Breaking the Seventh

by Allie Gail

  “I have my moments.”

  “So do I. And if you really must know, I had quite the moment last night.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Twice, actually.”

  “You don’t say.” I continue massaging her thigh, letting my index finger run along the perimeter of her bikini bottom. Almost, almost sliding underneath the fabric. Close, but not quite. “Something in particular get you all hot and bothered?”

  The look she gives me is one of dewy-eyed innocence. “No more than usual. I hitchhike to heaven, as you put it, on a pretty regular basis.”

  I am never going to make it to Pensacola on time.

  “Dealing with a little sexual frustration, are we?” I may as well include myself in this. After all, the thought of what she would look like in the throes of a self-imposed orgasm is bringing about the most agonizing case of blue balls I’ve ever experienced.

  Unable to resist, I allow my errant hand to test her boundaries a little further.

  Wandering just beneath the edge of her swimsuit, I brush a fingertip lightly against the soft, delicate folds hidden beneath. Her breath hitches, eyelashes fluttering for the briefest of moments. It’s probably a good thing I’m wearing constrictive jeans – otherwise I’d be pitching one hell of an impressive tent right about now.

  “You tell me. I’m not the one with the raging boner, am I?” Her gaze drops to the obvious bulge in my pants before sweeping back up to eye me with a smirk.

  “Maybe not…” Leaning in closer to her, I lower my voice to a whisper. “…but I’d bet the whole fucking farm that if I moved my fingers just a fraction of an inch, they’d find one very wet and willing feline.”

  Smiling sweetly, she whispers back, “As far as I know, you don’t own a farm. So if you want to keep those fingers attached to your hand, then I would suggest you take them out of my bathing suit right now, Mr. Bellamy.”

  Laughing, I obediently withdraw and fold my arms across my knees. I have to admit I’m disappointed, but hardly surprised. What does surprise me is that she hasn’t already clocked me over the head. The way I’ve been coming on to her, a fist to the face would be well deserved.

  Something about this zany, unpredictable girl just seems to brings out the deviant side of me.

  Plus…well, let’s face it. Leah may be a nut case, but she’s a scorching hot nut case.

  “So what I’m getting here is that you’re more of a do-it-yourselfer,” I continue, unable to stop myself from provoking her.

  “Well, you know what they say.” She slides one leg up and rubs a small foot along the length of her calf. Back and forth, slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. That prosaic gesture is driving me crazy, and I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it. “If you want something done right–”

  “Call me,” I fill in the rest.

  One eyebrow arches skeptically. “Call you for what?”

  “If you ever need anything…done right.” Giving her a salacious wink, I pat her on the knee before reluctantly standing. I’m not in any hurry to leave. This is a lot like being sent out of the room during the best part of a movie.

  But unfortunately, I have other obligations.

  I link my hands behind my head and stretch lazily. “Well, it’s been nice chatting with you, but I have an appointment to keep and I’m gonna be late if I don’t get my ass in gear. I’ll talk to you later. You enjoy the rest of your afternoon. And please do keep my offer in mind.”

  “Where are you headed off to?”

  “Same place I go every Sunday,” I tell her cryptically. Let her think what she wants. Because she will be thinking about me – of this I’m certain.

  “And where is that?” she demands, curiosity evident in her voice.

  “If I told you then you’d know, wouldn’t you? Catch you later, sunshine.”

  Chapter Eight

  I feel pathetically like a stalker.

  All day long I managed to keep myself busy, but now that it’s nighttime and all the myriad distractions are out of the way, I’m doing exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t. The very thing I’ve been trying to avoid since he mentioned it.

  Searching online for someone named Embry who lives in Asheville, North Carolina.

  Why?

  That’s easy.

  Because my overzealous curiosity knows no bounds. Because I’m more insecure than I let on. Because I want to know what sort of woman Myles Bellamy is attracted to. Because I may have had one too many peach daiquiris over at Autumn’s house and I am not feeling all that inhibited at the moment.

  And because I seem to have developed a woeful crush on my hot new neighbor.

