Sin With Me (Bad Habit)

by J. T. Geissinger

  She saves us from the awkward silence when she says, “I made a bunch of calls. Some of my friends in the building. My insurance company. A colleague at work who covers for me when I’m out of the office. I’ll have to reschedule all my clients for the next few weeks, I doubt I’ll be helpful to anyone right now. Then I made the mistake of turning on the television to watch the news.”

  The waver in her voice stirs that protective instinct in me again. I touch her arm.

  She looks up at me with big eyes. She whispers, “Would it be okay if . . . could I maybe ask for a hug?”

  Without thinking I say, “You could ask for anything you want and I’d give it to you.”

  We stare at each other for a beat, electricity sparking between us, and then she smiles. “In that case, I’d like to request a tropical island—”

  “An island! Geez, go big or go home, Slick!”

  “Just one of the little ones! In the South Pacific maybe? C’mon, you’re rich!”

  Grinning, I take her by the arm, gently pull her next to me, lie back, and tuck her under my arm so we’re lying side by side. She rests her cheek on my shoulder, slides one bare foot under my calf, and bends her other leg so it’s resting over my thigh. She spreads her hand flat on my chest, and sighs in contentment.

  It feels incredible. We’re a perfect fit. Even our breathing seems to fit, synchronizing so our chests rise and fall in the same slow rhythm.

  Now if only my dick would behave, everything would be just peachy.

  Grace clears her throat. “Um. Should I move?”

  “No. Ignore it. The thing has a one-track mind.”

  We’re quiet for a minute, just breathing. Then, with a smile in her voice, she says, “Are you doing that on purpose?”

  “Doing what?”

  “That . . . twitching.”

  I cover my red face with my hand. “You’re supposed to be ignoring it.”

  Her body shakes with suppressed laughter. “How could I ignore, it, Brody, it has its own heartbeat!”

  “Ugh. Sorry. It’s not normally so obnoxious.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m not kidding. Being around you gives me perma-wood. I feel like a teenager again.”

  “Or a dirty old man.”

  “Who you calling old, woman? I’m not the one on this bed who’s on the dark side of thirty.”

  She chuckles. “Oh, that’s right. I’m robbing the cradle.”

  “Excuse me—twenty-nine is hardly in a cradle. God, between you and my mother . . .”

  She replies in a baby voice, “Does widdle Bwody need his ba-ba?”

  I exhale slowly, smothering the violent urge to flip her onto her back and show her just how much of a ba-ba I need. “You’re lucky I’m trying to be your friend right now, Slick. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

  “My ‘friend’? That sounds ominous.”

  When I don’t answer, she muses, “I’ve never had a male friend.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a good thing.”

  “Well, it is.”

  She props herself up on her elbow and looks down at me. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t want to have sex with me?”

  “I want to have sex with you more than I want to survive to see another day. More than I want Ben Affleck to stop making superhero movies. More than I want flying cars to be a real thing. That’s not the point.”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “What is the point?”

  My dick is throbbing so hard I actually don’t know what the point is. I have to use all my willpower to focus and try to get some blood back up into my brain. “I think the point is that . . .”

  She waits, her brows lifted.

  “The point is that I already told you the point. I don’t want to fuck you—yet. I mean, I do, desperately, but I won’t.”

  Her brows return to their normal position. “Hmm.”

  “Okay, that sounded ominous.”

  “I’m trying to decide if that’s romantic or just dumb.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She lays her head on my chest again and snuggles up against me.

  Then she starts to toy with the hem of my T-shirt.

  It seems absentminded, the way her fingers accidentally skim my bare skin just above the waistband of my sweatpants, but this is Grace Stanton we’re dealing with here. Nothing she does is by chance.

  When she draws a series of slow circles around my belly button, I warn gruffly, “Grace.”

  “I know,” she whispers. “I felt that, too. Do you think he’ll chew a hole clean through your sweats?”

  “I can’t believe we’re talking about my cock like he’s an inmate about to make a prison break.”

