by Ivy Hunt
I pound into her, greedy now I don’t know how much longer I can hold on, my supposed infinite self-control is shot. Thankfully she lets out a low moan and I feel her clench around me, my cue to finally abandon my self-control as I thrust in once, and again before finally letting go. My vision goes white as I come, hard and hot.
I’m on my back, blood pounding in my ears as I try to slow my ragged breaths. That may have been the best sex of my life. I turn to Ella, almost not sure if she’s real, if she’s here.
She looks at me, also panting, wearing what I think is a twin expression to mine, as if she’s just as shocked as I am. Her eyes are huge in her face.
“You are a man of many talents, Connor Hall.”
I give a crack of laughter. What else does one say to that but, “You haven’t seen anything yet, Ella Dixon.”
If only she knew how I thought I was going to jump out of my skin and devour her when I was teasing her earlier. Had she looked closer, she’d have seen that I’d had my fists balled tight in an effort not to reach out and take what I wanted.
Her smile fades and she takes her swollen bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “But don’t worry I’m under no illusions that this is anything more than—” she waves her hand between our bodies, still tangled in the sheets, “—this.”
My first instinct is to argue, but I hold my tongue.
“This?” I keep my voice casual.
“Sex.”
Damned good sex. I smirk. I’m about to tell her exactly how good, but my mouth snaps shut when she tacks on, “But I know it’s temporary.”
“Is it?” I say slowly. Deranged. Abso-fucking-lutely deranged.
“It is.” There’s no room for argument in her tone.
I reach over, I need some kind of physical connection to her if we are going to continue this asinine conversation.
“You aren’t my type. I’m not yours,” she says.
“Who says?” I ask, nudging against her.
“Connor…”
“So what are you proposing, exactly?” I ask.
“Maybe we can keep doing this…temporarily. A fling.”
Not quite what I had in mind when I told her I liked her. I’m about to protest. But her eyes are already traversing my body, and my cock stirs under her heavy-lidded gaze. And then she’s reaching for me again.
There are worse things than being Ella Dixon’s go-to for food and sex. All I need to do is work my way up her hierarchy of needs.
Chapter Nineteen
ELLA
I don’t mind my new routine. My foot is fine. And for one, my head seems to be screwed on right—that knock on the head may have been exactly what I needed.
Connor is over almost every night. It’s still strange to see him in my apartment—he’s shiny and polished and perfect in the shabby chic of my home. Sometimes he brings food, sometimes we make dinner together, me serving as his sous chef. Mostly, we jump straight into bed, and then order in afterward so that we have sustenance enough for round two, three, four, before I send him home.
He keeps me in a constant state of near-combustion, and so far, his interest has shown no sign of waning.
He hasn’t been cleared to play yet, but he still travels with the team for games. On days he is away, he has food delivered to me with accompanying puns.
There was a jar of pickles by a note saying, ‘I’m a big dill’. He sent me apples with ‘I find you a-peel-ing.’ The one that made my insides squeeze is when he sent me bacon with ‘Don’t go bay-kin my heart.’
One evening, he even comes over with a box from a familiar New Jersey bakery filled with cupcakes in different flavors—all twenty-seven of them, then proceeds to eat the icing off me. I promptly return the favor.
What surprises me most is that we never seem to run out of things to talk about—movies or theater or a shared fascination with heavy metal music. He even surprises with a limited-edition record of a band we both enjoy. I love that I’m getting to know him this way, but faintly terrified at the same time.
I don’t even mind when Connor gets lost in his head. I know he’s worried about playing.
“Penne for your thoughts?” I attempt, when we are in that space between sex and sleep. He rolls his eyes at my pun, but I’m gratified to see his lips twitch. I know how to distract him now, and run my hand down his front. His chest is well defined, with pectoral muscles and little brown nipples. The only thing that mars his looks is a little scar near his left eyebrow.
“Army?” I sweep my thumb over the thin white mark.
