.
I shook my head and turned toward the door, thinking a coffee might clear my head. I paused and stopped, grabbing the comforter from where it had fallen off the bed and throwing it over her before I tiptoed out of the room and turned out the light.
What the fuck was this chick doing to me?
I opened my eyes and frowned, wondering how the fuck it was morning already. It felt like I’d only been asleep for minutes, but there was no denying it—morning sun was streaming through the blinds.
Something moved at the other side of the room and I sat bolt upright. Then I remembered. Well—it wasn’t like it was possible for me to forget the previous night with Cleo. I just wasn’t used to sharing my bedroom with another person.
I lay back against the pillows and smiled, dreamily watching her hover around my bedroom in her black lace panties. I could get used to this. Then the smile slipped off my face.
“Wait a minute, are you going?”
She glanced back at me, looking startled. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake.”
I looked from her gorgeous sleep-crumpled face to her hand, which was resting on my door handle. “You’re just leaving?”
She shrugged. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but then I stopped myself. What was I going to do, plead with her to stay? This was the best thing for both of us, I reassured myself.
“See you around,” I said, wondering if I was imagining the note of disappointment in my voice.
She nodded and vanished out the door, leaving me lying in bed reliving the previous night over and over in my mind.
Fifteen
Cleo
I closed the door quietly and tiptoed through the silent apartment to the front door. I wasn’t sure, but I might have held my breath the entire time. Those slow, deliberate steps were the only way I could keep my mind focused on the world around me and not think of the oh-so-casual way he’d let me walk out of his life.
It was one perfect night.
I shook my head, realizing I’d already lost my concentration, and I hadn’t even left his apartment yet.
The night before had been the best night of my life, I reflected as I walked along the corridor to the elevator. Without question. I know it sounds stupid to say that about a night with a guy—I was sure Julia would blame it on my head injury. But that was only because I’d never be able to explain to her the things he’d done to my body. It was like he’d pushed buttons in my body that I never knew existed.
I hugged my arms around myself—already feeling aroused by just the memory of him. I could have that, couldn’t I? It was just one night. And it was well within my rights to treasure that memory.
Besides, it wasn’t like I was in the right state emotionally to get involved with somebody. I’d just spent a month in a coma, and right before then I’d been living with another guy. I was going to find a new job and a new apartment, and I was going to live the high life before I even considered allowing another man into my life.
I walked along the street, not really paying attention to where I was going. I’d applied for what felt like hundreds of jobs, and been called for two interviews. Neither of them had gotten back to me. On a whim, I pulled my cell out to check whether I’d gotten any emails. Usually, it was the first thing I checked every morning, but that morning I’d been so distracted by the musky, masculine smell of Roman that any semblance of routine went out the window.
I knew I shouldn’t think about him, but it was impossible. That body… Whoa.
I stopped in my tracks. I was suddenly overcome by the strongest feeling of dread; terror really. I was convinced that something awful was going to happen. I glanced around in a frenzy. Morning commuters flowed past me in their hundreds. I shrugged apologetically, but my mind wasn’t really on them.
I made my way to the nearest shopfront and hunkered down in the doorway. I’m sure I must have looked like a state with my straight-out-of-bed hair and wide, scared eyes. I didn’t care. I just needed some space. I fought hard to identify what had triggered the strange feeling of doom, but I couldn’t. My panic was beginning to subside, but my heart was thumping in my chest and my face felt cold and clammy, like I’d just been sick.
What the hell?
As soon as I felt reasonably sure I wasn’t going to faint, I pushed myself up and eased my way into the sea of people walking in the direction of Julia’s apartment.
Julia raised her eyebrow playfully as soon as I closed the door behind me.
“Where have you been? Little miss—” she stopped abruptly when she spun to face me and saw my expression. “What’s wrong?”
I held my arms out to keep her at bay, still feeling strange and zoned out. “I’m okay.”
She shook her head and pressed her palm to my forehead. “You’re not okay. You’re pale as a ghost. What happened?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. One minute I was just walking along the street. The next thing I knew, this panic had shot through my body. I didn’t…”
She was watching me patiently, waiting for me to finish.
I just shrugged again. “I don’t know what I was.”
