Promise Me

by Samanthe Beck

  “Fuck,” Vaughn mutters. His body goes rigid, he pumps into me one more time, and then my name falls from his lips—breaking a little between the syllables—like he’s completely lost in me.

  I’ve never liked my name so much as in that moment.

  He stays seated deep inside as we slide down from our high. I press my lips to his collarbone, luxuriating in the salty taste of his skin. I may have just given him a piece of me, but he’s given me something in return: freedom.

  Plus, two amazing orgasms I’ll never forget.

  He lifts his head and touches his nose to mine. “You okay?”

  “Mmm-hmm. You?”

  “More than okay.” His grin is positively deadly. It should be illegal for someone to have a smile like his.

  Fireflies do a break dance in my stomach; a warm flush spreads over my skin even though I try not to read too much into those words. He can’t possibly mean I rocked his world like he just rocked mine.

  He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I have to warn you, I could get addicted to your pussy. Touching it. Kissing it. Fucking it.” His lips find a vulnerable spot by the corner of my mouth. “How much touching, kissing, and fucking do you think it can take?”

  Oh my God, his words alone are going to make me come. I open my mouth to say something equally sexy, like, I can take as much touching, kissing, and fucking as he can dole out, and then…

  His stomach growls. “Ignore that,” he says between kisses to my neck. “I have more important appetites to satisfy.”

  “Hey now.” I tip my head to give his lips free range. “Did you or did you not invite me over for dinner and sex?”

  “You’re right. I did. Can you eat while I touch, kiss, and fuck you?”

  “I don’t know…” I trail off when his mouth roams into a ticklish zone. “It might present a choking hazard.”

  “Fair point.” He straightens and gives me a raised eyebrow and a smile made for temptation. “Sure you want dinner now?” As he asks, he moves inside me once—as if he really is addicted and hates to abandon his new favorite thing—but before he can do anything more, his stomach rumbles again. Loud.

  We both laugh, then I say firmly, “Dinner. Afterward we’ll see about more touching, kissing, and fucking.”

  “Promise?” He phrases it as a question, but his smirk is too much. He’s a bad, bad boy, and he knows it. With one hand holding the base of the condom and one pressed almost protectively against my body, he gently pulls out. I miss his warmth immediately.

  He picks up my dress and panties. When he hands them to me, his knuckles brush mine. Electricity skitters up my arm. Our gazes collide. I break eye contact first so we can right ourselves before sitting back down at the table. I’m pleasantly sore and have a hard time hiding my happiness, the corners of my mouth pulling up no matter how hard I try to keep my face neutral.

  What just happened between us was magical. I’ve had years to imagine what it would be like to lose my virginity, and this far exceeded my dreams. Vaughn’s touch, his taste, his smell, flooded my senses, keeping me rooted in the single most intimate moment of my life. That we talked while we moved with each other heightened our connection. We may have just fucked, but it was more than a simple fuck. For that, I’ll always be grateful he was my first.

  Vaughn steps over to the barbecue island to wash his hands in the small sink. He returns as I finish dressing and laces our fingers to lead me back to the sectional. He motions for me to sit first then takes the spot beside me. Energy continues to crackle between us as I spread some cheese on a slice of bread and take a bite. Wipe a crumb off my lip. Catch him watching me.

  “I have some exciting news,” I say.

  “Tell me.”

  “I got a summer job.”

  He makes a face in surprise, still managing to look incredibly hot. My body temperature spikes for a second, remembering the feel of him inside me.

  “You’re looking at the assistant coordinator for Art In Progress, it’s this fantastic…” I babble for several minutes about the organization and what I’ve been up to since starting work there two days ago.

  When I finally stop to take a breath, Vaughn leans over and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “You’re amazing. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You said the art exhibit is on Wednesday. Are you doing anything Thursday night?”

  I pop a cheese square into my mouth. “Are you asking me out on another date?”

  “I am. I’ve got passes to Laney Albright’s album release party, and I’m hoping you’ll go with me.”

  My stomach tightens. A public date with the next possible host of America Rocks to celebrate last season’s winner is like walking down the street with a boa constrictor around my neck. All eyes will be on us. I twist the stem of my glass and try for a smile. “That’s really nice of you to ask, but I can’t.”

  “You have plans already?”

  “No. Honestly, and no offense, but I’d rather not be seen with you in public.” Tonight, I took a huge step away from trapped, conflicted Kendall. I’m moving forward. I need to keep moving forward, but I also want to keep my personal life private.

  His eyebrows lift. “No offense, huh?”

  “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant was you’re a celebrity, and with that comes media attention. I like to stay under the radar.”

  He takes my hand in his. “There will be a lot of other high-profile people there. I’m not the main attraction.” His thumb rubs over my knuckles. “But I do have to go, and I leave town for a photo shoot Friday morning. I really want to spend time with you while I can. How about we skip the press gauntlet and sneak in?”

  The soothing gesture of his thumb lowers my defenses, as does the subtle reminder our time together is limited. But still…“I know I sound paranoid, but all it would take is one picture of us on social media for people in my hometown to start rehashing my past, except this time their comments could find a broader audience. A part of me is always afraid of that kind of exposure. I’m not just worried about myself. I would hate for Mason and his parents to be put through it.”

