by Brianna Cash
Everything about last night comes back before I open my eyes.
When I look at her, she’s sitting next to me on the bed, croissant in hand, and a smile on her face. “Told ya I’d be back before you woke up.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. She takes a bite of the croissant and flakes fall all over the comforter, making a mess that I sure won’t be sleeping in tonight. If she wants to sleep with me again, she can take this side. Or, even better idea, we can sleep in the other bed.
“What’re you doing?”
“Eating,” she confirms, watching me yawn and reach for my phone. It’s strange. Up until yesterday, I only ever saw her at work, and now she’s watching me wake up. She may have even been watching me sleep before she decided to be a very rude alarm clock. “What’re you doing?”
“I was sleeping.”
“I brought you coffee.”
At least there’s that. I sit up and check my phone on the nightstand. It’s even earlier than I usually get up, and it’s definitely way too close to when I gave up my search for proof and went to sleep. “Thanks.” I accept the cup, watching her still watching me.
Yep. Really strange.
I make my way to the bathroom, hoping for a few seconds of quiet. Her voice makes its way around the frosted doors, interrupting me, and my eyes close in annoyance. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
Where did that random statement come from, and what difference does it make?
I sigh, flushing the toilet and opening the useless door with a raised brow. “Which makes today Saturday?”
“Yep.”
It’s too early to figure her out, so I wash my hands and drink some coffee, instantly surprised at how good it is. When I don’t offer up more stimulating conversation, she gets off the bed and crosses the room, sliding open the balcony door. The sound of the ocean and the birds and the wind filters around the room, along with a slowly rising humidity that warms my skin as I pull on some clothes.
Sadie stays outside, leaning against the railing, looking out at the horizon. I do my best to keep my eyes off her, but the suspicion haunting me keeps pulling them back to the girl in question.
Is Sadie really my SD?
While Sadie and I definitely have the chemistry she was talking about, she’s still Sadie, the girl I was disgusted with, right up until yesterday. The girl I see at work every day. The girl who’s always been polite to me, but never overly friendly. I never felt like I knew her. I never felt like she wanted to know me.
SD isn’t like that. SD is slowly opening up to me, especially outside of our assignments. SD misses our conversations when we haven’t had any electronic communication for a full day. SD likes teasing me and making me work for any information I want, but shouldn’t have. SD asks me for advice because I’m a nice person. SD makes me feel like I can be myself, without any excuses.
I never tried to get to know Sadie. She never seemed open to personal questions when I saw her at work. I have no idea if she’d balk at my inquiries or flirt with me while only giving up half the information I wanted. And while I judged Sadie for supposedly sleeping around, SD told me she slept around, and I never judged her. And it seems that neither SD nor Sadie get around nearly as much as I first thought or was led to believe.
Does it even matter if they’re the same person?
It does.
If I’m myself around Sadie and she doesn’t like my personality, and she is SD, that means she’s attracted to the mystery of our situation, not me as a person.
If I like SD, but not Sadie, is it because I’m so judgmental, or is it because I got to know her without her appearance and actions making me biased toward her, one way or the other?
There’s no way I’m going to be able to stop thinking about it, but I’m going to try to forget all about the possibility of them being the same person. Even if I’m almost certain they are. I’m going to wipe my memory clean, and let this weekend play out the way it was meant to. And then I’m going to go home and text SD, because I miss her words. I miss her straightforwardness. I miss her opinionated stubbornness.
And even if she is SD, Sadie doesn’t know me well enough to act like that with me.
My coffee is gone, and I’ve gone through my weekend morning routine by the time I figure all this out. I grab a croissant, eating it in two bites, then join Sadie on the balcony.
She eyes me as I approach. “They’re better when they’re warm.”
I nod. “Croissants usually are.”
“Sorry I pissed you off this morning.”
“You didn’t.” I stand beside her, looking out at the breathtaking view and reaching across her back to put my hand on her hip. I’m not usually touchy with girls, whether I’m in a relationship with them or not, but I can’t find the words to explain what I’m thinking without giving everything away.
Sadie leans into me almost immediately, understanding and accepting my unspoken apology.
Words are all SD and I have. Sadie and I don’t seem to need many. A simple touch relays the message I’m trying to convey.
It feels good to touch her, too. I like it. It feels natural. Right. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of it from now on. At least until she tells me to stop.
She gives me her eyes, letting me see the many questions she’s not asking. Is she piecing things together? Does she suspect I’m her 736?
“Are you not a morning person?”
My lips twitch. We know so little about each other, but the memory of her thighs clamped around my head while she moaned out her frantic release is one I’m glad I experienced. And one I’ll never forget. “It takes me a little to wake up.”
“Everyone thinks we’re sleeping together.”
I chuckle at her crinkled-up nose. “We did sleep together.”
Now she rolls her eyes, stepping out of my reach. “Rob said I need to make sure you wrap it because you’re so ‘young and innocent’ compared to me, and Roxy said I have ‘sex hair.’”
I use the opportunity to check out every inch of her in the morning light, wondering what color her hidden flesh would be if she was bold enough to take off her clothes here and now. I ignore Rob’s comment and agree with Roxy. “You do have sex hair.”
