by Tami Lund
We sit in the bleachers next to right field because that is, hands down, the most fun spot in all of Wrigley Field. It’s also the rowdiest and full of guys who all want to fuck my date. Or so I imagine as I glare every time somebody turns around and gives her a high five because we’ve scored a run or kept the other team from doing so.
She laughs and pokes my thigh. “I don’t think you can get any closer to me unless you want to sit in my lap.”
“Maybe you should sit in my lap.”
“Kinky.”
“Mostly it’s just so all these goons will know you’re my girl. At least right now,” I quickly amend. Shit, I said it out loud.
She doesn’t even blink, and neither is she inching away from me. “Just right now?”
“You want more?” I challenge.
She shrugs and pretends to focus on the game. We’re ahead by six and not a lot has happened for two innings now.
“I’m a little afraid of what I think I want,” she finally admits.
“Oh, come on, it’s not really that big,” I tease.
She smirks. “Trust me, that isn’t what I’m afraid of.”
Yeah, I’m fully aware. Because I’m afraid of the same damn thing. I’m afraid that I’m drawing closer and closer to the goal I want, and yet, what happens when I achieve it?
I’m not an idiot. I know Vicks isn’t in this for anything beyond sex. Sure, she may be willing to sleep with me more than once, but that’s all it will be—fucking.
And why is that so depressing? What do I really want? Rather, why do I think I can possibly achieve it? Neither of us believes in happy endings, at least not for ourselves. We both have too much baggage, too much history, too much reality to overcome. Maybe if one of us had lived a standard, typical life, this could have a shot at turning into the real deal.
But she’s afraid of turning into her mother and I’m afraid of becoming my father, and we already know how that story ended.
Chapter Eight
TORI
He called me his girl.
Some of the guys I’ve been with referred to me as “theirs” like I was property, and that was generally the end of whatever constituted a relationship for me and that jackass. But I’ve never been someone’s girl—someone’s girlfriend. One half of a couple.
I’m not supposed to want it, either. This is supposed to be about having a fun time with an old friend until we reach the climax, so to speak.
But I like the phrase. I want him to say it again. And again and again. I want him to shout it from the top of the Willis Tower.
And that scares the crap out of me. It’s a corn maze in which the entrance is blocked once we enter, and there is no way out short of barreling through the rows of yellowed, dried stalks until we’ve torn up the maze so badly it’s irreparable.
Like our hearts, when this thing is over and done with. Not just mine—his too. I know he told me he isn’t good at relationships, but come on, a guy does not come up with a list of cool date ideas and keep it on his phone unless he wants the happily ever after.
Holy shit, Alex thinks he can have a happy ending with me?
I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching me with an intensity that would probably be creepy if it were anyone else. But on him it looks… romantic.
Aww, hell, I’m falling for him, aren’t I? This fucking scam is working on me. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to not get suckered—Tony and his fist not withstanding—and yet in three short days, Alex has managed to turn me into the sort of girl who’d beg for it if she had to.
But only from him.
He leans close and whispers in my ear, “Do you want to keep going?”
I turn toward him, and our noses practically touch. “Huh?”
One arm is around my shoulders, and he moves the other until it’s resting on my thigh, his fingers gently kneading my leg below the hem of my shorts. “These dates. Do you want to keep going?”
My breath catches. “Do you have something else in mind?”
At this point, if he says all he wants to do is fuck, I’m in. God, yes, I want that. It’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and I’m done with running through the fields chasing it while it stays just out of reach.
I can’t focus on anything else. Even when I was trying to balance the books at my store and order some Halloween costumes I thought might look good on Alex, I was only giving the task about forty percent of my attention, at best. The rest of my brain was thoroughly entrenched in a daydream involving me riding him cowgirl style, like he was my favorite studly stallion. His hands were on my hips, and my hands were on my boobs because I liked the way his eyes widened when I did it.
Jesus, I’m doing it again. I turn toward the players running out to their positions on the field and squirm in my seat, and, of course he notices since he’s practically glued to my side.
He feathers his lips across that sensitive spot behind my ear. It’s like Pop Rocks are exploding all over my skin. I grab the fabric of his shorts and squeeze it in my fist.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests, and I’m standing before the last syllable has fully fallen from his lips.
He chuckles and climbs to his feet, placing his hand on my hip as he guides me along the row of fans all trying to actually watch the game occurring down on the field.
“They’re gonna win. Relax,” I say to the guy who mutters under his breath about rude people getting up in the middle of the inning.
Once we’re to the cement stairs, I grab Alex’s hand and hold on tightly while I jog to the concourse.
“Whose place is closest?” I ask when we finally trip out onto the sidewalk. I have no idea where he lives. Probably something I should know, but I have more important things to focus on right now. Like the fact that we are both on the same wavelength.
Let’s have sex.
“Yours,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Especially if we can grab an Uber.”
Since there’s a game going on, the Uber drivers are hovering like seagulls at a picnic, so we’re bundled into the back of a car in no time. I look at Alex and he looks at me, and there’s this dramatic pause like in the movies, where you’re holding your breath, anticipating the next scene. Then his hand cups my cheek, and I move toward him until our lips crash together. I wrap my arms around his back and tilt my head, opening my mouth and doing an internal cheer when his tongue sweeps in to tangle with mine.
