“Hey, sleepyhead. You know you don’t want to stay here all night. You’ll have a wicked crick in your neck in the morning.”
I leaned in and brushed a kiss against her lips. She responded, taking our kiss deeper.
“God, you’re sexy,” I whispered, straightening.
“In sweats and T-shirt?”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about this all night.”
“Mmmm. Me, too.”
The words sent a ribbon of lust shooting through my body. I pulled Becca onto my lap and kissed her properly. Fully awake now, she responded, flicking her tongue between my lips, teasing me, inviting me to do the same. I shoved my fingers through her hair and angled my mouth over hers. Sensation exploded throughout my body at her eagerness and I could feel the rush of blood in my cock already making me hard.
Becca squirmed on my lap. She noticed, too, and smiled against my lips.
“What’s that you’ve got down there?” she teased.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Becca slid off my lap to the floor. On her knees between my splayed legs, she gave me a naughty grin, then popped the button on my jeans. I raised my hips a little and she tugged the jeans to my knees. She traced my erection through my boxers and cupped my balls with her small hand. My cock twitched, and I was eager to have her hands on me, skin on skin.
I didn’t have to wait long. Becca slipped her hands inside my boxers and stroked my burning flesh. She grasped me with enough force to make it feel good and used her thumb to circle the head.
I groaned and grit my teeth as desire rushed through my body. Becca tugged down the boxers and came up on her knees over me. Her hair tickled my thighs, her breath brushing my cock as potent as a touch. Then she put her mouth on me and I swore I saw stars behind my eyelids.
She knew how to love me, that was for sure. She stroked up and down my shaft with a cool, firm grip, all the while working me with her mouth. Hot and wet, her tongue lapped at me, circling the head, making me swell even more. I wanted it to go on forever, but knew I wouldn’t last much longer if it did.
I shifted and she raised her head, licking her lips.
I kicked off my jeans and shorts and pulled my shirt over my head, then slid to the floor with Becca. She was breathing heavy, her eyes dark. She enjoyed tasting me almost as much as I enjoyed it.
Her nipples were poking through the thin cotton of her T-shirt and I couldn’t resist touching them, feeling the hard nubs against my palms.
“What have you got under there?” I asked.
Becca shuddered once, leaning into my caress. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
I didn’t need the invitation repeated. I tugged her shirt off over her head and she slipped off her sweats, revealing her moist heat and no panties. I lifted her onto my lap, straddling me. She was wet and soft and so, so hot, but I didn’t want it to be over too quickly.
I braced my hands at the indentation of her tiny waist and pulled one of her rosy nipples into my mouth. Becca arched and threaded her fingers though my hair. I could feel her against my cock, slick with desire.
“Condom,” I said and she grabbed my wallet out of my discarded jeans.
Once business was taken care of, she lifted and slid easily onto me. I sucked in my breath at the pure pleasure of feeling her close around me, hugging me tight in her deep, warm depths. I sat Indian-style and she did the same as I began to move in slow, deep strokes.
“I love the way your waist is so small and I can almost get my hands around it, but then flares out to the curves of your hips,” I said, stroking her, guiding her movements.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and nipped my earlobe before tracing the shell with her tongue. Shivers raced through me at the contact and I thrust deeper.
“I’ve been thinking about us like this all day,” Becca whispered. Her voice was husky and soft and her breath cooled the path she’d forged with her tongue.
“What? What have you been thinking about, Becca?” I wanted to hear the words, wanted to know she’d wanted me as much as I did her.
“This,” she said. “You. Inside of me. Hard, hot, friction. Lots of friction.”
I jerked, thrusting deeper. “Like this?”
“Yeah.” She kissed me open-mouthed and I used my tongue to explore the inside of her mouth. Her lips, her tongue, her teeth, everywhere I could reach. She squirmed on my lap, urging me to go faster, but I kept the slow, steady rhythm that was driving us both beyond reason.
