Deep breath. "Hey, it's Luke. I can't reach Alyssa. Let me know if you hear from her." I hang up.
It's probably nothing.
It better be nothing.
***
I'm distracted all evening, but I try to give Samantha as much of my attention as I can. She talks about little things--staying with her parents, her wish to return to her job, how sick she is of the only restaurant that delivers to her house.
We order dinner. We drink half a bottle of wine. We watch some show about Lincoln on the history channel. Samantha loves the history channel.
Finally, my phone buzzes. Samantha turns to me, her eyes laser focused on my expression. I nod. This is all going to be fine. And I turn over the phone.
It's a text from Alyssa. Sorry, I was at a movie. Is everything okay?
I reply. Just checking on you.
Her response is quick. I'm fine.
I reply. Did you do the food challenge?
I'm tired. We can talk when you're home on Sunday.
I clench my jaw. She did promise she'd call if she was overwhelmed. I reply. Right. But do me a favor?
No favors.
I reply. Just promise you're okay.
I'm fine. I'll see you Sunday.
There's such a finality to it. I know better than to press her. She's done with this conversation, with any conversation until I'm back in her arms.
My breathing is strained and my back is aching, but I do my best to push it aside. Samantha still needs my help. And I need to repay this debt.
I turn my attention back to Samantha. She's staring at me, as usual, like I'm an idiot.
She nods to the TV. "They're about to get to the good part."
"He's finally executed and the show ends?"
She shakes her head and she holds up her wine glass as if to ask for a refill. "Please."
I nod. Okay. I grab her glass and mine, and push off the floor. It's a short walk to the kitchen. A short walk through this huge, dark, empty house.
There isn't a single speck of dust in the kitchen. There's nothing except a tiny crimson spot next to the bottle of wine. It's going to stain. Her parents are going to yell at the maid.
I wrap my fingers around the glass bottle. Twenty-four more hours and I'll be with Alyssa. Twenty-four more hours.
I return to the living room and offer Samantha her wine. She smiles, licking her lips like she can't wait to be just a little bit more tipsy.
She's sitting on the rug. It's the same crimson rug we always sit on. Once upon a time, I made a joke about having sex on the rug.
She didn't laugh at that one either.
I take a seat on the couch. Samantha frowns. Pats the spot next to her.
But I shake my head.
She pushes herself off the floor and plops next to me. She's close, closer than she should be. She rests her head on my shoulder. Wraps her hand around my arm.
"Sam, don't..."
"Please." It's a high-pitched whine, a desperate plea. She takes a long sip of her wine, her cheeks flushing with color. "Just hold me for a while."
I push her off as gently as I can. "You know I can't."
She sighs, wrapping her fingers around the stem of her glass. "Right. I'm sorry... I shouldn't ask... I forgot about Alyssa for a minute."
"Sam..."
She hugs her chest with her arms, her eyes turned to the floor. "Wouldn't a minute be okay?" It's so desperate, like she'll fall apart if I don't immediately wrap my arms around her.
But it's not happening. "I can't." My voice is harsh. A warning not to ask again.
She shakes her head. "Of course. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." She brings her eyes to mine for a moment. "You're the best thing in my life. Please don't think I have the wrong idea."
I nod. It's possible Samantha did forget. It's possible she really means nothing by her request.
But it's also possible she knows exactly what she's doing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The sky is dark the entire drive back to Santa Monica. There's an Alyssa-shaped hole in my gut, and I'm desperate to do anything I can to eradicate it. I'm so close to wrapping my arms around her, to feeling her heart beating against my chest.
It's late, too late, when I finally park in the driveway. The house is dim, but there's a low roar from the TV. Alyssa is curled into a ball on the couch. She's hugging a pillow and her eyes are closed. I almost don't want to wake her.
She stirs. Her body unfurls, her arms stretching over her head, her jaw dropping in an adorable yawn. She's wearing my clothes--a T-shirt and boxers. It's such a small, intimate thing, but it feels so right, like this tiny part of our lives is finally properly tangled.
