What I Need

by J. Daniels

  And I take the time to do just that before saying my farewells.

  When I descend the stairs and step out into the basement of Holy Cross, I feel different. Better, in a way. I’m not keeping this giant secret from Reed anymore. He knows where I’m living now, and he seems okay with mine and CJ’s arrangement, possibly even supportive of it. And having Reed’s approval means a lot. So much more than anyone else’s. It means everything. It always has.

  “Looks like that conversation went well,” Beth observes when I step into the kitchen wearing a relieved smile. She’s standing at the long, metal counter in the middle of the room, several cans of green beans in front of her that she’s opening up and dumping into a pot.

  “Yep. I feel good about it,” I reply, grabbing an apron off the wall and slipping the loop over my head. “I don’t need to lie about where I’m living now, so that’s a relief.”

  “And what about your other secrets involving CJ? Are you going to tell Reed about those?”

  My smile disappears. That half-hungover feeling turns my stomach, but I know it has nothing to do with tequila.

  Truth tastes bitter. No wonder people lie so much. I don’t want to believe what I’m about to say any more than I want to say it.

  I tie the string behind my back and cross the room. “I don’t have multiple secrets,” I clarify. “I have one secret—we slept together. We’re not sleeping together. That’s not happening, so it doesn’t even matter. We can all move on.” I meet her eyes—filled with questions and a pitying concern for me when I stop on the other side of the counter. My shoulders slouch. “I put CJ in the friend-zone and now I’m pretty sure he never wants to leave it,” I add, frowning.

  Her head tilts. “Why do you say that?” she asks. “Did he tell you he never wants to leave it?”

  “Maybe,” I answer. “CJ could’ve told me a lot of things the other night when I made that phone call to Reed. I can’t remember.”

  Beth looks at me straight on as realization lifts her brows. “Oh, right. Reed said you sounded drunk on that message. What’s up with you Tennyson kids drinking too much and forgetting things?”

  “It isn’t my fault! I blame the tequila. And CJ was drinking it too. It wasn’t just me.”

  I definitely remember clinking glasses.

  Beth jerks her shoulders. “Well, then, if he got drunk too, maybe he forgets saying he wants to stay in the friend-zone.”

  My eyes narrow. Beth smiles unapologetically. She’s lucky I love her.

  “Sorry,” she giggles, pursing her lips to fight her amusement. “What all do you remember? Anything?”

  I firmly nod my head, then I lift my hand and start ticking off memories on my fingers. “Tequila. Some touching. Flirting done solely by me.” I roll my eyes at that one. “CJ standing in my bedroom. And his resting bitch face.”

  Beth blinks. “What?” she sputters through a laugh. “Resting bitch face? He does not have one of those.”

  I shrug, dropping my hand to the counter. “Well, he didn’t look happy being in my room,” I tell her. “And he sure as hell didn’t stay there after I know I flirted with him. I’m pretty sure I asked him to do, you know, unfriendly things with me, Beth, and he didn’t do them. CJ didn’t want to.”

  “And you wanted him to? You want to be more than friends now?”

  “Yes.” The word rushes out of my mouth like a breath of relief. I bend forward, drop my elbows on the counter and my face into my hands, groaning, “I do. I want it so badly.”

  He jokingly calls me his lady. I don’t want it to be a joke.

  “Oh, sweetie.”

  I lift my head and look at Beth again, staying hunched over and letting my arms fall between empty cans of beans. “He’s just, he’s so fun to be around,” I tell her. “I laugh all the time when we’re together. We play, you know? Like goofy, silly things I have the best time doing. And he’s sweet and he’s good. God. He’s such a good man, Beth. And he says things to me and I think, every girl needs to be with someone who talks to them like this. He’s that guy. There isn’t better. I know in my heart there isn’t.”

  By the time I finish speaking, Beth’s mouth is doing this half-smiling/half-frowning thing. Her bottom lip is twitching, and her eyes are shining with emotion. And I don’t know if she looks on the verge of tears because she’s pregnant, or because she’s sad for me and the giant mistake I’ve made, but I suddenly can’t stomach the thought of staying on this subject a second longer. I know what she’s going to say.

