Sips & Strokes: Love wasn't part of the deal

by Sarah Skye

  “Yes...that...right there...fuck!”

  There’s a grunting noise that follows my command. Once again that tell-tale pressure forms in the center of my chest, intensifying as the seconds pass. A second later, I’m hot all over.

  Calder’s tongue is pure pornographic magic.

  My head goes fuzzy, and that’s when I break. The pleasure peaks, like a tidal wave of bliss crashing through me. I’m thrashing and shouting, tugging my hands through Calder’s hair. I lose track of seconds and minutes and time in general as my climax wrings me out.

  I end like a limp ragdoll on the bed, my chest heaving, my lungs on fire. I barely have enough energy to lift my head. When I do, I blink and focus on Calder, who straightens up while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  My vision focuses and I can’t help but relish that smug look on his face.

  I flash what I’m certain is a crooked smile at him since I’m practically pleasure-drunk. Then I lean up, grab his arm, and pull him to lie down next to me.

  “Good then?” he asks as he wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck.

  I shake my head. “More than good. I don’t know if there’s a word that exists for how good that was.”

  I take a minute to let my breathing even out, then I pull out of his hold and sit up. “My turn.”

  He starts to say that I don’t have to, but I slide off the bed and kneel on the ground anyway. For a second, I rest my hands on the tops of those meaty, muscular thighs. When I pull his boxer briefs down, he stops talking instantly. Instead he hisses, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  I grip him at the base of his very generous shaft, then run my hand lightly up and down. He’s so hard, but his skin is so soft too. It’s the best feeling.

  He groans. “Lily. Love. I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

  A wicked smile splits my face. And then I take him into my mouth. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to do this, and I’m loving every second of it. Everything from Calder’s grunts and moans and sharp inhales to the way his thighs tense under me drives me wild. I don’t normally go gaga for this act, but with a guy like Calder—who’s sweet and sexy and generous and set zero expectations when we started fooling around—I can definitely get on board.

  It’s a few minutes before his noises turn desperate. I can feel him shift on the bed. Then he runs a hand through my hair and makes a gentle fist.

  “Lily, I’m close…”

  I speed up until he tenses, grunts, and spills into my mouth. I lean away slowly, flashing what I hope is a cute and sexy smile.

  He props himself up on his elbows, gazing at me with a bewildered expression. Then his gaze focuses and he grins. “Come here.”

  A second later, I’m tucked against his side, my face nuzzled against his chest. His heart thuds gently against my ear.

  “Fucking hell.”

  I bite my lip as I quietly squeal to myself. In my head, I’m grateful that there are still a handful of condoms in the top drawer of my nightstand. Once he’s had a bit to rest, I’m giddy to get started again.

  For a few minutes, we say nothing. Calder runs a hand through my hair gently over and over. I close my eyes and sigh in satisfaction. And then I look up, hoping to gauge how he’s feeling.

  But when I lock eyes with him, I’m taken aback. He doesn’t look blissed out on orgasm like before. Instead, there’s a slight frown on his face, like he’s worried about something.

  “Is this fake anymore, Lily?”

  His blunt question catches me off guard. I stammer for a second. “What? What do you mean?”

  He opens his mouth, but then closes it. His eyes dart to some random spot on the wall. “Nothing. Sorry.”

  I grip him by the chin and turn him to look at me. “It’s not nothing, Calder,” I say gently.

  His eyes finally connect with mine once more. “I guess I’m just wondering what we are to each other right now.”

  “Oh. I…” I search my brain for the right words, but there aren’t any. Because the truth is I don’t know what we are.

  “The boundaries were pretty clear before,” he says quietly. “Fake relationship. Fake boyfriend. Fake girlfriend.”

  “Right,” I say softly, trying to figure out what he’s getting at.

  When he doesn’t clarify, the air in the room shifts. I need to be honest; he’s being honest with me.

  “I’m not sure what we are,” I say finally. “But that’s okay with me because I like what we’re doing. And as long as we both like it, I don’t see why we can’t keep going with this.”

