TIME

by Penny Reid

  With the males of my previous acquaintance, providing directions before and during intercourse had felt a bit like giving a lecture, or explaining how to make poached eggs. But with Abram, I was a bundle of nerves, wanting to make this good for him, wanting to make it amazing like he’d done for me.

  The main impediment as far as I could tell was my libido. I was already so incredibly turned on. Therefore, I concluded, I would just have to take things slow, get him worked up with foreplay in order to ensure his orgasm was pleasurable.

  Go slow. I nodded at the assertion.

  He appeared in the doorway, and I straightened. Realizing I’d been twisting my fingers, I stopped, scratched the back of my neck, and then pointed to the mattress. “Lie down. In the center.”

  Saying nothing, Abram strolled to and stopped just two decimeters in front of me. His eyes on mine, making my heart beat like crazy, and I recognized something about myself. The fear was back. Just like before, it made everything brighter, colors sharper, my skin too tight, my breasts heavy, so heavy, sensitive.

  Huh.

  But before I could give this realization much thought, Abram’s eyes dropped to my mouth, heated. He swayed forward, like my lips were magnetic. The way he looked—again, like a tiger pacing in a cage—sent a sharp thrill from the top of my skull to the base of my spine. I shivered.

  I actually owned a pair of tiger-print underwear and matching bra, and I’d brought it with me. Note to self, wear sexy tiger underwear today.

  His eyes cut back to mine. His jaw worked.

  “Lie down,” I whispered, holding his gaze.

  He did.

  He lay down. In the center of the bed. His body visibly tense. His hands balled into fists. His muscles flexing. And his gorgeous penis. Sigh.

  Swallowing the thirst, I climbed onto the bed, now on all fours, and crawled to where he lay. Nudging his legs apart with one of mine, I placed a knee between his thighs, my hands on either side of his torso, and bent to lick the water from his chiseled abdominal muscles.

  Oh yeeeeah.

  Desire pooled low and insistent in my belly. He flinched, then groaned, his penis pressing tenaciously against my stomach, hard and hot, smooth like silk. I gripped it. He was rock hard.

  I felt dizzy. My sex clenched around nothing, reminding me of how neglected it was, how empty, and—

  Yeah, you know what? Forget taking it slow.

  Impulsively, I straddled his hips and lowered myself, sucking in a relishing breath at the delicious, stretching invasion. This, clearly, shocked the hell out of him because his hands came to my thighs and squeezed.

  “God. God. Mona—”

  I bent forward, bracing my arms on either side of his head, and took his mouth. He groaned, immediately opening, chasing my tongue, obviously fighting the urge to take over as I rolled my hips, using him to rub just the right spot.

  Abram’s hands were moving, sliding up my sides, cupping my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers, and then tucking themselves beneath my arms to lift me higher so he could suckle one, and then the other, lavishing both with wet, hungry kisses.

  Tingly, hot tendrils of electricity played tug of war between my pelvis and nipples, stretching, curling, making me slightly insane. The urge to sit up and ride him more completely was overwhelming. I needed him deeper, I needed more force, faster.

  Placing my hands on his stomach, I straightened away, eliciting a frustrated growl from his throat, his eyes piercing as I shifted, using the hard plane of his stomach as leverage while also feeling him up.

  “Say something,” I demanded, because why the hell not? He is mine to command!

  His lip curled into a feral smile, a baring of teeth, sending a renewed fissure of alarm down my spine to the back of my legs, making me hot. So hot. I was sweating with exertion and the thrill of uncertainty. I loved it and I was so close. I could feel the start of it, the deep ache teetering on satisfaction.

  Abram’s covetous eyes caressed a scorching path from my lips to my breasts and then further south, obviously watching us where we mated. “Thank you for the view,” he said, his voice like gravel, his hands sliding to my hips. His fingers flexed into my bottom like he wanted to help lift me, help me go faster.

  “Do you like watching?” I asked because I really wanted to know for some reason. It was essential that I know. Another shiver. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “I like watching you.” His hand came around to the front of my thigh, his thumb slipping between my folds. “I like this.” He circled my clitoris and OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD—

  “I like watching you come on my cock,” he said through clenched teeth, sounding a little sinister.

