Surprise, Baby!

by Lex Martin

  His eyes darken as a low growl sounds in his chest. “Just for a minute?”

  “Just for a minute.”

  Seconds, really.

  My head bobbles on my shoulders as I nod.

  Because yes.

  Yes, I want to do this.

  Yes, I want to feel him this way.

  He doesn’t need more convincing. His hips part from mine as he positions himself at my entrance, his blunt head thick and hot against my skin.

  With just his tip, he moves in and out, back and forth until I’m going out of my mind.

  “Drew. Stop screwing around.”

  He chuckles, but his laughter stops the second he shoves himself all the way in. His groan reverberates through my entire body.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, KK. You feel so good. Your tight little pussy wants to swallow me whole.”

  I’m gasping, dying to feel him move inside me. I forget I’m sore. That we’ve already boned like sex addicts for the last two days. All I can think is that I want him now. More. Harder.

  I wrap my legs around him and swivel my hips, sending him deeper.

  And then he’s moving. Our bodies slam together almost violently, his push to my pull, and the tightness between my thighs intensifies as he reaches behind me to push in a slick finger all the while pumping his hips against me.

  A full-body shiver makes me moan and arch back.

  “Don’t come yet, baby. Wait.”

  Another finger joins the first, and I almost fly apart.

  I shake my head. “I can’t wait.”

  “You can. You’re gonna come with my cock in your beautiful little ass, and it’s gonna feel like fucking nirvana.”

  Oh God.

  I could pretend I don’t like his crass words, that I’m offended or put off, but my body knows the truth. My body knows I’m a hair trigger away from disintegrating underneath him.

  Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he slides out of me and flips me around so I’m crouched on all fours. I groan from the loss, but my heart ratchets up because I know what’s coming. I’m apprehensive, but so turned on I feel like I might melt into the bed.

  I hear the snap of a bottle, and then his fingers are back there again, this time cold from the lube. Probing. Rubbing. Sinking in deep and making me cry out from how good it feels.

  “That’s it. Take it, KK.”

  Two wet fingers tunnel into me, but this angle is more intense, and my elbows give out. My head lands on the pillow.

  His other hand rubs my left cheek almost reverently before he parts me and presses his cock back there.

  “Push back on me, okay? We’ll go slow.”

  It takes a few tries because he’s enormous. It’s a snug fit, but when he finally wedges in, the pressure is intense, and everything inside of me locks up.

  Who thought this was a good idea?

  I’m, what, five and a half feet tall? Drew’s well over six and built like a wide receiver. In what universe do his parts fit in my trunk?

  My eyes well from the intensity, and I claw at the bedding, but I can’t speak. Words don’t materialize on my lips to throw on the brakes, but he must sense how uncomfortable I am because his big body immediately freezes.

  “Relax, baby. Everything’s okay. Say the word and we stop.”

  His soft words immediately loosen the tension in my shoulders, and I try to breathe through it because I don’t want to stop. I want to try this with someone I trust, and for some reason, I trust Drew to handle me with care in a way I haven’t with other men.

  His hand smooths back my hair. And he just holds me to him as he lowers us to the bed on our sides, my back to his chest. We stay like that while I adjust to his size.

  He kisses my shoulder. My neck. Drags his beautiful lips across my jaw. Tilts my face up so he can kiss me. He’s so tall, he’s practically wrapped around me from behind.

  Sweet, gentle Drew touches me in a whole different way than the guy who fucked me up against the wall yesterday.

  So when he asks me again if I want to stop, I shake my head.

  Because in this moment, I know he won’t hurt me. He won’t push me beyond what I can bear.

  More tears spring to my eyes, but not because it hurts. I can’t explain the warmth I have for him right now. I just know we’ve transcended something in our relationship tonight, though I’m afraid to think of what that might mean.

  Those talented fingers reach between my legs, and he rubs me until the tears subside.

  Until the frenzy builds and the heat roars back.

