Never Have I Ever

by Blakely, Lauren

  Her eyes widen, and she stares pointedly at my glass. I don’t take a drink.

  She lifts a brow, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief, with a so this is how it goes kind of spark. “Never have I ever gone to a woman’s room to inquire about a man I’m jealous of.”

  I laugh. Busted. I drink, and it tastes spectacular. The best swallow of champagne ever. It takes like the truth, like a weight lifting.

  It tastes like a chance.

  And it feels like fun, something I want more of, something I like a whole hell of a lot with her. So I keep it up.

  “Never have I ever made plans with an English bloke to go on a tour of bookshops and other stupid shit.”

  She cracks up, clutching her glass resolutely. “Well played.”

  “So you’re not going with him?”

  “Did I not just answer that?”

  “Did you want to?”

  “I already said I’m not going with him. Why are you asking if I wanted to?”

  “Because I want to know.”

  “Then shouldn’t you ask your question in the form of the game?”

  She keeps me on my toes. “You’re right. I should.”

  I assemble the words carefully in my head first. “Never have I ever turned Graham down because I have zero, nada, zilch interest in him, rather than because it would be a bad idea to have a fling with him.”

  The look she gives me reminds me of a woman lazily swinging in a hammock, biting into an apple, a satisfied grin on her face.

  I wait several interminable seconds that last for hours.

  She takes her time, quirking up her lips as if she’s considering all facets of the question. A long sigh falls from her lips, then a hum. “Well, let’s see . . .”

  “Piper . . .”

  “Let a woman answer.”

  I sweep my arm out. “The floor is yours.”

  She taps her bottom lip. “So you’re asking if I’m attracted to Graham? And if it was difficult to turn him down?”

  “Yes,” I bite out.

  She raises the glass halfway. “Let me think. Never have I ever turned Graham down . . .”

  I groan.

  And she finishes the thought. “Because I’m not attracted to him.” She smirks, lifts the glass, and takes a fabulously large gulp. Her nose crinkles. “Ooh, that tickled.” She sets down the glass, rubs her palms. “But now it’s my turn.”

  “Bring it on,” I say, more cocky than I expected. But then this is my turf. Back and forth. Tête-à-tête. We’re in the ring boxing, and this is what we do.

  She taps her chin. “What to ask, what to ask. . .”

  I make a sound, like a ticking clock.

  “Oh, hush. There’s no time limit.” She stares at the window, then at me, studying my face. She adjusts herself, sitting a little higher. My eyes stray to her chest, to her perky breasts, and I stifle a moan. Raising my gaze, I catalog her glossy lips, her soulful eyes, her simple elegance.

  She inches a tad closer, as if she’s about to taunt me.

  Taunted is not what I feel.

  Exponentially more aroused is more like it.

  I’m not sure how that’s possible, but there it is. It’s happening. My skin sizzles as she moves nearer.

  She speaks. “Never have I ever come to a woman’s room after midnight for reasons other than champagne and Netflix.”

  That’s so easy.

  In fact, it’s so easy, I make it clear. “Obviously, I’m not here for the bubbly or the show.” I take a long drink, keeping my eyes on her the whole time.

  When I lower my glass, I kick the game up a notch to the next level. “Never have I ever wanted this guy to come to my room.”

  Her lips part slightly. She says nothing. She raises her glass, takes a drink.

  I’m so buzzed, and it’s not from the liquor. I’ve barely had any. I’m tipsy on her. I’m intoxicated with anticipation. And I want to get drunk on this night, this woman, and all the possibilities.

  She starts to speak, but I raise a hand, stopping her. “Let me go again.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is scratchy, a little nervous.

  But I need another turn. I’m the one who appeared at her door. I’m the one who needs to go first.

  To show my hand.

  I lift my glass, never taking my gaze from hers. “Never have I ever wanted to kiss this woman on the plane, in the elevator, in the cab.”

  Her eyes spark, flecks of desire dancing across the irises.

