"No, no, we'll leave. I don't want to see any more than I need to," Holly said, finally pushing herself off the bed.
"Speak for yourself, sister. I haven't seen enough," Nick muttered, also dragging himself off the bed.
"Next time, we lock them out," Jack said, pulling me back closer to him as they made their way to the door.
"She's got sex hair," I heard Nick say, as they walked out.
"Well dur. Didn't you hear all the screaming?" she giggled back. "Night, kids," she stated, closing the door behind her. I grabbed a sheet as I jumped out of bed immediately, crossing to the door and locking it quickly.
"What are you doing?" he asked, as I stood by the door for a few seconds. I held up my hand to him, motioning for him to be quiet. Sure enough, not 90 seconds had gone by when I saw the knob begin to turn.
"Dammit, they locked it," I heard Holly whisper.
"I didn't think she would take it so hard," Nick whispered back. I looked back at Jack, still in bed.
"That's what he said!" we both yelled, and we heard them both run back downstairs, one of them tripping and hitting the floor with a loud smack. We both laughed.
"Sorry about that," I said, leaning back against the door, wrapping my sheet more tightly around me.
"No problem. Now get that sweet ass back into this bed before I come over there and get you," he answered. I stared at him, his lean torso peeking out over the sheets that had settled low around his hips. He was leaning back against the headboard, my headboard, and he had never looked sexier. He gazed at me with a now familiar gleam in his eye.
"Already? Don't you need a few minutes?" I asked. He pulled the sheets a little lower. Nope, I guess not.
"No ma'am. I am good to go," he answered, raising his hand and curling his finger back and forth in a come-hither gesture.
Suddenly, I loved the fact that he was only twenty-four.
Yeah, I just bet you do…
Chapter Thirteen
That night went down (pun intended and acknowledged) in history, forever known as, Hamilton: 5 / Sheridan: Lost Track After 17. It was probably the best night I ever spent in a bed with a man.
And on the floor with a man.
And up against the door with a man.
And, God, watch over and protect us, on the floor of the closet with a man.
As the sun crept into the sky, we were laying next to each other, totally spent. It had been like the Oral Olympics. At one point, poor Holly had actually come to the door, begging us to let her get some sleep. I couldn't respond, being otherwise engaged in the throes of another intense orgasm, so Jack removed his mouth long enough to tell her to go away, returning to me quickly. Such chivalry.
We were facing each other on our sides and he had his arm under my head, propping me up. My leg was thrown over his hip, my arm wrapped around his waist, trailing my fingers up and down his back. We hadn't spoken for a while, both of us too tired to say a word. He was pressing his lips against my face, my temples, my eyelids, my lips. He was humming softly, a tune I didn't recognize. I let out a groan and stretched my arms over my head, arching my back, listening as my muscles let me know they were overworked. My breasts were dangerously close to his face and he couldn't resist placing a soft kiss on my left nipple—which responded in turn. Then his hand found my right nipple. I moaned softly. I had to stop this. I smacked his hand away and rolled to the other side of the bed, my back to him.
"We have to stop, this is insane. I literally cannot handle anymore. I think I've lost brain function. I can actually feel myself becoming stupid," I complained, digging under the covers and burying my face into the pillows. He steamrolled across the bed into me, sliding his hands beneath the covers and finding my hips. He molded his body into mine, pressing his chest into my back.
"Not possible. Let's test it. What's two times two?"
"Orange?" I giggled tiredly.
"Hmm, this is worse than I thought…let's try another. What's my name?"
"George?" I puzzled.
"George? Bloody George? Grace, I'm shocked," he argued, pressing harder into me as I laughed. I could tell, and feel, where this was going.
"George, is it? Behave. There will be no more of that. My oonie can't handle any more," I protested on behalf of her, who of course was on a mission of her own. My body responded to him even when my brain was begging for rest.
"Settle, Sheridan. I am merely doing what all women seem to want. Spooning, is it?" He chuckled lowly in my ear, raising the hairs on the back of my neck with his closeness.
"Well, then that's fine. Quite nice, really," I answered, giving a great yawn. "It's now sleepy time, George, and then when we wake up, we will eat," I finished, already starting to drift off.
"And then…?"
"Then we'll see."
He was quiet for a moment and I thought he was finally asleep, when he laughed and said, "George and Gracie. It's perfect."
"Shut it, George."
"Right then, excellent," he said, kissing me sweetly on the cheek, and with a final snuggle of that fine-ass body against mine, we fell asleep.
***
11:27 a.m.
When I woke up, I was still exactly where I'd fallen asleep, with Jack snuggled persistently, even in sleep, against me. I felt his strong arms around me, hands surrounding my breasts, and I knew that I never wanted to leave this exact spot. Nevertheless, nature called.
I rolled over gently, trying not to wake him. He stirred in his sleep and I watched him drift away again, marveling at the way the light from the window danced across his face, showing the different shades of blonde and strawberry in his stubbly beard. I dusted my fingertips across his lips, and in his sleep, he kissed them. Not wanting to wake him further, I wrapped myself in the sheet that was on the floor and slipped from the bed, making my way to the bathroom. I nearly groaned as my legs protested. I could barely carry my own weight. I was sore, and frankly, I had every right to be.
I avoided my reflection, taking care of business first, and then brushed my teeth. I splashed water on my face and finally looked.
It was terrifying.
My hair was a nightmare and there was mascara under my eyes like a raccoon. My lips were incredibly swollen and puffy and the area around my mouth bore the battle scars of his scruff.
"Ridden hard and put away wet," was the phrase that sprang to mind.
Lowering the sheet, I examined myself further, each landmark bringing back a different memory of the night before. I saw nibbles on my breast where he had bit down a little too hard and the redness below my nipples, also from his scruffy stubble.
Looking lower, there was my Hamilton Brand, the tiny, but quite deliberate, bite on the inside of my thigh. Seeing this brought back a wave that settled into the pit of my stomach. It had truly been unreal.
There had been none of the awkwardness that sometimes, usually, accompanied the first romp with someone new. Let's face it, real life was not like a romance novel. Guys usually needed at least a little guidance on what felt good, at least the first few times.
Not our Mr. Hamilton.
He had known exactly what I needed and when I needed it. It was as if he was put on this earth for the sole purpose of giving me pleasure. Who am I to argue with intelligent design? Or the Big Bang. Speaking of bang…
We never actually had sex. And that was, kind of, well, nice. I loved that I still had so much to look forward to with him; so much we had yet to learn about each other. And if last night was any indication, oh hell.