#1 Crush

by T Gephart

  His body lifted off me as he tore open the packet with his teeth, tossing aside the wrapper and gripping his cock with his free hand. My eyes wide as I watched him slowly slide up and down his length. My alarm clock throwing off just enough light so I could see.

  “Fuck.”

  I’d touched it, and felt it, and seen parts of it—and none of those things prepared me for its magnificence.

  It wasn’t just big—it was huge.

  And thick.

  And perfect.

  If Eric Larsson was a football team, his cock was definitely the MVP.

  And he was going to use it on me.

  Dear. Lord. In. Heaven. And. All. The. Saints.

  “Give me that.” I snatched the condom from his hand unwilling to be a spectator a second longer. My fingers carefully stretching the latex over the head of his perfect, massive cock as I rolled it down the shaft. He let out a groan as I grabbed him firmly, my small hand struggling to get around his girth.

  “I thought I was fucking you, not getting a hand job,” he hissed in my ear as his chest eased me back onto the bed. “I’m warning you, I don’t think I can be gentle.”

  “I can take whatever you’ve got.”

  His knees edged my thighs out further as he took up the space between them. His massive frame towered above me as he rested his weight onto his elbows.

  “Let’s see if you mean that.” The entire length of his cock thrust inside of me, my body tightening at the invasion.

  “Fuck.” He grunted, resting his forehead on mine as he gave me a minute to adjust. “You good?”

  Warmness spread across my body as my hips lifted up to meet his. “I thought you said you were going to fuck me?” My teeth played with my bottom lip.

  His eyes narrowed before the edges of his mouth twisted, his cock pulling out before thrusting back into me again . . . hard. The crashing force of our bodies pushed me further up the bed.

  “Such a big mouth for such a little lady.” Each thrust getting harder and faster with each rock of his hips.

  “I never pretended to be a lady,” I gritted, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  And just like that, I had awoken the beast.

  Eric leaned forward, holding onto the headboard for leverage as he pounded into me. My pussy gripped him like a vice as he filled me completely.

  English was no longer a language we both knew.

  Oh God, Yes, More—the only words spoken. That, and a series of primal guttural grunts when even they proved too much.

  It was all too much.

  Him and his wonderland body.

  Sex was never going to be the same again.

  “I’m going to come.” My fingers gripped the sheets on either side of me, my knuckles turning white.

  “Come for me, Tia. I want to feel it around my cock.” He thrust again, hitting me right where I needed.

  “Yes!” I screamed as I felt my body tense, every muscle pulled tight.

  “Fuck, you’re going to make me come.” There was one more rock before he exploded inside of me. The bed shook as we both rode out the wave.

  My vision gave out, the room going completely black as my body splintered apart.

  I had really died, fucked to death by Eric Larsson.

  And it had been a good way to go.

  The pressure from between my legs eased and I actually mourned the loss, the mattress beside me compressing as lips found their way onto my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “I died. But I went happy. I’d had a good life.”

  Eric barked out a laugh, pulling my body close to him. “What a shame, I had hoped to fuck you again later. I’m not into necrophilia though.”

  “I’m alive!” I screamed, my body jerking back to life. “It’s a miracle.”

  Eric’s body shook as he laughed. “Quickest resurrection in history.”

  “I’m an overachiever.” I nestled against his chest, the strong beat of his heart thumping against my hand.

  “So . . . aren’t you supposed to be in L.A?” If not for the thin sheen of sweat covering our bodies I would doubt any of it had actually happened.

  “I was at JFK when you called.” His fingers pushed the hair off my face. “It was a bullshit shoot I’d hoped to get out of. Turns out not doing bullshit shoots pisses a whole lot of people off. I flew back and out the same day.”

  “Oh.” His lack of communication making perfect sense now.

  “Did you think I would leave without saying goodbye?” His eyebrow rose, a smile twitching at his lips daring me to answer.

