by RC Boldt
Maggie is the person who will see a homeless person on the side of the road and give them her lunch. If that doesn’t make you melt, I’m not sure what would. She just has a freaking heart of gold.
She also smiles with her eyes. Sounds like I just grew an ovary saying that, but seriously, there’s just something about it. When she really smiles, her eyes crinkle, and it’s just … God, it’s just gorgeous. And the way her entire face lights up when she’s excited about something makes it impossible not to feel the same.
When she turns to face me, watching me with those beautiful eyes of hers, she flashes me a mischievous grin. Scooting over to place a palm on my chest, she props her chin atop it, eyeing me.
“You look like you’re up to no good, Mags.” I can’t resist smiling back at her. She’s just too damn cute.
“Well,” her eyes flash, and her grin widens, “I was just thinking that now I know what your O face looks like.”
“And?” I cock an eyebrow.
Her face twists in a look of faux disappointment, but her eyes give her away, still sparkling with humor. “It could use some work.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” She pops the p at the end.
“Huh. That’s interesting.” I pretend to mull over her words. “Because I recall someone—mere minutes ago—going on and on like”—I imitate her higher pitched voice—“Oh, Ry, I’m coming! Oh, Ry, right there! Ryyyyyy—” My words cut off when a pillow is shoved against my face.
“Ryland James! I do not sound like that!”
Tossing the pillow aside, I roll over on top of her. Our bodies press against one another, and my cock is already rising to the occasion. Gazing down at her, I dip my head to whisper against the column of her neck. “I bet I can prove you sound exactly like that.”
Slipping down her body, I press my mouth against her core.
And, oh, I prove it. Over and over again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Maggie
“Mags,” Sarah winces with a concerned expression, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
No. Not at all. “It’s just … nice, you know? To have someone I feel so comfortable with being the same person that I …” I trail off, unsure of how to finish. I’ve been beyond nervous about coming clean to her about what Ry and I have been, uh, doing for the past few weeks.
Sarah glances around the coffee shop where we decided to meet for a long overdue girls-only coffee date Saturday morning. The same coffee date I was unusually late for—a whopping ten minutes—and I hate being late. Hate. It. But today, I didn’t mind so much. Because, well, the reason I was late was … because someone had insisted on making me come a fourth time.
Yep, when I had somehow blurted out that a guy had never brought me to orgasm more than three times in a row before, Ry took it as a challenge. A serious challenge. God, just thinking about him going down on me this morning, my fingers tugging on his short hair while I rode his face—
“Stop it right now.” Sarah’s sharp tone draws me from my thoughts, and I see her pointing a finger accusingly at me. “That’s not permitted.” Sipping her coffee, she mutters, “Especially not when I haven’t gotten any action in far too long.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” She laughs. “You’re flushed and have that lightness to your eyes.” Waving a hand dismissively, she adds, “Don’t mind me. I need to live vicariously through you since my job and school are so crazy and zap any energy I might otherwise have to try and find a guy.”
Leaning closer and lowering her voice, she sobers. “Seriously, though. What’s going on? Are you and Ry a thing, now?”
My lips part to answer her, but then my ears catch a hint of a familiar ruggedly male voice saying, “It’s not serious, then?” There’s a pause. “Yeah, Ry, I get it. It’s cool. We can still get together later on this week.”
Right then, it’s as if I can actually feel my face lose all color, like it drips downward, leaving me a pale mess. My heart’s racing wildly, and I think I might need a brown paper bag to hyperventilate in. What’s worse is that I shouldn’t be feeling any of this because Ry and I aren’t even together. We aren’t a thing. We aren’t anything. So what if he’s talking to Jack about me, telling him it wasn’t serious, and they’ll likely get together again this week.
So. What. I don’t care.
Crap. I’m a horrible liar even when trying to lie to myself. Talk about pathetic.
“Maggie?” Sarah’s staring at me oddly, and I realize I’ve been sitting here and never answered her.
“Hello, ladies.” Jack’s voice greets us, standing beside our table with his own iced coffee in hand and wearing a warm smile on his face.
“Hi, Jack.” Hurriedly, I rise from my chair and push it in noisily, frantically needing to escape. “Bye, Jack.” Racing over to give Sarah the quickest hug in the history of mankind, I whisper a quick apology in her ear about having to leave right away.
Exiting the coffee shop as though the devil himself were at my heels, I nearly sprint down the sidewalk to the apartment. Because I can’t do this. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. It had just been too long since I’d been with a guy, and I had a weak moment.
Okay, so a lot of weak moments if you count how many times Ry and I have, um, done … things.
Over the past month.
Holy shadoobie. I’ve been sleeping with Ry that long already? How is that even possible? It’s like the guy has cast some sort of creepy spell over me or something.
But that’s not the worst part. The worst part of this whole debacle is the fact that I’ve been starting to … have feelings for him. The more-than-friends kind of feelings. Like I want to hang out, watch movies, and eat popcorn with him just like normal except for the fact that I’d also like to eat the popcorn off his body. And lick off every smidge of salt left behind. And have him return the favor by ensuring no salt remains on my body.
