Falling Over (Falling In Series Book 3)

by Andrea Hopkins

  We moan in unison, and now all bets are off. We flipped the switch, and that patience I was clinging to just moments ago is nothing but a foolish notion now.

  I move with finesse. I grind like I’m auditioning for Magic Mike 3. I push and pull with intent. I swivel and slam into her relentlessly, and she matches every single move I’m putting down, thrust for mother-effing thrust. One of her tiny hands clasps the strands of my hair, as the other grips my ass, clawing into my flesh, burrowing me so deep inside of her, my toes go numb.

  “I knew it’d be good,” I pant. “But I never thought it would be this good. This is perfect. You’re. Fucking. Perfect. It shouldn’t be possible, Bug. It feels like…”

  “Like what?” she huffs out on a moan.

  I rain kisses down her neck, nibbling the sensitive skin there before bringing my eyes to hers. “Like it’s my first time, too. Like—like no one has ever existed before you. Just you, Bug.”

  Her eyes close and her body shudders underneath mine, inhaling my confession before those sparking sapphires open, wide and penetrating. A storm of emotions are brewing inside her gaze, and it looks like she has no idea which one to grab on to before she settles on the easiest one. The one raging between us, running rampant inside these paper-thin walls—lust.

  Cady pushes my face to hers, kissing me hard and persistently. The saltiness of her tears hits my lips and my mouth begins to move with urgency. Uncontrolled and demanding. Taking everything she’s willing to give and in return, giving her all of me.

  Our bodies move in tandem. The pace increases, growing more hurried and chaotic with each hip roll. My hands are kneading her full tits—rolling the hardened buds between my fingers, tweaking and caressing them while my mouth teases and laps. Cady rotates between scratching down my back, clinging to the nape of my neck, or coming damn near close to ripping chunks of my hair out as she tugs and praises the gods on loop. Moans and grunts and so many “fucks” ricochet around us, amplifying louder and sounding more and more desperate by the second.

  “Shit, Ben, I’m close. I’m so fucking close! Can you feel it?”

  I feel it. Goddamn, do I feel it. It’s coming—or more like I’m coming. She is, too. It’s right there, lurking around the corner, waiting not so patiently to burst and blow our effing minds into tiny, satiated pieces. Cady clenches, and—fuck. She does it again. And again. And mothereffingfuckingfuck! She does it again—clenching so tight my dick is on the verge of weeping. I reach between our twisting bodies, just above my cock that’s thoroughly drilling inside of her, and find her clit—hard, pulsing, and beyond ready to be put out of this glorious misery.

  One pinch—that’s all it takes—and then she’s falling. And I fall right after her. Our names are ripped from our lips, limbs lock around each other, clutching in a frenzy as our conjoined bodies tense and quiver, riding the wave so hard, I think I may have blacked out for a few seconds.

  “Holy shit!” we say at the same time, out of breath and sweating like we just spent hours in the gym. I smile like I’m high, lazy and satisfied. She answers with a laugh, throaty and sexy as fuck, making my cock jerk inside her. She throws me an incredulous look and I just shrug because shit, I can’t help it. What she does to me…what she’s always done to me, it’s almost too much. Uncontrollable and so fucking irresistible. I tried so hard to fight it, her, us, this…this feeling of rightness. Like being near her is where I’m supposed to be. I can breathe easier. See clearer. Smile with my whole damn face, and feel that smile deep in my bones. Embrace that smile. Live it and be thankful for it. For her. My denial was all for nothing. A complete waste of time; years lost because I was afraid to catch feels and lose. It was moot, though, since I lost anyway. But not anymore. Fuck that.

  Fuck Blaine if he thinks she’s his. Fuck her if she agrees. And fuck me twice if I let them believe anything other than the truth.

  She is mine. And I’m so fucking hers. End. Of. Discussion.

  I plaster my forehead to hers, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose before easing out of her with a groan, already missing her warmth the second I’m up. I slide the condom off and tie it before discarding it into the trash next to her desk. When I turn around, I catch Cady eyeing me. Her bottom lip is getting tugged on by her front teeth that are slightly too big for her delicious mouth.

