Gone Guy (Sand & Fog Series Book 5)

by Susan Ward

  I lift my head off the pillow. “Do you love it enough to taste the real thing?”

  He laughs and kisses the inside of my thigh. He’s a tease, that’s what he is. He knows what he’s doing; he’s dragging it out and making me crazy.

  Panting, my head flops side to side on the pillow. “That’s probably all you’ve got. You don’t know how to finish—ahhhhhh. Oh fuck.”

  He’s sucking my clit between his lips, two fingers from one hand plunging inside me and the other fingers rolling one of my nipples. He pinches the tip of my tingling breast while his other fingers sink deep.

  And what the fuck is he doing with my bud? It feels like a French kiss, how his tongue twirls around my sensitive flesh just beyond his lips.

  My head thrashes on the bed as sensation in my body builds. As I quake, his mouth and fingers change spots, his tongue lapping at the bundle of nerves inside me as his finger rolls my clit.

  The way he sucks, licks, plunges, and touches feels spectacular. My hands shoot to his hair. Heat runs my body and swirling spots of light fill my vision.

  I don’t want to come. The feel of his mouth is as amazing there as when he kisses. Filled with breath and tongue and pressure, alternating with strokes of his fingers and clutches of his hands.

  “Come on, love. Take it there’s more where that one came from,” he orders huskily. His accent is my undoing and I tumble over the edge.

  Holy hell.

  My legs are trembling, my cunt grinding against his face as my hands push him into me, and the rolling waves keep coming and coming.

  So does his tongue.

  I need to push him back.

  It’s too much.

  His hands lock on my hips and his tongue plunges deeper.

  His magic mouth quiets with my body, kissing my flesh waywardly as his hands caress me. It should be awkward—we hardly know each other, and this is very intimate. Or rather, how he does it is very intimate.

  By the time I come back to earth, he’s lying beside me, kissing one breast while flicking his thumb over the nipple. I need him in me now. Why isn’t he fucking me?

  He moves to the next breast to work the same seduction. “Fuck…Eric,” I moan, in agony of how he’s still toying with me when I’m usually annoyed by how sex always feels so rushed, from a few kisses to sinking a dick in me and over before I complete.

  He kisses the underneath slope of my breasts while lightly brushing both my nipples, and the knees of my inner self buckle. His hard cock is rubbing my abdomen with his moves, and even that’s delicious torture. I’m sure if I had sex nerves in my stomach I’d have just had an orgasm.

  “You’re a very weird guy, aren’t you?” I ask, but he only smiles, a lust-filled glow reaching his eyes. He has such beautiful blue eyes, but when they stare at me that way it feels like there’s nothing on this earth but him.

  “Why weird?”

  “You do everything but the actual fucking.”

  “That’s because I love sex and your body. I want to make the most of both,” he replies. “That’s being selfish not weird.”

  Selfish? I came first. And why is it that him calling himself selfish just upped his adorable quotient? That cocky confidence, that’s it…oh, and the fully engorged cock of his waiting patiently on the sideline for his turn.

  “With how fast you came, I’m pretty sure you need a little slow tongue, slow hand, slow…everything.”

  My clit pulses from how he says everything. “I’m pretty sure right now I need a hard fuck,” I moan.

  Laughing, he does a slow roll with his hips, teasing me with the touch of his dick as he reaches for the condom. I feel fuck drunk and we haven’t even fucked yet.

  It’s crazy how hot he’s gotten me.

  He rips open the foil using his teeth and slips on the rubber with one hand, and how easy he does it should bother me because it tells me he’s been with a lot of girls. Which brings to me that I don’t really know that much about him. And…oh shit, right now I don’t care.

  He’s brought me flat on the bed and he’s between my legs, rocking and stroking my entry with his dick. The little nudges at my entrance send shock waves down my body. He pushes just in—I groan in relief—pauses, then goes deeper, and I groan louder.

  He locks eyes with mine as he plunges as deep as he can go. His lids drift closed and I suck in air, guttural noises emanating from my throat as I rotate my hips toward him and clench around his cock.

