by RC Boldt
Even though it’s the last time this will ever happen.
That thought elbows its way into my thoughts, but I try not to let it derail my intent. I feel as though his gaze locks with mine in a way that’s compelling me not to look away. The connection we have right now, while I’m pleasuring him with my mouth, is so intense that every part of my body is tingling with awareness.
The moment his fingers tighten their grip on my hair, I know he’s close. The instant he pulls away from me, away from my mouth, I feel a sense of loss. Before I can voice this, he scoops me up in his arms, and we hurriedly make our way down the hall to his bedroom. Setting me on the mattress, he joins me, his body hovering over mine, all the curves and sharp indentations of muscles flexing above me.
I’m operating on feeling alone, not necessarily thinking like I normally do but going along a more visceral route. Grasping his firm length in my hand, I brush his tip against my opening, coating him in my wetness. Watching him as I do this, the way he clenches his jaw tight and swallows hard, his eyes maintaining a laser-like focus on mine, encourages me.
The moment I press upward while guiding him to me, he tenses, stopping me.
“Mags.”
There’s a brief moment of silence as I wait for him to finish, watching him carefully.
“I have to get a c—”
He breaks off the moment I arch upward, pressing him into me. “No. Not this time.” My eyes plead with his. “I’m on the Pill. Please. Just this once.”
Don’t ask me why I’m doing this, why I’m asking this of him when I’ve never done this before in my entire life. Not even Shane, who’d always insisted on wearing a condom because he’d wanted to “wait to take chances on starting a family.” Who knew what a godsend that would be?
I’ve never been with a guy unprotected—never truly trusted anyone this much. But I trust Ry.
I don’t want to admit why or delve into anything pertaining to it. All I know is that I need him inside me without any barriers.
I need to feel him.
One last time.
Chapter Forty-Two
Ry
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-fuuuuuuck…
My attempt at counting by fives to try to keep myself under control is failing. Miserably. Being with Maggie like this, sliding inside her without a condom, is unbelievable. And it’s making it so hard to maintain control and not come inside her wet heat within one and a quarter thrusts like a completely inexperienced prepubescent boy.
Sinking inside her, I hope—hell, I pray—that her request means something. Anything. It has to. As I slowly, gradually work myself deeper inside her, my eyes stay on hers, watching them nearly glow with heat. Finally sliding in as far as I can, I still.
“Mags,” I whisper against her lips. With that one word, my thumb grazes the side of her face along her cheekbone, and I will her to see in my eyes what I’m silently professing.
I love you.
You’re the one for me.
Please forgive me for lying to you.
Please love me back.
When she shifts beneath me slightly, making us both inhale sharply, it breaks the moment. Her hands glide over my shoulders, my chest, and down my stomach, my muscles contracting at her touch. One soft hand slides over my hip while the other traces lower, closer to where our bodies join. Lifting up to allow her more room to roam, I feel her finger trace down below my belly button, down to the base of my shaft that’s slick from her. Carefully, achingly slow, I move out barely an inch before sliding back inside her as we both watch the movement.
My eyes dart up to see her face before returning; my eyes tracking my slow thrusts, noting the shiny slickness of my cock and the knowledge that it’s her—it’s my Maggie who’s making my cock that wet—makes me grow even more impossibly hard.
“Faster, Ry,” she whispers, her eyes rising to meet mine. At that moment, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her if she asked me.
Bracing myself, my hands on either side of her, I begin to thrust as deep as possible while simultaneously praying I won’t come too early in the game because … hell. The intensity of sensations, being inside her like this, feeling everything—the heat, tightness, the wetness—is nearly overwhelming. And I have to tell her.
“Mags, I—” My words cut off because, at that moment, she clenches around my cock, so impossibly tight, before the spasms begin and her inner muscles clench and release, clench and release. Her body arches, rosy nipples puckered, eyes closed as her head tips back on the pillow, lips parting.
It’s right then and there that I know without a doubt I’ve never before witnessed anything in my entire life as decadently beautiful as this. As her.
Giving more powerful, deeper thrusts as she rides out her release, I feel the telltale tingling.
“Mags.” My breathing is ragged, labored, and in the next second, I pull out of her, coming all over her stomach in strong spurts. I collapse beside her, my chest rising and falling.
“Promise I’ll clean you off. As soon as my legs start working again.”
She gives a huff of a laugh, turning her head to look at me. Shifting to face her, she’s watching me with an odd expression.
“You didn’t …” She trails off before finishing with, “… come inside me.”
My eyes flicker to her stomach, and instead of answering, I jump up, quickly heading to my bathroom for a damp washcloth. Returning to my bedroom, I carefully clean her stomach, speaking softly, my eyes focused on the task.
“I’ve never done this with anyone. And since it’s the last time”—I break off with a slight shrug, still avoiding her gaze—“I didn’t think it was smart to play with fire even more than we already were.”
Tossing the damp cloth into my empty laundry bin, I climb into bed with Maggie, lying on my side and propping my head in my hand. My other hand traces along a random path, circling her breasts, her nipples, and down over her stomach, which she sucks in the moment I veer down over it.
