by Hart, Lane
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And like some pathetic asshole, I volunteered to go shopping with Lucy today, something no normal man would ever agree to do without the promise of a million blowjobs afterward. Still, I offered because I could tell Lucy was sad that Jetta couldn’t go with her and she doesn’t have any other friends in town except for apparently Malcolm, who I know without a doubt would never have agreed to a shopping trip.
If he ever found out I had been on one, he would laugh his ass off and then tell me to just cut my balls off and hand them over to her.
I was just trying to be a decent friend, that’s all. It’s the least I could do since Lucy has been cooking me two meals a day and cleaning my apartment. Also, she’s been keeping me company, which is even better than the other two things.
How bad could shopping with Lucy really be anyway? She will pick a few dresses off a rack, try them on, and buy the one she likes the best while I sit in a chair and play on my phone occasionally giving my male opinion, right? Easy.
Nope. It’s not that easy.
Lucy and I walk every inch of three stores, looking at every dress on all the racks before she finally picks a few to try on. I didn’t pay much attention to the items she took into the dressing room, but when she walks out in the first dress – a bright red one – I instantly think of the woman in the porno last night.
Now, Lucy is in a similar short, tight strapless dress, and I want to see her hand between her legs.
“What do you think of this one?” Lucy asks as she turns this way and that in front of the floor length mirrors while my cock swells to dangerous levels. “I couldn’t wear it to the wedding because it’s too…flirty, but maybe the rehearsal dinner…”
“Get it!” I blurt out.
“Really?” she asks when she meets my pained gaze in the mirror.
“Yeah. It’s…good.”
“As long as I don’t bend over!” she remarks before demonstrating, leaning forward to touch her toes and, holy fuck, flashing me her ass cheeks and the black strip of thong between them. It’s one position I hadn’t thought of doing her in my fuck fantasies, standing behind her while she’s bent over, but I sure as hell will now. In fact, my dick is so hard I’m not sure if I can wait until I get home to get some relief.
“So don’t bend over!” I exclaim a little too intensely while glancing around the store to make sure no one else is watching, withholding from saying the rest of my thoughts, unless you’re in front of me.
“Yeah, it should be fine,” she easily agrees as she smooths her palms down the sides. “Guess I’ll try on the next one.”
“Good idea,” I agree through gritted teeth while I try to think about the parts of a motorcycle engine to calm myself down.
I’ve just gotten my cock under control when Lucy comes back out in a sweet, flowy navy-blue dress with big pink flowers on it and those tiny straps on her shoulders. It’s cute yet short enough to be sexy, just like her.
“I’m not sure if this one is dressy enough for the wedding but maybe with some heels,” she says as she examines herself in the mirror.
And just like that, I’m hurting again, picturing myself between her legs, the bottom of the short dress shoved up to her chest and her heels digging in my ass as I pound inside of her.
Okay, this constant obsession of sex with Lucy going on in my head seriously needs to fucking stop!
It’s been way too long since I’ve been with an actual woman. Apparently, my body can’t seem to stop gearing up for the event, like it’s trying its best to convince me to cave and just get inside the closest female already. No, it wants Lucy specifically. I want Lucy, and I’m not sure how much longer I can resist her.
“So now that I’ve got my dresses, I just need a cute outfit and maybe another bikini in case the pool is open!” the object of my desire states, forcing me to swallow my groan.
“I’ll wait for you at the car,” I mutter before I get up and stiffly make my way out to the parking lot. I did my part. I helped her find dresses, but I can’t take anymore! Looking at her in…anything has me on a hair-trigger.
I shouldn’t blame myself.
This is all Ellie’s fault.
If she hadn’t married me, then left and fucked me over, I would’ve been with so many women by now I wouldn’t even think of touching Lucy.
Probably.
While I lean against the side of the brick building rather than her pussy purple car, I check out other women passing by, trying to decide within five seconds if I would fuck them or not.
There’s nothing, not even a twitch from my dick as tall, short, skinny, curvy, light and dark, beautiful women of all types pass by. Some even shoot me a smile and a look of appreciation, making their interest in me obvious.
But nope. I don’t want any of them. Just Lucy.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy
* * *
Nash is quiet on the way home. Which isn’t that unusual. I assume that our shopping trip turned into more than he bargained for, which is why he says, “I’m going up to take a nap,” as soon as he drops off the bags of my purchases right inside my apartment.
“Okay. I’ll come up later and make dinner,” I offer.
“Let’s just order in tonight. I can come down here when I get up,” Nash offers.
“Sure,” I agree before he takes off.
I don’t think he’s been to my apartment since the night we delivered the money, when I thought something was possibly going to happen between us before my mom called. I gather up a load of laundry, including the same strawberry pajamas to start them so they’ll be ready tonight before tidying up.
While I’m working, I get a notice on my phone that Nash is on the internet but don’t bother snooping on him until I get all my new purchases put away.
Finally, I stretch out on my bed with my laptop to relieve my tired feet and see what he’s up to.
