by Witt, L. A.
I’ve got this. I can do this. We—
Halfway up the stairs, she tugged my arm, and the next thing I knew, I was pinned to the wall with her lips against mine.
Oh God. Oh God, yes . . .
She started toward my neck again, but I beat her to it this time. I pushed her back against the opposite wall, pinned her with my hips, and I kissed her neck. Her skin was so deliciously hot and soft, and when I nipped her gently, she shuddered. The faint salt, the scent of shampoo in her recently washed hair—one taste of her, one breath of her, and suddenly I needed to taste her all over.
I pressed my teeth into the side of her neck, and Natalya swore in Russian. I assumed. It sounded profane, that was for sure. I bit her again, and she squirmed, moaning more words I couldn’t understand. Jesus, I hoped she was as turned on as she sounded, because I sure was.
And I needed her naked. Quickly. Now.
I undid the top button on her blouse, and it fell open enough to reveal the red lace bra underneath. Had she deliberately worn something hot because she’d planned on us having sex? Or did she dress that way all the time? Not like it mattered—either option turned me on.
I opened the next button. As I slid my hand beneath her shirt and cupped her breast, she kissed me again. With my thumbnail, I traced her nipple through the thin fabric, and was rewarded with a soft whimper and a subtle but unmistakable shudder.
Somehow, I remembered how to work the rest of her shirt and managed to unbutton it enough to pull the whole thing over her head. It landed somewhere on the stairs. Didn’t matter. It was gone. And . . . why weren’t we in bed yet?
We continued up the stairs, but I couldn’t move my feet and kiss her and undo her bra strap at the same time, so I leaned against the wall again. She pulled away just long enough to toss her bra . . . wherever.
God, finally. I covered her breasts with my hands, my whole body hot and tingling with arousal as I put my hands on the woman I’d been fantasizing about for way too long. She was more perfect than she had any right to be, and her breasts were no exception. Exactly the right size to fit in my hands, as perky as any thirtysomething woman’s breasts could be, with rock-hard nipples I couldn’t resist circling with my thumbs.
She broke the kiss, pulling in a sharp breath. “Bed?”
“Bed.”
We continued up the stairs and into my bedroom, which I could have sworn wasn’t that far down the hallway. But whatever, we were there now. We exchanged glances and both started stripping off what was left of our clothes. Using some sort of witchcraft I’d never understood, she shimmied out of her skintight jeans in a matter of seconds. The red lace panties followed. I kicked off my own clothes, and my nipples hardened at the realization that I was now naked in the same room as her.
Holy hell. She really was beautiful. Her muscles usually stood out at the gym when she was working out, but in this environment, they were smoother. A few shiny, silvery scars—one on her elbow, some smaller ones above her hip—caught the light and made her somehow more . . . human. As if those subtle imperfections transformed her from a flawless, untouchable being to a flesh and blood mortal who I could touch, tease, taste.
I gestured for her to join me as I lay back on the bad. Grinning, she climbed onto the mattress beside me, then on top of me, and as she sank down into my arms and my kiss, her skin warmed mine. It had been too damn long since I’d felt another person’s body heat like this, and that, more than anything, overwhelmed me. After too long at a lover’s arm’s length, I was with someone who wanted nothing more than to get as close as possible.
It didn’t hurt that her smooth, toned body was even hotter to touch than it was to look at. She’d always seemed so rough around the edges, but like this, without the rigid professionalism at work or the exertion at the gym, her figure was all soft curves and smooth contours. Like a newly revealed secret side of her that no one else at work or the gym knew about. If only for tonight, this version of Natalya was mine. All mine.
And damn it, what better way to exorcise an ex than to take someone new into the bed we’d shared for the last few years? I’d deal with regrets and a hangover tomorrow. Tonight? I was all about Natalya. About the woman who’d tongue-tied me at work and occupied my fantasies for ages and was suddenly here, naked, in my bed and in my arms . . .