She shook her head, deep in thought. “Have you been straining to remember again?” she asked, leading me to the couch. She sat me down and unfurled a blanket over me.
I relaxed back against the couch, pulling the woolen blanket to my chin like I used to when I was a kid. “No more than usual.”
She turned her back to make us coffee. “It’s not good for you, you know.”
“I know. I just don’t want to have
this gap in my life. If I could just remember…”
“Maybe not, though. It’s not a happy memory. Maybe it’s best suppressed.”
I shrugged.
“Have you talked to the cops?”
“Nah.”
She switched on the coffee maker and pulled a slice of dry toasted rye bread from the toaster.
“Where’s Tony?” I asked.
“He’s at his parents’. And don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not,” I protested, knowing that, yes, that was exactly what I’d tried to do.
Her brown eyes glinted mischievously. “If you’re going to change the subject, you can tell me where you spent last night.”
I shrugged.
“Oh. My. God,” she said, putting the coffee jug on the counter and marching to the couch to stand over me. “What’s this?”
I swatted her hand away from my face. “What?”
“This,” she said adamantly. “You’re grinning from ear-to-ear. What’s that about?”
“I stayed the night at Roman’s. The guy from Tully’s.”
She did a little happy dance in front of me and actually whooped.
“Julia?” I huffed. Sure, my body was still buzzing from the previous night, but I couldn’t help but feel a little tender that he didn’t want anything more. “What’s that? You’d think I never got laid in my entire life. Hello? Live-in boyfriend?”
“That was different,” she said, still twirling around in her socks like some kind of maniac.
“Julia,” I said loudly.
She stopped in her tracks.
“You can put away the champagne. It was a one-night thing.”
Her mouth formed into a perfect circle. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, telling my stupid brain to stop fixating on him.
Because even though my body craved him, I’d listened to my brain that morning. I’d gotten the hell out of there because I knew I wasn’t ready for anything more than a casual fuck. And judging from his reaction to my departure? He didn’t want anything more than that either.
Sixteen
Roman
Two Weeks Later
Goddamnit Roman, I thought, as I came to and realized what I’d just done.
I’d reached across the bed. For her. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t know how she was having this effect on me, but I knew one thing—staying away from her wasn’t working.
I’d taken the cold turkey approach when I realized I couldn’t get her out of my mind—I’d avoided anywhere I’d seen her before. Which wasn’t difficult really, considering I’d only really seen her at the bar where we’d met.
Still, it didn’t stop me from glancing at the door each night as I sat in front of the game, a strange part of me hopeful that she’d come back and bang on the door and tell me she wanted…
What?
She wanted what?
To make a life with a criminal? Girls like that don’t want guys like you. Not the real you, anyway. Maybe if you’d really been an insurance salesman, you might have had a chance.
No. It was better this way.
Even though it didn’t feel like it.
I pushed out of bed and walked to the kitchen.
It was only when I opened the cupboard that I realized I was all out of coffee. It had been a long night the night before—I needed something strong to kick my mind back into focus. Cursing, I slammed the door and threw on my trackpants and a tee shirt.
“Really?” I muttered when I got to the store on the corner and realized it was closed. That goddamn place never closed, but sure enough—I tried the doors again and they weren’t moving.
I debated giving up and just going to the bar, but that was a sure way to meet Cleo. I wanted to. And I didn’t. Plus, drinking at ten in the morning? Not a habit I wanted to get into. Instead, I took a left and walked toward the grocery store.
It was another disadvantage of living in a rundown area—there wasn’t a coffee shop for miles. What got me was they’d built a goddamn organic gluten-free whatever-the-fuck grocery store right in the middle of the neighborhood, like they were ready and willing to wait the twenty years it was gonna take for the area to go from bad to up-and-coming.
I shook my head. It must have been a sign I was getting old, all these negative thoughts. It had been that way ever since…
Fuck, man.
I told my brain to shut the fuck up, but it was like it was ignoring me or something.
I walked through the automatic doors and reached down to pick up one of their hemp baskets. The entire place was natural this, natural that. I couldn’t remember it bugging me this much before.
“Oh what the fuck?” I pulled the damn thing as hard as I could, but it seemed to have surgically attached itself to the basket underneath. Pulling harder only succeeded in upending the entire pile.