  I push on, hogging the turn, taking all the turns, because I have to. Because I’m a jack-in-the-box, wound so damn tight, and I have been for months. These last few days with her have been some of the best I’ve had in ages, and even though I shouldn’t do this, even though I shouldn’t be here, I am.

  Ready for what comes next, damn the risks.

  “Never have I ever wanted to know how you taste, if you smell as good when I kiss your skin as I imagine you do. Never have I ever come to your room after midnight because I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

  She gasps, blinking, then a shudder seems to run through her. “Really?”

  Nodding, I finish my glass and set it down. I take hers and put it on the table, then thread my hand in her hair. “Get your lips on mine. I need to taste you.”

  “Oh God,” she whispers.

  We crash into each other, two tigers fearlessly tumbling. I yank her close and claim her mouth, my thoughts going hazy as I kiss her deeply, and deeper still.

  I’m not interested in soft, whispery kisses.

  I’m hungry. I’m downright starved, and she’s the only thing that can satisfy me.

  She kisses exactly how I imagined, because, oh hell, have I ever imagined this. She’s fiery and fierce, all heat and need. Her hands curl around my head, through my hair, and she kisses me hard—so damn hard it blurs out the world. It erases everything but this room, and her, and my aching desire to have her.

  Dropping my hands, I grab her hips and tug her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. In lounge pants and sleep shorts, little is left to the imagination. My intentions are wildly clear and incredibly loud.

  She sinks down against my hard-on, and I groan, a sound that’s equal parts relief and pent-up desire. I’m not satisfied, not in the least. I need so much more. I need more than this.

  But I will take this gladly.

  Oh so fucking gladly.

  Grabbing her ass, I squeeze, moving her against my hard-as-stone dick.

  She breaks the kiss, letting her head fall back, her hair spilling behind her. She lets out a carnal cry. A greedy yes that lasts for days.

  My cock jerks against her as she rubs herself on me, her hips swiveling and grinding.

  The sight of her like that, chasing her pleasure already, sets my chest to flames. I grab her face, pulling her back to my mouth. “Kiss me again. Kiss me while you ride me,” I murmur.

  She slams her lips to mine, and we kiss like the world is burning behind us, like it’s spiraling away to ash and this is the last thing we’ll do.

  Our teeth click, and I love the roughness, love the sloppiness. My tongue skates over hers, and I bite her lip, nibbling, and she yelps, but then it turns into a long, lingering moan that lasts for fantastic lingering seconds. “Zach.”

  My name on her lips is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. It unravels me. It unlocks me. I need to be inside her now.

  I don’t want her coming on my lap like we’re in high school. I don’t want child’s play. I want the real thing. Her wetness against my hardness.

  I break the kiss. “Bed. Now. I need to be inside you.” Then reality slams into me. “Shit, fuck, hell.”

  Instantly, she stops moving. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t have a condom. Do you? Wait. I bet the hotel does. I can call the concierge.”

  Even though the wait for him to bring one feels like it would be an eternity in hell.

  A smile sneaks across her face. “I’m on protection, and I’m saf
e. Clean.”

  Ah, glorious words. Beautiful, glorious, incredible words. I can fuck her without barriers.

  “Good. Because I hate condoms. Also, I’m safe too,” I tell her.

  She scoots off, and I stand, removing my shirt as I walk to the bed.

  She stares at me. “Whoa.”

  I stop before I toss my shirt to the floor. “Whoa, what?”

  “Your chest. Your abs. Your stomach. Can I just spend the night licking you?”

  Laughing, I drop the shirt, step closer to her, and fiddle with the hem of her cami. “Love the sound of that. But no. I need to be inside you. Need to feel you.” I lower my face to her neck, flicking my tongue up the column of her throat, inhaling her citrus scent—yes, it’s everywhere, and it drives me even wilder than it did in the cab—as I make my way up to her ear. She trembles while I kiss her neck, nibble on her earlobe. “Need to fuck you, Piper. I need it so much.”

  “Me too.” She runs her fingers up and down my chest. Tracing the grooves in my abs, she bites her lip, looking mesmerized.