  “I understand, but I swear it won’t be an issue. This is an exclusive event, not a media free-for-all. Inside coverage of the actual party will be limited and focused almost entirely on Laney.” He turns my hand over, traces his finger across my palm. “I can’t see the future, but I don’t need that power to know nothing will happen Thursday night except we’ll listen to some new music, dance, schmooze a few of the America Rocks producers—if they show—and hopefully congratulate Laney. It should be a fun event, but it will be infinitely more fun if you join me.

  “Besides,” he adds, as if he doesn’t know I’m already a big puddle of yes, “how can you leave Los Angeles without attending a Hollywood VIP event with your good friend Vaughn?”

  Is that the turn we’ve taken? Friends—good friends—with temporary benefits? It rings a little hollow, but it also puts my concerns into perspective. I’m not a permanent part of Vaughn’s life, and he’s not a fixture in mine. So, is there really any harm in experiencing the excitement of his world for a few hours? “Okay.”

  I barely get the word out before his handsome face is inches from mine. His lips graze the shell of my ear. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “On one condition. You come to my exhibit on Wednesday.”

  His grin is blindingly white. “Deal. That takes care of Wednesday and Thursday, but right now I’m more interested in tonight. I hope you’re okay with staying over, because I’m not done yet,” he says. “Not by a long shot.”

  Dizziness fills my head and without any hesitation I say, “I’m not done, either.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kendall

  The pillow underneath my cheek is soft like cashmere. So are the sheets covering my naked body, and I want to stay in this spot forever. I’m warm, snuggly, and—I take a deep breath—surrounded by the smell of fresh laundered—mayb
e even new—high-thread-count cotton and him.

  Vaughn.

  Vaughn with his skillful hands, multitalented mouth, incredible stamina, and decided disposition to make me feel special. After having me on the patio, the rest of our naked time was spent covering every surface in his room, moving through intimate positions that made me blush. And I may be a novice, but when he moved with slow, purposeful strokes inside me, our gazes locked on each other, I felt more than just a physical connection.

  I blink my eyes open.

  I’m not falling for him or anything, just extremely satiated.

  Sunlight slips inside the room underneath the partially opened curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows. Last night Vaughn had wrapped me in his arms and shared points of interest lighting up the cityscape beyond the glass. When a shooting star had twinkled across the sky, we’d both caught the show. He’d said, since we saw the star together, we should make a wish together.

  “Aloud?” I’d asked. “How will it come true, then?”

  “I already got my wish tonight, so anything else is a bonus,” he’d whispered in my ear. It had tickled. In places besides my earlobe.

  “Okay. What should we wish for?”

  With his chin resting on my bare shoulder, he’d let out a deep breath. “Nude Mondays.”

  “Be serious!”

  “I am. Think about it. Everyone hates Mondays. But if clothing was optional, I bet it would become everyone’s favorite day of the week. Better than Friday.” Then he’d kissed the slope of my neck and we’d stopped talking.

  I roll over now to smooth my hand across the spot he left vacant sometime this morning. Before we’d fallen asleep around two a.m., he told me I could sleep in as late as I wanted. He had to meet up with his trainer for a trail run at nine. I giggled when he made the cutest face and said he’d cancel, but doing so last minute meant a follow-up workout that would leave him sore for days.

  Speaking of sore, I’m achy between my legs. An ache I’ll gladly suffer again and again. I smile at the reminder of the amazing night I had.

  His bedside clock reads 10:07. Ten. Oh. Seven. I can’t remember the last time I slept so peacefully for eight hours straight. The Vaughn Effect is officially at maximum-strength potency. Sighing, I sit up, keeping myself covered. It’s then that I notice a plate on the nightstand, holding two of the chocolate chip cookies I brought last night. Beside it is a pink blossom that looks suspiciously like one of Aunt Sally’s carefully tended damask roses standing tall in a drinking glass half full of water. Propped against the glass is a plain white notecard with my name scrawled across it.

  I fall back onto my pillow with the biggest grin ever in the history of grins. He carefully planned last night, but this? This is spur of the moment. If Vaughn keeps this up, my heart doesn’t stand a chance.

  Heart? Uh-uh. Good friends with benefits, remember?

  Of course I remember. But I roll out of bed anyway, dress quickly—sans panties, since I can’t find them—and then sit at the edge of the comforter and bite into a cookie. Sex multiple times obviously leaves a girl with an appetite.

  My eyes stray to the rose. It’s in full bloom, and I can’t resist touching one velvety petal. Yes, there’s a whole bush full right next door, but Vaughn picked this one for me. Picturing him sneaking over to steal a flower puts a smile on my face. A little naughty, a lot charming, and totally Vaughn. He’s showing me all his sides even though I don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it.

  And the note reads as follows… Kendall, has anyone ever told you that you sleep like an angel? You do. A sexy angel. Next time I promise to wake you properly. ~Vaughn

  I read his words several times before tucking the note into my handbag. I don’t have the words to describe the joy they bring me. With my shoes and purse dangling in one hand and the flower in the other, I slip out his front door.

