by Lexi Scott
I kiss down, tugging her hands with me. She lets out little mewls and groans of protest any time my mouth leaves her skin, switching to sighs and moans when I suck her nipples in with frantic pressure, lick her skin in a long line down her body, and finally wind up at the place that’s wet and ready.
Her arms are stretched down, and she tugs for me to loosen my hold, but I pull back so she’s sitting up, at first all the way, then back on her elbows. I let go of her hands, but hold up a warning finger to let her know I’ll trap her again if she doesn’t listen.
“Spread your legs,” I tell her.
She closes her knees instead and asks, “Why?”
I put a hand on either knee and test them open with gentle pressure. “It’s your birthday. Spread your legs so I can lick you into a happy one.”
“It’s already a happy one,” she protests, closing tight against my hands.
I pry her knees open again. “You think so because I haven’t stuck my tongue in you. Yet. Now trust me. And. Spread. Your. Legs. Please.”
She wiggles up and lets her knees fall open, biting her lip and pressing her eyes closed as she does. I slide my tongue in a long, wet lap that shakes an instant moan from her.
I pull back and spread her folds with my fingers, letting my index, then my middle finger dip into her slick, tight depths. “That’s it. Let me touch your pussy. Let me lick you. I want to hear you moan. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” she gasps, and I tip my head back down, licking with quick, short flicks that have her pumping her hips and pressing toward me. “Please, Cohen, please.”
I suck against the wet bud of her clit, and the long pull of her moan lets me know I’m doing something right. I lick again, tasting the salty sweet of her, using my fingers to set up a rhythm deep in her, and every once in a while I pull back to tell her to moan for me or ask for something I know she wants. Maren is more than willing, and I love the way her back arches against my mouth.
“Tell me where to lick it,” I tell her.
“Here.” Her hand slides down, and her fingers press against the spot where she wants my mouth. I follow, my tongue tracing over her fingers as I focus on the sweetest center of her. “Faster,” she gasps.
I slow down.
She laughs.
“Jerk.” She runs her fingers through my hair and presses at the back of my head with her hand, getting bolder when she feels my moan against her skin. “Faster. Faster, now.”
I listen to her, even though I’m barely holding on to my sanity by taking things nice and slow. I flick my tongue, and she pumps her hips. My fingers press and pull against her, until, just when I’m positive I can’t stand it a second longer, she shudders against me, pulling up on the back of my head with her hands, clamping her thighs tight to the sides of my face.
“Cohen! Holy shit, Cohen!” she cries, running her hands up and down over her body before she falls back on the bed, limbs spread in a lazy jumble. “Cohen?”
I army crawl up the length of rumpled covers to get closer to her. “Good?”
She turns her body tight to mine and crushes her arms around me. “A-freaking-mazing.”
“Happy birthday,” I say, nuzzling her neck.
Chapter Nineteen
COHEN
“That’s not it, is it?” she asks eagerly, pressing her sweat-damp hair back off her face.
I can tell from the way her skin glows that her body is humming, her blood singing just like mine is. The way we touched each other, the dirty things we said, the way we couldn’t rip our eyes away from each other leaves me feeling energized. Damn, she’s sexy as hell.
And I’m not remotely ready for this to end.
I shake my head, my fingers trailing up and down her body lazily. “Nope. But you have to let me rest for a second.”
“Hmm.” She gets up on her knees, and I love the feel of having her straddle me, all gorgeous, sexy Maren, all mine. “I’m not really into the idea of you resting.”
She swings one leg over my hips and sits across my thighs, straddling me, then reaches over to the bedside table and opens first the top, then the bottom side table drawer, determined not to end her search until she finds what she’s looking for. It only takes two seconds for her to find what she needs and pop back up, triumphant, with a condom in hand. She rolls it over my cock, her admiring eyes making me go rock hard in an instant.
Yeah, my eyes definitely might have rolled back in my head a little. I love the sexy and sweet sound of her laugh.