  “Well, I mean. No.” If someone could tell me what the right answer was here, I’d appreciate it. “I mean. I don’t know.”

  “I’d never leave without saying goodbye.” All evidence of his smile disappeared as he kissed my forehead.

  “I’m glad.” A sense of relief washed over me I didn’t quite understand.

  “So that was quite some dream you were having.” His fingers tiptoed up my arm. “I’m really, really glad I was here for it. You want to tell me who the lucky guy was?”

  This was a trap with a hundred percent certainty.

  If I said him then I sounded like a pervert who’d been having dirty dreams about him. But if I invented some fictional guy then he might think he was like a substitute—which was ridiculous because Eric Larsson was no one’s pity fuck.

  “You,” my stupid mouth volunteered before I’d had time to evaluate.

  Awesome, pervert it was then. I couldn’t even be too pissed because it was accurate.

  “I’m flattered.” His grin crept back as he whispered, “Whatever you imagined, I can tell you it’s better in real life.”

  No. Fucking. Shit.

  “Now who’s an overachiever?” I swatted his chest seguing away from talk of me and my dirty dreams. “And how the hell did you get into my apartment?”

  Maybe I had ruled out the Spiderman theory too soon, the thirty million locks on my front door almost fail-safe. Spiderman or a career cat burglar—definitely one of the two.

  “I knocked at your front door, you opened it. Naked.” He grinned. “I wasn’t about to leave.”

  “I answered the door naked?”

  Never.

  Drinking.

  Again.

  I wasn’t sure if that made me the biggest whore in the tri-state area or a fucking genius. It got Eric into my bed, so calling it a mistake would be a major fallacy.

  “Yeah, I hope I was your only visitor tonight.” He barked out a laugh. “That kiss at the door was also something else.” His smile faded. “Of course I had no idea you weren’t awake—your eyes were open. Nothing would have happened if I’d known.” His gaze intensified, needing me to believe him.

  Oh, be still my heart.

  He was such a nice guy it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t be good looking, funny, talented, be amazing in bed and be nice. How in the hell was I supposed to give that up? And make no mistake I would eventually have to give it up.

  “Yeah, I have a tendency to sleep walk when I’m stressed.” It was a confession that I usually spilled after at least a month of dating. Sometimes not even then. I couldn’t believe I was giving him information that had always been so guarded. “That’s why there’s so many locks on my door. You couldn’t have known.” And clearly the magnetic force of my body wanting his was no match for all those locks.

  “I have a friend who sleep walks. He pissed in my closet once.” His fingers traced the lines of my jaw. “But you’re the only person I know who sleep seduces.”

  “I’ll need to add more locks.”

  “Or sleep with me more often so that I’m the one who gets seduced.”

  He had no idea what he was offering.

  It was a red flag to a bull, a hurricane heading to shore, and he’d casually—like it was no big fucking deal—stepped into the path of the storm.

  “Yeah, sounds like the better option.” Correction, the only option now worth considering.

  “So, y
ou want to sleep or—”

  I didn’t let him finish. “Or, definitely or!”

  “Or it is.”

  I’D HAD SEX WITH ERIC Larsson.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  And if he hadn’t been sleeping peacefully beside me, I would have been convinced I’d conjured up the whole thing. It wouldn’t be the first time. But it was the first time I had the ache between my legs to confirm it. Oh, how delicious that ache was. Proof of a night I would never—not in this life or the next—ever forget.

  It had not been a dream.

  I’d had sex with Eric Larsson.

  Nope, it didn’t sound any less amazing the second time I said it either.

  Would I get a chance to do it again? Was this a one-time deal? My brain couldn’t compute, scrambled while my body lay in a state of sated bliss.

  Lord, I was going to die.

  Die.

  And I didn’t care because I’d had sex with Eric Larsson.

  I’d imagined waking up with Eric almost as much as I imagined sleeping with him.