  She slides her thumb under the elastic of my sweats, and my dick bucks like a rodeo bull right before the bell sounds and the gate flies open.

  I feel her smile on my chest. “It’s a good analogy, though.”

  She presses a kiss to the side of my neck, just under my ear. A bolt of lust surges through me, so strong it steals my breath.

  Grace says, “Whoa. Even I felt that.”

  I wrap my hand carefully around her wrist. My voice comes out raw. “It would be probably the most selfish thing I could do to fuck you right now. I’d feel like a total asshole after. We’re not going there.”

  The tone of my voice or my hand restraining her from moving does something to her, because a little tremor runs through her body and her breathing goes all ragged.

  She whispers, “What if I told you it’s exactly what I need, though?”

  Something in her voice brings back Chloe’s words like cold water splashed on my face. Grace isn’t the girl who wants the roses and the love poems and the happily-ever-after. She told me that the day Abby was born, the same time she told me Grace’s parents had been killed in an accident.

  But now I have another piece of the puzzle, because I know the reason why Grace doesn’t want the happily-ever-after, why she’s chosen to live every day as if it’s her last.

  She doesn’t think she’ll remember any of it.

  And she doesn’t want to hurt anyone her memories might leave behind.

  I roll her onto her back, take both her wrists in my hands, and press them into the pillow so she can’t randomly fondle me and weaken my resolve. We’re chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose, crotch-to-crotch, staring into each other’s eyes, breathing each other’s breath.

  If there’s anything more perfect in this world, I’ve never found it.

  “I don’t want this to be like anything else either one of us has had,” I say. “I don’t want it to be casual. I don’t want it to be only about the sex. I don’t want to jump into a physical relationship before we get to know each other. I want it to be special, because it is special. I’ve never . . . with you I feel this weird . . . there’s a connection. I don’t know why, there just is. And I don’t want to fuck it up.

  “I meant what I said outside. Whatever this is between us, it’s real, Grace. It’s fucking real, and I’m gonna respect it by giving it a little room to breathe and grow before I go sticking my dick in it.”

  Grace’s eyes are wide and unblinking. I can’t tell if she’s horrified, surprised, or about to bolt from the room and never look back.

  She says flatly, “Oh. My. God. You’re totally in love with me.”

  It’s only after the mischievous smile flits over her face—there then instantly gone—that I realize she’s messing with me.

  Naturally I can’t let that stand.

  With a straight face I answer, “How could I be in love with you? You’re probably the most hideous woman alive.”

  Her lips twitch. She’s trying not to laugh.

  “It’s not funny, Grace. You’re revolting. I don’t know how you don’t get arrested for public indecency when you leave the house. It’s like you fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

  “At least I don’t have a sex-obsessed gherkin
living in my pants.”

  I snort. “Don’t you?”

  “Oh. Yeah, you might have me there. Let me try again.”

  “Sure. Have at it. Witch face.”

  “I might have a witch face but at least I’m not a mama’s boy.”

  I grin. Smart chicks are the best. And smart-mouthed chicks . . . if I were Kenji, this is where I’d heave a dreamy sigh and faint into a pile of lavender-scented pillows.

  Instead I ask, “If I throw a stick, will you chase it?”

  Grace laughs. “Oh, I get it, because I’m a dog! That’s called a metaphor. I’d explain it to you, but I don’t have any crayons.”

  I press a soft kiss to her lips and whisper, “The last time I saw a face like yours, I fed it a banana.”

  She giggles. “Excuse me, Kong, we’ve already established that you’re the ape in this relationship.”

  I’m trying really hard not to laugh. “I love what you’ve done with your nostril hair. How did you braid it like that?”

  “Hey!” She playfully kicks me in the shin.

  “Sorry, have I gone too far? Nose hair is where you draw the line?”

  We grin at each other, until finally she sighs. “Okay. Obviously I’m not going to be able to convince you to have sex with me. Which, by the way, has never happened to me before. So.”

