Always Been You

by Beverley Kendall

Fan-fuckin-tastic.

  “You’re home.” Troy’s voice is terse and an air of displeasure emanates off him.

  “I love it when you state the obvious,” I murmur lightly, shooting a glance at Ron.

  Eyeing him, Ron nods in greeting. “Ridgefield.”

  Troy’s tone refuses to budge from terse, replying in a low voice, “Mallard.”

  Ron ignores his obvious disapproval, asking with a wink-wink, nudge-nudge lightness, “How’d you get so lucky? Sharing a place with two gorgeous girls.”

  I’d told him about my new living arrangements during the date. It hadn’t fazed him a bit once I explained my long-standing friendship with Troy. Ron doesn’t do jealous it would seem and that cements why he’s the right guy to date as this point in my life. He isn’t threatened by my male best friend.

  “Born under that lucky star I guess,” is Troy’s dry, humorless response.

  Okay, enough chitchat. “I’m home safe and sound, Dad. You can go back to bed now.” My teasing hits just the right note, while giving Troy a gentle but firm nudge toward his bedroom.

  For a second I’m afraid he’s going to refuse and make a jerk of himself by plopping himself in front of the TV.

  “Or if we’re interrupting you, we can always hang out in my room?” I can fairly feel Ron perk up at this.

  Troy swallows, his glance at me narrow and dark. “Nope, I’m getting out of your hair.” He then turns on his heel and strides back to his room.

  I look at Ron.

  Pausing a beat, he looks at me with more than a hint of suspicion and asks, “You sure you guys are just friends?”

  ***

  One cup of coffee and forty minutes later, I close the chapter on my date with Ron Mallard. I’m pretty sure he won’t be calling me again after the less than enthusiastic kiss we exchanged at the door.

  It was hard for me to get into it knowing Troy was so near, and I think my date picked up on that. He’s a bright guy. He picked up on everything, Troy’s behavior being tantamount.

  Which is something I’m going to deal with right now. If we’re going to live together, what happened tonight can’t happen again.

  Troy’s bedroom door is closed and I don’t hear anything as I pause at the threshold. My knocks are uncompromisingly brisk when they land on the faux wood.

  The door swings open under my third knock, catching me by surprise. I blink up at Troy’s expressionless face.

  “We need to talk,” I state in a take-the-bull-by-the-horns tone.

  Watching me steadily, he steps back, silently inviting me in with a vague sweep of his arm.

  I follow him but remain near the door as he strides over to the foot of his bed. Like me, he remains standing, his arm crossed over the broad width of his chest. For a second I get lost in the flex and ripple of the muscles of his arms. He has great arms.

  “Okay, so talk.”

  My gaze flies to his. How dare he use that tone with me. I’m the one who should rightly be annoyed at his behavior.

  “This isn’t going to work if you’re going to act like that when I have friends over,” I say with an impatient toss of my hand.

  “How exactly am I supposed to act when you bring guys home? You’re acting like I told Mallard to go fuck himself and not come back. I barely said two words to him.”

  “You were— It’s not what you said, it’s the way you acted.” He knows what I’m talking about.

  “What do you want from me, April? You brought a guy home and I got out of your hair so you could do whatever the fuck.” Anger had crept steadily into his voice.

  I resist the urge to stamp my foot. “He thinks there’s something going on between us because of the way you acted.”

  Troy stares at me, unblinking.

  “I don’t get you. You’re the one who said you could deal with it,” I remind him.

  “Was that what that was about, you putting me to the test?” he asks in a tone that says I’m riding his last nerve all the way to the finish line.

  Well tough.

  I huff out an exasperated breath and toss my hair over my shoulder. “God, Troy, not everything is about you.”

  “I’m not the one bringing girls back to the apartment to piss you off.”

  He has a lot of nerve accusing me of that when I’m trying to keep it together with us sharing a roof. “Why would you bringing girls back to the apartment piss me off?”

  His gaze narrows, glittering with a knowing light.

