A Sweet, Sexy Collection 1: 5 Insta-love, New Adult, Steamy Romance Novellas (Sweet, Sexy Shorts)

by Kaylee Spring

  Aaron grabs his backpack and hauls it onto the counter. “Lucky for you, my two favorite foods happen to be cereal and nasty old bread.” He sits down, opens a book, and begins to pull his headphones on. He looks back at me. “I’m fine, really.”

  “Okay,” I say and point to the bathroom. “I’m just going to get ready for bed, so don’t mind me.” I snap my fingers before clapping them together in some sort of nervous tic. Then I plunge into the bathroom and shut the door, immediately allowing the ridiculous smile to slide off my face.

  “What is wrong with you?” I hiss at myself in the mirror. But my reflection has no answer for my awkwardness. I’m acting like Aaron is some teenage heartthrob when he’s just a normal guy writing a normal paper at my breakfast nook. A guy who’s going to sleep on my couch tonight. I pause while brushing my teeth to wonder whether he sleeps shirtless or not. By the time I finish washing my face, I’ve already got an excuse ready for why I might sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a peek.

  But when I crack open the bathroom door and spy him reading intensely in Steve’s old hoodie, the hormones raging through my system wash away. Ever since Steve, I haven’t so much as eaten dinner with a guy, much less slept with one. No, that’s not precisely right. Aaron and I ate pizza together earlier. That marks the first social interaction I’ve had with the opposite sex in the past six months.

  He doesn’t notice me watching him. Not wanting to break his focus, I creep into my bedroom and close the door. Once I’m in bed, I can’t sleep, just as I predicted. Instead, I watch the hazy sky outside my window and listen as Aaron types away on his laptop.

  Chapter 6

  Aaron

  Half an hour after Kat has gone to her bedroom, I hear more noises out the window. This time I see the bright red flashes and know they are just fireworks. Some kids must have found a forgotten stash in their garage and couldn’t wait for July or New Years to shoot them off.

  Not seconds after the fireworks’ report, Kat is out of her door and at my side. She’s latched onto my arm, hugging it against her chest. I can feel enough to know she’s not wearing a bra. This is all the stimulus my cock needs to rouse from his slumber.

  “Did you hear that?” She asks, staring at the window.

  I almost say that it was just fireworks. This would no doubt console her enough to head back into the bedroom so that I could finish studying. But a flash of hope lights up my brain with endorphins.

  “I even heard it with my headphones on.” It’s not a lie. I did hear the fireworks while listening to my study mix. I’m just choosing not to reveal the fact that I know it wasn’t a gunshot. It’s an omission, not an outright lie.

  “You think it’s that crazy neighbor you were talking about?”

  “Maybe,” I say. Again, it could have been him shooting off fireworks. Who’s to say? Again, not a lie.

  Kat can’t take her eyes off the window, and I’m just sitting here hoping against hope that whatever kids are lighting up fireworks at this time of night don’t send off their next volley too soon.

  “You wouldn’t—” She starts but stops herself before finishing.

  “I wouldn’t what?”

  She looks out the corner of her eye as if wondering if she should voice her question or not. “You wouldn’t mind studying in my room would you? I know it’s stupid, but thanks to my PTSD, I don’t think I can be alone.”

  Now I feel bad about not telling her. “It was just fireworks. Nothing but some stupid kids shooting off bottle rockets and roman candles.”

  Surprisingly, the tension doesn’t fall away from Kat’s grip on my arm. “That doesn’t explain the sound earlier.”

  “It’s really nothing to worry about. I’ll be out here if you need—” This time it’s me who doesn’t finish. Not with Kat’s eyes on mine and her breast pressed against my forearm. I know that if I’m in her bedroom, studying at her desk or on her floor or wherever, there’s no way I’ll be getting any work done. But another part of me knows that the professor in that class has taken a liking to me. I’m always in the front row, participating in classroom discussions. He’d probably give me at least a one-day extension.

