by Jen Morris
But he doesn’t care. It’s obvious in the way he drags his nose over my shoulder, along my collarbone, inhaling my scent, exhaling his satisfaction. His hands slide down the sides of my breasts, over my stomach, palms flat as they smooth across my skin, and I realize I’m being savored, treasured. And just like that, I’ve never felt more beautiful.
“Alex…” His voice is husky, like it’s a chore to speak. “You’re all I’ve wanted for so long. I—fuck.” He climbs on top of me now, caging me inside his arms as he stares down at me. But he’s not touching me at all and I’m dying.
I slide my hands onto his butt and pull him down between my parted legs. His weight settles over me—heavy, solid, pressing me into the mattress—and I sigh at the feeling of his warm skin against mine, his bulk pinning me to the spot. I’m not small, but he’s bigger than any guy I’ve ever been in bed with—a solid wall of muscle and man. Beneath him I feel almost delicate, and this delights me.
“Am I too heavy? I don’t want—”
“You’re fucking perfect,” I breathe. “You’re all I want.”
His eyes crinkle into a smile, then his lips are on mine, taking my mouth in a hard, passionate kiss. His hands are shaking as he lowers them to undo his belt buckle, and when I slip my greedy hands inside and take hold of him, he groans, pressing himself against my palm. I can’t believe I’m finally touching him and—fuck—I am not disappointed. That’s another thing my fantasy self could never have adequately imagined: the thickness of him, the firm and silky feeling of him, the way he grows even harder in my hand.
Every stroke draws a low growl from his throat, an involuntary thrust from his hips, until he reaches for my hand and pulls it off him. “Stop. Or this will all be over right now.”
I giggle, dizzy with the knowledge that I’m making him as crazy as he’s making me. I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment, though, because my next plan was to use my mouth.
He stands and shucks his jeans, his boxer-briefs, and I gape at him naked before me. Fucking hell. He’s glorious. I have the brief thought that he’s ruined me, now; I’ll never be able to look at another man with desire. But I don’t care. I don’t want another man again.
He points to my underwear with a sexy grin. “Off. Now.” His tone has a bossy edge to it and I give a huff of arousal as I kick my panties off.
He lies back beside me and when his hand snakes down below my waist, I quiver against him.
“Oh God, Alex,” he murmurs as his fingers slide over the wet heat between my thighs.
He kisses me roughly, his fingers moving over me in slow, deliberate strokes, dipping inside, teasing. It only takes a few seconds of this for me to know that sex with him is going to be better than anything I’ve had before. This isn’t some sloppy fumble with one eye on the TV, some half-hearted prod below the waist before he can move onto the good stuff. But then, he’s not some twenty-something guy I met at the pub. He’s a man—a man who’s been married and had a kid and come out the other side, wiser for it. He’s taking his time, relishing the way my body responds, eager to learn the things I like. And it’s working.
I arch into his hand, begging for more with my hips, and I feel him smile against my mouth. He’s taunting me, holding off, and impatience tears through me.
“Michael,” I whine. “You’re killing me.”
He laughs. “Yeah. Okay.” He pushes back with a playful grin, running his hands down my thighs. Then the grin completely drops off his face. “Shit. I don’t think I have a condom.” He leans over and rifles through the nightstand, then turns back to me, wide-eyed.
“You don’t have one in your wallet?”
He shakes his head. It’s ironic, but the fact that he doesn’t carry them makes me want him even more.
I prop myself up on my elbows, glancing at the window and remembering the snow. We can’t even dash out to the store. Disappointment crushes my ribcage as I look back at Michael, naked and more than ready to have sex with me.
Have we really come this close only to stop?
33
And then something occurs to me.
“Wait!” I say, leaping up and darting into my room for my bag. I rummage through it, searching for the stash I kept in there for Travis and I. He hated to carry them. I know it was a while ago now, but… please tell me I didn’t throw them out. I dump the contents of my bag onto the bed and paw through it frantically.
