My phone buzzes again, and I look down to see, Have you told him how you feel?
Throat locking down at the thought, I type, No!
Maybe you should. Maybe he feels the same way.
I sigh. No. He doesn’t. He loves me—he even says it—but not like that. If I tell him, things will be weird. Maybe for a long time. Maybe forever. And the benefits will definitely be off the table, and I think I would like more of the benefits. The ones I’ve sampled so far have been bleeping incredible.
Bridget sends a blushing emoji. Well, then… I guess you just have to decide—are the benefits worth the potential fallout. And how are you going to feel when the vacation is over, and Colin starts seeing other people again?
I press my lips together, willing myself to stop stress chewing before I do myself damage, and search my heart. It’s always hurt a little to see Colin with other women, but I’ve lived through it and managed to find happiness with other men.
I loved Peter. For a while, I even thought we might end up together for the long haul. Yes, my feelings for Colin were always there, lurking in the background, but they were like white noise, something I could ignore most of the time. My heart is a stubborn fool who wants things it will never have, but it’s also a realist who doesn’t want to be alone forever.
Or even for very long.
For all my prickliness and hermit tendencies, I don’t like to be alone. I like to emerge from my writing attic at the end of a long day and know there’s someone there to wrap me up in his arms for a long hug. Someone who will insist I’m fed and watered and walked around town until I float down from my dream world and slip back into my body again.
Growing up, I took care of my sister, shielding her from my mother’s violence as often as I could, and making sure she had clean clothes and something in her lunch box every day before she left for school. I took care of my mother, too, when she’d let me, putting her medicine on her nightstand, calling her in sick on days when she couldn’t get out of bed to go to work, and making sure the bills were paid before the electricity was shut off.
But I didn’t take the same care with myself. I learned to push myself, challenge myself, to use up every bit of energy until there was nothing left. I’ve been on the verge of burning out too many times to count. I don’t know when to stop or how to be gentle and nurturing with myself. I never learned that particular life skill.
That’s part of why I fell for Colin in the first place. He was the first person to bring me food when I forgot to eat, to insist I take a mental health day when I’d pushed so hard the words wouldn’t come anymore. He would take my hand and drag me out of my writer’s lair and into a world where things like sunsets and rain on your face and sand between your toes help put all the creative drama in perspective.
He was the first person to show me the most basic, care-taking, need-meeting kind of love, and he will always have a piece of my heart because of it.
I guess that’s why I’m so torn about what to do next. If I sleep with Colin, I don’t think I can keep it a friendly, uncomplicated romp between the sheets. If I sleep with Colin, I might end up confessing my secrets through a kiss or a touch.
And then he’ll know. He isn’t stupid. Oblivious at times, yes, but he knows me too well. If I go soft on him, he’s going to see it, feel it, and no number of orgasms is worth death by embarrassment.
Heart sinking, I shoot off a final text, Thanks for the chat, Bridge. You helped put things in perspective. I’m going to skip the madness and grab a cab to the airport. I’ll text you when I have my flight information.
Bridget sends a thumbs-up, accompanied by a hug emoji. I’m sorry, Kirbs. I know that probably isn’t a happy-making decision, but I think it’s the right one.
Clicking my phone off, I set it on the bedside table and pull on one of the lace bras I bought at the mall, panties from home, a black T-shirt with an angry Chihuahua playing a keyboard on the front, and my new jeans—an outfit that says “I’m going to the airport,” not “I’m coming to ride your cock like a roller coaster.” Then I open the door to the bedroom to find it almost eerily quiet in the suite.
I scan the spacious main area, but there’s no sign of Colin.
I pad deeper into the room in my bare feet, gazing past the kitchenette area to the second bathroom in the hallway by the door, but the light is off and the door ajar. He’s not at the dining table or out on the balcony, either.
I’m about to head back into the master bedroom to grab my phone when I catch a soft snuffle from the couch. A few more steps and a peek over the edge of the posh leather reveal a sleeping Colin, sacked out with a book open on his chest.
