Because You Need Me (Falling for You, Book Two)

by Ava Claire

  I squeezed my eyes shut, the pain sparking at the edge of my consciousness, but it was consumed by the pleasure of having him inside me. Our bodies collided, my hips meeting his, each stroke deeper than the last. Each stroke pushing me closer to orgasm.

  He slid down to me, chest to chest as our bodies joined, his eyes caressing me. His moans filled my ears like the sweetest music I'd ever heard.

  “More,” I begged, grinding and pumping my hips upward. “More!”

  He unleashed a string of expletives and nothing existed outside of us. Nothing mattered but the way our bodies fit together so naturally. So erotically.

  The stirring of my climax started deep inside, sparking like fireworks when his thrusts built in speed and I couldn't hold on. I had to come.

  “Xander!” I screeched and my body echoed the sentiment, my orgasm ripping through me, leaving nothing but me panting, clawing and shuddering.

  He cried out and I could tell from the way his face tightened and his thrusts became wild and furious that he was with me. We were both at the point of insanity and ultimate pleasure.

  Sticky with sweat and breathless, we laid side by side, gasping on the floor.

  “H-holy...holy crap,” I stuttered, my chest heaving up and down. Every part of me was turned up to ten, electric to the touch. I used my last bit of energy to turn to him and attempted a smile when I saw he was just as wrecked as I was.

  He tilted his head toward me. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed in a way that made me dig deep into my energy reserves. I rolled on top of him, pecking him on the forehead, then the tip of his nose. I swept his sweaty strands back so I could look him deep in the eyes and ask him a very important question.

  “Ready for round two?”

  Chapter Six: Xander

  Round two left me sweating in a way that I had only experienced at the gym, at the hands of a person I hired to scream at me until my muscles screamed. At Penny's hands, and mouth, and other hot and wet parts of her, every part of me screamed for more. By the time round four rolled around, I had to wave my white flag and admit that Xander Wade had met his match: she was even more insatiable than I was.

  We'd worked our way upstairs, but remained on the floor, our bodies plastered to each other in front of the window. We were solidly in the wee hours of morning, the city that was usually pulsing and alive barely a whisper below us. I felt the new day despite hours between us and the sunrise. Penny and I had turned a page-hell, we'd thrown the book out the window. We were done with me claiming that I felt something more for her with the check looming in the distance. The incessant beeping of the timer on our relationship had been silenced. We got to choose our destination without an end in sight.

  She snuggled closer, her body fitting mine like it was always meant to be this way. “I want to know more about you. The unabridged story of your life.”

  “My life story?” I chuckled, sweeping my fingertips across her bare back. “The wedding is in a few hours, and it would take me weeks to tell you just how fucked up I am.”

  She shuddered. “Don't remind me about the wedding.”

  I swept my fingertips lower, skating toward the curve of her ass. “I'm sure your sister has you guys wearing something beautiful and sexy-”

  “And she keeps reminding us of that gift every chance she gets,” she scoffed. “How grateful we should be that she's allowing us to wear designer threads that aren't completely hideous on her big day.”

  I'd only gleaned who her sister was based on the bits and pieces Penny shared, but I had a feeling we wouldn't get along. It had very little to do with the fact that she was high maintenance...it was because she'd hurt my Penny. That was not something easily forgiven. “I'll be right there beside you. Whether she goes into diva mode, or that blonde tries to trip you up, whether you're in a designer dress or a paper sack, you’ll be beautiful. And you’ll be okay.” I propped my arm beneath my head. “I do have my preferences in the dress department though.”

  “You do?”

  “Mmhm,” My cock stirred, on the same wavelength. “No dress at all.”

  “Oh my gosh,” she laughed, the sound of it wrapping me in its warm glow. “A bold choice, and I'm pretty sure my sister would go into cardiac arrest, but I'll save the nakedness for my boyfriend.”

  Was it crazy that hearing that word without the word 'fake' attached to it made my heart beat excitedly? I didn't care if it was. I was embracing crazy. Embracing something good. “Your boyfriend is a lucky guy.”