  Because there’s no way I would ever admit that inviting Ron in was a calculated move, I reply, “If that’s what you think tonight was all about, you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”

  “No, you just don’t like the fact that I know you better than you know yourself.”

  If he knew me, truly knew me, he’d know why I’ve disliked every girlfriend he’s ever had. He’d know how much harder it’s been to be friends with him after we had sex. He’d know that our current living arrangement is killing me.

  Yet he’s standing there looking so damn beautiful and smug about it. Knowing me so well.

  “No. No you don’t.” My response is paced, my voice soft and slow. And because that’s all I have to say—all there is to say—I exit his room and make my way to mine.

  Inside, I close the door and lean back heavily against it. My breathing is shallow, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’m acutely attuned to the sounds in the hall. I wait to hear if he’s coming after me. It’s ridiculous, but a part of me hopes he will.

  After a minute elapses, I know he’s not coming. He has nothing to say. No grand denials, no telling me that I’m wrong. He gets it now. Good.

  Acceptance of that helps calm my agitated nerves. I push off the door and strip out of my clothes to change into my pajamas; a white, cotton spaghetti-strap top and matching shorts that hit high on my upper thighs.

  Then I turn and look at my iPad on my nightstand. Should I read tonight? Maybe a good romance will do the trick. Get my libido pumping in ways Steve, Colin and Ron weren’t able to, and start me down that path to all the other romantic possibilities out there. Not that I’m the kind of girl who always has to have a man. I’m obviously not. Almost a year without sex says a lot about who I am. But at heart, I’m a romantic. I want a guy who is as nuts about me as I am about him. Admittedly, the last part has become a major sticking point.

  And days of me turning into bed at ten thirty on a Friday night can’t become the norm. I’m young and attractive, and goddammit, I want to have fun. I deserve to have more than a dating life.

  I deserve to have a sex life.

  And not just any sex life; a fantastic one with a guy who makes me want to lick him from head to toe 24/7. That’s the kind of passion and lust I’m looking for.

  Troy, Troy, Troy, the voice in my head taunts.

  Oh shut up! He’s going to be better than Troy.

  The devil on my shoulder looks at me askance.

  Fine. Then just as good.

  A soft knock on the door has me nearly jumping out of my skin. Before I can open my mouth to respond, the door opens and Troy steps in.

  My personal yardstick.

  Sometime in the last ten minutes he lost his shirt, leaving his chest tanned and bare. And it shouldn’t be bare. Not in my room. Not when we’re alone in the apartment. Not when I’m not wearing underwear.

  My gaze drops to his low-slung bottoms. I see no sign of the elastic waistband from a pair of briefs.

  Crap, and I don’t think he is either.

  Not good.

  I stand rooted in place, my lips parted as I take him in, my perusal like a sponge too long denied a drop of moisture. He’s the tall drink of water.

  He takes the leisurely, scenic route down my body, leaving a path of heat in its wake.

  I search for something smart-assed to say but my mouth, much like my body, refuses to cooperate. Lack of sex is obviously not allowing oxygen to get to the part of my brain that controls my snarky, sarcastic imp
ulses. Oxygen sure isn’t having a problem getting to all my girlie parts.

  “Troy, I’m about to turn in.” Moving closer to my bed, I hope that if I don’t act like him being in my room wearing nothing to cover his chiseled abs isn’t a big deal, it won’t be. We have, after all, seen each other naked.

  “We’re not done talking.” With that he pushes the door closed and ratchets up my breathing.

  Okay, don’t panic. Just breathe. I can handle this. I then hang onto to those reassuring words like a mountain climber would his handhold.

  I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. “Troy, what are you doing?”

  His response is to subject me to a sexy, half-lidded stare. Flustered, I return my gaze to his tanned, muscled chest and down to his tight, bounce a quarter off them abs.

  Life isn’t fair. How the hell am I supposed to resist that? I’m not made out of stone. But I have to say something or things will veer out of my control. “Um, Troy, I think you’re forgetting the ground rules.”

  Instead of responding, he starts purposely toward me, his gaze so smolderingly hot, I’m positive it will leave rug burns.