  “So feel special?”

  “Exactly.”

  I roll to my back, taking her along, and settle her on top of me. “Funny, but somehow that doesn’t make me feel so special.”

  Gazing down at me with her hair curtained around her face, Grace smiles. “It should, Kong. Because if it were anyone else but you, I’d already have kicked his ass to the curb.”

  “You wanton little trollop.” I cup her face and kiss her again, deeper this time, exploring her sweet mouth with my tongue.

  Against my lips, she says breathlessly, “Your wanton little trollop.”

  My heart stalls out before taking off like a rocket. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Slick.”

  This time the kiss is serious. It lasts for what feels like forever. Her body is a soft, delicious weight on top of mine. She smells like shampoo and clean skin. An animalistic urge to tear off all her clothes, bury my face between her thighs, and find out what her pussy tastes like rips through me. She flexes her hips, rubbing her pelvis against my stiff cock, and I groan.

  “I’m sorry. That was an accident.”

  I growl, “You’re a shitty liar.”

  I have her breasts in my hands. How did that happen? They’re full and heavy in my palms, a lush weight covered by the barest layer of soft cotton. I rub my thumbs over the taut peaks of her nipples and she gasps.

  Acting purely on instinct, I lift my head and suck on one rigid nub, right through the T-shirt.

  Her moan is so erotic I almost come in my pants.

  I bite down gently and am rewarded by another moan, this one even more sensual than the last. Shuddering, she arches into my hands, into my mouth. Her hair spills down her back.

  “More,” she begs, rocking on top of me. “Brody. More.”

  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

  “Grace.”

  “Please? Just a little bit more?”

  There’s no man on earth who could resist the beautiful woman that he’s completely insane over begging him to keep playing with her tits.

  If there is, he’s a better man than I am.

  I slide my hands under her shirt. Her skin is hot, silky. My hands almost span her waist. Moving slowly, loving the sound of her ragged breathing, the hazy, lust-filled look in her eyes, I move my hands up, tracing her skin with the tips of my fingers.

  When I cup her breasts, squeezing the fullness of the globes, she groans. I pinch both her nipples and her eyes slide shut.

  “Your mouth,” she rasps. “I need your mouth.”

  I’m starting to sweat. My heart thinks it’s a jackhammer. I have no idea how much longer I’ll be able to keep up this little game before I have to go jerk off in the shower, but I decide to find out.

  I push up her T-shirt and latch on to a rigid pink nipple with my mouth.

  She moans my name.

  I’m a warrior. I’m a king. I’m a fucking god.

  I go back and forth between her breasts, sucking and gently biting, stroking and pinching the nipple that isn’t in my mouth. Her tits are gorgeous, rosy and flushed, incredibly sensitive to my every touch. My dick is a steel pipe.

  A throbbing steel pipe.

  Grace rocks faster against it, dry humping me as I fondle her.

  Against her breast I whisper, “Are you trying to get yourself off, sweetheart?”

  Her only answer is a low, ragged moan.

  I know a “yes” when I hear one.

  I flip her to her back, straddle her, drag the T-shirt over her head and up her arms, and tie it in a knot around her wrists.

  Blinking and breathless, she stares up at me. Her cheeks are pink, her lips are parted, her hair is damp and wild all over the pillow.

  She’s the single most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Did you just handcuff me with your shirt?”

  Breathing hard, I answer, “Fuck yes I did. Can you come just from having your nipples sucked?”

  She whispers, “I— I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

  My grin is savage. “Until now. And for the record, this isn’t sex. This is just foreplay.”

  I lower my head and begin the experiment.

  GRACE

  With every pull of Brody’s lips on my nipples, a wave of hot, pure pleasure pulses between my legs. I writhe and moan beneath him, desperate for more.

  “God, the sounds she makes,” he mutters to himself, before diving back in for another mouthful of flesh.

