Incredible You

by Lili Valente

  He cups my breasts in his hands and brushes calloused thumbs over my nipples, sending sharp, electric bolts of need surging straight between my legs.

  I arch into his touch, moaning as he leans down and tugs one tight nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking it as he rolls the other between his fingers.

  My head spins as my fingers drive into his thick hair, helpless to do anything but hang on tight.

  “So sweet.” His mouth moves from one breast to the other, his tongue flicking across my yet-to-be-kissed nipple, making me gasp. “So sweet I want to do more than taste you.” He looks up, holding my gaze as he asks, “Can I bite you here, princess?”

  I whimper something unintelligible, but manage to get my head to bob up and down. A moment later, Jake’s lips part and his teeth trap my tight, tingling, aching nipple between them. The bites come in waves, in pulses of his jaw, gentle at first and then harder, harder, until it hurts but it doesn’t because it feels so good. So damned good.

  His teeth rake across my sensitized skin, and I cry out, a sound that is pure, desperate hunger and way too fucking loud. And for a second the spell is broken as embarrassment sweeps over me.

  This is just second base, for God’s sake. I shouldn’t be losing it like this, at least not yet. “Sorry,” I mumble, my face flushing hot.

  “For what?” Jake’s breath comes faster as he presses my breasts together, close enough that his tongue can attend to both nipples at once.

  “I’m, for, I—oh God.” I tremble, my bones melting as he works dark magic with his mouth.

  His tongue. God, his tongue is evil. And wonderful. So wonderful.

  “Loud.” I finally manage to force the word out, keeping my voice down this time as he nips at my breast. “I’m loud. Sorry.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” he says in a rough voice, his fingers working my nipples as his thigh moves between mine, nudging my legs apart. “No one can hear us out here. I want you to be loud. I want to hear you getting turned on.” He kisses my throat, where my pulse is pounding, speaking his next words against my skin. “And I want to hear you when you come, princess. I need to. I need to hear it.”

  Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine and his hands are jerking my dress up around my waist. And then his hand, that big, warm hand I’ve been half in love with from the moment I saw it curled in his lap that first day in the garden, slips down the front of my panties. I’m so desperate for his touch that I cry out in relief as his fingers glide through where I’m swollen and wet.

  Wet and hot. Burning. Catching fire.

  “Yes,” I sob, my head falling back as Jake pushes two thick fingers inside me, driving deep. “So good. You feel so good.”

  “I love that you’re so wet for me, princess,” he says, fucking me with his fingers, taking me higher with every thrust. “I love feeling how much you want me, all over my hand. Fuck yes, baby, I want you to come for me. I can’t wait to feel you come.”

  His thumb finds my clit, rubbing as his free hand grabs me behind the knee and pulls my leg up and around his waist, giving him even greater access to my shamelessly wet pussy.

  He isn’t gentle or careful. He’s taking what he wants, taking me, and I’m loving every minute of it.

  He’s nothing like Wesley, my farm boy who started off slow and easy and delighted me with a kinky surprise now and then. Jake’s hands aren’t careful or reverent; they’re demanding and assured. These are hands that know what to do with a woman’s body and aren’t shy about showing off the things they’ve learned. Hands that don’t hesitate to slip a slick finger over the tight, puckered place behind my pussy and push inside…

  I cry out again, but Jake swallows the sound with another kiss, his tongue fucking my mouth as his fingers drive in and out of my pussy and my ass and his thumb demands submission from my clit. He’s everywhere, the taste of him flooding my mouth, the smell of him swimming through my head, while he does things to me that no one has ever done and I don’t know what to think.

  I can’t think. I can only feel—feel the blood pounding through my body, feel the pressure spreading in my pelvis, swelling until it’s so big, so intense, so overwhelming that I’m suddenly scared.

  It’s too much. He’s too much. I haven’t even stepped into the sex wading pool in over a year, and now I’m out in the middle of the ocean and there’s a storm and it’s dark and wild and I can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, and then Jake’s voice is in my head, like he’s whispering from inside my skull, demanding, “Come, princess. Come so hard for me. Come right now. Right now.”

  And I do. I come, though it feels more like detonating, exploding, being ripped apart by the pleasure that barrels through me, tightening my womb until it hurts.

  It hurts, and it feels so unbelievably good, but it hurts and my chest is so tight. So tight and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die from how beautiful and terrible it all is, and then suddenly air rushes in and tears come rushing out.

  One moment I’m coming, the next I’m crying so hard I can’t understand what Jake is saying. I know his touch is gentle as he pulls my clothes back into place and kisses my cheek. I know his voice is soothing and kind as he squeezes my hand before moving away, but I can’t make sense of anything, least of all the tears that keep coming and coming no matter how hard I try to make them stop.

  But they’re never going to stop, I’m going to keep crying forever until there’s nothing left but skin and bones, a dried up husk of a woman who was so good at lying to herself that she had no idea the sadness inside of her was reaching critical mass until the dam broke and the flood ruined everything in its path.

  Ruined. Everything is ruined.

