by S. L. Scott
He starts to descend down the bed to retrieve a foil packet, but my fingers tug his hair lightly, bringing him back to me, so I can see his face. "Don’t, I'm on the pill." I've never had sex without a condom before, so I think it might be the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave me speaking, but I need to feel him inside of me completely. I need more of this feeling we’re sharing. I’m also well aware of his dating history. He has never treated sex casually. "I need you now, baby."
His eyes get distinctly lustier as he puts his weight back down on me and lines himself up using one of his hands. "Are you sure?"
"I want you. I’m so sure… Ahhhhh!" I sigh as he pushes in without hesitation.
His face is pained, and I worry for a brief second that I don't feel good to him until he corrects that notion. "God, babe, you feel better than amazing," he says through gritted teeth, easing my worry in an instant.
One more push forward and he’s deeper, going as far as he can, pelvis against pelvis, and he waits. I want to say he's waiting for me to acclimate to his size, but I think he's acclimating to me just as much.
Leaning down, he kisses me while starting a slow rhythm with his hips. But I need more of him, so I wrap my legs around his middle and start moving against his steady pace, encouraging him to speed up. He does, and he feels so right. We have wasted so many years not doing this. Why were we not doing this every single day?
"Oh, Chase, you feel so good."
"So do you, baby," he says with a moan. I can tell he's getting close. His nice rhythm has been thrown off and replaced with a more erratic one. But the shift is to my benefit and each movement of his hips hits me just where I need it most.
After three more crazy swivels, I come again, lost in all that is Chase and this incredible connection we have.
He drops his head against my shoulder as a series of muttered words escape him, his body tensing as I pulse through my orgasm. Shortly after, we both collapse together from ecstasy and exertion.
That night was the best sex of my life and it wasn’t just about the physical act.
When I stand in front of his door years later, poised to knock, I know I have to make this right. There's no more wasting time with mixed up priorities. If I have a chance at all with him, I'm taking it.
Chapter Nine
Footsteps echo off hardwood floors as he approaches the door. I didn’t know what to wear to make such love-struck declarations and hope the jeans and blouse are appropriate. When I hear the bolts being clicked unlocked, I suddenly feel as though I should have worn a dress.
When he slides the large metal door open, my eyes take him in as his do the same to me. He looks fantastic—dark fitted jeans, a crisp, white button up with a few buttons left open at the top and socked feet. He looks freshly showered. His hair is even a bit damp. "It's good to see you. Thanks for coming," he says, moving to the side, inviting me in.
I feel better about what I’m wearing, but I still feel like I’m walking into the unknown, so I walk in hesitantly. Everything in my life is always planned down to the smallest detail, calculated and weighed. But today has been shot to shit with spontaneity already, so why change now?
I hear the door slide shut behind me as I walk into the modern loft space. Just like his old apartment, it's still very him—clean lines and muted colored palette. The exception is one shocking, bright burst of red, blue, and yellow exploding across a canvas hung above his couch, but other than that, it's comforting. It's him.
"I like your place," I say, turning around to see him in the kitchen drinking wine, and watching me as I set my purse down on the coffee table.
"Thank you. Wine?" he asks, holding a glass up for me.
"Yes, thank you."
“We’re so formal.” He looks down at the salad on the counter in front of him, and laughs as if I've missed the joke.
“It’s as if we’ve gone and grown up or something.”
“Yeah, something like that.” His smile gives him away, it always has. I know he’s over-thinking this whole thing.
"What?" I'm too curious to let it go, so I wander next to him and lean against the counter. I take a sip and wait.
"Nothing," he says, shaking his head, a grin still clearly plastered across his face in amusement.
"No, I want to know," I demand, feeling left out. Is he laughing at me? I'm starting to get paranoid, feeling exposed now.
"You haven't changed at all actually," he finally says.
I raise an eyebrow at him, thinking he's still keeping something else from me.
Looking up, he says, "Fine! You, me, this. This is just fucking weird."
"What is?" I play dumb, though I can admit how awkward this situation is for me also.
"In all honesty, Lydia, I don't know what we're doing here.” He shrugs. “You show up at my work, the courthouse no less, out of the blue, looking fucking beautiful and crazed at the same time, demanding answers that you really don' t have the right to demand. Now, here you stand in my home, making me feel all those feelings for you all over again, and, yet, I'm gonna be the one who pays for this when you leave tonight."
I set the glass down on the counter, and hold the eye contact. "Who says I'm leaving?"
He leans closer, and says, "Don't toy with me. I paid the price when you left. I’m the one who got burned and I'm not going to do it again." His tone is threatening but soft. He's contradicting himself without even knowing it.
I stand on my tiptoes, pressing my mouth against the shell of his ear, and whisper, "I'm here. I paid a price, too, but I'm setting aside the bullshit just for you this one time, and exposing myself. You've got my heart. You've had it all along. So, I can either pack it up and leave now or let you hold onto it a bit longer and see where the night takes us."
We both gulp, and I can see his jaw clenching as I lower myself back to the ground, taking another sip of my wine almost in challenge.