  I nod. “Okay. Let me just grab my computer.”

  Even in the dark, I can see that her room has no desk. When I go to sit on the floor, back against the foot of her bed, Kat says, “Sorry, I didn’t have time to clean up. There are clothes everywhere. Why don’t you just sit on the bed? It won’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”

  While there are a few t-shirts and jeans piled up on a chair in the corner, the place I was looking to sit is actually clear. Even if it weren’t, how hard would it be to sweep her mess to the side? Now I’m convinced this girl isn’t just scared of the sounds outside. We aren’t kids. You don’t just get into the same bed together without having other thoughts on your mind.

  I’m definitely not averse to the suggestion. Kat is exactly my type, if I ever had time to figure out what my type is. The sad truth is that outside of one or two relationships that didn’t even make it through a whole moon cycle, I haven’t had much time for dating. Not with my studies taking up every last moment of my life. When people look at me on the streets, they see a black guy wearing a hoodie and headphones. I bet their stereotypes fill in the blanks fast enough. The truth is that I’m at the top of my class. The hoodie is simply for comfort and ease, and I’m more likely to be jamming to some obscure Japanese piano player than the latest hip-hop release.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” I say, lying. Because while ‘bother’ carries quite the negative connotation, this whole situation is bothering. It’s pulling me out of my normal routine. And while I can probably get an extension on my paper, slacking feels so unnatural to me that it makes me physically uncomfortable. In a word, it bothers me.

  The moment I sit on the other side of the bed, back against the headboard, every single brain cell turns its attention from the paper to the girl beside me. The only discomfort I feel now is the three inches that separate her hips from mine. Kat is curled up, facing the other way. She’s mostly under a thin blanket, but her shoulders are open to the air, the t-shirt she’s wearing having slipped off her left shoulder, revealing that she’s definitely not wearing a bra.

  I try to type a few words, to pretend that I’m doing work, but then she shifts her weight to get more comfortable, her new position leaving her ass leaned against my hip. This can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way that she has done this on accident. Still I listen for her breathing, to feel if she is as aware of our proximity as I am. As my senses condense down to a point, and the world outside this room stills, our breaths fill the silence as they fall in sync.

  I lick my lips, all too aware of how loud the sensation seems in my own ears, hoping she doesn’t hear or interpret my actions as anything but dry lips. I determine to wait for her to make another move. To give me another sign that she too is still awake and equally aware of our closeness.

  But Kat is frozen, just like me.

  Chapter 7

  Kat

  Am I breathing at the same rate he is, or did he slow his breath to match mine? There’s no way we naturally breathe at the same pace. Nor is it my imagination that he’s stopped typing. What he’s doing behind me is impossible to know without turning over, but I don’t dare.

  This stalemate can’t last though. I made the first move, so now it’s up to him. He must know that when I slid over, pressing my ass against him, it was no accident. Still, after a tense thirty seconds of complete stillness, I’m starting to think that I’ll either have to give him another sign or, worse, that he’s just not into me. That’s when he makes his move.

  It’s just as discrete as mine was. He’s probably kept his arms tucked in up to now, but now his elbow presses lightly into my back. As he clacks out a few words on his laptop, his elbow glides in gentle circles over my shoulder blades.

  My heartbeat races ahead, preparing itself for what it knows is bound to
happen. My deep breath is impossible to hide, so I give up all pretenses and roll over, throwing my right leg over his and my arm over his chest. I’ve still got my eyes closed, because if he rejects me, I can just pretend that I’m a rough sleeper. He would be nothing more than a conveniently placed warm body I’m snuggling against.

  But I want to do more than snuggle.

  Aaron takes my hint and runs with it. His hand goes to my back, rubbing his fingers up and down, sending shivers across my skin. I moan to let him know that I’m awake. That this is really happening. He closes his computer and lays it on the floor beside the bed, freeing up his other hand, which goes to my cheek.