  When he opens his eyes they’re brilliantly blue and he teases me with slow, delicious strokes. Deep then just the head of his dick. Swirling and plunging. My fingertips dig into his shoulder, wanting him as close to my body as I can get him.

  No guy has ever fucked me this way. Hitting every spot and tempo. The rough is gloriously rough. The gentle painfully gentle. A constant switch up of movement and touches and kisses.

  It’s wet and hot, sweet and dirty, and I feel like I could come again. But even as my legs lock around him, I want this to last in case I’m never made love to this way again.

  LAYING MY CHEEKS AGAINST the headboard, I struggle for air as Eric collapses on the bed. I don’t know what the fuck that was, but it was incredible.

  No, wait, I know what that is.

  It’s my new sex dream about hot and dirty morning sex. Taken from sleep by being brought to sit on a guy’s face, seeing him stroke his hard dick as he laps my juices into ecstasy before he takes me doggie-style with my fingers curled around the headboard.

  No matter the position—and I’ve learned a few since last night—no matter the tempo, no matter his mood, tender or pounding, every second is breath hitching and toe curling.

  “You’re not a traveling male prostitute or something, are you?” I don’t really think that. I’m just messing with him.

  He rolls his eyes. “No, I just aim to please. Getting you off gets me off. Guys come easy. Girls come hard. But both of us coming makes better sex.”

  “And you learned that how?”

  His eyes flash. “Are you asking me about my sex life?”

  I lift my nose. “Maybe.”

  “Come here, Willow. Come lie with me, love.”

  I look down and flush. I’m still on my knees, trying to compose myself. “I don’t think I can move. And it doesn’t seem to be safe anymore to touch you.”

  He laughs then pouts. “I just want to feel you next to me while I sleep.”

  My insides turn to mush. Though they shouldn’t. He kept me up all night. He gets to sleep and I’ve gotta work today. “Get on your own pillow. Then I’ll lie down.”

  “You hurt my feelings, love.”

  “Bullshit. You being sweet is a trap.”

  Chuckling, he reaches for my arm and guides me to him. I curl into his side, my head on his shoulder, and he holds me.

  “What would Jade say if she could see you now?” he whispers into my ear. “Eric’s turned Willow into a nasty kitten. Since I’m pretty sure you’ve just pulled your first hat trick.”

  I give him a playful shove. “I am not a nasty kitten. Don’t call me that. And what’s a hat trick?”

  “It’s a cricket term. It’s when a bowler gets three batsmen out with three consecutive balls.”

  I crinkle my nose. “That’s not at all romantic.”

  His eyes gleam. “You want romance, get under the covers so I can’t see you. Right now my thoughts are only nasty.”

  A frustrated laugh pushes out of me. “It’s like I’ve unleashed a monster or something.”

  He grins. “Do you regret it?”

  My phone dings and I reach across his body for it. “Not at the moment. But I’m going to real soon.”

  He frowns. “Why’s that?”

  “I have to start work in twenty, Eric.” The screen of my cell lights up and, as I suspected, the text is from Jade. Get your butt into the kitchen or I don’t care what you’re doing with him, I’m coming in.

  A rus
h of heat runs my face and I grimace.

  “What’s wrong?” Eric asks.

  “Jade’s pissed.”

  “Jade’s always annoyed with something.”

  “I’m thinking we were kind of loud last night.”

  His brows shoot up in that adorable way of his. “Who cares? It’s such a turn-on.”

  I plop back on my pillow and cover my face with my hands. The damn heating ducts. Everyone in the apartment heard every minute of our all-night-into-the-a.m. fuckathon. Jade is going to be awful today.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eric

  SOMETHING LOUD CRASHES against the concrete floor—a large metal pot—and I switch off Willow’s playlist in time to hear, “Please, would you stop, Jade? I said I was sorry. Let it go already! You barking every two seconds makes me so jumpy I’m dropping things.”

  Willow’s ragged breathing as she leans against the counter, pleading with her eyes for Jade to let up, damn near breaks my heart.

