by Kendall Ryan
“Is this going to change things between us?” she asks.
Ah. The real reason she went from horny to apprehensive in three seconds flat. “You’re really going to ask me that when your hand is on my cock?” And expect an honest answer, I want to add, but don’t. I meet her eyes and see fear and desire and confusion buried in those wide blue depths. “It doesn’t have to. Friends ’til the end. Okay?”
She nods, lifting her delicate chin and still holding my eyes.
I’m not some douchebag who’s going to lie to her and promise her the world. This is me. This is what I can offer her. She blinks and nods again, seeming to make up her mind. Then her fist around me relaxes. I give her shoulders a little push so she’s sitting back against the bed. After pulling down the zipper of her pencil skirt, she lifts her hips when I give her skirt and panties a tug. Soon she’s naked, and I take a moment just to appreciate the view.
“Damn,” I murmur.
“What?” She looks down at herself.
“I’d say yoga paid off.”
She’s soft like a woman should be, but her stomach is flat and her thighs are toned. She’s perfect. And shaved bare—which I didn’t expect, revealing delicate pink pussy lips that I want to part and bury my tongue against.
Giggling, she swats my shoulder. I rise from the bed and ditch the rest of my clothes before I push her thighs apart and position myself between them.
“This isn’t going to be like with Fuckstick or whoever. If you don’t like what I’m doing, or you need me to change pressure or speed, you’re going to tell me. You’re going to tug on my hair and tell me to the left, or harder, or whatever you need to climax. Do you understand?”
She nods, smiling at me.
“Promise?”
I hate how some women would rather fake an orgasm with high-pitched squeals rather than just tell their partner, Dude, suck on my clit until I scream your name. It’s really not that hard, but guys can be dense assholes sometimes.
She nods again.
The goal is to make her feel like she’s in control. I’ve gotten to know her these past few weeks, and I know that she’s the type to overthink everything and get lost inside her head. If I make sure she knows she’s the one calling the shots, that’ll be less likely to happen.
Pushing her legs open just a little wider, I lean down and lick my way from top to bottom, tasting her and breathing her in. Emery squirms, and I have to grip her hips to hold her in place. I center my mouth right over her sensitive nub and flick my tongue up and down until I feel her body shaking.
Then I devour her, sucking and licking until she’s a trembling, screaming mess. Shouting out my name, she loses that perfect control, coming hard against my face. I immediately want to do that again. But first I have bigger priorities. My cock has been neglected for way too long, and I need to rectify that. I grab a condom from my duffel bag that’s sitting beside the bed, and rip open the package with my teeth.
“Let me,” Emery says, sitting up and taking it from my hands.
Ever so carefully, she sheaths me, slowly unrolling the condom all the way down my shaft. I’ve never had a woman do this, and it feels way more erotic than it should. Once she’s satisfied with a job well done, she looks up at me, her cheeks flushed from her earlier orgasm and her eyes shining.
I lean forward and press a kiss to her reddened lips. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since we first met,” I admit.
“Come on then, big boy.” I feel her smile against my mouth.
Positioning my body over hers, I line my cock up with her entrance and rub the head of it back and forth through her wetness, teasing her.
“God, I can’t wait to see what you feel like,” I admit.
“And I can’t wait to see if you really know where the G-spot is.”
I almost chuckle to myself, almost, but then Emery wraps her legs around my ass and grinds against me, pushing her wet pussy up and down my shaft, and I forget how to breathe, let alone laugh.
“Goddamn it, hold still,” I mutter.
With one forearm holding up my weight over her, I use my other hand to grip the base of my cock and slowly feed it into her. Inch by tight inch, her body accepts mine.
Fuck. That feels good. Finally, I’m buried within her and I press my hips close to hers, savoring the feeling of being sheathed in her warmth.
“You’re really fucking tight,” I say with a grunt. When I look down, I see Emery’s eyes squeezed shut and she’s biting her lip. “Are you okay?”