“Well, you’re definitely not innocent!” She crosses her arms over her chest, turning away from me.
“What’s wrong with having sex hair? You look hot.”
She huffs out a breath and stomps past me into the room, digging through her already disheveled suitcase. Following her inside, I leave the door open, standing next to it in case I need a quick exit. Not that I can go far on the balcony, but if I close the door, there’s at least a barrier between her anger and my most likely guilty confusion. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes. Kind of.”
“I told you it takes me some time to wake up. I’m sorry I wasn’t that nice earlier.”
She flops on the bed with a sigh. I resist the urge to lie down and kiss her lips until they curve into a smile. She looks way too good on that bed, still in my shirt that she slept in, with her silky brown sex hair wildly fanning out around her head. “It’s not about that.”
“Clue me in, then?”
She sits up and crosses her legs. Then plays with the hem of her shorts, reminding me how I played with that same fabric last night; reminding me of all the ways I played with her last night.
Eventually, she changes her tune, no longer mad, now feeling something else. Maybe curiosity? Her eyes search mine for answers I might not be willing to give. I’m not willing to tell her I’m a lot more than the guy who says hello to her every morning when I come in to work. She has to figure that out on her own.
“Why didn’t you want to have sex with me last night?”
My brain switches gears. That’s why she doesn’t like having sex hair. Her friends are making comments about how she had sex, when she didn’t.
One of her straight-forward, no-sugarcoating text messages comes back to me.
Fuck off with the whore-ish shit.
SD doesn’t like to be called promiscuous. She might imply and say it about herself, but she doesn’t like anyone else doing it.
“I wanted to have sex with you, Sadie.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Our eyes lock again. I need to come up with something that will convince her my brooding mood last night wasn’t about her in any way. I was wrapped up in my own thoughts, but I definitely wanted her. I definitely still want her.
I sit on the bed next to her, keeping my hands to myself for now. “You gave me the best score anyone can get, where do I go from there? You can’t get better than a perfect ten.”
“You didn’t have sex with me because you wanted to keep your perfect score?”
“I’m young and innocent; no one’s given me a ten before.” One of her brows arches and I shrug. “I wanted to keep it for a while.”
“You’re not innocent. Innocent wouldn’t have gotten a ten!”
I smile. “Guess I got lucky.”
“You didn’t get lucky, though! You didn’t get anything!”
“Wanna fix that?” I ask, smiling at her. She glares back with a reluctant grin, and I finally give in and pull her with me backwards onto the mattress.
She rolls her eyes, sliding her hands under my shirt and pushing it partway up in the process. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to rob you of your perfect score...”
My hands land on her ass, and I squeeze lightly before remembering she wants to really feel what I’m doing. Then I slide my hands under her shorts and squeeze a little harder. “Maybe I’ll get lucky again.”
“No one’s that lucky.”
I gladly accept her challenge.
She squeals as I roll on top of her, but she’s laughing when I kiss her. And her mouth opens eagerly under mine.
Sadie
I want to bottle his kisses and save them forever. I want to be able to have a whole case of Owen’s bottled kisses, so I can sip lightly on one later, feeling the magic and unhurried passion of just one, before capping that bottle again to keep the rest inside. I won’t be selfish. I’ll get the bottle out and take one sip, one kiss, when I’m feeling lonely, or horny, or just inadequate.
Yeah… I’d drink the whole damn case in one night if I got too upset.
Maybe Owen would be up for occasionally replenishing my stock.
Oh, but wait. What about 736?
Maybe his kisses are better than Owen’s?
I thought I’d kissed my best kiss until I wound up in that closet with Owen. It’s always possible 736 will surprise me as well. But the chances of it happening again are slim.
The part of me that knows bottling kisses is impossible screams at me, telling me to just enjoy this while I can, to give Owen my full attention and let Future Sadie worry about the quality of 736’s kisses.
Future Sadie grunts in frustration, already feeling the strain of all the problems I’m sending her way, but I push her aside entirely and focus on Owen, who’s quietly showing me what it feels like to be absolutely cherished. Honest to God, I’ve never been kissed like this. Owen kisses me like I’m his whole world wrapped up in one little person, who’s very comfortable underneath him, all his weight pushing me down into this mattress and trapping me between it and him.
I’ve never been a big fan of being physically restrained, but his—mostly—kind personality somehow makes his weight feel like a heavy blanket on a cold night. Comforting and warm and delicious. As long as my hands can roam, and he doesn’t stop kissing me, I’m very happy in this prison. I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life here. If he throws in some hot croissants, I’ll even rename it “my heaven” instead.
“You taste like caramel,” he whispers, his lips somewhere near my ear, his hands underneath me, unhooking my bra as he takes a breather from showing my mouth what bliss is.
“You taste like bitter coffee and toothpaste.”
I drag his lips back to mine for another mouthful anyway.
“You don’t like coffee?” he murmurs a few minutes later, his lips against my neck vibrating my skin in a way that makes my girly parts throb.