She looks at me with the tiniest smile. She's still tired. It's completely adorable.
"What time is it?" she asks.
"Later than it should be." I drop my bags on the floor and move towards the couch.
She keeps her eyes on me, even as she struggles to keep them open.
She shifts to a seated position. "I have to get up early tomorrow. I have an audition and I haven't rehearsed at all."
"You can pull an all-nighter."
"I might." She runs her fingertips along my arms, tracing from the veins on my wrist. "I missed you, you know?"
"I missed you more."
She brings her eyes to mine. There's such a need in her expression, but she blinks and it's gone. Replaced by something more demanding.
"Do you want to talk about everything?" I sit next to her.
She shakes her head. "You always want to talk." She digs her hands into my hair, and she looks at me with those fuck me eyes. "Do you think, this time, we can talk tomorrow?"
"Ally..."
Her eyes connect with mine. There's so much need in her expression. It's a plea for release. Then her eyes are closed and her lips are on mine. She tastes like mint, like her toothpaste.
She pulls back, her eyes connecting with mine. "Please."
She kisses me again. Her lips part and I slide my tongue into her mouth.
My body floods with heat. There is no sense in talking now. Not when we could do something so much better.
Her hands find my back. They dig into me, pressing my shirt against my skin. She's desperate. She needs this much more than she needs a conversation.
She pulls back. Her clear blue eyes connect with mine. "It's okay if you don't want to. I should get to sleep eventually."
But she still shifts her body into mine. She wraps her legs around my hips, her hands still digging into my back.
I smile. "You aren't even trying to convince me."
"Uh-huh." She nods, sinking her body into mine. "If I wanted to convince you, I'd step up my wardrobe."
I slide my hand under her T-shirt, my T-shirt actually. It's clinging to her, highlighting every inch of her chest.
"I like this wardrobe." I drag my fingertips over her soft skin. She feels so good.
She arches her back, fighting a deep desire to close her eyes. "But you'd prefer I get rid of it?"
I nod and slide my fingertips over her nipples. She groans, squeezing her thighs around me. I cup her breasts, rubbing my thumbs over her nipples slowly. She's putty in my hands, moaning and squirming and digging her hands into my back.
She kisses me again. It's hard and desperate, a demand. I squeeze her tighter, rub her harder. She moans into my mouth.
My blood rushes to my cock. All of her is soft and sweet, and I need to drink in that need. I need to feel her shaking and screaming around me.
She pulls her lips away from mine and brings them to my ear. "Fuck me, Luke. I need you inside me."
Jesus. That never gets old.
I pull her shirt, my shirt, over her head. She shudders, arching into me. Her eyes are on fire. She wants me. She wants me badly.
I throw away any intentions of teasing her until she begs me. She's already begging me. She's already desperate. And I need to be inside her, to make her feel so
good she could die.
She kisses me, hard. Her tongue is in my mouth, her hands are on my shoulders. I slide my hands over the curve of her waist, soaking in the feeling of her soft skin.
My hands find her hips, and I pull her boxers to her knees. She shifts to help me, then kicks them off her feet.
I take a long look at her. Her delicate neck. Her lush tits. The dramatic curve of her hips. She's perfect and she's mine. She's in my lap, her thighs pressed into my hips, her eyes on me like she can't wait to fuck me.
I drag my hands back to her hips, and I pull her closer.
She groans, shifting into me, squeezing me tighter. "You're wearing too many clothes."
I nod and I press my lips against her neck. She sighs. Digs her nails into my shoulders again. It's sharp, a tiny hint of what I'll feel when I make her come.
I drag my fingertips over her thighs. She groans, holding on to me like she'll fall over if she loosens her grip. I stroke her inner thighs as softly as I can. Until she's shaking.
"Luke..."
