But it’s the only explanation for why, when we round the back of one of the sugar mill buildings, I grab her upper arm, push her up against the wall, and start kissing the shit out of her.
It’s rough, and she’ll push me away. Any moment now. Then—oh fuck—my sexy librarian groans into my mouth and grips the back of my head.
The semi I’ve been sporting all morning now pops against my jeans as if it’s been zapped. I want to be inside her. Now.
I grip her waist and slide her up the wall so she’s of the same height, and all the while we’re nipping, stroking, tasting. She’s gripping my hair so hard it stings. I push my hips against her, giving her a good hard grind and pinning her there, my aching cock against her pussy.
She gasps in my mouth, and her legs whip around my waist and squeeze. Fuck yeah. I trail desperate kisses down her neck, as I basically dry hump her. She’s wiggling and writhing, and as before it’s like zero to sixty between us.
Chapter 16
Jane
Holy cow, there’s nothing sexier than a guy you like suddenly pushing you against a wall and kissing the heck out of you. As if he can’t wait any longer to taste you, to touch you. My whole body’s tingling, amplified because at any moment the guard could find us.
Despite being thoroughly sexed up last night and this morning, my body’s acting as if we’ve been separated for-EV-er. My panties are already damp as the hard ridge of his jeans-clad penis rubs against the seam of my pants, which…yeah, wow, that seam rubs me in the perfect spot. A sweet ache builds.
The longer we’re here, the greater the chance we’ll be discovered, but for some reason I can’t wait until later. So then, lickety-split it is.
He smoothes his hand up my side and over a breast, and I gasp. “Please tell me you have a condom.”
His hand freezes. He steps back so fast, my legs slip down, and I slump against the wall. His hooded gaze pierces mine, and for a flicker of a moment, there’s an expression there in his eyes besides lust that I can’t quite catch—it went by too fast. Vulnerability?
He reaches into his back pocket, making the scrumptious muscles of his biceps bunch under his dark red T-shirt.
I’m unbuttoning the top of my Capris and have just managed to shove them and my panties partway down my thighs when he strokes a blunt finger through my folds. He groans. “You’re wet, thank fuck.”
Then I’m again pushed up the wall, and his tongue, his lips, hot and greedy, plunder my mouth. My legs are constricted by my pants, so I can’t wrap them around his waist, but he has his jeans unbuttoned, his boxers shoved out of the way, and a condom on. Dang, this man is fast.
He breaks our fevered kisses and looks at me, his eyes…anguished? “Jane,” he rasps.
My legs are thrashing in anticipation, but before I can react further, he wraps his strong arms around my back, captures my mouth in a bruising kiss, and thrusts into me.
Oh holy wow, what a sweet, full ache. That was a stroke of possession.
Our tongues tangle and thrust, and he begins moving inside me. It’s a different position, with my legs unable to widen, but he does this swivel thing with his hips that grinds him right against my pubic bone. A tight pressure builds and builds. It’s almost too much.
Then he eases out and slams into me, hard, possessive. The friction of his retreats and thrusts, the rub of my now-hard nipples against my shirt’s fabric mashed to his hard chest, the tangle of our tongues, the gasps of our breaths—it feels as if sensations are building up from points all over me and rushing down to where we’re joined.
My orgasm is about on top of me, but it hits me earlier than I expect, and I practically scream into his mouth at the sudden violence of it.
His thrusts grow frantic, less controlled, as if he’s no longer worrying about finesse. Vaguely, I’m aware that my thrashing has freed my legs, and even though they feel boneless, somehow I lift them up around his waist. It’s almost a relief, instead of having them hang.
“Fuck,” he gasps into my mouth.
He lifts me up and away from the wall, so he’s gripping my ass. He breaks our kiss, and his mouth latches onto my shoulder. He doesn’t bite—it’s as if he’s finding a way to hold on, hold me to him. His hips are plunging in and out, and we collapse back against the wall. He sinks inside me again and shouts into my shoulder.
