by James, Ella
“Yes.” I reach for him, my fingers gripping his forearm. “Get in with me.”
His eyes scan the tub.
“Get in. I don’t care how. I’ll sit on your lap.”
When he doesn’t move, I rise gingerly on my knees and wrap my arms around his neck. “Carnegie…” I kiss his cheek as he reaches down to put the stopper in the tub.
When he looks at me again, his face is gravely serious. I stroke his cheek and lean in close. “What’s the matter, darling?”
He won’t look at me.
“Did it hurt you?”
“No. Fuck no.” He stands up, and I scoot toward the faucet. “Sit behind me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he climbs in behind me, stretching his strong legs out around me. As I wonder if I’ve ruined this somehow, he wraps his arms around my waist. He folds my back against his chest, one arm below my breasts, and I can feel him breathing.
I cling to his forearm. When he kisses my shoulder, I rub his leg with my foot. Then I need the reassurance of his eyes. I turn to face him. Instead of kissing me, as at first I think he will, he pulls me to him, hugging me so hard it nearly hurts.
I hug him back. I stroke his shoulder, kiss his pec.
“I’m sorry.” His voice vibrates.
“Why are you sorry?”
He shakes his head. He shakes his head again, and I can feel him inhale. “It’s been a while.” It’s whispered.
“Was it…”
“It was good. I’m glad I had the condom.”
I press my hand to his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, hard and fast. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
His eyes shut, and he shakes his head once more. When he speaks, the words are soft—so very soft, near murmured. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt. It felt amazing.”
I frame his face with my hands, gently forcing his eyes to mine. Troubled eyes.
I stroke his cheeks and neck, and then his shoulders. His eyes close. Then his hand comes to his face, his fingers tunneling into his hair.
I hug him.
“I don’t do that…with virgins.” It’s a raspy whisper.
“Why not? Does it…hurt you?”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t feel fair.” His eyes open. He looks dazed.
“Why not?”
He shakes his head again.
“You’re far from a virgin. Is that why?”
He nods once.
“I knew. I figured,” I amend. “You’re gorgeous and wealthy…a sports star.” I’m trying for a bit of levity, resurrecting the sentiment I expressed in the burrow—that I won’t pity him because he’s so superlative. I want to prompt a smile.
Instead, he holds his head with one hand; with the other, he grips the bath’s side. “I can’t fuck you up, Finley.”
“You won’t. You didn’t. Come here…” I try to kiss his mouth and end up kissing his chin. “You would never hurt me. I know that, and I’m not worried at all.”
His eyes lift open, and his mouth takes mine. He kisses me deeply…with a sort of hunger. Then he wrenches away. I feel as if he’ll lean away. Instead, he pulls me to him, holding me against his chest, where I can feel his heartbeat. “When we got back, I was fucking haunted by you.”
When we got back—from the burrow. “Likewise,” I whisper.
He inhales. Blows the breath out. “I don’t do this.” It’s half groaned. He’s got his head bowed near my shoulder.
“Do what?”
“Nothing more than sex. Ever.” The words are rough and soft. Confessional.
“So…no dinners. No dates. No snuggling or kisses…or baths.” I brush my lips along his jaw. “You don’t want those things?” I whisper over his skin.
I feel him shiver before he shakes his head. “Not good at it.”
“I’d argue that on baths.” I smile a bit as I feather a kiss over his collarbone. “You’re sitting up. Staying afloat. In fact, you’re keeping me afloat. Without support, I simply sink. Quite like a stone.”
His mouth curves up on one side. He’s still got his eyes closed, so he doesn’t see me coming as I kiss one dimple, then the other.
“Let me tell you something, Carnegie.” I wait a beat until his eyelids lift. His mouth is still quirked up a bit as I say, “I’m not like your other girls.”
“How so?” He’s smirking, despite the heaviness that’s clinging to the rest of his face.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re like. But I’m not like them. I can sense all your malarkey.”