“Ah, lotus postion, not bad. For a Boy Scout,” she said when she broke the kiss.
“I have a lot of tricks I could show you,” I said, stroking her bare back.
She groaned, deep in her throat. “I’ll bet you do.”
I thrust harder, but couldn’t go as deep as I wanted. I lifted Becca off me and knelt. I guided her to her knees so that her sweet ass stuck up in the air, just as it had the first time I laid eyes on her naked flesh the previous night.
She spread her thighs and from behind I could see her sweet, wet opening glistening in invitation. I grasped her hips and slid all the way inside her, my pelvis cushioned by her soft backside.
“Oh, God, you feel good,” she moaned. She pushed back against me and the leash of my careful control finally snapped.
I drove in and out of her at a frenzied pace, our flesh slapping in rhythm with our pants and groans of pleasure.
Blood rushed through my veins, all heading south, making me hard almost to the point of pain. The sensation of sliding in and out of her, of seeing my cock disappear over and over again, rushed my climax. I reached low between us, found Becca’s swollen clit nestled in her damp curls and stroked it gently in rhythm with my thrusts. Becca gasped and I felt her clench around me as the first waves of her climax rolled through her.
She shuddered, crying out and pushing back against me. I thrust harder, once, twice, and then the rush overtook me, too. Release hit me so hard my vision blurred for a split second and all my awareness was centered on our connection. I dug my fingers into Becca’s hips, holding her tight against me, and rode out the intensity of my pleasure until I was weak and sated and slumped over her still form, gasping for air.
She sighed deeply and I pulled out of her. She looked over her shoulder at me, sweat dotting her smooth forehead and a wicked grin splitting her swollen lips.
“Wow, Boy Scout. I think you just earned a badge.”
I cleaned up and led her to my bed, where I tucked her into my arms, all soft and warm and thoroughly sated. I loved her scent and the scent of me on her. I loved the light strawberry smell of her hair where my nose was buried, and the soft flesh of her belly where I rested my hand. Our legs were a tangle beneath the sheet and I stroked her calf with mine, loving the smooth feel of her legs in contrast to my hair-roughened ones.
She sighed, snuggling deeper into my arms. “I could get used to this,” she said, her words slow and sleep-heavy.
“Me, too,” I whispered, pressing s kiss to her cheek. My heart expanded and squeezed her tighter, never wanting to let her go. I knew I’d fallen for her completely now, for better or worse.
“I want you to come home with me for Thanksgiving.”
Becca’s eyes flew open. “What?”
“Unless you’re planning to visit your folks, of course.”
She sat up and stared at me like I’d just suggested we take a jaunt to Mars. “You want me to spend Thanksgiving at your parents’ house?”
“Did you have other plans?”
She considered for a moment, biting at her bottom lip in that adorable nervous way of hers. I took her hand and kissed it. “No. I don’t have plans.”
“I don’t like to think of you here all by yourself over the holiday.”
“You make me sound so pathetic,” she said, pulling her hand out of my grasp. “I have friends, you know. Dex and Sydney.”
“I don’t think you’re pathetic. I’ll just miss you if you’re not wit
h me.” I nibbled the spot just behind her ear that I knew really got her engines purring. I wasn’t above playing dirty to get what I wanted. “Come on. It will be fun. Promise.”
“Do I get to look at embarrassing childhood pictures of you?”
“Mama has about twenty albums stuffed with embarrassing stuff.”
“Pumpkin pie?”
“Three different kinds.”
“And I’ll get my own room? I don’t want your parents to think we’re…you know.”
I kissed a line to her mouth, tugging her down on top of me. “That we’re what?” I slid my tongue into her mouth briefly, teasing her, while I moved my other hand to her bare breast.
“Lovers,” she sighed heavily. “I’ll bet they wouldn’t understand that we’re just having fun and we’re not serious.”
That stung a bit, but only made me more determined that Becca see us as an “us” and I was hoping the trip to my parents’ house would show her how wonderful it could be.
