by Stacey Lynn
He brushes my hair off my shoulder and wraps his hand around me, holding me to the bed.
"Fuck, Sarah." He pulls out and slides inside, hitting me deep.
My groans can't be contained.
"This feels better. Every time. Every time I'm with you it feels so damn good."
I can't answer. I don't even know how. My jaw is slack as he continues thrusting inside of me until I feel my body begin to explode with heated expectation.
His hips pump faster and harder, the sounds and smells of sex filling the air.
I can't take any more.
I cry out his name as my body begins to quiver and tighten. My thighs shake. My fingers dig deeper into the sheets beneath me.
Everything burns and ignites into a burning flame as my climax comes wild and fast.
"Lynx!" I scream, unable to move, forced to take his unending, powerful thrusts.
"Shit, Sarah," he answers and begins moving faster.
He thrusts deep, and I let out a delicious moan while he seats himself inside me.
I feel him pulsing inside me and he drapes his body over my back.
He leans down and presses his forehead against the back of my shoulder. "How does this keep getting better, every single time?"
He whispers the words, as if asking himself.
I'm too overwhelmed to answer.
I lick my parched lips, feel his heart beating against my overheated skin, and I have never felt so lost.
So lost in pleasure that only Lynx has been able to give me.
So lost in the feel of him.
So lost in the silly, innocent fun we had today.
I've never had any of this.
I've never wanted it.
Now, I have no idea how I'll be able to walk away from it.
From him.
I clear my throat. "We should probably get going. Kennedy's going to be waiting for us."
He presses his lips against my shoulder. "Let them wait. I can't move."
I chuckle and shift so he gets the idea I want him to pull out of me.
As he does, I instantly feel the loss of our closeness.
Sex has never been this good. This intense. This...meaningful.
He pulls out and then collapses on the bed next to me, on his side, with one arm draped over my back.
He props himself up on his elbow, head in his palm, and grins.
"What?" I ask.
He slides his other hand up my back and tucks a chunk of my hair behind my ear. I'm still laid out on my belly, unable to move, but I still feel goose bumps prickle my skin at his gentle touch.
His eyes examine me for several moments before he says, "I think this friend thing is working out great for us."
I laugh softly and roll my eyes.
I push him away from me and roll to my side before I sit up.
"It's just sex." I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my hands around my shins. I'm naked, and I feel exposed. I can't even look him in the eye while I spew my lie.
He groans as he sits up next to me.
Leaning toward me, his lips brush against my cheek before he whispers, "Keep telling yourself that, honey. Someday you might believe it."
My body tightens until he moves away.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he swings his feet to the side, pushes off the bed, and strolls to the bathroom.
While I hear him rustling in the bathroom, I jump out of his bed and get dressed.
I'm smoothing down my hair, already dressed in the simple jeans and shirt I had for the zoo, when he comes out of the bathroom.
I stare at him with wide eyes as he walks directly toward me.
When he reaches me, he laughs at my terrified look before he reaches out and squeezes my hand. "Come on, friend, let's go get some dinner. All that work I just did wearing you out has made me starving."
I cross my arms as he walks away and grabs a pair of jeans flung over a chair. "I'm not worn out."
I realize my mistake as soon as the words fly from my mouth.
"Yeah?" he asks, tugging on his jeans. Mischief swirls in his dark brown eyes. "Then later you can show me what you got left. I'll even let you do all the work."
I open my mouth to tell him that I was just trying to do all the work when I was riding him, but he took over—like he always does.
I snap my mouth closed before I can.
There's no point in continuing this conversation. He's trying to goad me into admitting something I'm not willing to.
That I sort of like him, too.
A whole lot.
"Whatever," I snap and push past him while he tugs on a different shirt from the one he wore earlier.
I can still hear him laughing at me when I reach the bottom of the stairs and dig through my purse, searching for my lipstick.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LYNX
WITH MY HAND thrown over the back of Sarah's chair, I can't help but be distracted by the idea of getting her alone later.
We've been having fun, kicking back for some drinks with Landon and Grayson and Kennedy. While Grayson is all scowls, forced to stick to water before his fight next week, Landon, Sarah, and I are tossing back beers like we're at risk of running out.
The lone singer on the stage at Claddaugh's Pub has part of the crowd engaged. The rest of the crowd is watching the baseball game on televisions hanging over the bar.
I'm not paying attention to any of it. Half my head is still back on what happened between us in my bed earlier.
This woman makes me lose my mind and shoot my load harder than I've ever experienced.
She twists me in knots with her smile and her laugh. Even the fact that she's trying to deny what's happening between us is amusing as hell.
My thumb drops to Sarah's shoulder and begins rubbing tiny circles along her exposed skin, occasionally dipping beneath the strap of her top. I feel goose bumps prickle her skin.
I bring a glass of beer to my lips.
"Stop that," she leans in and whispers.
"Why?" I look at her and arch a brow. "Is it turning you on? Making it hard to concentrate?"
Because I'm hard. I always seem to be around her. She has me acting like some randy teenager who can't control himself.
