Sloth

by Ella James

  I wait a minute or two so I’m not climbing the stairs right on his heels. Then I go up to my windowed room, dig out a pair of hot pink running shorts, my white Under Armor running shirt, and my new-ish sneaks. I grab a rubber band and braid my hair in the bathroom.

  I get down stairs after him, so I see him walk out a door beside the pantry pulling a gray t-shirt over his head. I smell a whiff of fabric softener, and then he walks around the island, and the sight of Kellan in his running gear takes my breath away.

  My eyes cling to his incredible bare legs as he looks me up and down. “I like the hair.”

  I touch my hand to my French braid and try not to gawk at the muscles of his thighs in those navy running shorts. I think they’re actually basketball shorts, because they’re longer. Geez... that shirt, the way it outlines his pecs. He’s just—Shit, have I said anything back to him? Stupid Cleo. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “Thanks.”

  He lifts his brows. “You ready?”

  I nod. Truman shows up, flouncing happily beside us as we walk toward the front door. I follow Kellan onto the porch, where we stretch.

  “Do you do this every night?” It’s not lost on me that while I told him my whole life story, he told me exactly nothing.

  “Almost. Especially if I don’t do cardio downstairs.”

  “And how long do you say you do it for? The whole work out?”

  “An hour and a half, two hours.”

  “Damn. Are you like, training for a marathon? Like, really?”

  He smiles, just one corner of his mouth tugging up a little. “Something like that.”

  “Trying to keep your body lady-ready,” I tease.

  He laughs, which sounds like choking. “What?”

  “You know—trying to be .gif-worthy Kellan baby.”

  I wiggle my brows, and he gives a low laugh. “You fucking know it.” He rolls his shoulders. Jogs in place a little. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll be. You’ll probably leave me in the dust.”

  And as it turns out, that’s exactly what he does. I can see him trying to go slow for me, but we’re unmatched. Kellan is a Spartan, and I’m a couch potato. He’s also almost a foot taller than me, so his Spartan legs, in addition to being incredibly well-muscled, are a good bit longer.

  I admire him from behind the entire time he runs. He even has good running form. He holds his shoulders square and straight without being too tense. Where I look like a Muppet let loose on the road, Kellan looks like the athlete he is.

  I think, as we turn around by a row of mailboxes and point ourselves back toward his house, that today has been different than I thought it would be. What changed from yesterday to today? He took me out to eat. He put his arm around me. He made me pecans. He asked so many questions. And then he invited me to run with him. Am I crazy, or was the Kellan from yesterday mostly just an ass?

  By the time we jog up onto his porch, I’ve got so many endorphins partying in my brain, I really don’t care. I’m just slap-happy—and exhausted. So I’m taken off guard when we get into the foyer and Kellan yanks my running pants down.

  “Kneel on the stairs and push your ass into the air,” he orders.

  I do, and he crouches behind me. I can feel his smooth pecs brush my backside as he parts my lips and starts to finger me.

  He inhales deeply. “Fuck—you smell incredible.”

  Then he spanks me—hard.

  “Ack! What the hell’s that for?”

  “One,” he says, spanking me again, “for every—” spank—“word—” spank—“you—” spank—“just—” spank—“said.”

  Then he leans down, pushes his head between my legs, and eats my pussy from the back.

  I’m so sweaty, so dirty, that at first I think I’m not going to enjoy it, but I’m surprised to find I come almost immediately. I come even harder the second time he pleasures me. Then he carries me up the front stairwell to the windowed room and lays me on my back atop the massive oak bed. He spreads my sore legs, pulls his pants off, and climbs atop me, revealing his long, stiff cock, and the nice, full balls hanging below.

  He eases his head in, then pushes in so deep and hard, I gasp.

  “I need to fuck this sweaty pussy.”

  He pushes my arms above my head, and I rebel and wrap my hands around his forearms. We fuck with him clutching my shoulders, and me clutching his arms.

  Something about the angle is delicious. My clit throbs with every thrust. Inside, I feel so sensitive and full.

  I peek my eyes open at Kellan and find his eyes closed in peaceful concentration. His brows draw together, his lips part a little every time he thrusts. His eyes peek open as he pulls out.

