by Kim Loraine
My chest tightens, and I pull her to me. I don’t want her to leave. I want to spend the rest of the night making her writhe on my bed, pleasuring her until she can’t see straight.
“Stay,” I blurt, unable to stomach the idea of her leaving before sunrise. “I told you I wanted someone to share the night with. The night isn’t over.”
I can see the rejection forming in her mind. Before she can answer, I pull her to me, her warm breasts pressing against my cool skin. She moans against my lips. “Galen.”
Sliding my hand between her legs, I groan when I find her slick with desire. Tenderly, I run my fingers over her, dipping in slow and careful. She spreads her legs wider, inviting me inside, and I oblige. The feeling of her arousal on my fingers sends the blood rushing to fill my cock, and it’s all I can do not to throw her on her back and pound myself roughly into her.
“I don’t know if I can again,” she says.
I nod, understanding what she means. I’m well aware she’ll be tender for a few days, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pleasure her in other ways. “You don’t have to. Let me take care of you.”
She throws her head back and lets out a sigh when my thumb presses over her clit, massaging as my fingers curl and slide slowly in her. I can see the orgasm blossoming in the form of a rush of blood to her cheeks, the curling of her toes, and the clenching of her walls around me. She’s so close. Moving faster, I add one more finger before taking her breast into my mouth. As I suck her taut nipple, she threads her fingers through my hair, grasping and pulling hard enough to cause a delicious pain to run down my spine. She cries out and convulses on my hand.
I’m painfully hard and in desperate need of release, but she’s spent, I can tell. Her heavy-lidded gaze and sated smile tell me everything I need to know. I know she wants to sleep. Part of me wants to distract her from the need to rest. Fuck her into oblivion just to satisfy my own needs. I only have a short two hours until sunrise, and I want to spend every moment with her hands on me. Who knows how long this ability to act on my lust will continue.
Her breathing becomes deep and regular, her brow soft and relaxed. I know I’ve lost her. I can’t help but run my hands over her velvet-smooth skin, caressing the rise of her breast, the swell of her hips. I know I’ll need to let her go, move on, but the very idea leaves me with an ache in my chest so acute, I have to take a deep breath. I stay there next to her until I can feel the sun rising and I have to retreat. Pressing a kiss to her lips, I slip from the bed and head to my basement hideaway. Safe from the sun, but dying a little because Reese can’t be mine.
The sun is high in the sky when I wake. Where am I? The room is unfamiliar, and I’m naked. Then it comes back to me. Galen. A satisfied ache between my thighs begins to build, and I reach for him, only to find an empty bed. He’s gone. Disappointment settles over me, but I push it aside. This is what I wanted. A no-strings screw to finally rid me of my virginity. I’m the only twenty-three-year-old virgin I know. Well, not anymore.
My thighs clench at the memory of him hovering over me, pressing into me—God—moving with sure and deliberate strokes until we both climaxed. I’d heard from all my friends that the first time was awful, but it would get better. They all said it was better to get it out of the way with someone who didn’t matter so I could find someone who did and have passionate sex without the awkwardness of losing my V card. They were so wrong. Galen has ruined me for other men. I’m sure of it.
Feeling a little used and abandoned, I collect my clothes piece by piece as I walk from the bedroom to the living room. He’s nowhere to be found, and I can’t help the anger that bubbles to the surface. He’s the one who asked me to stay. I’d wanted to leave with my dignity intact. Now, here I am, about to do the walk of shame without so much as coffee to go. I stop by the bathroom before I leave, taking a minute to clean up and wash my face before I call a cab. I look different. I feel different, that’s for sure.
By the time I get home, the exhaustion hits me. My limbs are heavy and sore, not unlike the time I thought running a marathon was a good idea. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But, I can’t. Trisha, my nosy roommate is waiting for me, wearing a shit-eating grin and last night’s mascara smudged on her cheeks.
“Reese Wells, you whore!” she exclaims as soon as I walk through the door.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Trisha.”
