by K. Bromberg
I take a deep breath and knock on the door. When it opens, Grayson is standing there buck naked in all his glory. His dick is rock-hard and is more than demanding my attention.
“Nice choice.” He lifts his eyebrows and a ghost of a smile is on his lips.
“It’s always the quiet ones you have to worry about,” I murmur when our eyes meet and speak a million greetings as I step into the darkened room without any hesitation.
The minute the door is shut, he says, “Take your clothes off.”
Unable to speak, I do exactly as he demands. I remove every single item of clothing, one by one, as our eyes hold and his hand strokes ever so gently over the shaft of his cock.
When I’m done, our lips meet in a kiss that is so contradictory to the moment it’s staggering. It’s soft and tender while our hands are greedy and desperate as they roam over each other’s bodies.
“You distracted me at work,” I murmur between kisses.
“That was my plan.” Another kiss. A nip to my lip. “And I’m about to distract you again.” He turns me around and laces a row of open mouth kisses over the slopes of my shoulders before using his hand to push my back forward. “Bend over.”
I obey without a fight—probably the only time I ever have in this casual sort of relationship we have. I tell myself that the only reason I do so is because I know just how well Grayson Malone can give it.
I bend over the edge of the bed and prop myself up on my elbows. There is silence for a brief second, which has my every nerve high on anticipation. The texts were foreplay enough. I already want him. I’m already more than wet for him, but I startle when his hands rest on my ass and squeeze.
That action is followed by him burying his nose into my slit and taking one long slide of his tongue from my entrance back up. My breath catches. Every muscle affected by the lick of his tongue tightens in anticipation. Every part of me wants.
“I’m going to fuck you, Sidney.” Another lick. “I’m going to bury my cock in this tight pussy of yours.” His breath hot against my tender flesh. “Then I’m going to slip my finger into your ass.” The soft press of his thumb against my rim of muscles. “I’m going to fuck you with both so that when you come, every single damn part of you does.” The slide of his tongue into my pussy so that every part of his face is buried against me. “Do you understand?”
I nod, the dark promise of his words an aphrodisiac poured on top of the seduction he’s already plied me with.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he murmurs as he fists my hair in his hand and gently pulls my head back as he runs the tip of his nose up the length of my spine. His finger slips into me just as his mouth reaches my ear and his dick presses against my thigh. “No nods.” He works his fingers in and out of me, the sound of how wet I am filling the room. “No easy way out.” They slide back out and the trace of his coated fingertip travels up the crease of my ass and then down. “I want you to make a noise, Princess.” The tug of his teeth on my ear as his fingers tuck back in and curve against my G-spot. “I want you to scream.” A soft tug of my hair. “And I want to know you know who’s making you scream.”
Jesus. I could come from the dominance in his voice alone.
“Yes, Grayson,” I say as I push my ass back toward him and prepare myself for the pleasure.
“Good.” The heat of his breath hits my ear as his fingers slip out of me. “Mmm, you taste so fucking good.” My breath picks up, and the only part of him touching me is the promise of his cock between my thighs, just at my entrance. Another gentle pull of my hair, this time he turns my face some so he can slip his fingers between my lips. “Suck.”
I taste myself on him. I wrap my tongue around him and suck as hard as I can. His groan fills the room as I do so, and then it takes everything I have not to bite his fingers when he leaves them there as he thrusts his hips forward and fills me completely.
“Take it,” he murmurs as he grinds his hips against my ass so that I buck and writhe and beg for him to move again. To manipulate those nerves again. To make me come like he promised.
“God, yes,” I finally say when he slips his fingers from my lips and slowly pulls out before slamming back into me again. My hands grip the sheets as his hands grab the globes of my ass and spread them apart so he can watch as he fucks me.
Thrust after pleasure-inducing thrust, and with each one, my breasts jolt forward and brush against the comforter beneath me. It teases my nipples, which are, aroused to the point of being painful, but the sensation only seems to add to the whole of it.
“Sid,” he moans as he bottoms out and grinds into me at the same time I feel pressure on the rim of muscles.
“Yes,” I pant as I grow even wetter at the thought of sharing this with him. Of giving this to him.
He holds still as his finger presses ever so slowly into me. There’s resistance at first. A slight burn of pain. When the moment passes, and he begins to move his cock as his finger moves ever so gently in and out of my ass, my pleasure center is stretched to maximum capacity.
I want him to stop. I want him to never stop. I want him to take every ounce of bliss he’s giving me and somehow get it in return . . . but I can’t speak. I can only feel. I can only react. I can only let him take whatever it is he needs from me.
And I know when he does. I know when he’s done being the considerate lover and the strings of his restraint have snapped.
The current in the room shifts.
Grayson picks up the pace.
There is nothing gentle about him anymore. There is no sweet touch or tender affirmations. There is pure dominance. A side to him he’s hinted at but has never really shown me before.
This woman is definitely not going to complain.
While he is relentless in the pursuit of our orgasms, bringing me to the brink and then edging me down so I don’t come before he wants me to, there is something different about today.
