Some Sort of Happy

by Melanie Harlow

“Fuck yes, I do.” Panting, I braced myself on my elbows, watching as he stepped off the bed and got completely naked. Moonlight dusted his shoulders and hair, outlining the powerful masculine lines of his body. The front of him was in shadow, but I could make out the serious expression, the flat hard stomach, the fully erect cock. It stood out from his body as he came toward me, and I nearly lunged for it, mouth open.

  He knelt on the bed again, legs apart, and took himself in his fist. Slowly he began working his hand up and down its thick, hard length. I was breathing hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “God. I could watch you all day.”

  “I can still taste you.” His voice was low and gravelly. “You’re on my tongue, like honey.”

  “Oh, God.” Desire ignited again inside me. I sat all the way up, knees wide, one hand moving between my legs. “I’m so wet. You’ve got me dripping.”

  “Yes,” he hissed, his jaw clenched. His hand moved faster. “Drip all over your fingers. Let me watch.”

  Without tearing my eyes from his body, I rubbed my clit in hard, steady circles, widening my knees and arching my back. The second orgasm built even quicker than the first, gathering momentum inside a minute. “Christ,” I whispered, working my fingers faster, watching the muscles in Sebastian’s abs and forearm and shoulder flex. “You’re going to make me come again. And you’re not even touching me.”

  A few seconds later his body was sprawled over mine, his cock pushing easily inside my slick wet center. “I can’t take it, you’re too beautiful,” he whispered, driving deep. “And I’ve thought of this so many times—I can’t have you in my bed and not be inside you.”

  “I want you inside me.” I clawed his back, his arms, his ass, digging my fingers into his flesh, pulling him closer. “You feel so good there.” And he did—so good I was starting to panic this was the best sex I’d ever have and I’d never feel this way again. What if this was a one-time deal? What if tomorrow the voice in his head told him he’d smother me in my sleep if I stayed the night? He reached behind me, tilting my hips up so he could rub the hard base of his cock against my clit as he rocked into me. I was both amazed and terrified by his skill, by his size, by the way he knew exactly what I needed to feel. Deep inside me, something began to tighten.

  Too deep.

  That deep.

  Oh Jesus. Oh no.

  Please, please don’t let Sebastian Pryce own the one cock that can reach The Spot.

  But he did. The tip of Sebastian’s cock was hitting The Spot, territory uncharted, unknown, unreachable by all prior cock owners who’d attempted to scale the surrounding heights.

  This couldn’t be.

  No! No! No!

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I breathed against his neck, my entire lower body seizing up, my nails clawing at his skin. Fucking hell, Sebastian…you’re so amazing and generous and hard and deep and fuck—“Oh God, you’re perfect. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

  “Never,” he growled, thrusting faster and tighter to me. “Come again for me, let me feel you.”

  My second climax hit me hard, and I dropped my head to the side, mouth open, gasping as my core muscles tightened around him, again and again and again.

  He came before my orgasm had even ended, throbbing long and deep inside me, his body going plank stiff above me. My hands felt the muscles in his ass flexing, causing a fresh wave of contractions in my lower body, and I rode them out on a long, blissful sigh.

  Perfection.

  Perfection.

  Every moment.

  From the front seat of my truck (who’d have guessed Skylar Nixon had a dirty mouth?) to the hammock (her hair pouring like liquid gold through my fingers) to my bedroom (better than any fantasy I’d ever had about her, and certainly better than any reality I’d ever experienced), every single second with Skylar had been perfect.

  I’d been able to stay in the moment ever since she’d agreed to come home with me, so focused on her that there was no room in my mind for anything else. It was enough to make me utter those two little words to myself, the scariest two words I knew…What if? Only this time, the words didn’t frighten me because I was anxious about causing harm—the question wasn’t What if I hurt her? The question was What if I could make her happy?

  And that was fucking terrifying.