  “Don't I know it.” She nestled her chin on my chest and her hazel eyes rested on me, a smile in her gaze and on her lips. “Your girlfriend is pretty lucky too.” Her smile faltered slightly and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. The way she bit her lip was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen, but this round was more pensive. Almost worried. “You're not the only one that's screwed up. We can be screwed up together.”

  My mouth lifted into a smile. “That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me.”

  Growing up, I was taught that men didn't share their feelings, so I learned to view them as an inconvenience. Something to get over or power through. All my baggage was carefully stacked in the darkest corner of the closet. It lingered, but I didn't shine a light on it. “When I finally fought back against the bullies that were making my life hell, my father sent me to military school. That's where I spent my formative years. It should have been enough to show me that there was nothing wrong with me, that there was something broken in my father, but I spent a lot of years trying to be the perfect son.”

  She pressed her lips against my chest. “Nothing stings quite as much as a parent's rejection.”

  The familiar digging in my heels whenever I felt that pain crept over me. I locked every muscle in my body. I could hear my father's voice in my head, calling me ungrateful, listing off all the ways I was lucky, reminding me that it was the women's job to whine and complain and it was up to the rest of us to get shit done.

  Penny read me like an open book, pulling herself up with concern wrinkling her brow. “If you don't want to talk about him...”

  I slipped my fingers through my hair, clutching the strands tight before I let them go. “I've spent a lot of time and energy not talking about him, believing that my silence is denying him power. I'm realizing that not addressing heavy shit just increases the power those things have over us.” I was talking a big game, but my throat was on fire when I remembered the call. I dug my heels in again, but this time, it wasn't out of fear of the unknown-it was because I knew exactly what was waiting for me.

  My mother, who was always bubbly, always perfect, was barely able to get the words out. The part that brought me shame even with all the ways my father had disappointed me was hearing that he was terminally ill with only a few months left to live, and I didn't shed a single tear.

  “When I found out my father was dying, I felt nothing at all. It came out of left field. My father was built like a goddamn ox, and he treated his body like a well oiled machine; all organic everything, worked out religiously even at 55, and then he winds up with cancer. All the kale smoothies in the world won't help if your body's out to get you.” I cringed inwardly at my poor attempt at a joke, making light of something that was far from humorous. I expected Penny's gold flecked eyes to be burning disapprovingly, but she was just listening intently, her soft touch telling me that it was okay. That I wasn't alone. After months of putting a stopper in the bottle that was overflowing with pain, it felt good to smash it open and talk about my father. “When I heard about his grim prognosis, I expected to feel relief. He barely treated me like a son, and we had no relationship to mourn. I could finally take the reins of Wade Enterprises without worrying that he'd decide he was renewing interest in its operations and I had to share the wheel. But there was no relief, and yet, there was no sadness either. When you hear your parent is dying, there should be some tears, or anger, or something.” I clenched my fists and inhaled deep, e
xhaling through my nose. “And that's where I've been. Ambivalent-until his lawyer called me into his office a few days back and told me that if I don't settle down for a month, or until he croaks, whichever comes first, I'm out of a job. Then the anger I couldn't find wouldn't, won't, go away. After all the work I've done, this job is my life. I finally found my purpose. And just like that, he can take it all away. I feel angry and helpless and-” There was another H word that clutched my throat. From the way Penny's cheeks darkened, I knew I didn't need to say it aloud.

  “Hate's a pretty strong word,” she said quietly.

  I nodded in agreement. “Which is why I didn't say it. I've only said it aloud once in my life and I didn't mean it. And it didn't change anything.”

  Fuck. That was just what I needed. I was already whining about my father, now I was bringing my ex into it? I said a silent prayer, hoping that she hadn't caught my last sentence, but the look on her face told me she was waiting for me to elaborate.

  “Since I'm already Debbie Downer, I should just continue the trend and do one of the most taboo things you can do in a new relationship...talk about my ex.”

  Her eyes dropped mine immediately. “Oh.”

