by Everly Lucas
Andy rights his chair but doesn’t sit back down. He takes a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and slaps it on the table.
We haven’t settled a damn thing. This went so much worse than even the worst scenario I’d imagined. I’m ready to beg him to stay and talk this out—bribe him if I have to—when he drops one final bomb.
“You’re not the only one who loves her.”
With that, I’m out of words, and he’s out the door.
Twenty-One
Claire
“Go surprise Ben,” I’d said to myself. “He’ll be so excited to see you.”
Those were the thoughts that had me bouncing in my seat on the bus ride here…an hour ago. But then I walked up to his house, rang the doorbell, knocked on Andy’s front window, and called Ben’s phone. Zero response on all accounts.
My brain has spent the last sixty minutes going to all sorts of increasingly scary places. Why hasn’t he called me back? Is he ignoring me on purpose? Has he changed his mind about us? What if he’s hurt? Oh, God, should I start calling hospitals?
Of course, I know I’m being ridiculous. Well, most of me knows that, but those worries continue to niggle at the back of my mind.
I’ve gotten to know Ben’s Saturday schedule pretty well, what with it being our day, so I know he went running with Andy this morning. Out of respect for their bromance bonding time, I’ve never tried to intrude on that tradition. There’s also the whole running part of it, which is just...no. And post-run is when he does his grocery shopping. Then a stop at the State Store for my favorite wine, because he’s Ben, and Ben is amazing.
But he should’ve been done with all that by now. If he’s tacked on an extra chore, or if he has a family obligation, he might not be home for hours. Checking the time on my cell, I decide that if he’s not here by two-thirty, my sorry ass needs to throw in the towel and go be pathetic elsewhere.
To make matters worse, I’m uncomfortable as all fuck-out. The atmosphere is heavy with a thick, clingy mist, and I feel like I’m sitting at the bottom of a breathable ocean, instead of on Ben and Andy’s front steps. No joke, I think I’m inhaling water.
My cotton maxi dress glued itself to my skin after five minutes of this torture, and I’d love nothing more than to peel it off. But I love being not-arrested even more, so clothed I shall stay.
Half-past-two rolls around, and I’m debating whether to hit the metaphorical snooze button, when Ben appears in front of me, like a sexy, shirtless magic trick.
Did I mention shirtless? Doesn’t matter—I’ll say it again. There’s nothing hiding Ben’s chiseled chest and abdominal muscles from my gluttonous stare…because he’s shirtless.
I pop up with totally justified enthusiasm. Ben’s here! With me standing on the first step, he and I are nearly the same height. I want to kiss him or throw my arms around him or both—definitely both—but I’m frozen by the sheer pleasure of seeing him again.
He’s so beautiful, with his strong jaw, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes the color of the moss that clung to creek rocks behind my childhood home. His sweat-soaked hair is pulled back tight, and perspiration makes his skin all shiny and lickable.
My hands slide over his slick arms and tense shoulders to lock behind his neck, and he grips my sides tight. Closing his eyes, he sucks in a deep breath. When he reopens them, he smiles, and everything around us disappears.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I say back.
As greetings go, it’s simple, yet sufficient. And with that out of the way, his hands move from my waist to my cup my face as he claims the kiss that’s rightfully his—and long overdue. His lips are soft and sweet, but with a heat that promises hardcore wickedness in the near future. Needing that future to be more now than near, I pull back and step aside, giving him room to open the front door.
The second we cross the threshold, a different kind of pleasure assaults me.
“Oh, God, yes,” I moan, sinking back against the wall at the foot of the stairs. Before anything else happens—even a hot makeout session—I need to spend at least thirty seconds bathing in the sublime seventy-degree air. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Ben’s on me in a flash, and I arch my back, pressing my breasts and hardened nipples to his bare chest. Okay, air-bathing can wait. Hot makeout session is now priority one.