“You can have your own room,” I said, rolling her beneath me so I could have better access to her gorgeous breasts. “There’s plenty of space.”
I sucked one pointed nipple into my mouth and felt her hands slide into my hair.
“Okay,” she said, arching to force her breast further into my mouth.
I smiled against her skin and slid my fingers lower. “Good.”
Becca was a force impossible to resist, so strong and confident, yet skittish, too, when it came to matters of the heart. I knew if I wanted to keep her for good, I’d have to go slowly so as not to spook her. I wanted her. All of her. And I would do whatever it took to keep her.
Chapter Ten
Dillon’s family lived in a classic old Southern plantation house about a half hour outside of Atlanta. He’d talked from the time we left Nashville. He talked about the people who would be there, his brothers and sister, his mom and dad, brothers and sisters-in-law, nieces, and great aunt Margaret. He talked about what they would be serving for dinner, what the house was like, and the annual pick-up football game in the front yard.
It wasn’t like him to be so chatty and I wondered if he was nervous about asking me along. As we got closer, though, I could tell he was getting more and more excited to see his folks. I, on the other hand, was getting a serious cramp in my stomach.
I was stupid to have agreed to come. I wasn’t the kind of girl somebody introduced to his parents. Unless they happened to walk in on me and the guy I had accompanied home. That had happened once or twice. Never pleasant.
Dillon talked about his brothers and sister: what they were like as kids, what they did now, their relationship status, trouble they all got into during the long, hot Southern summers. Sometime after we crossed the Georgia state line he noticed I had fallen silent.
“I’m boring you,” he said, grinning. “Sorry. It’s just that I haven’t been home in a while and this will be the first time we’re all home at the same time in years.”
“You’re not boring me. They sound like good people.”
“They all want to meet you.”
“Oh. You’ve told them about me?”
He shrugged and shot me the mischievous grin I couldn’t resist. “Maybe a little.”
“Oh,” I said again and looked out the window at the red earth and forest of pine trees whizzing by the window.
It wasn’t that I was opposed to meeting Dillon’s family, per se. If they were as cool as Dillon, I’m sure I could get through a few days of turkey and questions. I was pretty good at deflecting things I didn’t want to talk about, so no worries there. I could be very social when I wanted to be.
The thing tying my stomach up in knots was what they were going to think not of me personally, but of Us. Us being Dillon and me, me and Dillon. Of course they were going to see us as a couple. Their first thought was going to be that I was Dill’s girlfriend. The fact that we were just friends with benefits wouldn’t occur to them. I wasn’t really opposed to letting them think we were together, even. It would certainly be easier to let them assume there was a sort of romantic relationship between us. But girlfriend wasn’t a part I knew how to play. It wasn’t a part I’d ever wanted to play. And every time I even thought the word, my stomach cramped a little tighter.
“Don’t worry,” Dillon said, pulling onto a smaller state highway. “They’re going to love you.”
A half hour later we stopped in front of an enormous plantation house. It was two stories with a classic second-floor balcony, pillars, and huge wraparound front porch stocked with rocking chairs galore. All it was missing was a lazy old basset hound and it could have been the picture of old Southern grace.
“This is where you grew up?” I thought of the procession of dumpy apartments, shitty rentals, and mobile homes Mom and Sherri and I had lived in growing up.
“Yep. Great-great granddaddy Phillips re-built the place after the war. Sherman tried to burn down the first one, but all he got was the barn and a corner of the west wing.”
Dillon guided the car up a long, winding gravel drive, bordered on both sides by towering Georgia pines. I could smell their spicy fragrance even with the windows rolled up. “Wow. How’d great-great granddaddy Phillips save the rest?”
Dillon grinned at me, dimples in full force. “He didn’t. Family legend says that at the moment the soldiers tried to ignite the main house, clouds filled the sky and the heavens opened, dumping a deluge of rain on the flames, dousing them completely and saving the house. That story has been told a million times around the bonfire.”
