The Parent Trap

by Jasinda Wilder

  I don’t know that I’d mind if he did. I want him unbridled. Fierce and unrestrained.

  “Oh god, Delia. Dee, fuck, fuck, your mouth is fucking…fucking heaven.” His voice is a ragged, broken thing.

  I taste him nearing the edge.

  His hips flex, now, helplessly.

  I grasp his cock in both hands and stroke him, just beneath my lips, helping him to the end of his control, to the end of his ability to hold back.

  In the split second before he comes, he does something unexpected, and in so doing, makes one of my fantasies come true: he rips himself away from me, staggering backward with a hoarse grunt of wild effort, every muscle strained and his breathing deep ragged gasps as if he just sprinted a hundred meters full out. Stomach heaving. Abs braced hard. Cock straining, standing flat upright against his belly, leaking at the tip.

  His eyes are wild, almost angry with the ferocity of his need. “I want you, Delia.” He’s a raging god of sexual primacy, muscles veined and bulging, a sheen of sweat coating his body as if the sheer physical demand of pulling away and holding off his climax required a herculean effort. “Need you.”

  I stand up and prowl toward him, and when he catches back up against the massage table, I throw myself against him, bury my fingers in his hair. “Thai, you have no fucking idea how hot that was.” I feel him throbbing between our bodies. I could lift up on my toes and take him into me, right now, so easily.

  The temptation is intense. My whole being demands it.

  NEED.

  My plans, his plans, it all goes out the window. Especially when he kisses me. Surely, he must taste himself on my breath, but he kisses me so hungrily either he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care. Or he likes it. I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter, because my breath is stolen and my very soul is taken by him, swept up in the savage need of his kiss.

  God, I need him.

  It would be so easy. We fit together just right. We line up as if…as if our bodies were created to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

  I’m on birth control, and I never miss. Never.

  I want him.

  I need him.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and just lose myself in his mouth, in breathing him and tasting him and being pressed up against the hard cliff face of his body, the springy give of his dense muscles. His hands take my body for his playground, scraping down my spine to clutch my ass with greedy strength.

  I moan into his mouth. “Thai….”

  He grips me, hips pressing to push against me. He needs this, every bit as desperately as I do. “God, Delia, I want you so fucking bad, right now.”

  I rest my forehead against his, lean against him, crushing my breasts against his chest. One arm clings to his shoulders.

  I give in.

  I need him too badly.

  He makes all my fantasies come true, and I need this, right now. Not in the thirty seconds it would take to get protection. I know he’s clean. I know I am. All these thoughts are not just secondary, they’re tertiary, distant, vague. All I know is my need for him.

  I rise up on my toes, tilt my hips toward him, and feel his thickness scrape against my sex. Hold on to his neck with one arm and lean against him with all my weight. Both of his hands are clawed into my ass, and he helps me rise. Lifts me. I wedge a hand between us and guide him to me.

  It happens all at once, in a single smooth slide.

  The head of him drags against my slick sex, and then catches against the opening, and I grasp him, fit him to me, and I feel the moment he enters me.

  I whimper as he fills me.

  He matches my whimper with a rough groan of surprise. “Delia, my god…my Delia.”

  Sink down on him, take him fully, and I’m split apart. Destroyed by perfection, ruined by the ecstasy of our union.

  No fantasy, no wet dream, no daydream could ever have prepared me for this reality. It’s too wonderful for words, too incredible to articulate. I cannot even breathe for the way he feels inside me. Full doesn’t begin to describe it. I ache with him.

  “Thai,” I whisper, and sag on him, let him take my weight in his hands, on our joining, and I gasp at the deepening. “I need this. Need you. Need more.”

  He takes my lower lip in his teeth, nips hard. Then kisses my jaw, my throat, tilts my head up to kiss from the underside of my chin all the way down, and then he dips at the knees and lifts me into the air. My legs lock around his waist and I hold on. He takes two long strides across the bathroom and kicks the door closed with a loud slam. Pins me against it, hands underneath my ass holding me in place. Buried to the hilt inside me.