  I’d look amazing. Wearing stunning French lace lingerie with my arm draped daintily above my head to accentuate my tits. My hair would be evenly spread, fanning across the pillow, my curls looking like I just stepped out of a salon. And while it was totally impractical to wear makeup to bed, my face would still have the remnants of a perfect coverage foundation and on my lips a shimmery pink gloss. Oh, and my breath would be minty fresh.

  He would roll over, an eye sliding open as he woke. My stunning cleavage would catch his eye before moving his focus to my face. It would be at that exact time I open my eyes and see him staring at me adoringly. He’d kiss me like he couldn’t stand not to, whispering good morning against my lips—he would also have perfect minty fresh breath—and tell me how much he enjoyed last night.

  And then we’d have sex again because well, how could you not?

  But while reality had far exceeded my imagination last night, the morning brought a whole different ballgame.

  My eyes tentatively opened, the daylight incinerating my eyeballs before I had a chance to close them again.

  There was no lingerie making my boobs look sensational, instead they were squished between the mattress and my arm. My hair could have easily doubled for a bird’s nest, housing at least four small to medium-sized songbirds. And my mouth tasted like I’d licked the floor of a truck stop restroom.

  “Shit,” I cursed softly, hoping like hell I wouldn’t wake Eric and scare him half to death. I’m not sure what I looked like last night, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t the Tasmanian Devil I probably resembled now.

  Slowly—any slower and I’d be moving in reverse—I wiggled out from under him, easing my body to the edge of the bed. All I needed to do was get into my bathroom, transform myself back into something resembling a human, and slide back into bed. He’d be none the wiser. It was a perfect plan.

  There were exactly ten steps to my bathroom.

  I’d counted them numerous times when I’d been sick or drunk; memorized the path so I could do it with my eyes closed. No creaks in the floor, no major obstacles in the way. All I needed to do was lift my butt off the bed and with the agility and speed of a gazelle get myself into the bathroom. Home free.

  My feet dropped to the floor while my legs adjusted, ready to accept my weight. And with enough core strength to make my gym instructor proud, I slowly lifted my butt off the mattress.

  “What are you doing?”

  Shit.

  I hit the floor; arms and legs splayed on either side like I was taking live rounds in Afghanistan. My forehead not so gracefully bounced off the carpet as I took cover, flattening my body like a Marine.

  Eric erupted into convulsions of laughter, unable to speak as he moved off the bed. His two perfect feet coming into view as I maintained my position.

  “Tia, are you okay?” he was able to choke out in between laughs. “Let me help you up.”

  “No, don’t look at me.” My arms covered my head in a poorly thought out effort to hide myself. “I’m hideous. Look away. Look away now.”

  More laughter; his hand reaching down and latching onto my arm. “I assure you, you aren’t hideous.”

  “No, no, I was supposed to be beautiful when you woke up. You can’t see me like this. I’m a monster.”

  And then the laughter stopped, the two perfect feet joined by two perfect knees. “You are beautiful. You were last night, and you are right now.”

  Oh, for the love of God!

  Couldn’t he be even a tiny bit of an ass? Not a lot, just enough so I could A: confirm he was mortal and B: not feel totally inept in his presence.

  “If you see me and you gasp in horror, I will not be held responsible for my future actions,” I mumbled into the carpet wishing like hell he’d just let me stick to my original plan.

  “I won’t.” He brought his head closer to mine, his mouth skirting above my ear. “Now, get off the damn floor.” I felt him rise to his feet, standing inches away from me.

  Slowly my head lifted, conscious not to go too fast.

  Here is the female Homo sapiens in her natural habitat, just waking from a night of excessive copulation. She rises slowly as not to spook the male of the species, who sometimes disappear after the mating ritual. I could hear the Discovery Channel narration now.

  “I’m waiting.” He tapped his foot; my slow dance with humiliation taking too long apparently.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I stood up quickly, revealing all my hideous glory. He couldn’t say I didn’t warn him.

  “There. Satisfied?” My hands stretched either side of my body as I twirled around, giving him a good look from every angle.

