“I’ll start with one order of hot, wet kisses.”
“Coming right up.”
I twist my fingers in her hair as our mouths collide, and she gives me the most delicious serving of my life. Our tongues skate together, and our lips seem to know precisely what the other wants. It’s a dizzying kiss, filling my brain with a static haze.
With my hands still in her hair, I walk backward with her to the bedroom. That’s where I want her, her breath coming fast, her skin flushed.
I disengage from her mouth when we reach the pristinely made bed. The red polka-dot ribbon I gave her snakes its way down the white comforter like an invitation. I grin wickedly as I flop down on the mattress, pulling her on top of me. Cupping her ass, I grind her against my hard-on. “Did you like being tied up yesterday?”
She nods, her eyes shining with desire. “So much.”
“Why?”
She wriggles against me as I kiss the curve of her neck. “I like the way you make me feel when you tie me up. I like giving you control.”
I groan and yank her closer, curling a hand around the back of her head because I can’t stop kissing her. First, the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, and at last I travel to her ear, nibbling on her earlobe.
She murmurs as I go, her voice as soft as a feather. “But why are you so intent on tying me up?”
That’s a damn good question. I lick the shell of her ear as I contemplate the answer. Why do I want that so badly?
Because I want her . . . I want her all to myself, and probably some caveman part of me wants to make her mine. Because I feel so fucking much for her that sometimes tying her up is the only way to contain those feelings.
I flip her over and proceed to strip her, unzipping her jeans. “Because you’re so fucking beautiful when you let me do what I want to you,” I say, telling her a half-truth.
“Do what you want to me,” she whispers, and I nearly die of lust. Combust from it.
Tension rattles through me, hot and urgent. I want Ally to know when I touch her, when I kiss her, that I’m not like anyone else who’s come before.
I’m the kind of guy who’ll stay.
For her.
For her kid.
Only she’s not ready to hear that, so I’ll let my hands and mouth and desire do the talking.
We undress in a flurry, sweaters, shirts, jeans flying off. But when she’s down to her bra and panties, I slow my pace, stopping to admire her. I drag the tips of my fingers from her breasts down her soft belly, savoring the sight of her pink panties and matching pink bra.
“My Honey Lavender likes pink.” I nip her hipbone.
“I do, but I also like wearing nothing with you.”
I groan as a bolt of lust slams into me. She sits up, reaches for my hips, and slides down my briefs.
Another carnal moan escapes my throat as she wraps a fist around my length. This woman. Her hand. Her eager touch. I could have her every day and be happy.
I close my eyes and rock into her hand as she strokes my cock. She has a firm, tight grip as she moves her palm from tip to base. Yes, I could definitely be happy for all my life. I let my imagination wander—nights like this, days with her.
When she whispers my name, my eyes float open slowly. “Yeah?”
“I’m clean and on the pill. Can we go without a condom?”
My dick twitches, throbbing impossibly harder in her hands. “Same. I’m clean.”
She loops her hands around my shoulders and falls back on the bed, bringing me with her. I roam my gaze along her lovely frame, then my hands catalog her beauty. Rose-tipped nipples, a freckle on her belly, a scar from her appendectomy when she was ten, and the softest skin I’ve ever felt. When I spread her thighs open, lust charges through me as I see how wet she is.
How ready for me.
She lifts her fingers, running them over the musical notes on my hipbone.
I settle between her legs, rubbing the head of my cock against her heat. Arching her back, she whimpers, murmuring my name in a half-begging voice. She’s a live wire, and touching her is the best thing I’ve ever done.
I shudder at the thought of not doing this again.
But thought is drained from me when I push inside, sinking into her welcoming paradise. I still myself when I’m all the way in, my breath stuttering, my pulse skyrocketing.
Pleasure sparks along my skin, and my dick hums the happiest tune in the world. This is where we both want to be. Bracing myself on my elbows, I lock eyes with the woman who’s been by my side for the last several years.
My best friend.
My new lover.
It’s all too much, and not enough at the same time. She’s gazing right back at me, vulnerability etched in her blue eyes. And something new too.
I want that something new.
Surrendering to the feel of this kind of bliss, I move inside her, trying to say with my body what she means to me. That I love fucking her because I’m fucking the woman I’ve fallen in love with.
Some good it did trying to stay just friends. Maybe I was never just friends with her. Maybe I’ve always been racing to this. Toward flushed skin and urgent kisses. Toward arched backs and needy whimpers of yes and more and so good.
She laces her hands tighter around my neck, tugs me closer, and brings her lips to mine.
“Miller,” she whispers before she kisses me hungrily.
I’ve been racing toward her.
Toward my name on her lips as she chases the edge of desire. I want to take her there. I want to be the only one who ever does.
Swiveling my hips, I rock into her, every nerve ending in me crackling. She matches each stroke, and we move together. We kiss together. We say nothing together, and our silence speaks volumes.
We’re always talking. Joking. Laughing. Saying dirty things.
But if I open my mouth now, I’ll tell her how I feel.
I swallow the words, keeping them to myself till I know she can handle them. Till we can handle us.
