by CJ Martín
I don’t know why I’m lying here awake and worried, when Jesse hasn’t had the decency to text me in seven days.
Seven. Days.
It’s not usual for us to go a week or more without texting—our lives are busy— but it is unusual for us to be angry with one another for this long. Our fights, which are few and far between, last a day or two…tops.
Snatching my phone from my nightstand, I type a quick text. It’s almost eleven, but Jesse’s a night owl. He’s definitely up, and more than likely, not even at home.
Riley: Hi, stranger. I miss you.
It’s not an “I’m sorry,” but it’s close enough. I’ve made the effort, extended the olive branch. The ball’s in his court now.
Not surprisingly, my screen lights up not even a minute later. The bubbles appear, and the seconds tick away at a snail’s pace. The dots disappear. Then they’re back. Gone again. He must be typing a fucking book.
My mind constructs a long, heartfelt apology. One in which he takes full blame for acting like a total ass. One in which he tells me how sorry he is, how miserable he’s been without my friendship, but what I get is: “Been busy. Miss you, too.”
I nearly throw my phone in frustration. Been busy? Seriously? I’m not some random hookup, some pump and dump chick who he can use those bullshit lines on. This is me he’s talking to.
My thumbs fly over the keys, my intent set on giving him a piece of my mind, when another message comes through.
Jesse: Ry. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t screw up things between you and Dave. I wanted to give you some space.
Riley: Dave and I broke up.
Jesse: Fuck.
Jesse: Because of me?
I hesitate before typing my immediate response: yes. While it’s true Jesse played an important role in the demise of my relationship with Dave, it’s not for the reason he thinks.
I formulate a response in my mind: Dave thinks that you want me and that subconsciously I want you and we should fuck and see what happens. Oh, and by the way, Liza seconds that.
Yes, that sums everything up nicely.
Chuckling, I decide on a half-truth.
Riley: He told me he loves me. I didn’t feel the same.
Jesse: You okay?
Riley: Yeah.
And then before he can respond, I add.
Riley: Can you come over?
Jesse: Now?
Riley: Yes. Whenever you can get here.
I need to see him. I want the comfort of having my best friend back. With everything in my life so upside down, I want him. The familiar woodsy smell, the wide smile, the striking blue eyes, the strong arms. I need everything about him.
Jesse: Be there in twenty. Am I bringing ice cream?
Riley: Have you ever known me to turn it down?
Jesse: A pint of Chubby Hubby coming up.
Riley: See you soon. And hurry ;)
A huge smile stretches across my face. My forever heart is back.
36
Riley
Jesse knocks on my door a half hour later, plastic grocery bag in hand. I reach for it and peer inside, noticing that he brought two pints of ice cream. Over-achiever.
I root in the bag. “Hey! This isn’t Chubby Hubby,” I tease, as I place the pint of Cookie Dough in the freezer but keep the Mint Chocolate Chunk out.
“The twenty-four hour convenience store had a limited selection. I did my best. Still love me?”
“Of course.” I grab the two spoons from the counter and walk toward my bedroom. “You comin’?”
Jesse doesn’t move for a moment, just stares at me underneath heavy lids, and I’d almost swear that those clear blue eyes burned with heat. But then he jogs down the hall and catches up to me in less than five seconds.
Once we’re nestled underneath the covers, our legs extended long, our backs against the headboard, I hand him a spoon. We clink them together, smile, and say “cheers” before digging in.
After a third of the ice cream is gone, I ask, “So, where were you tonight?” Please don’t say with Shelly. Anywhere else but with Shelly.
“Hanging out with Shelly.”
My stomach sours because I speak Jesse, and “hanging out” equates to hooking up. I set my spoon on the nightstand.
“And you just ditched her to come here?” I sneak a glance at him. “She’s okay with that?”
He places the pint alongside my spoon before grabbing my hand. His hands, which are usually so warm, are cold as ice from holding the container. “I’d ditch anyone for you, Ry.” The intensity behind his words takes me aback.
Suddenly I’m nervous. He’s making me nervous. So I do what I always do when my nerves get the better of me: I start rambling.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, and watch as his features constrict, recoiling from the sting of my words. I rush on. “No. I’m so happy you’re here.” I squeeze his hand. “I just don’t want to mess anything up.”
“You’re not.” He releases my hand and runs his own through his hair. “Shelly and I aren’t together. You know that.”
“I know.” I keep my eyes down. “It’s just…things have been a little…weird between us.”
He nods his head. “I know. I already apologized about the other night with Dave.” He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes.
“It’s not just about the other night.”
He brings his head forward and turns to look me square in the eyes. “It’s not?”
I bite my bottom lip and shake my head. “No.”
I can feel the burn of his stare on my mouth, the temperature in the room increasing to near sweltering heights. My palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry.
“Ry. What else is going on?”
“You know what,” I whisper.
His eyes widen in surprise, but he says, “Tell me.”
My eyes squeeze shut, and I shake my head again. “I can’t say it.”
