by Silla Webb
My cock, hard and suffocating behind the fabric of my gray sweats, strains for release, but this isn’t about fuckin’—fast or slow, hard or soft—this is about me claiming the woman I’m head over heels for, no matter how much I’ve tried to fight against my feelings for her.
I wrap my arm around Jordan and lift her by the ass, her legs encircling my waist and her fingers raking through my hair as her mouth clashes against mine. Her kiss is searing, hot, and I want to feel her lips all over me. But in all due time. I place her on the countertop, and her heels dig into my ass, pulling me closer to her. I pull away, and she whimpers at the loss, a small pout on her lips that I’ll more than make up for. I take the cupcake in my hand and swipe my finger through the thick buttercream frosting and pin Jordan with a deadly gaze. “You have one chance to walk away from this.” My chest burns with each word I speak, my heart racing with the possibility of what’s to come, yet nervous that she may not want this as much as I do.
Jordan narrows her eyes into thin slits as she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. The silent invitation is all I need for my breathing to even out, lodging at the base of my ribs as sheer will and determination to please her consumes my every thought. I slowly spread the frosting from the base of her throat to her taut stomach, and her back arches under my touch, her lace-covered breasts thrusting forward. Again, more material in the way, but I want to take my time and remove each article piece by piece. I lick a trail down her fine body, the taste of chocolate and Jordan mixing on my tongue. Her head falls back against the counter, soft mewls falling from her lips as her nails pierce my scalp, controlling my movements as I lick her clean. I can’t understand any of what she’s saying, and I don’t need to. As long as the words stop or no ain’t part of her vocabulary, she can sing a fuckin’ nursery rhyme or hum a hymn for all I care.
“Well, that’s one way to cut calories.” Jordan smirks as she grasps my face within her hands and pulls my lips to hers.
Clasping my t-shirt between her fingers, she peels the fabric off and lets it fall from her fingertips onto the heap on the floor. She appraises the body she sculpted, the man she created under an approving glare. Her hands massage my pecs and ribs as she works her way down to my abs, tracing the outline of each under the pad of her fingers. Her hand moves further south, gripping my cock and squeezing as her lips trace across my shoulder and down my chest to my pecs. I shudder under her delicate touch; the electricity goes right through me.
“This isn’t going to work, Jo…” I deadpan, and her gaze meets mine in shock. “Too many damn layers in my way.” I rip the lace of her bra to expose her breasts.
“Oh!” she exclaims, suddenly shielding her chest with her arms. I grip her jaw and kiss her, biting at her plump lip. “Don’t hide yourself from me, darlin’. If this is too fast, then say so, but when I take you, you’re mine. Every. Inch. Every. Breath. It’s Madden and Jordan from that point forward.” I burrow my face in the hollow of her throat, silently praying for her approval. I can’t bear the thought of her regretting this moment. Ever.
She scrapes her nails over the top of my shoulders and up my neck as she licks at the shell of my ear. “I’m yours,” she breathes.
Everything moves at rapid pace. She lets the lace fall to the floor as I rip the leggings down her legs, knocking a barstool over in the process.
Her skin, though tone, is soft and delicate against my lips. I slide my finger beneath the thin scrap of panties covering her and slowly slide it down her legs. My lips ascend a path up her calves and thighs, eager to taste her. The first swipe of my tongue against her pussy nearly has me exploding in my pants. Her fingers rake through my curls and control each movement of my tongue against her nub, clutching tighter when I slide a finger inside her. She’s tighter than I expected, and workin’ my dick inside her might be a challenge. Her legs tremble around my head as she moans my name, writhing beneath me.
“Madden!” she begs on a rasp, and the taste of her release is sweeter than any cupcake every could be. I cup my hand over her mouth to quieten her as I suck her clit between my lips. I smile, not expecting her to have come so quickly.
She lay sated beneath me on the counter, her chest rising and falling in short, spent breaths. I rub my fingers across her mouth, and she smiles as her tongue darts out to taste herself on her lips.
I scoop Jordan up into my arms, her legs straddling my waist again as her mouth descends on mine. Tasting her essence on her lips, knowing I’m the one who gave her this release only makes me harder. She kisses me every step of the way as I quickly move through the house and into my bedroom, softly closing the door behind me. I place Jordan in the center of the king-size bed and look down at her, completely awestruck.