We don’t come up for air until there’s a persistent sound like someone is clearing their throat, and I realize the car has stopped moving. I giggle like a damn loon—wait, do loons giggle?
Alex is pushing me out of the back seat while I’m stuffing my hand into the pocket of my shorts, trying to dig out my keys. He’s practically vibrating while he stands next to me as I open the iron gate and then the front door of the shop.
“I have to let Toby out,” I say breathlessly as we’re sprinting up the stairs to my apartment. “But you should go ahead and get naked.”
Toby bursts out onto the landing when I open the door, and Alex laughs as he slips inside and then thrusts the dog’s leash at me. “Hurry up,” he demands. There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes that almost melts my panties on the spot.
I trip down the stairs and stumble through the shop, barely remembering to clip Toby’s leash onto him before jerking open the door and rushing out onto the sidewalk so we can take the fastest walk on record.
“I swear,” I tell my pooch while he waters the nearest tree, “I’ll make this up to you with a double walk tomorrow. But today, I gotta get back to that man before he changes his mind and decides we need to go on five more dates.”
I’m probably imagining it, but it looks like my dog nods firmly and then trots back to the shop. “You’re getting two treats for this,” I promise him while I lock the door behind us and hurry toward the stairs.
To my own personal pot of gold.
Which is laid out on my bed, utterly n
aked, and posing like a ’70s porn star. It’s funny, but it’s not, because, holy hell, I’m getting my first look at that lightning rod I wrapped my hand around at the lake, and yeah, it isn’t small.
It’s stiff and thick and long, jutting out of a small patch of wiry, dark hair, practically waving at me like it’s encouraging me to come play.
We are definitely about to play.
“Hey, why do you have a shelf full of toys?” he asks, pointing at the whitewashed wooden bookcase next to the window.
Shit. “Not now,” I say. Not ever. “I have more important things on my mind.”
His grin is wicked and so hot I’m surprised my thighs don’t burst into flames. “Yes, ma’am,” he says dutifully.
“I like that you’re good at following directions,” I say, pretending to be cool when in reality I’m struggling to resist ripping off my own clothes. But a plan is formulating in my head, and I’m pretty sure Alex is going to like it.
“Part of what makes me who I am,” he says, that sexy smile still gracing his lips. “Now how about you?”
I shake my head and strut along the foot of the bed while I pull the baseball cap off my head and tug the band out of my hair. His eyes flare like I hoped they would, and that joystick jumps, bouncing off his firm abs. “I don’t play by the rules very well,” I inform him as I circle back and do a catwalk toward the door, unhooking a few buttons on my top before flipping it over my head. He stares at my jiggling breasts. I can see the precum beading at the top of his cock.
“What I want is to watch you play with yourself,” I say, grasping the waistband of my shorts and popping the button before pulling the flap. The hiss of the zipper echoes through the room. His gaze latched onto me, he wraps his hand around his dick, rubbing his palm over the top to collect the precum and use it as lube, and I start panting.
I forget about my planned strip tease as I watch his hand stroke up and down that long, thick shaft, his lips slightly parted, his eyes so dilated they look black.
“Oh my God, I want to do that,” I say in a strangled voice. I scramble onto the bed and crawl up between his legs. Sitting on my haunches, I push his hand out of the way and replace it with my own. His head drops back to the pillows as he moans and closes his eyes, his hips shifting, rolling, pushing his hardened shaft more firmly against my fingers.
He’s so beautiful. His thin frame is pure muscle, each one carved like he was a model for what Greek gods were supposed to look like. There’s a fine sprinkling of soft, curly hair on his chest and a thin trail running from his navel down to the thatch surrounding his cock. His nipples are brown and flat, save the buds in the center, which are as hard and erect as mine. I lean forward and kiss first one and then the other, and he hisses, his muscles bunching and releasing in rapid succession.
I caress him, closing my own eyes to intensify the sensation. I take note of every bump and ridge, the pulsing vein, the way the hair on his leg brushes against my other hand when I smooth it up the inside of his thigh to cup his balls.
“Vicks,” he says, my name a moan rolling off his lips.
I open my eyes. His hips are moving faster and faster, and I’m keeping pace, knowing I’m stroking him to completion. But that’s okay. We have all night to actually do the deed. Sending him over the edge like this, while I get to watch, is my own personal interactive porno.
He grabs my wrist, guiding me, making me pump even more quickly, while his head is buried in my pillows. I can hear him grunting and panting, unintelligible words interchanged with my name—his personal nickname—spoken like a mantra, until his body bows and he freezes for a few seconds while white streamers shoot from the tip of his cock, and I methodically begin to slow my pace while I bring him back to earth and his body gradually relaxes.
His chest is rising and falling rapidly as he opens his eyes and looks up at me. “Jesus,” he whispers.
I smile.
He snags a fistful of tissues from the box on the bedside table and wipes up the mess on his abdomen. “That was not how I intended for that to go.”
“No? It worked though.”
