by Adriana Law
He pushed a little deeper. “Shit…so tight…” he ground out through gritted teeth as his grip loosened on her wrist and his hands slid up, his fingers lacing with hers. It was a sweet gesture, like he’d switched from someone using her mode to someone who actually cared mode. His body was covered with sweat as he collapsed down on top of her. He groaned next to her ear, “Please, tell me you’ve done this before?”
Her eyes flew open, her hands tightened on his as she thought he was about to let go or change his mind.
He lifted his head, his tortured eyes skimming every feature of her face, while he waited for an answer.
She sighed, “No, I haven’t done this before, but…”
He released her hands. She could feel the heat flare in her cheeks. This was awkward. He’d made no move to push deeper inside her. He just kind of hovered there, over her, analyzing her way too much for her comfort.
He exhaled a breath. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Good. I’m not either,” she replied. He raised a brow as if he didn’t believe her. “Well, not with you anyways.” She cleared her throat. “I love Griffin, not you, so relax. He was supposed to be my first…it’s why I’ve waited…”
He had the nerve to laugh at her. “You don’t love him.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Trust me, you don’t. If you loved him… the head of my dick wouldn’t be inside of you right now.” He moved a little bit as proof, wearing an infuriating smug grin.
She shoved at his chest causing him to slip out and tumble over onto the mattress. “I think I’ll stick to using a vibrator! You can leave now!” She reached for her tank top tugging it back on over her head. Leaning over the side of the bed she felt around on the floor for her panties, doing her best to ignore his steady laughter.
“I think you might be a little crazy,” he offered.
“Crazy for allowing you to touch my body,” She returned. She tried not to glance at the naked guy stretched out on his side watching her slide back on her underwear. It was already bad enough. She made a show of being close to gagging. “Gah, I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Gee thanks. Why did you?”
“Why did I what?”
“Let me touch you?”
Her gaze flew to his. “Don’t forget you came into my room.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” He mumbled as his gaze dropped to his fingers, which were picking fuzz balls off her cotton sheets. It was distracting. She wanted to reach over and grab his hand to make him quit. But then again maybe what was distracting was the fact that he’d made no effort to put on any clothes and his simple-minded actions drew her gaze to his bare chest where muscles flexed under tan smooth flesh. She’d licked that chest like a wanton shameless slut not more than a couple of minutes ago. The taste of his salty skin still lingered like a bad case of the runs.
Her body was in limbo. “I’m not going to lie. I was kind of enjoying it… a little.” One of his brows shot up. “Okay a lot. I didn’t want to stop, then I started rationalizing what we were doing, thinking you might be the perfect solution to my problem.”
He chuckled. “Which one of your bazillion problems are you referring to?”
Her back teeth ground together. She pushed it aside and ignored him. She wasn’t choosing him because of his personality. She was basing her decision to honor him with her virginity solely on his appearance. Luckily, for both of them he excelled in that department. She explained, “I realized I could be going about this all wrong by waiting on the right guy, maybe the reason Griff hasn’t tried anything is because he knows I’m inexperienced. Maybe it intimidates him. I want you to help me gain a little experience.”
“You want me to bust your cherry to hopefully help you get some other guy?”
Appearance over personality, don’t muddle the two. At least he’d abandoned his collection of fuzz balls and was now completely focused on her, although he was frowning.
“Yes. That’s what I said.”
First he was shocked, he quickly moved on from shock to being pissed. “Congratulations. You’ve stolen the number one spot on the list of people who have made me feel like a worthless fuck,” he snarled and started digging around in-between the sheets, then nodded in the direction of her butt. “Mind pulling my boxers out from underneath your ass?”
“What are you doing?” she asked as she slung them at him, wishing they were something heavier and sharper.
“Getting dressed.”
“Then what? Is that a no?”
“That’s a HELL NO!” He stood up bedside her bed and retrieved his tailored dress pants from the floor tugging them up. He zipped them up rather forcibly and worked on fastening the top button as he glared at her.