I push his head down, and his hands slip from my back, cupping my breasts under the layers I’m wearing, then tweaking my nipples with his fingers. He opens his mouth over one of them, sucking on it through my—his—shirt, making my legs tighten around him.
“I like sweet coffee,” I eventually mutter, so caught up in what he’s doing, I almost forget our completely useless conversation.
“Is that why you taste so sweet?”
He shoves my shirt and bra up to my neck, licking and sucking my nipples relentlessly. While I’m moaning, one of his hands sneaks into my shorts, and a finger sinks between my folds, grazing that sensitive nub that makes my hips buck and my back raise off the mattress.
I breathe out a whispered moan, my back arched so far, I don’t know how he’s still latched onto my breast.
He simply continues his slow, seductive torture techniques. With his mouth around my nipple and his hand down my pants, I forget this was supposed be about him. He already got me off last night, he already got a perfect score last night, and all I did was moan, scream, and come for him.
He’s quickly on his way to another perfect score.
“Oh God, don’t stop!” I beg when he finally slips two fingers inside, his thumb, or finger, or something, still stimulating my clit as he slowly brushes over that same spot on my inner walls that he hit last night. The one no one else has ever found or even bothered searching for. At least not that I’m aware of, anyway.
His eyes clash with mine. “You going to come for me again, Sadie?”
“Fuck yeessss.” I grab his head, lowering it back to my flesh. He moves in me, on me, above me, doing everything just right, doing everything I could ever want, doing everything I didn’t know could be done at the same time with only one person.
“Like that,” I choke out as he finds the perfect pressure, making it seem like I’m soaring through the stratosphere on some never-ending elevator, where everything’s hazy and perfect, and it’s taking me higher and higher, until I can’t think about anything except how absolutely, fucking wonderful I feel.
Goosebumps break out over every inch of my skin, my eyes close, my breath stops completely until a low moan works its way out of my chest, and my entire body clenches so tight, so hard, so intensely…
And then I’m floating back to Earth, every muscle I have now lax and languid, a heavy, sweet cloud lowering me down and surrounding me in its warmth.
Owen’s mouth covers mine again and I almost push him away. I feel incredible and I don’t want anything to take away from that. But even though I momentarily forgot, his kisses haven’t changed, and they quickly make me sink even further into this state of blissful happiness I’m currently living in.
“Where are your condoms?” he whispers a few slow seconds later, his body holding mine close, his erection hard against my side.
I blink, unable to fully process what he’s asking. “Huh?”
“Condoms… Where are they?”
His voice is nice. And condoms are good.
I smile.
More pleasure is coming.
He pulls his hand from my shorts but keeps our physical connection as his wet fingers follow some invisible pattern on my torso. His brows raise. “I’m supposed to wrap it, remember? Are they in your suitcase?”
Oh no...
I wasn’t planning on seeing him, or whoever my mysterious closet kisser turned out to be. I was planning on a girls’ weekend, nothing more. The guys joining us for part of our trip was something I didn’t learn about until I was already here. “I don’t have any.”
His body goes rigid. “Seriously?”
“I didn’t know you were coming! You knew you were going to see me, why didn’t you bring any?”
He sits up, only to fall on his back with a quiet curse. “Dammit.”
Not how I wanted to hear him curse, but it still makes me snicker.
Some of my reasoning comes back. “The gift shop has to have some.”
The gift shop is way too far away right now. And it’s time to pay him back for at least one of his perfect scores, readily available condom or not. I roll over and climb aboard, straddling him. “There are other ways for you to get lucky, though.”
His eyes narrow as my fingers slide under the elastic band of his underwear, the one that’s slightly higher on his stomach than the waistband of his shorts. Realizing we’re both kind of fully clothed, I pull my misplaced shirt and bra over my head, then bare his torso as well, stealing another of his heavenly kisses before I lower my face to his body.
He lets out a long breath when I tongue his nipples, my hands gliding along his sides and chest as he closes his eyes. When his fists open and close reflexively on the comforter, I grind my hips on his. He moans and reaches for me with those hands instead.
I slowly make my way down his body, rubbing him roughly over his clothes when I’m face to face with the zipper on his shorts. He lets out a scratchy groan, his hands moving to the button, but I replace them with my own, swatting his away to do the job myself. When I yank his clothes down his legs, his cock springs free, bobbing up and down in front of my eyes.
I marvel at the beauty of it.
Dicks can be seriously ugly, but his is not. The size is impressive. The shape, drool worthy. Even the coloring is perfect, and I grasp him in my fist, admiring how tight his skin is over the hard length of rigid muscles underneath. Unable to resist, I reach out with my tongue, licking his shaft, wanting the taste of him in my mouth.
“Sadie.” His hands twist in my hair and he pulls me a little closer.
I don’t tease him like he did to me last night. I move to a more comfortable position between his legs and pull him into my mouth, sliding over his thick length before moving my face away to study him as I distribute my saliva over every glorious inch with my hands.
I squeeze a little, pulling until only the tip of him is above my fist. Then I lick the underside, tonguing that little notch of flesh until he groans and tries to thrust inside me. My eyes dart to his. He’s watching me, a pained expression in his eyes, his mouth drawn up tight, his hands clenched again at his sides.