  I slide up his body, and our lips meet. Although I’m the one that started this, he takes over from here.

  His hand that was grazing up and down my back now slides under my shirt. He’s still sticking to my back but his fingers soon migrate down my sides, over my stomach, and finally up to my chest where he cups my breast.

  I moan into his mouth and straddle him as he works my shirt over my head. Then I pull his off.

  Our hands and lips are everywhere, only straying from each other’s skin to get rid of our remaining clothes.

  “Are you sure about th—?”

  I don’t even let him finish the question before I envelop his lips with mine again.

  “I think there’s still some condoms in the drawer,” I say.

  Saying this slows me down for a second as I remember the last time I used one of them. It was with Steve. He’s the one that kept them there. That was his bedside table.

  Instead of drowning in self-pity and regret like I’ve been doing ever since his accident, I throw myself against Aaron harder. While he’s struggling with the condom wrapper, I suck at his dick, making sure that he won’t have any problem staying hard until he gets the condom on.

  Once he’s ready, I take his cock in my hand and angle it straight up, sliding down on top of him. A feeling like my stomach falling consumes me. He’s filling me, and I’m wrapping around his whole length. Then I’m sitting on his thighs, Aaron underneath me staring up.

  “Hello beautiful,” he says.

  I’ve made it up to now, sure that this is what I wanted. What I needed. So why did he have to go and say that?”

  With him still inside of me, I fall against him, unbidden tears rolling down my cheeks and onto his chest.

  Chapter 8

  Aaron

  Everything was perfect. I couldn’t believe tonight started with this girl hitting me with pepper spray but somehow ended with her riding me. When I’m looking up at Kat, I can’t help but smile and tell her how gorgeous she is. The next thing I know, she’s bawling, holding onto me as though she’s going to be sucked into a black hole, never to be heard from again.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, rubbing a hand through her hair, hoping to coax her into talking. Because right now all she can manage are pitiful sobs. I’m still inside her, but I can feel my cock softening as the focus changes from lusty hormones to tears that are definitely not joyful.

  Kat only buries her face deeper in my chest, the only words I can understand being, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” repeated after each shuddering breath. All I can do is hold her, rubbing her back, brushing her hair with my fingers, and telling her that it’s fine. That she doesn’t have to be sorry.

  Slowly the tears dry up. Her breaths grow slow and shallow. Thinking that her episode has worn her out, and that she’s now somehow asleep on top of me, I’m wondering how I can reposition us so that we’re more comfortable. That’s when she lifts her head. After kissing my cheek, she slides off of me. She takes my arm with her, though, using it as a pillow, her fingers entwining with mine. She’s absentmindedly rubbing her thumb against my palm when she finally explains.

  “Steve always used to say the same thing. ‘Hello beautiful’. It’s the first thing I’d hear when I woke up. He’d say it when he answered the phone or even when I came back from the bathroom. I guess it’s still engrained in my head, like some Pavlonian habit. The moment you said it, all I could think of was his smile. Then I imagined what he would say if he could see me now. Would he be heartbroken that I’m trying to move on?”

  So that’s it.

  Here I was thinking she was regretting inviting me into her bed. When in reality it was just that her old love and I had the same thoughts when looking at this girl.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Kat comes back with immediately. “How could you? It’s not your fault.” She tightens up, her fingers halting their entrancing dance across my palm. “Shit. I’m sorry. You were all ready to go and then I just brought things to a spectacular end.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, hoping she doesn’t notice that my cock has refused to admit complete defeat. Especially not with the way her breasts look as she lies flat on her back.

  “We can finish if you like. Or I could—”

  “Seriously,” I say, cutting her off. “It’s fine.” I move away slightly, making to get out of the bed, but she latches onto me, throwing her body around my side and burying her face in my shoulder. Her hair tickles at my nose.

  “Can you just stay here tonight?” Her words are soft kisses against my skin. “Please?”

