Once my shirt is gone, Doc sucks my nipples through the lace of my bra, which is ridiculous because they’re demi cups. I mean, pull it down a little and POP! C’est la nipple! I giggle.
“I’m enjoying myself, okay?” he says.
I reach behind myself to flick the clasp open and drop the sadly uncomfortable thing to the side.
“You just don’t like me having any fun, do you?” he says with snark. Naughty, naughty snark. “How ’bout I rid you of an even bigger constraint?”
With that, he flips me on my back. His shirt disappears in record time, and I’m jealous of his stealth ability when I could barely find my own buttons. His belt undone and zipper down, he takes on my bottoms as his next task—a task he manages surprisingly quickly considering how tight they are. Then again, he’s on a mission. His hair is longer on top, so it flops over his forehead as he concentrates on maneuvering quickly in the limited space. Since it takes a bit of effort, time slows, and I’m able to watch him. Doc has a bit of a baby face when you look beneath the sometimes-grizzly beard he sports. I do love it, even when it’s prickly on my neck and, well, inner thighs. If he shaved it, we might have words. Many words.
Regardless, the small smile playing on his lips as he throws my pants somewhere—onto the floor or on the back window ledge for all I know—is everything. I see the boy at heart, and the man with a love for life. Then his eyes fix on me, and I feel his hunger burning a hole in my chest. So I respond the best way I know how.
“Are you gonna fuck me or what?”
Evidence of a yes pulls the corners of Doc’s mouth crooked, and goddammit, I could not want him more right now. He crawls over me slowly—really slowly. I’ve expressed my impatience, so of course now’s the time he chooses to push my buttons. Hell, what am I saying? This is exactly the time to do just that. He knows that’s what makes sex for us all the more intense.
When he brushes his beard on my chin to tickle me, I push at his chest, only to hook my leg around his and flip us to take back the throne, so to speak. Since I’ve done so with extra force and quickness, I nail my head on the roof of the car.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, rubbing my skull. My eyes closed, I can practically feel every one of his muscles contract as he lifts his torso to meet mine. His hand settles over mine where I hit my head while his cock presses against my clit. It’s the ultimate button to push.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he whispers before his mouth attaches to my neck.
Gooseflesh ripples across my skin like billions of microcosmic explosions. I’m so wet, I’m sliding along his shaft like he’s a goddamn carnival ride—which, he kind of can be, but let’s focus here.
“Please, please, please,” I say on a sigh, the pain in my head completely forgotten. With renewed purpose, I shift my hips, lifting off his thighs to reposition myself. As I take him inside, I let out a strangled cry. Not the sexiest, but given how amazing Doc feels pushing up inside me, I don’t give a shit. “God, yes!”
He groans. The sound is maddeningly sexy. Then he moves. I move. I roll my hips, he thrusts upward. God in Heaven, how can anyone make me feel this good? Fingers dig into my hips as my nails sink into his shoulders. I have the urge to throw my head back, but at this point, I don’t want to risk a concussion. Instead, I push forward, almost laying my cheek against the tattoo on his shoulder. My tongue slithers out to taste it. I flatten it to lick and taste his salty skin, trailing to his neck and up behind ear. Biting his earlobe wasn’t in my plan, but when his strong hands squeeze and pull my hips firmly against him in several short strokes, I bite down. Each movement pushes against me so perfectly, I’m feverishly close to release. Sweat beads along my forehead, amassing into a drop that tickles my hairline as it escapes into my ear.
“Oh, God,” I say, my voice low and imploring. “Baby, I’m… I need, I—I, ohh.”
He makes a noise I can only describe as a growl. It really does feel animalistic, and fuck me, but the noise is just what I needed to hear. Every muscle stiffens and releases in unpredictable order as a burst of heat rushes throughout my entire body. My vision blanks—I see a flash of white like the brightest camera has gone off, outlines of shapes barely visible before me. Just as quickly, it all reverses like a film negative. I can’t even tell you what noises I am making—if any. All I can hear is the rush of the blood in my veins. An aftershock claims my entire body, and it’s as though I am temporarily paralyzed—but happy about it. Not just happy, euphoric. Every nerve ending tingles as the rush slowly fades.
