Sex God

by Marie Force

  No, I want to say, that’s about the last thing I want after being responsible for your family for the last six years. But I don’t say that. I’d never say that to her. “I hear you, Mom. When the time is right.”

  She goes up on tiptoes to kiss me. “Take care, honey.”

  “Thanks again.”

  For a few minutes after she leaves, I keep my forehead pressed to the back of the door, trying to collect my thoughts so I can go back to Lauren with my head screwed on straight.

  “Everything all right?” Lauren asks from the doorway to my bedroom.

  I turn to find her wearing only my discarded dress shirt buttoned once in the middle of her breasts. Her long, toned legs are on full display, along with her bare pussy, and my mouth waters at the sight of her.

  “Garrett?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “What did your mom want?”

  “She brought me chicken soup and Ritz crackers.”

  “Remember how you used to eat them nonstop in high school?”

  Her question is a reminder of how far back we go, how well we know each other, how much is at stake. “I remember—and so does she. You want some soup?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

  I scoop the hearty soup into bowls and take a sleeve of crackers from the box to share with Lauren.

  “Oh my God, this is good,” Lauren says.

  My mom is an amazing cook, and almost everything she makes, even chicken soup, bears a hint of her mother’s native Mexico. I’ve yet to have better Tex-Mex anywhere than what we got at home growing up.

  “She noticed the hickey you gave me.”

  Lauren’s spoon freezes halfway to her mouth. “What hickey?”

  I point to my neck.

  She gasps. “Oh crap. What did she say?”

  “She asked me who’d been biting my neck, so I told her that sweet little Lauren Davies grew up to be a hellcat in bed.”

  “Youdidnotsaythat.” The words come out in one long breath.

  I laugh my ass off at the look of horror on her face. “No, I didn’t say that.”

  “Damn it, Garrett! That’s not funny!”

  “Yes, it really is.” I can’t stop laughing at her indignation.

  “You know how much I’ve always loved your mom. She was so good to me when we were younger and my mom was… well, not around or bombed out of her mind. She even took me prom dress shopping and paid for my dress. Do you remember that?”

  “Yeah, I do.” The reminder of Lauren growing up with a mother who was a violent alcoholic sobers me. We all believe she married Wayne more to escape the ongoing drama with her mother than because she loved him. I’ve wondered so many times what might’ve been different if I’d stepped up for her in some way before he did. But I was in college by the time that went down and under the misguided assumption that there’d be a chance for us later.

  By the time I came home, she’d been married a year already, and the handwriting was on the wall that she’d traded one awful situation for another.

  We finish eating in silence and do the dishes together because I know she won’t let them sit in the sink overnight the way I would have. When we’re done, I turn to her and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear before tracing the fragile shell of her ear, my finger bumping over the array of studs that line her ear. She is so strikingly beautiful in a fragile sort of way that keeps me on guard against things that could ever hurt her.

  “What do you want to do now?” I ask her, my hands on her shoulders.

  “I should probably go home before I outstay my welcome.”

  I’m stunned that she would worry about such a thing, and I’m suddenly desperate to keep her from leaving. “That’s not possible.”

  “I came for dinner last night and never left,” she says, smiling up at me.

  “Do you see me complaining?” I drop my hands to her waist and draw her into my embrace. I don’t even care that she can feel that I’m hard for her again. “Stay with me tonight. I’ll get you to the shop for the flower delivery in the morning.” I kiss her forehead. “I promise.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t tired of me?”

  I rub my hard cock against her soft belly. “I’m very sure.”

  Chapter Eight

  It’s still dark when the alarm goes off in the morning. I wake disoriented and uncertain of where I am until I feel Garrett’s arm around me and his warm naked body pressed up against my back. None of the anxiety that usually plagues me at night showed up while I was in his bed, allowing me to sleep better than I have in a long time.

  I feel bad that I have to drag him out of his warm bed so early, but I can’t ask Megan to do the flower pickup two days in a row. I try to ease my way out of his embrace to go grab a quick shower, but he tightens his hold on me.

  “Not yet,” he mutters in a gruff, sleepy voice.

  “I have to get to the shop. Don’t forget. You promised.”

  He groans and lets me go, rubbing his hands over his face before he jumps out of bed with more energy than he should have at this ungodly hour. The early wakeups are the only part of owning Bloomsbury that I don’t love. Otherwise, the shop has been one of the best things I’ve ever done. About four years ago, I used the small bequest from my late grandmother to pay the first six months of rent on the storefront with the idea that if the shop didn’t take off, all I’d be out was six months of rent and a lot of hard work.

  The shop took off in ways I never could’ve expected, with many of the local hotels and restaurants placing daily orders that keep me going, in addition to the cash cows of Valentine’s Day, Easter, weddings, funerals, proms and other events that provide a steady flow of business through my sweet little shop.

  I nearly lost everything last year when a water main broke on Highland, flooding out the street and most of the businesses. Only the quick action of Blake and Garrett and my other friends saved my business from disaster. I can’t even think about that day without feeling sick over what almost happened. Thank God for good friends.