My eyes dart up to hers, looking at her quizzically. She looks away, muttering, “My stomach isn’t super awesome. I don’t have abs like yours.”
I give her a look. “Mags. If you had abs like mine, that would be weird.”
“I have a one liter.”
A laugh bursts free. “You do not have a one liter.” Leaning closer, I press a soft kiss to the smooth skin of her stomach. “It’s perfect.” Raising my eyes to hers, I press another kiss. “Just like you.”
She stares at me. “Well, doesn’t Jack have pretty hard core abs?”
Shit. My eyes fall closed on a slight wince because, well, yeah, he does. Not that I’ve ever touched his abs. That’s just disgusting.
Damn it, I need to come clean. This can’t go on.
“I need to talk to you about Jack. I—”
She presses an index finger to my lips, stopping me. “No. You don’t owe me any explanation, Ry.” Her finger traces over my lips. “I know you’ll likely get back together with him, and I understand that.”
“But Mags—”
“Ry.” The tenderness in both her eyes and tone has me faltering. “Please. Let it be just about us.”
Knowing I’m unable to deny her anything, when she reaches for me, pressing her lips to mine in what has to be the sweetest kiss, I make it a point to give this my all.
Go big or go home, right? Well, I’m going to go big—go all out—and give this everything I have. Even though I can see it in her eyes; I can tell that this is it. This is all she’s going to give me.
I love her throughout the day and into the night until we’re both too exhausted to move, curling up beneath the covers. I watch her sleep, knowing this is the last time I’ll get to witness her in my bed like this, before finally giving in to the tiredness and falling asleep with her in my arms.
And in the early morning light of dawn, when I feel the quiet, discreet shifting movement, I force myself to keep my eyes closed. I can’t bear to see her tiptoe ou
t of my bedroom like I was some sketchy one-night stand she’s already regretting. I can’t bear to watch her leave me.
Taking my damn heart right along with her.
Chapter Forty-Three
Maggie
“You’re a horrible person. Don’t even look in the mirror because it’ll crack.”
If you think that’s an awful thing to say to someone, I’d agree with you … at any other time. Right now? Not so much.
Because I’m the person saying it. To myself.
Have you ever done something where you’re like, Wow. I actually did that. That was so unlike me. And then you get this huge smile on your face that feels like it stretches for miles and miles, it’s so wide. While at the same time you’re like, Whoa, you dirty girl, you! What the hell were you thinking?
That’s what I’m feeling. Because let’s face it. We’ve all been in that situation where we do something we aren’t super proud of. Like the one time in college, I went down on this super-hot guy just because I was feeling insecure and desperately wanted him to like me.
Yeah, I know. Stupid doesn’t cover that, let alone degrading. Don’t judge. We all do crap that’s sketchy at some point in our lives. Alllll of us.
Except that right now, I’m fully judging myself. Because I had sex with my roommate—again—and with no protection. I mean, sure, he pulled out and everything—every single time—but …
Okay, so here’s the thing. Each time he did that, I felt kind of deflated. Like he was holding back from me. Which is ridiculous since I’m the one who told him it was the last time that it could happen between us.
And now, while I stare at the steamed-up mirror, standing on my plush bathroom mat with my towel wrapped around me, I know the second I move or shift in any way, I’ll feel that soreness between my legs. From him. Because last night was …
My forehead thunks against the mirror. “Phenomenal.” Thunk. “Hot as hell.” Thunk. “Heartbreaking.” Thunk.
Wait, what? Heartbreaking? My eyes fly open as I straighten, frantically scrubbing at the steam in the mirror until I can make out my face. The truth is there in my eyes. Heck, it’s written all over my face.
It’s a good thing I said that last night was it. The last hurrah. Because I know what it would lead to. Me ending up madly in love with Ry. Ry leaving me to be with Jack again. God, it’s like some cheesy soap opera.
Staring back at my reflection, I inhale a deep breath, holding it for a second before letting it out slowly in an attempt to calm myself. To assuage the panic pulsing through my veins.
“You will move on from this. Store it in the recesses of your memories. But you have to move on and find someone right. Someone who will love you and give you what you need.” I say this so confidently to my own reflection that it’s almost believable.
Almost.
* * *
You know that acronym FML? People toss that around online, and I always felt put off by it. I mean, really. Your life can’t possibly be that bad, right? To the point where you actually say, Fuck my life?
All the scoffing I’ve done at people who have posted that? I take it back. Alllllll of it. I take it all back. Why? Oh, I’ll tell you why.
Right now. Right here. That’s why.
“So tell me more about how you place your bets, Simon,” Ry gushes, leaning closer to the guy I was talking with not but five minutes ago.
And, no, I’m not exaggerating. He’s gushing. It’s a puke fest. I know, I know. Cue the My heart bleeds for you violins, right? But seriously. He’s clam jamming me.
Again.
For the third time this week. The third!
First, I met Tucker when I was riding the elevator to work on Monday. He had been dropping off some files to the offices on a different floor. He was a super-cute guy who worked in marketing and had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a guy.
