by Joanna Wylde
Finally he pushed his way through the door, dropping down on the futon next to me to pull me into his arms. Then he rolled me on top, wrapping his body around mine.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, sounding all sweet and tender. I snorted, still incapable of catching my breath. “Mellie, it doesn’t matter what he saw. You’re okay.”
I clutched at his leather cut, pushing my head up so I could see him.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, although I was pretty sure there were tears running down my face, probably all mixed with paint. Attractive. His hands rubbed up and down my back, and my legs fell to either side of his hips. Oh hell. I could feel him there—exactly where I needed him—and he was longer and harder than any man had a right to be.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, sniffing. “I was laughing, Painter, not crying. It was just so funny. The look on Jessica’s face. You’d think she’d caught us screwing on her bed. And for the record, I’ve caught her having sex on my bed twice before, so she’d have no right to complain even if we had been . . .”
My voice trailed off as one of his hands dug into my ass, pulling me hard into his pelvis.
“You were laughing?” he asked very carefully.
“Yeah. It was funny. Didn’t you think it was funny?”
A slow grin started to steal across his face, and then he shook his head. “Well, yeah. But girls don’t usually laugh about shit like that.”
I smiled, letting my face drop against his chest.
“I’m not most girls.”
The leather of his club colors was rough against my nipples, and I thought about the look on Taz’s face as he took me in. Appreciation, although not in a creepy way. Felt kind of good, actually. Now I had those unpainted sections he’d so helpfully pointed out pushed up against Painter’s chest. Okay, I hadn’t exactly forgotten . . . but suddenly I was more aware of how my breasts felt rubbing against the fabric and leather covering his body. Then Painter’s hands found my ass, gripping it and giving a squeeze, sending thrills running through me.
“You know, Taz was right about one thing,” he said softly.
“What’s that?” I whispered, feeling the spell fall over us again.
“I really should’ve gotten the bra off you earlier—I’d have loved to paint these tits of yours.”
That set me off laughing again.
“You’re quite the smooth talker, aren’t you?” I managed to gasp out. Painter shrugged, grinning at me.
“Never pretended to be,” he said. I felt him rub up and along my back, and then his hand was in my hair, catching me and pulling me down hard for a kiss. I opened to him, savoring the feel of his tongue sliding along mine.
There’d been a slow fire building in me all night . . . every brushstroke had been sweet torture, and now that fire exploded. My hips shifted as I found myself grinding slowly against him. His big hand cupped me tighter as one knee rose, thrusting his thigh between mine.
Suddenly he broke free from the kiss, gasping and staring at me.
“You really wanna do this?” he asked, his words offering me an escape even as his hands held me prisoner. I smiled down at him.
“Don’t you?”
He gave a short laugh, fingers tightening on my rear. His cock dug obscenely into my stomach.
“This could fuck up our friendship,” he whispered.
“Our friendship’s already fucked,” I reminded him. “There’s no good reason for us to be together, you know. We have nothing in common, different life paths . . . Nothing makes sense, yet it works. Why not enjoy it?”
He nodded slowly, then his mouth took mine again.
PAINTER
Fuck, but she tasted good. I tried to hold back and keep it sweet for her, but once she started grinding on me I sort of lost it. In an instant, I had her on her back and then I was sucking on her tits, one hand ripping open the fly on her shorts. I should’ve been gentle, but my fingers found her pussy like a magnet, thrusting deep inside without any warning.
Wet.
So wet. And hot. Christ, that was gonna feel amazing wrapped around my cock. Sucking her nipple in deep, I worked her, savoring every funny little noise and sigh she gave as my thumb brushed her clit.
“Oh my God,” she whimpered, bucking her hips against my hand. “Fucking hell, Painter. That’s really good.”
I pulled back, giving her a little nip before staring down into her eyes. “You scare the crap out of me, Mel.”
