by Piper Rayne
He fights the smile again and it’s hard to get into character when we’re talking about our demise and the residual feelings.
“I had to be the man I promised you.”
Tears want to fill my eyes, but I pull him up by his hair and smash my lips to his. Our tongues diving in, our hands pulling and tugging. I’m able to get a hold of his boxers and I push them down his legs. He steps out of them and kicks them off.
His dick is poised and ready at my opening. “Protection?” he asks.
For the first time since I committed to this, I pause, unsure.
“Never mind.” He picks me up and I wrap my arms around his neck.
I assume he’ll take me to the bedroom, but he heads back into the kitchen, laying me on the table.
“You stay here.” He backs up and it’s the first time I can admire him fully.
He’s just as big as I remember, just as hot and since my body is already a five-alarm fire, it just went to inferno status.
I hear his feet slap along the floor, a drawer open and he returns with a bottle of lube and a condom.
“What do I get for staying in place?” I ask coyly, and his lips tick up.
“One huge cock.”
I slide off the table and onto my knees, wrapping my hand around the base of his erection and taking him into my mouth.
A growl escapes him, and his hand moves to the back of my head, directing me like I don’t already know exactly how he likes it. Hell, he was the man who taught me how to do this.
“I need you up.” He removes his hand after only a couple of minutes. “Time for that later, right now I need your pussy.”
I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and move to the table. I hop up, but he pulls out a chair and sits down.
“Our first time together and you think you don’t get what you want?” He pats his bare thighs. “Ride me, baby.”
I take the condom off the table and straddle him. He twitches when my fingers touch his dick as I slide the condom over the head. While I’m making sure we’re protected, he squirts lube on his fingers and my back falls to the table as he massages it into my pussy.
His mouth sucks my tit as his hands encourage me up and over him. I place my hand on the base of his cock, and then slide down, letting him fill me.
Glorious, oh so fucking glorious.
How I’ve missed him and in this moment by him, I mean his perfect cock.
“Tell me how much you missed me.” He holds my head in his hands. “How many times did you masturbate to memories of me?”
“Never.”
“Chelsea.” His tone is more teasing than mean.
I ride him, my thighs flexing as I push up and down. He helps me, lifting his pelvis.
“I’m not admitting shit.” I can barely get the words out.
His hands tighten around my head and he brings me closer so our eyes lock.
“I refuse to fuck you until you tell me.” He ceases all movement.
Our heavy breathing has our chests rising up and down.
“What do you want?” I challenge him the way he likes.
He thrusts up and a squeak rises up my throat. I want him so bad I can’t even remember what he asked me.
“I want you to tell me I’m the best fuck, that every time you were with another guy, you thought of me, of us together. That you missed me just as much as I fucking missed you. That what’s between us isn’t going away and that you’ll open up your heart for me again.”
Tears burn in my eyes. I knew he wanted me back, but usually our sex was ‘tell me you’re mine.’ Even his words and promises have grown up. Finally a teardrop falls to his chest.
“I can’t promise,” I whisper.
He thrusts again, and my body begs to be lazy and fall into his arms.
“You won’t,” he grinds out.
I press my palms on his chest, trying to distance myself, but he won’t have it.
“This isn’t some movie where you can win me back in two hours.”
He shakes his head. “Tell me and I’ll give you the release you want.”
His pelvis rocks up and down, slowly and although that might get some girls off, it does nothing but cause sexual frustration for me. “Fine.”
He gives me a satisfied smile. “There’s my girl.”
His hands loosen on my head, but he still keeps me in place as the truth escapes my eyes. “I never stopped loving you. Yes, every man was compared to you. My heart has already opened, so you better not fucking break it again.” I slap his pecs.
A slow smile crosses his lips and he thrusts up into me faster.
“I promise, it’s safe this time.”
He grinds into me and I claw at his shoulders. His hands fall to my ass, slapping, squeezing and gripping. By the time I’m ready to let go, he only has to bite my earlobe and whisper, “Come.”
I do. Not on his command, he can just read my body so well that even after five years he knows when I’m at the edge. I told you the man is a fucking king.
His fingers dig into my hips and his hands push me so my back rests on the table edge. He watches himself moving in and out of me, with a hand on my belly.
My body floods with a spike of new arousal watching him watch us, and the look of utter rapture on his face.
I’m ready to face the truth, that I might have hated him, but our love is one that doesn’t die because of distance or inattention. It’s not a classic princess fairy tale, but it’s an epic love story nonetheless.
Chapter Twenty
Dean’s large hands run along my sweaty back, urging me forward. I fall onto his chest willingly. He rises from the chair, my legs barely able to stay wrapped around him.
“I should get back to work,” I say, and he stops abruptly in the middle of the hallway. I can’t look at him, so I focus on the blank white walls.
“Don’t even try it.” He starts moving again and we pass by a bedroom door before we walk through the door at the end of the hall.
A king-size bed sits in the middle of the room with a plain headboard. Everything inside is either gray, black or steel. Typical bachelor pad. He deposits me on my feet and heads toward what I assume is the bathroom.