The last thing I expected to see mirrored from his screen was me. He’s on my Instagram profile, clicking on various photos.
Huh. That’s strange and random. A little stalkerish, but who am I to judge. In fact, if anything, I’m thrilled that he wants to find out more about me since he’s never really offered to get to know me. Our time together over the last week or so has been mostly eating and watching television, not talking.
I watch each of the posts as he goes along, trying to figure out what he thinks about my photos with friends back home, some with Barry, and the vacation pics. In fact, he seems to spend more time on the beach photos than any of the others. Like, a really long time. So long I start to wonder if he’s gotten up and left his computer.
On my phone, I search for Nash on social media, but I’m not surprised when I can’t find a single thing about him. Guess bikers aren’t all for sharing their everyday lives with the rest of the world.
When there’s no movement for several more minutes, I assume he’s laid down to take his nap as he mentioned. What would be the harm in watching him sleep if he left his laptop open in his room? It would be nice to get to stare at him like I always want when I’m around him but can’t without him thinking I’m nuts.
With a few clicks of the keyboard, I have access to his camera. And, suddenly, I’m not looking at a sleeping Nash but his wide-awake face right in front of me.
He’s still on his computer, his shirt off, bare chest sexy as hell as he leans back and…holy shit! Is he…yep, he’s masturbating. Getting off to a picture of me!
I know I should slam my laptop shut and stop watching, but he’s just too hot to stop watching. Besides, I can’t even see his dick, just his forearm moving rapidly, faster and faster. Nash’s jaw is clenched tight as he looks at the computer screen through hooded eyes. Then, his lips part and his head tips back, which can only mean one thing…he’s coming.
And god, I wish I could’ve been there, that it was my hand on him or my mouth he emptied himself into.
As turned on as I am by what I jus
t witnessed, I’m also incredibly confused.
What the hell does it mean?
Does he want me? Is that why he sought out my photos and did that to them?
Why didn’t he just make a move when he was in my apartment if he was hot for me? The real thing is better than his hand.
Unless…he’s not ready for that kind of intimacy yet, still too hung up on Ellie to finally be with another woman after years of waiting for her.
I hate her for what she did to Nash.
He deserves so much more.
And maybe, if I give him some time, he’ll want to be with me.
Chapter Fourteen
Nash
* * *
Over the next few days, I get off to Lucy’s photos. A lot.
So often that I feel ashamed when I’m around her, which is why I’ve cut her visits short whenever possible. She cleans, she cooks, we eat, and then I make up an excuse for her to leave.
My rejection hurts her feelings. I fucking know that. But what choice do I have?
Tell her I want to use her body to ease the ache I have for her?
Fuck no. That would hurt her even worse.
So, I’ve been leaving the apartment more, hanging out with Malcolm and the guys on the cruise boat at night rather than binging television shows with Lucy, despite the fact that I miss her and would rather be with her than playing poker.
At least I still get to see her every day. She still comes over at least once, despite my consistent rudeness.
It’s a small thing, seeing her for one meal, but I take comfort in her not giving up on me.
Which is why on Wednesday when she tells me that she’s leaving tomorrow, going out of town for the wedding, it hits me like a sledgehammer.
“Right, the wedding. That’s this weekend?” I ask her disappointedly before downing my beer.
“Yep. I’m leaving tomorrow around lunchtime,” she says while sitting across from me at the dining table once we finish eating the burgers she made. Her usually upbeat happy face is now sad and her narrow shoulders hunched. “Before I leave, I’ll bring a few meals up and put them in the fridge for you to heat up over the weekend.”
“When will you be back?” I ask, not giving a shit about the food, even if it’s sweet of her to think about me enough to cook in advance. She shouldn’t worry about me or care about me because I can’t give her what she needs. How can she not see that?
“The rehearsal is Friday; then the wedding is Saturday, so I’ll probably head back Sunday after the family brunch.”
It’s only three and a half days, but fuck, I already miss her. And now I sort of hate myself for trying to distance myself from Lucy the past week because of my shame.
“You sure you don’t want to just blow it off?” I say, peeling the label off the bottle, knowing it’s useless but still trying to convince her to stay.
“Nah. I’m a ‘backup bridesmaid,’” she says with finger quotes and a roll of her bright blue eyes behind her glasses. “I told my parents I would go, and I spent way too much on those dresses to let them just hang in my closet…”
“Yeah,” I reply, disappointed that I won’t get to see her in the dresses again, that I won’t be there with her at all when I know it’s going to be a tough weekend for her. Hell, I can’t deny that I’ve started to care about her too, more than I realized. For days, I’ve thought I just wanted her in my bed, but now I know it’s more – which is surprising.
“I think getting some closure will be good for me,” Lucy adds. “To finally move on. Besides, not going would make him and everyone else think I’m not over him, that I’m still a miserable lump of shit wallowing around in bed, missing him. And I’m not.”
“So, you’re over him?” I ask for clarification.
