by Sara Hubbard
I gasp and feel myself dripping with need. “Oh, dear God,” I say before letting go of a strangled cry.
I love foreplay. And I usually need it to get off from sex. I once thought something was wrong with me because I have friends who have orgasms from straight sex all the time. But I’m so wet and eager with Michael I swear to God I could come right here and he hasn’t entered me yet.
When I grip his length, I can barely wrap my hand around his cock he’s so thick. It’s intimidating, but I’m ready for the challenge. I work his shaft, coating my fingers with his precum and sliding it over his hard cock.
He groans and pumps his hips, helping me get the speed he likes. I rub his tip against my clit, enjoying the burst of electricity that shoots out like fireworks through my body.
He slows and reaches out to his nightstand to open a drawer. He pulls out a condom, and I snatch it from him. “Let me,” I say, my voice husky. He holds himself up above on locked arms while I look down and press the condom to his tip. I roll it down. Not an inch of extra room in there. I bite my lip, worrying this might hurt a little. Then I feel the tugging sensation between my legs and I don’t care one little bit.
He tilts his hips back so his cock is pressing against my entrance. I grab his ass and yank him forward while tilting my hips to draw him deeper. I scream, caught between the delicious, blurry line of pain and ecstasy.
He smooths my hair away from my face and looks me dead in the eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Uh huh. I just need a minute.”
He presses a soft kiss to my cheek and drags his lips across my cheeks, his breath tickling my sensitive skin. His mouth stops at my earlobe where he nuzzles and nips at my ear. I groan.
“Now,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
I dig my nails into his firm ass and pull him in deeper. I swear I feel his tip in my stomach he’s so deep, and yet it’s not deep enough. I don’t want to make love. I don’t want him to be gentle. I just want to get off, and I want that for him, too. There’s too much need inside of me, and like a volcano, I feel like I might erupt. He starts to move, sliding in and out with an unmatched control. His body practically shakes with restraint, and it drives me crazy. My body tenses and my lady parts throb with desire. Heat builds inside of me as I reach the cliff of orgasm, but I climb and fall over and over again as he picks up and slows to tease me.
I refuse to let him have all the control. I push him off of me and roll on top of him. “Now it’s my turn,” I say. I rock back and forward, his cock driving deeper inside me than before. Moaning, I tip my head back and my hair tickles my back. He grips my hips hard, his thumbs holding me hard enough to leave marks. I could care less. I grab his hands and force him to grip harder. I move quickly, bucking and grinding, and he matches my movements, moving his hips in tiny circles that hit me in a spot deep in my core than no man has ever found, let alone pressed. Explosions rock through me, and I scream and cry out in ecstasy. Just as I find my release and slow, he forces me to move harder…faster, and his cock jerks as his breath catches and his body vibrates. The sudden movement of his cocking spilling inside of me causes aftershocks that leave me sated and empty. I fall forward, his cock still deep inside me. He wraps his hands around me and kisses the top of my head.
My eyes grow heavy and my tense muscles relax as if each one of them is sighing with satisfaction. I moan quietly.
“I’m yours,” he says softly. “For better or for worse.” And I know with certainty that he means it.
Chapter 20
I’ve never awakened with a grin on my face before. I’ve awakened happy, but not actively smiling. It’s like my cheeks and mouth are cemented into position. Those butterflies are there, fluttering wildly, refusing to sit still. My first thought: this is good. Me and Michael. This is really good. I don’t care about timing. I just care about him.
With closed eyes, I roll over and reach for him, needing to feel the warmth of his body against mine, like an addict aches for drugs. The sweet spot between my legs rushes with blood and heat. Sex in the morning is a great way to start the day. So is a morning BJ.
I feel for him and get nothing but cool sheets. Like he’s been gone for a long time. My eyes snap open, and I sit up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest to cover myself. Though the blinds are drawn, the sun peeks in through the cracks around the edges. The light from his bathroom is still on and casts a beam on the rug beside me. Where is he?