Something shifts between us.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I can feel it when he kisses me goodbye.
I can hear it in the tone of his voice when he says he’ll call me later.
I can see it in the look in his eyes as he shuts the door behind me.
I think about it all the way home and still can’t figure it out. Maybe I don’t want to.
All I know is that Grayson Malone just pulled the most classic display of “this is casual sex,” I’d ever seen.
It was just a display, though.
Because what we just did was so much more than casual. It was intimate and tender and demanding and so many things, and I’m not sure what the hell to think about that other than wanting more.
“So, let me get this straight. The Malone guy—the contestant from your hometown who you kind of remember from high school but don’t—is the one you’ve been sleeping with?” Zoey asks. We are at a small table in the back of the Greer Vineyard’s tasting room, and even though there aren’t many people around, I’m tempted to shush her.
“For the fifth time, yes, yes, and more yes.” I take another sip of wine, hoping this will be the end of it but knowing this is only the beginning.
“But you neglected to tell me the man you were sleeping with and hot pilot boy were one and the same. Why?”
“It slipped my mind.”
“Ha.” She laughs. “More like he slipped into you and you forgot your mind.”
“Well . . . can you blame me?”
“But you’re sneaking around doing the whole clandestine lovers thing why?”
My mind goes back to last week. To the naughty texts and the sexcapade at The Cottage. And then I realize how much I’ve missed him since he started back to working his twenty-four-hour shifts.
Texting is fun, but it definitely isn’t the real thing.
“Work. My dad. The appearance of impropriety that I’m sleeping with the contestant who is currently winning the contest,” I finally say when I realize I haven’t responded.
She gives me a sour look and lif
ts her brows. “So, the small-town gossip you told people was a total lie really wasn’t?”
“No. Some of it is a lie. Do you see a ring on this finger? Do you see me engaged?”
“You know I’d kick your ass if you were hiding that from me, right?” she asks as I avert my eyes and look around again. “Wait. You don’t want that, do you?” The expression on her face—raised brows, lax jaw, wide eyes—looks just like the shock in her tone.
“No! Of course not,” I say and shake my head like she’s crazy. “We’ve only been seeing each other a couple of months and—”
“And your parents dated for what? Three months before they got married and are now going on forty years of wedded bliss.”
“You’re crazy.” I laugh and take a sip of wine to quell the mini panic attack her words just brought on as I envisioned Grayson in a tuxedo, standing at the end of an aisle, waiting for me to walk to him.
“Okay, so then why are you being so secretive about him with me? Why did I not even know there was a thing? And more importantly, why are you overthinking this? If he’s a wham-bam, oh-hot-damn type of guy, then enjoy the bam and the wham and scream hot damn before walking away when it’s done.”
“God, it’s good to see you, Zoey.” I missed her hard-hitting, no-nonsense, I’m-going-to-call-you-on-your-bullshit attitude.
I need it to clear the fog in my mind and stop the things in my heart that I don’t want to feel but do.
“I know. I’ve missed the hell out of you. I feel like I’ve lost my left arm without you near, and being one handed is kind of hard, which is why I came here to surprise you. I’m also the one who keeps you honest, so give me answers or else I’ll ply you with more wine to get you drunk so you’ll talk.”
“Funny.”
“It isn’t like I haven’t done it before,” she says and takes a sip of her merlot.
I know she’s serious, so I sigh, take a sip of my wine, and then glance around to see who’s nearby.
She angles her head to the side and stares at me. “Your hesitation speaks volumes here, Sid.”
“I’m not hesitating on shit.”
She clears her throat. “And I’m the Virgin Mary.”
“You didn’t ask me anything to answer.”
“Exactly. Normally, you talk a million miles a minute, and right now, you’re zipped up tighter than a whore in church. What is it? Talk to me.”
“Nothing,” I murmur, when it’s actually everything. She knows me well enough to read my mind and ask the questions that need to be asked when I don’t want her asking any of them. I just might have to face the truth if I answer them.
“You really like this guy, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do.” There’s no shame in admitting that, right?
“But?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and wonder how this conversation, which was supposed to be light and fun because we were celebrating my friend being in town, turned real and serious.
“Where do I start? He has commitment issues, and that bothers me even though I don’t want a commitment. He has a kid, and I’ve never been good with children. He lives here, and I’m leaving as soon as the contest is over. The list goes on and on . . .”
“Everyone has commitment issues until they don’t. That’s just a fact of life. Sometimes it takes the right person to make you see through your fear. He has a kid.” She shrugs. “Lots of people have kids.”
“You know me. I’m unstable. I like to flit around from place to place on my time off. I never really have a steady guy because that comes with strings and strings tie you down.”
“And sometimes strings are meant to hold you back from running in the wrong direction.” She takes another sip of her wine and eyes me above the rim. “And the fact that you’ll be leaving town soon . . . I can’t help you with that one. What does he say about it?” I just stare at her. “You haven’t told him, have you?”
I hesitate. “It didn’t really matter because we weren’t really anything . . . and then, all the sudden, it feels like we are something, but now that it does, I don’t know how to say it.”