He’s reading a space opera series I turned him onto last year, the kind of science fiction men who secretly like a little romance with their action gravitate toward, though most of them would never admit they like the kissing parts.
Or the feeling parts.
But Colin would. He’s a romantic, the kind of person who falls in love at least once a year, only to end up with his heart broken when Princess Charming turns out to be someone different than the idealized portrait he’s painted in his mind.
And that’s why he’ll never fall for me. He knows me too well. I will never be Princess Charming. I’m Larry, his buddy, the kind of woman he feels comfortable jumping right into the dirty talk with, no need for hearts or flowers.
So maybe it would be okay.
I’ve never spit out my feelings for him before; the tone of our conversations never made it feel reasonable or appropriate. So why would sex be any different? If Colin’s banging me like his best friend, I’m not suddenly going to start kissing him like my true love.
My resolve is already melting when Colin’s eyes crack open and a smile curves his lips. “There you are. I was dreaming about you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, heart beating faster. “Good dream I hope.”
“The best,” he says, reaching up and grabbing me under the armpits. And then he’s dragging me over the edge of the couch and on top of him, his fingers fisting in my hair as he kisses me hard and deep.
And my resistance is going…
Going…
Chapter Nine
Colin
In my dream Kirby was wearing that red swimsuit and dripping cool pool water onto my chest as I tugged the fabric down, baring her breasts to my mouth. In real life, she’s wearing a rabid Chihuahua shirt and a modest black lace bra, but real life is still a thousand times better than any dream.
By the time I have Kirby naked from the waist up and straddling me in the pink light streaming in from the picture windows, I’m so hard it hurts.
Almost as much as it hurts to look at her.
She’s doing it again, making my heart turn to glass.
“You’re so beautiful.” I cup her breasts, dragging my thumbs lightly over her nipples, things low in my body twisting as her lips part and her breath shudders out. “I like you like this, all flushed and hungry looking.”
“Starving.” Her fingers wrap around my wrists, squeezing as she rocks against my cock through my jeans. “And sensitive. So be gentle.”
“Sensitive here?” I roll one nipple between my fingers and thumb, summoning a moan from low in her throat that is hot as hell.
“Yes, there,” she breathes as I attend to her other nipple, making it harder, pinker. She’s all creamy skin painted with shades of peach and dusty pink, and I can’t wait to unwrap the rest of my lovely friend.
Fingers around her neck, I drag her down for another deep kiss as I reach between us, flicking open the button on her jeans and dragging at the zipper. I push the denim and the panties beneath down far enough to bare her ass, an expanse of sinfully soft skin I can’t resist giving a spank.
She exhales sharply into my mouth. “What was that for?”
“For being so damned sexy.” I squeeze the flesh I just swatted as I confess against her lips, “Just a warning, I’m probably going to last all of five minutes the first
time. It’s been about six weeks since I’ve been with anyone.”
“Try nine months, asshole,” she says, her hands diving under my T-shirt and shoving it up. “It feels like I’m dying, I want you so much.”
“So much,” I echo, helping her dispose of my shirt. “All I can think about is being inside you.”
“Yes. Please. Inside me.” She shifts her legs between mine, helping me wiggle her jeans down her thighs before reaching for my fly.
Somehow, we end up tumbling to the floor, Kirby rolling under me as we land by the coffee table. I shove it to the side, giving us more room on the carpet by the couch as I dispose of my jeans and boxer briefs.
Kirby watches, her eyes mirroring the urgency that clutches at my chest and pulses through my balls, making them drag heavy between my legs. I can’t remember the last time things got this hot, this fast, but thankfully I’m not too far gone to remember protection.
“Condom. Stay here, just like this.” I skim my hands up Kirby’s thighs, spreading her legs wider, revealing my favorite pink part of her. I look down, brow twisting in sweet agony as I get my first clear view of her, all swollen and wet, leaving no doubt she’s as desperate for relief as I am. “Yes, just like this.”