  “I’m going to grab a quick shower,” I tell him.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Of course not.” After what we did all day yesterday and then again last night after we went to bed, I’m surprised I can still walk today. Then he suggests we shower together, and my body lights up with desire, as if I haven’t had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than I had in the entire time I was married to Wayne.

  Ugh, why would I ever compare Garrett to him in any way? There is, simply, no comparison.

  I follow him into the shower and put my arms around him from behind, resting my face against his back.

  He stiffens with surprise but then relaxes a bit.

  “Thank you.” The two little words seem so inadequate in light of the boost my self-confidence has received thanks to him.

  “It most definitely was my pleasure to service you,” he teases as he covers the hands I’ve placed on his abdomen with his own hands. “We can’t have you walking around thinking that you’re anything other than perfect and sexy and desirable and wonderful.” He turns to face me, and I’m caught off guard by the intense way he looks at me. His hands frame my face, forcing me to gaze up at him, not that it’s a hardship. He’s even more handsome in the morning, with his jaw covered in dark stubble and his hair standing on end. “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re anything less than amazing, Lo.”

  “I’ll try not to.” I wonder if he’s giving me this advice before we go back to being just friends, or if there will be more of what we’ve shared while locked away in his home together. Do I want more than just friendship with him? I think maybe I do, but I’m so confused right now. I have no idea what he wants, and I can’t bring myself to ask him. I need Honey. She’ll know what I should do.

  He washes my hair, and then I return the favor. Then he washes me with the body wash that smells like him. He’s very thorough, leaving no part of me untouched. By the time he�
��s finished, I’m panting with desire for more of him, basically answering my own question.

  Apparently, he feels the same way, because he lifts me into his arms and presses my back against the cool shower wall.

  “Are you too sore for more?” he asks in that gruff, sexy tone that’s quickly become one of my favorite new discoveries about him.

  “Probably.”

  He presses his hard cock against my core, carefully but intently, letting me know what he wants as much as I do.

  “But I’m willing to try if you are.” I’m going to be late for the flowers, and I can’t bring myself to care.

  “I’m more than willing,” he says with a dirty grin that makes me laugh.

  God, he’s so freaking sexy when he’s unshaven and disheveled from sleep. I realize I’ve never seen him this way. He’s always so put together, so professional and well groomed. I love that I’m getting to see this side of him.

  He enters me slowly and carefully.

  I’m not going to lie. It hurts. A lot. So I cling to him and grit my teeth through the pain, which subsides after a few minutes of patience on his part. By the time he’s fully seated inside me, I’m already on the verge of explosive release.

  He grips my ass and begins to retreat before diving back in and triggering an orgasm that rips through me like a tsunami, leaving no part of me unaffected by the power of it.

  “Fucking hell,” he mutters, his lips against my neck setting off aftershocks. “That was so hot.”

  As he picks up the pace, I realize I’m the only one who came. Dear God, he’s going to cripple me, but what a way to go. With every deep thrust, he ruins me for all other men. I’m quite convinced that no one else could make me feel as safe and as treasured and as sexy as Garrett does. I want more of him. I want so much more. I want to feel this way every day for the rest of my life. I want to be with him as friends and lovers and life partners. I want everything.

  The realizations, coming one on top of the other, have me reeling from the emotional wallop.

  Garrett continues to fuck me with the kind of abandon I suspect he rarely allows himself. “I wish we could do this all day again today,” he says harshly, his fingers digging into the dense flesh of my ass as he has his wicked way with me.

  Pinned against the wall, I’m absolutely powerless to do anything but take every deep stroke, and I love being powerless with him. Knowing he would do anything for me before we ever stepped foot into a bedroom together makes it possible for me to let go, too, to give myself completely to him.

  “Ah, God, Lauren…” His entire body goes taut in the seconds before he comes deep inside me.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life to the man who has been my rock for such a long time. Somehow I have to find a way to tell him that I want this to be the beginning of the next phase for us—the phase in which we live happily ever after together.

  As his body trembles in the aftermath of his release, I feel confident that he wants the same things I do. After this incredible time together, I can’t imagine either of us with anyone else. I’m going to talk it out with Honey, and then tonight, I’ll talk it out with him. This has to be a new beginning for us, not the end.

  I didn’t plan to make love to her again in the shower, but we know what’s become of my plans since the rogue warrior took over my program, which has been blown to smithereens. Shredded. Dismantled. Absolutely nothing has gone according to my carefully crafted plan. But the outcome has exceeded my wildest expectations.

  Lauren now knows without a shadow of a doubt that there’s nothing wrong with her performance in the bedroom. In fact, if her performance had been any more outstanding, I wouldn’t be able to walk today. As it is, I’ll probably have a slight limp from the ache in my groin. I’ll never forget the image of her straddling my face last night and then bending forward to suck my cock while I licked her pussy. It was fucking amazing, but if I allow myself to think about that, I’ll be hard again in no time.

