Something Reckless

by Lexi Ryan

  I’m practically falling asleep by the time his touches turn to kisses and he rolls me over.

  * * *

  Sam

  When Liz looks at me, her gaze is heavy but happy. “Are you going to make me beg you, Sam Bradshaw?”

  “Beg?”

  “Not that our shower didn’t leave me . . . satisfied, but . . .” She takes her lower lip between her teeth in a way that’s both cute and really fucking hot.

  She shifts under me, then wraps her legs around my waist, bringing my dick to rest against her slick folds.

  I groan. Condom. Get a fucking condom. Everything about this moment is an invitation—the way she’s looking at me, the heat in her eyes. I’ve never been so tempted to slide into a woman without protection. It’s not an option—now more than ever—but fuck, if it’s not tempting at this moment.

  “Liz,” someone bellows.

  We both stiffen.

  “Lizzy?” It’s a guy, and he’s right outside her door. A drunk, belligerent man, in her house, at her bedroom door. My body tenses, shifting gears, ready to fight.

  Liz seems to sense the change in me, and she wraps her hand around my wrist. “Relax. It’s just Connor.”

  “Connor? As in, my sister’s boyfriend? That Connor?”

  “As in your friend Connor. I think he’s drunk.” She’s already climbing out of bed, not worried about explaining to me why the hell Connor is showing up drunk at her bedroom door in the middle of the night. “I’m going to check on him.”

  She starts opening drawers and pulling out clothes. So she can go see Connor.

  I don’t want Connor to see her like this—freshly showered, her cheeks still flushed from coming. Or maybe I do. Maybe I want to make sure he knows. She’s here with me. Mine.

  My jealousy is so irrational it catches me off guard.

  I take her hand, stopping her from pulling on her pants, then I latch my mouth onto her neck. She moans as I kiss and suck, then cries out as I bite down.

  I pull back, satisfied when I see I’ve marked her. Good.

  “Liz? I need you.” He’s practically whimpering.

  “I’m coming,” she calls. “Just a minute.”

  Fucking Connor. I’m not letting her go out there without me.

  Suddenly, I remember that none of my clothes made it to the bedroom with us.

  Liz bites back a grin, apparently realizing my conundrum. “You’re not going out there anyway, so don’t worry about it.” Giggles lace her words.

  “The hell I’m not. He’s drunk.”

  “Sam?” Connor says on the other side of the door. “Is that you, man? Oh, shit. Did your sister send you here? I told her to stay out of it.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I shoot Liz a pointed look. “I’m going with you.”

  “Want to borrow some panties? How do you feel about pink?” This time, she lets the giggle free.

  I snatch the towel off the floor where it landed earlier. “I’ll go get my clothes.”

  I sneak out the door before she can protest, and pull it shut tight behind me. Connor’s sitting in the hall, eyes half closed, and I don’t bother explaining myself before I cross to the bathroom to pull on my pants and undershirt.

  When I get back to Lizzy’s room, she’s dressed. If you can call it that. She’s in a worn-out Sinclair tee and nothing else, as far as I can tell.

  I skim my gaze over her down to where the shirt ends at mid-thigh. I love the way it looks on her—stretched across her breasts, her nipples poking at the fabric, and the way it shows off her long, flawless legs. I don’t love the idea of her greeting another man in nothing but that. Especially Connor.

  I open the nearest dresser drawer, grab a pair of thick flannel pants, and shove them in her hands. “If you’re going out there, would you please wear these too?”

  She smirks. “Are you jealous?”

  Raking my gaze over her again, I shake my head. “Don’t mistake my selfishness for jealousy. I don’t want to share.”

  I wait for her to put on the pants—not that it helps much. How does she make a T-shirt and flannel pants look so goddamn indecent? For a minute, I contemplate ordering her to stay in the bedroom, but I know that wouldn’t go over well, so I head to the hall to find Connor.

