by Lexi Whitlow
Hayes rolls off to his side, still breathing hard. He props his head up on an elbow, his eyes on me.
“You okay?” he asks, his free hand falling to my belly, fingers unconsciously tracing my skin.
Am I okay? Jesus? What was that? That’s what all the fuss is about. No wonder people lose their minds and do stupid shit in pursuit of that. Am I okay?
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a tiny smile curl my lip. “I’m okay.”
I’ve never been more okay in my entire life.
A self-satisfied grin widens his already glowing expression. His blue eyes flash. “Good.”
He kisses me again, and again I melt into him. I’m incapable of free will under his touches. I’m his. My body isn’t my own anymore. He owns it.
He slips his powerful, muscled arms around me, pulling me into a rounded embrace, my head cradled against his chest. I hear his heartbeat gradually slowing, thumping in my ear.
“Can I tell you something?” he whispers the question, kissing the top of my head with a tenderness I’ve never known.
I nod.
“I may have fucked around, but Chloe, I’ve never felt anything like that.” His hand wraps my shoulder, his fingers gently, delicately playing my skin. “That was… you’re… I… You’re made for me. You’re incredible.”
I lift my head, eyes meeting his. His expression is bewildered. I understand it completely. I feel the same. This is completely uncharted territory.
Chapter 12
Hayes
I’m a creature of habit. When it comes to women, and sex, and after sex, I’m remarkably consistent. I prefer going home with them so that when we’re done, I can beat a hasty retreat. It can get awkward, and frankly, I just don’t like sleeping with anyone.
This morning I woke up with Chloe in my arms, my body wrapped so tightly against hers, I could feel her heartbeat in my own chest. Her scent hung in my nostrils. Her thick, curling mane of hair brushed my face. Instead of feeling the desire to put as much space between us as possible, I hugged her closer, pressing my lips to the back of her neck.
Right now, she’s still sleeping as I watch her; her chest rising and falling with slow, deep breaths. Her eyes are closed, her lips turned with a small, contented smile. At rest like this, she appears so young and untroubled, like a sleeping angel. I want to kiss her, but instead I let her sleep, and I watch her.
I don’t understand how this beautiful, bright creature has existed in the world without being snatched up. I don’t understand how I got here first. It’s got to be about more than just her over-loaded schedule. That’s not a viable excuse. If it was, she wouldn’t be in my arms now.
Something has changed for her.
Chloe sighs and then rolls, turning towards me. Her hand rises to the pillow, settling, her fingers lay down across my bicep. A moment later she quietly moans, then blinks. When her eyes open, pushing back the darkness of sleep, she locks her gaze on me and she smiles.
“Good morning, angel,” I say to her. I reach up, smoothing hair from her face to tuck tangled strands behind her ear.
“Hmm… morning,” she replies, arching and stretching as she pushes slumber away.
She blinks again, approaching full consciousness, she regards me curiously.
“Are you watching me sleep?” she asks drowsily.
I nod.
“Why? Have I been snoring?”
She’s so fucking adorable, making jokes.
“No. Because you’re beautiful, and I enjoy studying beautiful things.”
Chloe rolls her eyes, then she rolls away, flat on her back. She stretches, reaching and bending. Her nipples, soft and flat against the round of her breasts, peek out from the edge of the comforter.
“I need to pee,” she announces, and just that quickly, she tosses the covers, stepping out of bed as naked and carefree as any angel who ever flew down from heaven.
“Don’t you dare take a shower!” I call after her when I hear water running.
Chloe leans around the doorframe, peering at me. “Why?” she asks.
I lay back, lifting the covers. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” I say, my expression communicating my intent.
She smirks, walking to the bed, then climbing over the comforter on all fours.
“What did you have in mind?” she teases.
She’s naked and beautiful, every curve and angle of her body, utter perfection. In the morning light, she absolutely glows, exuding an un-self-conscious sensuality that’s intoxicating. I want her. I want her so badly it physically hurts.