  “So... damn good, that pussy.”

  My eyes drift shut as his thrusts grow harder. He moves one arm to the mattress to support the frenzied pace, while his other hand captures both my wrists. I relax and let him push my arms over my head and press them to the mattress.

  I can feel his cock swell in me. His breathing has grown harder, faster. When he presses his face into the crook of my neck, I feel his cock pulse in me, and I come so hard my abs clench and I grunt.

  “OH GOD!”

  I watch his sweat-glossed back pump with his deep breaths as he hides his face in my neck. His hand around my wrist loosens just enough so I can free one arm and curl my hand around his warm, damp head.

  “Kellan—that was so good,” I whisper.

  He lifts his head and gives me a dazed smile. “This will be better.”

  He looks exhausted, loose-limbed and satiated, but he moves quickly between my legs and drags his tongue between my swollen lips.

  “Oh fuck!”

  He blows his breath against my fevered skin. He traces the tip of his tongue around my clit, and I come off the bed.

  “Kellan!” I grab his head. He licks me gently, so tenderly I’m almost sure I feel his tongue tremble. And then, when I’m thrusting against him, his tongue starts thrashing me. It’s so intense it’s almost painful. He shoves two fingers into me and I scream. “Ohhhh... ohh!” I suck back a huge breath as my orgasm steamrolls me.

  I sag back to the mattress, and he draws his fingers out.

  When I have the strength to open my eyes again, I find him standing by the bed, holding my robe.

  “Come down.”

  He holds an arm out, and I use it for balance as I slide off the big bed.

  He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. He runs some water into the sunken tub and when it’s almost filled, he helps me in. I sink up to my neck in bubbles. The heat seeps into my bones, and I moan. Kellan climbs in after me.

  He seats me between his legs, and with his huge erection pressed against my backside, he washes my hair.

  “I like your wavy hair,” he murmurs.

  I stroke his thigh, tucked around mine. “Thanks.”

  I sit still and patient as he wraps my dark locks in a towel. Then he rubs some soap between his palms and kneads my shoulders.

  “Ohhhh.” I sag against him, giving in to bliss, but as soon as I do, I feel him twitch against me. I turn around and fold my hands around his cock.

  “I want to suck it—please.” I look into his eyes and smile. “May I?”

  He drags his thumb over my cheek and then eases himself out of the water, so he’s sitting on the tub’s stone ledge. His cock juts up and out. Bubbles drip down it, collecting on his balls. I wipe the bubbles off and suck the head of him into my mouth, teasing him with my cheeks and tongue while my hands caress his shaft.

  One hand wanders down to his balls. They’re heavy and taut. I cup them and roll them gently, and take a little more of him into my throat: so deep now, I have to concentrate to breathe.

  His hand rests gently on my hair. I look up and find his head is tilted back. His lips are slightly parted. His eyes are closed. I can feel the tension in his hips. The way his abs are clenched.

  I suck my cheeks against him, and at the same time, I swallow him deeper into m
y throat.

  He shifts his legs. His hand on my head curls into a fist.

  I start to hum around him.

  He groans. “Cleo... fuck.”

  I hum a little more, and his hand on my hair trembles. He makes a low sound in his throat and closes his eyes.

  He’s feeling good. I can tell because his dick swells in my mouth, and his balls, cradled in my palm, tighten a little more.

  I brush the head of him against my throat and suck the rest of him tightly, with all the softest parts of my mouth. I tickle my fingertips gently over his balls, and then I tickle behind them, over the forbidden taint.

  He jumps a little, and I suck him deeper.

  “Christ. Oh shit...”

  I bob my head a little faster. He pulls out a little. His breaths are coming louder, faster. His eyes are squeezed shut.

  He strokes my cheek with his fingertips and pushes back in, moaning. His legs twitch. His balls draw up a little more.

  I whirl my tongue around him.

  “God you’re... fuck. Keep going... Cleo, fuck don’t stop.”

  I flick my tongue against the tiny slit at the head of him. He jumps. “FUCK,” he groans.