And then I remember: the zip compartment in the back! I rip it open and inside is a whole strip of them.
Yes! I send up a silent prayer of thanks as I race back into Michael’s room and hold them up triumphantly.
Shit. This makes me look a bit slutty, proudly brandishing twelve condoms in the air. As if I’m always walking around with this many in my pocket, ready to drop my pants for anyone, anytime.
“I’ve had these for ages,” I mumble, my neck hot. “I don’t always… well, you know, my ex and I—”
“It’s okay.” Michael’s lip twitches. “You don’t have to explain. It’s your business.”
“I know, but I want you to know. I don’t just jump into bed—I mean, I haven’t—”
“Alex, I know.” His mouth softens into a smile as he reaches for me from the bed.
I climb on beside him, handing the condoms over. I know I should look away, but I can’t. My eyes are glued to the deft movement of his fingertips rolling the condom down his length, desire throbbing hot and heavy between my legs. How did I end up here, about to have sex with this man?
He looks up to catch me watching and a slow, wide grin stretches across his face. Then he nudges me back onto the mattress, his eyes intense as he lowers his weight back onto me, settles himself between my thighs. The heat of him—the smell of him—rushes over me, and I sigh. I love the pressure of him against me, heavy and reassuring, his mouth so close we are breathing the same air.
He lies there for a moment, gazing at me, and raises a hand to brush my hair out of my eyes. My heart is drumming as I look up at him, drunk with desire.
Carefully, he pushes inside me. I gasp at the thickness of him, waiting for my body to adjust, to soften and allow all of him in. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t start jackhammering away; he waits too, and it’s his patience that allows me to relax. When he can tell I’m comfortable, he gives a gentle roll of his hips, and pleasure radiates through me, into every corner of my body.
“Uhhhh,” is all I manage, digging my fingernails into his shoulders and trying not to fall apart. We haven’t even started and I’m almost finished. I get the sense that if he’s not careful, he could destroy me. But that’s exactly what I want.
He grins at my incoherent response and crushes his lips to mine, moving inside me. “Fuck,” he murmurs, kissing along my jaw, his beard scratching against the sensitive skin on my neck. “You feel amazing. I knew you would.”
I want to say something back, something to communicate the sensation of bliss sweeping through me, but I can’t find the words. All I can do is thread my hands up into his hair and bring his mouth back to mine, kissing him with such intensity that he’ll know how I feel without me saying a thing.
He sinks into the kiss as we move together, our bodies learning the feel of each other, the shape of each other. Even in bed he’s a gentleman; focused on me, making sure I feel good, watching to see how I respond and adjusting accordingly. So attentive, so thoughtful.
But I can tell he’s holding back, and all I want is for him to let his body take over. I’ve waited months, hungry for this man and his touch, and I don’t want him to be careful and measured with me. I want all of him, including the urges he’s trying to suppress. I want it reckless, I want it raw.
“Michael,” I breathe. “You don’t have to be so gentle.”
“I’m just—” he rasps against the skin of my neck, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to rush.” His lips press, then suck, and I clench with how badly I want him to let loose on me.
“Please,” I beg. “I w
ant—I need you to give me everything. I want you to wreck me.” Christ, I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I’ve never asked for what I want in bed like this, but with him… I can’t not.
His movements still, and he draws away enough to meet my gaze. I feel a pinprick of uncertainty, but his eyes darken to black and he gives a grunt of approval. He pushes back, sliding his left hand down behind my knee and lifting my leg up onto his shoulder. Using his other hand to brace himself, he changes the angle and gives another thrust, watching for my response. I nod and his hips roll forward again, and again. He’s deeper now, but his movements are still constrained and I can’t stand it.
I need to push him, make him lose control. I lift a hand to my breast and his gaze drops to it. He’s breathing hard as he watches the way my fingertips pinch my nipple. I don’t even know who I am right now, but I can’t stop. When I reach for his hand and place it on my breast, guiding his thumb over the hard peak, an inhuman growl tears from his mouth. His eyes flame with lust and he forces my leg up higher, sending a thrill through me as he increases his pace. I puff out a hot breath, my heart rate doubling as he takes control, takes what he wants.
