Pause

by Kylie Scott

  One of his hands trails down my torso, pausing to plump my breast, and there’s no room left for thinking. Next his mouth is there, his lips sucking. It’s fucking exquisite. And the heat in his eyes. The darkness of his gaze. It’s all so honest and hungry and perfect.

  “It’s okay, Anna,” he says, moving his mouth back to my lips. “It’s just us.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just you and me.”

  He positions the hard, wide head of his cock at my entrance and starts pushing in. Oh so slowly. Next he grips my thigh, encouraging me to wrap him up in my legs. That I can do. My body tenses slightly, taking a moment to adapt to his presence inside of me. It really has been a while. But it feels so good, him stretching me, taking me. So solid and substantial. His hips work against me and he sinks deeper and deeper. I know I’ve got all of him when he squeezes his eyelids shut, resting his forehead against mine.

  “Give me a minute,” he says.

  His hair forms a curtain around us and I can handle this better. Knowing that I’m affecting him too. That it’s been a while for him too. I stroke his arms and his shoulders. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his skin already. His neck is so thick. Never knew I was into thick necks before, but here we are. Because every inch of this man works for me. My thighs tighten on his hips and I guess my insides tighten on him well because he hisses and presses a hard, swift kiss to my mouth.

  “Shit. Baby. You feel amazing,” he says, just making conversation. “I knew you would.”

  “You thought about that?”

  “All the fucking time.” He opens his eyes, staring down at me with a smile. “You comfortable? All good?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Excellent. Well, I’d be delighted to say all sorts of sweet and smutty things to you later. But right now I have things to do. Like you,” he specifies. “You’re the thing I have to do.”

  “Got it.”

  And he draws back before pushing back into me good and hard. I’m wet and wanting. I can take it. But it steals the breath from me just the same. There’s definitely no more time for talking. Fucking is the priority. Because there’s no way this is making love. This is hot and sweaty and fast and hard. His muscles flex and his face sharpens and all I can do is hang on for the ride. And the ride is spectacular. He is magic. He sets a determined pace, undoing me piece by piece until I’m one big ball of need. Nothing beyond this bed exists.

  The focus on his face and set of his jawline is mesmerizing. He strokes me deep inside, lighting me up, building that high all over again. A normally impossible feat for me, but nothing is impossible when it comes to Leif. His hips grind against me, driving me into a frenzy. The base of his cock rubbing against my clit in a way that is honestly stellar. And when he finds a particularly thrilling spot and works it over and over again, raw electricity streaks up and down my spine. It’s like he knows my body better than I do and isn’t the least bit hesitant to show me.

  His hand closes over my throat just firmly enough to make its presence known and his voice is guttural as he says, “Look at me.”

  I can do nothing else as the whole world bleeds to gray and my body seizes. Waves of pleasure swamp me. There’s just him. Just him and me. And he’s all I’ve got to hold onto.

  Leif curses and comes, slamming his hips against me.

  We’re a hot wet mess on the mattress. His face in my neck, his back heaving as he sucks in air. I well know the feeling. Mostly, I’m limp. Floppy. Spent. Words like that. If we never moved again it would be fine with me. But oh so carefully, he disentangles himself and collapses beside me on the mattress. Probably for the best. As much as I like the feel of his weight pressing me down, the man is heavy. I smell like him. Hell, I’m covered in him and it’s wonderful. The man shook me up good and proper, then delivered on heaven. Easily the best sex I’ve ever had. How about that?

  The quiet unnerves me. Or maybe it’s the sense of peace and contentment. I don’t trust it. “Are you okay?”

  “Shh,” he says, eyelids sealed shut. “Post-come float.”

  Huh.

  For a long time, nothing is said. Then finally he comes out with, “Not bad for a first effort.”

  I just look at him and blink. “Not bad?”

  He frowns. “What? You didn’t like it?”

  That’s when I hide my head under a pillow. This man’s going to be the death of me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Stop it.”

  “Hmm?” I look up from my bowl of chocolate cake and ice cream. Sex and baking is apparently now our life. Good times.

  “You’re thinking a lot and not saying anything,” he says, pointing his spoon at me in an accusatory fashion. He’s sitting cross-legged opposite me on the bed. The only thing he’s wearing is a fetching navy-and-white-striped apron. I at least put on a tee and panties. Talk about decorum. His hair is tied back and his expression is so open and honest. “Also, you’re licking the spoon in a gratuitous manner.”

  “Am not. You just have a dirty mind.”

  “Anna, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s nothing really.”

  “C’mon, humor me,” he says. Then pauses. “Wait. Let me guess. You’re thinking about the ex, right?”

  I shrug.

  “I knew it. Do you feel guilty?”

  “No. A little strange maybe, but not guilty.”

  “Strange in what way?” he asks, cocking his head.

  “I don’t mean to compare, but I can’t help comparing sometimes,” I admit.

  “Go on.”

  I wince. “Lief . . .”