  I expect him to nod along, but all I get is another frown that tells me he’s thinking hard about something else. I’m scrambling to figure out what would be the right thing to say, but he starts speaking before I can say a word.

  “Something was bothering you earlier tonight,” he says. “That’s why I wanted to talk behind the barn. What was it?”

  “Oh. That.” I’m thrown for a loop. Of all the things he could ask me in this moment, he goes with that? I answer him anyway. “It was… Marco.”

  His eyes widen the slightest bit. “Did he say something to you today?”

  I swoon internally at the hard, protective tone his voice takes. I smile. “No. It was just… when the two of you were chatting about work, his comment about always being curious about good investments kind of set me off.”

  “Why?”

  I take a moment to breathe. I start to turn away from him, but Calder holds me tight. “Please don’t turn away. Talk to me.”

  “It just reminded me of our breakup and how he hurt me.”

  “How did he hurt you?”

  Chatting about an ex with someone new in your bed just minutes after fooling around isn’t what you’re supposed to do. But mine and Calder’s setup isn’t standard by any means. I fight past my normal urge to hide and shrink. Instead, I tell myself to be bold—be honest.

  “I gifted him several pieces of my artwork while we were going out,” I say. “I thought that meant something to him. I honestly thought that he appreciated the heart and sentiment I put into those pieces. I was wrong.”

  I can feel his chest expand underneath me as he takes a breath.

  “One day he told me he had a surprise,” I say. “He sold all the artwork I made for him and put the money in an online savings account. He said he did it because he was worried my art teacher job didn’t pay me enough. I needed a financial safety net.”

  Calder’s jaw tightens.

  “He meant well. I know he did. But it was heartbreaking to me. And it highlighted a major incompatibility that I can’t believe I didn’t realize until that moment. All he cared about was money, status, bullshit that I never cared about. And what I cared about meant nothing to him. Obviously.”

  My eyes water, so I squeeze them shut.

  “Jesus,” Calder rasps. He pulls me tighter against his chest and presses his lips to my forehead. I instantly relax and my tears dry up.

  “Bloody prick. I’m sorry, Lily.”

  “It’s okay. Really. It was a long time ago.”

  He tilts my chin up to look at him. “That self-centered nob doesn’t deserve you.”

  That tension in my muscles that always takes hold whenever I recall my breakup with Marco doesn’t happen this time. Instead, I smile at him. “I know.”

  He chuckles, and I cuddle into him again. “Tell me something about yourself,” I say while breathing in his heavenly scent.

  “Mmm?”

  “Something breakup related. It’s only fair.”

  A soft laugh rumbles through him. Then there’s a heavy sigh. “The first girl I ever loved left me for my best mate.”

  I jerk my head up to look at him. “What? Holy shit. That’s…”

  “Bloody heartbreaking.” But then he shrugs. “I was a kid. We both were. Barely twenty. I thought she was the one. But I wasn’t the one for her obviously.”

  I hug my arms around him tightly.

>   “I’m well past it. But sometimes when I think about how naive I was at that age, it still stings.”

  I lean up to kiss him. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “I’m sorry for what you went through too.”

  Another kiss on my forehead makes my eyes flutter. It coincides perfectly with the flutter in my chest—in my heart.

  “And I’m sorry that I have to punch Marco in the face the next time I see him,” Calder says.

  I giggle and shove his chest. “You will not.”

  I shift so that I’m the little spoon in our cuddle. I yawn as Calder’s arms snake around me. He nuzzles my hair and inhales.

  “I can’t make any promises, love.”

  I drift off with a smile on my face.

  I open my eyes to sunlight streaming in through the window. When I roll over, I expect to feel Calder’s warm body next to me, but there’s nothing. Just a cold, empty space in the middle of my bed.

  I look around and see that he’s standing in the middle of the bedroom, buttoning up his shirt.

  “Morning,” he says, his mouth in a straight line. He quickly looks away.

