by TC Matson
My girlfriend was at work and Jade’s boyfriend…who the hell knows where that loser was. But I partied and as I did, I kept my eye on her—watching her mingle or paying close attention as she swam in her sexy as hell, skimpy as fuck bikini. I hawked her every move. Except I wasn’t the only one with eyes on her. Some football punk who didn’t respect his teammate’s girlfriend wouldn’t leave her alone. He begged for any morsel of attention, and each time she denied him scraps.
I got fed up watching him follow her like a dog, pestering the fuck out of her, so I swooped in as the hero and pulled her away from the guy. Somehow we landed ourselves in her bedroom and with a few drinks in me, my self-control was out the window. I kissed her. It might have been slow and testing the waters, but I assure you that was the last slow we’ve ever experienced.
Jade wanted it as badly as I did. She was wild, pawing at me, digging her fingers through my hair, stroking my dick, and begging for me. All the years I wanted her, she wanted me just as badly. I was so excited with so much anticipation and arousal for her that the moment my dick slid into her, I almost blew my fucking load. But I held out. She felt incredible. She was loud and although I wanted to hear her, we weren’t alone. We were sooo far in the wrong. She moaned in my palm, her eyes blazed with pleasure, her pussy drenched as she came, chanting. And when I nutted, I almost blacked out. I couldn’t remember my name, but I could’ve sworn it was God.
What we did might have been wrong, but it was perfect. She was perfect. And no matter how hard we tried, or how many miles were placed between us, there’s no way we could stop. We play a game of give and take. Sometimes I take it all, other times, I let her have whatever she needs. She understands my rules and I respect hers. No feelings. None. Just phenomenal sex.
I’ve broken that rule. I care for her to a degree of unbelievable.
“Zach…” her sweet voice calls from the bathroom.
I shrug into a navy blue polo and step into my jeans before leaning my shoulder on the door frame and crossing my arms over my chest as I watch her reapply her makeup in the mirror.
“Max said you two had dinner last night.” I know what she’s insinuating.
“When Max told me you were coming into town, I left her at the bar.” I move to her and tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s with all the worry?”
The smile she gives is fake and she turns back to the mirror.
“What’s with you? Is something wrong?” I ask her reflection.
She shakes her head. “No.”
It’s the nonchalant boredom in her tone that tells me she’s not telling me the truth. “You’re lying.”
She finishes her eyeliner and then pats my chest. “There’s nothing wrong.”
She’s still lying. I arch a curious brow and stare at her for a moment. “But…” I twirl my hand hinting for her to elaborate.
Cocking her head to the side, she gives me a smile. “I want a puppy.”
Surprised by her answer, I laugh. “Then let’s go and buy you one. There are several rescues in town. We can go look tomorrow.”
Her soft giggle is sweet.
“You want a puppy. You get a puppy. But you have to name it something good…like Zach. That way you’re always calling out my name even when I’m not around.”
She shakes her head hiding her laughter. “And rub your nose in the shit you take in the living room? God, that sounds so wrong on so many levels.”
“You and Freya allowed to have dogs?” I slide in behind her to use the top half of the mirror and run my fingers through my wet hair.
“I don’t know.” She lifts a shoulder. “Probably not.”
“You need to buy a house. No one to answer to but yourself.”
She scrunches her nose, peering at me in the mirror. “Then I’d have a yard to mow.”
“Then hire a landscaper. Just make sure he isn’t hot. I don’t need anyone taking my place.”
She leans back, resting her head on my chest, and locks eyes with my reflection. “Trust me, Zach. No one will ever replace you.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I know one day it will happen, but until then, I’ll continue to take everything you give me.” I drop a kiss to her cheek. “I’m heading to Max’s. I’ll see you there.”