  The timing couldn’t be worse. Not only that, but he’s made it crystal clear that anything more than a quick fling is off the table.

  I don’t do quick flings.

  Not that I’m a virginal little prude, mind you, but contrary to popular belief I am not willing to hop into bed with any attractive face that comes along. Simply because I’ve gone out with a wide variety of guys, there are those who have the preconceived notion that I fit into the category of wild child. Nothing could be further from the truth. What they fail to comprehend is the reason why I’m a serial dater.

  It’s so I have a better chance of finding him. The One. My soulmate. The person who I know I’ll want to share my life with. He’s out there somewhere, the man who is meant for me. I just have to track him down.

  Wherever he is, I wish he’d hurry the hell up and get here already. I’m tired of wading through all the imposters. Prince Charming needs to swap the tired white horse for something turbocharged.

  In the meantime, my idle cyber stalking is paying off. The object of my curiosity wasn’t hard to find. There’s a Facebook account for an Embry Leighton in Asheville and I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure it must be the person I’m looking for. After all, how many females could there be in one town with that unique name?

  Then again, on closer inspection this girl isn’t at all what I expected. Her account is set to private so there’s only a profile picture to go by. Somehow it doesn’t seem to fit my interpretation of an embezzling femme fatale. Long, straight brown hair, bland olive-green turtleneck, very little in the way of makeup or jewelry. She’s pretty enough in a nondescript sort of way, but there is absolutely nothing flashy or ostentatious about her.

  So I don’t know. Maybe it’s her and maybe it isn’t. Why am I wasting my time with this, anyway? He isn’t with her anymore so who gives a flippity-doo-da what the woman looks like! This is stupid. I’m stupid. I need to stop thinking about Myles Bellamy.

  Instead, I decide it would be much more entertaining to text him. I have his number stored in my phone from when he called to complain about the loud music. How he got my number I haven’t a clue, but I’m not about to ask.

  Still pondering your offer.

  I send the message and then crank up some AC/DC before heading into the kitchen to fix myself a drink. Sweet liquid courage in the form of coconut rum and lemonade. I’m rather enjoying the buzz provided by Autumn’s daiquiris and I’d prefer that feeling not wear off just yet.

  His reply comes just as I’m draining the last drops from the glass.

  Offer still stands. Just say the word.

  Snickering to myself, I punch in WORD and then mix another drink, congratulating myself on my infinite cleverness.

  My heart skips a beat when I read the next message he sends.

  Give me 5 min.

  Ha! Umm…oh. Wait a minute here. Five minutes? Give him five minutes for what? Oh, shit! Did I just…oh my God, what did I do? What did I DO? Is he actually coming over here? He is! He’s on his way over here – he thinks I want to have sex with him!

  Which I do, but that’s beside the point. I can’t have sex with Myles! Am I trying to get myself hurt? I can’t be a rebound fuck for someone who’s still recovering from the havoc of his last relationship – anyone will tell you that’s a fatal move. At least, that�
��s what I’ve heard. Oh balls, what the heck do I know? I’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than a few months so clearly I have no idea how the hell ANY of this works.

  I pace the floor while nursing my second rum and lemonade, pausing only long enough to pour a third. Myles was kidding. Right? There’s no way he’s going to show up here tonight. There’s no way he’ll walk over here expecting…

  The light tap on the front door nearly sends me into cardiac arrest.

  Oh. Okay. So he wasn’t kidding.

  Setting down the half-empty glass, I defiantly lift my chin, take a deep breath and brace myself. Even with that, I still manage to almost lose my balance when I fling the door wide open. I never noticed it before, but I think my foundation may be tilted just a bit. That’s not good. I should call one of those construction type people. What do you call them?

  Not electrician…not plumber…darn it, what’s the word I’m looking for?

  “Contractor!” I practically shout.

  Blinking, Myles stares at me in obvious confusion. Oh dear God, he looks yummy. Freshly shaved, casually dressed in a plain gray t-shirt and jeans, the wispy ends of his hair still damp from a recent shower. I’m completely mesmerized by those hazy blue eyes as they gaze softly into mine.