  I feel mesmerized.

  By her. By this night. By her touch.

  I haven’t been touched in so long.

  Haven’t wanted it. Haven’t craved it.

  Till her.

  Now all I want is this electricity, this crackling energy.

  It flickers and sparks like a current that won’t stop.

  I pull off her cami, my hands cupping her breasts, kneading them, before my fingers travel down to her shorts and strip them off.

  They fall to the floor, and she’s naked and it’s breathtaking.

  “You’re so damn sexy,” I rasp as I tuck my thumbs in the waistband of my pants and push them down, my cock announcing how very happy it is to be free of clothes and standing in front of its goal.

  She shakes her head. “No. You are.”

  I lift a brow. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Just fuck me,” she says.

  And I’m not going to deny either of us.

  She falls down on the bed, scoots back to the pillows, and I crawl up, savoring every single second.

  She settles and reaches down, making grabby hands. With a grin, I move closer so she can touch me like she wants.

  Like I want.

  She wraps a hand around me, and I’m lost. I’m simply lost in the extraordinary feel.

  Her eyes float closed as she touches me, and mine do too. For a moment, maybe more, my mind goes blank. I give in to the sheer ecstasy, to the incredible feeling of intimacy.

  Of hands exploring bodies.

  Of desire playing the lead role.

  Of being human once more.

  Of being alive.

  It’s everything I didn’t know I was missing. It’s everything I now have to have.

  Opening my eyes, I gently swat her hand away. “Spread your legs for me.”

  She lets her knees fall open, and heat blasts through me as I stare at her, so wet, so ready. I’m a supernova, and I’m not even inside her.

  I have to warn her. As I settle between her legs, rubbing the head of my cock against her heat, I groan but still manage to get a word out. “Piper . . .”

  She arches against me, pleading with her body. “Yes?”

  She sounds as desperate as I feel.

  “It’s been a while,” I say, my voice low, bare truth on my tongue. “A long while.”

  She pushes up on her elbows. Lifts a hand. Cups my cheek. “Then make it fast and good. Because I feel like I could come in seconds.”

  I push into her, my eyes rolling back in my head at that first decadent feel of her heat.

  “That’s . . .” I can’t finish the sentence.

  “Incredible,” she murmurs, and I slide inside. All the way. I am engulfed in her, and it’s spectacular.

  A blast of pleasure shoots down my spine, a comet appearing from out of nowhere in the night sky.

  “Need a moment,” I grunt, bracing myself on my palms, looking away from her face.

  “Take your time. I’ll be here. Just begging to come.”

  She wriggles against me, and I laugh.

  And that does the trick.

  That’s enough for me to return my focus to her. To direct all my attention on this woman beneath me, wanting me, needing me.

  I’m a shark.

  I’m tough as nails.

  I’m made of steel.

  I can hold off an orgasm to pleasure her first. You better believe I can.

  I pace myself, going slow at first, taking my time as I listen to her cues, her sounds, her murmurs. She’s not quiet. She’s wonderfully noisy, her moans and groans a fantastic soundtrack.

  As she lets out a series of oh God, yes, like that, it’s not hard to discover her rhythm, because she knows what she wants. She knows what she needs. She tells me.

  I shouldn’t be surprised at all.

  Piper has always spoken her mind.

  I’m not shocked when she shifts a little, turning slightly to the side, and says, “One of us is going to need to play with my clit.”

  I smirk. “I volunteer as tribute.”

  “Good. Get tribute-ing.”

  Adjusting myself so my weight is on my left arm, I slide my other arm between us, running my thumb across the swollen rise of her clit.

  Her reaction is instantaneous, making me feel like a king as she screams. “Yes. That. Oh God.”

  Her noises turn the dial in me up to ten, to one hundred, to a hundred million. But I grit my teeth, stroking her clit, fucking her hard, fighting off my own release.

  Her hands travel down my back, sliding over my hot skin till she grabs my ass. Squeezing. Parting her legs. Wrapping them tighter around me. Making her intentions clear.