I slide my fingers over her clit. She gasps and digs her nails harder into my shoulders. Her body shifts into mine. Her lips find mine. She kisses me, hard, plunging her tongue into my mouth as I stroke her.
She releases my kiss, shifting so her tits are pressed against my cheeks. It's practically a plea. I draw circles around her nipple with my tongue.
Her nails sink into my skin. Her eyes press together as she groans. I stroke her again, draw another circle. Again. Again. Again.
She moans, pressing her body into mine, her breasts into my mouth. I suck on her nipple, harder and harder and harder. I bring my free hand to her chest, cupping her breast and rubbing my fingers over her nipple.
And I stroke her. Again and again and again.
Her legs shake. Her nails dig into my skin. She's panting, groaning, practically clawing at my shoulders. It's such a fucking beautiful sight, and I need more of it. I need her screaming in my ear, her nails so deep in my shoulders they draw blood.
I need to feel her come.
I stroke her. I sink my teeth into her nipple. Soft, then harder, harder, harder. She groans, her nails sharp against my shoulders, her head thrown back like she can't take it anymore.
"Luke," she groans.
And I stroke her. A little harder. A little faster.
She pants. "Fuck. I'm almost... Luke..."
Her breath strains. She groans. She screams. Her moans get higher, louder.
I stroke her, bite her, rub her.
And she groans into my ear. Her nails sink into my skin one last time, and she releases everything in a dramatic sigh. Her body relaxes into mine, her head resting against my shoulder.
She grabs my hand and presses it against the couch. Her lips hover over my ear. "One day, I'm going to make you go first."
"We'll see." I press my lips into hers.
She moves quickly, pulling my shirt over my head and gaping at me for a moment. Her hands are on my chest, digging into my skin like she could never possibly get enough of my body.
She slides her hands down my stomach. Over my jeans.
Heat spreads through my body. I need her hands on me. I need to be inside her.
She unzips my jeans and rubs me over my boxers. Fuck. My ache grows. I need her now.
I push my pants to my knees. Shift out of my boxers. I grab her hips and bring her closer, so my tip is straining against her.
Her eyes find mine. They're on fire. She wraps her fingers around my cock and slides me inside of her.
Fuck. Her eyes go wide. Her teeth sink into her lip. She feels so good. So warm, and tight, and wet. I squeeze her hips, rocking her over me.
She kisses me, grabbing my hands and planting them at my sides. Her hands find my shoulders and she presses me against the couch. She shifts, rocking into me again and again and again.
Her breathing strains. She groans. Close again.
I grab her ass and pull her body into mine. She squeezes my shoulders, riding me like I'm her plaything. Like she feels so damn good she can't help it.
I bring my tongue to her nipple. I need to feel her come again, to feel her cunt pulsing around me.
She groans, digging her nails into my shoulders. I suck on her nipple as she rocks into me. As her groans build again. They're higher this time. Louder.
Pleasure courses through me. I need those groans. Those screams.
I dig my nails into her ass. I sink my teeth into her nipple.
She rocks into me. "Luke," she groans. Her voice is low, heavy, like she can barely get it out.
I bite her harder.
"Luke." She sinks her nails into my skin.
Her moans build, higher and louder and higher and louder. She screams.
I can feel her coming, her squeezing my cock harder and harder, until everything releases and she's pulsing around me.
She collapses on me again, holding me tightly. Her eyes find mine. "Fuck me," she groans.
"Turn around."
She nods, shifting off me. I take one long look at her--she's fucking perfect--and move off the couch. She presses her lips into mine. Her hands wrap around my cock and she strokes me.
I grab her hips and turn her around, so my chest is pressed into her back.
"Bend over."
She leans over, pressing her hands into the couch. I have a perfect view of her ass, her hips. I dig my hands into her thighs, and I slide inside her.
She's still so wet, so warm, so tight. I squeeze her hips, pulling her body towards mine as I thrust into her.
She groans, a low deep groan that can only mean more.
I thrust into her. Again and again and again.
