Out from Under You

by Sophie Swift

  “I know” is all I can say.

  Is all that needs to be said.

  I pour the whipped egg mixture into the omelet pan, listening to the satisfying sizzle of it frying with the onion, mushroom, and spinach. I hum an unknown melody as I pour orange juice into two glasses, and set them on the tray. I add a sprinkling of fresh basil and feta cheese to the pan, flip the fluffy omelet in half, and transfer it to a plate, finishing off the masterpiece with a sprig of mint.

  Of course there was no food in the house when I woke up this morning. There’s never food in a bachelor’s New York apartment. I normally eat out after work and Alex never lets me cook for her. She doesn’t see the point when we live in the restaurant capital of the country. But fortunately Lia was still sleeping when I got up, and I was able to sneak out to the bodega on the corner and stock up on a few essentials.

  I balance the tray in my hands and carry it into the bedroom.

  The sight of Lia’s naked body, tangled in my sheets, makes me nearly lose my cool. And every single item on this tray.

  I stop in the doorway, admiring her face, her figure, her hair still tousled and slightly matted from our marathon fuck session in the shower and continuing in the bedroom last night. We didn’t even bother with towels or clothes or combs.

  After that mind-blowing orgasm in the shower—that made me wonder what I’ve been doing all these years, since I clearly haven’t been having sex right—we staggered from the bathroom, drunk and languid in the glow of ecstasy, and collapsed onto the bed. We lay there, soaking wet and breathless and shuddering, drinking in each other’s eyes, running fingertips and toes and lips over skin and hair and muscles. Relishing the electricity that seems to dance between us whenever we’re near each other, like a bolt of lightning caught between two trees.

  We whispered words back and forth. Promises to make up for lost time, to make up for lost living.

  And then Lia found her way back to my lips, slipping tenderly into my arms, gliding easily under me like she was always meant to be there. I was ready for her. I think I’ve always been ready for her. Her legs parted and she invited me into her, warm and wet and welcoming. She coaxed me with eager movements from her hips, hungry arches of her back, fervent pressure from her fingertips.

  We came over and over again. Each one more intense than the last. Each one linking another piece of us together.

  We slept little last night. I feel bad waking her now. But she stirs when she senses my presence and I watch her eyes flutter open. She wakes with a smile on her face and I find myself wondering if she will always wake up like that.

  God, I hope so.

  Her sweet grin deepens when she sees the tray in my hand. Then she glances at the clock on the nightstand and her expression turns to panic. “It’s almost eleven! Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I called in sick.” I come to the bed, placing the tray on the nightstand, and sitting down next to her. I point at my darkened phone that I turned off earlier this morning. “I’m all yours.”

  She frowns at me in disbelief.

  I cup her chin in my hand, loving the way she looks in the morning. “Don’t act so surprised,” I tell her. “You really think I could leave the apartment with you looking like that in my bed? I’d have to be a robot.”

  Her hand slides down my bare chest, slipping between my legs, and tightening around my cock, which has been rock-hard since the moment I woke up next to her. “Nope,” she confirms with a wicked smirk, “definitely not a robot.”

  “See?”

  Her fingertip spirals playfully around the tip as her piercing blue eyes burn into mine.

  “Well,” I say, clearing my throat theatrically, “if I had known that’s what you wanted for breakfast, I could have saved a lot of time.”

  “Can’t I have both?” Her eyelids lower demurely and a tremor of anticipation rockets through me.

  “Baby, you can have anything you want.”

  I slip my arm underneath her knees, the other around her back, and lift her into the air, slamming her down at the foot of the bed. She squeals as I ravenously dive for the gorgeous curve of her neck, tasting her sweet skin with my tongue. Her palms press against my chest, clawing and kneading. I snatch both of her wrists and yank her arms above her head, holding them captive while I continue to devour her.

  She moans into my ear, fueling my impatience.

  I need her.

  Need her like I’ve never needed anyone.

  I marvel at how every second that I’m not inside of her feels like a second wasted. A useless moment shaved off my life. And even though I know now what it’s like to have her, to possess her completely, I still find myself anticipating the discovery of her like a sailor searching for blessed land after days of stormy seas. I still tremble and ache to know, all over again, what it will feel like to push myself inside her. To feel her soft wetness around me.

  She is both new and familiar.

  A heavenly reunion and an exhilarating revelation at the same time.

  I lift my head to look at her. Her eyes are closed, her face twisted with beautiful torment.

  “Grayson,” she whimpers, sending me spiraling. “Oh, God, yes.”

  As I watch her lying beneath me, her hands locked helplessly in my grip, her body writhing in anticipation of me, opening up to me, a thought suddenly ricochets across my brain.

  I am in total control.

  She has entirely given herself over to me. She has trusted me with her heart, her body, her soul.

  For once, I am on top. Both literally and figuratively.

  She is not trying to own me. She is not trying to pull strings attached to my extremities. She is just letting me be me.

  The realization sets off a surge of invigoration. I feel powerful. Masculine. Liberated.

  “Look at me,” I command, still holding her hands prisoner.