  I want to rip off his clothes and lick every inch of him.

  Now.

  He raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Am I missing something?”

  “No,” I squeak, snapping back to earth. “Never mind.”

  I step out of the way and watch as he saunters inside, trying not to panic as he turns to close the door behind him. My heartbeat escalates when he pauses to lock the deadbolt. The sound reverberates through me, and I nervously twist the edge of my satin chemise nightie around two fingers.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

  His mouth curves up slowly, deviously. “Making sure we aren’t interrupted.”

  Backing away, I glance desperately around the room as if I expect Brian Johnson to suddenly stop shrieking Hell’s Bells and materialize to rescue me from my own stupidity. “Oh. Well, I’m not…um…”

  “You’re not what?” Raking his eyes over my body, he prowls closer. Deliberately slowly, like a jungle cat stalking its prey.

  “Expecting anyone.”

  “Good.”

  “That I know of.”

  “Doesn’t matter. No one’s getting in.”

  “Or out, right?” It’s a lame attempt at a joke, but he isn’t laughing.

  “Or out,” he quietly agrees. “Tonight you’re mine.”

  One long arm slides around me, capturing me in his embrace while he cups my chin in the palm of his free hand. He lifts my head just a bit, his thumb trailing lightly across my bottom lip. Clearly he isn’t here to waste time.

  Closing my eyes, I inhale the subtle scent of his cologne. It makes me think of fresh cut pine and summer nights by the beach. I’ve never smelled anything so sensuous, so enticing, and I can feel my knees weakening as a thrill of anticipation rushes through me. Even with the pumping adrenaline, the whole scenario has a disjointed aura of surrealism. Almost like a dream.

  If that’s the case, I can only hope I forgot to set my internal alarm clock.

  Giving in to my starving libido, I lick his thumb before drawing it into my mouth and sucking gently. He tastes as good as he smells, just like I knew he would. Instantly I’m wet with desire as my lewd imagination toys with the idea of doing the same thing to that sumptuous cannon he’s packing.

  I wonder how he’d react? If I were to simply drop to my knees and take the whole length of him into my mouth, licking and sucking until those blue eyes roll back in his head…oh, sweet mother of Aphrodite, if he had any idea how aroused he had me on the patio today! His hands all over my thighs, rubbing me, teasing me, roaming perilously close to the part of me that was aching for him – it was all I could do to keep my cool.

  The rational and apprehensive side of me insisted that I put a stop to his lecherous behavior at once. Which I did, obviously. After all, I am not a plaything put on this earth for the idle amusement of one Myles Hung-Like-a-Russian-Racehorse Bellamy.

  But the rest of me?

  The rest of me urged – no, demanded – that his wandering hand be permitted to reach its destination. That I allow him to push my legs apart and slide right on inside. Just finger-fuck me right there in the back yard in broad daylight. Let him find out for himself how right he was about me being wet and willing.

  Because I was.

  Still am.

  Ah, fuck it! That’s it. Screw this. The hell with rebound worries, the hell with my pride, the hell with all of it! I don’t care anymore. I want this man, I need him, and at the moment I couldn’t give a flying fudge dragon what happens later. Tomorrow? Hey, tomorrow’s just a number on the calendar. One that’s null and void as far as I’m concerned.

  “Leah…”

  I hear my name uttered in a growl as his thumb is moved aside so he can invade my mouth with ravenous intent. And that’s when I melt, I literally melt, like plastic tossed into a bonfire, and I am terrified and thrilled and conflicted all at the same time. Oh my God, the taste of him – it’s like warm peppermint swirling around my tongue. Deep and intimate and forceful, while somehow managing to remain gentle. I’ve never been kissed this way before. Never been ravished so passionately, or been so completely and thoroughly consumed.

  I love it.

  I want more.

  I want it all.

  My tongue flits around his, exploring with enthusiasm while the heat surges and spreads like a wildfire. I cling to him tightly, helplessly. His solid shoulders are an anchor, the only thing keeping me grounded in the midst of a swirling, dizzying whirlwind that threatens to send me flying over the edge.

