If You Never Come Back

by Sarah Smith

  “Why didn’t you get his number?”

  “I wasn’t thinking straight. It all happened so fast.”

  “I bet you anything he’ll be back here looking for you.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.” I turn off the lights in the back.

  Remy grabs our coats from the office, and hands mine to me. “You’re so pessimistic.”

  “Realistic,” I correct.

  He grabs the keys to lock up and we step outside. Arctic air whips across my face, and I pull my beanie down tighter around my ears.

  “I’m just saying,” Remy says before locking the door. “Have a little faith…”

  His words fade into the empty street around us. He points a gloved hand down the block. About ten feet away, Wes stands. My stomach does a backflip.

  “See?” Remy elbows me.

  Wes walks up to us and shoves his hands in his pockets, his eyes pinning me. “I hope it was okay I surprised you like this.”

  “Of course.” My stomach flutters.

  The slight smile he flashes conveys shyness. I freaking adore it.

  “I felt bad leaving things the way I did earlier,” Wes says. “Would you be up for an early breakfast? I spotted a twenty-four-hour diner down the block. I don’t know if it’s any good—”

  Remy practically shoves me into Wes, who laughs at the obvious move.

  “Shay is always starving after a shift. She’d love to go. You couldn’t have picked a better diner, my man. Best corned beef hash in the city. Have fun!”

  Remy pulls me in for a hug goodbye. “Text me when you get home later, okay?

  I nod, appreciative of my cousin’s protective streak. He’s only a few years older and is well aware that I can look out for myself, but it’s comforting to know he cares.

  Before he lets me go, he whispers in my ear, “As long as your gut and your lady bits give you the green light, go with it.”

  I swallow back a laugh just as Remy starts his backward walk shuffle away from us toward his place down the street. He waves goodnight before turning around. Wes and I stand in silence. It’s a beat before nerves seep in through the excitement.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  Wes touches the small of my back, leading me in the direction of the diner down the block. An intimate yet respectful gesture. He still gives me enough personal space to walk comfortably at my own pace, unlike most other guys who prefer to crowd around me or grab my hand before I’m ready.

  His eyes cut from the quiet street ahead to me. “Hungry?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Wes wags his eyebrows at me over the short stack of blueberry pancakes. “You really think you can beat me?”

  “No question.” I stab my fork into my short stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

  “Shay, you have no idea who you’re messing with.” He takes an enormous bite before chewing and swallowing. “I’ve been hiking dozens of miles every day for the past three months. My metabolism is like that of a starving polar bear. You honestly think you can eat more pancakes than me?”

  Honest answer? No way in hell. But I’m not admitting that.

  Instead, this pancake eating contest is a tactic, a way to stretch this night even longer, this night that’s been the most fun date I’ve ever had.

  We talked pleasantries over our first stack of pancakes. I filled him in about how I’m building my art business and working at Remy’s bar to help with expenses. Wes shared how he’s on month three of hiking across the country, something he’s been wanting to do ever since he was a kid. After working as a construction laborer and project manager most of his twenties, he set a goal: save money for a few years, then quit at thirty, drive across the country, and hike scenic spots along the way. He’s currently staying with his friend Colin, the tall, shaggy-haired guy from earlier, for the rest of this month to recuperate from his trek in Colorado and to plan the next leg of his trip.

  We bonded over our love of electronic dance music and discovered that we both adore the DJ Mari Dash. And now we’re indulging in our other mutual love: breakfast food.

  “For sure I can eat more pancakes than you.” I wink and take another bite.

  “It’s on.” Wes chomps on another forkful and winks back. This is going very, very well.

  “Did you eat like this as a kid, too? Good lord.”

  He swallows. “Pancakes were kind of a treat growing up. I didn’t eat them often.”

  “Impressive. You’re certainly making up for it now.”

  He mock-frowns while swallowing. “I feel one hundred percent confident in my abilities to eat you under the table.”

  I look up, heat flashing across my cheeks. He’s blushing, too. I’m not the only one who picked up on his naughty undertone.

