I was right. There is something going on there. And by the sounds of it—
You’ve seen it all and had your fill.
—they are or were more than friends.
“Why are you just standing there?”
I nearly jump at the sound of Becca’s voice. I didn’t even hear her coming up the stairs.
Pulling the door wide open, I step into the hall and hope I don’t look as guilty as I feel. Although I don’t think what I was doing would technically be considered eavesdropping. It’s not like I snuck upstairs with the purpose of listening in on their conversation. And how personal could it have been if they’d been having it out in the hall?
“I’m about to take a shower unless you wanna go first,” I offer, ignoring her question.
The way she narrows her eyes and tips her head to the side makes it clear that my evasion didn’t escape her. But when it becomes clear she won’t be getting anything else out of me, she says, “No, you go first. Just make sure you don’t use up all the hot water.” With that, she enters the bedroom.
* * *
Thirty minutes later Becca returns to the room wearing the same red-lipped, pink pajamas she’d worn last night. I wouldn’t call them sexy, covering every part of her body but her hands and feet. But it’s what I know is under all that flannel that gets me semi-hard in two seconds flat.
She barely spares me a glance as she climbs into the bed and slips under the covers beside me. I’m instantly assailed by the scent of her cocoa butter lotion, which only makes me harder.
I watch her as she tucks her hair behind her ear and then while still studiously avoiding my gaze, reaches for her iPad sitting on the nightstand.
“You reading?” My question draws her gaze to me.
“Yeah. You don’t mind do you? I’ll turn off the light,” she offers, her hand already reaching toward the lamp.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Confusion clouds her expression and her brows pucker as her arm hangs motionless mid-air. “Excuse me? You mind me reading?”
“You’re not going to admit it, are you?”
Dropping her hand to her lap, she angles toward me.
“Admit what exactly?” I can tell by the bite in her voice that she knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“That you were trying to get me to have sex with you this morning. And I think last night too.” I sound awfully cocky for a guy who’s sporting a hard-on for her that won’t quit.
On a sharp indrawn breath, her blue eyes flash me a silent warning not to say another word. Before she can lay into me, I grab her hand and tug her down beside me.
Her body goes rigid and her hands push off my chest as she tries to extricate herself from my arms circling her slender waist.
Sputtering, she cries, “Scott, what are you doing? You agreed, not in the bedroom.”
I easily manage to pin her hands above her head and trap both her legs beneath mine. “Calm down. I’m not going to kiss you. I just want to hug you,” I whisper softly in her ear.
The second she goes completely still is when I know she feels my dick against her hip.
REBECCA
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Cue the sinister voice proclaiming, “resistance is futile” because that’s exactly how I feel at the moment.
I know I can end this now…if I want. Scott shifts his weight until he’s practically lying on top of me, his erection hard against my sex. Reflexively, my legs open wider. He’s playing another game of dirty pool and I’m not even good at the clean version.
“Scott.” My feeble protest ends on a moan when his hips rock against mine.
“Say it,” he demands in a low sexy voice, his breath hot against the side of my neck. “Admit you want sex. Don’t make us both have to suffer.”
Aching breasts, pebbled nipples and the collecting moisture between my thighs has my body urging me to choose orgasm and mind-blowing sex over a romance novel. Another rock of his hips against mine leaves me gasping and dizzy with desire. My choice could not be more obvious.
“Let’s have sex,” I pant into his ear as I run my hands up and down his muscled back.
Lifting his head from my throat, Scott stares hungrily down at me, his eyes blazing. “Thank God.”
My chest constricts as my stomach drops and performs a slow turn at the relief evident in his voice. He’s not even half as relieved as I am.
“Now let’s get this off,” he grunts, levering up over me before attacking the buttons of my pajama top. Too impatient to unbutton them all, he releases the top two and then pulls it over my head. My hands instinctively fly up, more than happy to aid in his efforts.
He takes a short detour, taking my nipple briefly into his mouth, pleasuring me with several swipes of his tongue before returning to the task of getting me naked. He quickly divests me of my bottoms and panties.
At this point, I’m so far gone lost in a haze of lust, the term turned on is the understatement of the decade. His eyes devour me whole when I’m laid out on my back and naked under him.
“Fuck,” he breathes raggedly, “I’m not going to last very long.”
That makes two of us.
Seconds later his t-shirt and drawstring bottoms join my pajamas on the carpeted floor, his erection fiery hot against my inner thigh. I have only seconds to drink him in; broad shoulders, hard chest and lickable abs. The sight of him hard and straining for me is arousing beyond comprehension. Then his mouth is on mine, all lips, teeth and tongue sliding, nipping and sucking.
Not a single millimeter separates us—my chest, stomach and hips flush against his—yet I still can’t seem to get close enough. And the ache at my center has reached fever-pitch levels, making it impossible for me to process anything but the delicious feel of him. I helplessly knead the smooth skin of his back, my hands trailing down to grasp his firm, tight butt as I press down, urging him to come into me.