  He’s straddling me, his legs on either side of my hips, so I have nothing to rub against, nothing but the pressure of my thighs pressed together to answer the growing ache between my legs. It’s not enough. I need more.

  I need him.

  “Take out your cock,” I whisper breathlessly.

  He glances up at me, his cheeks flushed, fire in his eyes. His big hands cup both my breasts. His skin is golden against my paleness. His lips are wet around one hard nipple.

  He sucks it so strongly his cheeks hollow. I arch and moan again. The sound is broken. “Please, just let me see it.”

  “I’m not gonna fuck you, Grace.”

  Why does hearing him say those words in that gruff, almost angry tone drive me right to the edge of sanity?

  “I need to see it. I need to see how hard you are for me,” I pant, rocking my hips like the wanton little trollop he teasingly called me. Against his sweats, his cock bobs, and I whimper.

  He moves to my other nipple. Looking up at me, he slowly circles his tongue around it, and then takes it between his teeth.

  When he gently bites down, my lids slide shut. I groan, arching into his mouth.

  “Tell me how wet your pussy is,” he demands, squeezing my breasts.

  “Soaking. I’m soaked, I need you to touch me, I need your fingers, please Brody, I need your tongue—”

  “You have my tongue, sweetheart,” he whispers. He bites me beneath my nipple in the full part of my breast. I gasp in pleasure. Then he licks the sting away, and I start to plead with him again.

  “Between my legs. If you won’t give me your cock, I need your tongue between my legs oh God please—” I break off with a cry as he pinches both my nipples. Heat pulses in my core.

  “You want me to lick your pussy, Grace? You need my tongue on your sweet little clit?”

  When I open my eyes, there’s a different Brody on top of me, staring down with startling intensity at my face. This isn’t the boyish Brody, the adorable surfer with the cocky swagger and the even cockier grin.

  This is Brody the man, with a wolf’s hungry eyes and dangerous growl, ready to pounce and tear me to shreds.

  My voice comes out small. “Yes. Please.”

&nbs
p; That low, animal growl rumbles through his chest.

  Goose bumps erupt all over my body.

  He watches me for a moment, his eyes glittering, his chest rapidly rising and falling with his breath. Finally he makes a decision on whatever argument is going on inside his head. He commands, “Don’t move.”

  He sits up, crosses to the door, closes and locks it, and then turns back to me. He pulls his shirt off over his head and drops it to the floor, so he’s standing there bare chested and barefoot, wearing only the sweats with the big pole tenting the front, staring at me with wild eyes and a hard jaw, his pulse throbbing hard in his neck.

  His gaze on mine, he crosses back to the bed and slowly crawls up the mattress.

  My heart beats so frantically I can’t catch my breath.

  When his head is level with my stomach, he stops. His hands are planted on either side of my hips, his arms braced so all the muscles bulge. He moistens his lips. He leans his weight onto one hand, and with the other brushes his thumb in the damp seam between my legs.

  When I make a soft cry he shushes me. I bite my lip.

  Every part of me is trembling. My nipples and pussy are aching. I’ve never felt such profound physical need.

  Watching my face, Brody slowly strokes his thumb up and down, rubbing my pussy through the fabric that covers it. The pressure is light—too light. I flex my hips up, wanting more.

  “Move again and I’ll stop,” he warns, in this dark, dominant voice that gives me another rash of goose bumps.

  I fall so still I might as well be playing dead. If I could somehow stop breathing, I would.

  Still lightly stroking me, he lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to my belly. His lips part, he traces his tongue around my belly button, and then dips it in.

  The barest moan breaks from my lips.

  Right through the fabric, he lightly pinches my clit. I jerk, gasping. He growls, “No moving, no noise, no exceptions. Understood?”

  Sweet Ryan Gosling on a unicorn, dominant Brody is sexy as FUCK.

  I don’t dare answer. I close my eyes and lie there, incandescent with desire, wishing I believed in God so I could pray to Him to help me be still and quiet without being a complete hypocrite.

  Brody praises me with a murmured, “Good girl.”