  After extracting my arm from her grip, I wrap it around her, pulling her against me. I then place a kiss on the top of her head. “Fair warning. I’m a sleep talker.”

  “That’s better than me,” she says. “I happen to be the world’s foremost sleep kicker. I can get you some shin guards if you want them.”

  I laugh at this and squeeze her against me.

  With a sideways glance at my laptop, I consider waiting for her to fall asleep before jumping back into my paper. But that determination slides away, erased from my thoughts as drowsiness drapes shadows across my mind’s eye. It’s so warm here, Kat’s body so soft against mine. With a yawn I try to remember the last time I slept before midnight. Before I can think back far enough to find the answer, I’ve drifted off.

  Chapter 9

  Kat

  When I wake in the morning, I’m alone in bed. The spot beside me is cold. Aaron’s laptop and bag are missing too.

  He’s gone.

  Not that I can blame him. Not after everything I put him through. First the pepper spray. Then interrupting his study time. Then bringing him up short just as we got started with what promised to be an excellent tumble in the sheets.

  That’s when the bitter scent of coffee fills my nostrils. I wonder if I left a window open, but it’s too strong to be coming from four floors down. Then a clink of glass against glass from my kitchen brings my senses to full alert. Someone is out there.

  “Shit,” comes Aaron’s voice as a sharper clink rings out.

  After slipping into a t-shirt, I poke my head out. Aaron’s just sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate. “Good timing,” he says when he sees me. “Pull up a chair. It’s almost ready.”

  In a daze, I do as he says, not even sure what’s going on. Finally, I ask the obvious. “Are you making breakfast?”

  “Made breakfast,” Aaron says, correcting me. “Hope you like pancakes.”

  “You made pancakes?”

  “And eggs. Would have fried up some bacon too, but you didn’t have any in the fridge. I did cut up those bananas you had on the counter. They were getting pretty ripe.”

  “How did you make pancakes? I didn’t have any mix in the cupboards, did I?” Maybe Steve had some hidden in the pantry from long ago?

  “Made it from scratch,” Aaron replies. Then at the sight of my raised eyebrows he holds up a hand. “Before you get all impressed, this is like one of the only things I’m good at making. You just happened to have the right ingredients, though your butter was a bit expired. Doesn’t matter though. How do you like your coffee?”

  He pours out two mismatched mugs of coffee, sliding one over to me. “I’ll have milk in mine. The milk wasn’t expired, was it?”


  “Today,” Aaron says. “So we better drink up.”

  He pulls one of the stools inside the kitchenette, setting it across form me before dropping in it. “Eat up!”

  With the first bite dangling on the end of my fork, I pause. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “For the pepper spray or for blue balling me?” He’s smiling through a full mouth.

  “Both,” I say and finally take a bite. “These are amazing.”

  “Like I said, it’s about the only thing I can cook. So if you’re expecting me to whip up some amazing dinner, I hope you’re okay with pancakes again.”

  I purse my lips and reach for the coffee. “Dinner?”

  Aaron’s expression tightens. “It was just a joke. I mean, we don’t need to meet up again. We can just chalk last night up to serendipity gone wrong.” He pauses, syrup bottle frozen over his plate. His eyes are more focused when he looks at me now. “But then again, what if I didn’t want to?”

  I pause, ignoring my stomach begging me to shove syrup-soaked bites of pancake in my mouth. “Didn’t want to what?”

  “What if I didn’t want to forget last night? What if I wanted to see you again?”

  Some part of my heart that I’ve tucked away since Steve’s death—the bit that contains a lock I’ve all but thrown the key away for—turns over. “I think I would like that.”

  “You think you would like it?” Aaron’s voice fails to conceal the sound of his heart deflating.

  “I mean, of course I would.” I reach across the counter, enveloping his much larger hand under my petite fingers. His initial reaction is to tense. “Please try to understand me. It’s not easy.”