Deep inside me, he jerks and pulses, which triggers another searing orgasm.
Holy shit.
As our breaths saw in and out in the hushed quiet of all this nature, hearts pounding against each other like mad, a realization pierces me so hard I’d have doubled over if I wasn’t flush against Aiden.
I’m going to have a hard time letting him go.
But I have to. This is just a fling.
A hot fling, but a fling just the same.
I mean, how do I even know if what we shared—all three times—was truly special if I don’t have much to compare it to? So far—let’s be frank here—so far, I’ve had pre-Aiden sex ranging across a broad spectrum from shitty to okay. So then how do you judge? Am I just having good sex with a competent lover? Or something more? I could be thinking it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, and he’s looking at it going, meh, more sliced bread. Next!
It’s these kinds of thoughts that spin around in my head as we quickly dress and start walking back. So much so, that even I’m sick of myself.
Oddly, I’m envious of his experience. Because he can accurately judge.
Aiden
Several hours later, Jane parks the car at a rest stop. We found the human sundial on our walk back to the car, but we’re a bit behind schedule now, what with the car trouble and the hot-as-fuck sex at the gardens, so we picked up a late lunch in a drive-thru. We stroll in silence to the stone picnic tables in the nearest shade.
Ever since leaving the gardens, Jane’s cloaked herself in a new quality of silence. We’re still friendly and all, but the air between us hums a bit differently.
Part of it is me, because I’m freaking the shit out.
I like Jane. A lot.
And as my mind used to do with Brittany, it’s filled with thoughts of Jane. What she smells like. The timbre of her voice. What she might say to this or that.
Everything in me has subtly shifted to orient toward her.
Again, I’m losing myself in someone else’s life. Their needs. Their plans. Hence my mild freak-out—I’m setting myself up for getting hurt.
I’ve been down this road before. I know how it goes. If I allow it, I’ll lose myself in Jane, like I did Brittany. Bend over backward for her. I paid for Brittany’s fucking grad school—that’s how much of a putz I was. And just when she was set to graduate, and we were to get married, she dumps me. Like I’d been a ghost in her life too.
These freak-out thoughts are weighting down the silence as Jane and I make quick work of our lunch so we can hit the road. However, when we return to the car, it won’t start. Won’t take a jump either.
And we’re in the middle of northern Florida.
Chapter 17
Aiden
After some calls, we find a tow service to haul her car to the nearest garage.
By the time the tow truck driver has her car cranked tight onto the back of his flatbed, it’s dusk.
I walk with him back to the cab of his truck, pocketing the card he gave me. “What’s the closest decent hotel from here that won’t be too far from the garage?”
He scratches his cheek, looking off into the distance. He’s wearing a trucker cap with the words “Honk if you see parts fall off.”
“There’s a decent one near Macclenny,” he answers. “It’s on the way to the garage.” He looks back at me and points with his thumb behind him. “I can give you a ride, if you’d like.”
“Thanks, man. That’d be awesome.”
After telling Jane about the hotel, I help her throw our gear into the cab and climb in first so she’s not next to the guy. He seems nice enough, but I don’t want
her to feel uncomfortable sandwiched between two large men.
As we head west along the highway and the interstate lights alternately light up and fade out the cab’s interior, I have a feeling our little road trip has been permanently derailed.
And though I was just chastising myself for getting in too deep with Jane, I can’t abandon her. Nor am I happy about the derailment.
Jane
I collapse onto one of the double beds with a sigh. We’re in a moderately priced motel near Macclenny, Florida. We’re grumpy and tired, but we’re trying to stay positive. I know he has to be worried about how he’s going to get to Atlanta now.
I know I am. Worry has settled in my stomach and sits there like a Large Print edition of War and Peace.
My phone rings. “Please be the mechanic.” I dive for it. “This is Jane.”
“Hi, Miss Jane. It’s Scott.”