  His statement was well-timed because I was coming. So. Hard. My hips jerking, searching, seeking, needing to prolong the fullness and friction. My body igniting. I couldn’t think, but intrinsically I knew he was coming too.

  His hips pistoned, rolled, inelegant searching, just like mine. His head pressed against the pillow, exposing his neck, his powerful form in sharp relief. His hands moved away from my body, gripping the bedsheets and pulling. I heard a ripping sound. I ignored it, bowing forward above him, my hand on his heart.

  Then I collapsed. I just freaking fell right on top of him, limp, my mouth at his neck, greedily gulping air as his hips still worked, seeking the last bit of his pleasure from my body. A moment later, I felt him go lax, also breathing like he’d just run a marathon. I felt fingers thread into my hair, grabbing a fistful to angle my head for a kiss.

  Somehow, both of us breathing hard, our bodies completely spent, we were still able to kiss. Maybe because it was sweet. Tender. An unhurried, soft meeting of lips and tongue. Abram smoothed his hand down my back to my bottom, stroking it. He made a little sound in the back of his throat, something halfway between a growl and a hum.

  Or maybe that was me.

  No. That’s him.

  I fell asleep, right there, naked, on top of my purring tiger.

  17

  The Nature of Stars

  *Mona*

  I. Was. STARVING! when I woke up. But I was also sticky and alone. The former wasn’t a surprise, but the latter was.

  Wrinkling my nose, as I’d once again awoken without an Abram on my bosom, I rubbed my eyes and searched for my phone to determine the time. Honestly, I had no idea where it was. The night before had been a blur.

  While I scoured every surface that could be scoured from my spot in bed, I noticed a folded piece of paper on the side table, one that had been torn from a notebook. My heart gave a little leap. Pushing myself to a sitting position, I snatched it, and chuckled when I discovered he wrote DO NOT BURN on the outside.

  * * *

  Dear Mona,

  First, I love you.

  Second, Marie called and said your phone was left in the greenroom last night. She picked it up for you so I’m meeting her now to grab it. I’m also picking up some food, because I’m starving.

  Third, did you know this place has milk and cookies 24 hrs a day! I left you milk and a plate with oatmeal and chocolate chip in the mini fridge under the bar. EAT THEM.

  Fourth, sorry I ripped the sheet. I told the owner and they’ll send up a new one later today.

  Fifth, I love you.

  -Abram

  PS I have to confess something. I watched you sleep while you were naked until my stomach growled so loud, I was afraid it would wake you up. Now, when I close my eyes, I see your naked body. Thank you for all the views. You are very sexy.

  PPS I love you.

  * * *

  Smiling stupidly and reading the note more times than I could count, I eventually stood, refolding it carefully and tucking it inside my suitcase. On a happy cloud, I crossed to the bar, opened the mini fridge, and stood at the counter scarfing down cookies and gulping milk.

  It was at this point I realized I was very naked. It felt a bit like Adam and Eve discovering their nudity, except without the creepy snake.

 
“What was in those cookies?” I mumbled to myself, hurrying to the bathroom and rushing through a shower, the promise of more food spurring my movements.

  But when I finished and dressed—making sure to put on my tiger-print undies and bra—and Abram and the food still hadn’t arrived, I was at a loss. The B&B’s lack of Wi-Fi was supposed to be a bonus. No Wi-Fi meant less distractions. But I hadn’t even brought a book! Without the distraction of my phone, access to email, or a book, I wandered around the large suite and inspected the photos of gangsters hanging on the walls.

  After engaging in a staring match with a photograph of someone named Vincent “The Schemer” Drucci, an open notebook on the living room desk snagged my attention. Meandering to it, I peered down at the open page, recognizing Abram’s handwriting immediately. I scanned the first few lines.

  * * *

  Your mouth tastes so sweet, your skin is sweet too

  Hold still, my love, and let me savor you

  Pushing lace aside I ask her, does this taste like candy, I wonder—

  * * *

  GASP!