  Jade’s face hardens. “Maybe if you got a bit of sleep at night you wouldn’t drop things. Can we just finish this without you smashing something up every two seconds?”

  They war with their eyes, both girls’ mouths scrunched up. Willow looks like she’s about to cry and Jade like she’s about to go off again.

  Jesus Christ, I thought my sisters were intense. But this is a whole new league of intense.

  The catfight that started in the apartment this morning over moi has continued into the bar’s kitchen. Though I played the clueless card over what’s been going down with the girls all morning, I heard every yelling word of Jade’s about how we kept her up all night and that I need to go.

  At least they’re not screaming at each other anymore. But their body language is not good.

  I wait, watching to see what happens now. The longer I stay out of the cross fire the better. Those girls have serious issues with each other. If I jump into this Jade’s going to jump on me and show me the door, but I can’t take much more of the way Jade runs all over Willow.

  Willow nods and lowers to clean up the mess she just made on the floor. I turn the music back on and continue to browse on her cell. It’s probably wrong to be checking out her Facebook, but she did leave it logged in. Besides, it’s torture to be near her and have to keep out of the way.

  She’s in her work clothes—short shorts, tight white t-shirt with Mel’s in big black letters printed across her tits, though no heels, just white Keds because she’s on kitchen duty with her sister.

  I wonder what she’d look like in something sexy, the kind of stuff girls wear to a club and shit. Fuck, she’s a knockout whatever she wears.

  Dean turns from his fruit prep table and gives her a long once-over. He’s bug-eyed again and my hands curl into fists. The Eric and Willow surround sound in the apartment last night should have clarified for the clueless dweeb that she’s with me now.

  What the fuck is he still doing here?

  He was supposed to leave today.

  Ivy crosses the kitchen to my spot in the corner of the room. “Why are you just sitting there?” She gestures at the tall stack of foiled food trays next to me. “You can start loading the finished food containers onto the cart.”

  “I’m not just sitting here. I’m busy.”

  She tilts her head to one side. “You’re a lazy fucker, aren’t you? Jade’s working Willow’s ass off because of you. The least you can do is help her out.”

  “Wrong.” I continue to tap on the phone. “I’ve got three sisters. The best I can do is stay out of it until they work it out. If Willow wants me to do something, she’ll ask. For her, I’ll do it.”

  “No. The best you can do is work so Jade’s less pissed.”

  “You say tomado I say tomato.” My eyes go to the wall clock. “How long is this going to go on?”

  “Until we’re finished,” she hisses and hustles off.

  Finished with what? In the word war between Willow and Jade I never caught why we had to be cooking in the kitchen by 6:00 a.m. It looks like they’re making enough food to feed an army.

  I log into my Facebook. Still no one texting me back. I log out and tap back to Willow’s—gotta love saved passwords—and go to her pictures.

  Lots of her and Jade when they were young. Whoa, Jade didn’t always look like an uptight bitch. There are a few here where she almost looks sweet. The big, burly biker-looking guy must be their dad. Willow doesn’t look like him, but Jade does. Maybe there’s a picture of their mother.

  The phone vibrates with an incoming text. Can you lend me twenty until Friday? Who’s this jerkoff? Cole. I read their chat string. Her ex. His half of the conversation makes me want to punch him. Fifty percent hitting her up for money and the rest the kind of bullshit guys spew to girls. Every other word rubbish. God, why can’t girls see through shit like this? I love you, blah, blah, then hitting her up for something. He’s clearly a leech and a loser.

  I text him back. No. Consider the bank closed.

  It’s a good thing he’s not sniffing around her at the bar for a loan. I’d beat him up. Nobody like that deserves to be breathing.

  Hmm, Steve. Steve Marquez. Another epic-long chat. Oh, high school boyfriend. My fingers tighten around the phone. Reflex. I don’t like him either. He’s a dump a girl but keep one foot in the friend zone, hoping for a booty call type of guy. So obvious. I wonder if they still hook up.

  Fuck. I can’t tell.

