by Lexi Scott
“Hey, that’s all on Murdock’s shoulders,” I point out, taking the tissue and cleaning myself up as best I can.
“Right. Murdock, the guy my dad follows around like a stupid puppy.” She puts her hands through her hair and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you got pulled in like this. I was embarrassed for you to see how it really is, and this is a thousand times worse than anything I imagined. A thousand times worse!” She’s almost sobbing now, and I realize this is a turning point.
Right now, she’s as vulnerable as she’s ever been. It might seem like running into Murdock and her father was the worst luck ever, but I don’t buy that. I’m glad it was “a thousand times worse” than anything she imagined.
“This?” I ask with a laugh, pointing to my throbbing nose. “This was a thousand times worse than anything you imagined?” She stops crying and looks up at me, her gorgeous blue eyes smudged underneath with dark makeup. “This was nothing, Maren. I’ve had junior high locker room brawls that were worse than this. Yes, your life is complicated. But I’m not going anywhere. And this is a crappy situation, but we’re not leaving until it’s cleaned up.”
While she stares at me, blinking, I get to my feet—swaying a little as I do—and catch the attention of a busboy on break. I hand him a twenty and give him directions in rapid Spanish. Five minutes later, Maren’s dad stumbles out of the restaurant, bleary-eyed and confused.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “Murdock ain’t gonna press charges or anything,” he says to me, giving me a nervous side-eye.
I make good use of the fact that he’s intimidated. “I’m taking you home, Mr. Walshe,” I say evenly. “You need to sober up.”
“Now hold on,” he says, crossing his arms and swaying from side to side. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
“It’s Maren’s birthday today,” I announce and watch the color drain from his red face. Okay, so he’s not a total douchebag. He does actually care about his kid. “The thing is, dinner is already ruined. The last thing she needs is another call from the ER or jail or somewhere else to come pick you up. You need to go home and stay there tonight. Alone.”
“I missed your birthday, sweet pea?” he asks Maren, his voice cracking.
She crosses her arms, mimicking his stance, and nods. “Yep. You did, Dad.”
“Let me make it up to you. Let’s go back in. I bet they have cheesecake, the kind with the strawberries on top, the kind you like.” Tears slide down his weathered face and dampen his matted gray beard.
“I don’t need cheesecake, Dad,” she says with a sigh, letting her arms drop to her sides. “I need some peace and quiet. I need a night off.” Her voice is shaky, but she looks up at me and gives me a small, nervous smile. “I need you to go home with Cohen right now and promise me you’ll stay out of trouble this one night. For me. For my birthday.”
“Doesn’t seem like much of a gift,” he croaks out.
“Knowing you’re home and okay is all the gift I need. Seriously,” she says, kissing him on the cheek.
I point out my car to Mr. Walshe, who shuffles over and sits in the passenger seat, waiting.
“I hope I didn’t overstep,” I say, pulling her closer to me because she looks like she needs to lean on me. I side step around the corner, into the alley so we have a little privacy. I intend to kiss her, and I don’t necessarily want her father as our audience.
“Not at all.” She sighs. “Why was I so afraid to let you help again?” She leans her head on my chest, and nothing has ever felt better. I want to pump my fist in the air and celebrate this moment.
“I have no clue,” I say. “Please tell me this date isn’t over.”
She pulls back and stares at me. “You mean you don’t want to forget this entire night ever happened?”
“Hell no,” I say.
“No?”
“I wouldn’t change a single thing about tonight. I know it’s not right that I liked kicking Murdock’s ass, Maren, and I am truly sorry it ruined the night for you. But no one is ever going to talk to you like that in front of me. I know you want me to say that I won’t do anything like that again, but I can’t.” I gingerly touch my nose, which seems to have stopped spurting blood, and hold her hand, still damp from mopping up her tears earlier. “I care about you. I’m not going to let anyone walk all over you. Not happening. Ever.”
