But this didn’t feel like a joke to him. This minor, inconsequential thing—dancing at a club with a girl he sort of knew—suddenly felt like it actually, weirdly, mattered.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” she said.
“You looked like you could use it.”
“He was a little grabby.”
Shawn made a mental note not to be grabby.
“And he wasn’t a very good dancer,” she said.
“How’s this treating you?” he asked.
She shifted so his thigh was between her legs, his fly against her hip. Their bodies were locked together in step with the music. It seemed as though her hips had always moved with his, so tight he could feel her every breath.
“This is better,” she said.
She draped a hand on the back of his neck, so he let his hands slide closer around her. He knew if he inched them down just a little more, her ass would be a perfect handful. He could feel her breasts pressing against him, and he knew that they would be a perfect handful, too. Could she feel him getting hard against her? Did she know what he was thinking?
Don’t grind against your sister’s friend at a club in Brooklyn. That was what should have been hammering in his brain.
It’s just a little harmless fun. It doesn’t mean anything. Talia wouldn’t be pissed—she doesn’t even have to know. Those were the lies he told himself instead.
The song changed. The beat got slower, the bass deeper. Dirtier.
Jessie’s movement matched the music. She pressed against him. He pressed right back.
Her forehead rested against his chest. He tipped his head down, so close to her. If she tilted her head just so, their lips would be grazing.
If she did that, if she got that close, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. There was a fire in him, and he’d have to consume her.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, even as she hooked her fingers through his belt loops and tugged him closer.
It was the closest either of them had come to acknowledging that there was something boiling between them and it hadn’t just started tonight. Although this, now, dancing together, was certainly taking it further than he’d meant to when he invited her out with him.
She looked up, searching his face.
“I know,” he said. “It’s not a good idea.”
Not that he cared one lick whether or not it was a good idea. It was late. The music was filling him, Jessie was filling him, and he was well past the point of making good decisions.
But Jessie, responsible Jessie, pulled away.
He grabbed her hand before the spark extinguished. “You want to get out of here?” he asked.
She nodded. They pushed out of the crowd and spilled onto the sidewalk, gulping at the sudden breath of fresh air after the heat of inside.
He didn’t know whether “get out of here” meant go somewhere else or go home. And if home meant their separate beds, with that wall always between them. Or if that meant something else, too.
He knew what he should do, what the answer should be.
But what he wanted was something different altogether.
Chapter Ten
Shawn opened the door to the apartment, and Jessie stumbled in after him, giggling, light-headed, still filled with the music from the club. When was the last time she’d danced like that? Had she ever danced like that?
She couldn’t believe the way she’d pressed up against him in front of all those people. She’d felt everyone’s eyes on them, Shawn’s coworkers watching as she’d shamelessly ground up on him like she couldn’t get enough. His body felt so good, she hadn’t been able to put a single inch between them. His abs, his chest, the heft of his biceps holding onto her, the scruff of his cheek against hers as he leaned down into her, that satisfying curl of his hair in her fingers as she put her arm around him and danced…
It wasn’t like her. At all. But now that she knew what it tasted like, how it felt to close her eyes and let her body go, how was she supposed to go back to her regular life, with first dates, awkward dinners, some guy who worked in HR or accounting debating between the chicken or the fish?
“That was fun,” she said, breathless, giddy, kicking off her shoes. Normally she’d line them up by the door, but she was too relaxed, too happy right now to care about what kind of mess she was making. She’d clean up in the morning before brunch. Right now, she wanted to keep walking on air.
She was just going to get some water from the kitchen and head to her room, but Shawn came up behind her and spun her around.
“You’re a great dancer,” he said. His eyes were glittering. She made a face. He was kidding, but it was nice of him to humor her.
“You’ve got some moves yourself,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.
She didn’t doubt that Shawn spent plenty of time in bars, clubs, on dance floors picking up women, doing exactly what he’d done to her—swooping in as though he owned the place, as though he had every right to be there. One second, she’d been nowhere near him, had no idea where he even was. The next, he was right there, as though she were his.
She should have hated it. It was everything she didn’t like about Shawn—flirtatious, entitled, only looking for the next good time. He’d claimed one of her friends, and then he’d claimed another. And then he’d just moved on.
But in the moment, it had felt so natural. She hadn’t had a second to think about protesting before she was in his arms. And she had been looking for a way to get loose from the random guy who’d come up to her…
Now, he took her hand and raised it, and she spun under his arm like they were in a ballroom. It was just a spin—they weren’t anywhere near as close as they’d been at the club. There was nothing even remotely sexual about holding her roommate’s hand like that.
But then his other hand went to her waist, and he caught her there, his arms around her, holding her, swaying as though the imaginary music they’d been dancing to had suddenly slowed. He drew her toward him, her back against his torso, as his hands slid down her sides.