I kiss her neck, then go deeper, so deep she’s writhing and begging, her breath speeding up, her eyes squeezing shut. She moans my name, and it’s never sounded as good as it does when Ally’s coming apart beneath me.
Relentless pleasure blares through me, a euphoria that signals my orgasm isn’t far enough away.
But I want more for her.
I want her too far gone. I grit my teeth and somehow stave off my own climax so I can flip her over to her hands and knees. She’s still trembling, still moaning softly as I push her palms toward the pillows. I grab the ribbon, wrap it around her wrists, and tie the ends to her headboard.
She looks at me, biting her lip. “Take me.”
If she only knew why I need her like this. Because I’ve wanted her for years, and when I sink back into her, it occurs to me that maybe I’ve been falling in love with her for six years too.
Six years.
And now I’m here, and all this touching has unlocked all these feelings.
Feelings I don’t know what to do with.
So I do as asked.
I take her.
I want to take her and keep her, and I know that as I fuck her, I’m making love to her.
It can never be anything else with my Ally, my Honey, my woman.
Soon, she’s nearing the cliff again, then she’s soaring off, crying out, and I give in too, as pleasure barrels down my spine, curling tight in me till I come hard inside her.
The ecstasy blots out the complete and absolute mess in my head.
Chapter 27
Ally
I order Vietnamese like a champion, and then we play Bananagrams as we wait for the delivery, making it through four words before we kiss again. The kiss lasts a few minutes, then I sink to the floor, bring him into my mouth once more, and treat him to another blow job as he sits back on the couch, moving my head up and down between his legs.
When he comes, my cell rings, and it has to be the food delivery. Flailing my
arm, I grab for the phone, checking the number, then hand it to Miller.
“Yessssss,” he says on a final moan as I suck him dry. “Come on up.”
Perfect timing.
We eat, then we drink wine, then we return to my bed, and he kisses me everywhere. I’m pretty sure I’ll be sore tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure I don’t care about anything but the way he treasures my body.
I run my fingers over the inked notes on his hip, humming a few words from one of the Heartbreakers’ most popular songs. “All I want is to find you again . . .”
A slow and peaceful grin spreads on his face, and he answers me, crooning softly, “Even if that’s crazy.”
My thumb slides higher over the artwork on his body. “Tell me, tell me . . . I haven’t lost you.”
He beats out a gentle rhythm on my belly. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”
I cease the singing. Maybe because it’s not our song. Or maybe because it’s skating perilously close to words that might overwhelm this fragile thread between us.
* * *
As the night crawls past midnight, we slide under the covers, and we don’t stop.
We are wild, hungry creatures, needing more. More contact. More touch. More of each other.
I pull him on top of me. “I like every position so far, but I really like looking at you, Miller.”
“Baby,” he groans, and closes his eyes as he enters me.
I wrap my legs around his hips, bringing him as close as I can. Our slick, sweaty bodies slide against each other. In the dark, in the absolute bliss detached from all reason and responsibility, the hope inside me dares to swell again. The way he touches me makes me feel so rich with love that I want to blurt out everything. To tell him I want him in my life every night.
When I’m scarily close to breathing the most dangerous words, he goes so deep in me that I see heaven.
My brain turns into a delicious haze of lust and love as I surrender once more, and he joins me. When he tugs me against him, and I curl into his arms, all I want is to let this perfect night stay absolutely perfect.
Once the sun rises, I’ll find a way to make sense of the emotions occupying all the space in my heart.
For now, I have Miller’s arms around me.
* * *
My refrigerator is a desolate wasteland. My belly is the maw of a shark, growling and chomping.
“How is this possible?” Miller scratches his head as he considers the empty shelves that mock our rumbling morning tummies. His rumpled hair after a night in my bed is adorably sexy, and I riffle my hand through the strands. He harrumphs as he paws at a loaf of bread nearing the end of its life. “Why do you hate food so much?”
Laughing, I park my hands on my hips. “I’m a New Yorker. I’ve found all the cheap takeout and delivery in the city. It’s an art form that makes the fridge irrelevant.”
He squeezes my ass. “But don’t you know you have to have eggs and coffee for your man after you fuck him senseless?”
I imitate a ruler, standing straight and tall.
My man?
He means my friend, right?
He rubs the pad of his thumb across my cheek, taking my focus away from dissecting the finer meanings of his words. “How about we take a quick shower and grab a bagel? You can feed me that way.”
I nod quickly. That, I understand. Bagels are what we’ve always done. That’s the breakfast of friends.
I glance at the time on the stove. “Let’s be speedy. Chloe should be back in an hour, then I’m taking her to Brooklyn to spend the day with Kirby and Macy while I finish some work.”
He points to the bathroom. “Get your cute little ass in the shower.”
* * *
As he washes my hair with strong but tender hands, the questions return.
Are these the hands of my man?
Or my friend?
Or my temporary man?
My head says “friends with benefits,” but my heart screams something else entirely. Something I can’t quite make out over the rushing of the hot water.
When he rinses my hair, I decide to broach the subject in a roundabout way. “I like the hair washing. Is this another benefit?”
