“Cock. I want your cock,” I choke out. I’ve never craved something so much.
He lets go of me and leaves me standing alone against the cold wall as he retrieves a condom. He stands a few feet in front of me, putting on a show of discarding his pants and rolling it on. He’s throbbing . . . ready for me.
“Strip,” he instructs, watching me. I pull the camisole over my head and step out of my pants while his eyes follow my every move. This isn’t playing out like I imagined it would, but I’ve never been more turned on.
He saunters over and lifts me up again. Wasting no time, he buries himself deep inside me. There’s nothing gentle about it. Rough and heady; just what we both need.
I think of all the reasons I should run while he’s giving me multiple reasons to stay.
He pins my arms above my head as he pounds into me over and over again. There’s an overwhelming urge to touch him, and the fact that I can’t is turning me on even more.
“Do you like when I bury myself in your tight little body? No one else fucks you like this, do they?”
I can’t speak, but he’s right. I love when he fucks me, and he’s the only one who’s truly ever fucked me.
“Look at me.” I open my eyes, not wanting to test the already rough waters. “Come for me, baby.”
I gasp, and my walls squeeze his cock over and over again. “Blake,” I moan, feeling an intensity I’ve never felt before. He follows right behind me, letting go of my eyes to bury his face in my neck. I scream out when his teeth sink into my skin.
When our breathing returns to normal, he kisses my lips softly—nothing like what we’d just done. He looks sated. The pain that was etched on him earlier has been replaced with the afterglow of sex.
“Do you think you can sleep now?” I ask, throwing my arms over his shoulders and pecking him on the mouth.
“I might be close. Maybe after another round or two.”
My eyes widen.
He lowers me to the ground, withdrawing himself along the way. “Hey, I’m kidding. You better get some sleep,” he says, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.
I nod, fully aware that I have to be up for work in a few hours. “You too, or I’m crawling into your bed until you do.”
He smirks. “I dare you.”
My hands rest on his muscular chest. “Blake, you need to get some sleep.”
He expression falls. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Let’s make a deal,” I say. “If you go to sleep, I’ll make you breakfast before I leave for work.”
The smile I love so much is back. “Now that’s a deal.”
Rolling my eyes, I pick my pajamas up off the floor and head toward the door. Blake doesn’t move or say a word. It would be so easy to turn back around and let him sink into me again.
It won’t be good for either of us. He’s someone I miss when he’s not around, and I can’t afford an attachment like him. He’s hiding behind me—in me—when what he really needs is to face whatever it is that’s eating him up inside. Just thinking about it makes me feel like a hypocrite because I ran to Chicago to get away from my shit. I guess we’re both lost in our own way.
MY ALARM SOUNDS JUST AFTER five, really early for a girl who stayed up past her bedtime trying to counsel a damaged man with the feel of her body.
After rolling out of bed, I quickly shower and dress. Not wanting to mess with my hair, I tie it up again, and attempt to hide my tired eyes with a thick layer of make-up. One last look in the full-length mirror, and I’m satisfied.
I didn’t hear a peep from Blake after I went back to my room. I’d heard him turn the lamp off, and the sound of his bed shifting shortly after crawling into my own. I tossed and turned, thinking about him. I want to know what set him off last night . . . what thoughts were running through his mind as he buried himself inside me over and over.
As I make my way to the kitchen, I notice the ache that still lingers between my legs. It’s going to remain there all day, reminding me of who I may or may not get to come home to tonight. That’s the thing about us—nothing is certain.
Searching the fridge, I find Blake’s beloved eggs. I’ve never been much of a cook so this should be interesting. Usually, when I’m in the kitchen with him, we’re bickering about something so I don’t know how he likes them exactly.
I crack two eggs and let them sizzle in the pan while I place some bread in the toaster. Blake emerges from his room just as they pop up.
“What’s going on in here?” he asks, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“I owe you breakfast.” Looking down at the eggs, I add, “How do you like your eggs?”
He smiles. “Over-easy.”
He comes to stand beside me, which just makes me nervous. I flip. He narrows his eyes on the pan. “Does this meet your standards so far?” I ask, hating the silence.
“It’ll do,” he muses.
“Good, because this is what you’re getting.”
I pull the toast out and set it on the plate, trying to remember what he puts on it. Opening the fridge, I spot two kinds of jelly and a big container of butter. Shit.
“Strawberry jelly,” he says, reaching over me to grab the milk.
“Thanks.”
He laughs. “All you have to do is ask.”
While I occupy myself, putting his plate together, he sits down at the table with a newspaper. This feels too much like a relationship and not so much like me making good on a bet.
When everything is done, I put the plate in front of him. He looks up at me, eyes widening. “Breakfast is served,” I say, sauntering away from him.
“You’re going to make someone a nice wife some day,” he teases. I almost was someone’s wife, I think to myself as I walk back to the kitchen. I hate being reminded of my failures. “Did you dress up to play the part?” he adds.
“I started my new job yesterday.”
“Ditching Charlie’s already?”
“No,” I answer, wiping down the counters. “I’m working both to save up money for my own place.”
His fork clangs against the ceramic plate. “We already talked about this.”
I walk across the living room to my purse, ignoring him for a minute. As of right now, I’m staying until Mallory comes back but making him sweat isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s not like he hasn’t done it to me a time or two. “Settle down. I’m staying until Mallory gets back unless you give me a reason not to.”
“Is that what you’re wearing to work?” he asks, picking his fork back up.
“Yep,” I answer, putting a little extra sway in my step. The skirt pulls against my ass, and I’m pretty sure he’s looking. The apartment goes deathly quiet as I pull my purse over my shoulder. When I turn back around, he’s staring at me, his mouth hanging open. “Are you staring?”
His lips curl. “You’re walking a little funny today. Is everything okay?”
I narrow my eyes at him as I head toward the door. “I’ve been better.”
The chair screeches across the floor. I count . . . one . . . two . . . his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back into his body. “Take that back,” his breath whispers against my ear.
“Take what back?” I ask, folding against his body even though I don’t want to. My body is a stupid traitor.
“No one’s ever made you feel better than I do.”
“You don’t know that.”
His grip tightens. “Yes, I do. Admit it.”
“Fine, Blake . . . if you don’t let me go, we’re going to be up against that wall or in your bed or on the counter. You pick.”
“Mmm, we haven’t tried the counter yet,” he groans, pressing his lips to my neck.
“Seriously, I need to go.”
“Five minutes.”
Pushing down on his arm, I try to free myself. It’s a pathetic attempt. “Blake, please, I need this job.”
“Have it your way . . . just this once. But tonight, Lemon Drop, you and I have a date on the counter.” He’s doing that thing again, bringing me to the brink of a sexual high with words alone. At some point, I know this has to stop, but that time is not now. I haven’t had my fill of him yet.