I reach out, urging her closer, shoving the covers away.
“Right now,” I say, “I want you on top. I want to watch you. And after that… we’ll see.”
She crawls over me, her curls spilling down over her shoulders, grazing my skin, tickling my chest and my face.
She hovers over me, kissing me, her lips smooth and hot, her tongue probing, curious.
My hands move over her body, tracing the curved firmness of muscle, bone, and the tender flesh at her belly, thighs, and hips. I cup a tit in my hand, rolling her nipple into a stiff little bump, and then I nip it, sucking with teeth, lips, and tongue, until she whines.
Just a few moments of this, and she’s arching into me. I reach down, hand flat on top of her thigh, and I move it gently towards her sex, my thumb finding her clit hard under silky skin made slick with her lubrication. I stroke her clit in small circles with one hand, my other slipping behind her, pulling her forward, onto me.
“I need to be inside you,” I whisper, grasping her hips with both hands. “Help me. Guide me in.”
A brief expression of confusion crosses her brow, then she understands. She positions herself above me, then—almost too gently—she circles her fingers around my length, taking me to the precise spot, then slowly descends on top of me, wincing a little as she comes down.
Oh, fucking hell.
Heat. Tight, wet, heat; a clenching glove of moistened bliss envelops me, cleansing my brain of any other ideas. My fingers dig into her ass, gripping her, moving her into me and away, rocking her sweet snatch onto my cock with a pace that’s mind-numbing perfection.
I sit up, pulling her higher onto my lap where I can kiss her and tease her plump tits.
I watch her, her beautiful body moving on top of me, in front of me. I watch the base of my cock emerge, her lips wrapped tight, then disappear inside her again and again.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I tell Chloe, my teeth clenched, my jaw set tight, every muscle in my body screaming for release, but not wanting to end this.
Her lovely gray eyes blink at me slowly. Her mouth is a slack, open. She grinds into me, setting a steady rhythm. After a few moments she leans in, closing the space between us, her arms circling, her hands climbing to my shoulders. That’s when I feel the first quiver from her tight muscles, warning of more to come.
I grip her ass, driving her into me. She whines, stiffening as another shudder passes through her.
She’s building to something good, and I’m going to watch every second of it.
Chloe grinds into me. Her eyes seared shut, her nails biting into my shoulder blades, her clit dragging a short line against the top of my shaft with every stroke of her hips.
I feel her walls tighten, then a ripple of uneven current shudders her.
“Oh, god… yeah…” she breaths, her voice clipped, pitched with tension.
“Come for me, angel.” I watch her face, and my body is at her command.
When her dam breaks, I feel it on my cock at the same instant I see it on her face. Her features go soft, all tension draining away. Her eyelids flutter, her lips soften. Her breath catches in her chest, and she whines, slowing the grind.
God damn, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, god…” she cries again, her snatch in spasms, gushing liquid heat onto me.
I’m close. I could come. But I don’t want to. I want to go on fucking
her forever and ever. I want to fuck until she’s raw and bruised. I want to imprint my dick into her so deeply, so exquisitely, no other will ever do for her. I want this to be ours, exclusively.
Chloe blinks, then lets out with a little laugh, she smiles at me, grinding to a halt, my shaft buried deep in her grip.
The urge to be on top of her, covering her, commanding her, overwhelms me. As fluidly as I can manage, without pulling out, I roll us until Chloe is on her back and I’m above her, staring into her eyes. I begin fucking her harder than I did last night, watching her, making sure I’m not hurting her.
The world beyond us ceases to exist. It’s just me and my angel, melded into one experience. Her hands slip low, cupping my ass cheeks, pulling me deeper into her. If I get any deeper, I’ll tear her in half.
Chloe grimaces, her brow etched.
“You okay?” I huff, backing off.
She nods, her eyes closed, and then I feel that familiar flutter rippling her walls. The current rises in her, tugging at me, sucking me in. My balls draw up tight, threatening.
