by Alexis James
“You’ve got great tits, sweet cheeks,” he states.
Laughing, I wipe my fingers on the napkin and reply, “Yes, I recall a time or two that you’ve told me that.” I consider that this is his attempt to keep things light between us.
“And a great ass,” he mentions, extracting another slice from the half-empty box in front of us.
“Thank you very much … sir.” I throw that in with a slow drawl and a lift of one brow. “You’re mighty fine too.” He laughs and looks away, resuming eating once again.
I wonder if he feels the underlying uneasiness between us that was never there before.
I wonder if he’s searching for the right words to say like I am. Something just light enough to return us to the friendship we had. Something that hints at a potential shift toward something more.
I wonder if the idea of losing me now changes things for him or will I be as easy to leave waiting in the wings as all the other women he’s bedded.
I wonder if I’m going to be able to walk away with my head held high once he’s had his fill.
Stomach churning with anxiety, I get to my feet and keep my eyes averted. “Thanks for the food. I’m going to take off.”
Marco frowns, looking up at me with a confused expression. “What? Why are leaving?”
Don’t ask me that. Please don’t ask me that.
I shrug, grab up my paper plate, and move to walk away. “I’m sure you have stuff to do.” Quickly, I head inside and stow my plate in the trash, glance around in search of my car keys, and find him stalking toward me, a harsh expression crossing his face.
He steps right up to me, backs me against the kitchen counter and snaps, “What the fuck are you doing?”
His tone is unsettling, but it’s the mixed emotions in his eyes that send my heart jumping around in my chest. “I’m going home.”
Large, warm hands come up to cup my face. “The only place you’re going is right back into that bedroom.”
I shoot him a hard look. “Why would I want to do that?”
He lowers his forehead to mine, whispering, “Because you want to spend the night with me. Because you want it as much as I want you to.”
The breath catches in my throat and I grip his waist tightly. “I do want that. But we both know that the longer I stay here, the more times we’re together, will just make it harder for me to leave in the end.”
One dark brow lifts. “Why do you have to leave?”
Rolling my eyes, I state, “You don’t do forever. Remember?”
“I don’t do forever, babe, but I’m sure as fuck not letting you walk away now.” He kisses me softly and pulls back just enough to look me directly in the eye. “Let’s take this one day at a time and see where it goes.” Kissing me once more, he whispers, “No plans. No promises. Just us.”
Now it’s my turn to stand on the edge, although I’m much more hesitant about taking that giant monstrous leap into the unknown. I can do one day at a time, especially since I’m not one of those women who need to be with a man 24/7. I can even do the no plans thing, since that’s what we’ve been doing since day one. But no promises, no future, that’s asking a lot, even for someone like me—a decidedly more independent woman than the usual chicks out there.
I’m sure I wouldn’t feel that way if there wasn’t a small hidden part of me that wants his promise, wants that future. I’ll never tell him, no matter how long we spend together. Doing so would be the immediate end of whatever this is. No, Marco is the type of man who makes his own choices, his own decisions. If he wants promises and a future with me, he’ll say so. So far all he’s saying is the opposite.
Pressing the length of his body against mine, he pulls me into a darkly heated kiss. Unlike the words he’s spoken, his kiss is full of plans and promises. His kiss says there’s emotion there, and maybe even something called love. His kiss says there’s fear standing in the way of all that—a fear that’s stood guard for a long, long time.
Relaxing into his embrace, I allow him to pull me under, back to the place where there are no questions, no doubts, and most of all no fear. Back to the place where it’s just the two of us, open and trusting and giving all of ourselves. He lifts me and walks us slowly into the bedroom, and I tell myself that I’m content with what he can give me. What he can give me for now, I think as he lays me across the mattress and comes down over my body. For now, I am happy.
Amita doesn’t snore. She doesn’t talk in her sleep, and she doesn’t hog the bed. She’s the perfect co-sleeper actually, snuggled up against my body in an embrace that feels warm and safe—not octopus-engulfing or smothering in any way.
So why, I ask myself after our third night of sharing the same bed, am I scared half out of my mind about waking up one morning and finding her gone? And why, whenever that thought crosses my mind, is it immediately followed by this inner voice in my head telling me to run? Run fast, run far, run away from her as quickly as I can.
To clarify, our three-night sleepover has not been consecutive. She stayed over Saturday night, our first official night together—although to be honest there was very little sleeping and a whole lot of fucking. We finally dozed off when the sun lit the morning sky, slept for about four hours, all tangled up in one another, and when I finally opened my eyes it was only because her tongue was doing a tap dance on my cock.
Christ, I couldn’t ask for a better wake up call.
I also couldn’t ask for a better blow job. Amita sure knows what the hell she’s doing, which I suppose is one of those double-edged sword things. She’s a pro with her mouth, using the right amount of suction and pace, coupled with the tease of her tongue and the grip of her hand. Obviously the woman wasn’t born knowing how to suck dick, so it’s with considerable reservation I admit to myself that she had to learn somewhere. I throw up in my mouth when I think about her four year tutelage under Vic the Tool.