  I have never commanded anyone to do anything in my life. Alex has always been the one to make the demands. I’m just the poor fool who’s been willing to obey her all of these years.

  But those days are over.

  That Grayson is gone.

  Lia’s eyes open and she gazes at me with such intensity, I’m not sure how much longer I can stay outside of her.

  “Spread your legs,” I order.

  Immediately, she obeys, the mischievous smile on her face letting me know that she’s enjoying it. That she wants this.

  Her eyes plead me. Beg me.

  But I don’t give in. Not yet. I issue my next directive. “Lift your hips.”

  She slowly hoists her lower body into the air. I shift until I’m poised to penetrate her. I dip in an inch and stop. She bucks toward me, but I move out of reach.

  She bites her bottom lip in frustration, crying out softly. “Please.”

  I playfully descend again, just barely entering her, before retracting. She gasps and tips her head back, her eyelids starting to close again.

  “No,” I bellow. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes flash back open and she swallows hard. I watch her long, slender neck swell and contract.

  “How bad do you want it?” I ask, my voice gruff and authoritative. Like I’ve never heard it before. The unfamiliar sound fuels me.

  “Oh God, Grayson. So bad. I want it so bad. I need you inside of me.”

  She tries again to steer me into her, but again I move away, keeping hold of the power, the marvelous control. “What are you willing to do for it?”

  Her eyes never leave mine. She continues to squirm but I keep my hands firmly clasped around her wrists. “Anything. Anything in the world,” she pants the words. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I first saw you.”

  “Open your legs wider,” I command.

  She acts fast, her legs spreading across the entire width of the bed.

  I tease her again, letting my tip gently graze, tauntingly pushing and then withdrawing. Her back arches, her face contorts, her breathing is labored and wild. I’m driving her absol
utely crazy. And her desperation is doing the same to me.

  I shift her wrists into one hand and bring the other to her chin, forcing her to keep looking at me. I bring my mouth close to hers, tickling her lip with the edge of my tongue.

  Her body shudders hungrily beneath me, like it might explode at any minute.

  “Grayson,” she breathes with effort. “I. Can’t. Take. This. Much—”

  “Tell me what you want from me.”

  “What?” Her eyes are glassy, glazed over with desire. She can’t focus on me. Can’t see straight.

  I hold her chin tighter. “Tell me what you want from me,” I repeat, enunciating each word carefully.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she huffs. Her nipples are as hard as stone under my chest. She lifts her back as she writhes and they jab into me, sending another tremor of blinding anticipation through me.

  “No!” I yell, pressing upward on her wrists until her back is stretched out flat. “Tell me NOW!”

  “I want you to FUCK ME!” she screams, her voice ragged and worn.

  I lift my hips into the air and slam them down, plunging deep inside of her. We both cry out in unison as the sweltering sensation explodes through us, bouncing off each other in a continual, never-ending transfer of pure, shivering bliss. I drive into her over and over again, feeling more powerful, more in control of my life with every thrust.

  I release her hands and she claws desperately at my back, pulling me closer and closer.

  “Kiss me,” I order her and her head rises to find my mouth, to crush her lips against mine. I shove my tongue in hard, trying to match the depth between her legs.

  Our eyes remain open. We stay connected. Because we have nothing to hide.

  She has brought out a side of me that I didn’t know existed.

  And she has not shied away from it.

  In fact, she welcomed it. As though she knew it was there all along and was just waiting to let it in.

  I continue to surge inside of her, bringing us both to the brink of the shattering eruption as my hips crash against hers. As my hardness fills her and her warmth blankets me.

  I break our gaze only long enough to bring my lips to her ear. “Now, come for me.” I whisper with the same unyielding authority.

  It’s my last command before we both gasp and tumble into the abyss.

  Sixteen.

  That’s how many world-shattering, mind-fucking orgasms Grayson Walker has given me since last night.

  Not that I’m counting.

  Because who would do that? Count orgasms like they’re trying for some kind of world record?

  But really, there’s no need. We undoubtedly already broke that record.

  At least we broke my record.

  In the past, with the losers I’ve dated, I was lucky to get two in one night. And that was before they passed out cold, then made up some excuse about being late in the morning so they could slip away without making plans to see me again.

  But not Grayson.

  Not only did he call in sick to spend the day with me, he’s like a machine. He never runs out of steam or...product.

  Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m on the pill. Otherwise, I think I’d be pregnant with octuplets by now.

  And what was with him this morning? With all that ordering around and making me beg for it. He was like a sex drill sergeant. I don’t know where that came from—it’s certainly not any version of Grayson I’ve ever seen before—but it was probably the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.

  And I thought being ordered around the kitchen was sexy.

  Holy shit.

  I can’t think straight. I’m in a state of perpetual post-sex bliss. I feel like I’m living in a cloud. And not the real kind of cloud—the ones that are nothing but cold damp air and weird gases. I’m talking about the fantasy kind. The fluffy white kingdoms floating in the sky. Where everything is warm and beautiful and naked.

  That’s another thing.

  We haven’t worn a scrap of clothing since last night. Since before the shower.

  Grayson didn’t even put on clothes when our lunch was delivered. He simply cracked the door open, told the delivery guy to leave it on the front stoop, and then waited until the footsteps stopped echoing down the stairs before opening the door to retrieve the bag.

