“Oh, that’s a good idea.”
Crew tucks himself into a somersault position and then flings his body forward, only to go crooked just as his legs fly out and kick open a hotel door, scaring the ever-loving shit out of a woman in a robe.
Screaming, hands clutched to her chest, the woman yells bloody murder for help while Crew scrambles to his feet and tips into the wall drunkenly.
“Excuse me.” He straightens up. “Uh, sorry about that, ma’am, just . . . uh, you know, looking for Santa Claus. Heard the sneaky bastard was lurking around here. By chance, have you seen him?”
“You have two seconds to move along before I call hotel security.”
“I’m going to take that as a no.”
“Go,” she shouts, slamming the door and locking it.
Hand to his heart, Crew says, “Holy shit. I think she’s hiding him in her closet. Didn’t she look guilty?”
I can’t even respond, I’m laughing so hard tears stream down my face.
I push him toward our hotel room, and he opens the door with the keycard from his pocket. Together we stumble into the room where I carefully set our stuff down on the dresser and then sink to the ground resting my head against the wall.
“Oh no, I think I might pass out here.” Crew tears his winter clothes off and stumbles against the wall before gaining control of his legs. “I don’t think the punch was a good idea.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “It went downhill from there.”
“So why did we get another glass?” He laughs.
“Because our mugs told us to.”
“Ahh, that’s right.” He leans down and grabs my hand. “Come on, Twigs. Brush your teeth and then throw yourself in bed. You don’t want to sleep on the floor.”
“I’m protecting the door from that bastard of a jolly man, just in case he comes to our hotel room.”
“It’s not Christmas yet.”
“Oh . . . right.” I nod and let him help me to my feet. Together we brush our teeth and then make our way to the bed. Crew flips the covers back and then reaches behind him, grips his sweater, and pulls it over his head, revealing his toned torso.
For some reason, I decide to do the same. From behind, I grab my sweater and attempt to pull it over my head. Let’s just say, men make this move look flawless . . . me, on the other hand . . .
“Are you stuck?” Crew asks.
Stomach bare, arms sticking straight out in front of me, head tilted down, I flail about, trying to release myself from the confines of a cable-knit sweater.
“What’s happened?” I ask. “Where’s the exit?”
“Keep pulling.”
“How? My arms are stuck.”
Laughing, Crew leans on the bed, takes the sweater in his hands, and yanks it off me.
After I tilt my head back and scatter my hair out of my eyes, I earnestly tell Crew, “You just saved my life.”
He dusts off his shoulder. “All in a day’s work.”
Standing again, he takes off his pants and socks, leaving him in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs with bananas scattered all over the fabric.
“You have banana underwear?”
He flops down on the bed and places his hands behind his head. Wow, his body is really nice. Defined in all the right places, a well-indented V at his hips, muscular thighs, and yup, a bulge.
Don’t stare at the bulge.
Remove your eyes from the bulge.
Divert. Divert.
“Are you staring at my dick?”
“What? No?” I look away. “Just making sure they were bananas and not birds.” I take off my pants and socks as well, leaving me in nothing but a bra and underpants. Nothing sexy over here, just a regular black bra and black full-butt hipster underwear.
Yup, eat your heart out.
“They’re bananas. My mom thinks it’s funny to get me interesting underwear. They’re a nice surprise. Not that many people see me in my underwear.” He turns to look at me and his eyes focus on my chest. “Nice tits, Haze.”
“Thank you.” I poke the top of each breast. “They have bounce to them.”
“Some might say they jiggle,” Crew offers.
“I always wanted a jiggle to my boobs. Look at me, all grown up.” I smile lazily and climb into the queen-sized bed that Crew seems to be far too big for. “I’m rather impressed with the way my boobs turned out.”
“Me too. They seem as though they would be a good handful.”
“They are.” I nod. “Here, feel.” I take his hand and place it over my breast.