She pulls her hand away from mine and nods tightly, like she’s done with me. Sometimes I wish I were a better liar.
Then she turns, grabs my face in her hands gently, and kisses me. It’s light at first. I did just get my face half bashed in, and I guess she’s trying to be careful.
But I have her. In my arms, the scent of her surrounding me, her body pressed on mine. And, more importantly, I have her happiness to be with me, her forgiveness, her excitement. So I kiss without worrying about my smashed nose, and every time I think the pain is going to get so extreme I honestly might pass out, I run my hands over her, let my fingers get lost in her soft hair, run my tongue over hers, and readjust so she’s pressed closer to me, twined tighter around me, and let my mind jump wherever it wants to go.
Which is to some pretty low-down, awesome places.
“Thank you,” she whimpers, pulling away.
“You’re welcome,” I say, dragging her closer, rubbing my hands over her shoulders. “What are you thanking me for? Because I kind of feel like I should be thanking you.”
She cups my jaw, running a thumb over my cheekbone, her nose rubbing against my face as she breathes me deep.
“For taking care of me. No one, seriously, no one does that for me. I’m sorry I was afraid to let you in. I’m just so used to handling everything on my own. I’m so used to being the one taking care—”
She interrupts her own ramble, which is breaking my damn heart, and kisses me again, harder, with little nips of her teeth on my lips, and nuzzles her face against my neck. My hand drags up her dress, making the skirt ride high on her thighs, then heads up along her stomach, over the bumps of her ribs, and between all that lace that’s been teasing me through dinner. I brace my other hand at the small of her back as I run my thumb over the soft curves pressed high in that sexy bra.
She feels so good through the fabric, but I want my hands on her skin. I want her naked. I want her moaning. I want her all.
“Come home with me tonight,” I say softly against her ear.
She bucks and rubs closer, letting out a long, “Mmm,” that lets me know she’s at least tempted.
And that shred of temptation is all I need.
“Come home with me because I want to strip you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Cohen
She stops moving against me, and I wonder if I pushed it too far already, but her hands squeeze at my shoulders expectantly, so I tell her, in plain words, everything we’ve danced around and hinted at for all the weeks we’ve wanted each other so badly. “I’m going to strip every last shred off you, Maren, because just thinking about seeing you naked gets me hard.”
Her fingers dig into my shoulders and she moans, making me feel brave enough to say more, to let her know how sexy she is and how turned on I am around her.
“And once you’re naked, I’m not going to stop kissing you and sucking on you until you come for me.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and she rocks against me so softly I don’t even know if she realizes she’s doing it. I unleash the words I’d hold tight unless I was in the dark, secret confines of my bedroom. I do it because I have a hard time containing anything I feel for her.
“And I don’t mean once. I want it over and over, so you’re slick as hell. I want you to come when I lick you and when I’m inside you.”
She presses her face closer, until her mouth is right up against mine. She’s not thinking about my nose and how much it hurts, and I don’t blame her. The promises I’m making are pushing me right through the pain.
“I want to touch every inch of you. Do you want that?”
; She nods, her hair rubbing against my face, the coconut-sweet smell surrounding me.
“Now?”
It’s the only thing she’s said since I told her what I want, but it’s all I need to hear.
Without a word, she stands and tugs my hand. And then I remember.
“Your father! I’m taking him home.”
I expect her to look panicked or embarrassed, but she giggles. “I forgot about him.” She shakes her head and laughs harder. “Cohen, I forgot about my father! Do you know how long it’s been since I forgot to worry about him?”
“How far is your place from here?” I ask her.
I’m in luck. It’s maybe a fifteen minute drive, round trip. Maren points to a little bar across the street.
“I’m going to go in there and order a martini. I’ve never had one before, and I always wanted to try one. I’ll just sip on my martini until you get back,” she says, her eyes shining with mischief.