She scooted up against the wall, resting her back against it hugging her knees to her chest. “You’re acting as if I’ve said something that hurt your feelings. You yourself said you’re not wanting a relationship.” When it came to giving other people advice, she was a genius. But when it came to her own life she allowed emotions to cloud her judgment. Advice was easy to give, but hard to apply to yourself.
“Don’t you have any self-respect?” He growled.
She rested her chin on a knee watching him jab his arms in the sleeves of the sweater. “Of course I do! Just because I asked…”
“Then don’t sit like that!” His smoldering gaze collided with hers and her face heated as she realized what he was talking about. She dropped her legs to the mattress and grabbed hold of the sheet pulling it clear up over her chest in one fluid movement.
As soon as his sweater was in place he made some throaty sound, dragging a hand through his hair and appeared to be on the verge on having a panic attack. He headed for the door, pausing, his head pivoting in her direction. She felt the hitch of her breath. His gaze connected with hers, “Shit peaches, I actually thought you were one girl who had her shit together, but now…”
“You know I’m just as screwed up as everyone else?”
His stony expression softened a little. He didn’t answer, before storming out. The door slammed rattling the wall and probably waking everyone in the house. She bit into her bottom lip, drew her knees back up and laid her forehead on them. She’d just offered Christopher Blackwell sex and he’d turned her down. Maybe, something was seriously wrong with her. ♠
Eighteen
Megan felt his powerful presence consuming her. His arms circled her waist and his breath was hot on the back of her neck as his hands slid down over her thighs, working the fabric of her dress slowly up inch by inch. His touch over her skin was hot and evoked sensations that made her moan and arch into him. She gave in, feeling more affectionate and turned on than she’d ever felt in her life. Her hand moved down between the sheets covering his on her inner thigh, guiding him to where she was drenched with arousal. Nobody existed… except the two of them. Nothing mattered but how they made each other feel.
“I love you… I always have,” he whispered, warm breath over her naked shoulder as his lips followed his words.
She moaned again, caught up in the landslide of pleasure as his fingers hit their mark. Could this really be happening? She blinked open her eyes, squinting against the extremely bright morning sun pouring into the room. Ouch! Her head throbbed and her mouth tasted as if she’d definitely puked at some point of the night.
Thank God! It was only a dream, but then she realized the powerful presence was still there, nuzzled up against her back. His arms were wrapped possessively around her waist and warm breath? Yeah, there was that too coming from his snoring, his little puffs of breath raising the hairs on the back of her neck. It was irritating, not the least bit adorable. At least that’s what she told herself.
Oh shit, was he completely nude? She reached a hand behind her to inspect the magnitude of her horror and touched a thigh. She relaxed. He was wearing his jogging pants, but their legs were tangled beneath the sheet: his leg crammed between hers. Could he be any
closer?
Carefully, working really hard not to wake him, she rose up on an elbow and glanced back over her shoulder. He appeared harmless when he slept; making her momentarily hesitate wondering how many other women had watched him sleep like that? She studied him: his thick lashes that any girl would love to have. His slightly parted lips. Strong jaw. Stubble. Dangerously sex, she’d experienced firsthand.
It wasn’t fair, he’d been hers.
Hers?
Now he had a long list of sluts he’d experimented with, played with. Sluts she was certain were a lot more entertaining in bed than she would ever be. What was his preference: Blondes with jugs for breast or the sophisticated type who wore thigh-high black boots with expensive lingerie and smoked long slender cigarettes? Whoa, women like that don’t exist except in movies, do they? Regardless, other women had touched him, pleasured him.
“There has always been an …us.” She vaguely remembered him saying something to that effect last night. She laughed out loud.
Damn Liar.