I panic because that’s what I do. I assume the worst. He woke up and decided this was a mistake. Maybe he’s not as finished with Chloe as he thought he was. Maybe his anger for what she did is blinding his mind and his heart. I chew on my nails and glance over at the clock, but a note on his pillow catches my eye. I snatch it up and read quickly.
You’re beautiful when you sleep. Even when you snore.
Jerk. I heart you.
Had practice this morning. Would have told you but my mind was elsewhere.
I know exactly where it was. I’m sore, and my legs are like jelly so I don’t need a reminder.
Wait for me?
I grip the note and clutch it to my chest. There is no other word for what I feel right now except smitten and hopelessly in love. Like a schoolgirl with a massive crush on a boy she can’t find the words to talk to. I’m not sure I ever swooned like this over anyone. Certainly not Brad. I was hot for him, but I never crushed on him. Not like this. Michael is something different. Something special. And I need to navigate what’s happening between us carefully or risk losing him. I’ll do my best and hope it’s enough.
God, I hope it’s enough.
I fall back down in bed and lay on my back. Since I don’t know when he left, I have no idea when he’ll be home and I’m dying of starvation. I look for my clothes, but I don’t see them at first glance. The door to the room is closed so I get out of bed in my underwear and look around the room. He’s so neat he likely hung them up. They’re not in his closet, and they’re not in his drawers. Where the hell did he put them? Would he have washed them? He might be freaky enough to go that far. But not when they’re the only clothes I have.
What the hell?
I grab a T-shirt from his drawer that’s folded in a perfect square. I have to shake my head at him while I chuckle. Holding it up to my nose because I’m a dork, I take a little sniff, and it smells like him, the same perfect blend of soap and aftershave. He’s worn this before and folded it away for later. Yep, I’ll take it. I throw it on over my bare chest. I don’t even have a bra. In his drawer, there are pants way too big for someone my size. I find the smallest pair I can, and thankfully they have a tie at the waist. I cinch them closed and roll up the sweats at the bottom. I’m swimming in fabric, but I have little choice. I need something in my belly, or at the very least, coffee.
A buzzing sound stops me as I approach the door. His cell phone vibrates on the night stand. I continue to the door but then stop myself. Curiosity gets the better of me. I tiptoe over to the nightstand like my actions might be caught on camera. I stand beside it, glancing down without touching. Chloe Adams name lights up the display in green, along with a text. Oh, hell no.
I snatch the phone.
I miss you. Today was a hard day. Gran’s birthday. Call me.
The phone is locked, and it’s the only message I’m able to see. I’m not proud to admit if I had his code I’d be scrolling through every single message they’ve ever shared. In my mind, I’d be justified even if it’s a shitty thing to do. At least I would know it was shitty. That’s something, at least.
Will he call her back? Does he take her calls? Ugh. The thoughts drive me mental. My head begins to throb and my heart races as I scowl at her name. She took Brad from me, and now she wants Michael? She’s really a piece of work.
The house is quiet. I’ve been here twice now and seen no signs of roommates. I’m starting to wonder if they’re ever around. Charlie told me he hangs out there when his friends have people over, but they see
m like absentee renters so far. The loud grating sound of a blender rings out as I slowly descend the stairs. Maybe I spoke too soon. I follow the sound, wondering if Michael’s back or if it’s his elusive roomies. It’s the latter.
A lean guy with big arms and shoulders, the kind you’d find on a swimmer, greets me with a bright, perfectly toothed smile. “Good morning,” he says. He pauses the blender so I can hear him when he says it a second time.
“Hi.”
“Those clothes look better on you.”
I grin. “Thanks, but I think we both know that’s a lie.”
He stands by the island, his blender on top of it with a green mixture inside of it. When I reach him, he holds out his hand and I shake it.
“You must be Emily.”
“Michael mentioned me?”
“Just to tell me not to freak out if some random girl was walking around the house.”