Oh, fucking hell…
“Come on, baby,” I urge her. “Come for me, I can’t hold on…”
She breaks all at once, her snatch convulsing in ribbons of electricity, trembling her entire body. It pushes me over the edge, sucking me into blinding depths of a crushing orgasm. I explode in slow motion waves, pounding into her, flooding her tight walls with load after load of molten cum.
I let loose with a blistering string of expletives before collapsing in a heap on top of her, every muscle in my body gone slack and weak, the life drained out of me.
A little while later, lying together with Chloe pulled up close, all I can think of is that I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to go back to real life. I want this to last. I know it can’t.
“Don’t you have to go to the gallery this morning?” she asks, her fingers tracing small circles, threading the short hair at my belly.
I shake my head. “Not again until after fall break,” I say. “What about you?”
She draws in a breath slowly, easily, then lets it flow away. “I have to work tonight, but not ‘til six. I’m going to try to study for my art history exam.”
“It’s Tuesday, right?” I ask.
She nods.
That’s Liza’s class; History of 19th and 20th Century Graphic Design and Typography. Liza’s leaving town tomorrow night. She asked me to babysit the class and administer the exam in her absence. It’s a tough class from what everyone says. I know Chloe’s been struggling with it.
“You have everything done for your studio classes?” I ask her.
“I sure do,” Chloe replies, smiling up at me. “Professor Chandler is gonna be blown away by my stuff.”
I squeeze her to me. “Angel, Professor Chandler is already blown away by your stuff.”
Six hours. I have her for six hours.
“I’m going to make you breakfast,” I say. “Eggs and bacon and the whole nine yards. You can study while I cook, and study afterwards.”
I plate up eggs, waffles, and bacon, then slide breakfast in front of her, shoving her notebook out of the way.
“Put down your notes and eat.”
She looks at the plate, then up at me, grinning.
I settle in on a stool across from her, pouring syrup on my waffles.
“You’re a good cook,” she observes, closing her notebook. “I never knew anyone who could make waffles. I thought they just came in a box, like Pop-tarts.”
I fork a pile of eggs while watching her eat. I don’t know why, but I want her to eat well. I know she eats a lot of junk and restaurant crap. She doesn’t take the time to shop for real food, or cook real meals.
“You should let me cook for you every day. Fresh vegetables. A novelty I know you don’t generally indulge in.”
She scowls. “My body might go into shock. If it’s not caffeine, sugar, or out of a microwave, I’m pretty sure my system rejects it.”
I nod to her plate which, she’s clearing with enthusiasm.
“Rejecting that?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “No, but this is breakfast. Breakfast is a different food group. Eggs, carbs, and fat. They work with the whole caffeine and sugar thing.”
She’s incorrigible. I need to change the subject, and I know where I want to go.
“Chloe, can you answer a question that’s been plaguing me since about September?”
She spins a slice of bacon on her fork, then pops it in her mouth, devouring the entire thing in one gulp. She nods, chewing, a wary furrow plowing her brow.
“Why haven’t you dated anybody? No boyfriends? You held out on sex longer than anyone I’ve ever known. It doesn’t make sense to me. You’re gorgeous, and you’re not afraid of sex… So… why?”
She puts her fork down, lifting her coffee, considering the question a long while before she responds.
“You knew my father,” she finally says, holding her mug close.
I knew him well; loved the man. He was the only adult in my adolescent life who didn’t patronize me.
“My mother hated him,” she says. “For everything he was, everything she wasn’t. He was the art director and she was his model. Stand here… tilt your head… lift your foot… put on a different outfit… lose five pounds…”
She looks up at me. “I adored my father, but I also saw what he did. I don’t ever want to be someone’s object. Every guy I ever went out with, they had a real challenge dealing with the fact that I speak my mind, I know what I want to do.
