by Cassie Mae
Sensing that I need to slow it down, Alec drops his knees, allowing me space to back up. I reach down automatically, needing to feel his hardness with my own hand. He throws his head back into the wall, swallowing hard, then pants at the ceiling with his eyes pressed shut.
I’m not a novice when it comes to hand jobs. Many years of “having fun” have given me plenty of opportunity. I have to admit, though, I never thought of how intimate one is until now. This isn’t a man I just met who will be long gone in the morning. This is my best friend. We know each other’s pasts, bad habits, and drunken nights. I know how he likes his coffee and how he can’t hit a F4 unless he hears it first, and I know that he feels like he’s falling behind his friends but that he’ll never admit it.
I know him, and I’m touching him knowing that we’ll face each other in the morning. That I’ll see him as my best friend, but something more now. This is intimacy, and I want even more of it. I want to know him as much in the physical sense as I do the mental and emotional senses.
I slide my hand out from his blue pajama pants, and I watch as he slowly tilts his head to catch my eye. My tongue snakes purposely across my lips, and I tuck my fingers into the elastic of his pants.
“Up,” I tell him, and he lifts his hips, letting me slide the bottoms off until he pops free. I lick my lips again, then bend forward. He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His brow is knitted in the middle of his forehead.
“You don’t have to…it’s been a while, so I might—”
“I know.” I turn my head and kiss his palm. “Let me know when you’re close and I’ll stop.”
His body moves in silent laughter. “Torturing me?”
“In the best way,” I say with a wicked grin. Then I drop my lips to his perfectly cut stomach. He rolls his hips upward, reaching down with his long, masculine fingers. Sweet caresses tangle in my hair until my mouth opens over him. Then the soft hold turns rugged and commanding. It hurts a little, but it’s an encouraging sort of pain. I slowly slide my tongue around the head, lapping at the salty taste. His hips thrust farther upward, and his fingers dig ever more deeply into my hair. I follow his lead, letting him push me into the position he wants, feeling my own pleasure pool between my legs.
I’m in a state of complete ecstasy, almost as if I’m the recipient of this glorious oral play. I’ve seen Alec happy. I’ve seen him sad and angry and frustrated and joyous and exhilarated and scared and bold. I feel his moods as tangibly as if they were my own. When he’s happy, I am too. It’s who we are together—moving in one synchronized emotional rhythm. His pain is my pain. And his pleasure…
A low cry releases from his mouth, his head pressed far back against the wall, every muscle on his body taut, veins visible even in the dark. The sounds he makes echo in my own throat, as I’m getting off on his vulnerable and sexy-as-hell masculinity. He pulls on my hair, fighting between coaxing me on or forcing me to stop. The salty taste of him begins to overpower, and I quickly back away, obeying the promise I made to him before I went down.
I watch as he calms his breathing, his body slowly relaxing back into the sheets. His dark green eyes meet mine, and I realize that I too am panting like a dog. I run a thumb under my bottom lip to wipe away the residue, my breath coming fast and hard. The corner of his mouth picks up as he watches me, and he straightens his back, reaching out his hand.
“Can I?” he asks, tucking his thumbs into my waistband. I’m not sure if he’s asking to return the favor or if he’s just asking to take off my clothes. Either way, the answer is yes.
I nod, then push up so he can get the material around my butt. He pulls like he’s in a tug-of-war, yanking them off so quickly they make a whooshing sound before they flutter to the floor. His hands go right back to my body, finding the hem of my nightshirt and lifting it over my head. My nipples are tight and ready, and his eyes blaze and he goes absolutely slack-jawed at the sight of them. I inhale deeply, letting my chest align with his mouth in case he should choose to close the five-inch gap. He lets out a small laugh at my lack of subtlety.