  This guy was one of my best friends through college. We got thrown together as roommates freshman year, and our friendship formed from there. I’ve never been as close to him as I am to Max and Will, but we were cool.

  Until he started dating my little sister.

  Connor’s passed out in the hall, his head slumped to the side as if he’s trying to use his own shoulder as a pillow.

  Liz pads over to him and places her hand on his back. “Con, wake up.”

  He blinks at her then rolls over and awkwardly pushes himself to his feet. “What are you doing here?” he asks Liz, dragging his eyes down to her breasts. Can I punch him in the face for looking at her the way any man would?

  “This is my house,” she says patiently. She slides her arm under his. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

  I grab the other arm and help him onto his feet to hobble to the couch. She turns to me. “Would you mind getting him a glass of water?”

  Reluctantly, I turn to the kitchen to fetch the water and remind myself that Connor didn’t know I’d be here tonight. But somehow that only makes me feel worse, not better.

  I spot a bottle of ibuprofen on the counter and take it and the glass of water back to the living room.

  Connor and Liz are nestled together on the couch. He’s stretched out across it, resting his head against Lizzy’s shoulder. Cozy as shit. She’s laughing about something. I don’t like how comfortable they are together, and I know Della wouldn’t like it either.

  “Connor was just telling me about the time you went roller-skating in college.” She giggles again and her eyes dance with amusement as she brings them to mine. “Is it true you got asked to the Snowball Dance by eight different junior high girls?”

  Yeah, I’m gonna punch him in the face. Any minute now. I grunt instead of answering and hold up the water and the pills. “Sit up, idiot.”

  Liz frowns. “Empathy is not your forte, Sam.”

  “He’s the one who got himself in this position.”

  Connor scrambles to sitting, putting his hands on Liz way more than necessary in the process, and I shove the glass at him. Water sloshes onto his lap, and he jumps.

  I step back and cross my arms. “What brings you here tonight?”

  “I needed a place to crash,” he mutters. “I locked myself out of my apartment, and Della’s pissed at me so she wouldn’t bring the spare key.”

  A glance at the clock above his head confirms that it’s after three in the morning. “Where were you tonight that you just realized you locked yourself out at this hour?”

  Liz gapes at me. “Sam,” she hisses. “Aren’t you supposed to be more supportive? Bros before hos and all that?”

  “That ho you’re talking about is my sister.”

  She turns to Connor, giving me her back. “You deserve better than her, Con.”

  “Watch it,” I warn.

  “I know she’s your sister,” Liz says, “and I know her better than most. I grew up with Della, remember? But she stomps all over Connor.”

  My jaw tightens. I don’t want to talk about this, because talking about it is going to make me think more than I want to about why Liz is so bent on defending him and why he’d come here, of all places, when he needed a place to crash. “I’m sure you’re not as innocent as this one thinks,” I tell Connor, “and in the morning, I expect you to apologize to Della.”

  Liz rolls her eyes. “He just went to the strip club with his friends after he left the reception. It’s not a big deal.”

  My face heats with a rush of anger, and Connor winces. Clearly, he wasn’t intending to share that part with me. “You’re lucky I don’t make you sleep in the street,” I mutter.

  I can�
��t face him anymore, so I head back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

  I can hear them talking, but I can’t go back out there.

  Chapter Seven

  Liz

  The room is dark when I return. Connor’s tucked in on the couch, and I’ve done all I can for him tonight, but he’ll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow—from the booze and the aching heart. Sam doesn’t understand how much Connor loves Della, how hard he tries to please her.

  I can’t make out anything in the darkness, so I click on the bedside lamp and find Sam in my bed, still dressed in his undershirt and dress pants. His hands are folded behind his head, his feet crossed at the ankles.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t like what I had to say about your sister,” I say as I sit on the side of the bed.

  He grunts. “We both know that’s not an apology.”