“Shawn,” she murmured, but she didn’t know what to say. Her head fell back against his chest. She’d always been so short. Not small, just short. So that next to Talia, she was never the one who was noticed, never the one that eyes followed in a crowd. She was the onlooker, the cheerleader, the stage manager to her friend’s illustrious career—in the same way she was the editor, the one who shaped and kneaded and toiled behind the scenes. She worked hard, she tried to make people happy, and she didn’t complain.
And that was fine. She was used to it. She liked being in the background, being the helpful one, the one who didn’t have the stress of the spotlight on her. She had no idea what to do with all this attention as Shawn Lassiter spun her around so she was facing him again, her body fitting against his, pressing against his, dancing the way they’d been in the club. Only this time there wasn’t the excuse of noise and crowds and harmless fun because that’s just what people did when they were out.
This time there was the darkened living room, moonlight, the silence except for her own breathing, her heart racing for no reason at all.
Shawn couldn’t want her like this. She knew he didn’t want her like this. He could have had any woman in that club. He’d only danced with her because they were roommates, and he was trying to be nice, and obviously they’d gone home together because they lived together. It wasn’t like there was some kind of arrangement.
She should have stayed home tonight, working. She should have said no when he asked if she wanted to go out after the bar. Even after all those mistakes, she should at least pull away now and end this.
But Shawn wasn’t stopping things, and she could feel in the heat of his body and the way he held her that he wasn’t going to. She gave herself another heartbeat to decide what to do. If only she could pause time, open up an Excel spreadsheet, and make a pros and cons list to help her choose!
Should I make out with my roommate and my best
friend’s older brother: Y/N?
But that wasn’t the way life worked. She couldn’t just leave him in the living room waiting for her while she went to plan every step of her future. And then it was too soon, it was already happening, he was hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her face to his.
The next thing she knew, he was kissing her.
And it looked like she’d made her decision, because she was kissing him back.
His lips were soft, but his touch was hard, insistent, as though he needed more of her—more of her body, her breath. His hands ran through her hair, down her back, drawing her closer. She felt like she was melting, sinking right into him, letting him take and take and take.
She pulled away, gasping.
“We can’t do this,” she said, looking up at him, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
“I know.”
“Talia would freak.”
“I know.”
“And we’re living together.”
“I know.”
“Then what are we—”
He kissed her again. The question fizzled inside her as soon as his lips were on hers, replaced with the champagne bubbles she felt just from being around him. She kissed him back, touching him, tasting him, his mouth warm and searching, her tongue moving with his.
“What are we doing?” she finally managed, but it was more like a whimper than the actual question she’d meant.
He didn’t answer—he just kept kissing her. She felt him reaching around her, grabbing her ass, bringing her entire body to him. His large hands claimed her so completely that his fingers grazed the seam of her jeans, pressing between her thighs. He pushed deeper, stroking her between her legs, and that was all it took. She dissolved in his arms.
“I know exactly what we’re doing.” His voice was low in her ear as he worked her over her clothes. “Or I know what you’re doing. You’re getting nice and wet for me, aren’t you?”
She couldn’t say yes, but she didn’t need to. Her whimper gave everything away.
“And I know what I’m doing. I’m going to kiss you.” His teeth nipped her lower lip and tugged. “I’m going to taste you.” His tongue darted between her lips, then pulled away, leaving her wanting. “I’m going to make you scream for me.”
He ran his hand over her breast then found her hardening nipple and made teasing circles. She moaned, leaning into him.
“That’s it, beautiful,” he murmured as she whimpered, wanting more of it—wanting it not through her clothes, through her bra, with all those layers between them, but his fingers, his tongue, his teeth…
How could she be this turned on when they hadn’t removed a single piece of clothing? They were still in the middle of the living room, fully clothed.
“How does all that sound to you?” Shawn asked, his voice low, almost mocking, as though he had to hear her beg.
“I can’t,” she tried, but the protest sounded weak even to her.
“I’ll let you go if you really want to. You can go back to your room, and we’ll pretend this never happened. I’m sure your vibrator can help with whatever you need right now.”
He winked, and her jaw dropped. She pulled away, staring at him, that fizz in her stomach plummeting into a realization so mortifying she could barely say it out loud.
She pinched her eyes shut. “You didn’t,” she said with a wince.
He took her hand in his. Then he brought it to the front of his jeans. She felt the hard length of him, thick and full and straining against his fly. Oh God. Her eyes flew open. He was looking down at her so intently, she felt like she was going to ignite under his gaze.
“You coming is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, not breaking eye contact as she began to stroke his cock through his jeans.
She risked a glance downward. She could see the outline of it, bold and insistent in his pants.
She couldn’t wrap her head around what he was telling her. He’d heard her the other night in her room…and he wanted her. He wanted her. She was doing this to him, making his cock this hard.
She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Shawn was bad news.
And yet she was doing it anyway.