  “You want some more of this, don’t you?” I tease, running my hand down my body with a smirk and a little eyebrow wiggle. She throws a pillow at my face and barks out a laugh so loud and beautiful, it makes my heart stutter.

  Yes, I’m well aware that was corny as hell but it’s the truth, so fuck off. And stop rolling your eyes. You’re not twelve anymore. But if you are, I’m sorry for so many ‘fucks’ and all of the other inappropriate shit I’ve said and done. Now, go watch the Disney Channel and hand this back over to your mother.

  I launch my naked ass onto the bed and tickle her until she cries out uncle and I’m hard and she’s ready. Then I slide inside of her again, thrusting torturously, clinging to that feeling she ignites in me and trying my damnedest to not let it slip from my fingers as she cries out my name. Over and over until her voice gives out and we collapse together, sore and sated.

  She lets me hold her as night blends into early morning. We’re bare to one another—our bodies and our souls. There’s a silence between us, but it isn’t uncomfortable. We’re soaking it in, this moment we’ve wanted for so long. I breathe into her and she does the same. I hold her tighter and she burrows further into me. Our hearts beat in unison, pounding restlessly in the quiet.

  “Cady,” I whisper into her matted hair.

  She shakes her head against my mouth. “Don’t. I can’t. No more words. Not tonight. Let’s just…be,” she implores.

  I place my lips below her earlobe, leaving a soft kiss before whispering my assent.

  I don’t want to sleep; I’m too afraid of what I’ll find when I wake up. Or rather, who I won’t find. Call it intuition or karma, but I have a sinking feeling this good feeling…this right feeling, this moment…this… Is about to all go to hell.

  So, what do I do about it?

  Deny. Deny. Deny.

  I push that perceptive little thought down so far into my psyche I’d need a drill to summon that shit up. I breathe her in for a few more seconds, turn her onto her back, and find myself moving between her thighs once more. She looks at me and I pretend not to read her every thought, ignoring each flicker of emotion that weaves an ominous knot in my gut that I also choose to ignore. We never break eye contact. But a part of me does break. And even though I know I deserve it, it doesn’t suck any less. It also doesn’t help that I see a part of her is breaking, too.

  Tears fill her eyes and I kiss them away. I frame her face with my trembling hands, holding on to us, collecting every second, taking my fill and giving her everything I’ve got as she does the same. Hoping like hell she’s feeling what I’m feeling, and that it’s enough because this is it for me. There’s no going back, not after her.

  We come together, a shattering crescendo that leaves me exhausted but still wanting more. I have a feeling I will always want more with her.

  We’re sticky with sweat and I don’t want to know what else. Too worn out to move, too fragile to speak. Not ready to pop this bubble yet. Not sure if I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. Cady curls into my side, nestling her head into the crook of my arm, her hair damp but still smelling like the night before Christmas. I grasp her close and try to prevent the inevitable, mumbling weightless words into her ear and nudging her awake whenever her eyes fall closed. But eventually, even I can’t fight it. Sleep is pulling me under, hard and fast, and no matter how much I try to defy it, the tide is too strong to overcome. My breathing evens. My eyes close, and I’m falling.

  But not before I hear her voice whispered against my skin. The words are so faint, my fuzzy mind is not even sure she actually said them. Could have been a dream, or just wishful thinking. But mother-effer, I really hope I’m wr
ong.

  “I love you, too.”

  Thirty-three

  Songs to listen to:

  “Roads” by Portishead

  “Love Is a Bitch” by Two Feet

  “In Too Deep” by The Sweeplings, “Ache” by FKA Twigs

  “I Will Fall” by Clare Bowen & Sam Palladio, “Hang on Me” by St. Vincent

  “Back to You” by Selena Gomez

  Cady

  When my eyes open, the city is still asleep, quiet and dull. The sky a murky midnight-blue, illuminated by lampposts and porch lights. My mind is just as foggy, clouded with memories that seem more like dreams. But as I stare into the early morning, I hear Ben lightly snoring behind me. I feel his arm weighing down on my full bladder, my skin puckering in goose bumps when I realize I’m still naked. And as I move just an inch to the left, my entire lower half screams in protest as I feel what’s bound to be only one of the many consequences of last night’s decision.