The tide of my pulse in my ears ebbs, and my vision clears. I realize finally that Doc is still moving, feverishly chasing after me. A small part of me thinks, how apt. It almost makes me cry. Well, it actually does if you count the burn of tears threatening the edge of my lashes. Is it guilt? Maybe. There is something inexplicably intense with us, a connection that straightens the learning curve—like every touch was already written. Sex with other men has never made it this easy to reach new heights.
I resume the rock of my hips, pulling at his back to bring him to me, to help him catch up with me. I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight, meeting his thrusts, every desperate pound and push.
“Yes, baby,” I say softly in his ear. “Please, Declan.”
Somehow, I knew that would clinch it. He exhales sharply and stills, holding me as if life itself depended on it. A single tear escapes me, but my body is on fire, and it’s magnificent. He’s basically silent, his breath caught in his throat as he spasms inside me. Finally, he gasps and moans, shuddering before his hands release their death grip.
“Fuck, Beauty,” he mumbles, a smile very pronounced on his lips.
“Mmm-hmm.” I hold his face in my hands and kiss him. I want to kiss him until I collapse or he does.
Or until Cameron taps on the window and says, “I heard you guys from the second floor through my closed windows. Might wanna wrap it up before someone calls the cops.”
I’m frozen, pressing my naked breasts tightly against Doc. Cam chuckles, and she has already begun walking away, but I’m still mortified. Pretty sure my face is the color of a strawberry right now—I am not normally an exhibitionist… except when it comes to Doc, it seems. It’s like I temporarily forgot we were in a car instead of somewhere private and, I don’t know, soundproof. At least we were inside the car this time.
When I feel Doc shift below me—and specifically, inside me, I turn back to find him biting his lips off in an attempt to keep from laughing. He fails.
“Christ,” I mutter.
“Aww, come on,” he says, teasing. “Even a captive audience can be fun. Haven’t you wanted to explore your exhibitionist side?”
I lift an eyebrow. “No.”
Carefully, I climb off of him and search for my discarded clothes. I start with my shirt, since this car feels like all windows right now. I zero in on those that are rolled down. Fucking hell. I grumble to myself and awkwardly try to get covered up so I can “walk of shame” up to the door. I notice Doc’s barely moving, having just rid himself of the condom.
He purses his lips and reaches out to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. “How about exploring getting some sleep? Can I crash with you?”
A lopsided smile spreads across my face as I stop, helplessly caught in his gaze. “Yes.”
He leans over to give me a peck, but then decides he wants slower seconds. Against my lips, he says, “Two yeses in a day? Happy Doc.”
“What does that make me?” I ask. “Snow White? Where are the other dwarves?”
That must have tickled his funny bone, because he unleashes a too-loud cacophony of laughter through the car.
I slap a hand over his mouth and grumble, “Come on, let’s go.”
“Speaking of Grumpy…”
As I walk up the path to the door, Doc sounds off behind me. “People don’t give proper credit to how good car sex can be,” he says. Then, opting for a high-pitched, whiny voice, he adds, “‘It’s so uncomfortable.’ ‘Ther
e’s no room.’ Blah blah blah.”
I snicker as I unlock the main door. “Well, it usually is. I can only think of one other time I’ve had sex in a car when it was worth the effort—and that’s questionable at best.”
He stops me as I make a turn for the stairs. “We’ve had sex in a car before,” he says, clearly hurt. “Six weeks ago.”
I turn and stand chest to chest with him. “That was on a car. Big difference.”
“Fair play,” he says as we continue up the stairs. “But you did say usually. I guess it’s a good thing I drive the tank-wagon.”
My body stops at the top of the steps of its own volition. I turn slowly and block the stairs with a hand on each of the newel-posts. “That’s not a thing.”
“What?” He’s genuinely confused. Or orgasm-fogged.
“Tank-wagon. It’s a tank. Or it’s a wagon. It can’t be both.” I feel pretty confident about this, but his responding smirk tells me I shouldn’t be. Because that damn smirk undoes me. It makes me want to do unspeakable things to him. And let him do a whole slew of unspeakable things to me. Shh. Don’t tell him that.