  He thrusts deeper down my throat, and his gusting breaths turn to tight moans. His fingers grasp the towel on my head. And then, just when I feel him start to really throb, just when every muscle in his body tenses and he breathes, “oh fuck,” he pulls out. He strokes himself just once, and blows all over my shoulder.

  I rest my hands on his calves while he sits there with his eyes shut, panting.

  When he opens his eyes, he looks dazed. Dazed but happy. Satisfied, despite the way he pulled out of my mouth. “Fucking hell, Cleo. That’s a gift.”

  I laugh. He wraps an arm around my head and pulls me in between his legs. I rest my cheek against his thigh.

  “That felt so good,” he says hoarsely.

  “I’m glad.” I kiss his inner thigh. Chills spread out from where my lips meet his warm skin. I smile up at him. “This has been a great night.”

  “You’re what’s good.” His damp hand cups my cheek.

  “I guess I kinda like being your slut.”

  Something about my comment makes his eyes look unhappy. As I’m wondering what bothered him, he climbs out of the tub and grabs hold of a towel rack.

  “You okay?”

  He laughs. “All the blood’s gone down here,” he says, nodding at his cock. It’s still half-hard.

  I watch him as he towels off. Once, as he turns, I think I see a small tat on his back, just over his left hip. I’m about to ask about it when he helps me from the tub, wraps me in a towel, and hugs me close while walking me toward the bed.

  He settles me on it with my legs spread. “I need to eat you one more time before you to go sleep.”

  “CLEO?” SMOOTH FINGERS STROKE my face. His voice is soft and smoky in my ear. “Do you want to go with me? To the pick-up?”

  I drag my heavy eyelids open. I blink at his handsome face. “What time is it?” I rasp.

  “It’s four-thirty.”

  I open my eyes wider and find Kellan standing over me, looking tired and distinctly soft around the edges. He’s wearing a blue t-shirt that hugs his muscles, and...

  “My God.” I flex my legs. “Ohhhh.”

  “Sore?” He smirks.

  “Oh... very. Ow.” I sit up, groaning as I do.

  Kellan helps me down from the big bed and I dress quickly in jeans and a black Tom Petty t-shirt, because I assume there’s a certain time we have to be there.

  As I sit in the wing-backed chair and tie my sneakers, looking out at the pitch black night through the window wall, he comes and crouches at my feet. He rests a hand on the shoe I’ve already laced and looks up into my eyes. “There’s a risk here. I want to be sure you know that. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I finish tying my other shoe and straighten up. He takes my hand and rubs the top of it, so gentle that, for a second, my eyes drift shut again. I pull them open, finding him somber. “Isn’t there a risk with dealing too?”

  He nods, covering my hand fully with his. “But this is different. I’m not getting that much imported anymore, but this is a lot more than you’ve ever had on hand. I don’t think anything will go wrong, but we could get busted. It’s always a possibility.”

  I shrug. “Optimist, remember?” I push my hair back. Little strands of it have escaped my French braid and are hanging in my eyes, but I’m not going to take the time to re-braid it. Not here, anyway. Maybe in the car. “Hey, that reminds me. Where’s that stray cat you were telling me about?”

  He shrugs. “I haven’t seen her lately.” He stands up and pulls me with him. When I’ve gotten to my feet, he laces his fingers through mine, and as we walk through his room, I think how strange it is to just be holding hands. In a way it’s even stranger than our casual-not-casual sex has been. He bends his wrist, bringing my arm a little closer to his body, and it feels so nice.

  We walk downstairs that way, and I find he’s already made us each a water bottle. There’s a granola bar by mine. Kellan lets my hand go so he can grab both bottles. I grab my granola bar and Truman bounds over from some unknown Truman resting spot. The three of us clomp down the hall as if we’re going to do something ordinary, like throw a Frisbee at the park, and I’m reminded of “Scooby Doo.”

  “Did you ever watch ‘Scooby Doo?’” I ask Kellan as he locks the front door.

  His mouth curves up in a lazy, sort-of smile. “Oh yeah. Did you?”

  “Yep. I was always wanting to wear my Grans’ old lady head scarves around my neck so I could look like Daphne.”

