“This place looks familiar,” she says with an impish smile, falling back on the blankets, her dark hair spread around her, her arms at her sides. She rubs them over the covers, palms down, like she’s making a snow angel on my sheets.
I watch her snuggle and roll on my bed like it’s hers, and I feel a kind of crazy-possessive happiness well up in me. I don’t get to just ogle for long, though. Maren suddenly stops and looks up at me, shakes her head, and clucks her tongue.
“I don’t want you all the way over there,” she says and rolls to the side, patting the bed. “I want you here.”
I’m not an idiot. I’m on that bed so fast, it makes Maren giggle again.
“You’re pretty eager, huh?” She reaches one finger out and draws it across my left shoulder, my chest, my right shoulder.
It’s barely even any contact, but we’re both breathing hard when her finger completes its trek.
“Eager like you wouldn’t believe.” I roll her under me, my hands quick and sure on her skin, bringing out her moans and making her pull her knees up and spread them wide, inviting more touching, deeper.
I tear the last little piece of fabric off of her, bunching it up and tossing it aside. She rolls onto her back and I straddle her, gripping her hips on either side and relaxing my hold so I can push the flat of my palm up her body. She arches into me as my fingers climb, finally tangling in her hair, the hard length of my dick pushed in the apex of her thighs, my face low over hers.
Her mouth reaches up for mine, and I pull back just to relish one more second of seeing her lips puckered toward me, hungry for me. When I skim my mouth over hers, she lets me know she’s done being teased by nipping at me and turning her face away.
I thread my hands deeper into her hair, netting her close to me, and holding her still with gentle pressure so I can finally kiss her mouth again as long and deeply as I need to. She opens her lips and flicks her tongue into my mouth. I relax my weight on top of her, letting her eager hands pull at and reposition me until she’s comfortable.
But I don’t let my mouth leave hers again. Her tongue is a silky soft slide in my mouth, and I plunge deep to get every taste. She’s sweet and a tiny bit bitter in unexpected corners. I refuse to leave a single spot unexplored.
When I’m sure she’s not going to pull her mouth away again, I slide my fingers out of her hair and trace them down her arms, pulling her hands from their current position, cupping my ass, and threading our fingers tightly together. I press her hands up along her hips and ribs and shoulders and then over her head, forcing our bodies into two long lines pressed hard at every matched juncture; sliding heat against sliding heat, firm press to firm press, hard length against hot, wet depth.
Her skin is velvet under mine, but every single place it rubs against me shocks through my body like an electric jolt.
And there’s so much touching, it’s like a velvet-wrapped electrocution. A sweet torture I never want to end.
I kiss down her mouth and along the line of her neck, loving the strain of her hands against mine and the wild buck of her hips, pressing me so close, but not nearly where I need to be.
I kiss down, tugging her hands with me. She lets out little mews and groans of protest any time my mouth leaves her skin, switching to sighs and moans when I suck her nipples in with frantic pressure, lick her skin in a long line down her body, and finally wind up at the place that’s wet and ready.
Her arms are stretched down, and she tugs for me to loosen my hold, but I pull back so she’s sitting up, at first all the way, then back on her elbows. I let go of her hands, but hold up a warning finger to let her know I’ll trap her again if she doesn’t listen.
“Spread your legs,” I tell her.
She closes her knees instead and asks, “Why?”
I put a hand on either knee and test them open with gentle pressure. “It’s your birthday. Spread your legs so I can lick you into a happy one.”
“It’s already a happy one,” she protests, closing tight against my hands.
I pry her knees open again. “You think so because I haven’t stuck my tongue in you. Yet. Now trust me. And. Spread. Your. Legs. Please.”
She wiggles up and lets her knees fall open, biting her lip and pressing her eyes closed as she does. I slide my tongue in a long, wet lap that shakes an instant moan from her.
I pull back and spread her folds with my fingers, letting my index, then my middle finger dip into her slick, tight depths. “That’s it. Let me touch your pussy. Let me lick you. I want to hear you moan. Will you do that?”