I reach my hands up her body and run them over her thighs, making goose bumps prickle up and down her legs.
“It’s your birthday,” I point out¸ like she didn’t know.
“And I love being on top.” She squirms a little, I swear just to make me moan, and the laughter bubbles out of her throat when I do. “If you want to switch when you get your strength back, I’ll consider it.”
And that’s where our conversation stops. Because she presses up on her knees, takes my cock in her hand, and slides down over me in one tight, slick press of her body over mine.
“M-m-Maren,” I stutter like an idiot, and she grins, proud of herself. Damn, she should be. One second in, and her sex is making me stutter.
She puts a hand to her lips like she’s afraid she’s going to get loud and crazy fast. I should tell her she can get as loud and crazy as she wants, but the things she’s doing to my body pretty much destroy my ability to think, let alone speak. She rocks her hips back and forth like she’s testing the best position, pulls back up slowly, then presses down, repeating the whole crazy, sweet, wet motion that obliterates my breath and voice and mind.
There’s nothing but the perfect, slick stretch of her around my cock and the rhythm that starts out manageable, then spirals into a quick, intense frenzy.
She’s panting and I fist both hands into the sheets, gritting my teeth in an effort to keep some semblance of control.
But she’s having none of it. It’s like she figures if she’s about to go over the damn cliff, I’m coming with her, no exceptions. I moan at how she slides over me, pumping harder, taking me with her.
“Your hands…” she gasps, rocking harder, spreading her legs wider. “Your hands…need to be…on me. Now!”
I let the sheets loose and half sit up, rubbing my too rough hands up her silky legs, around to her slim back, down to cup that fine ass, and attempt to slow the tempo. She holds back at first, but eventually lets me set the pace. I tilt her forward, and I feel her body working itself into the tight flex and pulse of a raging orgasm.
I’m more than glad to help her along. I slide my hand between our bodies, and my fingers press and rub on that wet, sensitive place where she’s starting to shake loose.
“Come for me,” I say, kissing her sexy little mouth when it bumps up or down near my face.
She can’t keep her rhythm. Good. I want her to let go. I want her to focus on the way my hands and cock feel on her and in her. I want her to feel her come on me. In fact, every cell in my damn body is driving toward that one explosive goal, and I’ll be damned if I deviate from that for a single second.
She adjusts once, then again, and I can tell she’s trying to hit that exact place she needs to, and I can feel her frustration as she loses momentum. I roll her under my body, and she wraps her arms and legs around me tight when we lock eyes.
“Do you want me?” I demand.
“Yes,” she whispers, nodding.
“All of me?”
“Yes.” It’s a whimper now.
“Tell me.”
“I… I want you. I want all of you,” she says, catching her bottom lip between her teeth again.
I pull back, then press into her as deep as I can, rocking in and out, watching her face for the second it all connects, like the click of a key in a lock.
“Mmmm.”
I wonder what she’s thinking, what sweet and nasty things are going through that pretty head. I want her to tell me every dirty, sexy secre
t, but her panting is hot enough for now. She covered my mouth before, but now she’s on the edge of something wild. I slide in and out of her, closing my eyes when she starts to moan. I feel her get even slicker, even tighter.
“Come for me, Maren,” I whisper.
“I want…I want to…Cohen…”
“That’s it,” I grit out, pumping into her harder, watching her eyes fly wide open and her head tilt back.
She claws at me like she’s desperate to hold on, and I tighten my arms around her. That’s where it starts. Her orgasm builds from somewhere deep and crashes over both of us like a tsunami, making her buck from shoulders to hips, making her voice tear from her throat in a gibberish of raspy syllables that end with my name.
“Cohen! Cohen!”
Her mouth is making the most gorgeous sounds, and I don’t think I can hold on for another second, not with her body shuddering under me, not with the way she moans my name and scratches her fingernails down my back. I feel like she’s dragging me in and letting me see the wild side of her.