“Mostly,” she replies, which is not a yes. “The betrayal still stings and probably will for a while.”
“I know what you mean,” I agree. Hell, I’m not too far away from being a miserable lump of shit even now, years later. “When you get back Sunday, I’ll make dinner.”
“You will, huh?” Lucy asks with a smirk that says she doesn’t think I’m up for the task.
“Yeah, I will. I can cook, believe it or not. I just don’t like to do it. Think about what you want this weekend, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay. It’s a date,” she replies offhandedly with a smile before her eyes widen with the realization of her comment. “That’s not…I know it’s not a date!” she rushes to amend. “That’s just a thing people say!”
“I know,” I reply with a chuckle at her floundering. “But, um, we can call it a date if you want,” I offer because fuck it. I like being with Lucy, and I want her, all of her. Whatever happens, she’s a grown woman even if she doesn’t look like it. She can make her own decisions about whether or not she wants to be more than friends, but less than a relationship. Even though I care for her, I’m not ready to go down that road and may never be.
“A date? Really?” she asks in surprise, resting her chin on her knuckles as if she’s already planning our wedding and kids.
“Yeah, but don’t get your hopes up,” I warn her. “I like hanging out with you, having meals with you, and I want to fuck you, but only if you know where we stand. It wouldn’t ever be anything more than that.” It’s a tiny white lie, one that’s best for the both of us since whether or not I care about her isn’t enough to convince me to ever cut out my heart again.
Lucy blinks at me while the gears in her head work to catch up to all of that. “So, you’re saying you want to be friends with benefits?”
Shrugging, since that’s a fair description, I tell her, “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“Nothing else?”
“Right. Nothing else,” I reiterate. “No sleepovers or any of that other couple-ly shit.”
“Okay,” Lucy says way too fast along with an enthusiastic nod of her head. “Let’s do that.”
“You don’t have to decide right now. Think about it this weekend. I never took you for the casual type, so I get it if that’s a line you decide you don’t want to cross.”
“Okay,” she repeats again, eyes sort of dazed like she’s already thinking about us getting naked and wouldn’t mind starting now.
A part of me wants to flip the table over to get to her, but the other knows she needs time to think before we act rather than jumping right into sex.
Getting up from the table, I take my plate over to the sink to try and put some distance between us before I go with the first option.
“I should…I need to finish packing,” Lucy says when she gets up in a hurry, abandoning her plate at the table to head for the door. “I’ll come by tomorrow before I leave!” she calls out without giving me a chance to respond.
Lucy
* * *
Holy shit!
Nash wants to sleep with me, like soon, when I get back.
I was ready to let him fuck me on the dining table right then and there, but he wants me to ‘think about it’ first.
What the hell is there to think about?
He’s hot and sexy, and I’ve wanted him since the first time I saw him.
Which is when I remember how I came to see him, and that reminds me of the secret he needs to know before we get in bed together.
Not that I think Nash Kincaid is the kind of man that prefers vanilla sex in a bed. Nah, I bet he’s all about fucking on tables or walls, whenever and wherever the mood strikes.
Still, I have to tell him the truth first, before he touches me, even if it means he’ll probably never lay another finger on me again.
It’s the right thing to do, even if it sucks.
I’ve waited so long, I hope he’ll understand why, that he’ll be able to commiserate.
The plans I had originally all changed once we met. Now, I want him to be with me any way I can have him.
I didn’t think he would ever want me.
And after we talk tomorrow, before I leave so
he can have the weekend to ‘think things over,’ he may never speak to me again.
Being unable to sleep last night worked out for the best since I was able to prepare four different meals for Nash.
And after debating it with myself until the early morning hours, I decide to wait until I get back to talk to him since he’s probably still asleep anyway. Giving him too much time to think without me around to apologize constantly could work against me.
At least that’s what I tell myself when I go up to his apartment and sneak in before ten, figuring he will still be asleep… and Nash comes walking out of his bedroom already wide awake and dressed, his hair still damp from his shower.
“Oh, hey! I’m just dropping off some premade meals before I leave,” I say in a rush.
“Thanks,” he says, coming over to the kitchen and resting his elbows on the counter as he watches me turn away to load up the fridge.
God, he looks more delicious than anything I could ever dream of cooking.
My cheeks are now blazing red since the only thing I can think about around him is sex.
“Do you have your phone?” Nash asks.
“Ah, yeah, why?” I ask in confusion after I close the refrigerator door.
“I figured you should have my number in case anything comes up. If you have car trouble or whatever this weekend.”
“Yeah, okay, thanks,” I reply when I retrieve my phone from my back jean shorts pocket. We exchange numbers in the same stiff and awkward manner as the rest of today’s conversation.
“You could call if you get bored too,” Nash tells me as he rests his arms casually on the bar counter again. “Or need to vent.”
“Thanks,” I say yet again, stuck with the polite chitchat. I need to snap out of this. If Nash wants to fuck me, I can’t act like a total dweeb around him or he’ll change his mind.