“Tee-ball.”
I snort.
His eyes twinkle.“Surprised you there, didn’t I?”
“Boy Scout, you’ve been surprising me this entire time.” I trace my finger down his jaw to his sternum. “You are just too good to be true,” I muse aloud.
He stiffens. My eyes snap up to his and I whip my hand away. He snatches it back and presses it against his warm skin, with my palm flat over his heart.
“I’m not. Not even close.”
But faint warning bells sound in my head when he suggests we join his teammates for drinks. I’ve demurred so far. I have little reason to venture far from my lair if I’m getting food, sex and sleep. Throw in a little reality TV and what more could a cavewoman want?
The one thorn in my side is Hannah’s stupid wedding. I’ve been avoiding meetings with her and my mother, pretending my foot’s still injured. That doesn’t stop her from using a messenger service to cart over even more clothes for me to alter. This time, outfits she’s selected for her entourage. We’re all supposed to be in matching colors for each of the events, though the styles can be different. I haven’t seen my own dress for the welcome party yet, even though Hannah’s promised I’m going to love it. I already know I won’t, but given that it’s her big day, week, whatever, I don’t complain. Instead, I send evil looks at her outfit for the first night, a pink explosion of tulle and tastelessness. It hangs on the mannequin in the corner of my apartment. There are hundreds of pins in my life-sized voodoo doll and a tape measure strapped around its neck like a noose.
I’ve been working all day, but I’m still behind even though I’m about to go cross-eyed after poring over the tiny stitches for hours, and my back creaks when I stand to stretch.
Right on cue, a welcome distraction buzzes. Connor’s picked up dinner. There was much debate earlier before we settled on Jamaican jerk chicken.
I should send him home right after we eat though, because if he sexes me, I will be useless and there’s too much to do. I sigh.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He eyes my plate. I’ve been picking at my food.
“Hannah’s wedding is stressing me out. I’m so freaking far behind.”
“Can I do anything to help?” He says it so casually, I blink, not entirely sure I heard him right.
“Are you for real?” What guy offers to help his fling with anything to do with weddings? Hell, I’d run screaming in the other direction if it wasn’t for the threat of death from my sister and mother.
Connor shrugs. “Sure.”
For a second, I am tempted. But I need to hold firm. Hanging out with my family, especially at major, well-documented events does not fall within the parameters of our arrangement.
I’m about to say no, tell him we need to call it a night, that I need to get back to work when an idea comes to me, so diabolical that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. I obviously don’t do a good enough job because he eyes me warily.
“You know how you could help? Come as the stripper. I’m supposed to help her friends with the bachelorette party. You’d be great entertainment for all the ex-sorority girls. Besides, Hannah is dying to see you in the flesh.” I wink. “Hank wouldn’t mind it either.”
Connor’s head jerks and strangled sound of outrage leaves him—it is all I can do not to burst out laughing.
I fail.
He shakes his head, muttering, “Clearly, you are deranged.”
“Clearly,” I respond cheekily, even though the thought of him taking his clothes off gets me all hot and bothered every single time.
His incredulous look twists into something wicked. He strokes his bottom lip with his thumb, then tugs me over and plants his big hands on my butt. A suggestive bump and grind accompany an exaggerated leer. “I have a better idea. What if I just strip for you? I’m happy to do private performances.” His voice is husky, sending tingles down my spine. I have no willpower, and he knows it.
He lets me go, only long enough to whip off his shirt and I stare. My mouth waters.
“A little stress relief wouldn’t go amiss, I suppose,” I say.
“Well, then I might as well make myself useful.”
Chapter Twenty
ELLA
Tonight, I make myself breakfast for dinner—bacon and eggs—which of course reminds me of Connor. His team has an away game, and even though he still can’t play, he is traveling with them and won’t be back until the weekend. We don’t really have a reason to talk. But it’s another rainy evening and I’m… lonely. More and more, I need to remind myself that I need to live in the moment. Tamp down that sliver of wistfulness that sometimes steals over me.