My gaze sweeps over the surroundings, taking in more details. Another dull room with no life to it. Not even a clock next to the bed. Other than the view of the sun playing peek-a-boo between the surrounding high-rises, it feels cold and the complete opposite of how I usually feel when I’m with Dean.
The toilet flushes and a chill wraps around my body.
“Nap time.” He goes to what I assume is his side of the bed. We weren’t together long enough to each have a side of our own. It went from the two of us in the middle, to one of us on the couch.
“It’s like four o’clock,” I joke, starting to feel slightly exposed and more than a little vulnerable.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks, laying the comforter and sheets out farther.
“No.”
“Then let’s take a nap and then we can order in food.”
“Dean, I have a life.”
He stares at me a moment, as though for the first time he’s at a loss for words. Then he breaks the distance, his hand already prepped in position to cup my cheek when he steps into me. My stomach flutters and my tough girl act crumbles.
“Tonight, let me be your life.” He presses his lips to my forehead, his hand gliding down my arm until my hand lands in his.
He doesn’t pull or yank me toward the bed, he takes one step at a time, leaving enough slack between us in case I don’t follow. Which means he knows we’re still not close to where we’ve been.
“Half an hour,” I say begrudgingly.
He eyes me, nods, though the smirk on his face says he doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either.
Waiting at the edge of the bed, I crawl in first, suddenly exhausted from the hottest sex I’ve had in half a decade.
“Half hour and then I’ll replenish
you.” He pulls me into him, his arms secure around me, his lips sprinkling kisses on my forehead and temple. Our legs are in a tangled mess, and my cheek is pressed against his muscled chest.
“Did you mean what you said?” His voice is soft and insecure, sounding nothing like the man who just withheld my orgasm until I told him what he wanted to hear.
I prop my chin on his chest, my own hand running along the small patch of hair on his chest.
“Well, you were holding my orgasm back with your delicate thrusting.”
I smile, he doesn’t.
Shit, where is the Dean Bennett I know? The one who would challenge me.
“And I’ll do it again.” His lips curve a bit, but he’s still holding back.
“Dean.” I direct his eyes back on me, sliding up a little so he has no choice but to focus on me. “Orgasms don’t make me lie. I’m in this. I can’t deny that I’m terrified, but you’ve done more than enough to prove to me that you’ve changed so far.”
“Do you ever think we still need to clear the air? Let it all out…talk about everything that happened?”
I slide back down, my head finding relief in the crook of his neck. The manly smell that’s his alone is like a security blanket to me. “Not today, okay?” I murmur.
“Okay, I’ll give you a pass.” He kisses the top of my head and before I can think about when and if we’ll have to have that conversation my eyes drift shut and I’m fast asleep.
* * *
It’s nighttime before I wake from the deepest slumber I’ve had in a while—at least when alcohol wasn’t involved. Although Dean’s blinds are open, the sky is ominous with tall dark buildings blocking the view of the moon. People are home from work and the windows are lit up like a game of connect the dots.
I scoot down and out of Dean’s arms, sliding off the bed setting my feet on the ground. Heading down the hall, I tiptoe as quietly as possible. Whatever happened to carpet? Why does no one have carpeting anymore? It makes it much easier to sneak around.
The sound of my phone vibrating is like a screeching alarm in the quiet place. My footsteps increase in speed and I dig into my purse, retrieving the vibrating device.
My hand freezes and the phone drops to the counter.
It bounces around like my unicorn cock vibrator after I come when I drop it between my legs.
The word Mom flashes from the phone as it shakes along the table.
She’s probably using that sixth sense to know I’m here with Dean. The man I’m certain she’s hired a hitman to kill.
I grab Dean’s shirt from the floor, buttoning it up.
“Don’t go getting dressed.” His groggy voice sends an electric current down my body, like it’s saying I’m ready for more.
Down girl.
I turn to see him in a pair of basketball shorts—bare-chested, hair askew and droopy eyelids. This is my Dean.
“Don’t go thinking you can boss me around.” Sliding my phone off the counter, I drop it back into my purse.
His fingers begin unbuttoning his shirt. “I love you in my clothes, but not tonight.”
Once he’s done, he lets the fabric fall open and his hands run across my stomach, his fingers dangerously close to the area between my legs. “I’m not sure you ever like me dressed.”
My phone vibrates again, and I circle around in his arms.
“Tell me that’s not a guy.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts into his strong chest. “Worse.”
“Nothing is worse than having to compete with someone, especially when I feel like the deck is stacked against me.” I press my lips to his chest and his hands slide down my back and cup my ass.
“I’m here. Why would you be worried?”
“I had you here once and I lost you.”
“Well then try harder this time.” I smile to break the mood. We do better with funny than emotional.
“I gotta run down and get Grover, but first I’ll feed you.” He smacks my ass, much lighter this time around and then turns to head to the other side of the breakfast bar.
“You’d leave me naked?” I button up his shirt.
“I’d eat my meal off you.” He opens the fridge and grabs two white Chinese boxes. “Lo-Mein and Mongolian beef?” He sets them on the counter and then pulls out two more. “Fried rice and egg rolls.”