  “I was gonna do a whole thing with rose petals and candles in the bedroom. Take my time with you, nice and slow and gentle. Romance you.”

  I curl my arms around his neck, one hand gripping his opposite shoulder while the other cradles his jaw, his cheek. “Hold that thought, Thai—I want that.” I roll my hips. “But right now, I need this.”

  He groans, and pulls away, lowers his head to take my nipple in his mouth. Licks, kisses, suckles, releases. Repeats on the other side, and then straightens to claim my mouth again.

  Drives his hips forward, surging deeper into me—even though I hadn’t thought he could get any deeper. When he does, a growl of surprised bliss is torn from my lips.

  “This?” he asks, powering up into me once more. “This is what you need?”

  I cling to him for balance, brace on his shoulders and use my thighs around his hips to lift up. Meet him on his upstroke by letting myself fall onto him. “Yes, god yes, Thai. That. All of that.”

  He’s still going slow, gentle. “Fucking hell, Dee, you feel so fucking good.”

  “Show me how good, Thai.” I roll with him, lowering myself hard onto his upstrokes, breathless with the wild delirium of him inside me. “I’m not delicate,” I whisper. “I’m not fragile. I’m strong.”

  “I know,” he murmurs, rising up against me, growling as he buries into me as deeply as our union allows. “I know you are.”

  “So show me.” I bite his lip, sharply, and he hisses in surprise. “Show me, Thai. I can take everything you can give me. I want it all. All of you. Don’t hold back. Don’t you dare fucking hold back, Matthais Bristow.”

  “God, Delia. You make me so fucking crazy,” he growls, surging harder into me.

  I meet him thrust for thrust, taking him and rolling my hips harder to demand more. “Good. Show me. I want your crazy.”

  He snarls. Adjusts his grip on my ass, tugging me farther apart, so he can go deeper. “How can you be real?” He gasps for breath, and even that is a helpless groan of delirious desire. “How can you be mine?”

  “How can I be yours?” I whisper. “I don’t even know. But I am. And you are. This is real. We’re real. And I want more. Fucking more, Thai.”

  With a wild, desperate sound of abandon, his mouth crashes against mine and our tongues tangle and our breath is a fusion. He hikes me higher and presses me hard against the door and now he truly lets go. His movements become desperate and crazed, his thrusts beautifully rough, almost violent. I’m shaken by his thrusts. I cry out with pleasure at each one, throwing my head back as he snarls gutturally each time he drives into me, surging home. My breasts jounce with his thrusts, bouncing upward, and his hips slap loudly against my ass. I cry with each thrust, and each cry is louder, wilder.

  I can’t move, now. Can’t do anything but hold on and take it, cling to him and delight in each new pounding thrust.

  “Thai!” I scream. “Ohmygod…Thai, yes, god yes!” My chants break into sobs, then, wordless and shattered as I dissolve into an orgasm that builds and builds.

  It’s as much emotional as it is sexual, this climax of mine.

  Of ours.

  Because he’s there with me.

  “With me, Thai,” I beg, gasping, lips against his. “With me. Now, now, please now, please come with me, come with me Thai, I want you to come with me.”

 
He makes a sound I can’t interpret, like a gasp or a growl, or something in between. There are no words to it, because there are no words for this.

  He pushes up into me, and I roll my hips to take it, to meet it. Try to lift and sink, to make it more, to make it better, seeking deeper connection. I’m gasping, crying, and I feel tears on my cheeks, wet trails on my chin, so savaged by this endless mad climax am I—and Thai is moaning, thrusting, and his groan breaks, and I feel the emotion in him.

  Touch my forehead to his and then kiss his temple. He surges, and I feel him stagger, not under my weight but the breaking of his own strength, under the ravaging intensity of his swelling climax as it builds to meet mine. I kiss his cheekbone, his jaw. I kiss his eyes, and I taste salt.

  I open my eyes and pull back, meet his gaze.

  He ducks his head as if to hide the evidence of his emotion, but I cup his jaw and prevent him from hiding it. I smile at him and I kiss his eyes and his cheeks.