Her eyes warm with compassion as she shakes her head. “You need to tell him.”
“I know.”
We both fall silent as she angles her head and studies me. “He makes you happy. It’s written all over your face.”
“How do you know it’s because of him?” I play devil’s advocate, never wanting my happiness to be solely dependent upon a man.
“Fine. I’ll rephrase. You’re different—in a good way—and I know it isn’t this Podunk town doing it to you, so it has to be him doing you in this Podunk town.”
I know I’m beet-red by the time she finally shuts up, and I wave a hand at her. “Will you please stop being so loud? The natives will chase you with pitchforks if you talk ill of their beloved town like that.”
“It isn’t San Francisco, but is it really that terrible?”
I twist my lips as I stare at her, and then smile as I realize that it isn’t. With as much as I’ve complained to myself about the lack of nightlife, this town has grown on me. More than I expected it to. “You know what? It really isn’t. It’s quaint and other than the gossip column that I can’t seem to keep my name out of, the people are nice, the atmosphere is laid back—”
“And there is wine. Lots and lots of wine.” She laughs and then drains her glass as my own lips pull into a small frown. We’re talking about this—about me—as if I’m staying here, which isn’t an option. What’s worse is that we are talking about it and I’m not freaking out about it. “The upside is you’re still you in every other sense. Still as fashion-forward as ever in your Louboutins. I was a little afraid I was going to find you in mom jeans and Crocs.”
“What?” I laugh, drawing some attention from those around us. No doubt, some of those people are actually wearing mom jeans and Crocs.
“I’m happy to report that we are both the most stylish people in this joint,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about it rubbing off on me, because this? My being here? Is not a long-term thing.”
And why does saying that cause my chest to constrict?
I think of the lunch delivered to my office anonymously. The unexpected knock on my door one night when Luke stayed over at a friend’s house. A surprise invite to go hunt for tadpoles with them for Luke’s school project that I swore was gross but ended up laughing until my sides hurt. Late nights on the phone until we fell asleep with the connection still open. The two bouquets of dried daisies that each of the Malones gave me, which are well past dead but I can’t bring myself to throw out.
“Uh-huh.” She draws the word out as if she doesn’t believe it. “You just keep telling yourself that, and maybe you’ll start to believe it.”
“God, I missed this,” I say into the microphone angled in front of my mouth.
“The adrenaline is like a drug.”
“Damn straight.” I look over at Devon and nod as the rotors reach speed, then I pull back the collective and the chopper lifts off the ground.
“It’s as if everyone was waiting for you to come back to have an accident or something,” he says with a laugh as he runs over the switches to check their positions.
“No shit. It’s one call after another today,” I say as the heaviness of the sleepless night is swept away by the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I clear the landing zone.
“MVC. Drunk driver in a truck head-on with a mini-van. Patient is a two-year-old female thrown from vehicle. Ambulance ETA to landing site ten minutes.”
“Christ,” I mutter.
This is what I don’t miss.
The frailty of life.
The fear that in the few extra seconds it takes me to make sure there are no power lines, make sure I can land safely, might be the difference between life and death.
“This is Mercy 445. Ten-four. Our ETA is eight minutes and counting,” I say.
>
God, please let the little girl hold on.
Exhaustion takes hold.
I can barely keep my eyes open as other patrons drone on around us in the Better Buzz, but I’m doing everything I can to be present for Luke.
“Did you have a lot of calls last night, Dad?” he asks as I pour creamer into my coffee and shake the exhaustion from my brain.
“A lot,” I say, realizing how hard it is to get back into the swing of things after being off for so long.
“Did you save them all?” he asks as if we hadn’t missed a step in our routine.
“Not sure yet, buddy.” I wrap an arm around his shoulders and squeeze. “Some are still getting help from doctors.” My mind pulls to the little girl who was ejected from a car seat, which had been strapped in wrong. To the faces of her parents as they stood outside the helicopter and watched their world being taken away, trusting in me to get her to General so she had a chance.
“Okay. I’ll say prayers for them tonight to help them get better.”
“I’m sure they’d appreciate that, bud.”
“Looking good, Malone,” a voice rings out across the shop, and I turn to her with a tired smile.
“Hey, Desi.” I pull my sister-in-law’s best friend, now turned family friend, in for a hug.
“Are you trying to make every woman in here salivate at your hotness? You really should ditch the flight suit before you leave work if you hope to have a chance of making it home. You’ll end up having to resuscitate all the women fainting over you.”
“Good to see you, too.” I laugh.
“Hey, Luke.” She ruffles his hair and talks with him for a moment. I look up and am startled to see Sidney on the other side of the street. I shouldn’t be. I see her in passing all the time. Usually, we just wave to each other and pretend not to be together, and yet something about seeing her now pulls at me.
“Give me a sec,” I say absently as I walk toward the window and watch.
Yep, that’s her, all right. She’s with another woman with jet-black hair that is pulled back in some kind of fancy knot. They are both dressed alike—heels, skirts, button-up blouses. They both are carrying shopping bags galore from some of the boutique shops in town.
