by Steph Nuss
"I don't wanna hurt you again."
"You. Did. Not. Hurt. Me," she said, stepping out of my arms. She turned in a circle before me and smiled. "Look at me. Have you ever seen me like this before?" She stopped, facing me, a wide grin on her glowing face. She's really glowing. Her fair skin always made her glow, but this morning she looked radiant, brighter than the sunlight pouring in through her windows. She looks really happy.
"No," I said, smiling back at her.
"Right, because I haven't even seen me look this happy before," she said, moving closer to me. She hugged me and kissed my chest. "You did this to me. You made me this happy, and you were not too rough last night. You were absolutely perfect. You made me feel like a wild savage when you took me up against the door. I mean, I ripped the buttons off your shirt!" She laughed at herself, and my smile widened. "I had no idea I had that kind of strength until you. I loved everything about last night, from the rough sex against the door to the sweet, slow love-making in my bed, and I'm gonna want nights like that all the time with you. The last thing I want you to worry about is hurting me. These bruises don't hurt. I know they look like they do, but believe me when I say they don't. I promise I will tell you if you ever hurt me. The bruises and the soreness I feel when I walk remind me of how amazing our first night was together, and the only thing I want you to promise me is more nights even greater than our first."
I sighed, completely in awe of her, and crushed my lips against hers. I pulled her bottom lip between my teeth and sucked on her soft, supple mouth. She opened for me and I dove into her, tangling our tongues around the sweet, tart flavor of grape swimming in her mouth. She broke away first, and I cradled her face in my hands again. "I promise you, every night and every morning will be even greater than our first."
"This morning was really great," she said with a wink. She gestured toward the island full of food. "And then I got a little carried away with breakfast."
"I wondered how many people you planned on feeding," I teased, grabbing a piece of bacon.
"The second time I woke up, I was starving," she said, shooting me a glare, knowing the innuendo was right on the tip of my tongue. "Not that kind of starving. Starving for food." She grabbed two glasses out of a cabinet, brought them back over to the island, and continued her story. "So, I walked in here, got the fruit out and started snacking, thinking, ‘I should do something nice, like make Carter an omelet since that's what he always used to have for breakfast back in college.’" She leaned against the island, laughing, and took a piece of bacon. "And as I was getting out all the ingredients, I started grabbing every single breakfast food I have, thinking, ‘I'm really hungry and what if Carter doesn't eat omelets anymore.’" I laughed just picturing the whole scenario, and she covered her face, laughing even harder at herself and shaking her head. After her laughter simmered down, she smiled at me and then looked at all the food again. "I don't know what happened. One minute I'm your girlfriend, blissfully happy over her morning orgasm but starving from all the calories I've burned with you, and then the next I'm the mom from Pleasantville trying to feed you all this damn food."
We broke out in laughter again and I poured us each a glass of apple juice, since apple was her favorite. I placed our glasses on the other side of the island and then scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the barstools. I placed her on her stool and slid onto the one next to her.
"First of all, I still love omelets," I said, taking a bite of the omelet she made.
"Good because I had to Google a recipe this morning, too. I didn't know how to make them," she confessed, smiling after I swallowed my first bite.
I dropped my fork onto my plate and scooped her back into my arms, kissing her hard, devouring her shriek of surprise. With her arms hooked around my neck, she giggled and kicked her feet as I spun around celebrating, playfully kissing her face and neck. "She wakes me up with sex!" Kiss. "She still sings and dances to the oldies!" Kiss. "She makes me an omelet and bacon!" When I stopped spinning, we were both laughing and trying to catch our breaths. I stared straight into her warm eyes, smiling, and set her back down on her barstool. "I don't think the mom from Pleasantville ever sang or danced."
"Ha ha, very funny," she said, wrinkling her nose at me.
I pulled her seat closer to mine and laid another kiss on her. "Seriously, thank you for everything this morning. The food tastes amazing. The singing and dancing is always entertaining. And the sex is hands down the greatest sex I've ever had."
She laughed against my lips. "You're welcome."