His eyes go lazy as a goofy grin spreads across his cheeks. “I’m holding your boob. And this time, it’s not on accident.”
“It’s merely to see the difference from the last time.”
“Uh-huh.” He gives my boob a squeeze and I swat at him, both of us laughing. Tearing his hand away, he says, “That’s a superior tit, Hazel. Congratulations.”
“Why, thank you.”
He sighs and drapes his hand over his forehead. “That made me horny. Thanks.”
“What? Just a boob grab? Aren’t you too drunk?”
“Apparently not. Don’t worry, I’m not hard or anything. Just got a stirring in my groin.”
“Oh my God, don’t say stirring in your groin. What’s wrong with you?”
“Many things.” He turns to his side, facing me, and then wraps his arm around my stomach and pulls my back up against his chest.
I freeze, unsure of what’s happening, but when he snuggles in and pulls the blankets over us, I realize he just wants to spoon.
Right?
Honestly, I can’t really tell. My mind is mush and, oh yes . . . he’s so warm.
“Are you spooning me?”
“Yeah. Consider it drunk comfort. You okay with that?” he asks, his breath tickling the back of my neck.
“Totally okay,” I answer, my voice sounding desperate, but I don’t really care.
“Good.” Crew’s hand splays across my stomach as he holds me closer, my ass pressed up against his crotch. “I had fun tonight, Haze.”
“Me, too.” I shift, my butt rubbing against him.
“Not too much of that,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse. “You’ll get me excited.”
I laugh. “You mean, not too much of this?” I grind into him, and his hand lands on my hip, halting me in place.
“Hazel Marie Allen.”
I laugh even louder as I grind again, unsure what’s come over me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to do that.”
And as he holds my hip, my backside against his pelvis, I feel him harden. My eyes widen.
I suck in a sharp breath when my hips shift again, feeling him even more.
“Goddammit,” he mutters. “Look what you did.”
I laugh some more, thinking it’s funny more than anything.
Thank you, rum and wine.
I continue to move my backside against Crew until he groans against the back of my neck, and that’s when I still. That’s when I feel the first spike of arousal hit me. That’s when I start to regret everything I just did.
Chuckling, Crew says, “Did you just get horny?”
“No,” I lie.
“Such a bad liar.” His hand travels up my hip lightly and across my stomach, his fingers dragging along my skin near the waistband of my underwear. “You just got hot, and your skin broke out in a sweat.”
“I’m hot.”
“And bothered,” he adds, his voice playful, doing nothing to calm down my libido. “What are you going to do now, Twigs? Finish something you started, or tuck in for the night?”
“Wh-what do you mean . . . finish?”
“You tell me,” he whispers, and I swear the feel of his seductive voice along the back of my neck sends a wave of goosebumps down my arms and legs.
Then I’m lifting up from the bed and turning toward Crew where I push him on his back, because right now, right the hell now, I need something hard between my legs. That tingly feeling needs to be tingled.
Now. By him. Could be a giant mess, but I don’t care. Need. Him. Now.
He licks his lips, his eyes full of drunken lust, and I straddle him, my pelvis to his. He smiles and grips my hips.
“What are you doing, Haze?”
“What does it look like?” I ask, moving my hips along his.
“Looks as if you’re trying to get me off.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m trying to get myself off.” Keeping my hands to myself, I smooth my center over his erection and revel in the feel of his hard cock beneath my warmth.
God, that feels good.
So freaking good that I get lost. He’s gripping my hips tighter and tighter, or trying to pull me down closer to him, but my focus is on the feel of my arousal gliding over his length, two pieces of fabric being the only barrier. Yes. This is what I needed. It’s erotic.
It’s sensual.
It feels so freaking wonderful that my hips move faster and faster.
“Yes,” I whisper, my hands in my hair now.
“Shit, Hazel,” I hear Crew say from what sounds like the far-off distance, but it does nothing to pull my focus away from our connection.