  I scooted backward, wanting to pull her close and explain that we already had so much more than Jenna and I had in the years that we dated, but I knew that this was all probably overwhelming, so I gave her space. “We don't have to talk about her-”

  “No.” Her voice was soft and insistent. “We don't—but I said I wanted the unabridged Xander Wade story, and she's part of your story.” She slid closer to me and reached out to squeeze my knee. “It's okay.”

  I took her hand and brought it to my lips. I had no idea what I'd done to deserve her, but I didn't take it lightly. “An unnecessary disclaimer, I'm sure, but I want to say it anyway. Jenna Wells is my past...Penny Robertson is my future.”

  She scrunched her nose playfully. “Jenna—I never liked that name.”

  “She didn't either, ironically. Everyone called her J, and she was a sea of contradictions. She was from a wealthy family like me, but she lived off ramen and wouldn't shop anywhere but goodwill. That being said, she found the best things, vintage and name brand everything. Her hair was always in this wild bun with strands sticking out every which way, but there was never a wrinkle to be found on her clothes. She wanted to be an elementary school teacher, but lamented at every turn just how much she hated groups of kids.” I chuckled to myself, recalling how entranced I was by her. “She was like something wild and feral, which should have been clue one that she was looking for someone temporary. But for me, she was everything. My first love. The first girl I saw myself having kids with, a future with...but she didn't want those things. A five word text the summer after we graduated from university was all I got. ‘I can’t do this anymore’. I never heard or saw her again.”

  “I'm sorry,” Penny offered, her mouth twisting to one side. “And not to steal the mic or anything, but I kind of wish my ex had been cowardly enough to send a text instead of looking me in the eye and telling me that everything we'd built was bullshit. Every time he told me that I was safe with him, or that he loved me, he was planning his next tryst to the city to meet all the women he cheated on me with.”

  If there was any person that deserved hatred or animosity, it was the man who broke her heart. “It's probably a good thing I don't know his name,” I said grimly.

  She hitched a brow, her thick lips spreading into a grin. “Why? You gonna kick his ass?” The smile flatlined when she saw that I just might. “Oh my gosh, Xander. The alpha thing? Super hot in the bedroom, but in real life, it's too much. Like you said, my ex is in the past. If I'm being generous, maybe he was supposed to be an asshole so I could be dragged to a sex club in San Francisco and meet you.”

  I leaned toward her, scooping dark and gold strands that spilled into her eyes behind her ears. There was a symmetry to all of this. When I leaned in and kissed her, I knew that whether it was fate or coincidence, for the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  I was happy.

  Chapter Seven: Penny

  “What's got you grinning from ear to ear?”

  Usually the very sound of Lara's voice was enough to send me spiraling toward some version of a panic attack. What cruel thing would she say? What snide look was she throwing the people around me? If I made myself as close to non threatening and invisible as possible, would that lessen the blow?

  Today, I just looked into the mirror, locked onto her glare, and pulled the sides of my mouth up another inch. Forget ear to ear, my smile practically stretched to the ceiling.

  I could have told her that I had not only met the man of my dreams, but he wanted me too. And not for a month, long enough to secure his place at the top of his company, but for years. He'd said years.

  I leaned closer to the mirror, touching up my peach colored lipgloss. Lara didn't budge from where she stood, trying to glare me into submission. Maybe she wanted a reply after all.

  I lowered my lipgloss onto the vanity, my smile never leaving my face. I remembered the last time we were all made up in pretty dresses. The night I met Xander. I'd felt so out of place. I was just as pretty as the girls that surrounded me, just as accomplished. I let them convince me that I didn't belong; that I had to grin and bear it just to prove I earned a right to stand next to them. I'd be standing next to them again in a matter of minutes, and looking into Lara's pretty, cruel face, I realized that I had nothing to prove to her. If I wanted, I could ignore her altogether. Rubbing my happiness with Xander in her face was something she'd do. Besides, she'd see it with her own eyes at the reception.