He grins—just a flash, but it’s radiant. I run my hand down his arm till my hand meets his, and then I squeeze. “I think you’re romantic. It’s your secret, I believe. I can’t imagine you dismissing me after what we just did. But you’re saying that’s what you do normally?”
He casts his eyes away from mine, looking at the flowing faucet. After a time, he says, “It’s different there. Sometimes they want that, too.”
I regard him with my eyes narrowed, my head tilted. “You need women in your bed and bath. You hate to be alone.”
He makes a skeptical face—a bit exaggerated, silly—as a cover for the weight of things. “What makes you say that?” Now he’s looking at me again.
“You’re a barfly. And the whole world knows you throw massive parties. Besides that, I feel it.”
His lips press together, seeming tremulous despite the way he widens his eyes and arches his brows; he’s trying for a silly a face, a much more casual impression.
I lean in, sighing as I rest my cheek on his shoulder. “In any event, I’m not leaving your bath or bed. Tell me you don’t want me to,” I whisper.
His cheek rests on my hair. I hold my breath as he inhales slowly, perhaps deciding if he’ll give me honesty. After a long second, he says, “I don’t want you to.”
He takes my face in his hands, peering into my eyes before kissing me. His mouth is hard and firm, his tongue forceful and smooth. We kiss until my hands are squeezing his shoulders. I need air, but I don’t have the self-control to pull away.
When finally we part, I gobble down a breath or two, and then I’m laughing.
“What’s so funny?” His eyes burn into mine.
“I’d rather kiss you than breathe.”
I run my hand down his side, and he cups my breast. A moment later, he gathers me in his arms, slowly stands, and, holding me to his chest, grabs a towel, which he folds around me.
He grins down at me as he carries me to the bed, where he tucks me in and delves under the covers. He rests his cheek on my thigh, and I stroke his shoulder then his bicep with my foot. He kisses the back of my knee. I’m panting as his mouth crawls upward.
Then his lips and tongue are where I’m warm and needy. And for all my talk—all my bluster in the tub—I’m reduced to whimpering. I come so fiercely, I’m near-instantly tugged under afterward.
I feel him situate beside me, pulling me against his chest. With no ado, he folds himself around me, and we sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Declan
I told her I wasn’t going to jump, but that’s not completely true. I didn’t want to jump. I fall asleep with that thought in my head and sleep a few hours before waking. I lie still for a while longer, my body curved behind her smaller, softer one, my lips wanting to kiss her hair—although I don’t.
At five, when I don’t think I can keep from rubbing my erection against her ass, I climb out of bed and start on pancakes. While I stand there flipping them, I think that it feels like I did jump. Not in the way of the relief I think that would be—I feel like I’m in a free fall.
Should I be fucking her? Obviously not. It’s been high school since I fucked a virgin. There’s a certain type of woman I go for back home, and it isn’t never-been-kissed. I prefer the older ones, the one-night-standers who tell me from square one all they want is a night full of Homer. Or the married ones whose husbands fuck around my circle, so I know it’s ok
ay to take them for a quick spin out of wedlock; there are no expectations.
The best ones are the so-called “bat bunnies”—the ones who fuck the whole damn team—the unattached ones, anyway—then tag us all on Instagram or post a pic in someone’s boxer briefs.
If a girl in Boston, or New York, or LA looks younger than me, I give her a second thought. I try to say “no” if she’s fucked up on something, if she mentions anything about the future, or gets breathless when I kiss her. If she even hesitates unbuttoning my pants, sometimes I’ll get cold feet and throw the brakes on.
I feel like a stranger to myself when I think of Finley curled up back there in the bed, probably just a little while away from waking up sore. Sore because I let myself take what I wanted.
But—fuck me—I can’t seem to do things differently. I can’t stay away from her. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. The worst thing is, I don’t want to. I’ve got no sense of restraint when I’m around her. No self-control. I don’t like that. If nothing else, I want to be someone who’s…not predatory.
She seemed like she knew what she wanted, but does she really? How will she feel when it’s time for me to go home? How the fuck do I respect her right to decide what to do with her own pussy and also protect her?