  I tore my eyes away and took a giant step backward, my hands flying to my suddenly hot cheeks, my skin—everywhere—breaking out in goose bumps.

  It was sexy poetry. About us! Based on my body’s crazy lava-like reaction to the first three lines—an explicit and direct window into his beautiful brain—I couldn’t handle it. Catnip and love potion and a mixture of all aphrodisiacs in written word form and in Abram’s handwriting.

  Is this what life would be like with a poet? One minute I’m fine, minding my own business, and then the next I’m consumed by lava lust?

  Good Lord. Have mercy. Amen.

  “Oh no.”

  Startled, I turned toward the sound of Abram’s concerned exclamation and I grimaced, my hands falling to my sides. “Ah! Sorry!”

  “Who told you—wait, what? Why are you sorry?” Rushing across the room, he shut the suite door with his booted foot and placed three white plastic bags—of what I assumed was takeout—on the coffee table.

  “I accidentally looked at your sexy poetry.” My eyes moved over him, gobbling the sight of him up. He wore dark jeans and a black leather jacket over a button down dark blue shirt.

  Oh jeez. I wanted him. Right now. Clearly, I was powerless against the power of suggestion where Abram was concerned, and especially when the suggestions were made by his poetry. If he ever turned his sexy poems into a song, I’d be ruined.

  But Abram didn’t seem to follow. “Sexy poetry?”

  “Your notebook.” I gestured to it, tangentially surprised it didn’t burst into flames, what with all the hot, suggestive thoughts recklessly left on its pages.

  “Oh.” He gave me a distracted flash of his dimple, his eyes moving over me like he thought I was adorable. “No, that’s totally fine. Read the whole thing if you want, it’s all about you anyway.”

  “Oh my.” My hands came back to my cheeks. Lava-like lust.

  “Listen.” Abram’s gaze turned bracing and he encircled my wrist with his fingers, tugging me toward the couch. “Something’s happened.”

  I allowed him to lead me. “What? What happened?”

  “Last night, when we left the stadium, we were photographed.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I twisted my hand so that our fingers tangled together, the smell of food finally permeating my senses. “Hey. Is that Mexican food? You didn’t happen to pick up enchiladas, did you?”

  He frowned. “Mona. This is a problem.”

  “Is it?” Now I frowned. “You didn’t want anyone to know we were dating?”

  “No. That is, I figured it would come out eventually, and I thought I was fine with it coming out now.”

  “But now you think everyone knowing is a problem?”

  “Yes,” he said emphatically. “Because it’s not just about everyone knowing.”

  “Yikes. Did I accidentally flash someone? I knew that skirt was too short. So, Mexican food?”

  He looked at me like he thought I was crazy. “No. You didn’t—how can you be—” Abram growled. “Listen. This is important. You didn’t flash anyone, most of the shots are blurry because it was dark. But they’ve got it wrong. They think it was Lisa with me, not you.”

  “Oh no.” I grimaced. “I’ll call and apologize to my sister.”

  “Mona. They—the websites, the newspapers, social media—they’re having a fucking field day. They’ve dug up old pictures of Lisa, when she was with Tyler, and are making this into a shitstorm. Saying she’s using me to promote his album, claiming that’s why I’ve played his song.”

  “Obviously that’s not true. How badly are they treating her? What did they say?”

  “They’re relentless, vicious. Saying she’s not good enough for me, saying she’s grotesque, ugly, saying she’s a leech, a user, a gold digger and worse. It’s brutal.”

  “Ah, crap. I’ll call her now, let her know we’ll get this all straightened out. Did you get my phone?”

  He shook his head as though to clear it. “Yes, absolutely, we’ll call Lisa, see what we can do to make this go away for her. She shouldn’t have to go through this. But you’re missing my point. If we tell everyone that it’s actually you in the photos, that we’re together, there’s a chance you’ll be ripped apart.”

  He lost me again. “Uh, yeah?”

  Eyes flashing, Abram exhaled suddenly, clearly perplexed and frustrated by how well I was taking this. “And that’s okay with you?”