“Yes,” she gasps, and I tip my head back down, licking with quick, short flicks that have her pumping her hips and pressing toward me. “Please, Cohen, please.”
I suck against the wet bud of her clit, and the long pull of her moan lets me know I’m doing something right. I lick again, tasting the salty sweet of her, using my fingers to set up a rhythm deep in her, and every once in a while I pull back to tell her to moan for me or ask for something I know she wants. Maren is more than willing, and I love the way her back arches against my mouth.
“Tell me where to lick it,” I tell her.
“Here.” Her hand slides down and her fingers press against the spot where she wants my mouth. I follow, my tongue tracing over her fingers as I focus on the sweetest center of her. “Faster,” she gasps.
I slow down.
She laughs.
“Jerk.” She runs her fingers through my hair and presses at the back of my head with her hand, getting bolder when she feels my moan against her skin. “Faster. Faster, now.”
I listen to her, even though I’m barely holding on to my sanity by taking things nice and slow. I flick my tongue, she pumps her hips, my fingers press and pull against her, until, just when I’m positive I can’t stand it a second longer, she shudders against me, pulling up on the back of my head with her hands, clamping her thighs tight to the sides of my face.
“Cohen! Holy shit, Cohen!” she cries, running her hands up and down over her body before she falls back on the bed, limbs spread in a lazy jumble. “Cohen?”
I army crawl up the length of rumpled covers to get closer to her. “Good?”
She turns her body tight to mine and crushes her arms around me. “A-freaking-mazing!”
“Happy birthday,” I say, nuzzling her neck.
15 MAREN “That’s not it, is it?” I ask, pressing my sweat-damp hair back off my face. My body is humming, my blood singing from the way he touched me, the way he talked to me, the way he looked at me. I feel energized. I feel sexy as hell. And I’m not remotely ready for this to end.
He shakes his head and grins, his fingers trailing up and down my body lazily. “Nope. But you have to let me rest for a second.”
“Hmm.” I get up on my knees, loving the feel of having him spread out, all beautiful boy, all mine. “I’m not really into the idea of you resting.”
I swing one leg over his hips and sit across his muscled thighs, straddling him. I reach over to the bedside table and open first the top, then the bottom side table drawer, determined not to end my search until I find what I’m looking for. And it takes two seconds for me to find what I need and pop back up, triumphant, with a condom in hand. I roll it over him, admiring how gorgeous he is in every way, and laugh a little when his eyes roll back.
He reaches his hands up my body and runs them over my thighs, making goosebumps prickle up and down my legs and right to my toes.
“It’s your birthday,” he points out, as if I didn’t know.
“And I love being on top.” I squirm a little, just to make him moan, and let the laughter bubble out of my throat when he does, exactly as I expected. “If you want to switch when you get your strength back, I’ll consider it.”
And that’s where all our conversation stops. Because I press up on my knees, take him in my hand, and slide down over him in one tight, slick press of my body over his.
“M-m-Maren,” he stutters, and I feel another bu
rst of pride. One second in, and my sex is making him stutter. That’s pretty nice work if I do say so myself.
I put a hand to my lips because the pressure is so good, I’m afraid I’m going to get loud and crazy fast. I rock my hips back and forth to test the best position, and pull back up slowly, then press down, repeating this whole crazy, sweet, wet motion that steals my breath and voice and mind.
There’s nothing but the perfect stretch of me around him and the rhythm that starts out manageable, then spirals into a quick, maddening frenzy.
I’m panting and he fists both hands into the sheets, gritting his teeth in an effort to keep some semblance of control.
But I’m having none of it. If I’m about to go over the damn cliff, he’s coming with me, no exceptions.
“Your hands…” I manage to gasp out, rocking harder, spreading my legs wider. “Your hands…need to be…on me. Now!”