“Wow. An act of God, huh?”
“That’s what they say.”
I shifted in my seat as the house came into view again. The only stories we told around the old space-heater in my family were tales about the men in the family who only stuck around long enough to put a bun in the oven and drink up all the rent money before taking off for greener pastures. Not quite the same as Dillon’s heritage.
Before Dillon even had the car in park, the door to the hose flew open and two little girls dressed in identical jeans and pink T-shirts raced across the porch and down the driveway to Dillon’s side of the car.
“Uncle Dillon!” they screamed and Dillon caught them both up in a big bear hug.
“Look how big you two are! Stop growing already, will ya?”
The girls giggled.
I stood by my side of the car awkwardly, but Dillon brought the girls around. “This is Becca. Becca, these are my nieces, Kaitlyn and Kerri.”
“Hi,” I said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All bad,” Dillon teased.
The rest of the family rushed the guest of honor and once Dillon had been hugged by every one of them, he introduced me.
Dillon’s dad and brothers were easy to pick out. All were tall and good looking with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. Dillon’s mom and sister were petite, closer to my height, with blond hair and flawless makeup. There were assorted aunts and cousins and in-laws in the mix, too. It was like a full-blown family reunion—not that I’d ever been to one.
All of the family welcomed me with open arms and smiles and recited their names, which I would never remember, of course, then it was into the house where the women were preparing for tomorrow’s big feast and the men were b.s.-ing in the living room. I felt for a moment like I’d fallen into some Saturday Evening Post illustration.
Once the men were out of the way, as Dillon’s mom put it, someone closed the pocket door that separated the kitchen from the living area of the house and out came the wine glasses and the merlot.
“So,” one of Dillon’s sisters-in-law said, settling on a barstool next to me at the kitchen island. “Tell me how you met Dillon.”
Here we go, I thought. The inquisition begins. Nobody can get the dirt on a woman like another woman. And, as predicted, they assumed we were a couple. I really had no choice but to play along, though I certainly had ideas about how I would be making Dillon pay later.
I
took a long sip of wine and before I even set my glass down, someone was filling it up again for me. “Well,” I said. “It’s nothing that exciting. My roommate was lead singer of Dillon’s band.”
“Oh, so she set y’all up?” This from Dillon’s sister, Heather.
“No, we just became friends.” I’d omit the part about our living together, for now.
A collective sigh escaped each woman at the table.
“I love a best-friends story,” Dillon’s mom said. “Friends make the very best husbands. And lovers.”
“Mother!” Heather said in mock horror. “You’re going to embarrass poor Becca.”
“Well, it’s true. Don’t you think so, Becca?”
Now, that was a loaded question. Dillon’s mother didn’t waste any time. She went right for the jugular.
Six women leaned in closer to hear my answer.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never been married.”
I could almost hear their groans of disappointment. I smiled.
“Well played, Becca,” Heather said with a wink.
“She’s a clever one,” Dillon’s aunt said and all the others murmured their agreement.
Luckily, talk turned to Dillon’s sister-in-law, who was huge with baby number three. The subject of names was discussed in detail as well as themes for the nursery.
I tried to smile and nod at the appropriate times and pretend I had a real viewpoint as to whether a girl should be dressed in pink all the time or whether green or yellow was acceptable. Dillon’s aunt was for all pink because they didn’t want the baby to turn out to be one of butch-looking women, did they?
I stifled a laugh and eventually relaxed enough to find I was having a nice time. Dillon’s family was warm and funny and clearly a close-knit group. I imagined Dillon had had quite an idyllic childhood in the midst of such a group and I couldn’t help but be a little sad at the things I’d missed. Mainly, the feeling of safety and love that filled the whole house.
By the time we’d finished the third bottle of wine, our giggles had turned into chuckles and snorts. Someone knocked on the kitchen door and it slid open enough to reveal Dillon’s grinning face.
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