"So, when did you start cooking?"
"After I moved into this place," she said, taking a sip of her juice. "Justin's grandma lives across the hall. When I moved in, she invited me over for dinner and we got to talking about our lives and how much she loves to cook. When I told her I really didn't know how to, she insisted on showing me a few things. She'd have me over and we'd hang out, cook, and drink wine. I'm still not the greatest cook, but she's a lot of fun."
"I can't wait to meet her," I said, taking another bite.
"She'll love you," she said, rolling her eyes.
"What was with the eye roll?"
She sighed and took a bite of her food. "Nothing. She's just been telling me I need to date. She even tried setting me up with Justin."
"You're kidding," I said, laughing, a little shocked. Justin never said anything about going on a date with Elly. "How'd that go?"
She smiled at me and waved her fork in between us. "Obviously, it went well."
I laughed and slipped a grape into my mouth. "No, I wanna hear the story. Did you really go out with him?"
"We went to dinner."
"And?"
"And nothing," she said, taking another bite. "Dinner was good and he was good company, but I didn't feel anything for him. I mean, I didn't get butterflies or anything like that when I was with him. At the end of the night, we both thought we were better off as friends, and we've been friends ever since."
Grabbing our empty plates, I smiled and walked them to the dishwasher. In my peripheral vision, I saw her starting to clean up and turned around to stop her. "No, you sit your cute little ass back down. You cooked so I'll clean up. I gotta learn where everything goes in this place."
"Okay," she smiled, sitting back down.
She started humming along to the song, and I gathered up all the dishes except for our drinks and loaded the dishwasher, poured in the powdery soap, and started it up. Perched patiently on her seat, she pursed her lips into a small smile and watched me put the apples and oranges back into a bag and put lids on the containers of grapes and strawberries.
"So, these butterflies," I said, gathering all the cold items. "Did you ever get them with me back in college?"
She ignored the question and gave me directions instead. "The juices and condiments go in the door. There are Ziploc baggies in the drawer next to the fridge. I usually put the bacon in a baggie and then put it in with the rest of the lunchmeat in the shallow drawer at the bottom. Fruit all goes in the crispers. Eggs go on the middle shelf."
I did as I was told and laughed at the distinct feel of her eyes shooting lasers into my back.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"You," I said, shutting the door. "I felt you watching me. Did I get everything in the right spot?" I never thought I'd see the day where Ellyson Evans would have a fridge stocked full of food and have it organized.
"Yes," she said, wrinkling her nose at me again.
"And you completely ignored my question." I grabbed the box of waffles and pulled the drawer to her freezer open. "Do the waffles have a certain spot in the freezer?"
"No," she said, laughing. "You're the one who always gave me crap for never having any food in my fridge, and now that I do, and it's somewhat organized, you're making fun of me.
"You did it again," I said, sliding the pantry door open. Surprisingly, the pantry wasn't as organized as her fridge. Nothing was facing forward, but she kept it
stocked full. I gathered all the non-perishables and looked over my shoulder. "Any specifics on these?"
"No, just the cereal. Cereals go on the top shelf or else Stag will get into them. He seems to prefer Cheerios over Iams," she said, smiling.
I laughed and remembered her dog. I hadn't seen him around at all. "Where is Stag?"
"Mrs. J.'s. Janice goes by Mrs. J.," she explained.
I nodded and slid the pantry door shut. Walking back over to the sink, I wet the washcloth and proceeded to wipe down the countertops and the island. "What's he doing over there?"
She moved our glasses out of my way. "Stag doesn't really like being alone and she likes his company. So, whenever I'm gonna be gone for hours, I take him over to her apartment. She spoils him with human food and he watches game shows with her. She's keeping him until Sunday. They're both early birds. It worked out perfectly or he probably would've interrupted us in bed this morning."
I laughed, rinsing off the washcloth, and turned to face her. She looked around the kitchen, smiling, and then nodded her approval of my cleaning job. As I walked around the island, I heard part of the song playing and turned the music up. It was a song easily recognizable from the movie Dirty Dancing.