  He drops his fork, a flustered chuckle falling from his lips. “That’s not…I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.”

  When he finally makes eye contact with me, there’s something extra in his stare. It’s still just as hypnotic as before, but I could swear I see something else. Something smoldering and hot and fiery, something that says despite his protests, those words are exactly what he wants.

  It’s exactly what I want, too.

  Seeing that fire in his eyes is a comfort. It means we’re equally eager to bed each other.

  I swallow my last bite and pin him with my stare, prepping myself to suggest something I’ve never suggested on a first date before. I speak, my whisper low. “You took the words right out of my mouth. You wanna get out of here?”

  The walk to my apartment building would normally take twenty minutes coming from the diner, but with the surge of sugar, carbs, and arousal pulsing through us, we make it in fifteen. That’s even with two stops to make out and grope each other along the way.

  I’ve never done the fumbling-kissing-tripping walk home in winter before, and it’s much more complicated than in the summer. We’re tugging through layers of parka, scarves, and hats. When we tumble all the way to my third-floor studio apartment, we’re both sweating and panting.

  I don’t even bother to flip the light on. I don’t want to waste time, and there’s no need. Not when streetlights from the outside paint the inside of my apartment in a soft glow.

  “First one naked wins,” I huff while pulling away from Wes’s mouth to shed my boots, beanie, mittens, scarf, and coat.

  Wes peels away his winter wear in seconds. He’s back in the jeans and flannel I remember from hours ago. He reaches for me, stilling my hands when he softly wraps his fingers around my wrists.

  “Let me?”

  His touch and his gaze work in unison. I’m rendered immobile by the hypnotic look in his eyes, the heat of his calloused palms on my skin. He pulls me against him, just like he held me when we collided in the bathroom hours ago.

  I take a breath to steady myself, the scent of his sandalwood cologne and maple syrup filling my lungs.

  “I don’t normally do this,” I whisper, nuzzling my nose into his chest. I inhale once more.

  He buries his face at the top of my head, breathing in through my hair, which has fallen loose from its braid. Thank god I washed it last night.

  “I don’t ever do this,” he chuckles.

  “Yeah, right.” A guy who looks like him must be fighting off women constantly.

  “I’m serious, Shay.”

  His gentle grip slides to my shoulder. He tilts me back to look down at me. “Look, I don’t mean to freak you out, but I’ve never hit it off like this with someone before. I’ve only known you for an evening, but I really like you. Something about you…” His gaze falls to my neck, my chest, my mouth, then he makes that slow trail back up to my eyes. “Something about you sets me at ease. I noticed it from the get-go, from the moment you stood next to me. And I just…I just want to go with the flow as long as you want to.”

  The heat coursing inside me turns to flames. When I press my lips to his, it’s as if no time has passed since ou
r heated kiss in the bathroom hours ago.

  With his hands on either side of my face, he pulls me away, breaking our kiss. We both pause to gasp.

  “So you feel it too?” he asks.

  “One hundred percent.”

  I push him across the open space of my studio apartment. He walks backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of my bed and he falls into a sitting position. Standing over him, I pull my blouse over my head.

  Wes’s brow flies up his forehead. “Holy shit...”

  Soft, slow-moving hands skim up my torso, stopping at the cups of my bra. When his fingers begin to massage, my head falls back in a moan. I brace myself with my hands on his shoulders.

  “You’re gorgeous.” He moans the words, his mouth pressed against my belly.

  He kisses upward, the trail marked by the moisture of his tongue and lips. My bra is on the floor before I even register that he’s unlatched it.

  One swirl of his tongue around my nipple and I’m gasping. The light scrape of his teeth along the soft skin right under my boob sends my hands to his hair. I try to only give him a light tug, but I fail. I can’t help it. Maintaining total control is impossible against Wes’s mouth.

  “You liked to be teased?” he whispers.

  I nod down at him. I can only imagine what I must look like, my mouth half-open, my bare chest heaving, my face in what feels like a pleading frown, aching for more.