I closed my eyes. All I wanted was a fucking cup of coffee. I pulled again. The entire thing was wedged together like some kind of hippy totem pole. I was just about to give up when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“What did it ever do to you?”
I spun around, still holding onto the handles of the useless basket.
“Here,” she said, brushing past me and grabbing the handles. “Let me.”
I caught a waft of her shampoo as she passed me, flicking her hair over her shoulder. I could only watch as she eased the basket out from the others and held it to me.
“See? No brute strength required.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
She shrugged. “Not a problem.” Her cheeks colored and I had to stop myself from reaching over and running my fingers along them. A shiver ran through me. “How’ve you been?”
“You know. Same old.”
It made me want to punch myself. What, you couldn’t have come up with something more original? Sounded a little more interesting?
“Same here,” she smiled.
“How’s your…” I pointed to her head.
“It’s fine. Still no memory of that night, but my friend Julia thinks that might be a good thing.”
I shrugged. “Might be right. How’s job hunting?”
She made a face. “Unsuccessful. And the wonderful world of insurance?”
That stung. For some reason, I didn’t like her thinking something untrue about me, even though I didn’t exactly have a choice. Because if she knew the truth, she’d never speak to me again.
“Exciting as ever.”
She watched me silently. I had the sudden urge to grab her and carry her away.
“Well,” she smiled. “It’s been good to see you.”
Panic rose within me. Before I could stop myself, my hand had shot out and wrapped itself around her wrist. “I’d kill for a coffee. You want one?”
She looked surprised by that, but she nodded.
Seventeen
Cleo
I’ve always loved those places; you know, those grocery stores with a social conscience that stock everything from organic shampoos to ludicrously priced Incan-spiced cocoa beans. More for the experience of looking at stuff than of buying it. I was still unemployed, after all. I’d only gone down there to buy a coconut for a salad we were taking to Julia’s friend’s party later that day.
It was the last place I would have expected to see Roman. But there he was, looking as hot as ever even though he looked like he’d just climbed out of bed and put on his sweats. My immediate thought on seeing him was that he’d just thrown on the first thing within his reach in order to go get breakfast for whatever lucky woman was sharing his bed that night, but I forced myself to stop. It wasn’t a constructive way of thinking.
Oh, who was I kidding? The only reason I stopped obsessing was because I was totally distracted. He seemed to be having a fight with the cute hemp baskets. I tried to stifle a laugh, but I couldn’t stop. Here was this huge tough guy, seemingly outwitted by a woven hemp basket.
“What did it ever do to you?” I ask
ed, stepping forward and helping him.
I passed him a basket, not wanting to let go. We’d had one night together—one night—so why was he was the only thing I’d been able to think about for the past two weeks?
“How’ve you been?” I asked, wondering if he could sense my discomfort.
Being this close to him was having a crazy effect on my body. I saw that night replay in my mind; almost felt his hands on my body again. And I hoped to hell he couldn’t tell what I was thinking about.
Act cool, I told myself.
“You know, same old,” he said.
“Same here,” I said, hoping my face wasn’t as red as the burning sensation in my cheeks suggested.
“How’s your…”
He pointed to my head and my heart sank. Was I just the head injury girl to him? Couldn’t it have been something better? I don’t know, like the chick who could stand on her head or poledance. Not that I could do any of those things. Nervous adrenaline shot through me, and I was thankful that at least all the garbled words flying through my head weren’t coming out of my mouth.
“It’s fine. Still no memory of that night, but my friend Julia thinks that might be a good thing.”
He watched me carefully. “She might be right. How’s job hunting?”
Ugh. Now we were onto my least favorite conversation topic of the moment. “Unsuccessful,” I said, wishing I had something positive or interesting to say. “And the wonderful world of insurance?” I asked quickly, changing the subject.
I was irrationally worried that he might think I was dull or boring. I didn’t know why—it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he wanted to date me. He’d been clear about that.
“Exciting as ever,” he said quickly.
Then I realized. He was as uncomfortable as I was, probably minus the surge of hormones.
I mean, look at him, Cleo. This isn’t the boy next door who’s desperate for love. He’s got no shortage of girls dying to be with him. You’re probably keeping him away from a damn supermodel biochemist pediatrician right now.