His responding groan originates deep in his chest and reverberates through me. “Not yet,” he gasps as if he’s hanging onto his control by a thread. “Condom.”
Given the close call we had last year, it’s not something I should have forgotten even though I started on the pill over a month ago. Yet more evidence that sex with Scott can make me lose my ever-loving mind.
But it’s clear that he’s not ready to put me out of my misery because for the next several minutes, the kiss remains can’t-get-enough frantic but eventually turns deep and drugging as his talented fingers play with my breasts, tormenting my nipples until they’re so sensitive to the touch, the sensation borders on pleasure/pain.
When he finally breaks the kiss, our heavy breathing the only sounds in the room, he ducks his head and takes my beaded nipple into his mouth. At the wet contact, my back arches high off the bed and a tortured whimper escapes my lips. When I’m sure I can’t take anymore, I feel his fingers between my legs, parting me to toy with my clit.
My hips shoot up high as I fling my head back against the pillow, my hair spread under me like a cloud.
The pleasure is beyond description. And my body craves satisfaction.
“Scott now. Please now.” Ooooooh dear God.
Seconds later, his hand is gone from between my legs and his mouth from around my nipple, leaving both places throbbing and wet. But it’s when I feel his weight shift off me that I start to panic, unable to believe he’s going to leave me in this state.
“Scott,” I whisper hoarsely, helpless to keep the pleading note from my voice. I imprison him between my legs to make sure he’s not going anywhere. At least not until he finishes what he started.
The crackle of foil has me angling my head to the side, where I see him extracting a condom from its package. I immediately loosen my hold on his hips and I’m panting in anticipation as he comes up on his knees and rolls the condom over his hard length. Eyes blazing with raw hunger stare down at me, heating me from inside out.
I reach out to wrap my hand around him but he s
tops me, his grip firm on my wrist.
“But I want to touch you,” I say softly, still looking into his eyes.
He gives a shaky laugh. “Next time. You touch me now and I’m done. I want to make it good for you.”
“Well I know how to make it better.” The element of surprise makes it easy for me to tug my arm free of his hold. I wrap my fingers around him and squeeze.
His hips give an involuntary jerk, his nostrils flare and he makes a growling noise in the back of his throat.
I absolutely love that I can make him this hot.
As I’m guiding him to me, he gently presses my bent knees apart, literally leaving me completely exposed. Another rush of moisture pools at my center.
And just like that, it’s like his patience snaps and his need, want and lust take control. Pinning my hands on either side of my head, he runs the tip of his erection along the moist seam of my sex, teasing and tormenting me, before thrusting strongly into me.
“Oomph.” My breath stutters at the deep penetration as my sex contracts around him.
Scott’s eyes drift closed, his expression the picture of a man being exquisitely tortured. My name falls hoarse and broken from his lips.
After a moment of stillness, his eyes snap open, glittering and predatory. “Damn you feel good,” he growls. Cupping my butt to hold my hips steady, he slowly withdraws and then slams back into me. He does it again. And again and again.
Lust rains down on me in torrents of pleasure, inescapable and unrelenting. I can only mumble incoherently, my head thrashing against the pillow as the rhythm of his thrusts go from steady to wild and out of control.
As my body is taking the best kind of pounding, I stare up at him through passion-dazed eyes and watch as he looks down at me, his jaw tight, expression strained. Then I follow his gaze down and watch as his hard length disappears inside me. The eroticism of the visual is enough to push me over the edge. A seismic orgasm rips through me, sudden and explosive.
With my sex still contracting strongly around him, Scott completely loses it, coming amid of slew of curse words and a guttural groan.
Spent from the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, I sink into the mattress, boneless and weary, my body still humming in the aftershocks of my release. But I’d be content to remain as we are, Scott still inside me, chest heaving and his lips slack against my neck.
Guilt-free, mind-blowing sex always leaves me in a sublime state of sexual intoxication and the drowsy smile on my face couldn’t be pried off with a crowbar.
“Hmm,” Scott hums into my neck. “I think that one almost took my head off.”
I chuckle softly and run my fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “Ha ha ha.” I’m not sure if he was trying to make a joke but I caught the pun nonetheless.
His head comes up and he looks down at me, his mouth quirked in amusement. “I see where your mind is at.”
Suddenly a tenderness I’ve never seen before transforms his face, bringing a subtle glow to his eyes while adding a softness around the edges of his mouth. My chest goes tight and it feels like my heart is swelling with love for him, which I know sounds corny and romantic but in this moment, it fits.
“I love you,” he whispers, staring intently into my eyes.
“Oh Scott,” I whisper softly, choking out his name. Fighting back tears, I’m overwhelmed by how much I love him yet I can’t bring myself to say the words aloud.
“So are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” I run a hand down his damp back.
Grinning, he asks, “Does that mean lots more sex?”