  Without another word, he repeats the same teasing licks, the same teasing scrapes over my other breast. Counting the seconds is the only way I don’t faint. Every slow, wet maneuver of his tongue sends heat to every sensitive spot on my body. Between my legs, I’m throbbing. Every pulse is an ache for release. I need his hand, his cock, his mouth, his anything there very, very soon.

  His lips fall away from my skin as he unzips my jeans. “This is okay?” he asks while looking up at me.

  He doesn’t move another inch until I nod my approval. The slow fall of denim reveals cotton hipster panties. Wes greets my bare thigh with light kisses, whispering how much he loves the sight before him.

  Then he trails that killer mouth from the tops of my thighs to the insides. His kisses are downright addictive. The perfect balance of firmness and softness. And wetness. His tongue…oh boy, his tongue. Wes has perfected the art of tantalizing licks.

  When the top of his head grazes the crotch of my panties in the middle of yet another inner thigh kiss, my knees buckle. Just the whisper of contact and I’m a wreck.

  “Wes,” I moan. “I can’t stay standing much longer.”

  He’s on his feet a half-second later, holding me up with his arms, his chest against my chest. Thank heavens I’ve got his body to lean on. That look on his face, it’s almost menacing. Those dark dilated eyes, those hooded lids, his mouth a straight line. That look conveys intensity, hunger, need. The perfect trio. It’s enough to melt me into a puddle on the hardwood floor beneath me.

  I clutch his shoulders with the tenacity of a baby koala. And then that half-smile reappears.

  “Good thing you don’t need to be standing for what I’m about to do,” he growls.

  He pivots, lowering me to the bed. On my back, I clutch my bedsheets, staring up at the darkened ceiling.

  It’s the hook of his thumbs over the hem of my panties that causes my first gasp. They hit the floor, pooling at the tops of my feet before I can even inhale. The soft, light swirl of his tongue is the cause of my second one. And another gasp, and another. The motion never stops. It’s slow and steady, then fast and hard. Then he dials back a notch to even and slow. The entire time I’m panting, begging, moaning.

  When his cheeks slide against the insides of my thighs, my lids fly open and I have to silently tell myself not to scream. That combination of sensations—the hard scrape from his stubble mixed with the soft warmth of his tongue—has my brain in a tizzy.

  I ask for more, harder, faster, then slower. He listens and follows, like a star pupil that takes direction perfectly.

  I groan, then he groans, the vibrations pulsing through my thighs and up my midsection. Chomping down on my lip is the only way I can keep from shouting like a rabid banshee. This pleasure, this heat, this buildup, it’s all too much. I will most certainly explode into a million unrecognizable pieces when he sends me over the edge.

  Every lick and lap winds me tighter and tighter.

  “Fuck,” I gasp, one hand tangled in his hair, the other tangled in the sheets.

  He pauses, lifting his head up from between my legs, licks his lips, and smirks. “In a second.”

  The moment he resumes, I’m gone. Climax rips through me, taking my body with it. Every muscle in me cramps, every inch of me thrashes against the mattress. I cry out, but it’s nothing sensible, nothing that can be considered words. Just screams and moans and gasps.

  But Wes seems to understand me perfectly. It’s in that satisfied stare he flashes me, that taunting half-smile that quickly turns into a Cheshire cat grin. And then I know it’s finally my turn.

  Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I claw at his flannel shirt.

  He chuckles, slowing my hands by placing his on top of mine. “Buttons, remember?”

  I laugh an embarrassed “sorry,” but he places his index finger under my chin and presses a soft kiss to my mouth.

  “Don’t apologize. Do you have any idea how hot it is to have you clawing at me?”

  His shirt lands on the floor. He leans up to take his pants off while I flip on my bedside lamp.

  “Wait.” I still him with a hand on his forearm. “I just want to…” My hands finish for me. I run my palm against the mass of lines and muscle that is his upper body. Tracing my index finger along the lines of his stomach earns me a soft laugh.