  Until I’m shaking in his arms and bucking back on him.

  “That’s it, babe. Oh fuck.” He’s moving in me, and I bury my face in the pillow and arch back because it’s intense again, but now it feels right. It feels good.

  Beyond good.

  Amazing in an oh-my-God-how-have-I-never-done-this-before? way.

  I’m flying again, coming apart in a litany of ‘pleases’ and ‘yesses’ and ‘right there, don’t stop.’

  When the pressure explodes, my whole body clenches in waves of light and pleasure that have me screaming and flailing and shuddering so hard, my jaw aches.

  Like our bodies are timed fireworks, he comes a second later, his arm banding around my stomach to hold me to him as a guttural groan vibrates from his body through mine.

  Huffing into the quiet room and trying to catch my breath, I wait for Drew to crack a joke, because he always cracks jokes during sex.

  But he doesn’t.

  I wince when he pulls back and separates our bodies. The loss is almost as intense as the intrusion for some reason.

  Curling into a ball, I wait for the sensations to subside because everything is too much. The blood still racing through my veins. The sheets scratching my skin. The suffocating silence of the room.

  Behind me, Drew clears his throat. “You okay, Kendall? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “I’m fine,” I whisper, feeling more off kilter when he says my full name.

  There’s no laughter as we clean up and get ready for bed.

  No stupid quips about what we just did. No teasing or the easy banter I’ve come to love with Drew this week.

  I want to ask a thousand questions about what this means and what will happen when we get back to Portland, but I don’t.

  Even when he pulls me to his chest under the covers and snuggles me close, as I blink in the darkness, I know something’s changed.

  I just don’t know what.

  * * *

  The purring wakes me from a dead sleep.

  Shazam is kneading my hair and trying to balance on my head.

  I stretch, groaning from ten thousand aches, my body sore from that sexual decathlon I attempted over the last three nights.

  Turning, I find that I’m alone in bed.

  “Drew?”

  The house is silent except for the kitten trying to eat my ear.

  Shivering, I quickly toss on some clothes and shuffle into the living room, but it’s empty.

  A panic hits me hard that I’m alone. A fear that somehow Drew has ditched me, and I’m here all by myself. But the sound of ice being scraped across pavement has me running to the giant picture window at the front of the house.

  Drew is knee-deep in snow as he shovels it off the driveway and tries to dig out the Rover.

  I roll my eyes at myself. Of course he didn’t ditch me. He knows full well that if he did, and I ever tracked him down, he’d be a dead man. I’d drive away from that massacre with his balls hanging on my rearview mirror.

  I snicker to myself and head for the stove to make some coffee. It’s just a sad can of Folgers that we found in the back of the cabinet, but it’s keeping a caffeine withdrawal headache at bay.

  Now that the sun is up, I’m thinking I overreacted last night. No way was everything as awkward between me and Drew as I imagined it. He still cuddled me until I fell asleep like the previous two nights.

  Stop projecting on people, Kendall.
Just because I was freaking out doesn’t mean Drew was too.

  After I bundle up in my jacket and throw on my boots, I pour two cups of coffee and head out to help him with the driveway.

  I slip and slide my way over to his SUV. The sun is out and my boots slosh through thick puddles of sludge and slush.

  When he sees me, he stills, and the smile on my face freezes when I see his cautious expression.

  Shit.

  Maybe I wasn’t imagining anything last night.

  Maybe he’s freaking out too.

  Maybe he’s back to being Drew “one and done” Merritt and what happened here didn’t mean anything to him.

  I’m about to hand him his cup of coffee when a bullhorn blasts, scaring the crap out of me. As coffee goes everywhere, all over my arms and chest and jeans, someone shouts, “This is the police. Put your hands up! You’re under arrest!”

  Right.

  Because as I’m being shoved face first into the mud and snow by Mount Hood’s finest, I find out this isn’t Josh and Evie’s cabin.

  I’m being arrested for breaking and entering.