Especially in the area between my legs. Because, you know, things can collect there. He’d have to use his tongue to really get in there.
Whew! I’m getting myself all hot and bothered just thinking about this scenario. There’s a problem with this, though. He evidently does not feel the same way. That much was clear from the conversation he just had with Jack.
Which means I have to end it before I get hurt, before I get too attached. Er, okay, more attached than I already am. I have to put him back in that box, the one specified as roommate and best friend only, and remove the additional, temporary sticky label of “sex partner.”
Yeah, that bums me out just thinking it. Not only because he’s phenomenal in bed—he is—but because when we have sex, it’s almost like … more. Like there’s emotion behind it. More emotion and feelings than just two people’s bodies coming together for pleasure; more than two people, who get along really well outside of the bedroom, having sex. More than that.
It was like, maybe—just maybe—hearts were getting involved, too.
Chapter Forty
Ry
The door opens, and I hear Maggie enter the apartment from her coffee date with Sarah. Glancing at the time, I note that she’s home far earlier than I expected, especially since I made her late.
There’s no way to restrain the smile forming on my face thinking about how I made her late. After her disclosure that no guy had managed to make her orgasm more than three times in a row before, I had been determined to surpass that.
And I had. Oh, how I surpassed it. The memory of it has me adjusting my now hardening cock. I’d gone down on her, licking her, devouring her, tasting her when she came that fourth time this morning.
Sitting at the table looking over some spreadsheets for work so I wouldn’t miss her being gone—I know, totally pathetic—I had called Jack to see if he’d be able to free up some time to go over some things with me. The last time I’d asked him to look over things, it ended with someone being fired. This time, it wasn’t as serious; I merely wanted another set
of eyes to check things over, and Jack’s one of the best business consultants I know.
Looking up, I know I have a goofy ass grin on my face, waiting for Mags to walk down the hall to me. My grin drops as soon as I catch sight of her because something is definitely wrong. Abruptly rising from my seat, I walk over to her. Reaching for her, she shrinks back. It’s not overly obvious, but I notice it.
“Mags? What’s wrong?” My eyes search her expression for any hint as to what might be bothering her.
She lets out a long exhale, moving to set her purse and keys down on one of the chairs before pulling off her fleece and tossing it down beside them. “We need to talk.”
My eyes fall closed on a silent curse because everyone who has an IQ of at least ten knows that phrase never bodes well.
Never.
Shoving my hands in the pockets of my pajama pants, I try to maintain some modicum of calm. “Mags, talk to me. Please.”
Whirling around, she waves a hand in gesture. “I just think that maybe this was a mistake, you know? We probably shouldn’t have veered into this territory, muddying the waters of our friendship, especially since we’re roommates, too. Too messy. And I think the right thing to do is to go back to the way things were before.” Her words are rushed, as though she’s forcing them out in rapid fire. “We need to forget anything happened.” She punctuates this last part with a quick nod.
And me? I’m not sure how I’m still standing upright because her words gut me.
Abso-fucking-lutely gut me.
Just as my lips start to form a protest to try to convince her that she’s not thinking clearly and to give it some more thought, it all gets tossed out the window with one softly spoken word.
“Please.”
My eyes close on a wince, that word piercing my damn heart and soul at once.
Please.
Please forget that I ever made love to her.
Please forget that I had my mouth on nearly every inch of her beautiful body.
Please forget that every time our lips met, I was kissing her with my entire heart.
Somehow, I manage to swallow past the lump in my throat, the blatant rejection washing over me. Blowing out a long breath, I open my eyes to find her watching me with a pleading look on her face. I don’t even think—I just blurt out words.
“On one condition.”
Her brows furrow. “One condition?”
“One condition.” Because no way in hell am I going to bow out quietly.
“What … condition is that?” Her hesitance is evident.
Stepping closer, I reach out, grateful that she doesn’t shy away from my touch this time, my hands cradling her face. “My condition is if this is it, then we need to end it right.”
Something shifts in her expression. “And how do you suggest we end it?”
Closing the distance between us, I let her feel my arousal, hardening at the thoughts in my mind, at the prospect that she might give me one final time with her. The way her lips part when she notices, when she feels me, urges me on.
“I suggest,” I lean in closer, brushing my lips against hers, “we do it right.” My hands slide down to cup her ass, pulling her into me as I rock against her. “To have one last time where I make you come all over my cock.” Trailing wet kisses across her cheek to her earlobe, I smile at her gasp. “And then over my tongue and fingers.” Her breath is coming out in harsh pants now, eyes closed.
“Does that sound all right to you, Mags?” My voice is low, husky as I rock myself against her once more.
“Yes,” she breathes, one of her hands moving between us, palming my hard length through my thin, cotton pants. Unable to withhold a groan as she works me with her hand, I nearly lose it the moment she slides beneath the waistband and grasps me, working her hand up and down along my thick shaft.
“You’d better voice any complaints now.” I gasp when her thumb grazes my tip, running over the slit and gathering the moisture there. “Because I’m about to take you right here against the wall.”
“Do it,” she whispers, her eyes watching me, filled with so much heat that it nearly takes my breath away.