I bounce off the bed and start pacing. “Hi. Were you able to determine anything?”
“Yep. Even though I already sent my men home, I took a look for you. It’s your alternator.”
My stomach dips. “How much?”
“With parts and labor, you’re looking at about $550.”
A quick mental inventory of my checking and savings account shows that no matter how I shuffle it around, I don’t have it. And I don’t do credit cards. Shit.
I turn my back to Aiden and lower my voice. “Um, I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“Take your time, Miss Jane. We can’t start on it until Monday anyway. We’re booked solid tomorrow and Saturday, and we’re closed on Sunday. We’ll keep your car safe here until you get back to us next week.”
I squeak out a “thank you” and hang up.
We’re screwed.
It’s my car and my trip, so there’s no way I can ask Aiden for help with the repair money. That’s not something you ask of a fling.
Claire. She might spot me. But that still doesn’t help the timeline.
I toss my phone onto the bed and face Aiden. “Bad news.”
He lays back on the double bed by the door and clasps his hands behind his head. I ignore—mostly—what that does to his T-shirt and muscles. The movement exposes a strip of skin above his jeans, complete with happy trail.
I’m sore from all of our sexing, but my lower parts flutter anyway. What the hell? I should be too tired for this. Plus, you know, the timing? Not so great.
“What’d he say?”
I plop on the other bed and tuck my legs up to my chest, arms wrapped tight around them.
I knew this time with Aiden was a fantasy. And reality just invaded. “It’ll be $550, but they can’t even start until Monday.” I prop my chin on a knee.
He drags his hands across his face and thumps his head back against the pillow. The aged A/C under the window does a cough-rattle and kicks in, filling the small room with its hum and cool air.
Time to rip off the Band-Aid and cut loose before I get more sucked in with someone who’ll just let me down. Charmers always do. At least with people like me. I don’t have the stickiness needed to keep someone smooth like him. Like my mom must have. And I cannot appear as if I expected more out of what was going on between us. I knew the score, and I’d look like an idiot expecting more.
I’d rather not have that confirmed, thank you very much.
It’s a fling. And I can’t rely on a fling.
“I’m sorry, Aiden. I know you need to get to Atlanta.”
Aiden
Jane sits there, the small gulf of the double beds between us. I’d like to say that the quality of her silence is new, but it’s not.
It’s the same goddamn coldness I felt the morning after we first met, still fully clothed, but under a pile of blankets.
Jesus, I’m such a fool. Here I thought something was developing between us, something more than just sex. And while, sure, it was freaking me out, I would’ve dealt.
Bitterness coats my tongue and gut. I’ve gotta face reality—I’m just a good fuck. Of course someone like Jane wouldn’t be into someone like me once we’re back in Sarasota. This is a fucking Brittany situation all over again. Except this time, I won’t make the mistake of being clueless.
“I need to call Conor,” I say into the silence.
She nods, her chin rubbing her knee. “You do what you need to do.” Her voice is impersonal, and her eyes have this strange flatness, as if she’s erected a wall the size of Fort Knox around her and can’t see through it.
I frown. Jesus. I’m not even worth discussing any of this with. I’m not worth even being asked to help. A ghost.
But I can’t just abandon her.
Annoyance making my movements jerkier than I’d like, I grab the dinky ice bucket and march down to the ice machine. Once I’m far enough away, I call Conor and give him the scoop.
Surprise, surprise. He’s not happy.
I plunk the ice bucket on top of the ice machine and pace the perimeter of the snack alcove. “Yeah, man, I know. Promise. I’ll be there in time for the game. I’ll find a bus or a car rental or something.” I don’t know how that’s going to work. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
But I’m convincing enough that I can hang up with Conor and call the mechanic.
It takes some prodding, but the guy gives a quote for how much it’ll cost to pay someone overtime to come in tomorrow.