I fucking love it.
I jerk in and out, bury my head in the crook of her neck and shoulder, and let out a long, shuddering moan of total contentment.
“Maren,” I grit out. My shoulders lock and my back stiffens as I drive deep into her and then go slack.
For a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing and the damp smell of sweat tinged with the sharp scent of latex. I can hear the crash of the waves outside, and that sound fuses with the rush and the thud of our hearts.
She twists against me, her hair tangled around my arm, smudges of her lipstick on my shoulders and chest, her fingers locked around mine. I let go of her hand for a second to roll over and take off the condom. It breaks my heart the way she looks at me like she’s afraid I’m just going to get up and walk away. I love the way she squeals when I reach an arm out to drag her close.
“Get over here, birthday girl. When you blew out your candles, did you wish to strike a man dead with pure sexiness? Because you almost achieved that.”
She nuzzles my neck, making my vision blur when she starts kissing it and moving lower. “I would definitely not want you dead. Maybe maimed, but only so that I could keep you locked away to use as my sex slave.”
I press her hair back off her face and rub my thumbs in circles over the curves of her ears. “How did this happen? How the hell did I get lucky enough to convince you to get into my bed?”
“You actually weren’t all that convincing.” She kisses the tip of my nose, and I catch her biting back a sigh when my hands bump down over her shoulder blades and back to cup her perfect ass, squeezing appreciatively. “I was just super horny.”
“Should I feel used?” I drag my fingers up and down her back lightly, loving the way her body shivers at my touch.
“Well, I guess so. I did use you, after all.” She drops her mouth to my shoulder and blows a raspberry, making me bust out in a laugh. It’s cool how we can go from hot sex to goofing around without any hiccups.
“Do you promise to use me again?” I ask her, hoping we’re not going to get caught in a pattern of getting close and pulling away, one step forward, two back.
“I promise,” she says, all solemn. She reaches a hand up and brushes my hair off my forehead. I love the way she’s kind of grooming me—like I belong to her. Like she wants to claim me as her own. That’s sexy as all hell. “But maybe not until later. I have to go check on my dad soon.”
I bite back a sigh, and, for one second, I consider letting this go. Why not bask in the glory of our hot, incredible sex?
Because if I want this to be more than a booty call—and I do—I need to let her know I’m not just around for the fun and good times. I’m here to help her deal with heavier shit, too.
“Maren? I know you hate talking about your dad and your family in general, but maybe we need to talk about them a little.”
The words are barely out of my mouth, and she’s already tensed up, like her muscles have gone from jelly to stone. I have this crazy rush of panic, sure she’s going to get up and leave. But she lays her head back on my chest. And then I feel her body relaxing, like she’s willing herself to stick it out, even if it’s uncomfortable for her. Even if it hurts. I run my hand over her hair, relieved when she nestles closer.
“I hate it because it’s not fixed,” she finally says in a whisper. “And it never will be. Not completely.”
“Fixed?” Her ear is pressed right over my heart. I wonder if she notices how hard it’s beating right now. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m not crazy,” she insists, avoiding any eye contact. Instead, she fixates on my left nipple. “I know we’ll never be a real family again, and that kills me, it really does.” Her fingers trace swirls on the skin of my pecs and shoulders, and her voice goes all dreamy. “Mom and Rowan never forgave Dad for falling apart and not even trying. I think, in a way, they made peace with the fact that it was over for good a long time ago, way before I did. It’s like I couldn’t take off the rose-colored glasses and admit life was going to suck.”
“That’s a good thing,” I tell her. “That’s called optimism.”
“Or delusion,” she says, a wry smile flickering over her lips. “We grew apart, and I blame them, but it was my fault, too. They moved on, and I stayed stuck. I miss them so much, and I know they love me and all… But they gave up on Dad, and I can’t do that. I’ve given up on us being a family again in any real way, but I can’t believe my father is just going to keep screwing up.” Her voice catches.