The second night we spent together was Tuesday. It started as most of our get-togethers usually do: a few exchanged texts and then an invitation for dinner or drinks. Tuesday night we did the drink thing, and Mia and Cruz joined us. We played it cool, acting like the friends we are, not the lovers we’d recently become. The problem was the moment I laid eyes on her, after two days of only exchanging texts, I immediately started thinking about her sprawled out on my table, screaming my name.
Suffice it to say I suddenly developed a monstrous headache that I, of course, blamed on work and somehow I managed to usher her out of the club and into the car in record time. Five minutes later we were parked behind an abandoned warehouse going at it with our pants down around our ankles. I’m certain we didn’t sleep more than an hour that night either.
Sleepover number three was an accident really, after another two-day span of exchanging texts. She was working out with Mia after work, and I just happened to run by when she was walking to her car. We chatted with Mia for a few minutes and when she drove off, Amita turned her needy dark eyes on mine and said softly, “Get in.” I fully admit that I loathe the idea of riding in her car, but it was a rather fast way to get us where we needed to go: her apartment. We were in the door and clothes were coming off faster than you can say “get naked.” Two minutes after that I was sliding my sweaty body into hers, while she gripped the kitchen counter and demanded that I hurry.
Okay, so apparently she and I have a major issue: we’re both horny as fuck for one another and it’s beginning to interfere with our regular lives.
Thank God for that.
While I’m contemplating the sleepover issues and rolling them over and around in my head a few thousand times, I’m supposed to be working on a long list of things to get ready for a meeting Monday morning with Cruz. I’ve been in the office for three hours, and I’ve yet to type one thing into my computer.
The fact that I’ve spent three nights with her sharing the same bed is shocking in and of itself. The fact that I can’t concentrate without thinking about our next sleepover is telling. And bothers
ome. Very, very bothersome. I don’t do this. I don’t anticipate plans to get together. I don’t look forward to the next time with someone. Hell, I can’t even remember a ‘next time’ that I had with the same person. Maybe Lacey, but she doesn’t really count since she and I are a whole boatload of nothing. Just thinking about Amita and how she responds to me, how eager she is and how willing she can be to do anything I want to try, makes me wonder if I haven’t somehow started down that slippery slope toward a place I’ve always avoided.
There’s a knock at my door, followed by Mia peeking her head in and giving me her bright smile. “Sorry to bother you. Just wanted to see if you were free Saturday night. We wanted you and Amita to join us for dinner.”
She says it like we’re this thing now, which instantly sits uneasily in my stomach. “I’m not sure what I’ve got going on Saturday.”
Confusion washes over her face as she steps in and closes the door behind her. “Oh. Well, Amita said she’s free so I just assumed …”
“You assumed that meant I was too?”
She flushes and nods. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry. Am I misinterpreting what’s going on with you two?”
I shrug. “Probably. I guess that depends on what she has told you.”
Mia takes the seat across from me and crosses one slim leg over the other. “Not much actually. She did mention that you’ve spent the night together.”
My eyes narrow in irritation. “So in your head that means we’re this couple now, is that right?”
She lifts her brow. “Aren’t you?”
Grinding my teeth together, I sit back in my chair and stare across the desk at her. “No. Amita and I fuck. That’s it.”
The color fades from her face. “Oh. Well I apologize. I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Guilt hangs heavily on my heart when I see the bruised expression in her eyes. “Look, kiddo, as I’ve told her, I don’t do forever. We’re having fun together, seeing how it goes. We might fuck and sometimes spend the night together, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go out the next night and fuck someone else.”
Jesus … really, Moran? Did you need to get that graphic just to prove a point?
Mia shoots to her feet. “You’re such a jerk. Amita is amazing and beautiful and sweet. She sure as hell does not deserve an asshole like you.”
When she slams the door behind her, I glance at the clock. I fully expect my pissed off brother to come storming into my office in no less than ten minutes, reading me the riot act about how I treated his fiancée. Not to mention what I said about Amita.
The door slams open four and a half minutes later, banging against the opposing wall as he stalks into the room and comes to a halt on the other side of my desk. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Playing it cool usually works in instances like this, but given that he’s trying to behead me with his eyes, I choose to be contrite in my response. “I’m sorry, man. I will apologize to Mia.”
“You sure as fuck will.” He leans onto the desk, looming over me. “You need to end this shit with Amita. She’s not one of your whores, Marco. She’s a sweet girl and she doesn’t deserve to be used.”
“I’m not using her!” The truth is that Amita and I are using each other. This has been a decidedly two-way street so far and since I’ve not heard one complaint from her, I’m content to continue going along as we have. “Give her a call. Ask her if I’m using her.” I cross my fingers under the desk just to be safe.
Cruz grits his teeth and stands upright, seething as he starts to pace. The silence is thick with anger as he wears out the carpet, hands shoved deep into his pockets while I just sit there with my head up my ass. Minutes go by. Long, tense minutes where he paces and I search for some clever words to convince him that this situation works well for me and for her. Since I’m not fully convinced it does, it’s going to be a hard sell. I don’t dare let him see the doubts I’m stewing in.