Moving in front of me, he puts his arms on either side of my body, trapping me between them. His face is so close that I can feel his breath warm me over when he asks, "Are you messing with me?"
"Our dear friends weren’t only protecting your secrets. I live in San Francisco. I moved back."
His eyes narrow. "You did?"
"Mmhmm."
I watch as his eyes go from mine down to my mouth, my neck, and back up to meet my eyes again. "What do you want, Lydia?"
"You know what I want. I can see it in your eyes."
"I need you to tell me."
"And I need you to tell me who she didn't compare to."
His trademark sexy smirk makes its debut tonight. "You want everything from me but aren't willing to give up anything yourself… typical Lydia."
"That's not very nice." His words make me sad, his pain obvious.
"I guess I feel a little bitter,” he says calmly, “maybe even a little vulnerable." He doesn't feel vulnerable. He's playing me now, using his lawyer tactics on me. No one sounds that confident if they're feeling vulnerable.
That's okay. I can give him what he wants. He deserves to hear some of my truths. "I only had one real relationship while I was in New York, and it ended on New Year's Eve two years ago," I say, leaving that tidbit for him to digest.
His arms drop to his side as he stares at me. I can tell the pieces have fallen into place when he asks, "Why'd you break up?"
"He read your text."
"That was a goodbye text. Why would you break up over that?"
"He knew. Seeing the text confirmed the suspicions he'd had all along."
"And what suspicions were those?"
"You know what suspicions, Chase. Are you really going to make me do this?"
"Yes, because you owe me this much. Why didn't you let him in? What were his suspicions?"
Feeling cornered, my temper flares, which is something that only happens when I feel I've lost the upper hand. I walk into the living room to gather my thoughts, and to try to slow my racing pulse. Being put on the spot has never been a strong po
int of mine.
"Lydia, tell me or leave."
An internal debate wages as my mind whirls with options. I don't think I'm as ready to do this as I first thought, but my heart argues the point. Stay… stay for him. But my pride cops an attitude. Leave! Put the wall back up and protect yourself.
I lean down and pick my purse up off the table then take a couple of steps toward the door, letting my pride win as always.
He rushes forward to block my exit, and says, "Don't do this. I thought we weren't going to pull this bullshit anymore. Just tell me."
I'm weak, feeling out of control. I reach for the deadbolt under his arm, but he presses against it, keeping me from escaping. "Tell me, Lydia," he begs for an answer.
I finally crack, and let all my pent up emotions flow out of me. "I was in love with you. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you happy? I didn't realize it then. I didn't realize it six months ago. I fucking realized it the day you were getting married, and it was too late." I will myself to hold eye contact to back my conviction and confession.
"It's not too late. I didn't get married because she wasn't you. She didn't compare to you, Lydia. No one does." He grabs my wrists that are still struggling to break out of here, and he stills them between us. "I don't want you to go. I don't want you to leave me… again. I love you. I loved you then. I still love you now. I don't know how to put the hurt aside, but I'm willing to try for you—for one true shot at a real relationship without the façade of work and friends and fucked up priorities."
I'm stunned. He's willing to forget my dumbass mistakes of the past and accept me as I am now. I feel the fight leave my body, and relax under his grip. "Really?" I ask softly.
"Really," he answers without hesitation.
Falling against him, I revel in the moment by wrapping my arms around his middle and leaning my cheek against his chest. I love this man. I say it out loud, wanting him to know I’m solid in this belief. "I love you, Chase."
"I love you too, Lydia." His arms tighten around me, his head dropping to my shoulder.
"You're still my best friend."
"And you're still mine."
"But I want more with you," I say, feeling happy in this moment of freedom from the restraining way of life I held myself in for so long.
He kisses the top of my head. He knows me well and knows that was hard for me to admit. His hand slides up my back and caresses my neck. "I want a whole lot more with you, too."
Leaning my head back, I look at him, really taking in all of his handsome face. I’m on the verge of kissing him, but my stomach grumbles, making me smile. “I haven’t eaten much today. Sorry.”
"Well, let's get you fed then. I have a lot planned for you, and fuel will definitely be needed."
I’m loving this new side of him. I love all sides of him, but I might be a little partial to this open book, say anything side of him. "So no taking it slow?" I ask, positive that I don't want to take it slow, either.
He grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the kitchen. "Oh, no! We're not kids anymore, Lydia. We've wasted enough time." Taking my purse from me, he sets it on the counter. “You won't need this until morning, babe."
His directness is fucking sexy. I shiver in anticipation of his plans.
I distinctly remember being more direct myself when we were together the last time…
The going away dinner tonight was lovely. Dancing at the club was fun with my friends all there, but having sex with Chase tops the night. It felt so good that I wake Chase up for round two. He's always been a good listener. He was more than happy to oblige my needs when I moaned my requests. As he holds my hips, I look down at him as I rock on top of him toward my release. I've never even wanted a round two before, and I can already envision round three happening before morning.
I've also never had two orgasms from sex. Fuck, I've never even had one orgasm from sex that I didn't help along myself in some way. Yet, he did this to me. He gave me two in one session. He's got me craving him in very naughty ways. It's as if I can't get enough of the feel of him inside of me as we move. His fingers find my swollen center, and he rubs fantastic little circles while his face contorts in sexual contentment.