  The predatory way he stalks from the door to my bed makes it clear that playing by the rules is the last thing on his mind.

  “Do you want him?” he asks gruffly when he stops in front of me.

  “Who?” I ask, feeling bewildered and unbelievably turned on at the same time.

  “Mallard. Johnson. Steve. Any of them.”

  “No, I—” And that’s as far as I got before he tugs me into his arms.

  “Thank fuck.” The relief in his voice is heartfelt as his warm breath gusts over my face. The next thing I know, I’m flat on my bed and he’s over me, his hard-on stiff and thick at the notch of my thighs.

  Weaving his fingers with mine, he presses them down at the sides of my head. “Here’s the thing, I planned to take things slow with you—let things build naturally. But it kills me seeing you with other guys. I hate thinking about you being with another guy. And it drives me bat-shit crazy imagining you having sex with another guy. I’m the one who should be fucking you senseless every night.”

  His statement is a verbal stroke, causing the walls of my sex to contract involuntarily. Moisture pools between my legs, readying me for the senseless fucking he promised.

  What? I must have only mouthed the words because I don’t hear anything but my own accelerated breathing.

  “Troy, this can’t happen again.” Don’t ask me where I found the strength because my body is in serious conflict with my brain. I can’t let him toy with me whenever it suits him. I need to get over him and move on.

  He rolls his hips, grinding his cock against me. I have to bite my lip to stop from making a sound. And right now, keeping my lower body perfectly still feels like a life and death matter—or at the least a sanity-preserving one.

  “Oh it’s going to happen again and again and again. It’s never going to stop,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over mine.

  Again and again? Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? Next month? My dizzy mind tries to make sense of what that means.

  “C’mon. You’re not being fair.” It’s as close to a surrender as I’m going to give.

  “No, no, no,” he assures me in a soft voice, bringing his mouth next to my ear. “I want us. You and me, together the way it’s always meant to be. And I don’t think this is one-sided.”

  His words ricochet off every emotional chord in me. They’re words I’ve wanted to hear—thought I’d never hear—coming from his lips. It’s almost too good to believe.

  Too good. He broke up with psycho Melissa three weeks ago. That cold hard fact is the reality check I need to put his sudden declaration into perspective.

  “Troy, before we do anything, I think you need a little more time,” I whisper as I stare into his hooded gray eyes.

  “No.” He’s never sounded so adamant. “I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t about any other girl. If anything, all the girls I’ve dated were placeholders for you.”

  My heart thumps hard beneath my breastbone. “Don’t say things just to make me—”

  Shaking his head, he presses a firm kiss on my lips to shut me up. It works. “It’s the truth. It may have taken me a long time to figure it out, but it’s the truth. Why do you think I’ve hated every single guy you’ve ever gone out with?”

  “Because you’re my best friend, and no one was ever going to be good enough for me.”

  He treats me to a lascivious smile, which is a huge turn on. My legs part in response and his eyes darken.

  “Let’s get one thing very straight. I’ve never seen you as just a friend. Never. Remember when we were seven and I wanted to play I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? It started then. And by the way, yours look way better now that you’re all grown up.”

  His gaze drops to my chest as he releases my hand and cups my breast in his palm. All the blood in my body makes a mad dash to my erogenous zones.

  “Tell me you want this?” he murmurs, tracing my nipple over the thin cotton of my pajama top. His lusty gaze returns to mine. “Or that you don’t.”

  I could lie and say I don’t find all this caveman bullshit as sexy as hell but I won’t because I haven’t had sex in almost a year, and it’s night, and the best sex I ever had is about to give me some. Fighting my desire for him is like trying to outrun a tsunami bearing down on me.

  I pant out a breath and shift my hips. Sue me, I’m easy when it comes to this man. “Do I have another choice?”

  “Yes, you can tell me you’ve been dying to give me a blowjob.”

  My laugh quickly becomes a moan when he chuckles in that sensual way of his, and slides the spaghetti straps of the tee down my arm, pulling the soft material with it until he has my breast completely exposed to his hungry gaze.