  You chose Richard. You put CJ in the friend-zone. You brought this on yourself, Riley.

  CJ never wanted this. He wanted me, and now he doesn’t. He just sees me as his buddy. His roommate. His nurse. Drinking pals who occasionally flirt and share friendly touches, but that’s where it ends. We’re friend-zoned for life. It’s too late for anything else.

  “Riley,” Beth begins.

  I quickly straighten up and wave my hand at her, stopping any more of this discussion. Then I spin around, saying as I hustle away, “I don’t want to talk about it. I need to get to work.”

  Hours later, I’m halfway home, taking the long way and stalling for time when my phone beeps with an incoming text. I pull over to the side of the narrow dirt road I’m driving on—I know there isn’t a red light for miles—lift my hips off the seat, and dig my phone out of my front pocket.

  CJ: At Dellis’ getting a bite. You want me to bring you back something?

  I read the message, then read it again while gnawing on the side of my thumb.

  Huh. I’m expecting all interactions with CJ to be hella awkward now—it’s the whole reason I’ve been avoiding going home—but this isn’t awkward at all. I wonder why he’s being so . . . CJ with me?

  Maybe his memory is as foggy as mine? I decide to inquire.

  Me: So, Friday night was crazy, huh? Wow.

  His response is immediate.

  CJ: We’ll talk about it when I get home. Food?

  Crap. It looks like I’m going to be entering this conversation blind. This can’t suck any more.

  Figuring I’ve most likely reached my limit in begging this weekend, I don’t try and persuade CJ to have this discussion now. Instead, I save what dignity I have left, if any, and picture the menu at Dellis’.

  I am pretty hungry. I never eat when I volunteer at Holy Cross. The food isn’t for me. It’s for people who need it.

  Me: Cream of crab soup would be awesome. Thanks. I’ll pay you back.

  CJ: No you won’t.

  I sigh and drop my phone onto the passenger seat.

  See? He’s that guy.

  Knowing CJ isn’t at the house waiting for me gets me off the back roads. I take the more direct route, saving myself roughly ten minutes of drive time, and once I’m home, it’s all I can do not to go crazy.

  I just want to get this conversation over with. And I have no idea how long CJ is going to be. It could be hours before he gets home, especially if he’s sharing a meal with someone.

  I need to find something to do . . .

  I channel surf for five minutes. I play a little Madden, but it isn’t as fun beating the machine. My mouth barely even twitches. Bored, I toss the remote onto the trunk, then I head to my room, grab the sketchpad I keep in in the nightstand drawer, and sit down on the bed with it.

  I’ve always liked to draw. It’s something I do for fun, and CJ knows this. He’s seen me sketching while we sit on the couch together. It’s how I occupy my time if he’s watching something I’m not all that interested in. He’s seen a few of the sketches I’ve completed.

  He just hasn’t seen what I’ve been drawing as of late.

  I flip through the pages I’ve already filled, coming to my most recent pencil drawing of CJ, and give him more shadow on his jaw. I darken the outline of his t-shirt and sketch one of those coconut drinks in his hand. The ones with the umbrella straws sticking out of them. As I’m smudging in his jeans, I hear the front door open, lifting my head from my
drawing and stilling my hand.

  I close the sketchpad and push it aside to scramble off the bed, getting to my feet just as CJ takes the last remaining steps down the hallway to get to my room. He stops at the doorway, filling it, looking from my face to my bare feet curling against the hardwood, and back up again.

  He’s wearing a dark blue t-shirt and jeans that form to his strong thighs and I’m certain look amazing on his ass. I just don’t think now is the best time to ask him for a view of it.

  I open my mouth to say something, hey or I’m sorry if I’ve made this weird, but CJ beats me to it.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks me.

  “Better than yesterday.” I give him a small smile. “Way better. I haven’t thrown up any.”

  “Do you want to do this now, or do you want to eat first?”

  His face is serious. And I know this man. I know if I say I want to eat first, no matter how badly he wants this talk to happen, CJ will sit beside me and let me eat every drop of the cream of crab soup he brought home before he utters a single word. He’ll be fine.