  His face crumples, and his mouth drops open, and a groan rips from his throat, and he surges up against me, sliding as deep as possible, and then I feel him explode inside me.

  He shakes all over, clutching me, desperately fighting to stay upright, to hold me in place. I’m filled with him as he gasps raggedly and thrusts again, and again, each one accompanied by a snarl and a groan, and I come around him, teeth gritted as I scream with clenching, smashing explosions, racked and battered by a thousand waves of ecstasy.

  Finally, he can’t stand up anymore.

  We sink to the ground, and I go to my back and accept his weight and somehow I never lost him—I couldn’t explain how we made it from standing to missionary on the floor without losing our union, but here we are and it’s not over…I’m shaking, every muscle trembling, sex spasming and rippling around him, tightening and quivering.

  He’s braced above me, helplessly driving into me, as if he cannot stop until he’s chased every last drop of heaven out of each of us.

  I wipe at his cheeks. Smile.

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Delia. I don’t know what—”

  I cradle his ass in my hands and pull him closer. “Don’t apologize, Thai,” I murmur, kissing his chin, and then his cheeks, still damp. “I love it.”

  He frowns. “I…It’s…”

  I touch his lips to shush him. “It’s manly. It’s masculine. It’s powerful.” I gnaw on his lower lip, smiling as I do so. “There’s nothing so intimate and sexy as a man who can be vulnerable.”

  “It’s you,” he says. “You…” He laughs. “You bring out the best in me.”

  “Why do you laugh when you say that?” I ask.

  “Because it’s gotten flipped. Used to be, you brought out the worst in me.”

  I pet and massage the taut hardness of his ass, just enjoying that I can, how it feels. “Let’s make one rule, right now, going forward.”

  “Okay?”

  “No more talking about what used to be. Okay?” I kiss his lips, delicate and tender and slow. “It’s over. It’s past. I don’t care about it anymore. I care about now. I care about you.” I pause, hesitate, swallow hard. “Us.”

  He blinks hard. “Us, huh?”

  I bite my lip and nod. “On the plane home, I was talking to this older guy next to me, and I referred to you as my boyfriend.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Matthais

  My heart, already stuttering from the intensity of what just happened, stops completely. “You…did?”

  She nods, her fingernails tickling and scratching in circles on my buttocks. “I sure did. It just sort of popped out and shocked the hell out of me. And then I was just like…oh. Okay.”

  I lever backward and upright, scooping her up—she ends up sitting on my lap as I sit cross-legged on the cold marble. “You’re my girlfriend.”

  She grins, nods. “Sure am.” Her brow furrows in a frown even as her lips curl up in a smile; it’s a confused expression. “I’ve dated quite a few men, but I’ve never self-identified as anyone’s girlfriend. And I’ve certainly never claimed a man as my boyfriend.”

  “How does it feel?”

  Her eyes hunt mine. A shrug, which does delightful things to her breasts. “I like it. It’s still weird, that this is happening at all, and that it’s happening with you.” She clasps her hands behind my neck. “But I really like it. It just feels…right.”

  I tuck her hair behind her ears, touch her face. The more I look at her, the more I marvel at her beauty. I hope she sees it in my expression, because I simply don’t have words for it. “It doesn’t feel right to me.”

  She frowns, confused, the beginnings of hurt creasing her face. “W—what? What do you mean?”

  I smile, not quite laughing. “I mean, it feels too good to be true.” I run my thumb over her lips. “I can’t believe I get to be here with you. That I got to experience that with you. I keep waiting to wake up, for this all to be a dream.” I swallow hard, emotion yet again welling up in me and threatening to take over, to make me a blubbering mess. I rule it, but just barely. “I don’t deserve you, Delia.”

  “You may not think so,” she says, “But I do.”

  Her expression so soft, so understanding, so…accepting, that it cuts into my ability to remain dry-eyed and stable. It just cuts my heart open and exposes all the soft gooey shit that I’ve kept bottled up my whole life. The need to be accepted. The desire to be the center of someone’s affection. The desire to belong to someone.