From this euphoria.
From this moment that I’m pretty sure I won’t remember tomorrow morning as my head fills with haze, with lust, with the need to let go.
“God, yes,” I moan, moving faster and faster.
“Fuck,” Crew gasps just as my hands fall from my hair and onto his chest, where I prop myself up and grind harder. “Ahh . . . hell,” he cries out. “Hazel, you’re going to make me come.”
I’m right there, his words miles away. I can feel my arousal spike to a crescendo. My orgasm climbing and climbing up the backs of my legs until it hits me right in the core. A wave of spasms takes control of me all at once as my back arches and my body takes over.
“Yes, yes . . . yes,” I cry out as I grind harder and harder until . . . “Oh my God,” I cry out, my orgasm pushing through me like a freight truck. Beneath me, I feel Crew go rigid as he comes as well, a groan falling past his lips, his fingers digging into my thighs.
We ride out our pleasure until we’re both sated, and then I roll off him in a heap of satisfaction.
Our breathing syncs together, and all I remember after that is hearing him say, “Now I have to go change my goddamn underwear.”
Chapter Eight
CREW
“Do I smell coffee?” Hazel asks, her voice groggy, the sheets wrapped tightly around her body. I know this, because not only is she in a cocoon, but I woke up freezing my ass off since she’d stolen all the blankets.
“Yeah,” I say, my head pounding with a roaring headache, my body aching from the cold, and a distant recollection of Hazel straddling me. Was that a dream?
She pushes the sheets down and reveals her face, her mascara faintly streaked down her cheeks. Her hand sticks out from the covers and her fingers wiggle about. Chuckling, I hand her my cup and then serve myself another cup from the room service tray I ordered the minute I woke up. While I waited for the food, I took a shower, hoping to warm up my body. It barely worked.
Carefully, Hazel sits up and brings the mug to her lips. “Jesus Christ, what happened last night?”
“I think there was rum involved,” I answer, my voice still groggy.
She presses her hand to her head. “What time is it?”
“Eight.”
“Eight?” she nearly shouts. “Why are we up so early?”
“I woke up because I was freezing my dick off.”
That’s when Hazel looks down at the covers and sheets wrapped around her. “Oh no. Did I steal all the blankets?”
“Yup.” I stir my coffee and then bring it close to my lips, ready to heat me up.
“Crap. I’m sorry, Crew.” She sits and groans. “Did we do a lot of walking last night?”
“I mean, a decent amount. Why?” I ask, as I catch the sheet fall down her shoulder, revealing the strap of her black bra. Something flashes in my mind, a glimpse of her in that black bra, on top of me.
Jesus, I dreamed about Hazel last night, straddling me, riding me. It almost feels as though it were real as another memory flashes past me, my hands gripping her thighs, her mouth parted open as she rides me.
I blink a few times, trying to wash away the image.
What was in that rum?
“My inner thighs are sore.” She sits up farther, and the blankets slip even more so her bra is completely exposed. And fuck, her tits are all plump and sexy . . . “Oh, shit. Sorry.” She quickly covers herself as my eyes snap up to hers.
She tilts her head, studying me.
I study her.
I imagine the confused look on her face is mirrored on mine.
“I slept in my underwear last night,” she states.
“So did I. Probably why I was freezing my ass off.”
She continues to look at me weirdly. I stare back and I have another flash of her grinding on top of me, but this time she’s coming and I’m coming and . . .
“Holy shit,” I say, just as her eyes widen as well.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, lifting up the covers and looking at her body and then back at me. “We didn’t . . . uh, you know . . .”
Lips pressed together, unsure of what to say, I give it some thought. Did we?
No. I woke up with boxers on. If we did it, I would have been naked.
Then why do I have such vivid images of her riding me?
I’m thinking this wasn’t a dream.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” I say in an unsure voice.