“Oh, it definitely worked. But I kind of thought we’d actually have sex. Like, I’d do this inside you. Not all over myself.”
I chuckle. “Relax. Sex is messy business. That’s what showers were invented for.”
He tosses the wad of tissue at the small trash bin—and totally misses. And then he sits up and abruptly grabs me, flipping me over onto my back while he straddles my legs.
“I don’t think you paid enough attention in history class,” he says, and then his face is lowering toward me until our lips meet, and I couldn’t care less what words were just tumbling from them, because I’d rather they keep kissing mine anyway.
He pulls away so he can grab my shorts and tug them down my legs, twisting his body like a pretzel in the process. Ultimately he’s successful, as he straightens and lifts the cut-off jeans like a prize.
“You forgot something,” I say, nodding at my white lace-covered crotch.
“Oh, I didn’t forget.” He tosses my shorts to the floor and then shimmies down my legs until he’s lying on his stomach between my thighs, his face hovering above my oh-so-eager pussy, which clenches in anticipation. When he blows hot air against my undies, I arch my back and bury my face against the pillow while clutching at the comforter with both hands.
“You’re so wet you’ve soaked through your panties,” he says, and then he runs his finger over damp satin and lace.
“No point in keeping them on then.” I’m panting like I’m in heat, which I suppose I am. My entire body is on fire, and the center of the flame is right where he is currently teasing me, through clothing, which is both erotic and maddening.
He makes a noncommittal noise and it gets hotter down there, like he’s blowing on me again, except this time I feel the rasp of his tongue against the inside of my thigh. I lift my head to see that he’s running his tongue along the edge of my undies, up one side, then shifting over to stroke down the other. I drop back to the pillows and groan, flexing my hips and squeezing muscles that want to wrap around something—his dick, his finger, his tongue. I’m not picky. Just give me something.
Finally, I feel the scrape of his fingers as he hooks them around the crotch of my panties and tugs them to the side. And then his mouth is on me, his tongue digging into my folds, licking, lapping me up.
I gurgle and lift my hips, grinding them against his face, and his other hand comes up to clench my skin, pressing me back against the bed. My body is twisting like a rubber band. I am so close to that pot of gold, there are shimmering sparks popping behind my eyelids.
And then he pauses, and I damn near scream, until he says, “Protection. Where’s your protection?”
I don’t have any condoms, which is what I’m sure he’s asking for, but I am on the Pill. I’ve always treated it as backup because I have no interest in following in my mother’s footsteps.
I’ve never mentioned that fact to other men I’ve screwed, because, frankly, I didn’t trust the guy enough to go in bare. But this is Alex, and while I recognize I should not have all these thoughts and feelings and emotions and shit, I do, and at the moment, they are all swirling together and telling me one thing.
Have sex with this man. Do not miss this opportunity.
“Pill,” I say, and grab his arm and pull him up my body. “I’m on the Pill.” And then I kiss him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth while I reach down and grasp his dick, giving it a squeeze. It answers by pulsing in my hand.
“Are you sure?” Alex asks, and by the concern in his voice, I know he will stop if I remotely hesitate. He really is one of the good ones.
“Never been more sure in all my life.” With his cock in one hand, I grab the crotch of my panties with the other and tug them to the side, then position him and lift my hips. He cups my ass and plunges into me, sliding into home with a guttural groan that is so fucking sexy I damn near come on the spot.
>
Thank God I don’t, because this is way too good not to enjoy a little build up first. The way he pulls out and then pushes into me, slow and steady, going deeper each time, until our bodies are practically melding together. I wrap my arms around his back, one hand squeezing his ass while the fingers on the other dig into his shoulder. The lace on the edge of my undies adds an extra layer of sensation as he picks up the pace, slamming into me harder and harder and faster and faster until I barrel into that pot of gold so fast and with so much force, the world goes white and my body feels like a sparkler, sizzling and flickering and shimmering. And then he freezes, practically hovering over me, and I feel his cock pulsing as he climaxes, filling me with liquid heat.
After a few seconds, he rolls to the side, taking me with him. Those beautiful aquamarine eyes flutter open and crinkle as he smiles warmly. I touch his lips with my pointer finger, and he kisses it.
And it all feels too, well, real. And deep. Emotional.
And we can’t have that.
Chapter Nine
ALEX
“Should we go on another date or stay in bed?” I ask Vicks.
It’s Monday morning, the last day of the holiday weekend, and we’re lounging naked in her bed, drinking coffee and completing the latest of the five crosswords we’ve already done in the puzzle book she unearthed from the drawer in the bedside table.
“Oral,” she says, pointing at the page.
I obligingly fill in the little squares.
“Which sounds like a damn fine idea,” she adds, and I glance up and catch her eye. There’s a hungry look in it, and I’m pretty sure it isn’t because she wants food. Especially since, while she was still snoozing earlier this morning, I took Toby for a walk to the nearest coffee shop and returned with two cups of liquid caffeine and a bag of sugary breakfast pastries.
I hand her the book and pencil and slither underneath the comforter. “Keep working on it,” I say, and then I place my hands on the inside of her thighs and press them apart before diving for gold.