  My parents cared about me. But their way of showing that was material. Not verbal, not physical.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking, Thai,” she whispers. “Please. I can see you thinking, and I can tell it’s deep, and I want you to share it with me.”

  I swallow that lump—or try to, yet again. “I…”

  She touches my face. “I have a better idea? How about we talk in the tub?”

  “The bath was for you.”

  “Overruled. The bath is for us.” She smiles, caresses my hair away from my face. “You ever taken a bath?”

  “Not since I was a toddler.”

  “So you’ve never taken a bath with someone?”

  I snort. “Not hardly.”

  “Me either. So this will be a nice first for both of us” She kisses my chin. “Help me up so I can pee.” A wince. “I’m, um, juicy.”

  I stand up with her, set her on her feet near the toilet, which is one of those that’s in its own separate little room.

  I turn away to give her privacy, but she doesn’t close the door. It’s oddly, endearingly intimate to hear her pee, to hear the rustle of toilet paper. I’d always thought that once you crossed that particular Rubicon, the mystery of the relationship was over.

  But…

  I find myself even more enamored. She’s even more real, even more human. Sharing something as intimate and personal as that makes me crave her even more, to know her even more. It’s a privilege, to be allowed so far into the inner workings of her life.

  She emerges, washes her hands. “Was that weird?” she asks. “Should I have closed the door?”

  I shake my head. “No. I was just thinking about how much of an incredible privilege it feels like, that you’re letting me so close. I don’t mean physically, but that way too. I just mean…sharing the intimacy of life.”

  She leans against me, her hands still damp from being washed, not bothering to dry them. “It almost seems like you’re self-conscious, in a way, Thai.” A puzzled frown, thoughtful. “That’s not quite right. Not self-conscious. It’s like you don’t quite see your value to me.”

  She takes my hand, leads me to the tub. Swishes her hand in the water. Twists the hot water on, opens the drain to let water out while it refills with hot water. In a moment, she closes the drain and shuts off the water. Tests the temperature again, and then nods. Glances at me.

  “After you,” I say.

  She climbs in, moving gingerly to avoid splashing or causing an overflow. I watch each and eve
ry movement greedily, hungry for every angle, every curve. The arch of her spine as she bends, hands on the sides of the tub. The bend of her thigh as it swells to become her buttocks. The delicate fold of her belly, the taut muscles visible—she’s powerful, strong, vibrant. She lowers herself into the water, steam wreathing around her face.

  A sigh escapes her. “Get in,” she murmurs, her eyes on me. “It’s hot.”

  I put my feet in, sitting on the edge. She opens the drain again, and more water gurgles out, and when I brace my hands on the sides and lower myself in, the overflow drain sucks noisily. She closes the drain once I’m settled, and the water hovers right at the point of sloshing over, the overflow drain working overtime.

  I have my knees drawn up, and Delia smirks, reaching forward to pull my legs to either side of her, extending her legs over mine, feet against the crease of my hips.

  Her hands rest on my knees, mine on her thighs. This position isn’t sexual, but it is the most intimate I’ve ever been with anyone, in a way.

  A moment of silence.

  “Thai, I just want you to know…” Her cheeks are tinged pink. “That wasn’t planned. But I don’t regret it.”

  I don’t know what to say. Guilt and worry have been percolating. “Delia, I…I shouldn’t have—” I shake my head. “Number one, I’m clean. I’ve never… I’ve never been like that with anyone. Unprotected, I mean.”

  “Thai…” She grabs my hand, and water sloshes over the side. “It was my idea. I wanted it.”

  “I just…I should have asked if you were sure. If…I assumed you’re on birth control, but I just feel irresponsible for not making sure.”

  She huffs, an actual laugh. “Thai, you’re not responsible for my choices—I am. I knew exactly what I was doing.” Her toes tickle my ribs. Flick against my member, threatening to start me up again. “I am protected, just so you know. But it wasn’t a moment of weakness, or a lapse in judgment. It was a conscious choice. I wanted you.” She holds my eyes. “Hear me, Thai. I needed you inside me, and I took what I wanted. And I don’t regret it. I…I fucking loved it. More than anything, literally ever. I’m still shaky.”