She gasped and I twisted my fingers until her back arched. My dick was thick and heavy, a painful prisoner in my jeans. It wanted inside that pretty cunt of hers in a bad way. I’d planned to get her off before fucking her, but at this rate I’d blow in my pants. Giving her one last, hard kiss I pulled away.
“Strip,” I ordered her, ripping off my shirt. Then I was kicking off my boots and tearing off my jeans to fall back on her again, catching her thigh with one hand, pulling it up and around my waist. That brought her wet cunt into my cock, the tip sliding through her juices, our bodies in perfect alignment.
I slid back and forth across her pussy lips, savoring the touch of her bare skin. Somehow I had to get a condom on without losing contact. Breaking off the kiss, I closed my eyes for a second, taking deep breaths.
“Condom,” I grunted.
“I have some,” she told me, and I frowned. Why the hell should she need condoms? And what kind of fuckin’ hypocrite was I, anyway? I carried condoms all the time.
“I’ll grab one,” I said. No way I’d use a rubber she’d bought for another man. Reaching for my jeans, I pulled out the wallet and got the condom, ripping open the package with my teeth.
“Let me,” Mel said, reaching for it. I let her have it and then her hand was on my cock, covering it with a long, sexy stroke of her fingers. Then I was on her again, pushing the head into her opening.
Tight.
So fucking tight.
Tight and wet and hot for me in a way that no other woman had ever come close to matching . . . She gasped as I pushed deep, moving slowly but steadily until I bottomed out inside her. Her inner muscles tensed around me and my vision started to swim.
Then I pulled back and thrust again.
I’d had a thousand different fantasies of us together over the past year. In my mind, I’d fucked her every way a man can fuck a woman. Twice. I’d always known it would be good—how could fucking a woman like Mel not be good?—but no way could I have imagined this. Sure, her cunt was hot. And the way she squeezed my dick worked for me in a big way, don’t get me wrong. The best part, though, was the way she looked at me, eyes all big and wide and full of surprised excitement because we were just that good together.
She’d been with other guys. I knew this. And I’d been with a shitload of other women . . . somehow this felt like the first time, though. Like I’d just been jerking off before.
Dropping my head, I kissed her as I pumped even deeper.
This couldn’t last forever, but I wished to fuck it could.
MELANIE
I’d never experienced anything quite like sex with Painter. It seemed wrong somehow, the way that he stretched me to the point of pain with every thrust, like it shouldn’t feel so good.
Yet somehow it worked—like our bodies were in tune with each other even though our lives were so mismatched. I’d never actually managed to come during traditional sex before, but I knew the instant he filled me that I’d be satisfied. Not only had he prepped me right (God, had he ever!), but somehow he’d tilted my hips so that every stroke brought his pelvic bone up against my clit.
By the time he started kissing me again, I was already close to the edge. The need and desire and craving that spiraled through my body were building, and I could feel it just ahead of me. A little more . . . All I needed was a little more and then all that energy could explode out of me, setting me free again.
I was already hovering on the edge of overload when he reached down, sliding a hand under my ass to roll us over again. Sudd
enly I was on top and in control, perfectly positioned to take exactly what I needed from him.
Finally.
I’d been waiting for this moment for more than a year . . . Leaning forward, I braced my hand against his shoulders, jerking my hips back and forth, riding him for all I was worth. His firm grip on my waist steadied me, allowing me to focus on one thing and one thing only—getting off.
Then it hit—my body tightened as all that twisted need unraveled at once, destroying me in the process.
“Fuck,” he groaned as I spasmed around him. I felt his dick swelling inside me, pulsing as he flew over the edge, too. “Jesus, fuck . . . Mel.”
Collapsing down over his body, I let him pull me into his arms. Nestling into his shoulder, I decided I wouldn’t think about what this might mean in the grand scheme of things.
Better to just savor it while it lasted.
With that as my last thought, I fell asleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I woke slowly, stretching out across my futon like a satisfied cat.