She gives a nod of approval. “Yeah. It’s just . . . been a while.”
“Take a deep breath,” I say, retreating a few inches.
She sucks a big breath into her lungs, and her body, while still tense and clutching at me, relaxes just a little.
“That’s it. Now hang on.”
Emery brings her hands to my shoulders while I begin pumping in earnest. Soon, Emery’s moaning and digging in her heels against my ass as she grinds herself even closer on every down stroke. She feels so incredible that I lose myself in her, thrusting hard and fast, cursing under my breath as I press my lips against her neck.
I’m not sure if sex has ever been this good, and I never want it to end.
Chapter Sixteen
Emery
Hayden moves with the certainty of a man who knows what he’s doing. His lips crash against mine and my pulse skitters wildly. The room is filled with the sounds of our flesh slapping together.
I cry out and clutch his biceps for support as the most intense orgasm of my life hits me. This is the third he’s wrung from my body in the last hour, and I feel as if I’m floating on cloud nine. The man can fuck, there’s no denying that. It’s like he has a damn map of my vagina, the G-spot charted out in big block letters: Pleasure Central—Right Here!
Little droplets of sweat dot along the back of his neck; I feel dampness when I lace my fingers behind his head and pull him down for a kiss. His lips move tenderly with mine as the urgency of our fucking slows down to a softer pace. He has such control, such stamina, but I think he’s finally getting close. His cock thickens inside me and he groans softly near my ear. It’s the best sound in the whole world, knowing he’s finally following me over the edge.
“Emery,” he says on a groan, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin at the base of my throat.
After he comes, he keeps pumping in and out of me slowly, as if savoring the way I feel around him. When he reluctantly pulls out, he gathers me up in his arms and holds me, our limbs tangled and the sheets damp with our perspiration. I feel tired and boneless. It’s perfection. Better than I knew sex could be.
“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do that?” he asks, still breathing hard, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
“Because we’re friends?” I suggest helpfully.
“Right. Totally. I’d say now we’re more like best friends.”
“Besties.” I almost choke on the word. Why is my heart clenching in my chest?
As he rises from the bed and heads into the bathroom, to get rid of the condom, I presume, I take a deep breath, trying to get a hold of myself. I feel totally confused and out of control.
What the hell was I thinking? I just had sex with Hayden Oliver. Hayden Fucking Oliver. The man Roxy and my mom both warned me about with pitchforks and danger signs. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that dramatic, but it was close.
I hear the faucet running in the bathroom, and I curl onto my side, hugging the pillow to my chest. It’s scented like him: cologne, sweat, sex. The smell makes my pussy throb again, makes me want him in my arms and between my legs . . . even as I want to push him away so I can figure all this out.
My heart is still thumping like a jackhammer when he approaches the bed and flops down beside me.
“You okay?” he asks, looking at me with something close to concern in his eyes.
“Yeah, of course,” I lie. “You?”
“Never better. That was incredible.” He shoves a pillow und
er his head and gazes up at the ceiling. “So, meetings all day again tomorrow?” he asks, like nothing’s out of the ordinary. Like we didn’t just have the best sex of my life. Like my brain isn’t turning itself inside out.
“Uh, yeah.” I can’t even think straight right now. How am I supposed to function in business meetings only eight hours from now?
“Do you still want to order room service?” Hayden asks, rolling over to face me in the dim light.
I shrug. “Not really.” My appetite has vanished. Along with my common sense, apparently. “I might just turn in early.”
“Cool with me,” he says. “Mind if I turn on the TV? We could watch the end of the game.”
I reach over to the nightstand and hand him the remote.
He kisses the top of my head and pulls me onto his chest. He’s warm and solid, and I curl up like a cat, letting him hold me.
As the steady sound of his heartbeat thumps under my ear, a pit of dread churns in my stomach. I never meant to let this happen, but holy shit, I’m falling in love with him. I’m screwed—completely and utterly screwed.