  “Or how about I blow this?” he says huskily. Then he lowers his head, and I feel cool air wafting my nipple, turning it into a hard bud of pure need.

  His gaze shoots back up to my face to gauge my reaction, and all I know is that I’m tipsy with lust. When his mouth closes over my nipple, I’m well on my way to being falling down drunk on it.

  Oh Gawd. I tip my head back on the pillow and close my eyes as I spear my fingers into the dark silk of his hair. He suckles me until I’m incoherent with need, and then proceeds to render me mindless by stabbing the tip with his tongue. Pleasure isn’t even the word I’d use to describe the relentless pull on my sex.

  “How does this feel?” he asks in a guttural voice before he circles the outside of my nipple with his tongue.

  “Hmmm.” I swivel my hips and widen my legs. His cock, hard as a hammer, rests high on my inner thigh. I need him inside me. I want him naked.

  No reading of the mind necessary here, not when we both want the same thing. The next thing I know, he’s levered his hard frame off me and tugged my pajama top over my head, then strips me of my shorts just as quickly.

  When I’m lying naked on my back, his eyes go black with desire. Lust. Without removing his gaze from me, he moves to the side of the bed. Slowly, he takes off his bottoms. The entire time he’s performing his inadvertent strip tease, his eyes ever so leisurely take in every inch of my naked body. I avidly do the same to his, devouring the sight of his broad chest, his taut abdomen, his muscled legs and arms.

  It’s been a couple years since I’ve seen him like this, and although I remember exactly how thick and full he’d felt inside me, I’d never had a chance to see him as clearly as tonight.

  He’s big.

  My mouth goes dry and moisture pools in my sex, my body preparing to welcome him in.

  “God, how the hell was I able to stay away from you this long?” Stepping out of the pool of cotton at his feet, he absently tosses a foil packet on the nightstand, then places his left knee near my hip on the bed and proceeds to straddle me.

  “Are you saying it was hard?” I ask, looking pointedly at his erection angling toward his
stomach.

  Troy stares down at me, his eyes nearly closed and his nostrils flared. “Harder than you’ll ever know.”

  I run my tongue over my bottom lip and my hands rise to grasp his hips.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” I ask, my voice breath and air, the need inside me pulsing with each beat of my heart. Growing.

  “I’m not trying to be pre-ejaculate Joe here,” he answers in a gravelly voice that tells me how much he’s fighting for control.

  When I think how long it’s been for me. How long I’ve waited for this, I can safely say that control is overrated.

  “It doesn’t matter how quick you are off the draw, it won’t be faster than me,” I promise, with an encouraging undulation of my hips.

  A stuttered moan leaves his lips as he comes down on me and our mouths meet in an explosion of need and hunger, lips, teeth and tongues. Unlike the pace he’d been operating at a minute ago, his movements are desperately frantic. Like he can’t get enough of me. That it can’t happen fast enough.

  As for me, I’m ready. It’s been two years of foreplay. Hooking my feet around his legs, I open myself up completely to him, lifting my pelvis so he knows exactly what I’m searching for. So that he knows I don’t want to wait.

  A tortured hiss escapes from between his teeth when the length of his cock slides over the slippery seam of my sex. “Fuuuccckkkk.”

  I pull his bottom lip into my mouth and run my tongue along his soft wet flesh. He slides his hands under my ass and tilts my hips up. My mind has only one chant. Do it. Do it. Take me. I want him inside me so bad, I can taste it.

  When he breaks the kiss and pulls away, I pray to God it’s so he can get protection and put me out of my misery. But instead of getting the condom, it quickly becomes obvious he has another intent when he brushes kisses over my breasts, my stomach and he uses the broad width of his shoulders to hold my legs open.

  His cheeks hollow, and then the place between my legs where I’m hot, wet and throbbing is immediately bathed by a stream of warm air. My sex clenches and convulses so strongly, I know I’m inches away from losing it.

  Just as he did before, he looks up, his hot gaze boring into mine. “How’s that for a blowjob?” The second the last word leaves his mouth, he ducks his head back down and runs his tongue along the center of my folds in a thorough, toe-curling lick.