Now that we were here, neither of us was in any hurry. We explored each other’s mouths, necks, breasts. We slipped our hands between each other’s thighs, and even as we both gasped and trembled, there was no rush to get me or her off. The alcohol had nothing on Natalya. On how dizzy and giddy I was as we lay there in the middle of my bed, teasing clits and gasping between kisses.
Somewhere in my tipsy, overwhelmed brain, I knew how weird this was. We worked together. And we were going at light speed—it hadn’t been that long since she’d first kissed me, had it? Or since she’d broken up with her boyfriend?
But that confused little voice was quickly fading away because I was too drunk, too turned on, and too intrigued by this hot, aggressive woman who’d materialized in my bed.
Natalya broke the kiss and started downward. She was on a much more determined path this time—not lingering on my collarbone or my nipple—with more and more distance between each kiss until she reached my hip.
I held my breath. Yes, yes, please . . .
She pushed my legs apart, and I barely noticed the ache in my muscles, because a split second later, she kissed the inside of my thigh. I closed my eyes, and then . . . God . . . her mouth was on my pussy.
And . . .
Jesus . . .
She knew what she was doing.
I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what her technique was, only that on first contact, she had me coming unglued. Every sweep of her tongue, every gentle tug with her lips—fuck!
I kneaded the sheets with my fingers. Arched off the mattress. Squeezed my eyes shut. I almost never came when I’d been drinking, but Natalya wasn’t having it—whatever she was doing had me on a one-way bullet train to an orgasm.
“Oh shit,” I breathed. “Keep . . . keep doing . . .”
Everything went white. My knees and shoulders came up, as if the force of my orgasm was pulling all my extremities toward the source of this blinding, earth-shattering pleasure. My own voice distantly registered, but hell if I knew what I was saying.
All at once, it was too much. I pushed her head away and collapsed, panting and shaking. The room was spinning even faster now, my vision sparkling around the edges. Holy. Fuck.
Natalya came back up to me, and I grabbed her and pulled her down, and she kissed me hard, her mouth sweet from my pussy, and now I wanted—needed—to taste hers as well. But not until I’d caught my breath. Which I wasn’t going to do when I was making out with her. Which . . . whatever. I ran my fingers through her hair and opened to her aggressive, demanding, tangy kiss.
But that taste . . . that orgasm . . .
It was definitely time to return the favor after she’d made me come like that. And although she obviously liked being in control, she let me roll her onto her back without resisting in the slightest. Now it was my turn to work my way south, but I wasn’t quite so focused as she’d been. I took my time on her neck, pausing on her collarbone before inching down to her chest.
I held her nipple between my teeth and fluttered the tip with my tongue, my skin prickling with goose bumps when she moaned. I glanced up to see her biting her lip, eyes heavy-lidded and locked on mine. She licked her lips, reminding me of the way her kiss had tasted and of how much I wanted to taste her.
Forget taking my time. I planted a soft kiss between her breasts and then settled between her legs. A kiss on her inner thigh made her breath hitch. Another one, slightly higher, drew a moan from her lips. I grinned to myself—oh yes, this was going to be fun.
As gently as I could, I swirled my tongue around her clit. She made a sound like she’d tried not to yelp and almost succeeded. Another gentle swirl, and she cursed softly, her back arching as sh
e gripped the sheets just like I had.
The heady sweetness of her pussy seemed to sober me up and intoxicate me at the same time—kicking the tequila right out of the picture and giving me an entirely new reason to be dizzy and halfway out of my mind.
And after the orgasm she’d given me, I wanted to send her out of her mind.
I circled her thighs with my arms to hold her steady and let her pussy have it. Lips and tongue, fast, slow, softer, harder . . . anything that made her moan, I did and did again.
Natalya twisted and trembled. Her fingernails dug into my scalp, and she held my hair tight enough to hurt. I could hear her voice, but I had no idea what she was saying or if she was murmuring in English or Russian. The hand in my hair told me the one thing she wasn’t saying was stop.
I shifted around so I was resting on one arm and the other hand was free. With my fingertips, I teased her pussy lips apart, all the while still gently working at her clit with my mouth. She cursed as I slipped one finger, then two, inside her.