  I also feel my panic rising, realizing my shit is about to be completely lost. And fuck, I’m sore.

  But most importantly…what the fuck did I do?

  Not once.

  Not twice.

  But three motherfucking times! Seriously, Cady! Stupid, stupid, stupid! So fucking stupid.

  I reach for my phone, my hands trembling as I grasp the cracked and outdated device. The red light is blinking, alerting me of new notifications. It takes me three tries to get my thumbprint to be recognized before the screen comes to life. I angle it downward so the light doesn’t hit Ben’s face and curse silently as I notice a bunch of missed texts and two calls from Blaine.

  Blaine: I miss u

  Blaine: Breakfast Club is on TV right now

  Blaine: They really need to think of more creative curse word alternatives. Jon Bender just said fudge like ten times. So wrong

  Blaine: U watching?

  Blaine: Did u hole yourself up in your room again?

  Blaine: How many pillows have u made?

  Blaine: Can I bring you dinner?

  Blaine: You’re phone dead?

  Blaine: Babe? U up?

  Blaine: We still on for family brunch tomorrow?

  Blaine: Should I bring something? Donuts? Dang, donuts sound good.

  Blaine: Babe?

  Blaine: I’m guessing u fell asleep. Call me whenever. I love u.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  I don’t listen to the voicemails he left because we’ve already established that I am a coward. The guilt is mounting swiftly, and rightfully so. Why am I such a weak-ass bitch? Stupid Ben and his stupid, sweet convincing words and ridiculously soft lips and those vulnerable green eyes and that cock…oh, John Hughes have mercy…it is the kind of cock that could put any book boyfriend to shame. Apparently, this combination is lethal to my gutless, floozy vagina, rendering her a wide-open, sloppy mess.

  What the fuck did I do? What the fuck am I going to do?

  I turn off my phone and clutch it to my chest before rotating my head toward the man of my dreams…and my nightmares. My kryptonite.

  He’s sleeping so soundly, no doubt utterly exhausted from our night of… Holy shit, I gave him my virginity! I had sex. With Ben. Three fucking times. Each time better than the last. Each time, everything I hoped it would be. Each time seared into my brain. Each time something I know I should regret, but damn it, I don’t. Not a single second. If I had a chance to replay last night, I’d do the same thing all over again. Twice over.

  I don’t know what that means. Maybe deep down I do, but right now, I can’t reach that far.

  I take him in for a few more breaths. Watch his chest rise and fall. Ogle the defined lines and divots of his chest and abs. Those abs are unreal. My hands twitch to trace each distinct pack, but I hold strong. My eyes move back up to his face, roving over his full mouth that I can still feel on mine. I touch my cheeks as I stare at the faint stubble casing his jaw—my skin still tender from the burn of it. His overgrown hair is still mussed from my fingers raking through the strands all night, pushing his face onto my breasts and gripping tight as his mouth found a nipple, his tongue snaking out, licking the hardened peak just before sucking… Fuck, no! Stop that! Push those oh so good and dirty memories way the fuck down, Cady!

  Ignoring the tingles fostering in my ho-vag region, I turn away from his idle form and hold my breath as I slide out from underneath Ben’s hand and ease off the bed with the speed of a ninety-year old woman. I wince and bite down on my lip to stop the howl of pain clawing up my throat as I stand. We may have overdone it a little last night. Probably because we both feared it was going to be the first and last time for us. Ben rolls over onto his flat stomach the second my feet hit the floor and my eyes grow wide with panic, praying to Mr. Hughes that he doesn’t wake up. I don’t move a muscle—something my body thanks me for—and I barely breathe as I make sure he isn’t going to thwart my getaway.

  Three minutes. That’s how long I wait with bated breath and the anxiety level of a crack addict on her first day without a fix. I’m shaking. I can’t think. I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t do this. Shit, I can’t be here. I can’t. I can’t let him see me. I can’t deal.