His lips press lightly against one of the peaks, teasing me before his arms wrap tightly around my middle, and his weight pushes me back into the bedsheets. My hands smooth up his arms, squeezing the muscles he usually hides under a button-down. He has no idea how fit he is, no idea how incredible I feel when he wraps these arms around me. My hands won’t stop wandering over the hard hills of his body, pulling and rubbing and grabbing and clinging. I want to suck on his biceps, lick across his triceps, bite down on his quadriceps. I want to paint his entire body with only my tongue and lips as a brush.
His chest presses against mine, and my legs spread wide for him to settle between them, his mouth continuing to love on my neck. I could stay in this position forever, to have an endless stay underneath his perfect body. The undeniable feeling of safety and trust is nearly tangible, and I find myself curling into it, cocooning myself under his warmth.
He feels so good on top of me.
A wave of déjà vu hits. The thought sounds almost familiar, as if I’ve thought it before. Alec’s lips travel up to mine, and as the soft passion builds between our mouths, I realize this isn’t the first time we’ve been here. The memory floats back to me through a fuzzy, almost dreamlike lens.
I blink my eyes open, slowing down our rhythm, eyes watering for no real apparent reason. Alec notices my sudden trepidation and slowly pulls back, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks, shifting his weight onto his arms.
I shake my head and let the quiet whispers of our breathing fill the silence for a moment or two.
“Alec…?”
“Hmm?”
“It…it feels good. You on top of me.”
He lets out a long breath, a hint of a smile setting on his kissed lips. “You remember?” he asks, smoothing a piece of hair off my cheek.
“Yes.” I drop my eyes from his gaze in a moment of uncertainty. “And no.”
“You were very drunk that night.”
Something pricks at the back of my eyes, and I blink furiously to ease the discomfort. I got a redo for that kiss—a spectacular redo—but what of the rest of it? What about the things I don’t remember, or that are fuzzy? He was in love with me then. How could I do that to him? My hands grip his skin and I can’t imagine him drunk right now. Alec wouldn’t do that to me if I’d said I loved him and he didn’t feel the same. He wouldn’t give me a drunken night. He wouldn’t dangle himself in front of me. And all the pain and heartache I may have caused smack into me hard, making it difficult to breathe.
“How…how do you not hate me?” I ask, the first traitorous tear rolling down my temple and into my tangled mess of hair. “To pull you this close, only to push you away?” I sigh, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, begging them to keep the rest of the tears locked behind the lids. That night was so long ago, it seems, but in a way it was just yesterday. I should’ve known then that he was better for me than anyone else, that he’s the one I’m in love with. How could I kiss him, pressure him, even though I was drunk as a skunk, when I had no intention of staying with him after? I feel rotten to my very core, and I press my palms even farther into my eyes, causing a dull ache in my head.
“Theresa,” he says, pulling on my elbow until I drop my hands. He cups my face, resting his forehead against mine, noses touching, and lips barely a centimeter apart. I watch his eyes, only his eyes, not being able to make out much else due to our proximity, but also not wanting to look anywhere else.
“I tried to hate you. I tried to turn off those feelings or turn them into something else. It was impossible with you.” His grip tightens, causing my neck to tilt back a little. “No matter what you’ve done, or what you do now, I will not hate you. I don’t have that in me.”
He presses his lips to mine so forcefully that I can’t speak. After the first second, I don’t want to talk. I don’t even want to breathe. I just
want to be sucked into him and stay there for the rest of my days. I want to crawl into his skin and set up camp. This kiss won’t ever end if I have any say in the matter, and my body is his, every single part of it.
I shift underneath him, gripping his hard length before moving aside my thong. Our lips don’t break even for a split second as he pushes his way inside me without any apprehension.
Dear God, it feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can only think in clichés—no one can hold a candle to him, words cannot adequately describe the pure amount of joy I’m in, he has completely shaken my world. As swept away as I am, I’m equally terrified that this amount of pleasure is only given to a person in small, cruel doses, and that it will end as soon as it has begun.