“Men, whether they’re eighteen or eighty, want the women in their lives to focus on them, exclusively. I can’t do that. I’ll never do that,” she assures me. “That’s why I just don’t think relationships work. It’s why I never let myself get trapped in one.”
“What’s different now?” I ask her. “Why me?”
She levels a forkful of waffles at me. “I don’t know,” she admits, circling the fork in the air. “You’re different. Maybe because we knew one another before, or maybe…. You’re just different.”
I want to be different.
“I think… I think it’s because… when we first met, when we were kids, I think you made everything okay. Those few months, it was the only time I ever felt safe in the world; hanging out with you in the city.”
She puts her coffee down, lifting her fork. “I don’t know Hayes. I’m not gonna over think it.” She smiles at me. “I’m just going with it. It’s new. Everything about this is new.”
It certainly is.
Chapter 13
Chloe
Everything is different now. I’m different. I can’t explain it, but the world has brightened. I feel brand new, energized, happy. It’s amazing.
Hayes and I spent all day together until I had to go to work. He recorded grades and wrote mid-term notes in his student’s online files while I studied my ass off for my art history exam. I feel comfortable just being around him, even if we’re both occupied separately, doing our own thing. When it was time for me to go to work on Sunday, he drove me. He was there to pick me up when we closed.
He laughed when I told him I should just go home and let him sleep. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
I waited a long time for you to come around,” he said. “I’m not going to let you slip away so easily.”
I’m not slipping away anywhere, but sadly, he is. Wednesday morning Hayes flies out New York to celebrate Thanksgiving with his mother and father. Apparently, they make a big deal out of the holiday, inviting a bunch of friends and colleagues for a formal dinner. He asked me to go with him, even offering to pay for the last-minute airfare. As much as I would love to see the city again, and see Scott and Danny, I would feel odd just showing up at his mother’s party without any prior introduction. I want her to like me, or at the very least not dislike me.
“My mother will adore you as much as I do,” Hayes tried to reassure me when the idea first came up.
“She and your father were close friends.”
I know they were acquainted, but I don’t really know how ‘close’ they were. I never met many of his friends, or if I did, I just assumed they were people my father worked with, because it seemed to me that all he ever did was work.
When I stayed with my father that first autumn, I spent more time with Hayes, and with Scott and Danny and others from around the office, than I spent with my father. He worked every night and every weekend.
When I came back the following summer for just a couple weeks, he took vacation time and we drove through New England, all the way to Maine. It was wonderful, but it wasn’t real. It was dinners out and hotel rooms. He was out of his element and feeling the need to keep me entertained.
After that, when I came for my first internship, it was like the first time again, except by then Hayes was gone. I found my way around the city mostly alone, and that’s how I got accustomed to navigating in the world; on my own. That’s how it’s been ever since.
Until now.
“Are you tired?” Hayes asks me. I slip into bed beside him after taking a lovely, long hot shower in his bathroom. He’s propped up on a pillow, a book in his hand. He should have turned the light off and gone to sleep, but he’s stayed up, waiting for me.
“I’m tired,” I tell him, reading his mind. I stretch out alongside him, my hand falling to his toned, warm belly. “But I’m not quite ready to sleep.”
He smiles, snapping the book closed, setting it aside on the nightstand.
“Good,” he says, rolling to face me, eyes flashing deviously. “I don’t want you to sleep ‘til I make you cum.”
The words alone are enough to make me wet. That’s the crazy power he has over me. I melt when I’m near him.
“I don’t want to sleep ‘til you make me cum,” I tell him. “At least twice.” I grin, causing him to laugh.
“You’re so freaking adorable,” he growls, pulling me onto him.
His hands play on my body like an artist at his instrument. Hayes is a careful, deliberate lover. He takes his time. He pays attention, noting how my body responds to his touch, to his kisses, and to the way he moves in me, through me. Hayes calls this fucking, and that’s fine. Language really is over-rated. Whatever it is, it feels like making love. When I’m with him, when we’re together like this, it feels like he’s making love to me.