The smirk becomes an all-out grin. He probably knows that already.
“I like tank-wagon.”
“Pfft.” I snort, trying not to laugh. “Well, stud, it doesn’t exist.”
He steps up to the top, pushing me backward onto the landing with his chest. His grin relaxes. “Au contraire,” he says quietly. “We just had sex in one.”
The peal of laughter that escapes me is seriously loud and resembles the sound of a mentally deficient goose. I run toward the apartment door and unlock it as quickly as I can. “Come on!” I hiss, but he ambles over like he’s got no need to rush.
I yank him through the door and close it behind us. He immediately pulls me to him for a kiss, but we’re interrupted by Cam, who’s peeking out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice in hand.
“I’m going back to bed,” she says. “Do I need to find better earplugs?”
Shameface. “No, Cammy,” I say, dropping my hand to take Doc’s. “We’re going to sleep. Swear.”
“We are?”
Doc’s such a dick.
8
AFTER TOO LITTLE SLEEP
DOC
I CAN’T FALL asleep right away. Her snores are quiet, but it’s snoring nonetheless. That’s not what’s keeping me awake, though. My brain is spinning around all of this. Her. Me. The Tank-Wagon. I chuckle to myself and rub my nose along her shoulder. Nora curls herself into the crook of my elbow, her head resting on my bicep as she faces away from me. Leaving my arm trapped where it is, I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
After something close to two years, after assuming she was never coming back to me, after thinking having something like what I’d had with Nora with anyone else was next to impossible… she’s here. She said yes, and she’s holding my hand in her sleep.
And I’m in big fucking trouble.
Nora Bennett is bad news. She’s fireworks and candy, turpentine and rusty nails, vicious and sweet all rolled up into one woman.
No, saying she’s bad news is misleading. The truth is, she’s dangerous. To me. And no matter what I said to her, I want this to work. I want her to find a way to be with me, only me, for as long as we can make it. But she will fight me. And she will refuse to follow her own heart.
Last time ’round, everything was in secret until Sophie caught us making out on Monkhouse’s deck. Nora’d said, “It’s casual. If someone asks, we’re just having a good time.”
“We are having a good time,” I’d told her. “Why does it have to be—”
She’d severed my thought with a more intense kiss than before, and I legitimately ceased to care what we were talking about.
I once called her my girlfriend when we ventured out of the bedroom to get dinner. We’d driven to Venice Beach because Nora mentioned a sushi place there that she loved. A female friend of mine happened to stroll by on the boardwalk and stopped to say hi.
“Who’s your friend, Doc?” she’d asked.
“Oh, this is my girlfriend, Nora,” I told her, watching Nora blanch—then blush.
After we finished dinner, we’d ended up at a hotel steps away and had the most amazing sex. We barely slept and drove up PCH and back to Bodhi at five in the morning.
Then she didn’t return my calls or texts for three days after I dropped her back at her place. When I finally saw her and asked her what was going on, she ended it. “Too serious,” she said. Until we saw each other at The Post two weeks later and ended up fucking in the manager’s office.
It’s okay. We know the manager. Edwin’s cool.
As far as anyone else knew, though, it was over. I kept myself in the frame of mind that was happy with the sex—and that’s all it was for the latter half of our… whatever. I accepted it because I wanted what I could get. I thought if I didn’t push, if I relaxed a bit, she would come around. I truly didn’t care that we didn’t have a label. We were both busy with work, but we met up whenever time allowed and there were dirty texts and phone calls in between.
Then something I’ve never gotten details on triggered a massive freak-out and she said, “Don’t call me anymore. I can’t do this.”
I tried to call or text a few times, and I even stopped by her house once when I knew she was home. Every attempt only seemed to make her angry at me. I was definitely wounded—I can admit that at least to myself, no matter what I told anyone else. When she was around after that, I couldn’t help but flaunt whatever female attention I had. If I saw her at a bar, I purposefully tongue-fucked the nearest agreeable female mouth—within reason—until I was sure Nora was looking.