  “C’mon. It’s okay. Whatever you have to say, I can handle it.” His smile is gentle, cautious. “But I don’t want you bottling shit up and stressing over things. I know you’re an overthinker, but we need to set limits for everyone’s sake. Get it off your chest, Anna. I am your therapist. With sexual benefits.”

  “Is that what we are now?” I ask, beyond curious. “Roommates with benefits?”

  “You need a label?”

  “Yeah. I think I do.”

  “Okay.” He sighs. “Truth is, I don’t know. I like you and I assume you like me.”

  “You’re not so bad.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “I especially like you naked in bed and am more than happy to return the favor for you if you’re in agreement.”

  “The fact that we’re sitting scantily clad on my bed would suggest I’m good with that.”

  “Right.” He nods. “So I say we add sex-friend to the roommate title and see where that gets us for now. What do you say?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now tell me what you’re thinking about. It’s good to share. And you know you’re safe with me.”

  Guess he has a point. Sharing in any kind of relationship is necessary. It’s quite possibly one of the areas where I let the team down in the last one. Because despite the divorce not being my fault, I can definitely do better in the future. I hope. So I sit up straighter, pulling myself together. “I knew it would be different having sex with someone else, it just kind of surprised me is all.”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know . . . it’s hard to describe exactly. And some of it kind of sucks to own up to,” I admit. “Like, I might have been married to Ryan, but in a lot of ways I’m more open with you.”

  “It wasn’t the thing I did with my . . .” He wriggles his pinkie finger. That finger had done things to me. Rude things.

  “No. Though that was a little surprising.”

  “You’ll tell me if there’s anything you don’t want me to do, right?” he asks.

  “Right,” I say. “But I wasn’t talking about physically so much as emotionally. Which is odd considering we’re not exactly in a relationship.”

  “Eh. We sort of are.”

  “We just agreed to be roommates with benefits.”

  He raises a brow. “That’s not a relationship?”

  “Not really. Not in the
way most people would think of a romantic relationship partnership sort of thing.”

  “Good God, this is complicated,” he says. “No wonder I steer clear of this shit normally. Can’t we just enjoy being together? Hanging out?”

  “We can do that. We are doing that.”

  “Phew. All right then.”

  I give him my practiced polite smile. Only he’s too busy contemplating his chocolate cake to notice.

  “You think maybe you trust me more than you trusted him?” he asks eventually after swirling the frosting around on his bowl with his spoon for a while. “Or do you think the accident and subsequent bullshit sort of broke you down and opened you up a little?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “It was a hell of a thing to go through. It wouldn’t be surprising if your view of the world and your place in it had undergone some changes.”

  “Is that what happened with your accident and . . . everything else?” I don’t want to bring up the ex who used and abused him and tried to kill Clem. But it is relevant to the topic of conversation.

  He thinks it over for a moment. “I was bitter for a long time. Maybe I still am a bit. It made it hard to trust people, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I’m getting there,” he says. “How about you?”

  “I hope I’m getting there. It hasn’t really been that long. Makes it kind of hard to say.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Guess I’ll have to think about it.”

  “I’m sure you will,” he says with all due seriousness. “In the meantime, how do you feel about me smearing chocolate frosting on your tits and licking it off?”

  “Sounds messy.”

  “But fun, right?”

  And the dude is grinning like it’s Christmas. How could I possibly say no?

  Monday is spent having sex, watching movies, and doing laundry. Frosting and body fluids are a sticky combination. We watch more Twilight because Twilight, the eternal battle between Edward’s poetically floppy hair and Jacob’s muscles, must go on. Leif also talks me into watching an awesome Indonesian action-thriller called The Raid. Food-wise, our lessons in the kitchen include making pasta carbonara from scratch since I got the pasta machine in the divorce. This was also an excellent excuse to open a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

  A very good day off is had by all. Tuesday and the workweek returns all too soon.

  “A sternum tattoo?” I ask with a smile that’s as fake as can be. “Wow.”

  “I’m ready for you, Courtney,” says Leif, standing by the back hallway. Because the room out back is necessary for work requiring some privacy due to the exposure of certain body parts. Like breasts.

  Courtney is a perky blonde. I shouldn’t have used the word perky. Poor choice.

  My roommate with benefits flashes me a smile before disappearing into said room with the girl. Woman. Client.

  Meanwhile, Ed is watching me with a speculative gaze while he sips his coffee. His first appointment for the day cancelled due to illness. Though Ed doesn’t seem particularly upset or anything by the loss of work. Guess there are always other jobs to do when you own a small business.

  He too receives my best fake smile.

  “She’ll be wearing tape over her nipples if it makes it any better,” he says in a quiet voice.

  So I really am an open book. “Not particularly.”

  “It’s just part of the job, Anna.”

  “I know. It’s fine, really.”

  He does not appear convinced. “Doctors have to look at body bits all day long, too.”

  I nod. Because he isn’t telling me anything I don’t know. I just don’t particularly like it. That’s the truth of the situation. “You’re not concerned about us being involved and working together?”

  He just shrugs.

  “Okay.”