  He squints down at me. “Have I passed inspection?”

  “With flying colors. Hiking gets you pretty ripped, huh?”

  Wes shrugs. “I wanted to get into shape for my trip.”

  “You sure did. Nicely done.”

  I press the pads of my fingers against each of his abs. So, so many abs.

  Leaning forward, I press a feathery-soft peck against the left half of his Adonis belt. His breath catches above me. I reach over to the drawer of my nightstand and tear a condom from the packet I bought months ago.

  When I turn back to him, I blink. Judging by the generous bulge under those gray striped boxers, I’m in for one hell of a good time.

  “May I?” I ask.

  Flushed cheeks flank his close-lipped smile when he nods. When I pull down his boxers, I’m the one flushing.

  “Am I glad I met you,” I say.

  He chuckles, his eyes shy. But when I slide my tongue over his tip, the chuckling soon turns to grunts.

  “Shay. Fuck…” Wes hisses as I lick up and down.

  I’m not skilled enough to take all of him fully in my mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind. What I manage with my mouth and my hand seems to satisfy judging by the way he groans and the way his hand grips my shoulder for dear life.

  Soon he pulls me off and gently pushes me back down on the bed. Swiping the condom from my hand, he rips it open with his teeth, then slides it on. He hovers over me, and I’m flanked on either side by sculpted arms. I’m tempted to lean up so I can lick and bite him, but he holds either side of my head between his palms.

  “That was incredible, but I want this. Is that okay?”

  Enthusiastic nodding is my answer. When he slides in, my jaw falls open. A breathy howl escapes me. That size and that girth are a hell of a combination.

  I gasp for air. “How…how do you feel so good?”

  It’s a silly question, but my mind is pleasure-mush, unable to process anything other than thrusts and heat. Well-worded questions are a no-go.

  “Funny,” he grunts. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

  We both laugh, then moan in unison. I’m back to my commands of harder, slower, faster, more. Every slide, every thrust is heaven on my body
.

  When he laces his fingers in mine, pressing them against the mattress, my breath catches. Yes. This is exactly how I want to come, his hands gripping me, face-to-face, our bodies molded together.

  I’ve never, ever been one to climax the first time I’m with a guy. But tonight is different. Anything is possible with a well-endowed almost-stranger I feel instant chemistry with.

  The friction from his pelvis rubbing against my most sensitive spot has me seeing stars already. “I’m close,” I whisper.

  “Me too.”

  Friction gives way to heat, which gives way to climax for the second time in one night. My body moves just the same. Thrashing, convulsing, shaking. Only this time it’s done while I’m wrapped around Wes. Sweet, solid, intoxicating Wes.

  He grunts and tenses above me, then eases. We end with him on top of me, a perfect pile of sweat, skin, and breath.

  It’s a struggle just to mumble with my brain coated in post-pleasure fog, my body a trembling mass. But somehow the words spill out. “Best. Valentine’s Day. Ever,” I gasp.

  A throaty laugh and a kiss on my forehead are his replies. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Chapter Three

  Gentle scratches on my shoulder wake me. It’s Wes’s stubble as he softly kisses me. I give a satisfied “Mmm,” then yawn.

  I register his body spooned against me. So that must be why I feel so toasty. Most winter mornings I cocoon myself into my comforter like a human burrito. But this morning I don’t have to, with Wes’s skin on my skin creating the most delicious heat. What a delightful change of pace.

  He kisses a trail along the side of my neck before hugging me from behind. I groan at his slow, steady pace. Already my heart is racing. The ease in which we wake up in each other’s arms is almost unnerving. How can I feel so comfortable with someone I met less than twenty-four hours ago?

  Remy’s words from last night echo in my brain.

  As long as your gut and your lady bits give you the green light, go with it.

  “Good morning,” Wes says, his voice low and scratchy.

  I spin around, offering my own greeting in the form of a sloppy, teasing kiss. My gut and my lady bits are still very, very into Wes.