  And felony grand theft.

  I might need to kill Drew after all.

  14

  Drew

  Whenever I’m arrested, I play a fun game where I compare police stations.

  Since my left ass cheek has fallen asleep in this rock-hard Mount Hood chair, I’m inclined to dock points in my mental tally.

  For comparison, as far as police departments go, you can’t get any better than the downtown Portland station. The magazine selection’s killer, they serve decent coffee, and the cushy waiting room lined with framed local landscape photos feels almost cozy—at least for a place that’s attached to a jail.

  My parents funded the Portland police chief’s campaign, as well as his four predecessors, so whenever circumstances align such that he has to talk to me, we go through the same charade, I mean routine.

  He invites me into his expansive corner office.

  I stare at the photos, commendations, and certificates on the wall behind his back, including the one arm-in-arm with my father.

  The chief gets this pained look in his eye and calls me son.

  I lower my eyes and endure a lecture, hoping that I don’t look high.

  He warns me that there better not be a next time.

  I apologize, smile, and assure him I’ve sworn off throwing parties with drunk, naked women shrieking through the Pearl neighborhood.

  He pretends he believes me and clicks some keys on his bottom-of-the-line state-issued computer.

  I shake his hand, pay the fine, and remind my parents to pledge an increased donation to his next campaign.

  Wash, rinse, and repeat.

  Now that I actually have sworn off throwing parties in the Pearl district with drunk, naked women—and become attached to one redhead in particular—I have to deal with this bullshit.

  Unfortunately, I’m not in Portland.

  I grind my teeth, waiting for my lawyer to arrive at this podunk sheriff’s station. Since we’re two counties over from home, I know no one here, but the deputies have all heard of my family. And apparently me, too. Damn gossip columns.

  They seemed to think my connections with the Portland police meant I’m an entitled asshole. Perhaps. But that flipped the switch on their Live PD behavior. While I sat freezing my ass off in the back seat of the squad car, I caught derisive laughter up front about the future of the nearest Merritt Department Store. It’s pretty clear they’re determined to make an example of me since they’re doing everything by the book, like I’m some escaped fugitive.

  So far I’ve talked with Good Cop and Bad Cop, who both seem to think they owe it to the public to ensure justice will be served. Even if we didn’t think we were committing a crime.

  For fuck’s sake.

  Although I’m still handcuffed, I tap my fingers on the metal table in the sparsely-furnished interrogation room. No magazines, coffee, or avuncular police chief in sight. Just me, three chairs, and the table.

  It smells like birthday cake in here, which makes me think this room isn’t used for many interrogations. Uniformed deputies saunter up and down the hall, with walkie-talkies squawking indecipherable babble. Windows line one side of the room, and I read the bulletin boards across the hall. “Sign up for our email newsletter!” “Follow us on Pinterest.” “Consider a career in law enforcement.”

  This whole scenario makes me ill.

  All I can think about is Kendall.

  Shoving the wooden government chair back, I rise and pace the small room, swallowing hard, the metal cuffs biting into my wrists.

  How is she? Where is she? Are they treating her well? How can I keep the PR princess from getting sullied by my shitty reputation? What can I do to make this better?

  Because there’s no way I’m leaving her alone after this weekend. I don’t know what sorcery she has up her sleeve, but besides being the coolest chick I’ve ever met, the sex between us is mind-altering. Body-altering. So incredible I could barely breathe, much less speak last night.

  I think back on the tremble in her lip as she offered up her gorgeous ass. The gleam in her eyes showing me she wanted it too. The intimacy of being bare with her—something I’ve never done with anyone. How she came so hard, I saw stars. The way we were so close, nothing could come between us.

  But something did.

  Burned in my brain is the hurt expression Kendall tossed my way as she was escorted into the black and white car back at the cabin. Eyes wide but brows tight, her chin shaking. Betrayed. Then she lowered her head and clambered into the backseat. Convinced that I somehow knew we were doing something wrong.