Her blush gives her away and I grin.
"Good. Then you know how I feel, your leg rubbing against mine all night."
She rolls her eyes. Playful Sarah is fun to be around. Drunk and playful Sarah is fantastic.
I can't fucking wait. Landon's been giving me crazy-eyed looks all night long when he started realizing I can't keep my hands off her.
He'll call me a pussy as soon as he gets me alone. I don't care about that either.
I have some undeniable and unexplainable urge to let everyone in this damn place know she's mine...
Even if she won't admit it.
Across from us, Landon and Grayson are watching the baseball game. Kennedy and Sarah have been talking about girl stuff, clothes, and gossip for far too long.
My cock begins to thicken in my jeans at the thought of drunken sex with her later. She'll be all hot and wild, speaking dirty words and digging her nails into my skin, her teeth into my arms or shoulders.
Painful, but fucking sexy.
I drop my hand to her thigh and slowly glide it up her jeans until my finger brushes against her sex.
I want to tease her. I want to drive her wild.
She jumps as my finger plays with her through her denim and I flash her a knowing expression. I love that I’m driving her crazy.
"I need another drink," she says, her cheeks flushed pink.
She stands and moves away from the table—tipping her glass to Kennedy in question, who shakes her head no—before she heads to the bar.
"What was that all about?" Kennedy asks, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. "Giving my friend a hard time?"
More like it's me with the hard-on.
I shake my head. "Just teasing her."
Kennedy tilts her head to the side. "You won't hurt her, will you?"
The very thought makes my chest tighten. "We both know the score, Kennedy. I promise you."
"Yeah, but—”
She's distracted as Grayson and Landon both shout, "Yes! Homerun! Go fucking Cubbies!"
Most of the people in the bar raise their glasses high in the air and chant along with them. I look up to one of the screens in the Irish pub and watch as Antonio Ruzzo passes second base, one hand raised in celebration as he trots around the bases.
"A grand slam should put them in contention for the playoffs," I say to Landon across the table.
He tips his glass against mine and grins. "Hear, hear. Where'd Sarah go?"
"To the bar to get another drink."
Landon's gaze drops to behind my shoulder and I watch as his eyebrows slowly rise.
"What is it?" I'm already turning in my chair as I ask the question.
And when I see what has caught his attention, my hands ball into fists.
"Kennedy," I snap.
She jumps in her seat and I could apologize, but I don't.
"Does Sarah know that guy?"
Kennedy turns in her chair, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion.
"Him." I point to Sarah standing near a group of people crowded at the end of the bar. She's talking to some guy in a dark blue Cubs shirt and cargo shorts. He's tall and lean, not ripped, but athletic, and when he laughs at whatever she says, his light brown hair flops in front of his eyes.
"I have no clue." Kennedy shrugs when I look at her. "Not sure it's your right to get jealous, either," she says.
I roll my lips together. I'm not jealous. Am I?
Just because I can feel my blood begin to race through my veins a bit faster and my hands are curled into fists, that doesn't mean anything.
I watch as the guy reaches out and his hand lands on Sarah's trim waist.
A noise escapes my throat.
Holy fuck, I'm growling at some asshole Sarah clearly knows. What's wrong with me? They could be friends for all I know.
Anger builds when she doesn't pull away from him. She just stands there, smiling, letting some guy put his hands on her just hours after I had her.
Fuck no. Not happening.
Friends or not, we're still exclusive.
I watch as she leans in, encouraging the guy, who grins down at her.
I'm out of my chair before I know what in the hell I plan on doing once I reach them. Throw her over my shoulder and carry her away like a caveman? Pound the shit out of some guy for touching her?
Both are possible.
I push my way through the small crowd of people still cheering about the homerun and demanding refills on their drinks.
As I reach Sarah, standing just behind her, the douche in cargo shorts says, "You liked it. Let's do a repeat, babe."
I wrap my hand around her stomach. She jumps from my sudden touch while I practically growl, "She's not repeating shit with you."
I glare at the guy and watch as his skin pales.
Yeah, I'm not the biggest, baddest guy in the bar, but that doesn't mean I look like someone you want to fuck with.
"Hey, man." Douchebag raises his hands and steps back. "Didn't know she was taken."
He looks down at Sarah and dips his chin. "You know how to get ahold of me if you're ever interested, Sarah."
"Bye, Tyler," she says, her voice barely audible over the din of noise in the background.
She flinches in my arms as he walks away.
When he's gone, she pushes out of my relaxed hold and spins around, green eyes glaring at me. "What in the hell is your problem?" she hisses.
"Mine?" I jerk my head back. "I look up, look for you getting a drink, and you're letting some guy put his hands all over you."
"I wasn't!" she shouts, her hands flailing into the air and then slapping at her hips. "You know what? I don't owe you any explanation. I didn't do anything wrong."
She spins on her heels to walk away and I reach out, wrapping my hand around her bicep.