“Damn, that’s sexy. Make it a dirty martini,” I suggest, loving how she giggles. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
I’m true to my word. I drive Mr. Walshe home, walk him to his place, bid him good night, and race back to my car, careful to keep enough under the speed limit that I won’t get pulled over. I park outside the bar, head in, and see Maren sitting on the stool, her sexy legs crossed, one swinging back and forth seductively.
She’s sipping a martini with her nose scrunched up a little.
“Excuse me, ma’am, is this seat taken?” I ask.
Damn, I love the way her face glows when she sees me.
“Cohen! Did it all go okay?”
“Fine,” I say, watching as she drains her drink way too quickly. “You in a hurry to get somewhere?”
“Yeah,” she says softly, fishing the olive out of the glass with her delicate fingers and popping it into her mouth. “Your bed.”
Without another word, I help her off the stool and lead her into my car to begin the longest ten minute drive in the history of my life.
Every curve of the road I have to slow down for or residential reduced speed section makes me frustrated, but maybe it’s good to have something to focus my aggravation on. Because when I glance over at her, she looks so nervous, and so damn completely gorgeous …
I grip the steering wheel hard. Is this too fast? Too crazy? The wrong time?
I don’t know. I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.
I do know that I just gave her a big, bold speech on the usefulness of mistakes. And I hope with everything in me that the two of us, and what we’re about to do, will never wind up labeled a mistake by her.
I know I could never think of it that way.
Things with Maren were supposed to stay neat. We both like things in their own little compartments. But I can’t promise that anymore.
In fact, I can pretty much guarantee the opposite.
But she scrambles out of the car before I can open the door, and she’s already kicked off her shoes by the time I catch up. She runs the bottom of her foot over the sandy step of my front porch, watching the key slide into the lock with an intensity that makes my hand shake.
We don’t say a word as we make our way into the house, Maren ahead of me. I shut the door and she turns, her eyes fixed. On me.
I try to get a handle on my body, suddenly shaky and unsure.
She puts her hands at her hips and grabs fistfuls of fabric on either side of her skirt. It inches up, exposing more and more leg, and I’m so focused on every revealed bit of her. I’m blindsided by the way she drags it over her head and drops it on the floor.
The bra is a little bit of scrappy purple lace. Her thong matches. Her finger is crooked.
At me.
There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m not going to follow.
She paces backward as I walk her way, stopping when she hits the steps.
It’s been ten seconds, a half-dozen steps, but my body reacts like I’m an hour into the world’s sexiest striptease.
Like she can hear my thoughts, she turns her back to me and presses down one bra strap, then the other, and pulls her arms out, one hand moving to the clasp in the back.
I lock my breath in my lungs and wait for the fall. It’s excruciatingly slow, like that lace is clinging to her skin the way I want my hands and lips to be. Then the tiny bit of fabric is floating to the stairs, and Maren backs up, climbing with careful steps.
“Do you want me?” she asks, her voice husky, her dark pink lips trembling.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” I make sure my words are clear, that I say it so she’ll have no doubt whatsoever.
Her thumbs hook in the waistband of her thong, and she slides it down an inch, then pulls it back up, down and up, her fingers playful against her own skin.
I pull my shirt over my head, kick off my shoes, and unbutton my pants. I half think she’ll stop or get spooked, but her hands run up from her waist, lingering under the swell of each of her perfect tits. She brushes her thumbs over her nipples, and they stand at attention, ready.
So am I. Holy fuck, I’m so damn ready.
I tug down on my fly and step up two steps. She’s higher than I am. My mouth is level with her nipples, and I make use of that particular vantage point, catching one lightly between my teeth and sucking in with firm pressure, licking at it until she grips the bannister and her head drops back. I switch to her other side and let my hands run over the soft fabric of her thong, my fingers dipping in under this last shred of lace that barely covers anything and pulling back out before I go too far.