  How had she done it? I lay atop her now, our bodies still connected, our breathing still synced, our skin still slick, and wondered what spell had she cast to make me think after just two days that she could be mine and I could be hers and we could have this little place in the woods on the water where no one would bother us? Where we would love each other and explore each other and hurt each other and forgive each other and find grace in one another’s bodies and souls? Surely there had to be something enchanted about tonight—some sort of witchcraft that was bound to fade and break once the sun came up.

  Because I knew better than anyone that this feeling never lasts, not for people like me. It’s an illusion that makes you feel good for a time, but it makes the fall that much worse when you realize it was only a tease. See what it could be like? See what you can’t have?

  Skylar shifted beneath me, and reluctantly I rolled off her, stretching out on my back, hands behind my head. I locked my fingers together, refusing to let myself touch her the way I wanted to. Expecting her to get out of bed, I was surprised when she turned toward me and laid her cheek on my arm. I wanted nothing more than to hold her, but I couldn’t—I had to steel myself for the inevitable crash that was coming after such a high. I closed my eyes, inhaled and exhaled, desperately trying not to think about how hurt she was going to be when I pushed her away again.

  She lay next to me for a minute before nudging my side. “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  That I wish tonight would last forever. That I knew how to love someone without disappointing her. That I believed in happily ever after. “Nothing. I’m tired.” Her disappointed “oh” softened my heart, but I willed iron into it. “I should take you back.”

  Slowly, she sat straight up. Looked at me in disbelief. “That’s it?”

  “What’s it?” Like I didn’t know.

  “That’s it for tonight? I don’t want to leave you, come home with me, I’m so glad you’re here…and after everything we did tonight, all you can say is I should take you back?” She threw my words back at me.

  “Yeah. I guess so.” I shifted uncomfortably. “You were expecting something else?”

  “Oh my God. Whatever. Fine.” She got off the bed and scooped her panties off the floor, stepping into them before throwing her dress over her head. The silhouette of her curvy breasts and hips against the window made my jaw clench. “Your sheets are a mess,” she said, fluffing that cloud-of-gossamer hair I loved. “Do you have a spare set to sleep on?”

  “I have seven spare sets.”

  She stopped moving and looked at me. “You have eight sets of sheets?” Then she threw her hands up. “What am I thinking? Of course you do. Do you want help stripping the bed?”

  “No.” Did she think I didn’t want to sleep with her honey-and-almond scent next to my skin? I knew it was my soap she’d used but damn if it had ever smelled that good on me.

  “OK then. I’ll meet you in the car.” She went for the ladder and started down.

  Fuck. FUCK.

  “Skylar, wait.” I sat up, dragged a hand over my hair. “Don’t go.”

  “Too late, asshole.” She continued down the ladder and I heard her jump to the floor.

  “Fuck!” I thumped a fist into the mattress, hard. Then I did it again, and again. I knew I shouldn’t take my frustration with myself out on her, but if I didn’t harden my heart against the what ifs, they’d drag me under. She’d drag me under. I’d be fooled again into thinking I was capable of being the person a woman like her deserved, of loving her the way she needed to be loved. And I knew—I knew—I wasn’t.

  So fuck the big, sad ending. I could
stop this bleeding at the source, and I would.

  Angry and sad, I threw my clothes on and jogged out to the truck, where she was already waiting in the passenger seat, legs tight together, arms crossed. I knew she was really mad because it was the first time she was totally silent for more than five minutes. We were almost to her parents’ place when finally she broke down.

  “I’m sorry,” she said shortly, her tone cold.

  I glanced at her, but her pose hadn’t changed. “What are you sorry about?”

  “For thinking I could do this. It’s too frustrating. You’re too frustrating. You’re hot and cold too fast.”

  I pressed my lips together. Stared straight ahead.

  “This is what I mean!” She glared at me but I kept my eyes on the road. “If you’d just tell me what’s going on in your head, maybe I could help!” she snapped.

  God, she was so maddening—how could I explain that I had to keep her at a distance for both our sakes?