“Then why are your eyes all freaked out?” She presses her hand to her head. “And why am I in my underwear?” She glances around the bed, the floor, and nightstand. “Are there any, you know, wrappers?”
“I don’t have any, so, no.”
She nods. “Okay, okay.” Her eyes meet mine. “How does your dick feel this morning?”
“What?”
She swallows hard. “Does it feel . . . satisfied?”
“Should it?”
She pushes her hand through her hair. “Honestly, I don’t know. I keep having these images of me on top of you, grinding.” Her cheeks flush to a bright red. “Was that a dream?”
“I don’t think so, unless we’re both having the same dream.”
“Oh God,” she says quietly, bringing the coffee to her lips. “I’m—oh God, I’m sorry, Crew.” She shakes her head. “I think I dry humped you last night.”
And then it all comes together.
Me spooning her.
Telling her she has great tits.
Hazel rubbing her ass against my crotch.
Hazel straddling me.
Me encouraging her.
Hazel’s pelvis grinding me.
My hard cock begging for more.
Haze . . . coming on top of me.
“Oh hell,” I mutter.
“I want to die a slow death.” She pulls the comforter over her head and hides from me.
I don’t blame her. If I had a comforter, I’d be hiding, as well. I don’t remember the finer details of last night, but what I do remember is encouraging her with my hands, watching as she writhed above me, undeniable passion in her expression. And I remember enjoying it. I remember a feeling of electrifying euphoria washing over me as Hazel came right on top of me. Fuck. It was sexy as hell.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a girl, a really fucking long time, and even though our interaction was dry humping while drunk, in my mind, it was better than any sexual interaction I’ve had in a long fucking time.
And that’s scary.
But what’s scarier is that we have many more days left together and we can’t hide from each other. We have to move past this—possibly move forward.
What does it all mean? Does she like me like that? She admitted to having a crush, unlike me, who has kept that aspect of my feelings completely secret because I refuse to let my mind wander in that direction. Alth
ough, it seems as though my alcohol-laden brain broke open that floodgate and allowed me to indulge.
And look where we are now.
I’m staring at a mortified, comforter-covered Hazel who can’t even look at me.
Sighing, I move to sit next to her on the bed. Carefully, I pull down the comforter, revealing her tearful face.
Immediately, I jump to concerned. I set my coffee mug on the nightstand and quickly wipe away her tears. “Hey, why are you crying?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“What? Why?”
“Uh . . . I humped you last night, Crew.”
“Yeah, and you didn’t hear any protesting from me.”
“You were drunk.”
“So were you,” I counter. Taking her mug from her hand, I set it on the nightstand as well and then take her hands in mine. “Listen, let’s just chalk it up to some drunken fun, okay?”
“Not a drunken mistake?” she asks, looking down at our hands.
I tilt her head up and force her to look me in the eyes. “Do you think it was a mistake?”
“Only if it makes things weird between us.”
“It’ll only be awkward if we make it awkward.” I sit back and smile at her. “I had fun. And, yeah, my dick does feel better this morning.”
“Oh God.” She covers her face with her hands, but I pry them away.
“Nope, you can’t hide from me. Come on, Haze. We’re adults. We can talk about this stuff. You talked about it easily at the beginning of the trip. How is this any different?”
“Because I dry humped you, Crew. And you came. And I came. We both came.”
“Which in my eyes is a successful dry humping.” I smirk, and she pushes at my face.
“Why are you not horrified?”
I shrug. “Because it was hot. From what I can remember, at least. Because I had a good time, and because I’m not going to let this change anything between us. You’re my Hazel, I’m your Crew, and that’s that.”
“So, you’re not thinking that I’m some desperate farm girl trying to get any kind of ride out of the hunky, popular athlete?”
“Uh, no. I’m thinking, ‘Hell, Hazel rode me last night and it was hot as shit. I hope she doesn’t hate that I have an image of her riding me on replay in my mind.’”
The Romantic Pact Page 12