Exiting the bathroom, I grab my wallet and head down the stairs. Truth is, when that day comes, I’ll be devastated. It’s a final I refuse to think about, but one I know inevitably will happen. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Jade
Chicken shit. Yep. That’s me. I went to Zach’s with all the intentions of telling him, until I saw him and got sidetracked. Sexual and physical attraction got the best of me. It always does. I can’t be around him without my sex bursting on fire with horny lust. He always brings me to a high and releases me where I lose my shit. It’s raw and uncontrollable, and I’m fucking helpless to it. Not that I’m complaining. The man fucks like a god and sends me into a state of oblivion where there isn’t a past or a future. Completely consumed by him.
After he took my virginity, I was wrecked. He set the bar high and no one else has ever compared, always leaving me unfulfilled. Plus, he’s not built like any other man I’ve ever seen. He’s overly blessed in the dick category with skills ranging from passionate to selfish. It hurts. It pleases. It’s everything I want.
I swear when he took my V-card had he asked me to marry him, I would’ve with no questions asked. He rocked my world while beautifully destroying it. I knew I had feelings for him before he fucked me against the wall, but afterward, I needed him as badly as my lungs needed air.
But I couldn’t have him.
It could never happen.
I’m casually late when I get to Max’s. Easton and his girlfriend, Zoey, are leaning against the back of the couch watching my brother and Zach play a game of foosball. Everyone’s eyes land on me. Max’s face lights up and he rushes me, wrapping me up in a bear hug.
“I thought you’d be here earlier.”
“I got here around lunch, but I did some shopping. You realize Denver has all the outlets? It’s not fair to have to drive two hours for them,” I say.
“Could be your blessing,” Zoey says with a small giggle.
I hug Easton and then Zoey before putting on a perfected facade and greeting Zach. Concealed emotions or not, his brown eyes burn with adoration. He keeps his large hands in a safe spot on my back as we hug and then places a kiss to the top of my head, like he has for years.
“Good to see you again.” His voice is deep, hiding the attraction we both feel.
I flick my gaze to him. “I can’t stay away from shopping too long.”
There’s a subtle raise in his brows and he grins like a sly dog.
Max comes out of the kitchen with a glass of wine, forcing me to place my bags on the couch. “Take a sip and tell me what it is.”
Zach and Easton groan with annoyance. Max does this all the damn time.
My body chills with worry of my pregnancy. A fraud of a smile crinkles my lips. Trying to play it off, I roll my eyes and push it back to him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, ol’ mighty wine master, but you know I have no idea.”
My brother has been zealous for me to come work at the family winery, but when the wine talent was passed out, it skipped me. All I know is if I like it I’ll drink it. But Max can smell it and almost tell you every ingredient in it. He’ll take a fancy sip like some highfalutin ass-crack and it’s “oh so robust and lush,” or “it’s bitter with too coarse tannin,” or whatever mouthfeel adjective he uses like some snoody bastard. Max isn’t one, but he’s teetering on the verge in my eyes.
He nods toward the glass, beaming with hope. “Try it.”
With all eyes on me, there isn’t a way out of it. I tip the glass and take a small sip. It’s good but with a sour taste that makes my face want to screw up. I smack my lips a few times and smile. “I know this one!” Max’s demeanor brightens. “It’s red. The
kind you drink.” I crack up. “Did I win?”
Max looks at me like I’m the worst human in life. His face is scrunched, brows drawn close, lip curled in disgust. “How are you a Lauder?”
Playfully, I rock back on my heel. “At your age, why must I explain the birds and the bees, pregnancy and birth? You should know how it all works, but if you insist. Dad put his—”
“Nope!” Max interrupts, putting his hands up, and laughs boisterously. “Fuck, you’re disturbing.”
I spring on my toes and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Yet you love me.” My tone is heavy with innocent sarcasm. “Who’s winning?”
“He is,” Max is sullen, tipping his head to Zach.
Our eyes meet for a fleeting moment. Heat smolders and it causes my stomach to dip. He evokes love within me. It never fails. Which is also why I stay away from him as much as I can until I can’t anymore. By then I’m so inundated with the need to see him, I just give in.