  “I’m sorry I spoke poorly of your sister in front of you. That put you in an awkward position.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t cut his dick off when I found out he was sleeping with her,” he says.

  “It’s not like he used her for sex and walked away. They’re a couple, and he loves her, even if their relationship is a little . . . dysfunctional.”

  “There’s a code. Seducing my little sister was totally unacceptable.”

  “Della’s my friend, but so is Connor. She’s a grown woman, and he’s a good guy. Seriously, if your sister was going to give it up to anyone, Connor’s a good choice.”

  His jaw tightens, and when he raises his gaze to meet mine, I freeze. You said too much, Liz. But why should I care? It’s not like Sam wanted me, and Connor was . . . the sweetest guy I ever met. Maybe he still is.

  “Why would you say that?” he asks softly.

  “Because it’s true.” I shrug. “When you turned me down all those years ago, I was crushed. Connor cheered me up.”

  “I fucking bet he did.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I know he’s wanted you since he met you at that party that night, and he was supposed to stay away from you.”

  “Wait. What? You were telling your friends to stay away from me?”

  “Just Connor. I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

  “You mean you didn’t like that he looked at me like I was a woman when you still wanted to see me as a child.”

  “Sue me for being a decent guy.”

  “You rejected me, and Connor was the one who talked me through it. Who’s the decent guy?”

  “Did you sleep with him? Did you let him take care of your little virginity problem?”

  “I—” I lift my palms. “Why are we talking about this? It was over four years ago.”

  Some emotion I don’t recognize flashes in his eyes.

  “I wanted you, Sam. Not some stand-in. You. And you broke my heart.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. I’ve just made myself too vulnerable to him. More vulnerable than I was when my hands were bound and I was at his mercy.

  “I broke your heart?”

  “Don’t worry about Della. Connor will take care of her.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. You said I broke your heart.”

  You don’t want me to answer your question. I stand and stare at my light pink wall. I should have kept my mouth shut. “I was young. Foolish. It’s not like I’ve been hung up on you all this time or something.” Much. Hell, who am I kidding? It’s very much like that.

  “Rowdy.” The mattress shifts as he moves to sit next to me. “I told you I don’t do emotional strings.”

  “And I told you that’s not what I’m looking for.”

  He shakes his head. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He stalks toward me, and I stand frozen, waiting for him to decide what happens next.

  The frustration in his eyes turns to heat then lust, and then something more dangerous. I stand still until he cups my face in his hands and lowers his mouth to mine.

  Everything after that happens in a desperate rush. We shed our clothes, throwing them to the floor until we’re skin to skin. Sam presses me against the wall and hitches one of my legs around his hip.

  “Condom,” I whisper.

  “Done.”

  I have no idea when during the frenzy of kissing and undressing he pulled on a condom, but I don’t care. His cock is between my legs, poised at my entrance, and I want him. Need him.

  Almost in one fluid motion, he pulls up my other leg and drives into me. He’s big—almost too big—and my body tightens in protest, but when he tries to withdraw, tries to give me a moment to adjust, I claw at his back to hold him close. And then he thrusts, in and out, and I have to bite back a cry every time he sinks deep.

  “Don’t do that,” he says in my ear. “Don’t hold back.”

  “But Connor—”

  “Let him hear. I want him to know that you’re mine.”

  I love that. You’re mine.

  “For tonight,” he says. “Just for tonight.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, denying the hurt that wants to flood me at those words. And before I can think about it too much, before I can dwell on any disappointment or hurt I feel, he’s sliding a hand between our bodies and finding my clit, stroking as he pounds into me.

  Behind his back, I lock my feet at the ankles and loop my arms around his neck, holding on tight as he leads me up to more and more pleasure.

  Suddenly, he spins me around and settles my ass on the bed. In a smooth motion, he’s changed our positions, moving my legs so my ankles are resting on his shoulders and his cock slides even deeper.

  When he drives into me from this new position, his eyes locked on where our bodies are joined, I do cry out, and he groans his approval and pumps harder.