  Christ, all her chat strings go on forever. Doesn’t she ever cut it off with anyone? This girl needs to learn how to let go of the dead weight in her life.

  Dean pats her on the back before he lifts the food container Willow just finished from the counter. That dead weight needs to go first.

  I search her friends’ list and type his name. Good, they’re not Facebook friends. If they had been I would’ve unfriended. I hop over to Messenger. Crap. He’s been texting her. Lots of stuff about what a great time they’re going to have together when she starts college next month. Not happening, and worse, he’s been filling her full of shit about me. He’s a slimy pretend-to-be-a-girl’s-friend type. Delete and block.

  “What are you doing?” Willow exclaims, and I look up to find Willow standing over me. “Are you in my Facebook?”

  Busted. “Maybe.”

  “Give that to me.” She reaches for the phone, but I twist it away from her.

  “It’s fair. You grilled me for like two hours at coffee. I prefer digital getting to know you.”

  “Well, stop it.”

  “Can’t. I’m obsessed with you.” I’m only partially teasing, but I don’t want her to know that. I never expected to feel this territorial over a girl. But I do.

  “Get unobsessed.” She chides me with her eyes as she blows wayward black hairs from her face.

  “Can’t. You’re too beautiful.”

  She chokes back a laugh. “Log out or I’m taking the phone.”

  “Tell me about Cole, your last boyfriend.”

  Her face turns bright red. “You mean you really did invade my private stuff?”

  She sounds worried, embarrassed. Now I really want to know about him. “Yeah. How long ago did you break up?”

  “Since when did you become a guy who needs to know everything? I thought you believed it was better to hold pieces back.”

  “I did. But now I don’t.” I pull her between my legs until she’s standing against me. “Do you still see him?”

  “In the neighborhood. But we don’t date anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “He liked getting high more than he liked being with me. I wish Washington had never legalized pot.”

  I laugh. She says pot like it’s the worst drug ever invented. “It’s no big deal, Willow. Lots of people smoke weed, and it depends on what you smoke and how much whether it turns someone into a jerk or not.”

  “Thank you for the cannabis lesson, but nothing pisses me off more
than seeing someone’s hard work going up in pot smoke. It’s a ridiculously expense habit now that it’s legal.”

  That tells me Cole was a stoner and a moocher. “Haven’t you ever gotten high?”

  “No. Never. And I don’t want to. Drugs are a deal breaker for me. You don’t know how happy I am that you aren’t into weed or worse. Every guy in the neighborhood I know spends half his life in a head shop. There’s almost as many of those as there are Starbucks now.”

  Fuck, crossroads to telling her another lie alert, since I do more than my fair share of recreational pharmacy and weed. I’m a musician. That can’t surprise her. It’s what we do. Part of unleashing the creative process and pulling marathon jam sessions. No, she doesn’t need to know that. “I don’t even know where the head shops are in Seattle.”

  She puts her nose against mine. “Good. It’s hard enough to get ahead without having a habit you can’t afford.”

  “I’ve always felt that way,” I say, since I do, and I’ve been blessed not to be born having to worry about the affordability of things.

  She plants a fast kiss on my lips then smiles. “Do you think you can load those on the cart and take them out to Joey and the guys waiting in the bar?”

  My gaze strays to the finished containers. “What’s with all the food?”

  Her brows jerk up, surprised. “It’s for the shelter on the corner. Each business on the street supplies morning breakfast one day a month to feed the neighborhood elderly, needy, and homeless. Today is our day, which is why Jade’s being such a tool over us starting late. It stresses her out when it’s our turn. It’s a lot of work to get done before the bar opens. The faster we get done the faster we can get out of here. Do you mind helping?”

  The way she’s staring at me is my undoing, and hell, if loading the cart speeds up getting Willow free, I’m all for it.

  I drop a kiss on her nose. “I’ll load, you get back to food prep.”

  “Thank you,” she gushes, stepping back.

  “Can I keep your cell? I won’t spy anymore. I need to call home.”

  She nods and smiles. “Spy all you want. I wasn’t mad. I kind of like you being obsessed with me.”