Suddenly, she had the strong urge to smoother him in his sleep with a pillow. Instead she attempted to wiggle out of the devils clutches. She peeled his fingers off of her body and went to sit up. The mattress squeaked and his snoring abruptly died off and none too attractively. It gave her some small satisfaction that maybe those women had been in her position… trying to escape.
His thick eye lashes fluttered and then he was gazing up at her with a look of affection that caused her to suck in a breath and hold it. Damn the bad luck. She wanted him to speak, knowing he’d somehow obliterate the lust she was feeling by just looking at him.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he muttered in a drowsy voice as he yawned and a stretched. Another wide-mouthed yawn and then he was rolling out of the bed saying something about needing to take a piss.
Yep, the mouth opens and he ruins it.
The two minutes he was gone gave her plenty of time to stew in her anger. She crawled out of the bed dragging a pillow with her wearing the red dress from the night before and tiptoed over by the bedroom door. As soon as he stepped over the threshold she clobbered him with the pillow: in his gut, across his back, his head...while his arms offered little protection from the fluff smacking him. “You make me sick!” Whap! “You’re an arrogant coldhearted asshole!” Wham!
“Hey, watch the lip!” he warned. She paused, pillow reared back over her right shoulder. The corner of his mouth edged up wickedly, “Unless this whole beating is just an excuse … so you can have another chance to blow on my lip. I’ve got something else you might enjoy blowing on if you’re in the mood.”
She slung right for his head and his hand shot out, confiscating her weapon and then he just stood there, smirking, holding her damn pillow hostage. “Is there a problem?” He extended his wounded bottom lip. “If you’re sexually frustrated, baby, all you have to do is ask.”
“Do not ever try to get into bed with me again! Conner would have a fit if he knew we slept in the same bed together!” She ordered, while he just grinned at her as if her anger was cute. She was royally pissed and about to continue cussing him for his crude remarks when…
Smack! The pillow struck her across the side of her face and her jaw went slack from the shock. She blew the hair glued to her cheeks off and then realization hit her. He wasn’t taking any of this a bit serious. That was Drew, never serious. She lunged for the pillow grabbing a corner of it. “Give me the pillow, Drew! I promise… if you give it to me I want hit you with it!”
“Yeah, riight..”He cradled it to his stomach like a football player cradling his precious football as the other team goes in for the kill. “You seriously think I’m stupid enough to give you this thing back? Baby, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“You act like it.”
Laughter erupted from his chest. They wrestled a few more minutes for who would have the control. He kept trying to go for her legs, a tactic she figured he’d learned playing football, and most likely a move guaranteed to put her flat on her back. She was relentless and almost had the pillow wormed out of his hands when he said, “I have to admit… wrestling with you while you’re wearing that dress is giving me a boner.”
“Oh. My. God.” She released her hold, panting hard, her heart racing. Her cheeks flamed. “Alright, that’s it! I give up for real. You’re a morally corrupted. I’m going to go take a shower… be gone when I get back.”
“Morally corrupted?” He laughed out, a palm going to his chest as if she’d wounded his ego. Probably elevated it was more like it. He knew exactly what he was. “Come on Filly, you know I was just kidding.”
She slammed the bedroom door in his smug face, thankful for the barrier suddenly between them. ♠
Drew was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal, when Chris dropped down in the seat across from him. Chris hissed in a breath, cringing at the sight of Drew’s busted lip and the bluish-purple bruise along his jaw, a jaw that had obviously not seen a razor yet that morning.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have punched you.” There he’d said it. It had killed him, but he’d gotten it past the bolder pressing against his chest. He knew his hatred was unwarranted, but it was still there, painful like a harpoon shoved under a toenail.
He waited, for what he didn’t know. He didn’t expect much, not from a Mackenzie. Drew absently chewed, staring over Chris’s right shoulder. Chris scratched his own jaw turning to see what was interesting behind him. Nothing but a lemon colored wall. Guess his apology fell on deaf ears. He drummed his hands on the table top and pushed up out of the chair. “Alright then, nice talking to you.”