"Come here," I said, holding my hand out to her.
She jumped off her stool and I twirled her into my arms and started dancing with her.
"Answer my question."
"Did you give me butterflies?" she asked with smirk, like she forgot the question.
I wrapped an arm around her chest and held her other hand up in the air and began dancing just like they do in the movie. Her jaw dropped when she realized what song was playing and what I was doing, and she pushed away from me with her brows raised and a huge smile on her surprised face.
"What the hell are you doing?! Since when do you know how to dance like Patrick Swayze?!"
I smiled and brought her hips up against mine. "Answer my question, and I'll answer yours."
"Yes, you gave me butterflies back in college. You still give me butterflies," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck. My mind eased knowing I had her under the same spell she had me under. Even when I wasn't around, a nice guy like Justin couldn't affect her the way I could. We swayed to the old tune, and when I said Mickey's lines asking Sylvia about her lover boy Elly's laugh sounded over the music. "When did you learn to dance like this, Mickey?"
"Well, if you must know," I said, lowering my hands to her ass. "My grandma made my sisters and me take ballroom dancing lessons when we were younger."
"Really?" she asked, still in shock. The song changed to a rock ballad by AC/DC, but we continued slow dancing.
I nodded. "It's not something I'm proud of. I was pretty good, caught on quick, so our old lady instructor would always pick me to be her partner whenever she wanted to show the class an example of a certain move. It was personal hell for an eleven-year-old kid."
"I can't believe I didn't know that. Why didn't you ever tell me or show me?"
"I don't know. Like I said, it's not something I brag about."
"But you're so good!" she exclaimed, tightening her grip around my neck. "I mean, last night at the club, your moves were really hot, but you can do all that Dancing with the Stars stuff, too! Can you do the lift trick like they do at the end of Dirty Dancing?!"
Shit.
"Yes, but I'm not doing it with you," I said, loosening my grip around her waist.
"What! Why not?" she asked, her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tiny pout.
There it is, that sexy pout of hers I can't say no to.
"Every woman wants a man who can do that trick. Every woman wants their own Johnny Castle, and now that I have you, you won't?"
"Not until you're bruise-free," I said, reminding her of her bruises. After seeing the bruises on her back this morning, I never wanted to leave another bruise on her again. I hadn't done that lift in years, and even then I had mats around and the girls I lifted were my sisters.
"Like that'll ever happen," she said, rolling her eyes. She looked up at me, her eyes big and unwavering, and batted her lashes.
And there's her little trick to get me to do whatever she wants.
"Come on, pleeeaaase?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. Don't look into her eyes. Her eyes get you every time. I ran my hands over her shoulder blades lightly and kissed her forehead. "I know I didn't hurt you, but I still don't like that I put these bruises on you. I haven't done that lift in years, and if it doesn't go the way it's supposed to you could get hurt."
"Really?" she asked annoyed, narrowing her eyes at me. "I'm not gonna get hurt because you're not gonna drop me." She ran her hands through my hair and kissed my neck, and I felt myself starting to thaw. "Please give me my Jennifer Grey moment. I don't care how long it's been since you've done the lift, and I don't care if it turns into some sort of accident. Most of my bruises have great stories behind them. Like, the next time I'm at the gym and someone asks me about my back, I'm gonna tell them about the awesome sex we had, and they're gonna wish they had bruises from amazing, against-the-door sex. If the lift goes wrong, it'll just be another great story to tell."
I smiled and shook my head. How was she so good at this? She could always get me to cave, but now that we were in a relationship and having sex, it was ten times worse. I held her off the other night in my apartment, but it took every ounce of my being not to give in to her. I wanted to give her everything, make her happy, put a smile on that beautiful face, and hear that special laugh of hers. "I don't even know why I try telling you no."
"I thought you said my tricks didn't work anymore. What happened?" she asked, grinning victoriously.
"We happened. Sex happened. Stand over there by the door," I said, shaking my head. I walked further into her living room and moved her ottoman out of the way. You just had to show off your dance moves, Jennings.