  “You told me earlier today that you wanted to let me in. To give you time to let me in.” Her voice had softened a little. “And I wanted to. I was willing to. It was you who asked for more tonight.”

  She was right. I felt some of my hardness crumbling, and I fought back. “Look, this is me. This is what I do. And if it’s too frustrating for you, then it’s better to end this now.”

  “End what? We never started.” She looked away from me again.

  A few minutes later, I pulled in her parents’ driveway. She had her hand on the door handle before I even put the truck in park.

  “If you just wanted the lay, Sebastian, you could have said so,” she said bitterly. “You’re a great fuck.”

  Then she jumped out, slammed the door and marched angrily over to her little house. When she disappeared inside without even pulling out a key, I realized she hadn’t even locked it tonight. Damn it, Skylar! You should lock your doors! The ferocious need to protect her growled and bit at me beneath my skin, and I thumped the steering wheel hard twice, fighting the urge to go make sure it was secure now.

  The urge won. Furious, I strode to her door and tried the handle. Locked.

  “Fuck you!” I heard her cry from inside. “Go away!”

  Back in the truck, I threw it in reverse and tore out of there, tires spinning.

  • • •

  When I got home, it was after midnight. I went straight up to the loft, where her scent still lingered. After undressing, I lay on my stomach atop the sheets where she’d offered herself up to me, no questions asked. I closed my eyes and she appeared…sultry and brazen as she straddled me in the truck, shivering and sweet as she lay with me in the hammock, hotter than fuck sprawled under me in my bed.

  Hurt and angry on the ride home.

  Groaning, I punched the pillow twice and flipped over onto my back, staring at the sloping ceiling as my thoughts turned resentful.

  Did she really think I’d used her just for sex? How could she, when I’d confessed to her how I used to feel about her ten years ago? When I’d told her today I wanted to let her in but needed time? Did she think I hadn’t meant the things I’d said?

  It was just like a woman to say she understood about needing to give a guy time and then demand to know his feelings at every turn. What the fuck did she expect from me? I’d told her before things even got physical with us that I was bad at relationships and not interested in one. What else was there to tell her? If she didn’t want to hang out anymore, fine. Good. I didn’t need her. I didn’t need anyone. Better to be alone than a constant disappointment to someone.

  At least she thought I was a great fuck.

  “Wow. You look kind of rough. Late night?” Natalie’s brows lifted suggestively.

  “Sort of.” Listlessly, I stacked coffee cups behind the counter. I’d hardly slept, and I was so tired when my alarm went off I’d nearly called in sick.

  “Did you have fun?” Natalie prompted, loading muffins into the display case.

  “Yes.” I sighed. “And then no. I need coffee.”

  “Help yourself.” She nodded toward the pot. “Why no?”

  As we went through the morning routine, I filled her in on what I’d learned about Sebastian over the last couple days—his OCD, his fear of harming people, his past, his cabin, his family, his aversion to relationships, his former crush on me…everything I knew. I even told her about snooping in his notebook.

  She gasped. “What? That’s awful! I can’t believe you did that!”

  I grimaced. “I know. I shouldn’t have. But I was so curious about him, and he wouldn’t talk to me! He still won’t.”

  She looked confused. “What do you mean? You just told me a crap ton of info about him. Didn’t he tell you all that?”

  My chin slid forward. “Well, yeah, he tells me that kind of stuff. But he doesn’t—” I stopped. He did talk to me, it wasn’t that so much. “OK, it’s not that he won’t talk, it’s that he will, and he says these sweet, crazy things, and then stuff happens, and he freaks out and turns into an asshole. He’s too hot and cold.”

  “What kind of stuff happens?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting.

  I sighed. Of course she focused on that part. “Sex stuff.”

  She gasped. “You had sex?”

  “Yeah. And it was amazing,” I said sadly. “Best I’ve ever had.”

  “Wow.” The first customers were starting to arrive, so we had to get to work, but we agreed to go for a drink that night to talk, and I texted Jillian to join us too.