  “Morning.” I sit up, careful to keep the sheet wrapped around me. The way Calder is avoiding my gaze lands like a kick to the shin.

  “Headed somewhere?” I ask.

  He nods, frowning at his phone. “Got a list of things to do today.” He clears his throat.

  I almost scoff. This is one awkward morning after. I would laugh out loud if it didn’t hurt so much that Calder clearly can’t get away from me fast enough.

  I look away and roll my eyes at the window. “Okay then. Have a great day.”

  “Right. See you in class.” He walks out of the bedroom without a glance in my direction. A few seconds later, I hear the front door close.

  When it does, I tug both hands in my hair and groan, wondering what the hell happened between last night and this morning to make Calder run away from me like that.

  15

  Calder

  I woke up this morning with the scent of Lily’s sweet fragrance in my nose and a stone in my stomach. Her peaceful slumber and the way my arms looked wrapped round her were all a little too perfect—a little too real. “As long as we both like it, I don’t see why we can’t keep going.”

  Right, Professor. Message received: keep it meaningless and breezy, as per protocol. I haven’t been in a committed relationship with anyone since Carmen—Why the fuck did you tell her about Carmen while we’re at it?—and it’s worked just fine. It’s let me focus on my career and, frankly, leave my options open whenever I please. No one to answer to, no one to think about or worry how she’s doing. No one to tell me it’s not working out, that I need to focus more on our relationship if I want to keep her happy, that she’s been spending an awful lot of time studying with Liam and her girlfriends think it’d be best if…

  Easier this way. Quite right. Let’s just keep going then, Lily. This convenient coupling will last until we’ve both got what we want, so what’s not to like?

  “Cal! Jesus, your form is shit today. You want to blow out a knee?”

  I jolt back to the moment. Dan shakes his head and hurries to spot the barbell I’ve got on my shoulders as I straighten out of a squat.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Focus, bro. I’m here to help, but this is amateur stuff. You feel okay?” My trainer narrows his eyes, assessing me all over.

  “Yeah, swear I do. Not a lot of sleep last night but feel fine otherwise.”

  He grumbles at that. “Hit the pool for twenty minutes, and try not to drown, alright?”

  “Got it.”

  Rhythmically slicing through the water gives me just the thing to focus on. By the time I’m in the shower, last night has lost a lot of its luster in my mind. A fun hookup is never a bad thing, but it’s not something to brood over afterward, either. Must’ve been the whole day together thing that made that one feel like it meant more. Just a trick of the moonlight, sure. That’s it. She was a great date, and I’m happy if we do it again. No worries.

  But then I check my phone.

  Lily: Hi. Sorry to bother you.

  Lily: You left your belt here.

  Me: Oh, thanks. I can get it from you Thursday if that’s cool.

  Her next message comes half an hour later, once I’m already back at my place.

  Lily: k

  I groan and flip the phone facedown on the coffee table. “Can we not do the drama, please? A fake relationship shouldn’t come with a ball and chain,” I mutter at the phone.

  But as I make a protein shake, I have to admit that the ball and chain are entirely self-made. Lily didn’t ask for me to think on her today. She didn’t ask for me to care about her, to want to punch that smarmy Marco in the teeth for disregarding her talent, to want to snuggle her and make her giggle just to take her mind off the kind-but-judgey brood that she grew up among. She didn’t ask me to walk into her classroom and immediately start having foolish thoughts about how charming and gracious she was, and she certainly didn’t encourage me to have the outrageous fantasy of her on my arm at a Sonce party. Yes, it’s come true, but that’s an arrangement to benefit us both. Whatever magic that first glimpse of her has captured in my head, she didn’t request any of it.

  Even last night. She asked for my hands, she asked for me to come inside, and she asked for me to go down on her. Done. Simple. Happy to.

  So stop brooding on the lass, you jackass.

  I reach for my phone, about to scroll through contacts until I can find someone to grab a drink with. A few hours of flirting will do me good.