Sunshine filled the boothlike room, and shards of multicolored light sparkled against the wood-paneled walls from the prisms I’d hung in the window. They’d belonged to my mom, and when she’d taken off, she’d left them behind. I reached for my phone, catching a glimpse of the dried, flaking remains of the face paint.
Memory flooded back.
Painter.
I’d had sex with Painter. Really good sex. I looked to the pillow beside me, finding the imprint he’d left. No sign of him, though . . . Had he taken off? He’d warned me that he wasn’t the type to commit, but had our friendship really fallen apart that easily?
No, I should give him the benefit of the doubt. For all I knew he was downstairs cooking me breakfast.
Standing slowly—isn’t that an interesting little ache between my legs?—I found my bathrobe, then started toward the bathroom, trying not to think about how many times he must’ve fucked and run with other girls. Not like he made me any promises.
God, I was stupid.
I’d left my phone downstairs, so I wasn’t even sure what time it was. Still early. Maybe he’d left me a message.
A quick stop in the bathroom later—holy crap, I need a shower to get all that dried paint off—and I was heading downstairs to find it.
My phone wasn’t on the coffee table or in the dining room, which didn’t bode well. I could hear noises in the kitchen, though, and even smelled bacon. I had a brief, intense fantasy it was Painter. I found Jessica and Taz instead. The Devil’s Jack was leaning back against the counter drinking a cup of coffee, which he raised to me with a smirking salute.
“Good morning,” he said. “Have fun last night?”
Too bad I didn’t know him well enough to flip him off, because I wanted to in a big way. Jess turned from the stove, my favorite red spatula raised like a weapon in one hand while the other was braced on her hip, which she’d cocked belligerently.
“You look like shit,” she said, eyes flicking over me. This wasn’t news. I’d seen my reflection in the bathroom mirror—the paint had dried and flaked into a molting lizard pattern, so I couldn’t really fault her for her words. “Why did you let him in? Didn’t you get my text warning you? I can’t believe you slept with him, are you totally fucking cra—”
“Hey, Jessica,” Taz said, cutting her off. “Shut the fuck up. It’s none of your business.”
Jessica’s mouth gaped open. Then her eyes were narrowing as she turned on him. “You’re just my booty call, don’t think you get a vote—”
Taz reached over and casually caught her behind the neck, jerking her into him for a kiss. Somehow he managed to give me a thumbs-up behind her back as I tried to bite back my laughter. Jess had been so subdued for a while after whatever the hell it was that’d happened to her down in California. I’d been happy to see her showing signs of life again, but this thing with me and Painter? Yeah. None of her business.
I wandered back out into the living room, looking around for my phone. Jessica’s was next to the TV, and I grabbed it to call myself. (She’d been using the same pass code since she got her first phone—I’d cracked it years ago.) The couch buzzed at me before I could even dial, though. Incoming text. The phone must’ve fallen down between the cushions.
I pulled it out to find a series of messages from Painter.
PAINTER: Mel—you’re still asleep so I went to get breakfast. Back soon.
PAINTER: Dunno what you like so getting you a latte.
PAINTER: Back in five.
I smiled, feeling a tension I hadn’t even fully acknowledged release in my chest—he hadn’t pulled a runner on me. Not only that, he’d be here in less than five minutes . . . and I still looked like a diseased lizard!
Oh no. Not gonna happen.
“I’m taking a shower!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, hoping Jess wouldn’t be too busy screwing Taz to let Painter inside. It was a risk I’d have to take, because no fucking way was I answering the door in full molt.
Our tub was one of the best features of the house—a big, old-fashioned claw-foot. An oval shower curtain rack hung down from the ceiling, and I always felt vaguely elegant and exotic in it. Well, at least I felt that way until I turned the water on . . . then things occasionally went ugly. Our hot water was unreliable in general, because we shared plumbing with everyone else in the house. That meant if anyone in the other apartments flushed a toilet, ran the sink, or even blinked too hard, icy cold water exploded over whoever was unfortunate enough to be in the shower when it happened. For once I was lucky—the water ran out hot and strong, liquefying the paint as it ran down my body in streams.