He lets the sheets loose and half sits up, rubbing his big, rough hands up my legs, around to my back, down to cup my ass like he’s trying to slow the tempo. I hold back at first, but eventually agree to his suggested pace when he tilts me forward, and I feel my body working itself into the tight flex and pulse that precedes a spine-tingling orgasm.
He slides his hand between our bodies and his fingers press and rub on the peaked, sensitive place where I’m starting to come undone quickly.
“Come for me,” he says, kissing my mouth when it bumps up or down near his face.
I’m losing my rhythm because he’s touching me in a way that makes it hard to do anything but feel his hands on me and the length of him in me. I can’t even kiss him back, because I’m in some kind of zone. Every cell in my freaking body is driving with wild intent towards one explosive goal, and I’ll be damned if I deviate from that goal for a single second.
I adjust once, then again, but I can’t seem to hit that exact place I need to. Suddenly Cohen rolls me under his body, and I wrap my arms and legs around him tight when he does. He presses into me as deep as he can, rocking in and out until he hits that exact point as familiar as the click of a key in a lock.
“Mmmm.” I’m thinking so many things, so many sweet and nasty things I want to whisper in his ear but he’s unraveled me, left me panting and breaking apart in the most knee-knockingly, breath-stealingly delicious way.
I covered my mouth before, but by now I just can’t care. He slides in and out, and I finally can’t feel him, can’t feel myself, don’t know what’s happening, and don’t care.
I reach my arms up for what? Nothing. I want to let go. I’m not doing this for any kind of shallow cheap thrill. I’m in this to rip through to the shuddering depths.
That’s where it starts. My orgasm builds from somewhere so deep and dark, and it crashes over me like a tsunami wave, making me buck from shoulders to hips, making my voice tear and scream from my throat in a jibberish of raspy syllables that end with the only word there is for me.
“Cohen! Cohen!”
His face is perfectly twisted, unable to contain another second of composure, and that’s good. I scratch my fingernails down his back, buck my hips against him, let him feel every quiver and slick wave of pleasure he’s giving me. I’ve never wanted to share sex the way I do with him. I’ve never wanted to drag my partner in and let him see every last wild thing.
He jerks in and out, buries his head in the crook of my neck and shoulder and lets out a long, shuddering moan.
“Maren,” he bites out, and I feel the lock of his shoulders and stiffening of his back as he drives his hips against mine hard and gives in to his release.
For a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the damp smell of sweat, tinged with the sharp scent of latex. I can hear the crash of the waves outside, and start to get confused between their rush and the thud of our hearts.
I twist against him, my hair tangled around his arm, smudges of my lipstick on his neck and chest, my fingers twined around his. I didn’t even remember making a move to hold his hand.
He rolls over and takes off the condom, and I have this dreadful fear that he’s just going to get up and walk away. But he turns on his other side and reaches a long arm out, dragging me close.
“Get over here, birthday girl. When you blew out your candles did you wish to strike a man dead with pure sexiness? Because you almost achieved that.”
I nuzzle his neck and suck on the salty skin. “I would definitely not want you dead. Maybe maimed, but only so that I could keep you locked away to use as my sex slave.”
He presses my hair back off of my face and rubs his thumbs in circles over the curves of my ears. “How did this happen? How the hell did I get lucky enough to convince you to get into my bed?”
“You actually weren’t all that convincing.” I kiss the tip of his nose and bite back a sigh when his hands bump down over my shoulder blades and back to cup my ass, squeezing appreciatively. “I was just super horny.”
“Should I feel used?” He smiles and drags his fingers up and down my back with excruciating lightness.
“Well, I guess so. I did use you, after all.” I drop my mouth to his shoulder and blow a raspberry, loving the way he laughs, loving that we can transition from passionate to goofy to honest without any hiccups.
“Do you promise to use me again?” he asks, his low voice rasping over my ears and somewhere in me. Somewhere a little deeper than I’m totally comfortable with.