When he finally stops pacing and settles in the chair Mia vacated only moments before, I fully expect a loud tongue lashing, complete with threats and promises of physical retribution. But when he looks at me and his expression is intensely fierce and decidedly composed, that’s when I start to panic. Cruz is at his best when he’s the panther on the hunt—silent, skulking and deadly.
“End it.”
I frown across the desk. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. End it. End this thing with Amita before you hurt her.”
Leaning back in my chair, I roll my eyes at him. “You’re not worried about her hurting me?”
“No.”
Thrown, I snap sarcastically, “Thanks for the fucking concern, Big Brother. Good to know you have my back.”
Unmoved he asks, “Do you love her?” I shrug, swallowing back the anxiety that tries to take flight. “Is she your girlfriend?” After a long, silent moment, I give him a quick shake of my head. “So she’s basically just another one of your fucks, is that it?”
My stomach rolls. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Then end it.”
Up and out of my chair, I snarl, “You’re not my fucking father. I’ll screw who I want, when I want.”
He gets to his feet, using the two inches he has on me to his full advantage. “Not when it hurts my wife’s best friend you won’t.”
I chuckle, though none of this is the least bit amusing. “She’s not your wife yet.” Even though the wedding is still weeks away, Cruz has made it clear that the church ceremony is nothing but a formality. Mia is his in every sense of the word.
I’d never tell him, but I envy the guy. He’s found the perfect life partner, a woman made just for him. Even a jaded dude like me knows that is rare stuff. He’s found happiness and seems quite content to submerse himself in it, and her, for the rest of his life. Seems a bit overwhelming if you ask me.
“End it, or I will tell her what you said to Mia.”
Like a snot-nosed little kid, I growl, “So what. Go ahead and tell her.” Though the idea of Amita hearing firsthand how expendable I think she is doesn’t sit well at all.
“Jesus, Marco, you know as well as I do that she deserves better than this.” He moves toward the door then once again faces me. “Look, there are plenty of willing women out there for you to screw and play head games with. Leave Amita alone. She’s been through enough.”
His words hang in the air long after he vacates the office and while I’m fully aware I will live my life as I choose, I do have to consider what he’s saying. He’s right. There are plenty of women out there. The problem is I don’t want any of those women. The only person I think about and want to be with is Amita. Whether she and I are hanging out, or rolling around the mattress together, she’s who I want to spend my time with.
My cell phone chimes and her face lights up the screen. A part of me doesn’t want to speak to her, not now anyway and sure as hell not after I’ve been verbally spanked by my brother. The other part, the lonely part, the part that is mesmerized by her, wants nothing more than to have a conversation, maybe make plans for the weekend, or simply exchange a few dirty jabs.
The phone rings a second time and still I’m undecided. I want more than anything to ignore my brother and Mia, to forge ahead like we have been, making our own way and figuring out this mess one day at a time. I don’t want to be reminded that there are truths to what Cruz said. Too many to count. Truths that cannot be ignored simply because I wish them to be.
The third time the phone rings my finger hovers over the answer button. It could be a complete coincidence that she’s calling so soon after my visit with my brother and his girl. It could be something completely innocent, a question about balance sheets again or maybe an invitation for a movie tomorrow night. It could be so many things, if I’d just pick up the phone and answer.
Christ, Moran, you’re such a pussy.
I press the answer button and put the phone on speaker so I can pace. “Hey, sweet cheeks. W
hat’s up?”
“Mia invited us to dinner Saturday. She’s probably going to be talking to you about it.”
“Already has.”
“Oh. Well, I think she’s under the impression that we’re … um … that we’re …”
“A couple?” Taking the phone off speaker, I settle back down in my chair and kick my feet up onto the desk.
“Yeah. I want you to know that I never told her we were. I simply said that we’ve spent a few nights together. That’s all.”
I snicker. “So you didn’t tell her about the magic butterfly or your special wake-up call?”
She laughs. “Uh, no. As much as I usually share all the zany little tidbits about my sex life with her, it just feels weird to talk about stuff like that having to do with her fiancé’s brother.”
I flinch at the mention of her sex life, which up until a week ago did not include me. “Yeah, that would be weird.”
“So, dinner?”
Cruz’s warning sitting heavily on my chest. “I can’t. I’ve got shit to do.”
There’s a brief pause before she says, “Oh sure, of course. Well, I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, babe.”
I’m doing the best thing, the right thing, so why do I feel like my heart has just been pulled from my chest with a pair of pliers? I’m sure dinner would have been fine. The four of us would have hung out like we usually do, drinking and talking and passing the time together. But then again, nothing is as we usually do. Everything, whether I’ve wanted it to or not, has changed.
Now what? Contrary to what I told Mia I have no intention of going out with another woman. In fact, the idea of going to some club and making uncomfortable conversation with some stranger sounds about as good as getting my tooth pulled. Staying home is the only recourse, but the thought of spending the evening wondering what Amita is doing sounds just as tortuous.
But that’s exactly what I end up doing, and when I wake the next morning to an empty bed and a hard dick, I reconsider my options for the day. As I told my brother, I’m a grown man. I’m not about to let him dictate what I do with my life.