Maybe I can doze in front of the TV? I browse through Netflix, looking for something to distract me.
An hour later, I can’t remember a single show I tried. Instead, I’ve been watching reruns in my head of the last time Connor and I had sex. I flush at the memory of him behind me, taking his time, driving me crazy. Because that is exactly what I am. Crazy. Crazy horny. And clearly under some kind of some telepathic hypnosis because somehow, I am reaching for my phone. Phone sex is allowed in a fling, isn’t it?
Muting the TV with one hand, I pull up my contacts list with the other. He gave me a stern look and ordered me to save him in again, this time under Connor Hall - D-N-D—though in this case, the letters stand for Do Not Delete.
Connor answers on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I can’t sleep.” Nothing needs to be wrong. I shake my head at his protectiveness, though it is a little sweet.
A beat sounds between us. Then I hear a husky, “Neither can I.”
There’s a pause as he waits for me to continue. Something in the background. For a second I worry that he’s out.
“Are you busy?” I ask.
“No. Just watching TV.”
“The same. What are you watching?” Starting off with polite conversation, good.
“ESPN. You?”
“The same thing.” My TV is tuned to some classic movie on Turner.
“Really?” Connor’s voice is disbelieving.
“Yep.”
“Hmm…” He doesn’t question me further. I lean back on my couch, watching a black and white movie to the background sound of sports commentators and guys being hit until I finally fall asleep. We never even got to the phone sex.
Chapter Twenty-One
CONNOR
My friends say I’m generally a creature of habit, and I make no apologies for it. And my ‘fling’—I scoff at the word, is proceeding right on schedule.
It’s no torrid affair. Ella and I have an established routine. Dinner, TV (Thank fuck it’s not all reality shit), and bed. Somewhere between Hangry Ella and Sleepy Ella, I get horny Ella. We’ll make out on the couch like horny teenagers, and that will inevitably lead to sex of the very adult kind.
And then she kicks me out. Every single time. I’m generally not opposed to being an occasional booty call, but this is getting ridiculous.
The guys would say I have the ideal situation—sex on the regular, without any of the strings, all in the care and keeping of Ella Dixon.
The problem is I want strings.
Multiple times now I’ve hinted I’d be happy to spend the night. But I’m not sure if she’s willfully blind or not. Still, I’m determined to move our relationship forward. I’d just been waiting for a sign. And that night on the phone, watching TV together three thousand miles apart? That was it.
On the way home from JFK airport, I grab my phone.
Connor: Hey U. Plans for dinner?
Ella: Ur back?
Connor: Yep. Flight just landed. Dinner?
Ella: Thai?
I grin. My plan is falling into place.
Connor: Sure. 7? U have my address, right?
Ella: ???
Connor: ?
Ella: Ur not coming over?
Ella: New episode of Real Housewives…
And now for the clincher.
Connor: New Thai cookbook
Now I wait.
And wait.
And—
Ella: k.
I smirk. Touchdown.
Ella needs to be eased into things. And tonight’s the night to kick things up a notch. Sheets are changed, food is prepped, wine’s decanting. I’m pulling out the big guns to get her to say yes to my proposal.
The doorbell rings just after seven. I’m almost done cooking. Pad Gra Prow and Tom Yum Kung for her, Chicken Satay and an antihistamine for me—just in case.
I open the door for Ella. Something in my chest twists at the sight of that wavy brown hair, delicate face, and jade green eyes. Fuck, I’ve missed her. I swallow. When did this pint-sized pain in the ass become so important to me?
“Hello.” Scintillating conversation starter, asshole.
“Hi,” she responds.
I drink in the rest of her. She’s more dressed up than usual, in an orange skirt and a white top, with a jean jacket over it. It looks like she’s wearing makeup. Her tongue sneaks out and swipes the soft curve of her lips, making me almost groan. I’m dying to kiss her, but if I do, all my plans of slow seduction are fucked for sure.