“Or this?” Her knees tip out a bit more, nearly giving me a heart attack.
I don’t remember getting up or running to the bathroom to grab a condom, but I must have sprinted because by the time I return to her, my heart is pounding in my ears. I kneel between her legs, holding her gaze as I unwrap the condom, my pulse racing faster as she reaches for me, “Hurry, please,” she whispers. “Please.”
I roll it on with shaking hands and tumble eagerly back into her arms, lengthening myself over her as her legs wrap around my waist. I reach down, but her hands are there, fitting me against where she’s so ready for me that all I have to do is glide, melt into her tight heat. I groan against her lips as she shifts beneath me, taking me deeper until I’m buried completely inside her. And fuck, it’s good. So good I force myself to hold still for a moment, committing every spark and sizzle to memory.
She cups my face in her hands, pressing a softer kiss to my lips, hers trembling lightly against mine. “God, it’s so good. You feel so good, Colin.”
“Perfect.” I pull out and sink slowly back in, head spinning. “I can’t believe how perfect you feel. We should have been doing this for years.”
“Years,” she agrees, arching into me, her breasts rubbing against my chest, all soft and swollen sweetness. “All the time. Every day.”
“Every day.” I grip her ass, pulling her closer at the end of my next thrust. It takes a few adjustments, but eventually, I find the money spot, the perfect point of entry that makes her cry out.
“Yes, there,” she says, lifting into me. “Right there. Oh, God, Colin, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“Never,” I promise, cupping her breast as I ride her harder, deeper, loving how responsive she is. The way she gasps and moans and writhes beneath me, the way I can feel her pleasure building, burning higher, hotter, until she comes crying out my name, her fingernails digging into my ass, pulling me so deep I can feel her inner walls clenching around my cock.
“From behind now,” she pants. “Behind.”
“Any way you want it,” I promise. “Just tell me how you want me to fuck you.”
“Like this.” She comes onto all fours in front of me and reaches back, but I’m already there, sliding into her again with a relieved groan. Even five seconds apart was too much. She arches her hips, welcoming me in, and I can’t resist threading my fingers into her hair.
I make a fist, tugging her head back as I drive forward again, nearly losing it as she cries out and her body goes molten hot around me. Thank God she likes it when I pull her hair because I am instantly obsessed with watching the delicate muscles in her neck strain as we drive faster, harder, headed for the edge where we spin out with matching sounds of primal bliss.
“Damn, Kirby.” I come so hard I fall forward, bracing one hand on the carpet beside her as I hold her close with the other until the waves of bliss finally taper off. As soon as they do, I breathe into her hair, “Let’s do that again.”
“And again and again,” she says with an unconcealed enthusiasm that makes me grin as I pull out, carrying her with me as I sit back and draw her onto my lap. She’s smiling so wide that I start laughing. I can’t help it.
“What?” she asks, still beaming
“Nothing,” I say, cuddling her closer with another chuckle. “You’re looking at me like I’m a roller coaster. I like it.”
“Better than a roller—” She breaks off, her smile falling away as she points at the window. “What the heck is that?”
I look up to see a drone hovering over the hot tub on our supposed-to-be-private balcony. A drone with a red light glaring at us from above the lens affixed to its center, leaving little doubt that we’re being recorded.
Or that every private thing we just did is about to become fodder for public consumption.
Chapter Ten
Colin
Rage dumping into my bloodstream, I grab a throw pillow from the couch and press it to Kirby’s chest to offer her cover before leaping to my feet and jogging for the door to the balcony buck naked.
“Colin, be careful!”
But I’m not going to be careful. I’m going to get my hands on that drone and obliterate it. And then I’m going to track down the shit stain with the remote control who violated our privacy to get some smut to sell to the highest bidder and make him sorry he has opposable thumbs.