He takes his time touching me everywhere, exploring my body in a way he’s been denied, and I close my eyes, letting the whole world reduce to his hands. But when they move to my back, I squirm away from his touch.
“Don’t. I’m gross.”
See, I’m not one of those women who can complete a marathon with only a single adorable bead of sweat clinging to her temple. Let’s just say, people at the finish line would wonder if I took a detour through a car wash. So, after more than an hour of sitting outside in three-hundred-percent humidity, the back of my dress is soaked through. No way do I want him feeling that.
Never mind the fact that he’s sweatier than I am—he’s a man, so it’s allowed…not to mention sexy as sin.
“Je veux te goûter,” he says, purring in my ear and grinding his hard cock on my hip.
Those words? Also sexy as sin. I have no clue what he just said, but I nod, anyway. Whatever Ben wants, I’m aching to give.
In an instant, I find myself facing the wall with him pressing up behind me. His skin on mine strikes sparks everywhere we touch, and despite the very efficient air conditioning, his body heat is all I feel. That is until his tongue glides up the exposed skin between my shoulder blades. Then that’s all I feel. Well, that, and the intense jolt of pleasure between my legs.
Know what I don’t feel? Frightened, ashamed, disgusting—nothing that could put a damper on this moment. It’s amazing what trust in a good man can do.
Ben kisses and licks his way to the nape of my neck, where his breath teases my sensitized skin, raising goosebumps. He whispers in my ear, all low and lusty, “You taste like salted caramel.”
Holy fuck.
Bone-deep shivers travel down my back, and my knees literally buckle. My weight falls forward, and I end up either bracing myself on the wall for support…or humping it. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I refuse to believe I’m so weird that I’d hump plaster instead of the half-naked god behind me.
“I, um, used vanilla body wash this morning.”
Oh, hell. Very sexy, Claire.
He laughs—what other response is there?—nips at my shoulder, and backs away, leaving me cold and breathless. When I turn around, my eyes have no hope of landing anywhere but on the impressive erection making its presence known in a big way. If dicks could talk, this one would be shouting my name.
I wonder if Ben would mind me dropping to my knees and worshiping it with my mouth. I haven’t given head in a while, so I might be a little rusty. But if it’s cool with him, I’m willing to put in long, hard hours to get my jaw and throat back into fighting shape. After that, of course, I’ll need daily practice to keep my skills on point.
“Come on, tiger,” he says, taking my hand and leading me upstairs.
No offense to his hand or anything, but that’s not the body part I want to hold. I guess the re-education of Claire Templeton will have to wait a little longer.
“Tiger?”
He shrugs. “You looked ready to pounce.”
"Well, yeah, but that's your fault, with the licking and the sexy French and the…” I wave an emphatic finger in the direction of his dick.
He strokes the bulge in question, and I get a little wet in dark places because that’s the body part I want.
"What, this old thing?" His half-smile is positively delicious, and I want to lick his lips so I can taste it.
My eyes say, “Yep. That thing. That one, right there,” because my mouth is way too busy watering to speak.
Ben directs me to sit on the couch, and I plop down with a humph. I pout and cross my arms over my chest, feeling justifiably petulant at being denied the D. He grabs a bott
le of water for himself and a glass of wine for me and joins me. We both sit with one leg on the couch and one off, facing each other, an arm draped over the back. The hemline of my dress rides halfway up my thighs, and Ben’s eyes stay glued to my bare legs.
I want to touch him again, and what’s awesome is that there’s nothing stopping me. I rest my hand on his, this small connection feeling like everything.
“I’ve missed you.”
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, too,” he says. “After what happened between us last weekend, I almost bailed on the conference, but I thought maybe a little separation might be a good thing.” His tentative eyes search my face.
My instinct is to disagree and tell him I would much rather have spent the week in his bed, but he’s right. There was a lot I needed to process, and between sleeping, eating, fucking, and more fucking, there wouldn’t have been any time for that if he’d stayed.