I hustle Ella into the kitchen. “Wine?”
“Yes, please. Red if you have it.”
“Of course.” I pour her a glass of Burgundy. “Just need a few more minutes.”
The little snoop doesn’t stay still while I finish, and wanders around. She opens up a couple of cabinets, checks out my booze collection, then peers at the shelf of recipe books. They are arranged by diet—allergy friendly, gluten-free, high protein, vegetarian—then alphabetically within their categories.
She pulls out a book on healthy smoothies and skims it before making a face and shutting it. “And he calls what I like to eat questionable…” Pink tipped fingers run along the spines of some of the other books and stop. Ella slants me a glance from beneath her dark lashes, then, very deliberately, she places it between the A’s and the C’s, positioning it so that it sticks out, and isn’t flush with the other titles.
I snort, though I’m itching to move it back into place. The minx’s look is challenging, so I am determined to resist.
Before she can disrupt my orderly place further, I grab her hands in each of mine, and bring them to her back. Ella sucks in a sharp breath as I trap her in place. Our eyes tangle, and her soft lips part, ever so slightly. Her lids flutter down as I slowly lower my head.
And give her nose a quick swipe with my tongue.
She shrieks and I laugh, releasing her. “Come on.”
I carry the dishes to the table, all laid out. Ella takes in the dining room, with the good cutlery and nice plates, then she swivels to face me. “You planned all this.” A finger pokes me in the chest.
I grab it and bring it to my mouth. I’m fucked if she discovers I’m ticklish. “I did.”
She tips her head to one side as she studies me, but doesn’t say more.
We dig into the meal. I give myself a mental pat on the back when Ella takes a bite and hums with pleasure.
But my cock is hard and heavy, and heat is strumming up and down my spine by the time we get to our dessert of mango sticky rice from all her little sighs and moans. I’m ready to say fuck it and head straight for the closest horizontal surface before I self combust. Hell, this table will do just f
ine.
Somehow, I manage to hold on to what little patience I have until we finish. Ella helps me clear up. While she’s at the sink, I go up behind her, and brush her hair to one side. My lips find her neck and I inhale her sweet scent as I run my tongue over the delicate skin.
I usher her up the stairs, but at the threshold of my bedroom she pauses. The tension in the air ratchets up. I stop behind her and lightly lay my hands on either side of her hips. She takes in a stuttering breath and I wait to see what she’ll do.
Ella turns and lifts her eyes to mine. She brings her fingers to the buttons of my shirt and undoes the first one. My brave girl.
I drop my lips to hers and kiss her. I walk her backwards to the bed, keeping my mouth fused to hers the whole way, until the back of her knees hit my bed. She sits and angles back, propping her elbows on the mattress but keeping her feet on the ground. I kneel in front of her and lean over to pick up our kiss. My hands slip under her skirt and slide up to her knees, caressing her there for a moment before pushing the material up her thighs and opening her to me.
I trace her inner thighs with my thumbs. The outline of her pussy beckons through her damp panties. Her eyes are hazy with desire and mine stay locked on them as I hook the gusset of the thin silk to one side and lower my mouth to her clit. I taste her, savoring, sliding and sucking. She gives a low moan as the fingers of my other hand find her opening. I push one in. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet.” I groan into one soft thigh. She whimpers and the sound goes straight to my aching balls.
I keep my touch gentle to start. I want to draw it out, make her need this as much as I do.
All of a sudden, neither of us can wait anymore. I drag her skirt and panties down her legs and she goes for my jeans. I tug off her jacket and top, and unhook her bra before bringing my mouth to her sweet tits. My tongue flicks at a hard nipple before giving her a quick nip. She arches off the bed. It only makes me more greedy, and I suck at her, nudging her opening with my impatient dick.