by Lauren Layne
“I’m on the pill. And I just had a doctor’s appointment before I left.”
He lifts his head, elbows on either side of my head as he stares down at me with glowing blue eyes. “Same.”
“You’re on the pill too?”
Reece laughs and I laugh back, loving the sound of it, but I love even more the way he captures my laugh with his mouth at the precise moment he thrusts inside me, catching me by wonderful surprise.
“Oh.”
Reece’s breath is ragged as he holds my gaze. Neither of us moves as we both register the feeling of him all the way inside me.
“Not like before,” I whisper.
He slowly shakes his head. “Not like before.”
“Better.”
“Better,” he agrees as he pulls back, before pushing forward once again.
It’s perfect. It’s not fair how perfect it is. As far as losing virginity goes, my experience with Reece was as good as it got, but this is unspeakably better. It’s like my body knows his, even after all this time, even after one time. I fit him perfectly, and he fits me.
“Damn you, Lucy,” he whispers, his tone more aggravated than it is angry.
In response I lift my hips and tighten around him, my nails digging into his back as I arch into him. “More. Harder.”
He complies, quickening the pace, each thrust all but lifting me off the bed until we’re nothing but a writhing tangle of limbs, lost in the other as we search for release.
And then we find it, almost simultaneously, my own cry coming just seconds before his shout as we both stiffen and shudder, each holding on to the other like a life raft.
Which is ironic, really, considering that I’m pretty sure we’re more likely to be each other’s deaths than saviors.
He’s heavy when he collapses, and I wrap around him. Reece rolls us to our sides. My breath is hot against his chest, his warm against my temple, as we try to remember how to breathe.
Neither of us says a word, and we sure as hell don’t look at each other.
Reece’s hand slowly slides up to the back of my head, his fingers fisting in my hair just a little bit roughly, and I know. I know that he’s in the same torturous, strange place that I am: torn between past and present and wondering what the hell it means for the future.
Chapter 30
Reece
When I open my eyes, the first thing I see are Lucy Hawkins’s green eyes staring down at me, wide and impatient.
Never at my best in the morning, I put a palm over her face and push it away. “Quit it, weirdo.”
She tries to bite my hand, and though her face is ferocious and maybe a little scary, my body’s still on hyper awareness after last night and I feel my morning wood twitch to life.
Then the last of my sleep fog fades, and I register that
a) she’s no longer naked, a silky tank top covering up her perfect tits
b) I’m most definitely naked, still in her bed
c) she’s got that expression on her face that all men know and fear: We need to talk.
I roll over onto my side, intending to go back to sleep. Maybe next time I wake up my dirty dreams will be a reality and I’ll be deep inside her, and she’ll be making those desperate moaning noises that seem to reach right to my soul just as sure as they do my cock.
This time her teeth dig into my shoulder, sharp enough to get my attention.
Giving up on sleep, I roll back toward her. “What is wrong with you? Who bites people?”
“Women who’ve been waiting the better part of a half hour for a lazy-ass to wake up.”
“Oh no, not a whole half hour,” I mutter, pulling myself into a sitting position against the headboard, tugging the sheet up around my waist before dragging my hands over my face.
The room’s even grosser in the morning.
She gives a satisfied smile at having gotten her way, and apparently decides I deserve a reward. Not a sexy one, unfortunately, but she hops out of bed and, wearing only the tank top and panties, walks across the tiny room to one of those cheap-ass coffeemakers.
Lucy impatiently shifts from side to side, putting one bare foot on top of the other, and then switching as she waits for the little coffeepot to spit out a full cup. The sight of her tight little ass cheeks does wonders for my mood, even as I’m tensing for The Talk.
Not that I’m all that surprised. Over the years, I’ve gotten damn good at keeping sex carefree and uncomplicated, but with Lucy? There was never any chance.
Damn, but it was good though. Every bit as sweet as I remember, but even hotter without the pressure of her virginity absorbing my every thought.
Last night had just been about me and Lucy and need.
She hands me the coffee and climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and watching me take my first sip.
I pause with the flimsy paper cup halfway to my mouth. “Would you spit it out already? All your staring is creeping me out.”
She folds her hands and rests them on the mattress in front of her. “I was waiting for you to get caffeinated, before…”
I lift my eyebrows when she trails off, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly dreading what she needs to say.
“I’m confused,” she blurts out, just as I’m braced for her to say the words I’m expecting: It was a mistake.
I take a sip of coffee. “About?”
She chews her lip harder. “What just happened. How I feel. How you feel.”
I smile slightly because she looks adorably frustrated. Lucy Hawkins has always been that girl who knows exactly what she wants.
I doubt that confused has ever been in her vocabulary, and I’m oddly pleased to know that I’ve caught her off-balance. Because I’ve spent most of my life being put off balance by her. Fair is fair.
And yet confused isn’t enough. I want more.
Not that it matters.
I’m not the guy for her. Even if I wanted to be, there’s not a damn thing I could do to keep her. Lucy’s still got her big dreams and expensive taste, and I’m always going to be the man in jeans and a dirty T-shirt, not the guy in the custom-made suit who schmoozes with Napa’s elite.