I brush my fingers through her hair, untangling the knots our crazy sex made as gently as I can, and try to say what I need to say to her with equal gentleness.
“You have an amazing heart, Maren. And I’d never tell you to stop believing in your dad. People turn their lives around every single day, right? But it’s got to come from him. No matter how much you want it to happen, it’s got to be from your dad.”
“I know that,” she says in a rush, sitting up on her elbow. Her eyes are the saddest mixture of eager and fearful I’ve ever seen. “I do. Seriously. But he does want to, that’s the thing. Sometimes, when he’s making music or remembering the good times, I see the old him. He’s right there. You don’t understand how depressed he is. How pissed he is at himself.”
“I definitely believe he’s depressed.” I pause, figuring it’s better to slow down and not say anything that will make me come off as an insensitive douchebag. She loves this guy. Still, she needs to hear the truth, and I realize it might not be what she wants to hear. “But depression… That’s, like, a thing that needs to be dealt with, Maren. Professionally. And if you’re around him all the time, it’s going to start pulling you down. Don’t get upset, but it kind of has already, right?”
She pushes off me and yanks the sheet up to cover her nakedness, gearing up to argue on his behalf. I didn’t talk to Mr. Walshe much on the trip to the apartments, and I was trying damn hard not to judge the guy. He didn’t seem like much more than an overweight, unkempt bum, but the way Maren leaps to his defense makes me wonder what I’m missing.
It also makes me hate him a little. For not realizing how lucky he is to have a daughter so loyal and loving, so willing to fight for him no matter how many times he lets her down.
“I’m so young, Cohen. I can go back to school anytime. He needs help now. And if I don’t stop and help him, I’m scared…” I can tell the words are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t want to say them. Finally, she manages to get them out, one at a time, in a slow, unsteady rhythm. “I’m scared he’ll die, Cohen. And I’m not being a drama queen. I’m afraid he’ll have a heart attack or puke in his sleep and choke on it. So I check on him and make sure he’s okay, the same way he did for me when I was growing up.”
She looks at me, those sky blue eyes brimming with tears, and it wrecks me. Rips my heart out and makes me want to figure this all out for her.
“I get it.
I do.”
I stop. She drops her gaze
“But?” she presses.
“But what?” I hook my fingers around hers and pull her down close to me again, treading carefully. The last thing I want is to drive her away, make her feel like I’m asking her to walk away from her father when he’s in such rough shape. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t.”
But you’re giving up your life to keep his going. But you’re the most amazing person I know, and you deserve better. But I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue, because you’re too loyal to put yourself first.
She curls over on her side and presses her face into the sheet. “I know how pathetic it must seem. I know how bad he is, but that’s the whole point. He’s my father, and I love him. I’m the only person who hasn’t given up on him, and if I walk away, there is no doubt in my mind he’ll give up entirely. I can’t have his death on my conscience. I thought… I guess I just thought you’d be more understanding, since your family is so important to you.”
She looks so disappointed in me, and I can’t stand that.
I roll over so she’s trapped under me, my arms on either side of her, and I look into her eyes. “Hey, I get family. I get they can be a pain in the ass. And sometimes you need to give more than you really want to. But no father can expect his daughter to just give up everything and care for him when he’s perfectly capable of caring for himself.”
She turns away from me. “Right, but he’s not capable, Cohen.”
“Maybe…” I hesitate, then push on. “Maybe you make it easy for him. Maybe he’d be more capable if he knew he didn’t have you to fall back on every time.”
“I know,” she says, swallowing hard. “I hear you. The thing is, say I test this theory and my father dies? Say I leave, and Murdock moves in? Say he winds up in big trouble, legally? As long as I’m there, I have some control. If I leave, he could get into something I can’t fix. I can’t take that risk. I can’t be that selfish.”
“There’s such a thing as not being selfish enough, Maren. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but your dad is being super selfish. He’s not thinking about you at all.”