  I have to go to work today. That’s nonnegotiable. With that in mind, I take the time to shave in the shower while Lauren goes to get dressed. She returns to the bathroom to brush her hair, and with my eyes drawn to her rather than the mirror, I slice my chin wide open. “Fuck!”

  “What?”

  “Cut myself shaving.”

  “Ouch. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” But the bleeding is profuse, and the metaphor isn’t lost on me—take your eye off the game and end up bleeding. When I step out of the shower, Lauren is there with first aid supplies she must’ve unearthed from the bathroom closet. She presses gauze to my chin and applies pressure until the bleeding slows. Then she dabs antibiotic ointment on the cut.

  As she works, she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and is intent on her task. “I think you’re going to live,” she says, smiling up at me.

  I’m completely dazzled by the smile, by the pleasure of having her here with me as I start my day, by the way she took care of me and… She’s lovely to look at. So fucking lovely.

  “Garrett? Why’re you staring at me?”

  “You’re very pretty in the morning. All the time, but I like how you look in the morning.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “I haven’t even put on mascara yet.”

  “You don’t need it.” I kiss her nose and go into my closet, located off the bathroom, to get dressed in my usual work uniform of dress pants and a starched shirt. Most days, I don’t bother with a tie, but with back-to-back client meetings today, I put on a tie.

  When I emerge, Lauren is seated on the countertop, legs crossed, doing something with a nail file. My gaze runs the length of her leg, from the tips of her coral-colored toes to the firm, toned calves to the hem of the dress she wore for our dinner the other night, which lands above her knee. Remembering she left the panties at home, I have to look away or I’ll be sidetracked once again.

  “Ready?”

  “Uh-huh.” She jumps down from the counter and slides her feet into those sexy fuck-me heels.

  We leave my house and drive into town. Rather than taking her home, I head for her shop on Highland.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “To the shop. I thought I could help you with the flowers before I take you home.”

  “Oh, thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t mind.” I park behind the shop, and we work together to bring in the buckets of flowers that have been left in the alley behind the store. It’s dark and desolate. “I’m not sure how I feel about you doing this by yourself every morning.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “Sure it is. I never feel unsafe here. It’s my happy place.”

  I bite my tongue, because I certainly don’t want to plant fear in her mind, but I make a note to get her some mace or pepper spray so she can defend herself if need be. The thought of being more than six hours away in Austin and something happening to her makes me feel queasy. I’ll ensure she’s safe before I go.

  We stash the buckets of flowers in the cooler and lock up the shop. On the way to her house, we pass the local doughnut shop, which is one of the few businesses open at this hour.

  I pull into the drive-through.

  “What’re you up to?” she asks, smiling.

  “Breakfast. What do you feel like?”

  “If we’re splurging, I’ll have a cinnamon sugar.”

  I order four doughnuts and two coffees with cream, handing the bag and beverage carrier to her.

  “My mouth is officially watering,” she says, sniffing the air in the car that is now full of the scent of hot doughnuts.

  I pull into her driveway a few minutes later, take the coffee from her and follow her into the house, planning to eat and head to work. No matter how delicious Lauren might be, I can’t touch her again or I’m apt to lose another day of work. That’s how tempting she is to me.

  We sit at the bar in her kitchen to eat our doughnuts and
drink our coffee.

  “So, so, so good,” she says, sighing. “I allow myself one per month or I’d be nine hundred pounds.”

  I’m transfixed by the sight of sugar on her lips and the blissed-out expression on her face. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I lean in to kiss those sugary lips. She’s so damned sweet, and then she smiles at me, and I again experience that curious feeling inside that has me rubbing the aching spot on my chest.

  I link my fingers with hers. “I have to get to work.”

  “I do, too.” But she doesn’t let go of my hand.

  I give a halfhearted tug, and she tightens her grip. Smiling, I say, “I had the best time.”

  “I did, too. Thank you for all of it—the lobster, the champagne, the orgasms, the badly needed boost to my self-confidence.”

  “You’re absolutely perfect. Don’t you dare ever think otherwise.”

  “I’ll try not to.” She looks up at me, madly vulnerable. “Will I see you later?”

  “I… I’m not sure. I need to hit the gym after work.”

  “You might see me there.”

  That wouldn’t be unusual. We often work out together at the end of the workday. What would be unusual is being there together under our new status as friends who have fucked. A lot.

  I give her a soft, lingering kiss and draw back from her. Disengaging is for the best, or so I tell myself. “Have a good day.”

  “You, too.”

  As I drive the short distance to my office, the feeling that I’ve left something important behind overwhelms me. The feeling stays with me throughout my morning meetings, in which I’m so distracted that, more than once, I lose the thread of conversation and have to scramble to catch up before the clients realize I’ve checked out.

  The feeling intensifies when I take a call from my potential employer in Austin who is eager to finalize the plans for Saturday’s meeting. Marilyn, the CEO’s executive assistant, walks me through the schedule for the day.

  “Will you be bringing a guest?” she asks.

  “I…” Will I be bringing a guest? I need to think about this. “Could I let you know that tomorrow?”