I breeze past her and pour myself a cup of coffee, all the while feeling her burning holes in my back.
“You went home with someone. Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. Did you give it up? Was he good? Who was it? I hope he was as hot as the guy from the bar. That guy looked like he would be amazing. Majorly fuckable.”
A hot blush creeps up my neck, and I know if I turn around now she’ll see. In an effort to put it off as long as possible, I grab a bagel, slice it, and pop it in the toaster. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, damn. Was it that bad?” Trisha’s voice takes on a sympathetic tone. “Who was it? Do I know him?”
My shoulders stiffen. He was anything but bad. “No. It wasn’t bad,” I say as I stall for time, puttering around the kitchen and waiting for the toaster to pop. “It was him.” When she gives me a blank stare, I shrug. “The guy from the bar. I ran into him last night after work.”
Her jaw drops. “You’re the luckiest woman I know. I swear to God.” She surveys me and gives me a sympathetic look. “It gets better.”
Now I need to defend Galen. “Honestly, I don’t think it does.”
“Oh, honey. I promise. The first time sucks.”
The toaster beeps and I grab my bagel, burning the tips of my fingers in the process. After smearing it with cream cheese, I sit across from her. I know I can’t avoid giving her details any longer. “It didn’t suck. It was amazing. We barely slept.”
Trisha’s brows rise before her lips spread in a sly smile. “I knew he’d be good. Just the way he moved around the bar turned me on. Are you going to see him again?”
I shake my head. “No. I think it’s for the best. We didn’t even exchange numbers.”
She rolls her eyes. “Only you would have a man like that in your grasp and let him get away.”
“He’s … intense,” I say, not knowing how else to describe him.
“And hot as fuck. How many times did you do it? Did he make you come? How big is his dick?”
My cheeks flame. This is too personal. Trisha has no boundaries when it comes to sex, but I’m not like her. Sex is intimate, private. Even if I never see Galen again, I’m keeping this memory between him, me, and the bedsheets.
“You know, I’m exhausted. I’ve got to get some sleep before work tonight.”
She pouts and gets up to pour herself another cup. “Fine, but I’ll get some details out of you eventually. You can’t get a fine piece like him and not share the wealth. Roommate privilege.”
Shaking my head, I make my way back to my bedroom with my coffee and breakfast in hand. My head is pounding, and suddenly I’m overcome by a wave of nausea. Shit. Leaving my food untouched, I fall to my bed and let sleep claim me, hoping I’m just feeling the effects of an all-nighter and not coming down with something.
I dream of his deep Irish brogue, his tongue and fingers, gentle kisses followed by breath-stealing passionate embraces. He stares intensely, unblinking and questioning. They say you can fall in love after only four minutes of eye contact, and that’s what this feels like. My heart aches to be connected to him in some way. All I want is his presence near me. I hear him whisper my name, “Reese,” with an urgency I wasn’t prepared for.
My eyes snap open, and I sit up too fast. Head spinning, I work to control my breathing. My heart is pounding as I grab my phone and check the time. Almost six o’clock in the evening. I’d slept for five hours straight and am going to be late for work.
“Shit,” I grumble, pulling my rumpled clothes from my body and racing to the shower.
In five minutes flat, I’m washed and dressed, pulling my long hair into a messy topknot and brushing my teeth in record time. I don’t bother with makeup, mostly because I have no spare time. If I’m late again, my boss will kill me.
I pull into the employee parking lot of the jazz club I’ve worked at for the last year. I manage the talent each night, which means I’m basically a gopher. We get a lot of famous jazz musicians through here each month. Unfortunately, most of them are major divas.
“Reese, cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” Barnes, my boss, observes as I fly through the back door.
“Sorry, I slept through my alarm.”
He looks me up and down with a frown turning down his lips. “You look like shit. Are you sick?”
Shrugging, I offer him a bright smile. “No. Just had a late night, and I didn’t sleep well.”