  Kellan laughs—a rich chuckle that makes my skin tingle—and steps in front of me to open my car door. I scramble into my seat, disappointed when I have to let his hand go. I beam at him as he closes the door behind me, then I smile out at the darkness through the windshield. I hear the door behind me open and close, and then Truman’s head appears between the two front seats. I rub his ears as Kellan gets into the car.

  I notice as he cranks it that the design on his worn blue t-shirt is a manatee. My eyes drift down to his thighs, which are clad in dark denim.

  “You’re such a California guy,” I tease as he turns down the dirt driveway.

  He tugs on his t-shirt and raises his brows.

  “I love manatees.”

  “High school fundraiser,” he says.

  “I want to hear about your swanky high school.”

  Kellan reaches down by his door, pulling out a navy Braves cap that he presses onto his head. He adjusts the bill as he turns from his driveway onto the dirt road that will take us to the highway.

  “Some other time,” he says.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask as we bump over the dirt road. Moonlight pearls on the hood of his car, so bright white it hurts my eyes.

  He shakes his head, and I’m surprised to find that I’m a little disappointed by how focused he seems on the road, by how his free hand rests on his right knee instead of twined in mine. And realizing my feelings, I feel a trill of fear.

  This isn’t serious, I remind myself. But the words ring hollow in my head.

  He looks somehow both younger and older in the ball cap. Like a high school baseball player—or a young dad. The light from the dash illuminates the planes of his face, and they look like mine. My heart says MINE. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Who will we be seeing tonight?” I ask quietly.

  “I get the imports from my Uncle Pace,” Kellan says. “He’s really a cousin, but he’s kind of old, so we just always called him uncle.”

  “Oh. A family member.”

  He nods. “I used to get more shipments, but now I’m growing so much—so much good shit—that I only get a shipment once a month. It helps supplement in case something happens to my crop, and it gives us seeds to continue cross-breeding. The plants we’re getting tonight are pretty young, so they’re small. We’re only getting twenty of
them.”

  “Only!” I laugh.

  As we start down the highway, headed for the east side of town, Kellan explains that he bought the abandoned toy factory at a bank auction; it has doors on the back that open like a garage. He tells me he’s in the process of remodeling so he can sell it. Until then, it’s used for deals like this.

  The east side of Chattahoochee is the “bad” side of town. Even I, who rarely leave campus, know that. And tonight, the evidence is everywhere. Shadowed figures with bowed heads shuffle along the uneven sidewalk that runs alongside the street. Run-down cars idle in front of decrepit-looking buildings. We pass a violent jade Mercedes Benz with flashy rims, and my eyes slide to Kellan.

  “Do other drug dealers know you?” I ask.

  He smiles tightly. “I don’t have any criminal enemies, Cleo. I’ll open the warehouse doors with this—” he taps a flip-down compartment in the ceiling of the Escalade—“and we’ll drive in. The doors will close right behind us. In the main garage area, there are no windows to the outside. No one will see a light in there and come to see what’s up. There’s an office attached, and all the lights will be off there too.”

  I chew my lip, and his hand spreads over my knee. “I’ve got a good security system, baby. Just because of the neighborhood it’s in.” He nods at the digital clock on the dash. “By the time we get there, Manning and Pace will already have things all settled. Only reason I go too is prudence.”

  “You mean you don’t trust Manning?”

  “Not at all,” he says. He takes a left at a litter-strewn intersection and we drive slowly down a dark, one-way street. Kellan reaches up to touch the ceiling, hits the brakes, and a second later, we’re driving into darkness. “I trust him,” he says calmly as the dark garage looms around us. “But this is my thing. I’m the one in charge, so I should be here with him.”

  Just as my throat starts feeling uncomfortably tight, someone flicks the lights on, and I’m stunned to find we’re in a large open space, almost like a skating rink, with creamy, sheetrock walls and a smooth, cement floor. About a dozen yards in front of us is a large white van, and by it, Manning’s Harley.

  “Lights flick off when we open the garage door, and flick back on once we’re in,” Kellan explains. He lifts his hand off my knee and tugs the bill of his cap in what seems like a nervous gesture.