She raises up on her elbows and watches me pull a condom from the nightstand. She swallows back as I shove the sweatpants off my ass and down my legs. Her eyes widen in shock, and she sucks in a breath as I grip my length. I press my knees into the bed and make my way toward her, stalking my prey. She takes the condom from my hand and rips open the packaging, a bashful smile lighting up her face. Sliding it from the foil, her hands tremble as she takes my length in her hands and slides the condom over me.
I grip her neck in my hand and lay her back, taking her lips in mine as I slowly glide my length inside her. She cries out against my mouth, and I still so she can adjust to my size. Jordan inhales and breathes out slowly across my face. She nods, her eyes pinched closed, and I bite her lip. “Look at me,” I demand, and when her honey brown eyes look up into mine, I rock into her.
Feelin’ her body wrapped around mine, the enraptured gaze she’s possessed; it’s nearly my undoing. Jordan’s a temptation I’ve denied myself for far too long, and I want this moment to last. My thrusts are controlled and precise, my hands grippin’ her soft hip and the base of her neck for leverage. Jordan scrapes her nails against my forearms, a breathy sigh falling from her lips. It’s a silent consent to quicken the pace, so I snap my hips harder, faster, each thrust workin’ her into a frenzy.
She caresses each plane and cord of the muscles she sculpted on my body, her touch delicate and sensual. Jordan’s gaze never falters, her eyes locked on to mine as we make love. I suck her nipple between my lips, and she tightens around me, the seductive sounds she makes windin’ me up tighter. Her breathing is harsh and fast as she pulls my mouth to hers, and I swallow the desperate plea as she clenches around me, her release consuming her. I snap my hips against her and still, my forehead pressed against hers as passion, desire, and love cloud over in her eyes. It’s the most beautiful sight, watchin’ Jordan come undone in my arms. Her arms wrap around my neck, and she pulls me down onto her, our chests heavin’ for a breath we’re both chasin’. Her body relaxes beneath me, and I pull out and roll to her side.
Jo curls into her side, and I head to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and to get a warm cloth. Judgin’ by the time it took for Jordan to adjust to my size, she’s gonna be sore as hell come mornin’. I climb up on the bed and tend to cleaning her up. Her smile is lazy and sleepy, maybe even a bit bashful. I toss the washcloth to the laundry basket and press my chest against her back, pullin’ her toned ass against my hips. My cock throbs at the thought of takin’ her again, but I lay a kiss against her shoulder and press my face in the crook of her neck, inhalin’ the sweet scent of the woman who’s completely stole my heart and wrecked my soul.
I’m head over fuckin’ heels for Jordan Williams.
And I don’t have a damn clue what I’ll do if she doesn’t feel the same.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JORDAN
I haven’t heard from Madden since I rushed from his house in the wee hours of Wednesday morning so Belle wouldn’t see me when she got up for preschool. That little girl has gone through so much already, and the last thing she needs is to be confused when she finds me having a sleepover with her daddy. And knowing Belle, the questions that would spew from her mouth are nothing Madden nor I could even answer
in a halfway decent manner. I left him on his front porch with a tight hug and a lingering peck on the lips. No ‘I’ll call you later’, no promises of plans; just a simple ‘See you later.’ And that hadn’t bothered me until last night when I was trying to sleep, and I realized that I hadn’t even got a text from him the whole day. Of course, when I’m supposed to be sleeping, I would go into freak out mode. Not even the smuttiest of stories could pull me from my own world. Bryn and her fucking book recommendations.
I increase my pace on the treadmill and continue to relive every moment of our cupcake exploration and the now hurricane of doubts in my head. Shit. Fuck. Damn. I had sex with Madden Davenport. I had really hot, passionate, leave you wanting more sex with my client. And it was so good. It was fan-fucking-tastic. We didn’t fuck. Bump uglies. None of that nonsense. Madden made love to me like he was a sinner and I held the key to his salvation. He took me to church and cleansed me whole, leavin’ me feelin’ so deliciously dirty and sexy and wanted thereafter. I can’t even feel bad about it. I can’t even think about it without blushing from head to toe. No cobwebs on the girly bits, that’s for damn sure. It still works fine, thank you very much.