She unzipped his fly at the same moment he put his arms around her and pushed her backward, so they were walking together across the living room and collapsing onto the couch, his body on top of hers, both of them fumbling to pull his pants down.
She sat on the couch, and he straddled her, kneeling, pulling his cock through his boxers. Her mouth was open before she knew what was happening.
She ran her tongue around the tip, brought him back deeper, then teased her tongue up the underside of his shaft. She let her lips suction around the tip, licking the salty-sweet precum, feeling a surge of pleasure that he was so clearly turned on. He groaned and rolled his head back as he pushed his cock into her mouth again.
“That’s it, beautiful,” he murmured as he looked down at her while she sucked and licked and teased him.
He pulled his shirt over his head, and she worked his jeans down farther, bringing her hands to his hips, his ass, feeling the muscles of his thighs as he brought himself in and out of her mouth. She’d never been with someone so…masculine. That was the only word she could think for it. So raw and arresting, muscled and hairy and strong. It made something wild flame all the way through her, hot and icy all at once.
So this is what desire is, she thought suddenly, as he reached around and pressed his hand between her thighs as she sucked him. This was what it felt like to want.
She cupped his balls and wrapped her fist around the base of his shaft, stroking him in rhythm with her mouth and tongue, using her saliva to make it smooth.
But he took her wrists and pinned them back against the sofa cushions.
“No hands,” he said, looking down at her. “I want to feel you.”
He set the rhythm, bringing his hips back and forth, letting her work her mouth up and down, in and out. His eyes were locked with hers and she wondered what she looked like, pinned there by his arms and his hips, his cock in her mouth. If she looked beautiful or sexy or slutty or awkward or just so-so…
But he groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, his breath becoming ragged, and she figured that, while she may not have been as experienced as she guessed he was, she was probably doing okay.
She could feel him getting closer, and she was ready for it, desperate, eager—but he pulled away abruptly, gasping, leaving a string of saliva on her lips.
“Too close,” he panted, taking his cock in his fist and stroking it slowly. “Too fucking close.”
God, she could watch him stroke his dick all night. Would she ever be able to fantasize about anything else? She licked her lips and was about to wipe up the saliva with her hand when he bent down and kissed her hard, sliding his body all the way down hers until he was covering her completely.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, kissing her lips, then the lobe of her ear, the side of her neck, her breasts over her shirt and then down her stomach, lifting her shirt to kiss his way up again, this time on her skin, until suddenly her arms were lifted and he was tugging her clothes off, unhooking her bra, kneeling on the floor in between her legs to take each nipple into his mouth.
Her back arched, thrusting her hips against him. Fuck, that felt good. That felt really, really good. She closed her eyes, whimpering, as he sucked her breasts. She buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her, wanting more.
“So fucking sexy,” he murmured again, and that was crazy, he was crazy. But it made her hips do things. It made her body need things to hear him say it.
He pulled her skirt down over her hips and kissed his way along the seam of her underwear, parting her thighs.
“How did I have no idea how fucking sexy you are?” he whispered as he pressed his face between her legs and kissed her through her panties.
“I’m not,” she said, and then gasped as the soft kisse
s were over and he brought his whole mouth to her, almost biting her through the fabric. Not hard—not so that it hurt. But sure as hell not gentle.
“You may be smart about a lot of things, but not this.”
Whatever retort she could have come up with was torn from her breath when he pulled her panties down and licked right up the center of her, making her gasp. Everything had felt rushed up until now—the dancing, drinking, the way he kissed as though he couldn’t get enough. The knowledge that they shouldn’t be doing this, that somewhere in the back of her mind, Rational Jessie was screaming at her that she was insane.
But Shawn didn’t rush as he licked her. He teased and tasted, as though she were something to savor.
She scooted down the couch to give him more access, moaning as he kissed her, tongued her, then looked up at her with a glint in his eye, as if gauging her reaction.
Yeah, okay, so he was good at this. So he knew he was good at this. So he’d probably done it a million times before, with a million different women—not just two of her former closest friends but a whole lot more. Right now, she couldn’t quite remember why she was supposed to care.
Wasn’t it a good thing that he knew how to make her feel this good?
And he wasn’t with a million other women in his bed right now. He was with her.
Not in bed, exactly. They hadn’t made it that far. But the fact that they were tangled up like this in the living room made it that much hotter, that much dirtier, that much more forbidden. If they were doing something they weren’t supposed to, they might as well enjoy every second before it all came back to haunt them.
His tongue found her clit and picked up the pace. Not because he’d been missing it before but because he’d obviously been holding back, making her squirm and pant and ache for him before he finally gave her what she wanted. He worked her in circles, and the more she groaned and bucked her hips for him, the more he picked up on how to touch her. He slid a finger inside her, and she felt as though she was going to fall apart from the pleasure of it, the dual sensations of him pressing inside her as he worked her clit with that steady, perfect rhythm.
Wrong Bed, Right Roommate (Accidental Love) Page 7