  Dixie and Amber are sitting side-by-side at the breakfast bar when I walk into the kitchen. They both stop mid cereal spoon to their mouths when they see me. Even Snowflake looks up from chewing her dog bone to check me out. I swear she nods her head in approval.

  “Looks like someone had her cherry popped,” Dixie says.

  I’m pretty sure cherry describes the color of my cheeks. I put my things down on the counter and stand across from them.

  “Pretty flower,” Amber says.

  “Yes,” I say in answer to both their observations.

  A beat of silence passes and then the three of us start giggling like…well…sisters. Don’t get me wrong. I have no delusions about us being best friends. But there’s a connection here. One I hope we can continue to cultivate.

  “So? How was it?” Amber asks, pushing her bowl of cornflakes to the side.

  “Amazing,” I breathe out. “All three times were amazing.”

  Amber lets out a victory whoop and throws her arms in the air like her team just scored the winning field goal. “Three times, Miss Dixie. Pay up!”

  Dixie makes a face. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I owe you twenty bucks. As for you, princess”—she points a finger my way, but I see a definite grin lurking beneath her sore-loser expression—“there’s a fine line between glowing and gloating. He’s hot. He’s good in bed. Enough said.”

  As if mere words could stop me from glowing or gloating. But for once the old nickname doesn’t sound like an insult. It’s lost its bite because now I’ve done something she can relate to. Possibly even respect. But more importantly, I respect myself. There will be only one first, and I chose a guy who viewed that as an honor. When he looked at me, it was like no one else existed.

  My stomach flutters at the memory. “Enough said? So you don’t want to know he was super-attentive? Or that he wiped out my insecurities thirty seconds after I walked through the front door? Or he made me laugh as hard as he made me come?”

  “Just don’t fall for him,” Dixie says around her last bite of cereal.

  “I won’t,” I quickly say, and disavow all knowledge of the little voice in my mind that whispers it’s a lie. I can’t listen to that voice, and I have no plans to share it with my sisters. Brit is waiting for my call, so she’ll remind me I need to figure out my own life before thinking about a relationship with someone. She’s beyond excited about Vaughn and me having a good time together, but she’s also sensible. Cautionary when it comes to getting too attached when I’m the temporary neighbor and he’s got goals that collide with mine.

  “Gotta shower,” I say to cut off any more discussion from either Dixie, Amber, or the whisper in my head. I scoop my stuff up off the counter and take the stairs two at a time to my room. Once inside, I close and lock the door. I strip off my clothes. In the confines of the cream-and-white tiled shower, my muscles and mind relax under the hot water.

  I know what I’m doing, right? And what I’m not doing. This is my summer of self-discovery, and Vaughn is an important and unexpected part of it. Being with him released me from the burden on my heart. Mostly. The next step is accepting law school. There are lots of things I can do with a law degree besides practice law. That I can’t think of what those are isn’t cause for concern. I’ll have three years to figure it out.

  The thought hurts and helps at the same time.

  …

  “Good morning!” I walk into Art In Progress on Monday with two iced coffees, one silly grin over memories of my first dirty text, and a gigantic breakfast burrito for Candace and me to share. “I brought sustenance.” She’s been working overtime to get ready for the exhibit, and as the kick-ass assistant I am, I support her efforts with caffeine and carbs.

  She looks up from behind the reception desk to give me a quick smile. “Bless you.”

  “Is everything okay?” More lines than usual crease her forehead. I hand her a coffee then slide a chair over to the desk. I pull the warm burrito, already cut in half, out of the brown bag. The smell of egg, cheese, and cilantro wafts to my nose.

  “I just hung up the phone with Josie. She has the stom
ach flu,” she laments.

  “Josie?”

  “Our art teacher. She was supposed to teach a class this morning. The kids are putting the final touches on their paintings for the exhibit.”

  “You don’t have anyone who can substitute?” I take a sip of my drink.

  “Not on such short notice. And I’d do it, but I’ve got a list a mile long of things to get done before Wednesday and have a meeting with our publicist in an hour and then the framers are coming to start framing the artwork and the lighting company is after that and then the photographer—”

  “Did you forget you’ve got me?” I ask, not the least bit offended I seem to have been overlooked. Two days together is hardly enough time to put me at the forefront of her thoughts.

  Candace lets out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I did, kind of. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.”

  “Tell me what you’d like me to do today and I’ll do it. You have no idea how happy I am to be here, too.”

  “How do you feel about teaching?”

  “Done.” I peeked in on a music class last week and I’d venture to say “teaching” is a loose term. The students are afforded a lot of creative freedom, and they seem to thrive on it. Guidance might be a better term than teaching, and I can do that. I’ve done my fair share of paint-by-numbers.

  “Whatever angel sent you to me, I’m very grateful.” She pulls back the paper covering her burrito and brings the stuffed tortilla to her mouth. “Thank you.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  She tilts her head to consider me. She hasn’t asked me to elaborate on the traumatic event I mentioned to her when we met, but I’m certain she’s thinking about it now. If she’d asked me last week, I probably would have declined. But today, I’m okay with it. Actually—I put my burrito down—I’d like to tell her.