  I’ve come to realize that clothes are actually pretty pointless things.

  Especially in this city where everything can be delivered and there’s a gloriously hot boy who hasn’t left your side for almost 24 hours. Why put on clothes if you’re only going to rip them off a moment later?

  Around seven o’clock I finally decide to do something about my haggard appearance. I scoot to the edge of the bed and tell Grayson I’m going to take a shower.

  His sable eyes darken mischievously. “I like where your mind is.”

  I shove him. “No. Like an actual shower. You know, to get clean.”

  He grabs my arm, pulling me back and tucking me underneath him. “What’s the point when I’m just going to get you all dirty again?”

  I giggle as his hands start to rove and his tongue finds my ear lobe. But I know where this is going and if I don’t extricate myself from the situation, I’ll never get into that shower.

  So I give a huge heave against his shoulders, throwing in a fake grunt for effort. Grayson flops down beside me with a disappointed groan.

  “I have to make myself presentable for you again,” I argue as I sit up.

  I feel his lips against my lower back, kissing shivers up my spine.

  “I think you’re pretty fucking presentable right now,” he murmurs into my skin.

  Oh God, that’s good.

  I nearly fall back into him. My will to do anything but let him devour me all over again is slipping at an exponential rate.

  No!

  I force myself onto my feet. “You stay here,” I command, “and figure out what we’re going to eat for dinner.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he mocks.

  I walk slowly to the bathroom, my thighs (among other parts) stiff from all the incredible sexing.

  “Mmm,” I hear Grayson’s husky voice behind me, “I like this view.”

  I glance over my shoulder to see him lying on his back, his elbows locked behind his head, propping him up. He’s watching my ass with pointed interest.

  I pause in the bathroom doorway. “Well, here’s a little sneak peek of what’s to come later.” I give my hips a slow seductive shimmy and hear Grayson sigh with frustration.

  “Yes. That certainly is to come,” he calls out as I shut the door.

  Once on the other side, I brace myself for my reflection. I just know it’s going to be hideous. I haven’t run a comb through my hair in over a day, and my make-up case is still lying completely untouched in my overnight bag.

  But when I turn around and gaze into the mirror, I’m relieved to see it’s not as bad as I thought. My hair, having dried naturally (or as naturally as hair can dry while it’s being tugged and tangled and whipped back and forth), is fairly kinked and matted against my head, but thankfully, my face is relatively clean and smudge-free. The water from the shower yesterday must have washed most of my make-up away. And my skin is surprisingly radiant and kind of glowing.

  Huh. How do you like that?

  I guess all those things they say about sex being good for the complexion are true.

  Good to know there’s no need to buy expensive face creams anymore. Grayson is my new face cream.

  The thought makes me blush and I actually giggle aloud at my own dirty joke.

  “I think you’re having too much fun in there without me!” I hear Grayson call through the door. “Should I be jealous?”

  “Absolutely!” I shout back.

  I step into the stall and turn the shower on full. The hot water feels good on my skin as I spin in a slow circle under the faucet. This is exactly what I needed. After only a few minutes under the warm drizzle, I start to feel ref
reshed and renewed. Ready for sixteen more rounds.

  I lather shampoo into my hair, follow it up with some conditioner, and rinse.

  After turning off the faucet, I look for something to dry myself with, but all I find is a stupid hand towel.

  Typical bachelors.

  Do they ever do laundry?

  With a sigh, I grab the miniscule piece of terry cloth and hastily wipe it down my body, trying to soak up as much moisture as I can. I wring the excess water from my hair and, after wiping the steam from the mirror with the now soaking wet towel, I start searching for something to tackle these tangles.

  I find what I’m looking for in the bottom drawer and pull the brush through my hair. It does a fantastic job of working out the knots and I hold the object in front of me to examine it.

  This is actually a really nice brush for a guy’s apartment.

  And then suddenly the blood drains from my face. I glance uneasily down at the open drawer, just now noticing that it’s absolutely crammed full with things. Feminine things. Moisturizers and hair rubber bands and tampons and...is that…vaginal lubricant?

  With a thundering heart, I slam the drawer shut.

  I stand motionless in front of the mirror, trying to erase the image from my mind but it’s trapped there like an angry animal locked in a cage.

  Of course, she has things here.

  This is her fiancé’s apartment.

  Did I really think that she never came over? Never spent the night? Never needed moisturizer or rubber bands or...the other things in there?

  But it’s not the stuff itself that bothers me, it’s the way it’s been shoved into that drawer. Hastily. Carelessly. Making me believe—no, making me know—that it wasn’t Alex who put it all there.

  Super-organized, OCD Alex doesn’t throw things in drawers.

  Which means Grayson must have done that.

  Probably after he begged me to come over the other night.

  I can just picture him hanging up the phone and frantically scouring the apartment for evidence of her. For residue of the relationship that he still hasn’t ended.

  Suddenly I feel like a windmill is churning in my stomach. What the hell am I doing here?

  You’re living your life, a tenacious voice argues from somewhere in the back of my head.