But that’s not all that surprising. I’ve been wading in the shallows for so long, the depths freak me out.
“I promise.” I brush his hair back and love that I can. That he’s mine to groom as I please. “But maybe not until later. I have to go check on my dad soon.”
His lids half close and his mouth does this adorable pout. “Maren? I know you hate talking about your dad and your family in general, but maybe we need to talk about them a little.”
I tense up. Instantly. My muscles have gone from jelly to stone, and I hate that it happens so fast. I try not to also hate Cohen because his words brought it on, but I want to lash out at something that won’t lash back for once. And he’s just lying there.
Why is he doing this right now? I want that to be the last thing on his mind. I guess I should have never even mentioned needing to leave.
Cold, slicing words are on the tip of my tongue, but there’s something about his face, so open and sweet. I can’t. The anger stops boiling, and I lay my head on his chest and count back from ten before I say anything.
“I hate it because it’s not fixed.”
“Fixed?” His voice echoes in his chest, where my ear is pressed. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m not crazy,” I insist, looking over at his nipple as I talk. Funny how comforting it can be to talk to a guy’s nipple. Way easier than looking him in the eye for sure. “I know we’ll never be a real family again. Mom and Rowan never forgave Dad for falling apart and not even trying. And I know they love me. They just work hard: they don’t have time to deal with anything other than the bakery. But I know Dad can get back on his feet.”
He strokes a hand through my hair, gently untangling the knots our crazy sex made. “I think you have an amazing heart, Maren. And I’m not telling you to stop believing in your dad. People turn their lives around every single day, right? But, it’s got to come from him. No matter how much you want it to happen, it’s got to be from your dad.”
“I know that,” I rush to explain, tripping over his words in an effort to get mine out. “I do. Seriously. But he does want to, that’s the thing. You don’t understand how depressed he is. How much he wants something else.”
“I believe he’s depressed.” Cohen pauses, and I can tell he’s choosing his words with care. “But depression…that’s, like, it’s a thing that needs to be dealt with, Maren. Professionally. And if you’re around him all the time, it’s going to start pulling you down. Don’t get upset, but it kind of has already, right?”
I push off his chest
and yank the sheet up to cover my nakedness, getting ready to present to him the same argument I’ve argued to myself every time I think about leaving.
“I’m so young, Cohen. I can go back to school anytime. He needs help now. And if I don’t stop and help him, I’m scared…” The words are in my mouth, but I’m having a really hard time forcing them out. “I’m scared he’ll die, Cohen. And I’m not being a drama queen. I’m afraid he’ll have a heart attack or puke in his sleep and choke on it. So I check on him and make sure he’s okay, the same way he did for me when I was growing up.”
He nods. “I get it. I do.”
That’s not all he has to say, I can tell. “But?” I press.
“But what?” He hooks his fingers around mine and pulls me down close to him again. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t.”
I lie down next to him and press my face in the sheets. “Jason grew up with his mom. He never even knew his dad. And he and his mother talk, like, once every two months, maybe. So he never got it. But I thought you would get it, since your family is so important to you. So, I guess I don’t get what you don’t get. If that makes any sense.”
He rolls over so I’m trapped under him, his arms on either side of me. “I get family. I get they can be a pain in the ass. And sometimes you need to give more than you really want to. But no father can expect his daughter to just give up everything and care for him when he’s perfectly capable of caring for himself.”
I turn my head to the side to avoid his eyes, so focused and severe. “I could never be that selfish.”
“There’s such a thing as not being selfish enough, Maren. And, I know you don’t want to hear this, but your dad is being super selfish. To you.”
He sighs when I press at him, trying to get him off of me. I want to throw my clothes on and stomp away for a minute, but I can’t.
I left the vast majority of my clothing in the foyer and on the stairs. There is one tiny ball of crushed lace that would be more embarrassing to pick up and try to untangle and put on in front of him than to just be naked. I try to pull the sheet, but he’s wrapped in it.
Depths Page 16