“Ry.” He squeezes my arm, and this time his fingers are back to their normal, warm temperature. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” But still I don’t look at him. Another squeeze, and my eyes meet his. “I need you to say it. Please.” His voice breaks on that last word, the desperation bleeding through.
With that final touch, the pressure inside me explodes and the words pour forth. “My feelings are all fucked up. It’s like we’re friends, but I don’t know… Maybe there’s more. I’ve been thinking of you in ways that aren’t friendly. For a while. And then the other night on the phone…what we did…”
His nostrils flare.
I continue. “Dave said all of these things and Liza agrees and I just… I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Riley Ann.” His palms hold either side of my face. “You will never lose me.”
My eyes are wide and a touch unsure, but I nod my head in agreement. “It’s just… I don’t know. Is there something more between us?”
“Riley,” he whispers. “There’s always been something more for me.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “There has?”
He nods. “I love you, Riley.”
“I love you, too.” My voice is a whisper.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m in love with you, Riley. I have been…forever.”
I swear the Earth stops spinning. Jesse is in love with me. “But you never said…” My voice trails off, breathless.
“I didn’t want to risk losing you if you didn’t feel the same. I need you in my life, Ry.” He squeezes his eyes shut.
“All this time.” I trace his face with the pads of my fingertips, touching first his eyelids, then his nose and cheeks. He shudders when I drag my fingers along the length of his jaw that’s peppered with coarse stubble. My fingers continue their journey, wanting to touch him everywhere. His lips, the column of his throat, his broad chest.
He moans my name when my fingernails ghost over his nipples. “Riley.”
This time when he looks at me there’s no disguising the lu
st, the heat, the desire in his eyes. He wants me. And I want him, too.
“Jesse.” My voice is strained, a touch desperate, and the way he is looking at me, I feel as though I may combust. “What happens now?”
“Tell me what you want, Riley.” He places both hands on my hips, shifting me closer to him. My eyes drop to the bulge in his jeans. He’s hard. For me. Holy shit.
“Riley.” He squeezes once. “I’m waiting.”
“You.” I breathe. “I want you.”
He smiles, a sexy, cocky smile that makes my insides clench in anticipation. This is really happening.
“Yeah?” He leans close so that his warm breath tickles my skin. “And then his lips are on mine. Those beautiful, full, soft lips. Lips that I’ve known all my life, but have never really known at all, are on mine. And everything ceases to exist, because I am kissing Jesse, my best friend, and it is the most amazing, absolute best kiss of my life.
I don’t know where this will lead or what lies ahead; all I know is that I don’t want it to end.
“Jesse.” I moan in frustration when he pulls back, eyes at half-mast.
“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” The gravelly tone of his voice scrapes my skin.
“Yes,” I whisper, as my mind replays the memory. I should have known back then. I shouldn’t have waited all this time. I love him.
“That’s when I knew.” He brushes the hair from my face. “That’s when I knew you were mine. Forever.”
“Jesse.” I lean into him, wanting another taste. “Please.” I breathe. “Kiss me again.”
37
Jesse
Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m drunk. Maybe I’ve entered some alternate reality. All I know is that Riley, my Riley, said she wants to be more than friends.
Okay, I may be exaggerating just a tad; she said she’s been thinking about it, but it’s all the green light I need. Because me? I’ve wanted to be more than her friend for over ten years.
“Jesse,” she murmurs as I pull back, but I still hold her face in my hands. I’m afraid if I let go, this moment will slip away. She’ll slip away. “Jesse,” she says again, nearly moaning my name, and it does things to me it probably shouldn’t. I’m already too excited, too worked up, the friction of my jeans against my raging hard-on borders on painful. But I don’t want to stop. I want to hear her say my name again, but this time while I’m inside her. Holy fuck.
She rests her hands over mine and her eyes pop open, searching my own for acceptance, for clarity, for God only knows what, and I pray she sees the answer she desires. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity before she whispers, “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know.” My gaze falls to her lips. “But I really want to kiss you again.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “I want you to kiss me again.”
I’m caught between wanting her to say those words again—Christ, how long have I waited for her? How many times have I fantasized about this very moment—and wanting to taste her again.
But I knew there would be plenty of time for talking later, plenty of time for her to tell me over and over again what she needs, what she wants. Right now, I need to feel her again. To taste, to explore, to claim what’s mine. What’s always been mine.
My lips crash on hers, and this time it’s not gentle or teasing, it’s demanding and rough and so damn hot that I moan into her mouth. “Fuck.”
“Jesse.” I swear if she keeps saying my name like that I’m gonna come.
My hands settle on her waist, drag her on top of me until she’s nestled right over…fuck. When she starts gyrating her hips, my head falls back against the pillow and my eyes squeeze shut. Don’t come. Not yet. Fuck.
“Jesse.” She moans my name again. Doesn’t she know what that’s doing to me? “You feel so good.”
No more. I sit up and cup her breasts over the fabric of her shirt. Their weight rests heavy in my hands as I squeeze their fullness. I drag my fingers across her nipples, both at the same time, and it’s her turn to call out. “Fuck.”