  But as I open my texts and see hers at the top, I know damn well that a few hours of flirting aren’t what I’m going to do with my night. It’d be like having a 16-year-old single malt and then chasing it with a shot of well whisky. Nothing wrong with the standard pour at all, but you can’t go trying to follow one with the other. And right now, Ms. Lily Maldonado is the flavor still very much on my tongue. Trying to substitute anyone else would be rude to the girl and useless for me.

  “Fucking great,” I groan. I crash to the sofa, debating porn or binge-watching The Wire.

  Porn wins.

  “Love serving thirty, you bastard,” Nate calls across the net on Wednesday morning.

  I smirk and shrug one shoulder as I anticipate his serve. Is it my fault I basically get paid to work out? The volley begins, and we find an easy rhythm.

  “Good to have someone to play with at least.” Nate likes to chat as we play. I’ve learned this after only two sets. “Eileen is allergic to exercise, and dad’s got the bum knee.”

  “After Sonce launches, you’ll be hiring a trainer to play against you whenever you please.” I zing a backhand just over the net, too low for him to get to.

  He laughs and curses as he slaps it back anyway. “They bloody well better let me win if I’m paying them. Your serve. What about Lily?” he continues as I walk to the line. “Does she play? Maybe Eileen would try a doubles match if she—”

  Jesus, mate, when did you become such a chatty Cathy?

  “Nah. She’s all about yoga.” I bounce the ball and roll my eyes. I have no idea if this is true, but you’d never know from my tone.

  “Ah, right. All these Americans love that shit.”

  “They do indeed. Now, shut up and let me ace you.”

  As we play through a match, I promise Nate three times that Lily and I are counting the days to the next Sonce party, which is two weekends from now. Bless him, he’s so keyed up about everything that he can barely focus on tennis, but I didn’t come to play competitively. I came to see my friend—and keep up my responsible image. If I can’t go to parties, post to Instagram, or take on the high-visibility jobs I used to, I might as well pour a little more of my soul into this goal.

  The good news is that my agent, Stella, has finally gotten on board with my insistence to back off the playboy image. She resisted a long time, saying that it was
hard to change tracks in this business—as if I’m not acutely aware of this fact. After the women’s reaction at the Sonce dinner party, I decided it was fine to keep the novel cover gigs as part of my new image. Everything else has to shift, though. After pulling some major strings and working her magic, Stella has come through with some new opportunities—maybe. Hopefully.

  The first one is the next day. Thursday morning I’m up before dawn and headed to a casting call at Oak & Thistle’s headquarters, sporting the same shirt I’d worn to apple pick. Hopefully the fact that they gifted me this shirt after I modeled their new line of boxer-briefs last year will sell them on the notion that, yes, I would make a fantastic editorial model as well.

  There’s no flexing abs or bringing my lucky green robe this time. I’m not a pool boy or an athlete or anything but Calder Ross. I go into the meeting buttoned-up, sporting dress jeans and designer hiking boots that aren’t meant to see a trail. With my tartan print and accent, I’m the picture of fall casual. I practically reek of apple cider spiked with whisky.

  Oak & Thistle wants to know why I’d want to be a face in their catalogue when I can be the billboard for their underwear. I shrug and hold the line I’ve got going with Sonce: I’m changing my image, settling down, madly in love, and wanting it to show in my work.

  They buy it, the whole bloody package.

  They buy it so grandly that they keep me there for some test shots until I’m running half an hour late for Lily’s class. As soon as I can breezily shake hands and promise to sign the contracts once they send them to Stella, I sprint out of the building and into my car.

  A barked command to the Bluetooth fills the speakers with a phone ringtone until—

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Prof-uh, hey it’s me.” I stumble on my words. For some reason, using her nickname makes my stomach clench, so I skirt it. “I’m running late.”

  She laughs softly. “You said that on the first day, and you were only a few minutes behind me.”

  I wince. “Aye, but this is a bit different. I may miss half the class.”