  But I won’t be able to eat. I want this talk to happen just as bad as he does.

  “Do this now, I guess.” I lift my shoulder and gesture for him to come in. “Uh, here, or, do you want to go to the couch? I don’t care.”

  “We might as well do it here,” he says, but he keeps where he is, leaning his thick shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his booted foot over the other, and bringing his arms across his chest. “If this goes the way I’m hoping, this is where we’re going to end up,” he adds.

  My brows raise. This is where we’re going to end up? What in the world?

  “Did you think about it?” CJ asks before I can get my own question out.

  “Think about what?”

  His mouth twitches. “If you meant what you were offering Friday night. Do you still want me to take it?”

  I blink. Take it?

  “What?” I whisper.

  Take what? Good God. How hard did I flirt?

  CJ holds my eyes for a breath, then he shakes his head and drops it. “Christ. You don’t remember shit, do you?” He looks at me again. “You have no fucking clue what I’m talking about.”

  “I remember some shit,” I tell him. “Just . . . not all the details.”

  “You asked me to take you to bed, darlin’.”

  My eyes widen. Oh my God, I flirted so hard.

  “I didn’t, considering how drunk you were and how close to being shit-faced I was,” CJ continues. “Even though you told me it wasn’t the tequila. Promised me it wasn’t. Didn’t matter. I needed to hear that sober, babe. You know? I couldn’t risk you not meaning what you were saying to me.”

  I think back to that night—CJ standing in this room, hovering over my bed. Face tense.

  Oh, my God . . .

  He wasn’t angry. He was struggling.

  “You didn’t want to leave me, did you?” I throw out, risking being wrong about this but suddenly not caring. I have to know. “You wanted what I wanted.”

  A slow moving smirk twists across his mouth, from one perfect corner to the other. “Fuck no, I didn’t want to leave,” he reveals. “I came back and tested that lock three times. I almost broke the goddamn door down.”

  My lungs seem to squeeze all of the air out of my body. “I thought you just wanted to stay friends,” I say. “All day today, that’s what I’ve thought. I didn’t—”

  “Fuck being friends. I want you.”

  Something must flash in my eyes, because CJ rights his head, his gaze hot and hungry all of a sudden as he stares across the distance between us, then immediately he’s pushing off from the wall and stalking toward me.

  “Do you want this?” he asks.

  I swallow down a moan. God, is this really happening? “Yes,” I answer, nodding my head.

  “Do you want me, babe? The way I’m wanting to give you me?” CJ stops when we’re toe-to-toe, curls his fingers under my chin and lifts it. “Do you wanna be my woman?” he murmurs.

  My bones turn to jelly, and I whimper because being his woman sounds like the best thing in the entire world to me. Better than being any other man’s anything. “Can I tell you a secret?” I request, running my hands up his body and stopping at his chest.

  I can feel his heart pounding. I wonder if he can tell how fast he makes mine beat.

  CJ gazes at my smiling lips, slides his hand along my jaw, and gives me that beautiful, charming grin of his. He bends closer, and closer, until he’s asking, “Yeah. What’s that, darlin’?” right against my mouth.

  Eyes closed, I start to tell him that I’ve always wanted it, since that very first shot of tequila, but then his tongue touches my lower lip, and I don’t know who groans first, him or me. But it’s CJ jerking me against him and gripping my hair and growling, “God, I’ve missed this sweet fucking mouth,” before he kisses me just like he did that first time—on the sand and underneath the stars.

  Desperate. Hard, hot, deep, need this, fuck, need this now, kisses.

  And I’m lost, caught up in the feel of his hands in places he hasn’t touched in months and his mouth, expertly devouring, it makes me crazy. I want him. I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. It’s beyond desire at this point. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever felt.

  If we don’t do this, or if he stops or slows down, I think I might die.