“You like that?” I drag my thumb across the right breast again, then the left. “Do you like your nipples played with?”
I pinch both buds between my forefingers and thumbs, and this makes her go wild. Her hips begin pumping up and down, faster and more uncontrolled.
“Baby.” I halt her hips. “Baby, slow down.”
“What?” She half-opens her eyes, confused.
I roll her onto her back as my fingers crawl underneath her tank top and push up. “Is this okay?”
“More than okay,” she groans, palming me over my jeans. Fuck. I never thought Riley would be the aggressor. It’s turning me on. Way too much.
“Take these off.” She pops the button on my jeans and works one hand inside the denim. “And this.” She tugs at my t-shirt with her free hand.
Soon I’m down to my black boxer briefs which do nothing to conceal my hard-on, not just any hard-on, but the hard-on to end all hard-ons. One quick pass of her tight fist and I’ll blow.
I swat her hands away and pin both above her head. Her camisole is pushed up to her chin, her full, round breasts on display, nipples puckered and hard, begging for my attention. “Christ, Riley.” I drag my nose between her tits. “You’re so soft. So smooth.”
“Jesse.” My name breaks on a cry as my lips close around one nipple. Her arms thrash in my grip, but I hold firm. I can’t let her touch me. Not yet.
My lips drag across to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. Her hips gyrate in small circles beneath me, frantic, and if I didn’t know better, I swear she’s about to come.
“Jesse.” She jerks her arms against my hold. “Let me touch you. Please.”
It’s the needy plea, the absolute desperation laced in her tone, that causes me to release my grip.
Her hands fall free and circle the length of my cock, not one hand, but both. She slides her wrists up and down, and even over the fabric I’m a goner… There’s no turning back now.
38
Riley
“Stop stopping.” I whine as Jesse pulls his mouth away. God, I want him. Need to feel him there. I’m needy and impatient and I don’t care that my voice is whiny. We’ve been kissing and touching and teasing for over half an hour. Not that I’m complaining—I’ve never been this turned on before—but I’m ready for the main event. Especially since all of my previous sex sessions lasted no more than fifteen minutes each.
“Ry,” he whispers, as he brushes a kiss against each of my cheeks. “You’re so beautiful.”
I grind my hips against him, encouraging him, taunting him, hoping that the ironclad grip that he has on his self-control will break. Soon.
“Fuck, Ry.” He drops his head into the crook of my neck, and I reward him with another slow grind. “Don’t.” He sinks his teeth into my flesh and bites hard. Harder than I expect him to. But the tiny slice of pain mixes with desire and causes me to arch into him more.
“I need you.” My hands drag across his bare skin, and his perfectly sculpted back muscles contract and release beneath my fingers. “Please. Don’t make me beg.”
He withdraws, yanks me up to straddle his lap. “You never have to beg. Anything you want, anything I have, Ry, it’s yours.” His hands cradle my face. “All yours.”
Unable to make my request while looking into his eyes, I lean in, bring my lips close to his ear and whisper what I want most in this moment. “I want to feel you inside me. I want you to own me.”
“I do own you.” His grip tightens on my upper arms, the pressure almost bruising. “You’ve always been mine…you just didn’t realize it until now.”
My hand slides down to where our bodies are pressed together and circle the hard flesh, the obvious proof of how turned on he is. This is all for me.
His hiss of approval makes me bolder than I ever imagined I could be. “Prove it.”
Within seconds I’m naked on my back
, legs spread wide. He’s stripped bare, and for a moment I simply stare and wonder how I missed this. How I missed him for so long.
He nestles himself between my legs, the fit so deliciously perfect that I mewl in delight, only slightly embarrassed by the noises I’m making yet can’t seem to control.
But I needn’t have worried, because Jesse wants to hear me. In fact, the louder I moan, the more he rewards me. A slow lick of his tongue across my breasts, a smooth drag of his nose along my collarbone, a teasing stroke of his finger between my legs.
Sensations explode in my body, the nerves firing so quickly that I cannot possibly process them all at once. This is Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my birthday all rolled into one. With a cherry on top.
My body bucks in protest as he pulls away and rests a knee on either side of my outstretched thighs. His eyes follow the slow pattern he traces across my belly for a few moments before he pins me with his gaze. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice isn’t strained or rushed, just matter of fact.
Mine, on the other hand, is breathy and wild. “I do.” I think I may even nod my head, I’m that eager. “In the nightstand, top drawer.” I lean to the side as my fingers grapple in the darkness for the box.
He captures my wrist, shakes his head once. “No.”
My breath stops short, eyes widen as understanding dawns.
He reaches for my right hand first, places a soft kiss in the palm before interlacing our fingers. He repeats the same motions on the left. “I don’t want anything between us. This is you and me. Only you and me.”
“Jesse…” My voice falters as my mind replays the memory that I keep hidden, locked, buried deep down. Suddenly, I’m not in my room anymore. I’m the scared nineteen-year-old girl staring at the pale pink plus sign on a dingy bathroom floor.