  The thought feels so true that I don’t think about what I’m doing. I simply turn and run, jerking open a door on the other side of the balcony, racing past two confused-looking workers rolling a bin of recyclables into a service elevator, and heading straight to the stairwell. I run down sixty-five flights of stairs, not stopping until I’m dashing out into the cold night and into the first taxi willing to stop for a woman who’s clearly falling to pieces.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  From the Texts and other assorted messages of Shane Willoughby and Jake “the Dragon” Falcone

  Text from Jake: Shane, I called you a second ago. I’m getting ready to call again, so please pick up. I need to make sure you’re okay.

  I promise not to push you about tonight or anything else.

  Just pick up, all right?

  Shane’s Voicemail Greeting: Hello, you’ve reached Shane Willoughby. I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m either asleep or have chosen to embrace freedom from the bonds of my cell phone and venture out into the big wide world without anything digital on my person.

  Don’t you miss those days? When there were no messages or social media or texts stabbing holes in your thoughts? Those were nice, right? It felt like there was more…space back then.

  But it’s nice to keep up with friends, too, and I definitely want to know what you have to say. So leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m ready to plug back in. Have a lovely day.

  Jake’s First Voicemail Message: I know you’re not asleep. You only left the Rainbow Room twenty minutes ago.

  Please, Shane, pick up the phone and talk to me.

  I’m sorry if I went too far, too fast, or if something I did scared you or if I’m…

  Shit, I don’t know, maybe I’m just really shitty in bed and women have been letting me down easy and faking it for years.

  I don’t know what happened.

  I thought we were having a good time, a great time, and then you were crying and I went to get napkins and water and anything else I could think of to make you feel better and…you were gone.

  And I feel like shit, princess.

  Like absolute complete shit because I never meant to hurt you. In any way.

  You’re one of the nicest people I’ve
ever met, and I meant what I said tonight. I like you. A lot. And I want to be where you are. Especially now, when I have a feeling you could use a friend.

  I can be a friend, too, you know, I—

  Jake’s Second Voicemail Message: Shit, I got cut off.

  Fuck…

  Sorry…

  I don’t know how much of that last message you heard, but I was trying to say that I can be a friend if you need one. I can listen and give advice. Or I can keep my mouth shut and let you get out whatever you need to get out.

  Or if you don’t want to talk, I’m good at that, too.

  We can just take a walk or get something to eat or watch shitty TV until our minds are so numb you’ll forget why you were upset.

  Please, just pick up, Shane.

  Or at least text that you’re okay. I’m worried about you.

  Really worried.

  Text from Shane: I’m okay. Don’t worry, dragon.

  Jake: Thank God. I’m sorry, princess. I’m so sorry.

  Shane: You don’t have to be sorry. I should be sorry. I left without saying good-bye and probably ruined everything.

  I don’t know if anyone saw us leaving separately, but if they did that isn’t good for your intervention.

  Jake: Fuck the intervention. I don’t care about the intervention.

  Shane: Well, you should. You need to get Keri out of your life.

  She left a package for me with my doorman this afternoon.

  Jake: Fuck. You didn’t open it, did you?

  Shane: I did. I figured anthrax was too old school to be cool with the stalkers of today, and that she wouldn’t have put her name on the envelope if she was trying to poison me.

  Jake: What in the hell was in there?

  Shane: My mug shot from the time I got arrested in college and a promise to dig up every dirty secret from my past to prove to you that I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend.

  Jake: Jesus. I’m so sorry.

  I never thought she’d change gears so quickly. I thought she’d stay after me, not go into full persecution mode on the next person I started dating.

  Shane: She’s unhinged, Jake. It’s a lot more serious than I thought it would be. I’m honestly not sure an MBC intervention is going to be enough.

  You may have no choice but to go to the police.

  Jake: You should go. Right now.

  I’ll come get you, take you to the closest station, and you can tell them what happened. It might be enough for you to get a restraining order.

  Shane: Doubtful. And I don’t want a restraining order. I want you to have never dated this woman in the first place.

  Jake: You and me both.

  Shane: But if you hadn’t dated her, I might have never met you.

  And I’m glad I met you.

  Jake: Yeah? Even though I made you cry?

  Shane: You didn’t make me cry. It had nothing to do with you.

  Jake: Ouch.

  Is this one of those “it’s not you, it’s me” breakups?

  I mean, not that we were together, but…

  Shane: No, it’s not one of those.

  It’s more…

  It’s hard to explain in a text.

  It’s just…the past, and things I can’t change, and things I thought I’d put to rest that I obviously haven’t. Because if I had, my first non-self-administered orgasm in over a year wouldn’t have made me cry.

  Jake: Over a year? Wow.

  Must have been a bad breakup.

  Shane: More like a bad ending.

  Jake: You want to talk about it? I could come over. Or we could talk on the phone if you’ll pick up.

  Shane: I don’t want to talk about it.

  I wouldn’t know what to say.

  I’m not even sure what I’m feeling right now except sad and kind of scared.

  Jake: Why are you scared?

  Because of Keri?

  Or me?

  Shane: Because of me.