"Fuck me." She arches her back, her nails digging into the couch.
My body fills with pleasure. I move harder. Deeper. I thrust into her again and again and again.
I groan. She feels so damn good.
Her breath is low and heavy. "Fuck me, Luke. Come inside me."
I squeeze her hips. I thrust into her. Harder. Deeper. Again. Again. Again.
The ache builds. She's so tight around me, so warm, so wet, so perfect.
I thrust into her again.
She groans. "Come inside me." It's a demand.
I lose control of any conscious thought. It's only Alyssa. Her hips, her thighs, her cunt, her groans. I thrust into her, harder, and deeper, until the ache inside me is too much.
And I come, my cock pulsing inside her.
She sighs in pleasure, collapsing on the couch. I lie next to her, our bodies pressed together in the tiny space.
There's no sense in trying to talk after this. No sense in anything but holding her all night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The curtains are wide open, and the sunlight is falling over Alyssa's face. She looks so peaceful bathed in its glow. She sleeps on her side with her arms and legs crossed.
I still can't believe my luck that I get to wake up next to her.
She stirs and blinks her eyes open. Her lips curl into a smile as she looks me over. "What time is it?"
"Seven."
She groans and rolls towards the window. "What time do you need to be at the office?"
I brush a hair from her eyes. "Ryan demanded I show up at nine a.m., so..."
"You'll show up at four thirty to teach him a lesson?"
"Beautiful and smart."
She shakes her head. "Smart and beautiful." She puts emphasis on the smart, like it matters so much more than the beautiful.
It does, but it's hard to deny how goddamn beautiful she is.
Alyssa pushes herself upright. The sheets fall to the bed, revealing inches and inches of her skin. She never did get dressed last night.
She raises an eyebrow. ""I know how we could spend the extra time."
"How about we go out for breakfast?"
"I'd rather have you than breakfast."
I bite my tongue. This is such a perfect moment. I can't ruin it with her least favorite word
s. But we really do need to talk.
I slide out of bed. "How about coffee?"
Her eyes pass over my body. I didn't get dressed last night either.
"How about after?" She runs her tongue over her lips.
"How about after after breakfast?" I stretch my arms over my head so she can take her time gaping at me.
I have to admit, I love the way she stares at me.
"You're so cruel." She crosses her arms in faux irritation, but she's smiling ear to ear.
"I'd be happy to finally christen my desk."
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, and I bet it has nothing to do with the person sharing the office next to yours."
"Janine?"
"Yeah, it's Janine. Your assistant." She shifts off the bed. "And not that you want my ex-boyfriend to hear us fucking."
"It was a joke."
"It's not funny." She moves to the dresser, opens a drawer, her drawer, and arranges her outfit for the day.
I move closer to her. "It's a little funny."
She folds her arms again, but she's smiling. "Only because of how ridiculous Ryan's expression would be." She mimics Ryan, furrowing her brow and turning up her nose like she smells something disgusting.
I laugh and wrap my arms around her waist. "It's not usually this difficult to buy you coffee."
"I know."
"Is everything okay?"
She lets out a tiny hint of a sigh. "I'm only going out on the condition that you don't ask that question again."
"This morning or ever?"
She moves away from me. Steps into her underwear. "Ever would be too much to ask."
She pulls her dress over her head. No bra. She's not wearing a bra.
She's doing it just to torture me.
"Okay," I say. "We don't have to talk about anything but our coffee."
"Deal."
***
We dress and drive to Alyssa's favorite coffee spot in Santa Monica. It's a few blocks from the tourist mecca of Third Street Promenade, but this early it's nearly empty.
Alyssa is quiet, but she keeps her hand pressed against mine. I rack my brain for alternate ways of asking how she is, but I know that isn't the point.
She doesn't want to talk about how she feels today. I could wait until she's ready, but I can't. There's a sense of dread in my gut. Something is wrong, and I'm not going to let her suffer alone.
Stir Me Page 9