Finishing my run, I slow my pace to walk for a couple minutes before wiping the treadmill down and walking toward my office. Gia is off today, so I don’t have to worry about her nasty attitude bringing me down. I only have one more session, which is with Madden, and then I’m free for the remainder of the day.
Real talk, I’m nervous as hell for Madden to get here. There are so many questions spinning around in my head. Did he think it was good? Does he regret it? Why haven’t I heard from him? How is he going to act when he gets here? Will he pretend like nothing ever happened? Was this a one-night stand? Did Belle drown his fucking phone in syrup and that is why he hasn’t contacted me today? Did he hammer his fingers by accident and now they don’t work? All friggin’ ten of them? Am I a total idiot for sexing with him? I could go on and on and on.
Bryn is coming from my office when I approach the door.
“Hey,” she greets, “I was looking for you.” She must notice my internal struggle because she stops, narrows her, and studies me. “Are you okay?”
I have to tell Bryn about what’s going on, eventually, because I sure as hell don’t want to talk to Laney about any of this. Putting my best happy face on, I assure her, “I’m good.” But she sees right through my tense smile and uneasy eyes. “Cardio kicked my ass today,” I lie … again.
“It’s good you can take the rest of the day off then.” She winks. “Madden called to cancel his session for today.”
“He what?” I ask, and I’m sure she can hear the alarm in my tone. I need to hear her say it again. Confirm that my ears heard correctly.
“Madden called the front desk and canceled his session for today.” She glances at her watch and realizes it’s almost time for her hot yoga session, so she doesn’t have time to study my completely deflated expression. “I gotta run, but let’s chat later, ‘kay?”
I nod once as she walks away. He fucking canceled. He didn’t just cancel; he took the pussy way out and called the friggin’ gym to cancel. My emotions have now skipped from sad to downright furious. My fingers punch at the keyboard on my phone like this object is at fault for this. Quickly I decide, unlike Madden, I am not a pussy. I may have one, but I don’t take the easy way out; that’s not how I roll. I scroll straight to his contact and press the call button—
texts are for pussies.
“Declining calls is for pussies too, asshole,” I mutter as Madden’s voicemail picks up, and I click the off button. I guess a text will have to do. I don’t want to mad text, though. I need to think this through. Ah fuck it, I can be polite but to the point in my text. Hell, I am a Southerner, I know how to cut you down at the knees with words without you even realizin’ I criticized you.
>>Hey, Madden. Bless your heart, you better have a damn good reason for canceling on me today.
Two hours have passed since I not only called but texted Madden, and he has yet to respond. As angry as I am, I’m getting a little concerned too. I hope he’s okay. Oh gosh, I hope Belle is okay. Madden has been so devoted to his training, it’s not like him to up and cancel.
Oh yeah, Jordan, you big hussy, you’re forgetting the fact that Madden sexed you up, every inch of you.
I should have kept the cobwebs. I should have kept the girly bits all webbed up, and this wouldn’t be happening. Sighing, I gather my bag and turn off the lights in my office. I have to get out of here. I need to be out of the gym. Normally this is my safe space, but definitely not today. Today this gym makes me think about nothing but Madden Davenport.
Pulling into the parking lot of Publix, I wait for the third song on my sad list to finish. Bradley Cooper and Lady GaGa croon out about being far from shallow, and the lyrics are so heartbreaking that I make myself listen until the final chord because I’m a demented bitch like that. I rest my head on the steering wheel, needing a damn minute. I debate if I really have to go in, do I really need food? But there is nothing at home for my weekly meal prep, and I have worked too hard to divert away from my routine. I will not let a damn boy because, yes—he’s acting like a boy, even begin to cause me to regress to my old habits.
Anyone who tells you they like grocery shopping is a damn liar. Normally I try to be very organized about it. Plan out my meals for the week, make a list, look at what is on sale and so on. Given this afternoon’s events and the mess that is my mind, I don’t realize that I’m aimlessly wandering up and down the aisles of Publix browsing. Okay, Jordan, focus.