“Did you suspect I’d be here?” I round the counter, jumping up on the surface. Chinese food is my favorite.
“You forget, I introduced you to Mongolian beef.”
He has a point. Up until him, I only ate fried rice and egg rolls.
“No one likes a know-it-all.” I crack open a container, and my stomach rumbles. Funny thing is, I like cold Chinese food more than warm.
“Come on, we’ll Netflix and chill with it.” He bundles the containers in his hands, digging out two forks from a sliding drawer.
I grab two waters and follow him to the couch. “I think we already did that.”
He sits down and places the containers on the glass table. “And we’ll be doing it again. Are you sure you don’t want to let me eat off your body?” He winks, and his gaze rolls over me like I’m a six-layer chocolate cake and he’s PMSing.
Just like that, he kick-starts my lady parts into wanting another ride on the Dean Bennett rollercoaster.
“I know it’s none of my business, but who was on the phone?” he asks.
I cozy up and put a blanket over my lap, grabbing the Mongolian beef. It’s been a five-year stretch without it. Too many memories.
“My mom.” My face morphs into the annoyed expression I always wear whenever we’re around each other.
“How is Babs?” He opens a container, grabs the remote.
How my mom doesn’t put the fear in him as it does me baffles me. She went to our apartment after I left and from what I heard from our old neighbors, ripped him a new one. It was the one and only time my mom and I were on the same side.
“She’s the same. Still pissed I didn’t allow her to throw me some elaborate wedding.”
He turns to me, his lips down. “I did apologize to her for that.”
“What did she say?”
“She said that your next one will be huge when you marry the right man.”
I nuzzle into his arm and lay my cheek on his shoulder. “She’s just protective.”
“Uh huh. She was right you did marry the wrong man the first time. But the second time I’ll guarantee you marry the right one.” He clicks on the television and it illuminates the dim room.
It takes me a moment to process his words. “I don’t plan on ever getting married again.”
He doesn’t even look my way. Just clicks through the channels.
“You heard me, right?” I ask.
“I heard you.” He brings a forkful of Lo-Mein noodles to his lips.
“But?”
“But nothing.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” I stab a piece of meat in the carton.
He chuckles. “I’m not going to waste my breath. You’re not there yet.”
“Not where?”
His eyes are still focused in on the television, never veering to me once. “Ready to see us.”
“Speak English, Dean.”
He swivels in his seat and places his container down on the table. “You’ve let me in and I’m not going to scare you, but Chelsea, I won’t give up until that ring is back on your finger.”
“Dean,” I sigh trying to ignore the flipping and flopping of my heart like it’s screaming he wants us, he wants us.
“See.” He points to me. “This is why I wasn’t going to say anything. You’re not ready for that declaration.”
I laugh. “Are you sure we didn’t warp back to the seventeen hundreds? Maybe you want to go ask Barb and Ted for my hand. Do you have a dowry? Or is it me who is supposed to have the dowry?”
His lips tick up. “Relax, Chelsea.” He winks again. “I’m not going to push you into something you
don’t want.”
He’s so smug. He thinks because he landed me in bed that he’s going to convince me I want to get re-married? Who is he kidding?
“I have to go to the bathroom.” I stand, leaving my fork in the Mongolian beef. He had to go and ruin that for me by talking about the future. I’m still processing that I’m even here right now. That I just slept with him.
Deciding on his en suite bathroom instead of the one in the hallway, I step in and turn on the lights.
Again with the dreary black, gray and white. Who decorated this place?
I shut the door and head to the toilet, but a flash of color on the monochrome canvas of his bathroom walls draws my attention. In slow motion, my feet move forward and my need to use the bathroom suddenly vanishes.
It slides off the towel rack when I clutch it in my hands. The Moroccan style towel my grandma sent us after she heard the wedding news. I thought I took them all. They weren’t the most beautiful things in the world. More colors than a kaleidoscope, but it was the only domestic wedding gift we got.
Bringing it up to my nose, I inhale and smell Dean. Memories float through my brain of the happy times I’d pushed as far back as they could go. Placing it back down, I open the bathroom door, ready to tell Dean he’s right, I’m not there yet, but yet doesn’t mean never.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed watching me with a schoolboy look to him. As though, I’m the principal and he’s been sent to the office.
“I shouldn’t—”
“No. Don’t say anything,” I say, stepping into the opening of his legs.
His hands run up and down my thighs, sneaking under the back tail of his button-down.
“Let’s just let this play out, okay? I know it’s hard, but date me all over again,” I say. I place one leg on either side of his waist and straddle him with my hands around his neck. “I’m not saying no.”
His lips touch my collarbone, his hands growing more firm on my ass.
“Deal.” His tongue slides up my neck. “To think it was only weeks ago you said I’d never lay a hand on your body again.” A light chuckle comes out of him.
“Watch it, Bennett.” I do nothing to refute him. He’s not lying. I move my head down and he doesn’t miss a beat, smashing his lips to mine.