What just happened between Kirby and me wasn’t smut, and it sure as hell isn’t anything anyone else ever deserves to see.
I hurl myself through the door just as the drone reverses course, cruising away from the window—fast. But I’m faster. I lunge forward, grabbing it by the base before it can clear the railing, and then I spin, slamming it into the wall beside the Jacuzzi—once, twice—until the spinning blades shatter and I’m left with a gargling black box in my hand.
It won’t be flying anywhere, ever again, which the person operating it must realize. A moment later the engine shuts off, and the red light goes dark.
“Fuck,” I curse, wishing it had stayed on so I could have delivered a few choice threats to whoever’s watching. If they dare to leak so much as a hot second of what they recorded online, I’ll kill them.
Dead.
With a guitar pick, so it will hurt more.
“Please tell that isn’t what I think it is.” Kirby appears in the balcony’s doorway, wearing her T-shirt and underwear and cradling a spooked, crazy-eyed Murder in her arms. “Tell me someone didn’t record us having sex. Tell me that this is all a horrible dream, and I’m going to wake up in a few minutes and regret the bad fish we must have had for lunch.”
I drag a hand through my hair, feeling like the lowest form of shit. It’s my fault this happened. Me and my stupid celebrity. “I wish I could tell you that, Larry, I really do…”
“Oh God.” She steps out onto the balcony only to sit down hard on one of the cushioned deck chairs. “What are we going to do, Colin?”
I turn the drone over in my hands. It’s not your average toy from a box store. This is pro-level equipment, with a solid but lightweight design and a high definition camera. Whoever bought this invested serious bucks to get quality footage.
And it looks like he’s local. There’s a sticker on what’s left of one of the blades, a thin blue and white tag with the store name—Vegas Photo City—written along the top in red.
“We’re going to Vegas Photo City,” I say. “And we’re going to find out who bought this thing. And then we’re going to track them down, and I’m going to shove my guitar so far down his throat he won’t be able to breathe without coughing up a lullaby.”
Kirby hugs Murder to her chest, stroking the cat’s thick fur with anxious fingers. But he doesn’t seem to mind the nervous handling from his main squeeze.
Kirby could probably put the cat in a pillowcase and swing it around over her head, and he would stumble out purring and climb right back onto her lap.
He loves her to distraction.
So do I. I want to gather her up in my arms, promise her everything’s going to be fine, and kiss away the sick look on her face, but I can’t.
“You can’t do that,” she says, eerily echoing my thoughts. “But maybe we can offer to buy the footage or something? Or get the police involved? Revenge porn is illegal in most states now, so shouldn’t stealing porn be illegal, too?”
“I don’t know,” I say, crossing to crouch beside her chair. “But that wasn’t porn. That was you and me having an amazing time together, and I’m just…” I sigh. “I’m so sorry, Kirby. I’m sorry some asshole ruined it by invading our privacy.”
Murder grumble-growls low in his throat, but Kirby silences him with a soft, “Hush, now,” and sets him down to prowl the balcony before meeting my gaze with an almost shy smile. “It wasn’t ruined. It was still very good.”
I curl my fingers around the back of her knees. “Only very good? Because I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun. And we haven’t even gotten to the kinky stuff yet.”
Her lips purse as her eyes cut to the right. “The hair pulling was a little kinky for me. But I liked it.”
“Yeah?” I grin.
She nods, her hair sliding forward to frame her face as she adds in a more serious voice, “Yes. But if our amateur sex tape ends up on the internet where everyone and my sister can see it, I’m going to have to crawl into a hole and die. You know that, right?”
“You’re not going to crawl into a hole. We’re going to hunt this guy down and get to him before he has a chance to hit publish.”
“Good.” She casts a pointed glance down at the rest of me before refocusing on my face. “But you should probably put some clothes on first. Preferably before Murder decides your balls are cat toys.”
The Bangover Page 7