Maren leans forward and down, pressing my face against the soft, sweet swell of her tits. Her hands grab at the waist of my pants and push so hard my boxer briefs go down with them. She braces her hands on my shoulders and looks over my head and down my back, where my ass is half exposed by my falling clothes.
She pushes my face away and steps down, crouching on the step I’m on, her face eye level with my dick, which is still held back by the thin cotton of my half-on boxers. And then, with one more yank, I can step out of everything and appreciate the way her lips barely brush the skin of my upper thighs and my eager, over-stimulated dick.
“Wow.” She eyes it and lifts a brow.
I’m so hot I wouldn’t doubt it if my face was bright red.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she says softly, cupping the tip in her palm, her fingers brushing along the shaft with slow, steady motion.
I reach down and pull her up to eye level. “I’m never embarrassed with you, Maren. I’ve never been so comfortable with anyone. Never. I feel like… I’ve known I wanted you since the day we met.”
Before she can respond to everything I’m saying, I scoop her and hold her tight to my chest. She lets out a little gasp, then rings her arms around my neck and grabs onto me. I walk to my room, the same room I followed her into before we made love for the first time.
This time I barge in with her in my arms, and she giggles as I set her down on the bed.
“This place looks familiar,” she says with an impish smile, falling back on the blankets, her dark hair spread around her, her arms at her sides. She rubs them over the covers, palms down, like she’s making a snow angel on my sheets.
I watch her snuggle and roll on my bed like it’s hers, and I feel a kind of crazy-possessive happiness well up in me. I don’t get to ogle for long, though. Maren suddenly stops and looks up at me, shakes her head, and clucks her tongue.
“I don’t want you all the way over there,” she says and rolls to the side, patting the bed. “I want you here.”
I’m not an idiot. I’m on that bed so fast it makes Maren giggle again.
“You’re pretty eager, huh?” She reaches one finger out and draws it across my left shoulder, my chest, my right shoulder.
It’s barely even any contact, but we’re both breathing hard when her finger completes its trek.
“Eager like you wouldn’t believe.” I roll her under me, my h
ands quick and sure on her skin, bringing out her moans and making her pull her knees up and spread them wide, inviting more touching, deeper.
I tear the last little piece of fabric off her, then bunch it up and toss it aside. She rolls onto her back and I straddle her, gripping her hips on either side and relaxing my hold so I can push the flat of my palm up her body. She arches into me as my fingers climb, finally tangling in her hair, the hard length of my dick pushed in the apex of her thighs, my face low over hers.
Her mouth reaches up for mine, and I pull back just to relish one more second of seeing her lips puckered toward me, hungry for me. When I skim my mouth over hers, she lets me know she’s done being teased by nipping at me and turning her face away.
I thread my hands deeper into her hair, netting her close to me, and holding her still with gentle pressure so I can finally kiss her mouth again as long and deeply as I need to. She opens her lips and flicks her tongue into my mouth. I relax my weight on top of her, letting her eager hands pull at and reposition me until she’s comfortable.
But I don’t let my mouth leave hers again. Her tongue is a silky soft slide in my mouth, and I plunge deep to get every taste. She’s sweet and a tiny bit bitter in unexpected corners. I refuse to leave a single spot unexplored.
When I’m sure she’s not going to pull her mouth away again, I slide my fingers out of her hair and trace them down her arms, then pull her hands from their current position, cupping my ass, and thread our fingers tightly together. I press her hands up along her hips and ribs and shoulders and then over her head, forcing our bodies into two long lines pressed hard at every matched juncture, sliding heat against sliding heat, firm press to firm press, hard length against hot, wet depth.
Her skin is velvet under mine, but every single place it rubs against me shocks through my body like an electric jolt.
And there’s so much touching. It’s soft and shocking at the same time, a sweet torture I never want to end.
I kiss down her mouth and along the line of her neck, loving the strain of her hands against mine and the wild buck of her hips, pressing me so close, but not nearly where I need to be.