  All morning and afternoon, I mulled over what had happened, and by the time we closed the shop I had to admit there’d been a lot more good moments than bad last night. Had I jumped down his throat too quickly? All he’d done was suggest driving me home.

  But no. No.

  I could tell that something was different with him after that last time in his room. I didn’t really think he’d used me for sex—I’d only said that to hurt him. But something had happened to make him close off by the end of the night. The guy who’d driven me home was not the same guy I’d lain in the hammock with.

  So who was it? And how could I get the other one back?

  • • •

  After we closed, I went home and took a long nap. When I woke up, I felt more rested but had no better understanding of Sebastian’s motives for shutting me out. Maybe my sisters would have some insight.

  We met at Trattoria Stella at seven and sat at the bar, Jillian flanking me on one side and Nat on the other.

  “So what’s new?” Jillian shrugged out of her jacket. She looked professional and mature in her dress trousers, pumps, and sleeveless silk blouse, and I immediately felt childish next to her in my ripped jeans and sandals.

  Quit being stupid. It’s not about clothing.

  “Skylar had amazing sex last night,” Natalie announced breathlessly, leaning forward with her elbows on the bar. “And she’s gonna tell us about it.”

  “Amazing sex. What’s that like?” Jillian asked wistfully, picking up the wine list.

  “I wouldn’t know either,” Natalie replied.

  “Why?” I looked at her. “The text messages?”

  Natalie shrugged, her mouth in a grim line. “He says those are nothing. We’re just in a dry spell, I guess.”

  “Everything seemed fine at dinner last night,” Jillian offered, “and speaking of dinner.” She elbowed me. “I take it the amazing sex was with Sebastian, the guy you brought to Mom and Dad’s?”

  I nodded glumly.

  “You don’t look too happy about it.” Jillian tilted her head. “What’s up?”

  We ordered wine and some appetizers, and while we nibbled and sipped, I spilled to Jillian the story I’d told Natalie this afternoon.

  “OCD is really rough. I’ve got a few patients with it.” Jillian swirled the last ounce of chardonnay in her glass. “And you’re never really cured of it.”

  “I know. He said the same.” I took a bite of calamari and didn’t even taste it. “But
is it the OCD that’s making him so moody? One second he’s sweet and talkative and laughing, and the next he’s a total dickhead.”

  Jilly shrugged. “It could be. Obsessive impulses can pop up at any time or they can be there all the time. If he’s struggling with something in his head, he might not be able to just ignore it and keep up the chatter. Maybe going silent is one of his strategies for dealing with the thoughts instead of trying to bury or avoid them.”

  “Yeah.” I set my fork down, feeling full although I’d barely eaten. “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “Did he say anything about the fiancée?” Natalie asked.

  “Not much.” I didn’t feel like blabbing the details he’d told me about their breakup—in fact, I felt strangely protective of them.

  “Maybe he’s not over her?” Jillian suggested.

  “No, I don’t think it’s that.” Suddenly I just wanted to go home and get back in my bed.

  “Maybe he’ll call you to say sorry,” Natalie said, her blue eyes wide and sympathetic.

  “He doesn’t even have my number. And he already said sorry.” My throat felt tight, which made me angry. Why should I cry over him? “He just didn’t say anything else.”

  “Well, what did you want him to say?” Jillian looked at me like I was a little crazy. “It was pretty much your first date, wasn’t it? Maybe you’re expecting too much.”

  “Just forget it,” I snapped. “It obviously didn’t mean anything.” I felt bad that I was being so prickly when my sisters were only trying to help, but I was getting more depressed by the minute. Without the fun distraction of Sebastian on the horizon, I was right back where I started.

  The day after I slept with Skylar, I had an appointment with Ken, which I wasn’t looking forward to. In fact, I nearly canceled it, but then I remembered how easy it was to backslide and justify when I got this way. I’d avoided therapy in the past because of something I didn’t want to face, but that had only made it—and everything else in my life—worse.

  So after a hike at Old Mission Point Park and a quick session at the gym, I showered, dressed, and went to his office.