I’d gotten most of my arms and front clean and was trying to figure out how to do my back when a hand came in through the shower curtain. I gave a shriek as Painter stepped inside, covering my mouth with his to swallow the noise. The kiss was hard and hot and desperately hungry, taking me from zero to sixty in an instant.
Yeah, my high school boyfriends hadn’t kissed like this.
Not even a little bit.
Great as it was, though, the kiss wasn’t enough. I found myself running my hands up and down his side, then reaching around to cup his ass. It was sculpted and tight with muscle, tensing under my touch. This set his cock rubbing against my stomach, still slippery from the soap I’d used to scrub off the paint.
Painter broke free from the kiss.
“Holy fucking hell, you’re gorgeous,” he gasped, lifting me and wrapping my legs around his waist in one smooth movement. The contrast between our skin—him all pale and me dark from the sun—was striking. We’d make beautiful babies together.
Wait. Where had that come from?
Before I could explore that disturbing thought any further, his mouth took mine again. I was squirming all over him, and then his dick was pushing against my opening and I was sliding down over him.
It hurt more than before, which startled me.
It was a good hurt—more like a stretch—but I was definitely sore from the night before. Then his hips pulled back for another thrust, and it struck me just how strong he must be to hold me like this. I mean, who does that in real life?
Each stroke pushed him deeper. Kissing was too complicated now—I needed to focus everything on the sensations building between my legs. I bit into his shoulder instead, feeling and hearing him groan at the same time. Everything was moving so fast, but I was almost there. Close. Really damned close. All I needed was a little more—
Ice-cold water hit us with the force of a truck.
“Motherfucker!” Painter shouted, slipping. My legs were all tangled around his and then we were falling toward the tub and all I could think about was how hard that bitch Jessica would laugh at me for this. I closed my eyes, bracing for a hit that never came because Painter somehow managed to twist midair, protecting me. Then we crashed into the side of the tub together, in a tangle of body parts and very cold water.
“Are you okay?”
I gasped, trying to push myself up. Painter blinked, looking a little stunned.
“Yeah, I think so,” he said, raising an arm to the side of the tub. “You know, that was pretty fuckin’ good until the cold water hit.”
Jessica burst into the bathroom, lurching to a stop in front of the tub, Taz right behind her.
“Are you guys okay?”
“We were taking a shower,” Painter said, his voice dry. “Now we’re taking a bath.”
“Nice rack,” Taz chimed in.
“Pervert,” I snapped, trying to pull the shower curtain in front of me. That’s when the oval hoop that suspended it from the ceiling collapsed, sending curtain and metal bars down and around us in a giant clatter.
Then the water went from icy cold to burning hot and I screamed. I’m not entirely sure what happened after that, but I do know it involved Taz laughing, Painter wrapping a towel around me, and Jessica getting carried downstairs over Taz’s shoulder.
PAINTER
Well, at least Taz enjoyed himself.
Fucker.
I followed Mel toward her bedroom after our bathroom clusterfuck, her all wrapped up in a towel and me buck naked, clothing in hand. Despite the whole shower-collapsing-on-our-heads-while-the-water-tortured-us episode, I was still horny as hell and ready to go at it again.
So much for keeping things in the friend zone.
This might be a problem, because I had the feeling that Mel wasn’t the friends-with-benefits type and I wasn’t exactly the king of loving relationships . . . yet the thought of walking out of here and setting her free wasn’t working for me. We probably needed to have a serious talk to resolve these issues, but I’d gotten a message an hour ago from Gage, saying he needed me up in Hallies Falls by the early afternoon. That left me about twenty, thirty minutes max before I had to kiss Mel good-bye with no idea when I’d be back.
So we had to talk fast.
Of course, I could just fuck her again instead.
Might be my last chance.
I processed all of this as we stepped up into her room. It felt like another world in here, our own place where reality couldn’t touch us and things were perfect.