  “You know, I asked him if he wanted a couple of tickets to a band that was passing through town last night. A friend of ours had bought them, then couldn’t make it,” says Ed, all in the same quiet reasonable tone. “I happen to know my brother loves that band. He only missed out on buying tickets because they sold out too damn fast.”

  “Huh.”

  “You know what he told me?”

  “What?”

  “He said he had to stay home and wash his hair.”

  I snort. What a clown. We did in fact have sex in the shower, so it wasn’t entirely a lie. But he’d also known that crowds and loud noises tend to wear on me. Standing up for long periods of time isn’t great either. While I might have gone if he asked, it would have worn me out and we have work today.

  “Then he waltzes in here this morning with a stupid grin on his face,” continues Ed. “My brother is not a morning person. Smiles before midday are in limited supply. But not today.”

  I keep my mouth shut.

  “The little shit is practically walking on sunshine.”

  “The little shit is over thirty years old and more than six feet tall.”

  His serious façade cracks for a moment. “Yeah. But he’s always going to be my little brother.”

  I smile.

  “We came out big,” he says. “All three of us were up around ten pounds. Mom still bitches about giving birth naturally.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Clem says if we ever go there she’s taking every drug on offer.”

  “And I do not blame her one iota.”

  He smiles.

  I cross my arms. A purely defensive position given where I’m about to take the conversation. “Thought for sure you’d have some concerns about us getting involved.”

  “You’re adults. If you think you can live and work together and still manage a relationship then that’s on you two,” he says, taking another sip of coffee. “I trust you both not to bring any shit in here. To behave professionally and so on.”

  I nod. “We’re not really in a relationship, though. Exactly. It’s, um, it’s something else.”

  He just looks at me.

  Oh my God. Talk about overshare. My mouth needs to stay shut.

  “It’s complicated, huh?” he asks with a gentle smile.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you, actually.” He takes a seat on one of the stools on wheels we have around the place. “Leif hasn’t been himself the last year or so. What with everything that happened. You’ve brought him back to life in a lot of ways.”

  “Oh.” And that’s all I’ve got. Go, conversation skills.

  “He trusts you. I mean, he’s spending less time on his own, going out more, doing stuff,” he says. “Things were pretty grim there for a while, so it’s really good to see.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “He was just . . . down on everything. Especially after all the shit that happened.” A trace of fury crosses his face. Along with something close to guilt. “It was kind of a shock to see him that way. He’s always been the joker, you know? The positive person that makes everyone laugh and never takes anything seriously. Sometimes to his detriment. But it’s like his heart was full of hate there for a while. Everything weighed him down. The accident, that the police couldn’t find the guy, then there was the amount of pain he was in with his arm all fucked up. You helped shift the remnants of all that and I’m grateful.”

  “He’s a good friend,” I say. Because what the hell am I supposed to say?

  “Clem said your divorce was finalized on Friday.”

  “Yes.”

  “Must be a weight off your mind.”

  “It really is.”

  This is the part where some people would warn me to maybe not get involved with their little brother, what with how my own life has been so riddled with strife lately. Suggest I take some time to get my own shit together. But Ed doesn’t do that. Which I appreciate.

  “I better get started on these sketches,” he says instead, picking up his tablet. “Try not to worry about what he’s doing. Because I assure you, he’s not getting up t
o anything. Tattooing takes focus and concentration. One moment of distraction is one moment too many.”

  “Mm.”

  He frowns. “You’re a worrier. You’re going to worry anyway.”

  “Yeah.”

  There’s nothing much more to say. We both go back to our own work. It was a nice chat, all in all. My new boss is a nice guy. Leif is lucky to be surrounded by people who care about him. Not that I’m a lonely girl or anything. We’re both lucky.

  I get back to updating the books on the laptop sitting on the front shop counter. Things are looking good. I’ve also been doing some research into conventions Ed and co might want to consider attending, along with other possible avenues of promotion. Though it seems to work mostly on word of mouth in this industry. Social media has a role to play. There’s also a new line of inks they might want to take a look at. I’ve been organizing some samples for the shop.

  Yep. Lots to think about. Plenty to do.

  And the thing with a sternum tattoo is that you’re not just going to see bare breasts, but there’s a very strong chance you’ll be touching them too. I mean, you’d have to. Lift them up. Hold them out of the way. Maneuver them here and there. Things like that. With gloves on, but still. The fact remains that my special sexual someone is perhaps right now handling another woman’s breasts. I must have feelings about this. Lots of feelings. My mind, however, is a mess. I’m having issues sorting out exactly what those feelings might be.

  Stupid thing is, I didn’t have the presence of mind to ask if we were exclusive. I mean, I think we are. Probably. I’d be highly impressed with his organizational skills if he did manage to find time to see another woman given all of the time we spend together. All right, so I wouldn’t be impressed, I’d be pissed. Are we together? I wouldn’t say that exactly. Together kind of entails a commitment of some description. Are we dating then? Sort of? No, we’re not. Because that would entail going out on dates and we’re not doing that. We just added sex to our regular hanging-out activities. And hey, I’m not complaining. The sex is amazing. Best I’ve ever had. Guess I just have questions. Like what are the rules in this situation?