Of course, when we made plans to meet up on Tuesday, Ry miraculously decided to pop in to the same bar after work and began chatting up Tucker. I excused myself to use the restroom, trying to give myself a pep talk, regroup, and figure out how to bring things back my way, but when I came back out, I found the two of them missing. Two seconds later, I got a text message from Ry.
Ry: Hey, Mags. Sorry, but Tucker insisted I see him home. Be careful getting home. I shouldn’t be gone too long. Love you.
Seems sweet, right? He had just met Tucker and was helping his new friend home because he’d had too much to drink.
Except for one problem: Tucker hadn’t been drinking alcohol. He had told me initially that he wasn’t drinking and was doing some sort of cleanse where he abstained from alcohol and caffeine.
Yep. So that could only mean one thing. Tucker was interested in Ry and vice versa.
Sure didn’t take long for Ry to jump back in the saddle after our little—
Crap! Don’t go there, Maggie.
Moving on … Then, there was guy number two. Max. I’ve always liked that name. There’s just something sexy about it. I ran into him—literally—at the coffee shop when I was leaving after one of my and Sarah’s coffee dates. I was talking to her over my shoulder, exiting the shop, and totally not looking where I was going and bam! into a brick wall.
Of manliness.
Yep. Max was hot. Tall, dark, and handsome. Literally, he was all of those. Dressed impeccably, no less. After apologizing incessantly, he insisted I give him my number and meet him for a drink after work. Slick, right? That’s what I thought, too.
It was all super fun until Ry showed up. And seriously, did he plant a homing beacon in my shoe or something? I still don’t know how he found me. It wasn’t like I told him where I was going—our dry erase calendar was noticeably void of any of our social plans. Then Ry shows up and instantly comes over to introduce himself to Max. Before long, they’re chatting and laughing like long, lost friends, resulting in Max inviting Ry back to his place at the end of the night.
The third one was the strangest because I went to the gym—a place I hate and only go because Sarah tells me scary stories about young people dropping dead and ending up in the ER because they don’t exercise regularly. And yeah, I know that exercising regularly isn’t the same thing as once a week. I thank my birth parents—whoever and wherever they might be—for giving me good genetics and the ability to eat just about anything and not get so large that I end up needing a crane to remove me from my home.
While I’m at the gym, this cute guy’s little silicone earbud thingy rolled right over by the toe of my shoe. Of course, I picked it up and handed it to him. He was the one who gave me that megawatt smile and introduced himself. Dean—great name, right?—told me he’d come over to where I was planning to use the elliptical machine once he’d finished his run on the treadmill.
So what happened to that one? Well, I caught sight of Dean making his way over to me just as Jack and Ry were exiting the racquetball courts. Ry caught up with Dean, they exchanged a few words, each of them glancing over at me before Dean’s expression paled. Immediately, he swiveled in the opposite direction of where I was and disappeared. Ry and Jack waved at me, both flashing me wide smiles, and exited the gym.
I still haven’t managed to get any information out of either of them as to what happened with Dean.
Come back to the present, to right now where Simon hasn’t said one word to me in approximately twenty-two minutes.
I know. I’ve been timing it.
Just when I’m about to give up and head home to take a long, hot shower, curl up on the couch, watch television until I fall asleep, and dream about how I’ll likely never manage to meet anyone who actually likes me more than Ry, I hear a male voice to my right.
“This is going to sound like a terribly cheesy line, but you’re seriously too beautiful to be here alone. You’re with someone, aren’t you?”
Chapter Forty-Four
Ry
I have to continue to remind myself that this is worth it. Especially while Simon drones on and on
about how he places his bets on the horse races during the track season here in Saratoga. I don’t give two shits about gambling, the odds, or which horse is favored. Running defense for Maggie is getting to be damn near exhausting. Not to mention the Tucker dude actually tried to kiss me.
Yeah. Really. It’s the second damn time that’s happened to me. Awkward doesn’t cover it.
The gym guy was an easy mark, though. Hell, that one even got me a free smoothie at the coffee shop courtesy of Jack who was still laughing all the way there. I’d seen the guy through the Plexiglas racquetball court, chatting with Maggie. It worked out perfectly that Jack and I finished our game in time to catch the guy on his way back over to Maggie. I appeared concerned, utterly serious, as I informed him that she was my roommate, but that I wanted to give him a heads-up that she was in therapy and working through some issues. And that the last guy she dated had to relocate.
I may have also implied that Maggie veered off into the bunny boiling, If I can’t have you, no one will kind of personality.
The Max dude was harder to sway my way, though. Shit, he nearly made me feel bad about what I was doing. Almost. Until, after exhausting all of my usual ploys and failing, I finally offered him fifty bucks to leave and never contact her again. The fact that he accepted money to leave a beautiful woman alone says he’s a king of douches.
What I didn’t plan on was having a dude come up and chat with Maggie while I was attempting to charm the pants off—not literally, of course—Simon. So while I want to break it up, I’m stuck with Simon droning on and on about betting on horses.
Until finally, he has to use the restroom. As if suddenly realizing that Maggie has found someone else’s attention, his eyes narrow in an annoyed manner that I’m not a fan of.