“Random?”
He laughs. “I’m teasing. He woke me up this morning by shaking the end of my bed with his foot. He said, ‘There’s a girl in my room, and her name is Emily. Be nice to her, or I’ll shove my hockey stick up your ass.’”
“Oh,” I say. “Does he threaten anal a lot?”
“Well, I think a better term for that would be sodomy.”
I like this guy.
“I’m Tate.”
“You’re on the swim team?”
He smiles wide. “Are you a fan?” It’s not cocky though, just playful. Kind of like how Michael teases me. There are similarities between them, enough for me to know we’re going to get along just fine.
“No, Michael told me about you,” I say.
“I bet he told you I’m the handsome one, right?”
I make a face to tease him.
“Oh, that hurts.”
We laugh together.
“So you’re the new girl, huh?”
I don’t like the way he puts it, like there’s an endless stream of women that come through here and I’m just the next in line. Because I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it, I’m over it quickly. “I’m not sure.”
The door creaks as it swings wide open. I turn my head to look back at the foyer. Michael walks in, shaking off some rain drops. Those rosy cheeks on his tanned face kill me. He can’t just be sexy; he’s adorable, too. Especially when he smiles so wide his cheeks pucker up.
“Is he being nice?” he asks, his face and tone serious.
“No,” I say.
“Hey,” Tate says. “I’ve been an angel.”
I give in. “Yeah, he has.”
Michael takes off his jacket and hangs it in the closet, zipping it all the way up after it’s on the hanger. I roll my eyes. “He’s kind of anal, isn’t he?”
“You say that word a lot.”
Michael looks at us confused. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” we say in unison.
“How about breakfast?” Michael asks.
“Please,” I say at the very moment my stomach starts to thunder loud enough for everyone to hear.
On his way to the fridge, Michael slows and lays a hand on my back as he passes by. A shiver crawls down my back, in a good way. I beam up at him, almost forgetting about Chloe. Then my mood dampens when I finally do.
“Michael, where are my clothes?” I ask innocently.
Tate removes his smoothie from the blender and drinks from it before hopping up on the counter a foot away from me.
“I hid them.”
Tate chokes on his smoothie when he breaks into laughter. A few coughs and a punch to the chest and he announces, “I’m okay!”
“What? Why would you hide my clothes?” I say with my hands on my hips.
Michael opens the fridge door and looks at me like I’m a special kind of simple. “So you wouldn’t leave before I got back.” He gives me a wink that leaves me blushing.
I open my mouth to yell at him but lose steam almost as quickly. He hid my clothes to keep me here. I should be annoyed that he trapped me against my will, that he didn’t give me a choice. But the reasons for him doing it are too cute to ignore. He wants me here. No one has ever gone to lengths like that before to keep me close. If I’m being honest, it builds my confidence in us. And I like the way his stunt makes me feel.
Still, he deserves an earful, even if it’s a half-hearted one.
“He stole your clothes to keep you here?” Tate says, amazed. “He must really like you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him. “I would have stayed if you woke me up and asked.”
He winks at me. “I like my way better.”
I think he just wanted me to still be in bed naked when he got home.
He pulls some bacon and eggs out of the fridge and tucks a jug of milk under his arm. He balances the ingredients gracefully as he walks to the island then sets them down.
“Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast?”
“Sounds good,” I say. “Lots and lots of cheese in the eggs.”
He pulls a face. “Sacrilege. Try my eggs first and then decide if you want cheese.”
“Sure. I’m easy,” I say.
“You wouldn’t be the first girl in this house to say that,” Tate says, grinning.
Michael punches him the shoulder.
“Fuck, Mikey. That’s going to leave a mark.”
He levels him with a glare.
“I was only joking,” Tate says.
“Mikey?”
He points to his friend. “Stop calling me that.”
“What about me?” I say sweetly. “Can I call you that?”
“You can call me anything you want.” He gives me an exaggerated wink.