His mouth pops from mine, only to let out a throaty expletive against my kiss-swollen lips. Hearing the naughty word wets my already primed sex, and his pupils dilate as he slides with more ease in and out of me. He repeats it in another guttural and possessive groan as he thrusts, the same curse after curse, and I soon find myself moaning in tune with him, like we’re creating our own X-rated musical. I can feel the rise of pleasure happening so quickly inside me that I’m afraid a premature orgasm will halt what is the most intimate and joyous moment of my life thus far, but it doesn’t stop me from begging him for faster, faster, more, more, until I’m arched back in blissful languor, not knowing who I am or what I am, only that this man, my best friend, has brought me to the brink of heaven, and I don’t know when I will fall back down to where I was before now.
The pleasure is so strong that I feel pressure building behind my eyes, wave after wave rocking so much in me—waves I’ve never felt before even with the most experienced of partners. I’m gripping his arms, latched tight around his hips, meeting him thrust after thrust, and never wanting it to end, but knowing that pleasure this powerful is bound to make a person combust.
His green eyes meet mine once more, making the pleasure I’m experiencing double in intensity, before we both slam our eyes shut and let out one final synchronized groan. The moment I fall back into my body, tears rain down my cheeks. My breath hitches hard, and I gasp, trying to get air, trying to figure out why I’m crying so hard when I’ve never been so happy.
Alec’s fast and warm breath washes over my face, rippling the sweat and tears lingering on my skin. He lies still as I feel him slowly soften inside me. His lips press light kisses to my nose, my cheeks, my chin, not asking why I’m crying so hysterically. Maybe he’s used to bringing women to tears from the pure pleasure of his lovemaking, but I’m sure not used to it. I’ve never reacted this way before. I can’t explain it either, because I’m not sad. It was just…it was just…everything.
He goes to roll off me, but I tighten my grip on his arms, shaking my head. He lets out a breathy laugh, and my bottom lip juts out a little as he leaves me completely.
“I’ll clean us up,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. The few seconds he’s gone in the bathroom gives me the time to calm myself. I place a hand over my heart and smile as it goes from a rapid pitterpatterpitterpatter to a slow pit-pat. Alec comes back with a washcloth and takes care of us both. This is also a first for me; usually there is a condom in play, and I realize with an ounce of dread that neither of us had protection. I’m on the pill, and I’ve been tested, but I have no idea of his sexual history in the medical sense.
The mattress dips as he rolls back on next to me. I curl into his chest, running my fingers over the muscles I will have to appreciate more next time.
“I’m clean,” I tell him. “Probably should’ve said that before.”
He silently laughs against me. “Ditto.”
“Also on the pill.”
I feel him nod against my hair. “Good. I’m sorry; I didn’t think—”
“I didn’t either.”
He’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. I’m sure drifting off, and in the very sleepy edges of my mind, I think I catch him whispering something to me. Something that sounds like “I love you,” but it very well could be a dream.
Chapter 21
PRESENT DAY
I plop my butt down at the train station and wait for the ride home to chocolate and wine and a comfy bed, though I’m not sure how much sleep I’m going to get tonight. What a mess I’ve made of things. What a bogus Valentine’s Day. I lean back on the bench, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating going to Alec’s place instead of my own. But if he doesn’t show up tonight, then I’ll be beyond devastated and have to live with the image of him and Rian together, replaying over and over and over until I need rehab.
My phone goes off in my pocket, and I laugh at myself because I forgot to put it on silent when I set out after Alec and Rian. If I’d followed them instead of coming here, I’d have been found out in a second.
I squeeze my hand into my pocket, expecting a text from Liz letting me know whether she’s got a bun in the oven, but my heart skips three times when I see Alec’s picture and the message he’s sent me.
Redo.
He wants a redo, but of what? I want a handful of them. I want to rewind and relive and change my answers and give us all that time that’s now lost.
“Theresa?”