  He finally withdraws, relinquishing ownership of my mouth long enough to give me the opportunity to catch my breath. His hands practically burn through the thin chemise as he clutches me to him, tightly enough that I can feel the extent of his arousal. It’s an incredibly heady feeling, knowing that I am the cause of it.

  “Mm, Myles…” My dreamy eyes flutter open and the abrupt action causes me to lose my equilibrium. Once again, my surroundings seem oddly off balance. “Whoa. Um, do you think you could stand still? You’re starting to make me a little seasick here.”

  He hesitates for a moment, and the cloudy indigo eyes begin to clear and narrow apprehensively. “I am standing still.”

  “Not really. You’re kinda…swaying.”

  “I’m not swaying, honey. You are.” Holding me at arm’s length, he surveys my expression critically. “Okay. Moment of truth. Exactly how much have you had to drink?”

  I think about this for a minute. “You mean before I got home or after?”

  Closing his eyes, he shakes his head while pressing his mouth into a taut line. “Dammit, Leah...”

  “Five? Six? I’m not sure.”

  Hissing a curse, he grips my shoulders and glares at me, irritation evident in his voice. “You know what – I oughta turn you over my knee and blister your ass good and raw!”

  My mouth falls open as I stare back at him, bewildered. “Why? What did I do?”

  “What did you do? You’re driving me crazy, that’s all! I swear – do you do this shit to me on purpose? I mean, seriously, do you?”

  “Do what on purpose?” What the blazes is he talking about? I’m practically giving him an open invitation to have his way with me. What more does the guy want?

  Releasing me, he takes a step back and folds his arms across his chest. “Do me a favor. Putting one foot directly in front of the other, I want you to walk to the other end of the room and then turn around and walk back to me.”

  “Oh, come on! You think I’m drunk? Is that it? Because you’ll have me know I’m – uh, I’ll have you know I’m so not. Drunk.”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind humoring me.”

  I roll my eyes with a sigh, but proceed with
the tightrope routine anyway. Jerkhole. This is ridiculous. Just because I have a smooth little buzz going, that doesn’t mean – whoa, Nelly! Did that picture on the wall just move? Freaky-deaky. You know, I thought I was walking in a straight line, but it would appear that I'm not quite as steady on my feet as I should be. It’s the floor, though, not me. Darn thing doesn’t want to be still.

  “It’s not my fault,” I tell Myles, unable to stop myself from giggling. “Somebody turned up the gravity when I wasn’t looking.”

  “You think?” He’s sort of scowling, but I can tell that underneath it he’s struggling to keep from laughing too. “Someone’s been messing with the gravity-o-meter, have they?”

  “There could be a sinkhole opening up under the house,” I suggest. “It happens.”

  “True. It happens. You know what else happens?”

  “Um…” I shrug my shoulders. “I’uno.”

  “Sexually repressed little girls have too much alcohol and then think it's a good idea to start drunk-dialing around asking for trouble.”

  “Ooh…does that make you the trouble delivery guy?” I tease, still grinning.

  He does laugh then, even while shaking his head in exasperation. “So help me, Leah...I’m honestly starting to believe you’ve made it your personal mission to turn my rocks permanently blue. You're killing me, you know that?”

  “Aw, poor baby.” Sliding both arms around his waist, I press my cheek against his hard chest. “How’s about we see what we can do about that?”

  “Sorry, Tinkerbell. Not happening.” In spite of his staunch refusal, he is hugging me back so I know he can’t really be that annoyed with me. “I may be an asshole, but I’m not asshole enough that I would take advantage of you when you’re nowhere near sober. That’s not the way I do things.”

  “And how do you do…things?” I purr, still flirting shamelessly. Ack – I don’t know what’s wrong with me! It’s like I don’t even have control over what’s coming out of my mouth anymore.

  From now on, I vow, one drink is my absolute limit. No exceptions.

  “I’d be more than happy to show you some other time,” he murmurs against my temple. “But right now you’re not thinking clearly. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t wake up in the morning hating me.”