  The worst part about this whole shit storm is how it confirms to Kendall that I’m exactly the kind of douchebag she thought I was—the selfish asshole who parties it up, leaving a trail of chaos behind him, and damn the consequences.

  I flinch as a door slams somewhere in the building.

  No matter what, I’ve fucked this up big time. All that headway I made with her this weekend, connecting about her high-stress job and my health recovery. How cute she looked curled up by the fire petting my cat. All those moments—God, those delicious moments with her, naked or not, up in that cabin—taken away.

  Still pacing, I drag my palms down my thighs, trying to keep calm. I have to fix this. If only I could talk to her, assure her that I’ll take all the responsibility and pay any restitution I need to. I’ll keep her out of this entirely. Somehow. Yes, I know she’s a public relations expert and is probably squaring her shoulders and capably answering questions. But I still want to clear her name.

  Then I want to take her out to dinner.

  But I haven’t seen her since Good Cop hauled her off in a different squad car, since they’re clearly keeping us sequestered for questioning. I can only assume she’s somewhere in this building, but I have no way of finding that out right now. The overly-officious deputies confiscated everything from my phone to my Rover and even locked up Shazam—clawing and spitting—in a cage. Shaz managed to scratch Bad Cop. I couldn’t help but give my ornery cat a silent atta boy. Hope he’s got kitten kibble and a soft bed.

  I slump down in my seat and scratch the scruff on my jaw as I wait.

  It’s almost worse that we didn’t do anything wrong. Because while I can repeat, “We didn’t do it,” over and over again, no one here believes us. Squirming in my seat, I try to figure out how to prove I didn’t break into and enter a house I, uh, broke into and entered. Just not on purpose.

  Worse, even if I’m eventually believed, we still have our reputations to be concerned about. No matter what anyone says, it isn’t a good thing to be arrested anywhere. People tend to associate being arrested with doing something wrong. People tend to be right in thinking that way. At least in my case. Usually. And while I could give two fat fucks about my rep, I want to make sure that Kendall’s stays pristine.

  Finally, after I get up and tra
vel around the room for the three hundredth time, Tim Bryan, my attorney, walks in wearing a suit and carrying a laptop and briefcase. He’s a handsome and aristocratic man, with close-cropped dark hair and an unlined face. I’m sure a few more years of representing me will turn his hair prematurely gray and give him wrinkles. I shake his hand, which is difficult in cuffs.

  “You look like shit, Drew,” he says without preamble.

  An involuntary snort leaves me. “No kidding. I’ve been here for hours. What time is it?” Being without my phone adds to my anxiety.

  “Almost midnight.” While I certainly pay him enough to show up at this time on a Saturday three hours away from Portland, I’m still glad he came as fast as he could.

  The most pressing question on my brain bursts out first. “Is Kendall Greer okay?”

  “I’m sure she is. I’ll check on her after I work things out with the arresting officer. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Did you post bail?”

  “It’s in process. For you and Miss Greer, as you instructed. I also called Mr. Cartwright and told him what I knew. He was worried sick about you. He’s been trying to call for days.”

  “Thanks.” I hadn’t realized that as much as we were worried about Josh and Evie, they might have been worried about us.

  I can’t wait to get this whole thing straightened out and move on with life. And I can’t help but hope I see Kendall after this weekend. I’m dreaming of hanging out in more than two rooms. Eating food other than Turkey Day leftovers. Having luxuries like, oh, electricity. Seeing her naked again.

  If she still talks to me, that is.

  “Drew, can you repeat what you told me on the phone? I want to make sure I’ve got the story straight.”

  I tell him everything from Josh inviting us to the cabin to making do until the white fluffy stuff stopped so I could dig our way out.

  In our case, “making do” involved a lot of sexual activity, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’ll stick to the pertinent facts about our alleged trespassing.

  He sighs. “I get it.”

  “Why are the police wasting their time on us?”