And not in the fun way.
Chapter Seventeen
Hayden
In the morning, I stretch my stiff limbs and rise from the bed, then lumber into the bathroom and swing the door shut behind me. When I lift the toilet seat and begin pissing, I wonder why in the hell my cock feels funny. Like I spent all night fucking.
Then the memories start rushing back. Emery writhing beneath me. Her legs wound around my back. Our mouths fused together in hungry kisses. The tightest pussy I’ve ever felt milking me.
Damn. That was intense. Who knew my buttoned-up, yoga-loving lawyer would be a fucking rock star in the sack?
I want a repeat, but when I emerge from the bathroom, I can see her sleeping form still curled up in the heap of messy sheets. Knowing that she’s got another big day of meetings ahead of her, I decide to let her rest a little longer.
As quietly as possible, I grab a pair of sweats from my bag and go into the adjoining living room of the suite. Flipping through the hotel’s room service menu, I pick up the phone and order us breakfast and coffee, then sit down in the armchair with my cell phone.
Soon after, I hear her stir in the adjoining bedroom, soft footfalls of bare feet padding across the carpeting . . . then the distinct sound of her passing gas. Loudly.
I chuckle to myself, my mouth pulling up into a grin. The other room is totally silent until I clear my throat.
“Is there even a remote chance you didn’t hear that?” she asks, peeking at me from around the corner.
Her hair is an absolute mess and there are little smudges of black makeup under her eyes. She’s naked, clutching the white sheet around her chest. And her cheeks are stained bright red—presumably from embarrassment. But she still somehow looks good.
I chuckle again. “Don’t worry about it. It was cute.”
Her eyebrows dart up in surprise. “Cute,” she repeats, sounding confused. And then she dashes off for the bathroom, and probably the shower since her meetings start in another hour from now.
I hear the spray of water and the shower curtain being pulled along the rod. Lost in thought, I’m staring at my phone reading an e-mail from Hudson when it suddenly hits me and I bolt up out of my chair.
Cute? The fuck?
My heart begins hammering in my chest, and my palms break out in a damp sweat. Hudson’s words come rushing back to me. I realize that if I thought that was cute, my feelings for her are a lot deeper than I ever bargained for.
Picking up my phone again, I dial Hudson in a blind panic, trying not to freak the fuck out. He will explain this to me. He has to. I can’t let hysteria set in. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
“Yo,” he answers. “How’s Oklahoma?”
“It’s Nebraska,” I bark. I have no time for pleasantries. I’m dealing with a Code Red emergency here.
“Oh, right. What’s up, man?”
“She just fucking farted.”
A long silent pause. “So I take it you left her?” he says with a chuckle.
“No. Worse. I thought it was cute. I laughed it off and told her not to worry about it. She was mortified, of course.”
I glance to the bathroom door, which is still shut. The sound of water running tells me she’s still showering.
“Okay, we’ll talk this out. You can get through this,” Hudson reassures me with only a hint of a mocking tone to his voice.
“Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What’s the problem? Did you guys have sex?”
“Yes. Several times last night,” I admit.
“And now you have real feelings for her?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“And the problem is what, exactly?”
The problem is so colossal that it can’t even be put into words. What’s happening between us isn’t just friendship, I’m falling in love with her. The one thing I vowed I’d never do again. It almost destroyed me last time, and every fucking time I see Roxy, it’s pushed into my face all over again. A constant reminder of what could have been. That can’t happen with Emery. I wouldn’t survive it.
“I’ve gotta go,” I tell him.
“Hayden, don’t do this—” Hudson begs, but I end the call before I can hear the rest of it.
Pacing the hotel room, I gather my stray clothes and toss them into my duffel bag. Then I pull on a T-shirt and my shoes, and I’m out the door before the shower even turns off.