By not fucking her, dipshit.
Just say “no.”
I move some pancakes from the skillet to the plate and think hard on that option. Thinking of ending things with her makes my stomach lurch. Gives me that bad free-fall feeling.
I’m still thinking when I spot her in the doorway. She’s got on the same clothes as last night—dark jeans and a plain gray, long-sleeved shirt—but her hair’s flowing down her shoulders, and her face is soft, her eyes sleepy. When she sees me, she grins like she’s won the lottery. She bounces over, throwing her arm around me as she laughs softly.
“Look at you.” Her hand comes to my neck, and I frown before remembering I put an apron on. I shake my head, and she hugs me.
“That was Gammy’s. It looks better on you, though. What are you doing in here?” She looks at the skillet, and her green eyes widen. “Incredible.”
“You think I can’t cook?”
She laughs. “Of course. I’d imagine you’d have a harem of lady chefs who feed you grapes in bed.”
I snort. Then I wrap my arm around her, pull her up against my side so I can hold her up against me while my free hand flips the pancakes. “I can cook a few things, Siren. Mac and cheese. Bacon. Cheese toast.” I chuckle. “Pancakes…waffles.”
“These smell lovely.”
She breaks away from me, setting up the table for us. I can feel her eyes on my back as I finish cooking. While we eat, my heart starts kind of racing and my hands start shaking, but I keep on talking—we’re debating whether aliens will visit Earth (she thinks yes, I think maybe)—and keep eating, even though I’ve got that never-ending seasick feeling.
When we’ve almost finished off the pancake pile, she drops a piece into her lap, and my hand dives under the table cloth. Our eyes meet, and instead of moving back to the table, my hand curves around her knee.
She looks at me with wide eyes and an “o” mouth and those pink cheeks, and I can’t help smiling.
“It’s the shy Siren.” I stroke her denim-covered thigh.
Her hand covers mine, and she smiles shyly. She looks giddy. Like a kid. We lace our hands together, and that’s how we sit while we both finish eating.
We end up fucking again after. I don’t want to push her, but in the end, it’s Finley who pushes me. We’re on the couch, and I’m about to push in when I realize I don’t have a condom. I have to run go grab one. Finley laughs her ass off as I try to get it on.
“It’s far too tight!” She chortles.
I shake my head, tugging and pulling at the damn thing.
“Are you too oversize for ordinary condoms?”
“Oversize. Now that sounds like a bad thing.”
“Oh, it’s not a bad thing.”
My gaze catches on her bare breasts and her legs, spread slightly, giving me a peek at that plump pussy. I can’t formulate a reply. My dick is desperate to be in that tight cunt. I dirty talk her some and tease her, rolling my head around her dripping slit while she squirms, looking gorgeous with her hair everywhere and a little smile on her lips.
I make sure she’s nice and wet before I push in. Then I hold her hips, gritting my teeth as I restrain from the hard fuck I want to give her. It’s her second time; I’ve gotta take it slow. That’s okay, because it feels so goddamn good…the way she squeezes me. I try to remember anything before her—the last time I fucked a woman and felt good after.
Shit, when was it? Last summer? I don’t like to think of that, so I focus on my breathing and her little murmurs and her sharp cries. I bring Finley pleasure, and I have myself one hell of a hard come. Afterward, she crawls into my lap and teases my cock in its condom. She runs her warm palm down my happy trail, and I get hard again. Then she cradles my balls and gets me panting like a teenager.
I growl. She giggles.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you…”
I laugh, and I feel like I should get up. Toss the condom, find some way to get my dick down. Siren follows me back to the bedroom. When I step out of the bathroom, still hard, sans condom, she’s there in the bedroom doorway with her nipples peeking out from under her long hair.
“Dammit, woman.” My hand wraps around my cock, and Finley saunters closer. “What’re you trying to do to me?” My words sound hoarse…like it’s me who was the virgin.
She runs her hand up my chest slowly, tickling with her fingernails, but her brown eyes are wide. She’s watching my face.