“God, yeah,” she whispered. “That feels so . . .” She trailed off into a long, helpless moan. I crooked my fingers inside her, beckoning gently, and she was once again slurring something in one language or another.
“Oh . . . shit . . .” She released the most delicious cry, and I gave her everything I had, circling her clit until my tongue ached and fucking her with my fingers until, finally, she clenched around them and arched off my bed. Beyond a sharp gasp, though, she didn’t make a sound. She trembled violently, still gripping my hair painfully tight, and then, all at once, she relaxed, dropping onto the bed with a long sigh.
I’d barely lifted myself up before she grabbed me and dragged me into a deep, breathless kiss. And I barely had my head around that before she pushed a hand between us and slipped two fingers inside me again.
Oh, this wasn’t going to be a one-orgasm night, was it? None of the you came, I came, now go to sleep bullshit I was used to?
Bring it on, Natalya.
Bring. It. On.
Chapter 4
Oh God. Oh God.
Who let all this light in?
Where did all these muscles come from, and why the hell do they hurt?
Eyes covered with one hand, I gingerly made a second attempt at rolling over. With every motion, big or small, my butt and quads angrily reminded me yesterday had been leg day. And especially as I sat up, I was well aware that my hips were sore in a different way.
A memory flashed through my hungover brain, and I saw Natalya pushing my legs apart so she could once again let that talented mouth loose on my sex-starved pussy. How late had we stayed up, turning each other inside out until fatigue, satisfaction, and Cuervo conspired to knock us out? Late, that was for sure.
I shivered, and despite the aching in my bones and the throbbing in my skull, I grinned. Slowly, carefully, I faced her.
Natalya was still beside me, burrowed under the comforter with her long hair splayed messily across the pillow. Across my pillow, I realized after a moment. Usually it annoyed me when someone wound up on my side—I hated sleeping on the wrong side of the bed—but I didn’t care all that much today. Not when the gorgeous woman occupying my half of the mattress was one I’d never imagined having a shot with. Yeah, I could give up my spot for one night.
She stirred beside me, grumbling into the pillow. Then she turned, dragging her face across the pillow before lifting her head and meeting my gaze through a curtain of unruly hair.
“Morning,” I said.
Another grumble, this one bordering on a growl, and she buried her face again.
I laughed quietly. “You want some coffee?”
She muttered something that sounded Russian.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I leaned down and kissed the back of her shoulder, right beside the sports bra tan line. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
More mumbling.
Someone wasn’t a morning person. Not that I was either. And she’d drunk more than I had—even if she hadn’t been all that intoxicated, her liver was as mortal as mine, so she might’ve been paying hard for that extra shot.
Making as little noise as possible, I got up. I put on enough clothes to be halfway decent and to restrain my breasts so they didn’t hurt along with everything else. I gathered Natalya’s shirt and bra from the stairs and left them, along with the rest of her clothes, on top of the dresser. I also left a folded towel underneath the stack, which hopefully conveyed the message that she was welcome to the shower if she wanted it.
Then I shuffled downstairs, vowing to stay on the ground level for the rest of the month because holy shit my legs hurt. Sex and leg day really did not mix.
Worth it, though.
In the kitchen, I fired up the Keurig. Thank God for fast, simple coffee—I still wasn’t sure how I’d survived without this thing. Instant coffee for coffee snobs. What wasn’t to love?
Well, besides the fact that the damned machine was in my kitchen, and one of the selling points of this house had been its “bright, sunny kitchen.” Clearly this place had been built with the intent of punishing hungover sinners like me.
Shielding my eyes with one hand, I approached the machine, wincing at all the vicious bright light bouncing off shiny appliances and that fucking stainless steel stovetop. Thank God I’d memorized the buttons on the machine, and in seconds, it was brewing me a cup of life-giving elixir.
While it did, I dug a pair of sunglasses out of my purse and shut the curtains over the window that had been letting in the most offensive sunlight. My skull still throbbed, but with less ferocity.