“I guess it’s good we got it out of our system,” she says thoughtfully. “Maybe now we can move on.”
I take a sip of my coffee to hide the wince.
“Right?” she says, noting my silence.
I lift the cup in mocking salute. “Sure.”
“Reece.”
“Look, Lucy. I’m a dude. I really don’t want to talk about any of this.”
“Because it was just sex. Just one night.”
“Just sex,” I say, relieved when I don’t hesitate and give away the fact that it was the best sex. That it felt like it mattered.
She smiles a little in relief, and the devil in me can’t shut up. “Really good sex though.”
My voice is gravelly and her green eyes darken. “Yeah.”
Her tongue touches the corner of her mouth, and the fact that I know the gesture to be instinctive rather than intentional seduction makes it all the hotter.
Shit. I’ve never stood a chance against this girl. Never.
I set my empty coffee cup on the nightstand and reach out and hook a finger down the front of her tank top, and she freezes when the back of my finger brushes the inner slope of her breast.
“Reece—”
I have her beneath me before she can finish the sentence, my mouth opening hot and wet against the side of her neck, gratified when I feel her shiver. Gratified, and a little bit mad. Mad at her. Mad that she finds it so easy to discard me and so easy to dismiss what last night was.
Hell, maybe to her it was just sex. Maybe her world wasn’t rocked the way mine was, maybe she’s not half tied up in knots right now, terrified that sex will never ever be as good as it was last night.
Fuck that. If I’m not forgetting this encounter, neither is she.
I’m not careful. My hand tugs her shirt down with so much force the skinny s
houlder strap snaps. I’m not gentle as I lash her nipple with my tongue, scraping with my teeth just hard enough to make her gasp in shock before moaning in pleasure.
It takes a few seconds before her hands reach for me, and that pisses me off too, the way she’s obviously reluctant to give in to the heat between us. I grasp her wrists with firm fingers, pinning her arms to her side, as lips, teeth, and tongue work her perfect tits until she says my name in a quiet plea.
Not good enough. I want her desperate. Begging.
I drag the torn tank top down over her narrow hips, taking her black underwear with it. Normally I’m all for black underwear, but with Lucy I’m merely pissed that they’re not polka dots.
Since when has she started wearing black underwear? For whom?
Jealous possessiveness has me handling her with more roughness than I normally would, my hand pushing her legs apart, rubbing three fingers along the wet seam of her before slicking my middle finger inside her.
She cries out, back arching up, pushing a pink nipple into my waiting mouth as I slide a second finger inside.
For all her bullshit about our history and this not working, she’s more than ready for me, but I keep her on the edge.
Deliberately, I show her what I could give her, and then take it away, slowing the pace of my fingers every time she gets close.
“Damn you, Reece,” she says, her voice raspy as she glares down at me.
Damn you right back, Lucy.
“Need something?” I ask.
Her eyes are cloudy with near-orgasm, but she still finds the feistiness to narrow her eyes at me. “Nope. Just wondering when you’re going to get started, make this worth my while.”
I let out a little bark of amusement, and even in my anger, I love that her smart mouth still works with my fingers deep inside her.
“Bored, are you?” I press my thumb against her and her eyes close, but she stays stubbornly silent.
All right then.
I have her flipped onto her stomach in a half a second, ignoring her squeak of protest as I press my chest against her back, nuzzling her ears. “Never got the chance to do this back then.”
“Do what?” she asks, trying to buck me off.
I lift off her, shifting backward and pulling her hips upward as I kneel behind her.
I groan at the site of her ass in the air, run a trembling hand down her slim back. Mine.
My cock nudges at her wet opening, and it takes every bit of self-control not to plunge into her then and there, taking what I want to belong to me more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
I thought I wanted her when I was nineteen, but it’s nothing compared to what I feel now.
Still, pissed as I am, I’d never take what she’s not offering, and I stay perfectly still. Waiting. Asking. “Lucy?”
In response, her hips nudge back, the tiniest gesture, but it’s the permission I need to wrap my fingers around her slim hips and slam home.
The sex is rough and dirty, the words coming out of my mouth and the cries coming out of hers neither gentle nor romantic, but it’s what we both need.
I hold out as long as I can, but the warm heat of her combined with the slap of my hips against her ass has me losing my mind in what feels like a matter of seconds.
Determined to take her with me I reach my hand down, pressing just above the spot where we’re joined.
Lucy arches with a feral cry, clenching around me, and my free hand acts of its own volition, tangling in her hair, pulling her head back as I come harder than I ever have before.
When I can finally remember how to think again, I slowly release her hair, and she drops her head forward, breathing hard as she sinks all the way to the mattress.
I lie beside her, the reality of how roughly I’ve just taken Lucy—the girl I once vowed to protect with my own life—creeping in.
Somehow I don’t think this is what her parents had in mind when they asked me to look after her on the damned road trip.