I tick off the items in my cart to make sure I have everything: chicken, steak, broccoli, green beans, and sweet potatoes. Almond Milk and some yogurt and I should be good to go. Standing in the dairy section, patiently waiting for the little old lady in front of me to decide if she wants one or two strawberry yogurts, I see a familiar ball of energy fly by me.
Wait … was that Belle? I want to turn around and look, but I tell myself not to, especially after Madden ‘ghosted’ me this afternoon. That little girl has woven her way right into my heart. Maybe she’s here with her grammy. Maybe Madden had an issue at a site today and this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe, hopefully. I’m searching for any kind of excuse to make this situation not sit in my gut like a rock.
“Dis one, Daddy,” the little girl says, and those words alone kill any hope I have and add another boulder to the one already currently residing in my gut. It was Belle who ran past me, and she’s not here with Ms. Davenport. “JoJo told us to get dis one.” I can’t help but smile. I love that little girl. This is the first smile that has touched my lips all afternoon.
“Who is JoJo, Isabelle?” the snide voice interrupts and causes my whole body to go rigid, adding another boulder to the pile in my stomach. Madden couldn’t answer my calls or texts, hell, he couldn’t train today, but he can grocery shop with Gia? AND BELLE? Why in the world he would want to expose her to that pitiful excuse for a woman is beyond anything that I will ever understand.
My hands go tight around the green plastic grip covering the bar on the buggy. My knees suddenly feel weak, my chest feels tight, and breathing is becoming more difficult. Oh, hell to the no. I am not having a panic attack in the middle of Publix, with Madden Davenport and his ‘one who got away’ as an audience. Fuck, no. I would leave this buggy sitting or give it a good shove in their direction if I wasn’t relying on it solely to keep me upright.
My back is still to them, and as much as I want to hear the witty answer I’m sure Belle is getting ready to fire at Gia, I just can’t subject myself to the torment. I can’t be around them, I can’t see them, and I sure as shit can’t let them see me. Pressure builds behind my eyes, ah hell—fuckin’ tears, in freakin’ Publix. Not happening. Slowly I begin pushing my crutch, AKA my buggy, down the aisle, carefully avoiding the lady still agonizing over her yogurt choice. How long have I been standing here like an idiot?
&nb
sp; Shaking my head, I keep my lips pulled tight so I refrain from yelling out at her to just make up her damn mind. I pick up my pace as the exit gets closer, silently chanting, ‘please don’t see me, please don’t see me’. I’m almost home free as I make it to the end of the aisle. I’m apparently a glutton for punishment. I can’t keep myself from shooting a quick look behind me before I turn the corner.
My feet are glued, as in will not move from this spot on the floor. I’m staring like a creepy creeper. Madden walks down the aisle, Belle at his side, and Gia strolling alongside them. My heart literally breaks into pieces.
Suddenly I’m seventeen all over again, the pretty girl gets the guy, and I get overlooked. For the first time in years I feel not good enough. Before I can get my feet to move, I give myself a moment to stare at him. Madden Davenport. He doesn’t even look like the same guy who walked into Dumb Belles six months ago. Underneath, he’s the same guy, but outside he looks so different. He looks happy, he looks healthy; he looks content.
I feel her eyes on me before I even acknowledge her. My eyes connect with Gia’s, and I force myself not to storm over there and knock the bitch out. Luckily Madden is busy trying to talk Belle out of something on the shelf, and he doesn’t notice me. The smirk residing on that fake face of hers is more than I can take. I can’t hide the look of dejection on my face. The bitch fuckin’ smiles in my direction, and I can’t decide if I’m sad or pissed the fuck off. The only thing I do know is that I have to get out of this God-forsaken Publix—stat.
Buggy long forgotten, turning quickly, I move as fast as my Nike’s will take me. I have tunnel vision, and the only thing I’m focused on are those sliding glass doors that will release me from my own personal version of hell. I’m twenty feet from the door when I make a rash decision. Barely pausing at the cupcake display, I pick up the first three boxes I see as I strut through the checkout lane. I throw down a twenty on the conveyor belt, skip the bagging process, and truck it out of the store. I don’t stop; I’m operating on automatic.