“Do it. I’ll pay the bill,” I tell him. It’ll leave me only a couple hundred on my credit card, but it’s worth it. Now she won’t be stuck here the whole weekend, worrying about her car. This works out great, because even if I can’t abandon her, the reality is, I do need to get to Atlanta tomorrow. After giving him my card info, I hang up.
Satisfaction warms me that I’m able to do this for her. Take care of her.
And then I grip my hair and pull. Hard.
Shit.
I’m doing it again. I’m becoming a fucking doormat.
I swipe my debit card for a Coke Zero for Jane and a Coke for me and fill up the ice bucket.
I stomp back down the hallway. Fixing her car was necessary. I just need to set boundaries.
I’m horrible with boundaries, but I’ve gotta start somewhere.
First step, spinning this in a non-doormat way.
I have my game face on when I enter the room. She twists around, her cell to her ear. “Uh-huh. Yes. That works. Thank you,” she says and hangs up.
I place the drinks on the bureau. “Okay, so I’ve been thinking. I talked to Conor, and of course he’s not happy.”
I wince as I hear how that comes out.
Okay, do this without sounding like a dick. I make sure my voice is more casual than I feel. “I need to get to Atlanta by Saturday. Your car is in the shop until at least Monday. The way I see it, we don’t have a lot of options.”
Non-doormat groundwork laid. Now to the solution.
But before I can open my mouth to continue, she crosses her arms and says, “I agree.” She nods to her cell. “That was a rental car agency. They can drop a car off tonight, and as long as you have a major credit card and your driver’s license, you can drive to Atlanta for $89.”
What’s that odd feeling? Oh, yeah. What it feels like when someone impales me on a WTF spike.
I’m staring at this woman, whom I thought I might be able to have a relationship with, and she wants nothing more to do with me. She’s all but pushing me out the door.
If I wanted a clear signal about where we stand, I got it. “So that’s it?”
She sits all prim and proper on the edge of the bed, and I want to push her against the mattress, grip my hands in her hair, and fuck her brains out.
But apparently I’m the only horny bastard in this room. And the only one with any emotional skin in the game.
She looks away. “We both knew this was going to end when we got to Atlanta.”
We did?
I don’t say anything.
She seems to steel herself. She nods. “It’s better thi
s way. Like you said, you need to get to Atlanta. And I know they really want you there tomorrow, not Saturday. Now you can get there in time to bond with the team.”
I swallow down my hurt. “This is what you want?”
“This is what I want.”
Chapter 18
Jane
“Crap.”
I punch the remote control button again. “That’s crap.”
I’m flipping channels trying to find something on the motel TV that isn’t a rom-com or a reality show. I’ve had a bit too much reality for the night.
Aiden left ten minutes ago, and I’m nibbling the last slice of pizza we ordered.
But it tastes like crap. Not even my new jammies are cheering me up—a library due date tank and panty set.
I’m unreasonably upset about this whole mess. I knew it was a fling, but somehow I’d let myself get sucked into his charm. I forgot myself during the last two days with him.
While it stung to see him leave me and hop in his rental, it was also a good thing. If I’m already this much sucked in by him after a couple of days, how much harder would it have been when I left him Saturday?
Because, yeah, if we’d continued on, I would’ve stuck around to see his first game before heading back home. I was already starting to build castles in the air. Starting to believe there was something more.
That I’m this upset is a wake-up call. And just in time.
I take another bite of pizza.
This is why I prefer to be alone. No nasty plummets from the dizzy heights of expectation.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” I mutter and punch the channel changer again.
Aiden
I’m driving west on I-10, leaving Macclenny behind me and telling myself leaving Jane was the smart thing to do.
That I’m respecting her wishes.
That it’s time I stopped playing in this stupid bubble we created and get my ass to Atlanta like I’m supposed to.
I take another pull from my now warm Coke, needing the caffeine. I just have to make it to Lake City. I booked a room there, because it’s far enough from Jane that I can’t act on my wuss instincts and turn around.
Risking It Page 11