  I. Can’t. Fucking. Deal.

  With my phone still in hand, I pick up my discarded clothes from last night, grab two flip flops that I’m almost positive are completely different colors, and take one last look at Ben that lasts way too long, considering my growing panic attack, before walking out the door and shutting him out.

  I can’t find my keys anywhere, and as the minutes tick by, more light pours through the windows. My own window of escape is closing on me too quickly.

  Frustrated and bordering on hysterical, with no keys, no wallet, one blue flip flop and one yellow, a wine-stained tank top and day-old daisy dukes sans underwear, I walk out another door, closing that one behind me as quietly as possible. Once I’m safe-ish outside, I call the one person I know who is always up this early.

  He answers after three rings.

  “I need you. I fucked up. I really fucked up, Dyl.”

  Thirty-four

  Songs to listen to:

  “Coffee” by Sylvan Esso

  “Do I Wanna Know” by Artic Monkeys, “Say Something Loving” by The xx

  “Home in Your Heart” by Otis Redding, “My My My!” by Troye Sivan

  “Run Right Back” by The Black Keys, “Mercy (acoustic)” by Shawn Mendes

  Ben

  I wake up with my nose to Cady’s pillow and inhale the scent that permeates every inch of this room, lingering on my body and etched into my mind. Damn, she smells good. A smile so wide it should be on a dentist’s ad stretches over my face, and I don’t give a shit that I broke rule number one and probably look like I’ve lost a few marbles. I don’t care much about anything other than every second of last night. Every moan. Every thrust. Every shiver and curse and the way she felt wrapped around me. It was unreal. Not even close to what I’ve always dreamed of. It feels impossible, but I know it’s true. It may have felt like it, but it wasn’t a dream. No, last night was as real as it gets.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt this…good. Relaxed. Satisfied. Effing blissful and as high as Snoop Dogg and Miley Cyrus combined. I’m floating. Drunk on the juice that is Cadence Adams and damn, do I want another sip. Fuck, I want a whole damn jug.

  I turn around, weirdo smile still firmly in place, and mother-effing effer! Fuck!

  I stare at the empty spot for three seconds, throw my head back and bark out a laugh that sounds anything but happy. It’s dark and humorless. My gut churns, jaw clenching so tight I can feel the filling in my bottom left molar.

  I knew it. I fucking knew it.

  Cady ran.

  She fucking ran.

  I take a deep breath. In through the nose, out the mouth. And another. And one more for good measure before I get out of her bed, glaring at the rumpled sheets and comforter—pieces of evidence—on my way out. I yank open her door and pause briefly in the hallwa
y, listening for any sign of her, but the only sounds I hear are coming from the TV that we left on last night in our haste to lose ourselves in each other.

  Or were we finding each other?

  I guess it doesn’t really fucking matter at the moment. Not enough for her to stick around the morning after, at least. I shake off the bitterness that is beginning to sink its claws inside of me and try my damnedest to cling to the hope I’ve been harboring for the last few weeks. Maybe I’m thinking the worst, jumping to conclusions. Maybe she just went on a coffee and donut run.

  Or maybe she woke up and instantly regretted last night. Maybe, sleeping with me made her realize that she does in fact hate me and is currently fucking Blaine six ways from Sunday. Or maybe, you need to shut the fuck up, brain!

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

  Donuts. She does love those dark chocolate and peanut butter bars at That Vegan Life Bakery, and we did make love three times last night on half-empty stomachs. My frantic eyes find the discarded bowls of partially consumed dinner and two glasses of wine. It’s totally plausible that she went to get breakfast and did not in any way leave me in bed to go fuck her boyfriend. I search for a note, but come up empty. But who writes notes these days, anyway? We text.

  Phone. I need my phone. Which is…

  In my jeans pocket. Which are on the floor of Cady’s bedroom. Fucking fantastic.

  I sprint back to the scene of the crime, walking purposefully to my clothes, ignoring the way my chest tightens with each step as I wrench out my phone and swipe at the screen in one swift motion. The battery is at twenty-three percent and there are no messages or missed calls. Of fucking course. Shut up! That’s okay, I’m just going to call her and she’ll clear this all up and when she comes home, we can eat and then fuck all morning until… Family breakfast.