  “I needed my hands free,” he murmurs. His fingertips graze my breasts and he pinches my nipple. “I needed to touch you.”

  I watch him, trying to memorize how dark his eyes are as he fucks me, the way they roam over me again and again, as if every part of me is fighting for his attention and he can’t decide where to give it.

  But then his eyes drop between my legs and stop roaming altogether. He focuses on watching our bodies come together through thrust after thrust.

  His thumb strokes my clit, and my back arches off the bed. He pumps into me again. Again. All the while, stroking that sensitive piece of me until it’s almost too much.

  “Tonight, you’re mine,” he whispers again.

  And it’s those words and the intensity in his eyes that pushes me over the edge and has my body contracting in orgasm.

  He turns his head and places a tender kiss on the arch of my foot. Then he thrusts again, the head of his cock swelling inside me. His jaw tightens and he comes too, hand wrapped around my ankle.

  After he goes to the bathroom to clean up, I curl into my bed and remind my heart that it wasn’t invited to this party.

  I don’t normally do this. I’m not the kind of girl who tries to mentally rewrite every hookup into a happily-ever-after. My mind understands that sometimes I just need sex for the sake of sex. But this is Sam, and my brain has never been very good at showing up where he’s involved.

  He’ll want to leave. Maybe he’ll take Connor with him out of some misguided protective instinct, but I don’t expect him to sleep over. So when he comes back into the room and slides into bed with me, when he pulls me into his arms so my back is against his chest and his arms are wrapped around me, I’m waiting for the goodbye. The thanks for the good time, see ya around.

  Instead, he kisses me just below my earlobe and says, “Sleep well, Rowdy,” and settles his head into the pillow as if he intends to sleep with me in his arms.

  * * *

  Sam

  I know better than to stay, but I can’t make myself go. I tell myself it’s because Connor is sleeping in her living room, and I don’t trust him not to try something with her, but that’s a bunch of bullshit. The truth is, I love the way she feels
in my arms and the way her hair smells, and I don’t want to leave.

  I never intended to take her so roughly tonight. I can’t believe I fucked her against the wall. But my attraction to Liz has always been something that skates on that line between want and need. I don’t mind want. Want is a thing you can control. Want you can deny. But I hope to never need a woman the way I felt like I needed her tonight. Need makes me weak. Desperate. Completely under her power.

  It’s not that I expected her to still be a virgin. Hell no. She’s a damn fine grown woman with a healthy sexual appetite and confidence to boot. I didn’t think she waited all this time for me, but the idea that Connor was her first . . .

  My arms tighten around her instinctively. I don’t like this jealousy I feel, but I can’t deny it either. I fucking hate that she gave him her virginity. I guess part of me was waiting for her to come back to my room after she turned eighteen. I was cocky enough to believe it was me she wanted, not just anyone.

  Fuck Connor.

  I swear he’s wanted what’s mine since the day I met him. He was fascinated by my family—the size of it, the way we all seemed to sincerely love each other. Part of me was happy to give him a place there. I brought him home on holidays when his parents couldn’t be bothered to scrape together the money to fly him back to California; I got him the internship working for my father as he laid the groundwork for his political campaign; and I introduced him to Della, his now girlfriend, despite my mother’s objections over them living together before they’re married.

  Part of me has always known Connor’s a better fit in my own life than I am. My father loves him, my mother thinks he’s a prince, and he loves my big family when it’s always made me feel claustrophobic. It’s like he’s taken the parts of my life that I denied—the job with my father . . . Liz.

  I bury my nose in her hair, and she sighs in her sleep, a soft, sweet sound. “He can’t have you,” I say. “You’re mine.” I try to mentally add for tonight, but it feels like a lie. I want more than tonight. I don’t want to miss another night falling asleep to the smell of her hair just because I’m scared I might be more like my father than Connor will ever be.