  She intends to come and to come hard.

  And I have one job: to finish the motherfucking job.

  We are a blur of bodies, of skin, of sound. I stroke and thrust, and she rocks and grinds.

  Pleasure curls inside me, lust threatening to overtake my brain, my entire being. But she’s a merciful woman, and an honest one too. Because she’s trembling, reaching the edge quickly, like she said she would.

  Putting me out of my misery.

  Her mouth forms an O, and then she’s quiet. Blissfully silent before she announces to the whole hotel—no, make that this entire city—that she’s coming.

  With Superman-level strength, I stave off my own release for a few more seconds so I can watch her. So I can memorize how she looks as her eyes squeeze shut, her face tenses, and she shudders, writhing beneath me as my name and God’s name fill my ears.

  I let go at last as the orgasm wins the battle, and I happily surrender to it.

  The world fades to black.

  This. Yes. Everything.

  A stark and terrifying awareness hits me. This feels like everything I didn’t know I was missing.

  19

  Piper

  “Well, that was delightful.”

  He arches a brow. “Delightful? That was delightful?”

  Sighing contentedly, I stretch my arms above my head and lift a brow. “What’s wrong with delightful?”

  He growls. “Delightful is for a stroll through a garden.”

  Remaining deadpan, I ask, “How would you describe it, then?”

  “Epic. That was mind-blowingly epic.”

  Not gonna lie. Inside, I’m glowing at that description. But toying with him is too fun. “Epic? Do we still say ‘epic’? I thought that was out of vogue.”

  He huffs, his nostrils flaring. “Woman, is now the time to debate trends in popular colloquialisms?”

  “You mean, it’s not the time when your machismo is at stake?” I can’t resist.

  He props himself up on his elbow. “I’m pretty sure no one says ‘machismo’ anymore.”

  I quirk up my lips. “I guess you’re right. Machismo is for the history books.”

  He rolls his eyes. “All right, time to go.” He pushes up, and I grab his arm—his toned, fir
m arm. He wasn’t kidding when he said he spent time working out, and I’m not kidding when I say praise the Lord for his devotion to barbells—and flash him a smile. “Delightful was an understatement.”

  He stops, stares at me. “I thought so.”

  “Did you now?” I counter.

  His eyes drift to my hand on his arm, then they roam up and down my naked body.

  For a moment, it hits me—I’m naked with Zach Nolan. We’re fire and ice. We’ve shot arrows and hissed at each other. We’re champions in the sport of eye rolling and lobbing clever invectives.

  I should be freaking out. I should be trying to wake myself from a dream, because no way do we screw in real life.

  But this is real life, and real life is fabulous in this moment.

  Especially as he eats me up with his eyes, making me shiver.

  My response to his dirty gaze does not go unnoticed. He looks back at me with his standard intensity, speaking with his tough, no-nonsense tone. “I believe what you meant to say was . . . never have I ever come so hard. Is that right?”

  I pretend to lift a glass and to down it. “That is exactly what I meant to say.”

  Yup, this is real. This is us. We still have our arrows and quivers, only they’ve changed. They’re not as barbed. They’re fun and fiery.

  He laughs, then runs a hand down my stomach. The feel of his touch turns me to jelly, and I was already a weak-kneed mess of hormones.

  But when he swings his legs over the side of the bed and says, “Let me clean you up,” I’m no longer a mess of lust.

  I’m a puddle of swoon. It’s embarrassing, completely embarrassing, how much the sweetness of the gesture hooks into my heart.

  I should shove off the bed, wave a hand, and march to the bathroom to do it myself. But I don’t. I lie here waiting, savoring the aftereffects that still radiate through my body, the lingering glow from the way he made me climb the mountain then soar off the other side. Who cares if “epic” is out of fashion? That was epic.

  He returns with a warm washcloth, gently sliding it between my legs. I close my eyes, because the tenderness is nearly too much.

  I don’t know how to handle this Zach. This side of him is too endearing. Too wonderful. I could fall for this side of him. The passionate lover is a tender lover too.