The open box of frosted flakes scratched over the table top to his side of the table. “Bowls are in the top cabinet on the left side of the sink. Spoons are in the drawer to the right of the sink.”
Chris stood, shocked. “Ooo-kay.” There was a burst of movement around the kitchen: cabinet doors opened and shut, silverware collided in the drawer, then Chris rattled the box of Frosted Flakes filling his bowl to the rim. He covered the mound of cereal with a hand and pressed down with the heel of it compacting the flakes into a crumbled heap. He glanced up. Drew’s jaw had stopping working and his spoon hovered near his mouth. Chris shrugged a shoulder, “It’s a habit, sorry.”
“I know. I have the same habit. It drives Filly insane. She thinks I do it because it pisses her off.”
Chris scooted his chair closer the table. “Do you?”
“Do I what?
“… deliberately try to piss her off?”
“Nope, it just comes naturally,” Drew answered around a mouth full of cereal, smirking.
Chris shook his head, rich laughter rumbling in his chest. He picked up his spoon, submerging it his cereal before the flakes turned soggy. “Strange thing is someone was definitely in her room last night… do I detect a reconciliation on the horizon?”
Drew raised a brow. “Who do I look like? You’re brother?” Milk also came out of Chris’s nose. Drew continued, unaware. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“Touché. You’re right… it’s none of my business.” On to something else, “I’m thinking about hanging around the ranch for a couple of days. How do you feel about that?”
“Are we a bed and breakfast?”
“If you are… I have to say this is a pretty crappy breakfast.”
Drew was quiet for a moment, his gaze narrowing suspiciously, and then he shrugged a shoulder. “Birdie’s motto is ‘everyone is always welcome’ even my father. She’d be disappointed if I turned away a new stray. Are you still considering buying?”
“Relax, I’m thinking the whole me owning a ranch idea was a bad one. So, do you think we can be civil to each other for a couple of days?”
“I don’t know… do you know anything about working on cars?”
“Probably more than you.” ♠
Nineteen
Megan tugged the warm afghan up to her chin as she stretched out on the couch he
r body settling into the comfort of the cushions. She was wearing a button down sweater left undone over a baggy T-shirt, no bra, and a pair of cotton shorts. Her hair was pulled up in a messy pony tail. Of course she looked like absolute crap, but the day had that lazy feel, and that’s exactly what she planned on being… lazy, lazy like a salamander basking on a rock on hazy hot day.
Heavy rain hammered the tin roof overhead and lightening lit the dreary den for a couple of beats, followed by a soft roll of fading thunder. It was also the perfect day for watching a chick flick. She already knew the one, “My Best Friend’s Wedding”. She’d seen it countless times, but it never grew old. Her favorite line from the movie was when Kimmy Wallace said, “He’s got you on a pedestal and me in his arms.”
What Megan hadn’t intended on was having company. With Drew came the stink of popcorn, one snack she’d never been partial to. “Want some?” He stood over her and rattled the contents of the large bowl up high.
She glanced up at him through lowered lashes. “What do you expect me to do… jump up and down for it like a dog?”
“Wow, somebody is in a pissy mood.” He dropped the bowl down to her level, rattling it with a smirk. She wrinkled her nose and slapped at his hip, a clear indication for him to move aside. He raised a dark brow. “You don’t like popcorn? Was wrong with you? Everybody likes popcorn.”
“Drew, seriously, I’m trying to watch a movie.” She hated the whinny tone to her voice, but he was annoying same as a bug that wouldn’t stop buzzing around your ear.
“What exactly are we watching?” He asked circling her legs with a muscled arm and lifting them as if they were a toll bridge he needed to pass under. He crashed down settling her legs across his lap. Too much touching was involved. His hair was a hot mess, he hadn’t shaved and his bottom lip was still swollen, which made her want to kiss it. Yes, someone was in a pissy mood, because there was suddenly way too much stimulating male in the room for comfort.