Pursing his lips, he nods and walks away, leaving me to prep for the night.
We’ve got a big act arriving in under thirty minutes. I’m not a jazz fan myself, but this guy has five Grammy awards under his belt and is apparently a real big deal. All I know is he’s got a performance rider about a mile long. He needs no fewer than five types of bottled water, from sparkling to still, jelly beans with all the black ones picked out, peeled grapes, and the thermostat set to sixty-eight point five degrees. I hate him already as I sift through the five freaking pounds of jelly beans, eating all the black ones myself.
He arrives late, with barely ten minutes to spare before show time, and I’m a ball of stress. I don’t need this shit. I’m tired, my head hurts, and I’m cranky. On the plus side, I don’t have to deal with him for very long before we’re ushering him on stage and he’s out of my hair. As the music starts, I sag in relief against the wall. I’m sick from all the candy I ate and realize I really haven’t eaten all day. Heading to the kitchen, I snag a chicken salad and a soda before slipping inconspicuously into a two-seater table in the back. I like to watch the shows if I can. Maybe one day I’ll start to like jazz. The next song starts, and I frown. Maybe not.
“Reese?” Galen’s voice fills my ears, sending an uncontrollable shiver over me.
I look up from my salad to see him inexplicably standing in front of me. He looks even better than I remembered. Dark hair combed away from his forehead, curling just a bit at his collar. His dark irises sparkle with some unreadable emotion, happiness maybe, or trepidation, I can’t tell.
“Galen! Wh-what are you doing here?” All I can think of is how crappy Barnes had said I looked.
“I like jazz,” he offers simply. “And you?”
“I uh, I work here.”
He nods, a soft smile on his beautiful mouth. “Can I join you?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair across from me.
I tense. What should I do? I never thought I’d see him again, and now he’s in front of me less than twenty-four hours after he blew my mind and left me a quivering postcoital mess. Without waiting for an answer, he sits, grinning at me over the table.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to have breakfast with you. I had some work to do.”
Trying to play it cool, I shrug. “It’s fine. I figured we weren’t planning to see each other again.”
A hurt look flickers over him, and I suffer a pang of regret. His hand finds mine, and a jolt of pleasure runs up my arm. “It might have started that way, Reese, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My heart stutters. If I’m honest with him, he’ll have me completely. “I want you,” I say, hoping he catches my meaning. I want him inside me, now, filling me and easing the ache he caused when he left.
“Come,” he whispers, pulling me from my chair and into his arms.
I should tell him no. I’m at work, for God’s sake. But he’s here, touching me, sending that raging fire of lust through me, and I’m lost.
“Where can we be alone?” he asks.
I pause, thinking of all the possible places we could go. Taking his arm, I lead the way back through the kitchen and into the green room. He’s on me as soon as I throw the dead bolt. His hands pull at my shirt, his teeth nip my neck, and I can feel his erection as he grinds his hips against mine.
“Why are you wearing pants?” he complains as he runs his hands over my hips. “So much more effort.”
I laugh as I tug at his belt. “Now you know how I feel.”
“I finally understand why the Scots wear kilts.”
I free him from his pants, my hand delving into his boxers and encircling his rigid cock. We stop talking, communicating only in gasps and moans as he removes my slacks and underwear before pressing me against the wall and lifting me high enough that he can slide inside me. The pain is still there, a slight burn as I stretch around him, but this time, it’s good. So good, right from the beginning.
“I can’t be gentle this time,” he says through clenched teeth.
“I don’t want you to be.”
As he pounds into me, fast and hard, the orgasm starts to build. Unable to keep quiet, I bite down on his neck to muffle my cries of pleasure as I come apart in his arms. He growls, honest to God, and picks up the pace, relentless and punishing.
“Harder. Bite harder,” he pleads.
I do. I bite so hard, I taste blood on my tongue and move to pull away, but he’s groaning and pulsing, coming with a ferocity I didn’t know was possible.
“Jesus.” His voice is breathy and satisfied.