  “Yes, very.” He grinned, his arms folded across his perfect fucking chest. The man didn’t even have the decency to look bad in the morning. His mussed up bed hair just making him look even sexier.

  “You know you could have pretended to be asleep and allow me my dignity. Like a regular guy.” My finger poked him hard in the chest, frustration overriding my concern over my frightful appearance.

  “I’m not a regular guy.” The corner of his mouth curved.

  Gah, he was impossible. Sexy, gorgeous, handsome beyond measure impossible.

  “Come here, Tia.” His fingers linked around mine and he pulled me into his arms.

  “Fine, I’m here.” Not as annoyed as I was pretending to be.

  “Now what were you were going to do in that bathroom?” His brow arched, his eyes on mine.

  “Shower, brush my teeth, slather myself with products I impulse bought that promised to make my skin look firmer and younger.” Couldn’t have lied even if I wanted to.

  “Do you still want to do that?” He brushed the hair from my face, his stare making me forget why the hell I’d gotten out of bed in the first place.

  “No, not really.”

  “Good, because instead of doing that,” he tilted his head to the bathroom, “we could shower together.”

  “That is such a good plan.”

  It was so surreal. Pretending like he was just a regular guy. Because that’s what I needed to do if I had any hope of making it through this without losing my damn mind.

  The man saw me at my worst and still wanted to have shower sex? And that was after having all-night sex? I must have done something amazing in a past life. Maybe I helped smuggle Anastasia Romanov out of Russia before she could be killed like the rest of her family.

  “And then go get some breakfast.”

  Or I was responsible for the assassination of JFK.

  Brakes screeched in the background of my happy mood as the suggestion of leaving the apartment was uttered.

  “Like go out to eat?”

  Not good. Not at all. Maybe I’d misheard and he just wanted breakfast, which was still a problem because I hadn’t been to the store since I’d left to go to L.A. but still easier to deal with than a public outing.

  “Yes, we do it a lot on the west coas
t, I assumed it’s a tradition that is shared by most of the continental United States. It’s a meal that comes before lunch, first thing in the day.” He smirked. “And don’t tell me you have some aversion to me seeing you eat because we’ve already had burgers twice.”

  He had a point, but my concern wasn’t about him seeing me eat. It was about being seen, period. With both burger outings we’d dodged some serious bullets. First, going through a drive thru in a car with blacker than black tinted windows. Elvis could have been in the backseat and no one would have been wiser. And second, Holiday’s was the small burger place no celebrity ever went to. Locals wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about who was sitting in there.

  Plus we hadn’t slept together yet.

  Now it would be written all over me. His sexy man scent transferred to my skin. And all I needed was one fucking reporter or photographer getting a sniff and going paparazzi on my ass. I didn’t have bones in my closet, I had a fucking skeleton—of the actress I wasn’t.

  “Why don’t we order in?” I suggested. “You can tell me all about your photo shoot and I can lick pancake syrup off your abs.”

  Deflection.

  As a middle child I was the queen of misdirection. Keep your eyes on this hand while I steal your Halloween candy with this one. I used to convince Judith it had been Piper, and Piper it had been Judith. No one suspected me for years. I’d been training for this my whole life.

  “I like your way of thinking.” Eric’s eyes darkened, his hand lowering and grabbing my ass. “Now let’s go get a shower so I can fuck you up against the tile.”

  Shower sex with Eric was out-freaking-standing. Standing being the operative word as his promise to fuck me up against the tile hadn’t been an idle one. My legs were still shaking—my thigh muscles pushed to their limits—but you couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. And I was never going to need the gym again.

  Eric Larsson was sex on legs, and I was here to tell you that it was most definitely NOT false advertising. I pitied any man who had to follow that act, major disappointment. Worse than thinking you were going to Disneyworld only to end up in a swamp in Polk County, Florida. And even then I was underselling it, his MVP cock was seriously that good.