“Fuck, Alex.” His voice is rough, almost angry. His brow is pulled low, his jaw set hard, and I get a flashback to the Michael I met in Starbucks, the guy I ran into on Halloween. Finally—here’s the gruff man I wanted to ravage me. He’s brutal passion, intensity; his mouth set in a determined line as he drives into me again and again, all measure of self-control gone. It’s the most delicious sensation, the force of him slamming into me, the power in his hips as he shows me no mercy.
He’s giving me exactly what I want and it’s driving me wild—like, actually wild: I claw at him like an animal and bite into his arm beside me, making broken, mewling sounds. I seem to have lost all inhibitions because the only thing that matters right now is the feel of him inside me and the need blazing in his eyes.
It takes me entirely by surprise, my own release. I feel the pressure building, I know I’m winding up like a jack-in-the-box—but most of the time it never pops, not during sex, not unless I pry the lid open myself. But Michael is relentless and he knows exactly which spot to hit.
I gasp as I realize what’s happening, bucking against the mattress, my eyes pressing closed. He holds me down, grunting with exertion. I know he’s watching everything, but I’m too far gone to care. I’m splintering apart, scattering into the ether, riding the sensations ripping through me. A whimper escapes my lips and he lowers his mouth to capture it, to capture me as I give myself over to him.
Just as I think I’ve wrung every drop of pleasure from my body, it hits me again: another explosion of ecstasy, shattering me into a million pieces. Michael’s hand is tugging at my hair now, his mouth devouring mine, his hips still pumping forward, and I’m not sure how much more of this exquisite annihilation I can take. But he’s reached his limit too. He lets out a primal groan, throwing his body down onto me. I hold him close as he shudders against me, all of him mine in that moment. Then he goes still, his skin hot against mine, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.
We lie like that for a while, with him still inside me, his body still pressed against me, and I can’t help but wish he would never move.
34
Eventually, Michael peels himself off me and ducks into the bathroom. I stand to grab my underwear from the floor, but my legs buckle beneath me. Jesus. I can’t even stand after that, it was so good.
With a delirious giggle I push onto my wobbly legs and reach for my underwear, clumsily yanking them on. Michael returns a moment later with a chunky knitted blanket over one arm and a lazy smile on his mouth. He pulls on his boxer-briefs then hops back onto the bed, patting the spot next to him. I crawl up his side and he slips an arm around me, draping the blanket over us both. Then he dips his head to plant a long, lingering kiss on my lips, and I hum contentedly against his mouth.
“Just so you know,” I murmur, snuggling into his warm chest, “that was not disappointing.”
He chuckles and I feel it reverberate through my body as he tightens his arms around me. “Are you sure?”
I pull back, giving him a dead serious expression. “Are you kidding me? It wasn’t even on the borderline of disappointing. In fact,” I say, snuggling back in and inhaling his intoxicating, masculine scent, “I was not disappointed twice.”
“Oh.” He chuckles again, burying his face in my hair. “Good. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to not disappoint you. Ever since I saw you dressed up on Halloween…” he trails off and when I draw back to look at him, he’s biting hard into his bottom lip.
“Seriously?” I gape at him in disbelief. “You were checking me out as Snow White?”
“Fuck yes. You looked so damn hot in that costume.” He shakes his head and makes a sexy grunting sound, his eyes glinting. “You want to know what I did as soon as I got upstairs after seeing you in that?”
I give a little huff, feeling hot all over as I picture him at home, touching himself and thinking of me. And God, if I had a dollar for every time I’d done the same and thought of him, I’d be a bloody millionaire.
“I actually—” He breathes a laugh, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s about to admit. “I liked you the moment you spilled coffee on me in Starbucks.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Why do you think I held onto your number?”
I twist in his arms to face him properly. “But you were so angry!”