Instantly, I lift her, her legs wrap around my waist as I stalk to the wall, caging her against it. Her simple, black pair of yoga pants barely serves as a barrier when I press my cock against her core, eliciting a moan that sends pride running through me. Her fingers dig into the muscles of my shoulders as our lips meet in a feverish, rough kiss with our teeth knocking one minute before our tongues dart and retreat.
It’s like a war; a battle. I’m intent on claiming her one final time. There’s only one problem. One of us is giving in while the other is giving up everything to the other.
The other person is giving up their heart, offering it in silent desperation.
Begging to be loved back.
Chapter Forty-One
Maggie
There’s a split second when I think to myself, Why am I saying yes to this? But then Ry touches me, and well … all he has to do is touch me. Heck, I’m pretty sure all he actually has to do is lay a finger on me, and I start melting.
The moment he picks me up and pushes me against the wall is the moment everything fades into nothing but Ry and me. The way he feels, the way he moves against me, the way he’s kissing me. And, God, the way he’s kissing me right now is unlike anything I’ve ever known. His kisses are more fierce and more passionate than any kiss I’ve ever experienced. His lips are like the gateway drug for me: once he kisses me, I’m a goner.
My legs wrap around him, my back presses against the wall, and I honestly don’t register the firmness of the plaster at my back. I concentrate on the taste of him on my lips, the way his tongue spars with my own, and the way he’s pressing his cock into me, nudging me right where I ache for him most.
His hand gliding up along my side has me immediately arching, as if urging him to touch my breasts, to toy with my nipples. I wish, desperately, that we were already naked with no barriers between us.
Using his body weight to hold me in place, one of his hands slides beneath the hem of my shirt, shoving my sports bra up and out of the way. His calloused thumb and forefinger wreak havoc on my hardened nipples, tweaking them until I’m aching for his lips and mouth to do the same. His other hand delves beneath the waistband of my pants, his fingers sliding between us to glide over my core and trace over the folds to gather the wetness there before focusing on my clit. My inner muscles clench, and I silently mourn the fact that he’s not already inside me.
“You want me inside you?” he says with a husky growl in my ear.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t so silent in my thinking.
“God, yes.”
“Open your eyes.” He takes tiny nips along the column of my neck before his tongue darts out soothingly. The moment I open my eyes, he slowly peels my shirt off me with my sports bra following. One hand comes up to cup a breast, thumb grazing over the tip, and I can’t withhold the sharp inhalation at the touch. It’s like every single nerve ending is in an overly sensitive state, a jolt shooting through me at the feel of the slightly roughened skin of the pad of his thumb over the tip of my nipple.
“You like when I do that?”
How the heck is he sounding so composed right now? When I’m here—against this wall—an aching, wet, aroused mess just waiting for him to put me out of my misery?
I can only manage to whisper a soft, “Yes,” before he dips his head to latch on to my nipple. Instantaneously, I feel a rush of arousal flood me, so soaking wet for him in anticipation of him pushing inside me soon.
Please let it be soon.
“I need you, Ry.” The words are out before I can think—before I even realize I’ve said them.
His gaze is so intense that it nearly takes my breath away. “What do you need?”
Rocking myself against him, I can’t restrain my whimper. “I need this. You.”
His fingers roughly shove down the waistband of my pants, setting
me on my feet before he kneels down to remove them from around my ankles, baring me. Still crouched before me, his eyes slowly take me in, moving up, up, up, and stopping right there. At the apex of my thighs, the part of me that yearns for him the most.
Reaching up slowly, he moves to trace the crease of my entrance with his index finger, top to bottom, achingly slow, before suddenly sliding inside me. I gasp loudly, my head falling back against the wall. He works his finger in and out before adding another, and I note how easily they move, gliding through my wetness.
“I need you inside me.” I don’t care how needy I sound right now. If I don’t have him pushing his hard cock inside me, if I don’t feel him stretching me with his size, then I’m pretty certain I’ll go insane.
His hazel eyes rise, holding my own while he slides his fingers out of me. Bringing them to his mouth, he slides them between his lips. His eyes fall closed at that moment, appearing to savor my taste on his fingers by sucking my essence off them. When his eyes find mine once again, he slowly rises, thumbs slipping beneath the waist of his pajama pants and shoving them down to kick them off to the side. He quickly rids himself of his plain cotton T-shirt, standing there before me in his full, naked glory. His cock is breathtaking, so thick and hard, jutting outward as if waiting for me to—
“Have you always used a condom?” The words are out before I even think it through.
His eyes are watchful. “Always, Mags. I’ve never been with anyone unprotected.”
That’s the answer I wanted—needed. Dropping to my knees, I grasp him in my hand before my tongue darts out to lick the tip, tasting the drop of fluid there, reveling in the salty taste before sliding my lips over him. Using my hand, mouth, and tongue, I suck and slide over his length, feeling him grow harder inside my mouth. When his fingers tangle in my hair, I glance up to see him watching me, lids low, eyes hazy with heat, lips parted, breathing ragged. And it’s then that I feel pride—an empowering pride—that I made him this way.