And finally, my kitchen was bearably dim, and I had a steaming cup of black coffee between my hands. I sipped it carefully, basking in the placebo effect of simply knowing the drug was on its way into my system.
As caffeine slowly inched its way into my needy veins, I wandered around the house. The Cuervo was still uncapped on the coffee table. The lime rinds were lying where they’d fallen on the plate. Over the back of the couch, my bra. On the floor, my shirt.
I grinned into my coffee cup. The tequila hangover sucked, but thank God for Cuervo if it was what gave us both the nerve to start fooling around on my couch like that.
I sighed, closing my eyes and savoring every throb and ache. Okay, so some of it was from yesterday’s workout, but Natalya had definitely left her mark. In fact, she’d probably left some actual marks. At the memory of her teeth and nails digging into my skin, I squeezed my thighs together and shivered.
That wasn’t what I’d expected last night—or ever—but I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d have changed. I’d been so deep in drama for so long, I’d forgotten what it was like to just give in and let loose. Sex with no pretense and no pressure—she’d kissed me, I’d kissed her, and we’d had sex, and that was that. Perfect.
Despite the hangover, I felt pretty damned good now. I was the kind of sore that said “good workout” and “good sex,” and I could totally live with that. After all, it had been a while since I’d been in a solid routine at the gym and even longer since I’d had anything enjoyable in bed—I wasn’t complaining.
I did, however, need some more coffee, so I wandered back into the kitchen for a refill.
It occurred to me I knew almost nothing about Natalya. What kind of coffee did she like? How did she take it? Did she drink it black like I did? Or did she sometimes spike it with Baileys or whatever was handy . . . like I did?
Just in case she liked it polluted, I checked to make sure I had milk and sugar. The gods were smiling on me this morning—I had both, and neither had outlived their shelf lives.
Grinning through my hangover, I returned to the counter to refill my coffee. The headache would pass, and much like the soreness in my hips and butt, it was worth it for the end result.
Movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned toward the driveway, and nearly dropped the coffee cup I hadn’t yet filled.
Leigh.
Sh
it.
So much for needing caffeine. Or being in a good mood.
As I rinsed my cup, I watched her. She parked beside my car, and as she got out, she shot Natalya’s car a glare before starting up the front steps.
She pulled out her house key, and for the first time, I questioned the wisdom of letting her keep it. She wasn’t vindictive in the sense that she’d steal anything or set the place on fire, but that key somehow . . . kept her here. Made her a part of this landscape, even as she took pieces of her presence away with her every time she left.
My throat constricted around my breath. I wasn’t particularly sad about her leaving—the breakup was long overdue and we both knew it—but it was still a change. A big one. One that seemed to be stripping away all the subtle stability I’d taken for granted in my chaotic life. Like the long-dead tree in the yard that needed to come down before a storm knocked it into the house or onto a car, but had been there so long, I couldn’t quite bring myself to break out the chainsaw.
I shook my thoughts away and stepped out of the kitchen as she unlocked the door, my stomach fluttering in a very different way than it had while I’d gotten drunk on the couch with Natalya.
The door opened. For a second, Leigh was backlit by the vicious morning sun, and I turned away, shielding my eyes until the door clicked behind her.
Then we faced each other across the foyer. My eyes adjusted, and the throbbing in my head eased, but my brain couldn’t quite adjust to this. To standing here with the woman I’d lived with for the past few years.
“Hey.” She met my eyes and quickly dropped her gaze.
I swallowed. “Hey.”
She brushed a long strand of black hair behind her ear. After an uncomfortably long moment, she met my eyes again. Her expression was blank—somewhere in that hard-to-read area between bored and apathetic. “How, um, how are you?”
Small talk was excruciating. Small talk with someone I’d once shared my life with? Jesus.
“I’m okay.” I struggled to do something with my hands. Folding my arms would’ve been more comfortable, but she hated it when I looked defensive. Pockets. I had pockets. Hands all the way in? Thumbs hooked in—