I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for that.”
He smiles, setting free a breath he’d been holding, like he was nervous he’d made the wrong move. I can’t have that. I can’t have him walking on eggshells around me. It must be his default mode, after weeks of me being on the brink of skittering off like a frightened mouse every time we were together. But that’s not how things are, anymore.
I’m not a mouse, damnit. I’m a tiger.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ben.” I hold his gaze, unblinking, leaving no room for doubt.
Leah said he deserves my whole heart, and he does. More than anyone deserves anything, Ben deserves someone who’ll go all-in for him. But more than that, I think he needs it. Anything less, and he could lose confidence in us—in me.
His features soften, and all is right with our world. “Thank you for that,” he says, echoing my words.
“That’s not something you have to thank me for. It’s something that just is.”
Like magnets to steel, my fingers can’t resist all that firm flesh within easy touching distance. His nipples have hardened with the drop in temperature, or maybe from the excitement in the air, and he sucks in a breath as I graze one with my fingernail.
“You’re stuck with me, Cohen, whether you like it or—"
What was supposed to be the word “not” comes out as a squeal when Ben hauls me over his lap. After a period of shock that lasts all of half a second, my body relaxes and my knees spread farther apart, allowing me to sink all the way down on his hips. I'm in sensation overload and have to close my eyes when my sex comes into contact with the raging hard-on in Ben's running shorts. By some miracle of male anatomy, he feels even bigger than he looks.
“Fuck, Claire. You’re not wearing anything under that dress, are you?”
Oh, yeah, totally forgot about that. But I could kiss the me from three hours ago who made the decision to go commando. Good thinking, past Claire! It wasn’t something I did to give him easier access to my body, though that’s a major bonus. It’s just that it was too hot for multiple layers. “Too fucking hot…”
Ben's laugh is deep and throaty, and I can feel it between my legs, especially when it makes his cock twitch. “You’re not kidding,” he says, grasping my waist to push me down as he presses up into me. “It feels like you’re on fire.”
“That’s because I am.” My heated gaze should tell him exactly what it is I’m on fire for.
My hands travel over his naked chest, my fingers digging into unrelenting muscle for support as I rock my hips, rubbing myself on him. The friction of my soft, wet flesh on his cock has me burning up, even with the layer of fabric between us. I'll bet if I rub us together hard enough, we could set his couch on fire.
“I need you, Ben.”
I love you, is what I’m dying to say. But now is not the time—not when he might mistake the truth for some empty, lust-fueled utterance.
Uncertainty clouds his perfect face, but there’s no room for that here. Not when it comes to us. I reach up and release my hair from its clip, letting the waves spill down my back. Taking Ben’s hands from my waist, I hold them to my breasts. He doesn’t hesitate, massaging them and brushing his thumbs over my nipples. Who knew such a light touch could make me feel so much?
Even though I’m sure he got the point, already, I say it again. “I need you.”
And then it’s on.
He sits up, grabbing my hair at the scalp to force my head back, exposing more of my throat for his hungry mouth to taste. I cry out when his teeth scrape the skin at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and I ride him faster, lost in my desire for him.
Outside, thunder cracks like a whip, rolling right into a slow growl that shakes the earth and vibrates under my skin.
Ben tugs at the straps of my dress, lowering them enough to free my breasts. His lips surround one of my nipples, sucking it into his hot mouth, and there’s no way he’s walking away from this without a sizable wet spot on his shorts.
Breaking away from my breast, he captures my mouth. In contrast to our bodies’ frantic race to mate, this kiss is in no hurry to go anywhere else or be anything other than what it is—two people drinking each other in, devouring each other until there’s no possible way of separating us.
Just when I’m about to strip off my dress and give myself to Ben in every way imaginable, a rough, wet tongue licks up the sole of my foot, and I yelp. Ben and I were so absorbed in each other, we missed the sound of Andy and Cannoli coming up the stairs.