  I twirled one of the curly ringlets that the stylist had weaved in and out of my side braid and batted my false eyelashes at her. “Don't you just love weddings?”

  “Ugh,” she snarled. She bit off a cuss word or two as she barreled through her friends and out the door. It clicked shut and I turned back to my reflection. To be honest, I looked nothing like me. Every blemish was hidden, every imperfection contoured out of existence. My bone straight hair that usually hung like limp pasta had volume and lift. My mermaid braid even had texture, curls dipping and cradling the plait like a work of art. The last minute alterations ensured that the strapless gown hung on me just right and the corset beneath made my tiny boobs look luscious. Even though I felt like I was in a costume, 'me' radiated from within. I knew that underneath all the glitz and glamour, I was just as sexy. Xander desired me when I showed my freckles, without the push up factor, without the pound of makeup. And more than that, his love reminded me that at the end of the day, boring old Penny Robertson was more than enough.

  The door swung open and I gripped the edge of the vanity, sure Lara had returned for a rematch. When I tossed my eyes in her direction, my heart stalled. It wasn't Lara. It was my sister...and she was beautiful.

  Of course she was beautiful, she could make an ugly Christmas sweater and crimped hair look beautiful. I needed a thesaurus to put it in words. Breathtaking. Glorious. Freaking amazing. Her pale blonde hair was pulled to the crown of her head, a sea of intricate braids and curls pinned with jewels and tiny pearls. Instead of the usual makeup styling, enhancing her already devastating good looks, she went minimalist, her cheeks and eyes glowing with a slight shimmer. Her bright eyes glittered, framed with a swipe of mascara. Her lips shimmered with a rosy pink gloss. And the dress...I wasn't used to spending much more than $50 on a dress, but her vintage gown was worth every penny. The lace clung to her torso and hips and flared out at the knee. As everyone clamored over to her to ooo and ahh, she flashed one of her shoes, blood red pumps that matched the ruby red studs that glittered in her ears—and the rose bouquet that my mother was clutching like a child.

  I felt real tears building as I watched Victoria beam and do a conservative happy dance with her friends. When she looked in my direction, I expected her to spare a smile and go back to celebrating with the people that mat
tered. But she pushed past her fans and barreled toward me. Before I could gasp or turn around to see if one of her friends was behind me, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed so tight that I thought she'd break something. Usually, I'd complain or stand there awkwardly, sure it was all an act; like she was up for Sister of the Year and was damned if she wasn't snagging the trophy. This time, I felt something. It felt a lot like love.

  She let me go hesitantly and looked down at me, a full head above me with her stilettos. “You look gorgeous Pen!”

  As if her hug wasn't enough, hearing her call me the nickname she used when we were kids, before it became clear that I was the oddball and she was the pretty one, back when we were thick as thieves...it was enough to make the tears free fall.

  “M-me?” I blubbered. “You're the gorgeous one!”

  “Tissue!” Victoria called out and in a blink of an eye a tissue appeared. She gently cradled my chin, dabbing at my cheeks. “You're going to mess up your makeup.”

  And there was the Victoria I knew, the spitting image of my mother. Appearances over truth, always. I took the tissue from her and shut off the waterworks. “Thanks. Hard to not get emotional when you look so gorgeous, Vick.” I knew the sound of the nickname I used to call her would draw a scowl that would force her back a few steps.

  She did one better and stepped back about ten, like she could see herself at that awkward preteen stage, braces, acne and all. “You look pretty too, Penelope.”

  Almost as if she knew that I was close to accidentally spilling something stain worthy on my sister, my mother bounced into view, still cradling the bouquet. “Just look at my daughters! One headed down the aisle, the other not far behind!”

  Victoria's eyes turned navy with anger. “Don't be silly, Mom. She barely knows this Xander guy.” She gave me a look that reminded me of our conversation yesterday when she told me Xander would break my heart. I longed to tell her that she was wrong. That we talked and we were headed somewhere positive, but it was clear she'd made up her mind. Only time and actually getting to know Xander would show her that his player days were behind him.