I turn my head, meeting his gaze briefly. He blinks, furrowing his brow, then he flashes a smile. “Of course.”
And that’s no help.
In the back of my mind, I hear the clock ticking. We haven’t discussed an end date to this arrangement. But there has to be one. “Friends with benefits” comes with an expiration.
Just like our band does.
My heart sinks as I put two and two together. I’ve known this all along. But I never let myself truly consider when this newfangled deal would end.
Miller is a short-term kind of guy. He didn’t even want to commit to singing with me for longer than a month, so it’s no surprise that this deal will be incredibly short too.
He clearly didn’t mean anything more when he said he was my man. Just like when he turns me against the wall, pushes my palms to the tiles, and slides his fingers between my legs—that doesn’t mean anything more than a fast track to temporary bliss.
Even as he whispers sweet nothings in my ear.
You feel so good.
I could do this over and over.
This is the best way to wake up.
They are merely weightless words. They have no anchor to tie them to the future. They’re part of our deal, and deals always end.
Even so, his words try to trick me, so I do my best to quell the riot in my heart when he whispers, Love the way you feel in my arms. Fortunately, forgetfulness is easier when an orgasm overwhelms me, pulling me into its euphoric haze.
After we get dressed, we head down the stairs. Wrapping my scarf tightly around my neck to brace against the chill, I let the door to the building fall shut behind me and walk straight into Chloe.
And Hailey.
And Hailey’s mother.
“Hi, Ally.” Hailey speaks first.
I freeze on the sidewalk, my eyes widening like saucers as I regard the three of them. Am I wearing a sign that says “I got laid last night when my kid slept at your kid’s house”?
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
But still. It’s kind of . . . tacky.
Shucking off the invisible slut-shaming sign, I call on my best rogue princess warrior, raise my chin, and say good morning to Hailey’s mom, who I met the other night. “Good to see you again, Jesse.”
“Good to see you too.”
“Mom, Ally taught me how to use chopsticks the other night,” Hailey says.
“That’s great,” the equally blonde and just as waif-life Jesse says with a smile.
“And Hailey, this is Miller. He taught me how to make a castle.” That’s Chloe’s contribution. She squeezes Miller’s arm, and he drapes it around her shoulders, squeezing back.
“Good to see you, Monkey.”
Jesse’s eyes stray to the man by my side. He’s wearing jeans, boots, a sweater, and a telltale sign that he’s not just a friend.
The ends of his hair are wet.
I pat his shoulder, drawing on my best cool confidence. “Miller’s a good friend.”
It feels like the truth, so help me God.
But it’s also a two-faced lie.
“Nice to meet you, Miller,” Jesse says, extending a hand, and the two shake and exchange brief pleasantries.
Jesse turns to me. “I’m sorry to bring her back so early, but I forgot I have to take Hailey to the dentist. You know how it is with winter break. You try to jam everything in. I tried to text you to let you know we’d be coming early.” She smiles sweetly. “The message must not have gone through.”
She’s the most darling woman, covering for my fuck-up. She has to know I missed the message because I was getting busy with the man I introduced as a friend.
“I must’ve missed the text,” I say with a gulp.
“No worries. I’m glad we caught you. We’ll see yo
u again soon.” Jesse turns to Miller, then me, and lowers her voice. “Are they, or aren’t they?” she whispers, wiggling her eyebrows, and I wait for the sidewalk to open up and suck me into an underground pit of embarrassment. She returns to a normal volume. “I saw your videos. They’re so good. Like those ice dancers.” She blows out a stream of air and fans her face, as if she’s burning up.
She gives Miller one last glance. “Also, I loved you as a Heartbreaker.”
When she leaves, I’m officially a beet.
* * *
Chloe doesn’t seem to notice or care that Miller spent the night. Probably because she believes me when I lie to her, saying that he came over this morning to meet me for bagels.
The lie tastes bitter.
It’s the opposite of all the ways I’ve tried to raise this beautiful girl. When we finish our food, I gesture to the nearest subway stop. “It’s off to Brooklyn we go.”
“I’ll tag along,” Miller says. “I told Miles I’d stop by to see him and Ben before they left for London, but he’s not expecting me till the afternoon. That cool?”
“Of course.” I don’t hesitate this time—it’s a chance for me to redo the dinner invite snafu.
But I don’t know if this means anything special, or if this is just us back to the way we were, shuttling Chloe around town, having breakfast, being part of each other’s lives.
My head is a muddle. We could be one thing, we could be another. We might be friends, or maybe he’s my man. We’re this or we’re that.
I want to shut down the noise, turn off the dial on the radio. But my brain is loud and persistent, stuck between two stations, and it can’t tune in clearly to either one.
On the train, Chloe tells us about her sleepover and the fun they had. “Dr. Jane would be happy for me.”
I smile. “Of course she would.”
Chloe pumps a fist. “But I don’t have to see her again. Because I’m not a broken plate anymore.”
“You never were, Monkey.”
When we’re off the train, she practically skips to Kirby’s building. “I can’t wait to see Aunt Macy and Uncle Kirby.”
Once Upon A Sure Thing Page 14