I run a hand into her hair and kiss her cheek, and then her lips. I’m going to kiss her and then tell her she doesn’t have to fuck me all day, but I can’t seem to stop once I get started. We kiss until we’re both panting. When I pull away, her face looks startled.
“You okay?”
She nods, still wide-eyed…but they’re glazed now. Like she wants it.
I rock my dick against her leg. “That’s because you’re fucking beautiful, and you feel so good. When I’m with you, I want to be in you. Every time.” She reaches between us, running her hand up and down me. Fuck. I take a deep breath as she strokes me. Force myself to go on. “You don’t have to, though. Okay?” My hand cups her shoulder, squeezing lightly as her hands send pleasure rolling through my belly, down my legs. “Anything we do…is enough.”
She gives me a solid tug and whispers, “Is it, though? What’s wrong with more?”
I don’t want to hurt you. I’m going to say it, but it feels so damn good, what she’s doing. I end up leaning on the bed, and then I’m on my back, with my legs hanging off the side. And Finley’s got her lips around me.
She’s giving my head these tentative licks, teasing that little slit with the tip of her tongue. It’s making me moan. I pull her hair…then stroke her hair. She keeps kissing up and down my shaft. I’m about to shove my dick down her throat if she doesn’t take it herself. That’s a lie, though. I just groan and flex my legs…and she eases my head out of her mouth and looks up at me, grinning like a fucking minx.
“I adore those noises you make.”
That’s the last thing I process before she reads my mind and deep-throats my dick. I can tell she’s new to it from how she gags—I rub her hair and rasp out some instructions—but she’s damn good. I try to pull out when I feel it building, but she won’t let me. I come so hard I see stars.
Afterward, I can’t move off the bed. I feel wrung out, like I might even fall asleep.
“I’ve got an idea,” she murmurs. I can sense her walking off. She comes back back a minute later. She tosses a blanket over me, and I move my legs fully onto the bed as I squint up at her.
“Do you trust me?” she murmurs.
“I don’t know how much I like that question.”
She kisses my forehead. “Yes, of course you
trust me.”
She holds something up, and I realize it’s one of those little potion bottles. “Let me give you a bit of this. Stay here and rest. I’ve got two patients today and one errand. I’ll bring Baby with me when I return, we’ll wake you in three hours. Then I’ll cook you lunch and dinner.”
I can’t swallow as I peer up at her.
She runs her hand over my arm. “I’ll report you ill, and there’s my excuse for returning to see you, should someone spot me en route. Perfect.”
I inhale slowly, and she leans down, rubbing her cheek against mine. Her lips tickle my jaw, making my dick twitch. “I know every herb by heart, all the ones that could potentially help you.” She strokes my hair, making my eyelids heavy. “This will be a good thing. Say yes.”
I do—because she’s smiling so angelically. Also, I don’t figure it’ll really knock me out. I open my mouth like a little kid, and Finley gives me something from a dropper. Then she kisses me, stroking her tongue into my mouth, which tastes like liquor and strange sweetness.
“I’ll let myself in when I return since I know you like that. I’ll wake you.”
I drop into sleep like parachuting off a plane and drifting down into a field. I dream of her hair, her sweet smell. I can feel her kisses on my throat, her hand around my dick. And then my eyes are open, and she’s really here. She’s straddling me. Her long hair is tickling my chest, and she’s biting my nipple.
Fuck.
I feel her hand on my cock, and I realize she’s been jacking me off. Holy fuck, I’m hard.
“Ready to go again,” she giggles.
“I don’t—” My eyes shut as she rolls my balls in her hand. I can’t think, can only pant and grit my molars as she works me. Then I’m groaning. “I don’t think I have another condom.”
I’m surprised to see her hold up a black package. “Got the large size from the clinic bins.” She laughs, and strokes me faster.
Christ—I must have died and gone to heaven. Finley rolls the condom onto me—“I read the brochure,” she whispers smugly—and then lifts my cock away from my abs, pointing the head at herself.