Andy stands unmoving on the top step, his face unreadable until I see wetness glistening in his eyes. And then he’s gone, taking the stairs two at a time, Cannoli close behind. I brace myself for the angry slamming of a door, but even more jarring is when I have to strain to hear it click shut.
Twenty-Two
Claire
How the hell could I have been so stupid? It was easy to forget about my feelings for Andy when he wasn’t around and I was so preoccupied with what was happening with Ben. But it never fails—whenever I’m near him, my heart goes haywire and my hormones shift into overdrive. My brain is usually the only part of me with any sense when it comes to Andy, but the damn thing goes on the fritz as soon as I see him.
If the brash bastard didn’t exist, I’d have no problem giving myself to Ben completely, with no reservations and no reason to hold anything back. But Andy does exist. He lives in Ben’s house, for crying out loud. There will be no avoiding him. No chance of forgetting him.
I can only imagine how plain the panic is on my face as I rush to pull my dress back up to cover my breasts. What must Ben be thinking? Not five minutes ago, I vowed to never leave him. Now all I can think about is chasing after his best friend.
I seriously suck as a human being.
I force myself to be a big girl and look Ben in the eyes, and I have to blink back tears when I see the hurt in them.
“I need to…” God, I can’t even say it, I’m such a coward.
“It’s okay. Go.”
No, actually, it’s not okay. Not even close. It makes me sick—sick of myself—but it’s impossible for me to stay put while Andy runs off. I can feel his pain as acutely as if it were my own. Hell, maybe it is mine. Either way, it feels like I’m dying.
I want to kiss Ben, or thank him. I can tell that’s what he wants, too. But kisses and thanks feel inappropriate, so I just nod and climb off his lap. When I leave him on the couch, I leave half my heart with him. Too bad half is nowhere near enough.
I reach the bottom step and realize I have no clue where Andy went. I doubt he’s in his apartment, but I knock on his door, just in case. No answer. Heading outside, into the stifling heat and electrified air, I skid to a stop once I’m on the sidewalk. I look right, don’t see him, and look left.
He’s turning onto Twentieth Street, Cannoli off-leash at his side, and I break into a run, desperate to catch up to them. My bare feet slap the uneven brick pavers as the first heavy drops of rain hit my skin. Another deafening crack of thunder makes my racing heart leap ins
ide my chest.
I make the left, but I’m still half a block behind him. “Andy, wait!”
He spins, looking shocked to see me standing here, fighting to catch my breath. But he doesn’t budge, so I go to him, not stopping until I can see every perfect detail of his face. His expression is blank, but his deep, brown eyes hide nothing. They never could, and I love them for it.
“What do you want, Claire?”
His use of my real name is a knife to the gut, and I flinch back. It’s a valid question, though. What is it that I want? Hell if I know. I can honestly say I didn’t think this through beyond Go find Andy.
But watching him as he waits for my answer—his jaw clenched so hard I can see it flex, and his impassive brow twitching every so often, close to giving away his emotions—I know what I want. I want—need—to take away his pain. And mine.
I just don’t know how.
“I…I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I don’t know.” If I say it enough times, maybe he’ll believe it. Maybe I will, too.
“Bullshit. Why are you sorry?”
Dark circles rim his tired eyes as he stares me down. It might sound like he’s asking a question, but he’s not. He’s giving me an order. He’s demanding I tell him the truth, and, as usual, I’m incapable of giving him anything less.
“Andy, I—" If I say this, there’s no taking it back. I could ruin everything Ben and I worked so hard for, breaking his heart and mine in the process. Even worse, I could damage a friendship that’s been rock solid since I was in braces. Hurting either of these men would leave me hating myself more than all my past mistakes, combined. It would be my greatest shame.
I take too long trying to decide what to say next, and he releases me from his heated stare, turning to continue on in the direction he’d been headed before I stopped him. But my careless, selfish heart can’t stand to watch him walk away again.