  Staring at him, comprehension slowly seeped through the barrier of my intimate familiarity with all matters celebrity. “Ah! I see. You didn’t realize this was going to happen.”

  He seemed to choke on my statement for a few seconds before coughing out, “I thought, maybe, there’d be a few haters, outliers, whatever. But nothing like this. You were expecting this level of vitriol?”

  “Yes. Well”—I waved my hand in the air—“not the Lisa part. And I can fix that for her. But the Abram Fletcher’s girlfriend being criticized for existing by news and social media part? Oh yeah. I knew that was going to happen, and I knew it would be vicious. That’s what always happens to women who date attractive male super celebrities.”

  Abram gaped at me like he’d never seen me before, and then he jumped up, paced to the other side of the room and ripped off his leather jacket with jerky movements.

  Left alone with the food and an empty stomach, I slowly reached for the closest bag while keeping my eyes on him. I didn’t want to be rude, as I could see he was going through a crisis of reality-fueled frustration, but I was extremely hungry, and my stomach demanded action. Reasoning with myself that I could be supportive and well-fed, I untied the top of the plastic bag, reaching inside to withdraw the first container of mystery takeout while hunting for utensils.

  “I can’t believe this.” His hand was over his mouth and muffled the words slightly. “You wanted to be with me even though you knew this kind of cruelty might happen to you.”

  “Yes,” I answered evenly, popping the container open. NACHOS! Licking my lips in anticipation, I dipped the cheesiest of the chips into a pool of salsa, and then shoved the whole thing in my mouth. Yum. So good.

  Pacing back and forth, he scowled at me, quietly seething, “This is bullshit. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. You shouldn’t have to put up with being torn down simply because we’re together.”

  “I mean—” Speaking around a mouthful of nacho, I had to swallow before continuing, “In a perfect world, yeah. This wouldn’t happen. But this is just how it is.”

  “Why aren’t you more pissed?” He stopped short on the other side of the coffee table, his eyes accusatory.

  “Abram, I grew up around celebrities, rock stars, movie stars. I guess I’m used to it. You’ll get used to it too.” I meant my words to be comforting, hoping they’d make a positive impact.

  They did not.

  He exhaled. Loudly. If he’d been a dragon, I was certain I’d be on fi
re. His hands came up, his fingers stiff, and he shook them while making a growling sound. “This is so fucking frustrating!”

  He paced away.

  Surreptitiously, I quickly ate another nacho, chewing with haste and swallowing before he paced back. “Okay, okay. I can see you are very upset—”

  “UPSET?!”

  I rolled my lips between my teeth, standing and making a slow, careful approach. “And I appreciate you being upset on my behalf. But, my dearest love, I entered into this beautiful relationship with you knowing that, eventually, once we made our connection public, the peanut gallery was going to pick me apart. Everything about me will be public fodder. But that’s okay, it always has been to a certain extent. I’ll deal with it.”

  His eyes cut to mine, glaring at me like I was nuts.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” I took a few tiny steps closer. “The peanut gallery doesn’t actually matter. All those haters? Who tear people down? They don’t matter. And what they say doesn’t matter. It’ll just be more publicity for you, more noise. Your name will trend upward. My parents always say, ‘All noise is good noise, unless it’s mocking noise.’ I don’t think you’ll be mocked for dating me, but I don’t know for certain.”

  Abram shook his head. “I don’t care about me, I don’t care what they say about me. That’s not the problem. It’s what they say about you.”

  “But they don’t matter.”

  “They shouldn’t be allowed to say such hateful things.”

  “But since they don’t matter, what they say doesn’t matter either. It’s like multiplying any number by zero. The peanut gallery is the zero.”

  He snapped his mouth shut, his jaw flexing. Breathing hard, his hands on his hips, once again he reminded me of a caged animal. But this time, it was angry helplessness I spied, not hunger.

  I made a soft sound of compassion, closing the distance between us to place a hand on his scruffy cheek. “Oh, Abram. Please don’t waste energy on this. Haters gonna hate, idiots gonna procreate.”