“Yeah, I was. Look, it wasn’t great being scalded by hot coffee.” He nudges me playfully in the arm. “But I was more mad at myself for being attracted to you.”
I bite back a grin, because that’s… that’s fucking adorable. “But why were you such a dick to me after that?”
“I don’t know.” He grimaces. “I was dealing with all that shit in court, and you just kept showing up, refusing to let me forget who you were.”
“It wasn’t intentional!”
“I know,” he says, a smile hinting at his mouth. “When I saw you on Halloween… I know I wasn’t nice. I was just so sick of women playing games and trying to manipulate me. My ex is a master at it and it drives me crazy. I’d been dealing with all that in court, and then my date had been a nightmare... Then I saw you and it was like you were the same. Another beautiful woman just messing me around.”
“What? How?”
He lifts a shoulder. “You were just there in the lobby, looking so fucking sexy but being so cold. It felt like you were taunting me. I wanted you and I couldn’t have you.”
“I wanted you too.” I glance away, feeling my cheeks color as I add, “I started writing my romance novel after that night.”
He gives another grunt. “Fuck, Alex. We should have just gotten together then.”
“Yeah. We’ve wasted a lot of time, haven’t we?”
He strokes his beard, thinking, then says, “No. I’m glad we did this the long way. Because we didn’t rush into something before we were ready. I’ve done that before and it never works out.” He repositions himself to gaze at me. “You’re not like most of the women I’ve met. A lot of the women in New York are—” He cuts himself off with a heavy exhalation. “Look, I know not all women are like this, but it just feels like the ones I’ve been meeting lately are man-eaters. They have these insanely high standards and they want perfection. They treat dating like a sport and everything is so fake. It’s exhausting.”
I think of Cat and her dating spree the past few months: the way she compared it to a job interview and the amount of work she puts into looking and behaving a certain way when she goes on a date. I guess he’s not wrong.
“But you—you’re just yourself and you don’t try to impress me. You’re so caring, so sweet. You see the good in the world, you’re optimistic and hopeful.” His eyes are tender, lit with affection. “I know those are the things you don’t like about yourself, but they’re the things that make you who you are.”
&nbs
p; Warmth rushes along my skin, down my limbs, sinking into my bones. I think of Christmas Day in his kitchen, when he held me and made me feel understood, and I realize I feel the same way now. I always do around him.
“And I’m sorry I was such a jerk earlier,” he adds quietly. “After Christmas, I felt so connected to you. And then on New Year’s… I don’t know. You’ve been so hot and cold with me. It felt like you were playing games and I am so over that shit. I’m not going to do that.”
“Oh,” I murmur. “I’d never thought of it like that. Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to play games.”
“I know.” He takes my hand, sliding his fingers between mine and squeezing. “It’s okay, I know. That’s not who you are.”
“It’s not. I could never do that to you, Michael. You’re such a good guy. When I’m with you I just feel like myself. You listen to me and I feel like… I don’t know. You understand me and accept me in a way that no one else does.” I pause, then add, “And you’re a great dad. I know you worry that you’re not, but you are.”
He gazes at me with a sad smile and I wonder when someone last said these things to him. He needs someone to tell him he’s a good guy and a good dad. I feel a sting in my heart at the thought that maybe he’s been a bit lonely. I don’t ever want him to feel that again.
Regret seeps into me as I think about the past couple of months, the time I’ve let slip away. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I shouldn’t have fought this so hard.”
He raises my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “It’s okay. I know you had your reasons.”
I look down at our hands with a sigh. “Yeah,” I mumble, wondering how to explain that after Travis dumped me, I was beginning to believe the problem wasn’t men—it was me. I always find it too easy to imagine—or hope for—things that aren’t there. I still feel like I can’t quite trust my ability to distinguish between reality and fantasy.
But when I look at myself through Michael’s eyes, I see things differently. I see myself the way he sees me—and that’s why it feels like this time, it’s different. I really want to trust that feeling.