But that didn’t happen too often, because soon she started avoiding a lot of the events involving our mutual circle of friends. I cooled off relatively quickly, reverting to my usual dating modus operandi of messing around whenever and with whomever I felt like. I wasn’t drawn to anyone else the same way, and I didn’t know what to do about that. Nor did I want to think too deeply about it. Any companionship I engaged I took solely at face value. I thought of it simply as self-preservation, but the cold, hard truth is that I had to push Nora from my mind or I would have ended up in an uncomfortably dark place.
Something about us scares her. That’s what makes her act this way—I’m sure of it. And whatever that particular something is, no one seems to know but her. I’ve tried to pry it out of Sophie in a half-assed, had a few beers kind of way, but she claims she hasn’t been able to get to the bottom of it herself. I want to say she’s lying, but that’s not typically how Sophie rolls.
All I know is I’m not just messing around anymore. I’ve played the field and had a good time, but when I’m with Nora—sexually or simply in her presence—I feel different, something more intense. It’s just a fuckin’ tragedy that I can’t express it. Any sort of declaration would, without a doubt, be too much for my Beauty to handle.
For now.
***
When I wake up the next morning, Nora’s twisted around to lay her cheek against my stomach. Morning wood is literally inches from her face. I try to swallow a laugh, but the stomach muscles she’s resting on jump, causing her to stir.
“Why is your dick in my face?”
Fair question, I suppose. “That’s what dicks do in the morning. They pop up to say howdy,” I say, sleep surprisingly thick on my tongue. I pitch my voice extra low and bump up a hip so my dick bobs. “Howdy.”
“Asshole.” Her scolding is negated by her throaty giggle, which doesn’t help the at-attention dick situation.
I clear my throat. “Assholes have their own version of ‘good morning,’ but I guarantee you, it’s nowhere near as appealing. Or fun.”
She buries her laughter by pulling up and pressing the comforter to her face. A muffled “gross” filters through the fluffy mass of fabric. I sit up, kiss her head, and swing my legs over the side of the bed so I can go to the bathroom and defla
te the wood.
“Hey, where you going?” she asks, like she doesn’t know.
“Unless you’d like to take care of this yourself, I’m gonna hit the head.”
She rolls her eyes and then her body onto her side. “You were warm. Now I’m cold.”
Her whine is tempting. Why the fuck is her whine tempting?
Luckily, Cameron is scarce as I leave the room, because I don’t feel like ducking back in to cover myself. When I return, Nora’s curled up in a ball, hogging all the covers.
I take a moment to look around the room in the light and nearly startle when I notice a huge, dollhouse-style animal cage complete with tiny furniture. As I wrestle with trying to figure out how I missed seeing this last night, Nora chimes in behind me, voice arousingly amused.
“It’s a little disturbing to see you standing there naked while you stare at Fitzwilliam,” she says. “Are you trying to intimidate him? Don’t misjudge him; he’s a ninja.”
“What’s a ninja? I don’t see anything in here? What the fuck is this?”
“Oh, I have a pet hedgehog. His name is Fitzwilliam.”
I turn slowly and stare at her, propped up on her elbows enough that her breasts peek out from under the covers. I’m left a little speechless at the dichotomy of this situation. A hedgehog with a fancy-ass name and my sexy Beauty. I think I short circuit trying to rationalize. “Um, okay. So, where is he?”
“Duh. Sleeping like a normal person.” The requisite “obviously” is implied in her expression, which softens when she curls onto her side and snuggles the pillow—on the side where I slept, by the way. “Didn’t you hear him on his treadmill last night? Hedgies are often nocturnal, you know.”
“I was drunk on you.”
She grins. “Are you coming back to bed? It’s early.”
“I would really like to, but I gotta run. You want a ride back to your car?” I ask, stepping into my jeans and pulling them up.
She groans. “Sleep.”
I nod. For a beat, I want to crawl back in and steal space, share her warmth, and kiss her skin. No, not just for a beat, but I should go anyway. I have work in Ojai tomorrow morning, so I’m going to have to get there tonight. “Enjoy it. I gotta get back and pack.”
Doc Page 7