  I’m scared I’m never going to be normal again.

  Or normal for me, anyway.

  Jake: Normal is boring. I like you the way you are.

  Shane: I like you, too, Jake. I really do.

  But I’ve got a bad feeling I’m going to screw this up before it even gets started. Self-sabotage is something I’m really good at.

  People think I’ve got it all together, but that’s only because I’m so good at avoiding things that take me out of my comfort zone.

  And you take me way out of my comfort zone.

  Jake: Listen, I don’t want to take you anywhere you don’t want to go.

  We can go as slow or as fast as feels right to you.

  You can call the shots, princess. I’m happy to let you set the pace.

  Shane: Maybe I don’t want to call the shots.

  Maybe I like that you take what you want and didn’t bother asking me if it was okay to touch me in places I’ve never been touched by anyone else.

  That was virgin territory for me, dragon.

  If you get what I’m saying…

  Jake: Ha…yeah…

  I was wondering if that might have been too much…

  But I would have stopped if it had seemed like you weren’t into it, or the second you told me to stop, I promise.

  Shane: I know. I trust you.

  And before the crying part, tonight was amazing.

  Probably the sexiest night of my entire life.

  Jake: And there’s more where that came from. But we don’t have to rush.

  I can call the shots when that’s what you want and give you space when you need space. I’m flexible.

  I just don’t want tonight to be the last time I ever touch you.

  Shane: Me, either…

  I’m sorry I ran away.

  Jake: It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re talking to me now.

  Or…sort of talking.

  I really would love to see you in person if you’re up for it. And like I said, it doesn’t have to be anything heavy. We can just sit quietly. Maybe start a book club or something.

  Shane: Hmmm…You ever been in a book club?

  Jake: My brother and I had some dirty paperbacks we passed back and forth when we were in high school, a twisted version of Sleeping Beauty with lots of spanking in it. Does that count?

  Shane: Lol. I’m not sure.

  In any case, I don’t think I’m up for book club tonight, but you’re welcome to come over. We can make popcorn and watch something funny on television and not talk about anything serious?

  Or something like that?

  Jake: Sounds perfect.

  Is it creepy if I’m already standing outside your building?

  Shane: Well shit, you are.

  I see you.

  Hi.

  Jake: Hi.

  Want me to walk around the block and pretend I’m just getting here?

  Shane: No. I’m glad to see you.

  Stalking is more fun when you like the person following you around.

  Jake: I was concerned, not stalking. I’ll go away if you tell me to.

  Shane: How about I call the front desk and ask them to send you up instead?

  Jake: Much better.

  Shane: Okay, but you have to answer one question first.

  Jake: Shoot.

  Shane: Aren’t you even a little curious about why I was arrested?

  You sure let that mug shot thing go without blinking.

  Jake: It’s hard to blink in a text.

  Shane: ;)

  Jake: Point taken. I don’t know, I guess I figure that whatever you did to get arrested is your business and you’ll tell me about it when you’re ready.

  If you’re ever ready.

  Shane: That’s very…chill.

  Jake: I don’t judge people on who they used to be.

  You clearly have your shit together and don’t seem like the type to be secretly dealing drugs, doing drugs, or getting involved with organized crime, so…

  Shane: OMG, no! Non
e of those things!

  I was arrested at a protest for immigration reform back when I was in college.

  I wasn’t even really doing anything illegal. It was a peaceful protest, but someone didn’t get the right license or permit or something and a bunch of us were arrested.

  Jake: I figured it was something like that.

  But even if you had screwed up, college was a long time ago. I’m not interested in Shane Willoughby from ten years ago. I’m interested in who you are now.

  Shane: I’m interested in who you are now, too.

  Though, I would like to know what happened to make you hate the police…

  Jake: I don’t hate the police.

  Shane: Mistrust the police? Doubt the effectiveness of the police?

  Jake: If you want to hear my story, you’re going to have to let me in, princess. My fingers are getting too cold to text.

  Shane: So you’re going to tell me?

  I got the feeling that was a closed subject for you.

  Jake: I don’t usually talk about it. But I don’t usually follow women home without being asked, either. I want you to let me in, Shane.

  And I’m not just talking about your front door.

  So I figure I should let you in, too, right?

  Shane: Yeah. I guess so.

  You’re pretty great, you know?

  Jake: Thanks. You, too.

  I’m coming up, princess.

  Shane: I’ll start the popcorn, dragon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Jake

  The elevator ride up to Shane’s place takes forever—at least ten times longer than the day we rode up together. I’m trying to think of the perfect thing to say, but the only thing going through my head is “Don’t fuck this up, Falcone. Don’t fuck this up. Do not fuck this up, or you’re going to fucking regret it for the rest of your fucking life.”

  It’s crazy. Until a few days ago I would have confidently said that I’m the kind of man who needs time, and a lot of it, to even start having feelings for a woman, let alone get seriously attached.

  But that was before Shane.

  Now I’m thinking three dates would be enough to get me hooked for life. I’m not an impulsive man, never have been, but I’m also not the type of person who looks a gift horse in the mouth.