  I tear at his clothes, whipping his belt loose and unfastening his jeans. I shove them down with his boxers and wrap my hand around his dick and God, he’s so hard and warm and big. He’s big everywhere. I slowly stroke him, turning my wrist and rubbing the smooth, crowned head with my thumb. I do it just like CJ showed me that first night, squeezing harder at the base and being a little rough about it, a little sloppy, letting my nails touch his skin, and I know he likes what I’m doing, because he groans into my mouth and drags his teeth across my bottom lip. Then he’s pulling back to tug off his shirt and toss it, and seeing his bare chest while feeling everything I’m feeling right now, holy crap, I lose my mind.

  “I love your body,” I tell him, rubbing my hands all over him while I kiss from pec to pec, lips and tongue teasing.

  CJ has the sexiest chest I’ve ever seen. Broad, muscled, and dusted in a light amount of hair. The perfect amount. I can’t kiss him enough. I can’t touch him enough. I’m all over him. And when I move my mouth lower, over his ribs and the deep grooves of his abs, I realize I need more. I can’t wait another second.

  I don’t pause to undress or give CJ time to remove anything I’m wearing. I can’t. I’m still fully clothed when my knees hit the floor, and I love it. I love how desperate and frantic I feel. How hurried this is. How real this is. It’s always been like this with him.

  I take CJ into my mouth. I don’t tease. I don’t play. I suck him to the back of my throat and swallow around him.

  Another thing he told me he likes.

  “Fuck,” he grunts. His hands fly to my hair and fist. “Riley . . . Jesus, ah, fuck, baby. Wait . . .”

  My fingers dig into the back of his thighs and urge him to move.

  I don’t want CJ to think he needs to hold back. I’m not. I can’t. I’m so turned on by this. As much as he is.

  I moan and bob my head.

  “God, you look so fucking hot,” he rasps, thrusting his hips now and watching me take him. He stares down at me. Chest heaving. Lips parted. Face beautifully blissed out. I can feel my pulse race beneath my ear as he rubs his thumb along my mouth, feeling how I stretch for him. He groans, “fuck yeah” when I lick from his balls to the tip and swirl my tongue there. He grits his teeth and pumps his hips faster, pushing my hair out of my face so he can see me and I can see him.

  I don’t know why, but I feel like the most precious thing in the world when I’m on my knees in front of CJ. I shouldn’t, I suppose. I’m letting him use me, taking everything he can give while I do nothing short of worship him. But I know what this means to CJ. I
can see it in his eyes and feel it in the way he strokes my cheek. And when he rasps, “Darlin’,” I know that’s mine. Only mine.

  I can’t get enough of him. I’ll never want less than this again. Never.

  “Riley,” he groans, strong thighs tensing. “Babe, I’m gonna come.” He curls his hands around fistfuls of my hair and tugs.

  I don’t let him pull me off. I hold CJ’s eyes, silently telling him I want it. Please, please, please. I want all of this man. Every part of him and everything he can offer me.

  His nostrils flare with a savage desire for this, for what I’m giving him, but his eyes are all CJ, looking at me like he’s the one worshipping as his hands tighten harder and harder in my hair. His hips start thrusting quicker, fucking my mouth deeper, and then he growls, exploding into my mouth and spilling down the back of my throat.

  I swallow every drop. I take it all.

  Nothing less than this. Never again.

  “Jesus, fuck, babe,” he pants, his body still jerking in pleasure as he watches me suck and lick him like he’s the best meal I’ve ever had.

  I hum around his length one last time, then I pull off and sit back on my heels. I blink up at him and watch his eyes follow my tongue as it sweeps across my bottom lip.

  “Damn,” he mutters. “I kinda want to ask you to marry me after that. Jesus Christ, Riley.”

  I smile from ear-to-ear, feeling triumphant. “Wanna high five?” I ask since, you know, we celebrate awesome things.

  And that was so totally awesome.

  Laughing rich and smooth inside his chest, CJ reaches down and takes my face between his hands, moving his thumb over my cheek. “Maybe later,” he murmurs, looking at my mouth, then back into my eyes. “Are you gonna give me that pussy now?”

  “I thought you were going to take it,” I challenge.

  CJ’s eyes flash, then I’m being jerked up and tossed through the air, giggling and squealing as I land on my back in the middle of the mattress.

  Yes. He’s totally going to take it.