"You don't owe me anything?" I ask, twisting her around so she's facing me again. At the hurt in her eyes, my chest clenches tightly. I take a deep breath, trying to blow out all the frustration I feel at the thought of another man's hands on her. "He thinks he can fuck you again," I say, slightly calmer.
She glares at me. "Well, thank you very much for thinking I have absolutely no control over my hormones, Lynx."
"It's not that." Fuck! I let go of her arm and scrub my hand down my face. "What would you do, right this very minute, if you walked into a bar and saw a girl's hands all over me, Sarah? Would it bother you at all?"
Her lips twist into a sneer and I know I have her. I keep talking before she can respond.
"See? You know what we're doing isn't just sex. You admitted it yourself the other night. There are emotions involved—that's why I got pissed."
"Fine," she huffs. "But that doesn't mean anything. It just means I like the guy I'm fucking for a change. That's all."
Sure it is. She can think that. This whole fight proves otherwise, but I'll let her stick her head back into her shell.
"I didn't like seeing it," I say. Damn it. I still sound like I'm growling.
But she's still here. She hasn't walked away or kicked me in the balls for being a prick.
I see her shoulders relax, and when she speaks again she leans in closer to me, resting the palm of her hand on my chest.
I take a moment to relish the feeling of her touching me. The warmth from her hand seems to seep directly into my heart.
And...I am so fucked.
So gone for this girl.
"I didn't even know the guy, Lynx. He was just some guy I was with a while ago. I didn't even remember his name at first. It was nothing, okay? And of course I wouldn't have done anything with him—I was just trying to get away from him without causing a scene."
The remaining anger boiling in my veins begins to recede, even though I still don't like the thought of that. Or her being with some other guy.
Finally, I nod.
"We okay?" she asks when I don't say anything.
I force a grin. "Peachy."
"You still okay with us just being friends who have sex?"
Nope. Nuh-uh. No way in hell.
By the way she bites her bottom lip, looking uncertain, there’s no way I’m admitting it now. She’ll hop on the first plan to Timbuktu in order to hide from me.
"How about I take you back to my place and show you how friendly I can be?"
Her eyes narrow and I can see her fighting against a smile. "You're planning something. I can see it in your eyes."
"Yup." I reach out and take her hand and begin leading her out of the bar. With my other, I fish my phone out of my back pocket and send a text to Landon, letting him know we're not coming back.
"Lynx?" she says once we're outside, walking down the mostly empty and dark street with the wind whipping through the air.
I look down her, but she stays facing straight ahead.
"If I was willing to risk giving my heart to anyone, I want you to know it'd be you. I'm just not built that way anymore."
Bullshit. She's already giving me her heart with every small piece of information she divulges of herself.
There's no way to respond to that statement, so I pull her close to my side and drape my arm over her shoulder.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and we walk down the street, connected in more ways than one.
I'm just going to think of a new strategy to get her to admit she's falling for me.
Because I'm not falling.
I'm already gone.
***
Sarah and I have spent almost every night together since that night at the bar.
I changed the rules on her again, when I called her last Sunday after Landon and I got back from our Sunday dinner—a dinner that consisted of Landon giving me crap about the new woman in my life. To
say that my mom was happy to hear this news would be a massive understatement. She cheered like I'd told her the Duchess of Cambridge was planning a surprise visit.
When I started giving Landon shit about the chick I'd heard in his bed, and then learned he'd had another date with her, my mom broke out a bottle of champagne.
It was also the first time in almost a decade that I left my parents’ house with a smile on my face and the knowledge that for once I'd been able to give my mom some peace and freedom from her constant worry.
After I got back to my place and finished working out, I took a quick shower and hightailed it to Sarah's, where I spent the rest of the night showing her how much I want her.
And that was how the last week and a half has gone.
She either called me or I called her. We met, we laughed and ate, we fucked, and on the nights we were at her place, I left while she was starting to fall asleep.
On the nights she stayed at mine, I had to fight myself not to pull her into my arms and hold her tight and make her stay with me.
Neither of us is ready for that, though.
This morning I woke up with panted breath from another nightmare.
It's probably because I had my first appointment with Dr. Martin yesterday. He warned me that dredging up all these old memories from my time overseas could cause things to get worse for a while. Because of that, there was no way I was taking the chance of having Sarah in my arms last night.
Good thing, too, considering I woke up with my hands wrapped around my pillow while I tried to strangle a piece of fucking fabric and shouted expletives so loudly I was sure I woke up the neighborhood.
Which is why, as we board the plane for New Orleans to prepare for Grayson's fight on Friday night, I have a Bloody Mary clutched tightly in my still-trembling hand.
"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" Landon says next to me.
I already told him I'd called Dr. Martin. Landon wouldn't forget that my appointment was yesterday. "Is he always so big of a prick?"
Landon laughs and takes a swig of his coffee. We'll be in New Orleans in a couple of hours and then we have three days to train and a dozen media interviews.
As the guy who does most of the marketing for Legend, I have to be at all of them, but right now I just want to belly up to the nearest bar when we arrive and spend the week drunk off my ass.