“I ordered Chinese,” Max says, spinning the bar and hitting the neon green ball across the miniature field.
Of course he did. It’s my favorite and he does it every time I come into town. He’s always been a great brother and spoils me rotten.
I take my bags to my bedroom and then while they play, I get the plates, silverware, and napkins, placing them out on the kitchen counter.
“Need any help?” Zoey asks from behind me as she enters the kitchen.
“Maybe when the food gets here. You’ll need a stick to hold them off so I can get the good shit. Not the runny bottom stuff.”
She titters. “You know how they are. It’s like their last meal every time.”
I dig through the drawer, grab a metal spatula and hold it up. “You think this would work?”
She shakes her head, her blonde hair swaying back and forth. “A big kitchen knife will only make them pause for a second before they tackle us.”
I snicker putting the spatula back into its drawer. “You’re right. It’s hopeless.”
Zach kicks Max’s ass in the game and moves on to Easton. They’re in the middle of it, both concentrating and cutting up, when the bell chimes.
Max carries the food in and sets the bags on the counter. Zoey and I place the food out and make our plates first in a madhouse of a rush before getting comfortable in the living room.
But something foreign is happening. Something wrong and paradoxical. With every bite, my body is refusing the Chinese food—my favorite food in the entire universe. The smell is heinous. Bile churns in my stomach, the acid burning the bottom of my throat. I look around to see if everyone is having problems, but no one else seems to agree as they continue to shovel the food in.
“You okay?” Zoey leans over and whispers.
“Yeah. It’s just…” I look back to my sesame chicken. The doctor warned me at some point smells and food may take on a whole new level of suckage. Not quite said in that manner, but right now, I’m staring at my most desired food despising it. “I ate when I was shopping,” I lie.
Curious hazel eyes flit between mine for a second. I feel like that elephant with the pregnant sign again. A small smile tugs her lips and she nods to my plate. “You know you’ll have to hide it if you want it for later.”
I puff a laugh under my breath. “I learned my lesson years ago when Easton ate the last piece of my birthday cake. He had no remorse, either.”
“Not a one,” he chimes in with a laugh.
Zoey rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to me. “Trust me. Putting your name on it won’t help. I could’ve killed him that day.”
I crack up because I, too, have shared her murderous motive before.
Everyone has finished their plates and gone back to playing their game, but the longer I sit here, the worse I feel. Everything is making me nauseated—the lingering smell of Chinese, Max’s wine, Easton’s bourbon, even Zach’s vanilla and peppery, marvelous cologne that drives me crazy.
I push off the stool on the verge of puking. “I’m heading to bed. I’m not feeling well,” I announce, more to Max than anyone.
Worry contorts his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think the chicken tenders I had for lunch aren’t settling well.” I hate lying to my brother. I fricking hate it.
Zach’s eyes are on me like magnets. Stoic concern swirling in his gaze. And it sucks ass. All I want to do is curl up in his lap and whine about how crappy I feel while he strokes my head promising that everything will be okay. I want him to promise me he’ll stay and be a dad, that he’ll not abandon us.
Instead of his hard, comforting lap, I nestle into the soft fluffy pillow and grab my phone.
Jade: Call me chicken shit.
Freya: Chicken shit.
Freya: You didn’t tell him did you?
Jade: I’m scared to.
Freya: The Jade I know isn’t scared of anything.
Jade: The Jade you know doesn’t stand in line for the barf train because of Chinese food.
Freya: Oh. That’s bad.
Me: I’ll try again tomorrow.
Freya: Barfing or telling him?
Jade: LOL Telling him.
Freya: I can come for moral support if you need me.
Jade: You just want to drool over Easton.
Freya: Don’t question my motives.
Jade: I’ll keep you updated.
I tuck my phone under my pillow and pull the covers up to my neck. The urge to throw up is real. My mouth is watering, my stomach queasy and uneasy.