My plan is to head straight for the airport and hightail it back to LA, where I can pretend like none of this ever happened. Outside the lobby of the hotel, I hail the first cab I see, tossing my duffel bag inside and then climbing in after it.
“The airport, please.”
My hands are shaking as I pull out my cell phone and type out a text to Emery.
Hayden: Sorry. I can’t do this.
Then I turn off my phone.
Chapter Eighteen
Emery
Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Being intimate with Hayden was . . . everything. It was the most incredible sex I’ve ever had. But the afterglow illuminated a few unpleasant things, and the stark light of morning has only confirmed them.
As I stand under the spray of warm water, lathering shampoo in my hair, I realize I can’t ignore the fact that I have major feelings for him. It’s kind of terrifying; sex changing our relationship is exactly what I was afraid of yesterday.
Now that the moment is here, though, I don’t feel nearly as stressed as I did when I was worrying about this before. It’s a fact, just as much as the sky is blue and the Sherman Act was passed in 1890 . . . I’m falling in love with Hayden Oliver. A simple truth instead of an anxious, murky possibility.
And this simple truth has a simple—although pretty intimidating—solution. If I still want to date Hayden after we get back to Los Angeles, once I get out of the shower, we should go out for coffee and discuss it like adults. And if he doesn’t return my feelings, if he wants to stay just friends . . . I think I can be a big girl about that. Probably. I just don’t want to lose him and his friendship completely.
So if that’s all we can have, I’ll just have to adjust. Even though the thought of going without the physical part, now that I know exactly how good he is in bed—fuck, that will suck. I’ve never come that many times in a row before. Seriously, my body is achy in the strangest places. But the soreness in my pussy and hips is strangely pleasant, a testament to how much fun we had last night. My dry spell has sure been broken, all right, and I’m already hungry for more.
Plus I’m just plain hungry. We probably don’t have time for a quickie, but I still look forward to eating breakfast with Hayden before I start my last day of boring meetings. And before our return flight, we’ll have another evening all to ourselves . . .
When I come out of the bathroom, the air-conditioning feels frigid against my damp skin, and I hug
the towel tighter around me. “Lover?” I call, peeking into the living room.
It’s empty. Chuckling to myself, I realize Hayden must still be in bed. Walking on air, I let the front of my towel drift open. “Up for another round already?” I call out playfully. “Or are you just a lazy . . . ?” I trail off when I realize that the bedroom is empty.
My phone vibrates, and I scurry back to the bed’s nightstand to check. It’s a new text from Hayden. Is he surprising me with something? The butterflies in my stomach start waking up . . .
But they fall quiet again as I read:
Hayden: Sorry, I can’t do this.
So I fire back:
Emery: Can’t do what? You sprain your dick last night, sex machine? :P Don’t worry, we can find other uses for you.
I giggle to myself and wonder seriously where he went. To get coffee, probably.
After I’ve put on my business suit and makeup for the day, there’s still no answer. And when I see his things are gone, my stomach sinks even further. Devastated, I send another text.
Emery: What do you mean? Where are you?
Hayden still hasn’t turned up by the time I finish my huge, lonely breakfast. The room-service bellhop delivered enough for two people, even after I avoided the meat stuff. I can’t wait around for Hayden any longer. I have to head downstairs for the day’s first meeting. Under the conference table, I send text after increasingly frantic text, culminating in:
Emery: What the fuck are you talking about, you cryptic douche?
No response whatsoever. Nothing but radio silence. All I can do is read and reread his original text in the hopes of deciphering something new. Five little words, as short and painful as a scalpel—aimed right where I’d just begun to heal.
I didn’t think I was under any illusions. I didn’t let myself dream that we might become more than friends. Hell, I probably would have been fine with fuck-buddy status. But I never imagined that Hayden would just drop everything and bail like this. Use me and then throw me away like a tissue he’d finished jerking off into. He couldn’t even say good-bye to my face before he ran away. I guess I gave him more credit than he deserves.