I lie on my back and swallow, racking my brain for what to say, when she shifts, lifting up slightly and turning her head around to face me.
I brace for the censure, maybe anger, but I make myself meet her eyes.
The lower half of her face is hidden partially by her arm, and I can’t read the expression in her eyes.
Then she lifts her face slightly, and my heart starts beating again when I see that she’s smiling.
Grinning, actually.
“We’re in trouble here, huh?”
I smile back, relieved beyond belief that she’s not going to give me the lecture I deserve.
And yet, she’s right. “Yeah, Luce. We’re in trouble.”
Chapter 31
Lucy
I’m prepared for the car ride to be tense, or, at the very least, fake cheerful, but by the time we’ve loaded our bags into the car and set off for Wyoming, we’re more or less back to normal.
And by normal, I mean fighting over the radio. In the end, he gives in, letting me listen to the remainder of a Reba McEntire ballad.
I smirk. My reward for putting out, I’m pretty sure.
“Tell me the truth,” he says, changing lanes to pass the slow bus in front of us. “Do you even like country? Or do you just like torturing me?”
“Little bit of both. Now your turn to tell me something,” I say, deciding to take advantage of the fact that his shoulders seem a little less tense than usual, his face less guarded.
“Pass.”
I ignore this, and ask anyway. “So. Napa.”
His eyes narrow just slightly. A little wary. “What about it?”
“What’s your endgame?”
His knuckles tighten briefly on the steering wheel, the only sign that the invasive question bugs him. “What do you mean, endgame? I want a fresh start and a paycheck. The new job gives me both.”
“Sure,” I say, keeping my voice easy. “But what about long term? A year from now, five years from now? Ten?”
I’m all but holding my breath, hating how much his answer matters.
He’s silent for nearly a minute and doesn’t glance over when he finally responds. “I don’t really do long term. If life’s taught me anything it’s that it can be short and brutal and you can’t plan on shit.”
Reece’s answer makes my heart hurt, even though I understand it. His voice is monotone and ice cold, his jaw solid steel in his resolve, but it makes sense. Here’s a guy who lost his mother way too young, had his sister bail on him, and has spent the past few years caring for a father who barely registered his existence, only to lose him too.
Still, the optimist in me wants him to see that it doesn’t have to be that way. That just because his past is full of pain doesn’t mean his future has to be.
“They have some great winemaking classes in the area,” I say, turning and glancing out the window, hoping the suggestion seems off the cuff.
“I already know how to make wine.”
“I know, but California is different,” I say as gently as I can. “There’s a ton of competition if you want to move from being an assistant stuck tending the vineyards to the guy in charge.”
This time he does glance over, and though he’s wearing his usual aviators, I can feel the anger in his gaze. “ ‘Stuck tending the vineyards’? When have I ever given you the impression that I felt stuck?”
Uh-oh. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you did, Lucy,” he interrupts. “You think your side of the business is better. It’s not. It may require fancier clothes, but all you do is sell the wine. I know how to fucking make it.”
I grit my teeth. “Don’t power play me, Reece. We’re both experts in our field.”
“But you more so, right? Because you have a fancy degree that says so? Never mind that I was actually doing work while you were just reading about it.”
“Hey!” I say, stung by the way he’s belittling years of hard work and dedication. “Without people like me, nobody would even know about
what people like you do all day.”
“Well I’ll be sure to send you a fancy thank-you gift. Oh wait, I can’t afford it, what with me not having a ten-year plan or being brutally ambitious.”
“Brutally ambitious?” I sputter. “Is that what you think I am?”
“I don’t know what you are,” he mutters, turning on his blinker and getting off the freeway. “We need gas.”
I have no idea if we actually need gas or if he just needs to cool off, but since I need a breather myself, I don’t protest as he pulls into a gas station.
Reece climbs out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and I blow out a long breath, shoving my hair away from my face.
Not how I thought that conversation was going to go. I was just trying to figure out where his head was at. He’s so damn closed off all the time.
A quick glance over my shoulder shows that the pump is still running, but he’s got his arms crossed, and his scowl is fierce.
Not in a chatty mood. Fine.
I climb out of the car, stretching my legs and intending to make my move to take over driving for a while. Anything to distract myself from the real reason I’d pushed Reece into that conversation.
I thought that maybe if I could figure out what he wants out of life, I could figure out if there might be room for me in it.
Because I can’t deny it any longer. I want Reece Sullivan in my life.
I just have to figure out how he fits.
Chapter 32
LUCY, TEN, REECE, ELEVEN
“Yuck, I got an orange one. Trade?” she asked, holding out her Popsicle to Reece and staring longingly at his purple one.
He rolled his eyes. “You know it says the flavor on the wrapper. You could just read.”
Even as he said it, he reached out and traded her orange Popsicle for his much preferable grape one.
They were sitting on the old Big Toy. Mostly unused these days, except by Brandi and her friends. Rarely did Lucy and Reece sit here together as they had on that first day after Reece’s mom had died.
Lucy looked at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he was thinking about the sad memory, but he looked more interested in his Popsicle than anything.