I’m awake, but still in the bed when Max sticks his head in to check on me before leaving for work. I might have told him I was okay, and that might have been a total lie. The nausea hasn’t settled down. Bile smolders between my stomach and my throat, a constant threat to have me praying to the porcelain god. I hate throwing up. It’s the worst feeling in the world. The force. The burn. The strain. I despise it.
I lie here for another hour breathing through the waves of barf sensations before I finally feel decent enough to get up. Except when I brush my teeth, I stir up the sleeping vomit monster. I park my ass on the couch with no energy. I feel drained, exhausted like I was up half the night and ran a marathon this morning. Even flipping through the channels, using nothing but my thumb, feels like too much use of energy.
The last time I had a lazy day, it was forced on me. I’m normally always on the go, doing something if not everything. A bunch of us had gotten together at the ski resort and while we were out, I busted up my ankle. I tried pulling off a super cool stunt I saw on TV. The snowboarder had made it look easy and although I had snowboarded a handful of times, I was “pro” enough to try it.
Nada. Wishful thinking. Broken ankle.
The sound of the elevator off in the distance pulls me from the grips of a nap. Pushing to my elbow and twisting to see who it is, I’m expecting Max to stroll around the corner, but instead, Zach does and it makes my heart skip a beat. The thing is with him—no matter what he wears, he’s delectable. The man could wear a damn potato sack and look sexy as hell. He’s in a charcoal gray suit with a crisp light-blue shirt under it and a burgundy tie. There’s something titillating about a man who can switch from suits into jeans and look devastatingly handsome regardless of what he’s wearing.
A grin illuminates his face. “I came to check on you. Are you feeling better?”
I jolt up, scrambling to my feet. “What are you doing here? Max can show up any moment,” I stammer.
He cups my face. “He’s with Easton. How are you feeling?”
“You came here to check on me? Oh, Zachary Calloway, you’re a chivalrous man,” I deadpan.
Grazing his thumb along my bottom lip, he peers down at me. “I hated knowing you didn’t feel well and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
I swear he’s strong-arming me into admitting how madly in love with him I am. “I’m fine. I just needed some down time.” So technically that wasn’t a bold-faced lie…right?
With my face in his han
ds, he rubs his thumbs over my cheeks. His eyes flit between mine and I know exactly what’s on his mind. Excitement swirls around his beautiful dark browns and then he captures my mouth with his. The kiss steals my breath, igniting an intoxication. I moan, digging my fingers through his thick hair, along his scalp, and lacing my fingers behind his neck.
What we have is lascivious.
Perfectly freaking lascivious.
He wastes no time pursuing what he came for. He unzips his pants, shoves them down to his thighs, and twists, sitting onto the couch. Squeezing my hips, he places me directly in front of him and tugs down my shorts along with my panties. He drags his tongue between my wet folds, and sucks my clit into his mouth. Gripping his hair, I pant toward the ceiling.
I love his mouth on me. Expert. Tender. Carnal.
Zach has always known exactly what to do to me.
As his tongue circles and flicks against my clit, he glances up with a tantalizing gaze as he pushes his fingers into me, dragging them in and out.
“Your pussy begs for me,” he groans.
Suddenly, he spins me around and pulls me down onto his dick. I bite my cry, gripping his knees for stability. I rock my hips and then begin to lift and fall, vibrating from the need for release. He cups my breasts, coercing me to lean back on him, and then pulls my thighs so that my feet are on the couch and my legs are spread wide. He drives upward, the sound of his pleasure directly beside my ear, heightening my arousal.
“Play with yourself, baby.” He moves my hand between my legs.
As I circle my clit, he grips my hips and increases his tempo, his strokes short and powerful.
I quicken my fingers as the scalding heat begins a slow burn from my toes and up my legs. He pushes my hips, rocking me, alternating strokes between too deep and simply fucking perfect.
My body contracts.
“I feel you, baby,” he rasps harshly. “You’re about to come all over my cock.” His tone is thick and enticing.