When I turned around, she was jittery, stretching her neck and her arms with a big smile on her face. "You just tell me when to go, okay, babe?"
"Okay," I replied, smiling. Her excitement alone was entertaining. I watched her stretch her hamstrings, pulling one leg up at a time; then she straightened her legs, bent over, and touched her toes. She had always been pretty flexible; it was nice knowing that hadn't changed.
I loosened my shoulders and popped my neck, and then she stood back up, smiling.
"You ready?" she asked, taking a deep breath.
"Ready." I gestured her to come to me.
"Ohmigawd!" She shouted as she took off, feet thumping against the hardwood floors, powering forward straight toward me, and I crouched down, knees slightly bent, readying myself for her. She sprung off the floor a few inches in front of me with a loud shriek, and I caught her hips and raised her up into the infamous lift, holding her tight. The second she was in the air, she tightened her body to keep balance, her arms straightened out to the side, her back arched, and her toes pointed. She smiled and tried not to giggle with excitement.
After a few seconds, I lowered her nice and slow, wrapping my arms around her waist. Her arms came around my neck as she slid down, her front flush against mine. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins with her racing pulse. I was surprised she didn't break free the minute her feet hit the floor and run back over to the door to do it again.
"Wow," she breathed, fascination radiating off her.
She backed out of my embrace, her eyes heated with interest, her lips turned up into a sexy, mischievous grin; my blood instantly pooled downward and my mouth felt dry. That's her sex look.
She gripped the hem of her tank top, pulled it over her head, and tossed it to the floor.
Holy shit.
"Come on, lover boy," she said, her finger in a come-hither crook.
My dick hardened and I stared at her beautiful, naked chest, her dark pink nipples hard and begging for my mouth. She wiggled out of her shorts, pushed them down her smooth legs, and kicked them in my face.
; I tossed them into the living room and stalked toward her. My pulse sped up, the need to touch her searing my hands, and I felt the barbaric animal rattling against his cage as hunger swam through my blood.
"Bed or shower?" she asked, backing away from me, now stark-ass naked. She ripped the rubber band out of her hair and shook her head from side to side. Red strands cascaded over her shoulders, and the smell of citrus lingering in the air made my need for her almost painful.
I took another step toward her, and she continued teasing by taking another step back. With my adrenaline running high and my dick throbbing, I was in no mood for games, but if she wanted to play, I'd play. Her gaze followed my hands to the band of my boxers, and the playful expression on her face quickly heated and turned ravenous when they slid to my ankles and my dick sprang forth. I stepped forward and watched her lick her lips and feast her eyes on my lower half, completely distracted. Two more strides and I caught her around the waist.
"Shower," I said, tossing her over my shoulder like a sack of flour. Carrying her around felt effortless, like she belonged in my arms. A wicked laugh bellowed out of her, and I turned into the hall and quickened my strides to the master bathroom.
"Looks like those dance lessons actually paid off, huh, Mickey?" she asked, laughing, caressing my ass with her soft hands.
"I don't know," I said, teasing her. I smacked her tight ass hard and then palmed it as she writhed with pleasure in my arms. "Let me get your beautiful ass bent over and screaming my name, and then we can talk about sending my grandma a thank-you card."
Chapter Fourteen
One Month Later
Ellyson
It was Sunday morning, and I was at the drug store a few blocks down from my apartment building allowing the pregnancy tests to stare me down, intimidating the shit out of me as they screamed, “You should've made Carter wear a condom!” Part of me was just delaying the inevitable—finding out whether or not my eggo was preggo—but the other part of me was extremely baffled over the wide variety of tests the drug store had. Why wasn't there just one standard pregnancy test? How in the hell was I supposed to choose which one to buy? I was already stressed out over my missed period and then, to make matters worse, the creators of pregnancy tests offered a variety to choose from. Why? It wasn't like women needed one that smelled like freshly picked flowers or one that vibrated. We needed one that was effective, that's it. Not ten different kinds labeled “most effective,” like the ones bullying me right now.