Building. Building. Building. The feeling blooms inside. Just as he announces his imminent release, I come. We come together.
He falls asleep next to me as I stroke the back of his head, cuddling with him. As he drifts off into a deeper sleep, he mumbles, "I love you, Lydia."
My heart stops. My breath stops. My hand stops.
I stare at him in disbelief. He can't love me. We're best friends. This was just a one-time thing, something we needed to get out of our systems. I'm leaving… I look over at the clock… in less than eight hours. This was just drunken fun. No more. No less. He loves me in the best friend kind of way, the same way that I love him. The way that I love him? But, as much as this realization weighs on me, the alcohol and exhaustion kick in and weigh me down faster. I blink my eyes slowly several times, fighting the inevitable but lose.
When I wake, I'm groggy, but I know I need to get going. Leave it to the alcohol to make me do something stupid. I had managed not to jump his sexy ass for six years, and, now on my last night here, I give into desire. Dread and regret settle in as I realize that most of my memories from last night have escaped me. It will never be the same with him again. He won't look at me the same way. Last night, I lost all logic and gave into need and desire. I close my eyes and try to clear my fuzzy head.
I need to drag myself from bed, and get out of here before he wakes up and looks at me that way, that way that will make me feel pathetic. It was a pity farewell fuck, and that's all. I need to get out with the sliver of pride I still have left and focus on the job I love. Focus on that—my number one priority.
The difference between the memories from the first time we hooked up years ago to now in present day is that my priorities changed when I confessed my love to the man of my dreams. Unlike before, there will be no sneaking out this time. I snuggle down, but when the sun comes blaring in this morning, I realize I imagined waking up in Chase’s arms a lot differently. "Have you ever heard of blinds?"
He chuckles against my back, making the bed bounce. "Yes, but I was sort of too distracted last night to close them," he says, his voice sleepy with a husky tone.
That makes me smile and I roll onto my other side to face him. His eyes are still closed as he tries to hold onto sleep a bit longer. I stroke the back of his head, my fingers dragging through his hair and repeating the action.
His eyes finally open, and he smiles when he looks at me. "You stayed. Guess the double deadbolt wasn't necessary, after all," he chuckles, closing his eyes again.
"Very funny. You can't get rid of me that easy." I sit up, and the sheet flows down my body, exposing my bare chest. I quickly grab at it, covering myself up. I need to be covered in some form when baring my soul to him. “Anyway, I liked the sex too much.”
"Is that all we did? Have sex?" he asks playfully, running the tip of his finger against my naked thigh under the sheet.
"Ha ha. You know what I mean." I look down at him. He's turned onto his stomach and completely fascinated by what his finger is doing.
His eyes dart up to meet mine, and he says, "Tell me, Lydia. Tell me what we did last night." He's smiling, so I know he's teasing me. He wants me to reveal my feelings first.
I play along. "Did weee… fuck last night? Is that what you want me to say?"
Chase jumps to his knees, grabs my hips, and pulls me under the sheet with him. His long fingers take to my ribs, and he tickles me. Through my pleas to stop, he says, "Tell me." The tickle torture continues. "You know what I want to hear. I want you to tell the truth." Tickle. "What'd we do last night?" He pokes me one more time for good measure.
"Okay!" I cry out, and he stops tickling, but keeps his fingers positioned, just in case. "Okay, okay. I give. I give.” Letting a bit of playful sarcasm slip out, I ask, “Did we make love la
st night, Chase?"
He rolls onto his back with a smug smile securely in place. "Damn straight we did." Turning to lie on his side to face me again, he reaches over with one strong hand on my back and pulls me to him, tucking me under his body. With a glint in his eyes, he says, "I'm feeling like I might want to make more of that love again right now," he says, his words light but meaningful.
I can feel his erection against my thigh, and I stop laughing, catching my breath. "You're insatiable!"
"Only around you, my love," he says, kissing my shoulder, getting me in the mood for some of that love-making business.
"You’re spoiling me. I could get used to this kind of attention."
"I hope you do," he says, kissing me again—twice.
"It’s Friday. You want to play hooky today?"
There’s no reluctance when he answers. “Make it a long weekend and you’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Nichols.”
“You only want the three days with me?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.
“How about from now on?”
“I like ‘from now on.’ I can work with that.” I smile, enjoying this early morning negotiation.
“So you’ll stay?”
I feign disinterest, but I love being here too much to not try and close this deal. “How long am I invited?”
“How long do you want?”
“You’re being all lawyer-y on me, and I must admit, it’s very hot.”
“If you agree to my terms and stay in this bed, I can be all lawyer-y on you all weekend.”
I giggle, and might be blushing. Actually, by the way my cheeks feel warm, I know I’m blushing. “What would you say if I don’t leave at all?”
“I might be able to be persuaded to agree to that condition.” He kisses me again.
Under a soft white sheet, in the blinding sunlight of morning, in my best friend slash love of my life's bed, I open my heart up completely, and ask, “Should we make this official then? Make us official, counselor?”