Tate opens his mouth, sticks a finger in, and feigns gagging. “I swear to God I’m going to vomit.”
“Yeah?” Michael pokes him in the stomach and then slaps it a few times.
Tate fights back, hitting him in the chest, but his punches are weak and they’re more show than anything else.
“Hey, what happened to you face? Your new girlfriend rough you up?”
I almost forgot about that. His cut looks the same as last night with a bit of bruising surrounding it. I’m not sure what he’d look like without his face injured in some way. He just lost the old black eye and bruises. “Hockey fight,” I tell Tate. “You never told me what it was about.” I stare at Michael, waiting.
“Does he need a reason?” Peanut gallery says between gulps.
“It was stupid,” Michael says. He runs a hand through his hair and scratches the back of his head. “The guy was just running his mouth.”
I raise an eyebrow. He promised me an answer, and I don’t like being in the dark, even if it’s not my business. I like to think anything is my business if I want to know.
“Come on, man. Did he insult your manhood? Call you a bitch?”
“I told you it was stupid.”
He leans down and grabs a pan from under the counter. He sets it on the stove and turns on the burner. I’m still waiting.
“He was just trash-talking.” He looks away, a hint of guilt on his face, and my stomach clenches. It was about Chloe. He had the same look on his face when we talked about her last night, as if he’s trying hard to feel nothing when anger and hurt linger beneath the surface.
“Speaking of Chloe,” I say, so he doesn’t have to, “she texted you this morning.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“You left your phone on your night stand, and I happened to see it.”
“Wow,” Tate says. “That just got awkward real quick.”
“No,” I say, forcing a smile, “it’s fine.”
“Girl needs to take a hint,” Tate says. “She called our landline last night, and I hung up on her.”
His lips quirk into a smile. It’s not what I expected, and I heave a quiet sigh of relief.
“I would have hung up on her, too,” I say.
Michael lays the bacon in the pan. It starts to sizzle, and he opens the egg carton and begins cra
cking eggs.
“Best thing you ever did was kick her ass to the curb.”
“Amen to that,” I say.
“I’m not sure who hates her more,” Michael says, “you or you.” He points to each of us with a spatula.
“Of course, she hates Chloe. She’s your ex.”
“And she fucked my ex-boyfriend,” I say, “while I was still with him.”
“Oh, shit.” He chokes on his drink again. “She cheat on you, man?”
Michael is, of course, too much of a gentleman to answer. I’m not that nice. “She did.”
“Wow.”
“All right, can we not talk about my ex? She’s my past. Period.” He eyes me, his gaze intense. I want to believe him so badly. And I do. But what happens when something shiny and new comes along, and any luster I have has faded? I want to believe he’s the one to break the cycle, but it’s hard. I have to be sure. One hundred percent. But can anyone ever really give you that certainty? I felt it while in his arms last night, but it’s hard not to get swept up in the moment when the guy you’ve fallen for tells you he’s yours.
As if he can see into my mind, he stops stirring the eggs in the pan. He stops on the other side of the island and leans over until his face is near mine. His gentle smiles tugs at me, forcing me to forget about anything but him.
“Your eggs are going to burn,” Tate says before sliding off the counter. He slaps Michael on the ass as he leaves the room. I gulp as he leans in even closer.
“Turn it off,” he commands me.
“What do you mean?”
“That busy little mind of yours.” He reaches out and cups the side of my neck, his thumb stroking my skin roughly. I sigh and close my eyes. Please be real, I think. Please don’t let me down.
He captures my bottom lip between his lips and kisses me softly, touching his tongue to mine. When he releases my lip, he says, “I told you last night. I’m yours.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Yeah, it is.” He kisses my nose. “It’s just that easy.”
I touch his face, his facial hair coarse against the inside of my palm. “It’s so soon.”
“Maybe. But fuck the timing. The result would be the same if we started this up a year from now. I want this, Emily. I want you. I need you to believe me.”