I swear I’m imagining it. I actually check my phone to see if I’ve accidentally called him and put him on speaker. Nope, he’s standing an arm’s length away, sliding his cell into his pocket. I fumble around in my head for the right words. The ones I’ve been aching to say to him all night are fighting to get off my tongue.
But in the end all I can manage is “W-why? How?”
He lets out a small chuckle. “Huh?”
My eyes shut and I shake my head. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” I take a breath and chance a look at him. His snow-bitten hair is disheveled, his jacket is unzipped enough for me to see his neck and his five o’clock shadow, and his dimple is showing slightly. He’s perfect.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper, then feel my face flush ten thousand degrees of red. But he doesn’t seem to have computed the hushed confession; his eyes are looking at me but his mind seems to be somewhere completely different. I see his fists move in the pockets of his jacket, and he shifts his weight from one foot to another.
“You’re here,” he says, not acknowledging my word vomit. “What…what are you doing here?”
I stare down at my well-broken-in boots. “All sorts of crazy things.”
He chuckles in a confused sort of way but lets it go, taking the open seat next to me. His arm rests on the bench, one of his legs crossed over the other. He’s bouncing in his seat, as jittery as if he downed a triple-shot espresso before making his way here. He can’t seem to talk to me…me. The smell of someone else’s perfume mixed with Alec’s mouthwatering scent wafts in my direction, and I hate that this night happened. He’s probably nervous about telling me that he kissed another woman and that it may have blown whatever we had out of the water. His thumbs are twiddling, twiddling, and my phone is a deadweight in my hand, pulsing with the word “redo,” making my heart and head throb. Alec is saying something. His mouth is moving and he’s looking at me and I’m nodding like I understand. But then the words fall off my lips, interrupting whatever conversation he started.
“You left. You left me in the middle of the night and I think I know why.”
Whatever word Alec was on in his sentence floats off into oblivion, his green eyes becoming as wide as the moon.
“Why do you think I left?”
I throw him an arrogant look. “Men are notorious for not seeing the obvious signs women send.”
“Crying is a pretty clear-cut sign,” he argues with a tilt of his lips.
I jerk back, letting my mind float into the perfect night we shared, trying to see it from his perspective, but I’m completely unable to. My mind was so far from reality that night, so caught up in bliss.
I let out a small laugh. “Crying wasn’t a bad thing in that scenario.”
&nbs
p; He drops the arm resting on the back of the bench and shifts to face me, his knees bumping into mine.
“When is crying a good thing?”
“Ever heard of a happy cry?”
“You were hysterical.”
“I was hysterically happy.”
He shakes his head, amusement and confusion mixing in his eyes. “You had me thinking you regretted it before it was even over. I left for you. So you wouldn’t have to face me in the morning. Face your…mistake.”
I twist on the bench, pulling my leg up to press it flush against his thigh. Frustration tightens the corners of my mouth. “I was giving you a sign, Alec.”
He lets out an equally frustrated sigh. “Well, then, what did this sign say?”
I grab his twitching hands, holding them tight in my grasp. I’d ask him to look at me, but I never have to do that with him.
“I’m ready. I’m not just ready—I’m ready for you. I asked you to be in the damn auction so I could bid on you. I had three grand in my pocket tonight to tell you with some grand gesture what I’ve been holding back.”
“You want me for another night?”
“I want you every night.”
The confusion drowns the amusement in his eyes, and worry lines form on his face. Without thinking, I reach up and smooth his brow, then trace his jawline with my pinky. His mouth opens a smidge, as though breathing through his nose is just not going to cut it right now. This may not be the grand gesture I was hoping for, but I can’t keep it in any longer.
“I want to redo everything. Every moment I’ve had with you. I want to rewrite my dialogue, give you everything I should’ve given you in the first place instead of handing it over to that prick I was dating, or any of the pricks in between. I want to go back to that first night you said you loved me. I want you to say it again so I can say it back. And don’t think this is because I saw you strip on that stage tonight, because I can tell from that look on your face you’re thinking that. And don’t laugh right now—I’m being serious!”