Jesus is right. I’m light-headed and wobbly as he places my feet on the ground, his lips pressed to mine in a passionate kiss. At first I think this is just the aftereffect of fast and furious sex, that my body is trying to catch up with my brain. But then my world tilts, my vision goes gray, and I fall to the ground as everything fades away.
“Fuck!” I yell as Reese crumples to the floor.
That was not the reaction I expected from her. As I scoop her up and cradle her in my arms, I notice her labored breathing, waxy complexion, and clammy skin. She’s unwell. How could I have missed that?
“Reese? Reese, wake up.”
I shake her, trying to bring her around, but nothing works. What the bloody hell is happening to her? I tune in to the sound of her heart beating and heave a sigh of relief that it at least sounds strong. Her lashes flutter until she stares at me, dazed and unfocused.
“What happened?” she asks, her speech slow and deliberate, like someone who has had too much to drink and is trying to sound sober.
“You passed out on me.”
She rests her head on my chest and squeezes her eyes shut. Her face is still pale, and she clenches her teeth and breathes through her nose.
“Are you going to be sick?”
She shakes her head, refusing to open her mouth.
“I’m taking you home. You’re clearly ill.”
“No. Galen, I need to work. I can’t just leave without notice.”
With a soft curse, I attempt to set her down, but as soon as I stop supporting her weight, her knees buckle, and she’s in my arms once again. “That’s settled, then. You’re coming home with me until you feel better.”
“I’ll be fine,” she argues.
“No. You can’t even walk. You’re coming home with me. You can argue all you want, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She huffs, annoyed, but allows me to help her dress before I pick her up and carry her outside to my waiting car. By the time we pull out of the parking lot, she’s fallen into a fitful sleep.
She’s feverish. I can feel the heat radiating off her as I carry her to my bed. Even still, I want her. What is wrong with me? Soft moans come from her as she tosses and turns between my sheets. Her cheeks are red, and I can see beads of sweat on her forehead. Knowing she needs rest, I turn off the light and move away, planning to leave.
“Galen,” she murmurs, a frown marring her brow. “Don’t leave me. I need you.”
My heart gives a hard thud against my rib cage as I return to her and lean in, stroking her hair and trying to s
oothe her the only way I know how. “I’m here, a ghra.”
I hum softly the lullaby my ma used to sing to me when I was ill. I’ve long since forgotten the words, but the melody has stuck with me all these years. The line between her eyebrows softens as she relaxes and the frown leaves her lips. When I’m satisfied she’s fallen into a deep slumber, I carefully leave the room, heading down the stairs in search of my phone. Someone will need to be here during the day to care for her.
The click of the front door opening has me on alert, until I recognize the familiar scent of Devin.
“You’ve brought that woman back,” Devin observes. He doesn’t look pleased as he sizes me up. “You smell of her.”
“I’m glad you’re here. She’s ill, and I need to find someone to care for her during daylight. Do you still have that waitress under your thrall?”
He chuckles and shakes his head as he settles on my couch, resting his boots on the polished wood coffee table. “No. I did away with her years ago. She outlived her usefulness.”
Running a hand through my hair, I pace like a caged animal. I can’t leave Reese here alone to fend for herself. She’ll be out the door and working herself to death before the sun sets.
“Galen, you don’t just smell of her. You smell of sex. Have you fucked her?” Devin seems curiously neutral.
“I have. I don’t understand how or why, but I can’t control the need to be with her. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known.” The wonder in my voice is hard to disguise.
“Damn,” he bites out under his breath.
“What’s that?”
“You said she’s sick?” I nod in response, and he continues. “How long after you were together did she start feeling ill?”
“Well, after this last time, she passed out almost immediately.”
“Damn,” he says again, turning to me apologetically. “Galen, you’ve got to let her go. You’re killing her.”
My heart turns to stone in my chest. “What the bloody hell are you talking about? I haven’t fed from her. I haven’t even wanted to.”