When I nod in happy agreement, he lowers his head and treats me to a kiss that’s deep and languid and thorough. Several minutes later, my heart is thumping hard, my breathing ragged puffs of air when he reluctantly breaks the kiss, lingering lovingly over the process. With an affectionate squeeze of my hip, he pulls out of me and rolls on to his back.
A wickedly sexy smile spreads across his face. “Good. Let me take care of this and grab another condom.”
My recently sated body hums in anticipation. Sounds like the perfect way to spend the rest of the night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SCOTT
“Was that your sister?” Becca asks the second I click off the call.
I place my cell on the nightstand and pull her back into my arms. “My brother and sister.”
The phone call from the brats was our alarm clock. I rarely sleep in this late, even on weekends. But then we hadn’t fallen asleep until after four in the morning. But hey, I’m not complaining, we’d had sex a record-breaking three times. That oughta keep me till tonight.
“Missing their brother?” she teases, tipping her head back to look up at me.
“They wanted to know how many skis I’ve broken and whether I’ve plowed into a tree yet, the brats,” I say chuckling.
“You know you adore them,” she chides playfully, but I pick up a certain wistfulness in her voice.
She’d once told me she hated being an only child and secretly envied her friends who’d grown up with siblings. I wonder if that’s what she’s thinking about now.
“Believe me, they’re not all they’re cracked up to be. I swear, when I got my license, they thought I was their personal chauffeur.” I grunt out a laugh. “Hell, they still do. Oh, and try sharing a bathroom with a kid whose idea of clean doesn’t necessarily mean using soap when he showers.” I feign a horrified shudder, which starts Becca chuckling. Mission accomplished.
Yeah, I love them to death but the truth is they can be royal pain in the asses. But I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
A soft smile lights her beautiful blue eyes as she cups my cheek and reaches up to kiss me lightly. “You’re so sweet,” she whispers against my lips before pulling back.
“What was that for?”
“For trying to make me feel better.”
And I thought I was being subtle.
She tucks her head back in the crook of my shoulder, her hand drifting down to rest on my chest. For a while, we’re content with the easy silence.
“You know I have two sisters and a brother.”
I go completely still, not sure how to take her announcement, because that’s what it is. This is the first time she’s ever said anything about it to me.
“Oh really?” I ask, eyebrows raised. I can’t help feeling hurt that she hadn’t shared this with me before, which is totally hypocritical of me. Although it’s definitely not as painful as telling her I love her and her not saying it back. I do my best to squelch my disappointment.
“So your dad married?” It’s only after the word is out of my mouth that I remember my slip. Right, he’s not her dad.
She nods against my shoulder. I’m surprised she doesn’t lay into me. God, it’s hard to keep that shit straight.
“Amy, Susan and Brandon,” she says, running her fingers idly over my chest.
“Have you ever met them?”
“No. But I’ve seen pictures of them. On Facebook,” she adds. Her head comes up at her last admission and I note a hint of embarrassment—or maybe it’s guilt—in her eyes.
“Do you want to meet them?” I know if our situations were reversed, I would, if not out of curiosity alone. I can’t imagine my brothers and sister not in my life.
“I do. I do want to meet them. ” The words are barely audible and I get the feeling it’s the first time she’s making the admission out loud.
Lowering my head to her upturned face, I press a kiss on her lips and when I pull back, her eyes are swimming with tears. She quickly burrows back into my side.
Half a minute of silence elapses before she says quietly, “I think he’s a better father to them than he was to me. Well actually, he was never a father to me so I guess that can’t be all that hard.” She laughs but there’s no amusement in it.
“He wants to see you now. He wants to get to know you.” I’m not averse to giving people second chances. From what Becca’s t
old me about his attempts to “bond” the guy’s been persistent and it all sounds sincere.
Her head jerks up so quickly, had I been slower in tipping my chin back, she might have taken out one or more of my teeth. For a couple seconds, she stares at me through narrowed eyes, her jaw tight and her lips compressed into a straight line. Just as abruptly, it’s like all the fight goes out of her and she drops her head back onto my shoulder with a heavy sigh.
“He didn’t want me. He didn’t want me. He wanted my mom to have an abortion.”
Crap. I’m trying to give the bastard the benefit of the doubt. I’m trying to find some of his redeeming qualities.
“You weren’t real to him then.”
She snorts a laugh. “Well I was pretty damn real nine months later and he still didn’t want me.”
“Look, I’m not trying to make excuses for the guy but he was what, eighteen, nineteen? He was young and probably totally self-involved. He was probably pretty scared too.”
Her gaze shoots up and clashes with mine.
Like I was.
I don’t say it but the words hang in the air between us.
She shakes her head in denial. “No, you’re a better man than he was. His family has money and he fought my mom for every single dime of support she was entitled to. He thought she got pregnant on purpose and this was his way of punishing her. But he never once thought about me. Not once.”
God, she’s jumping to my defense and I can’t remember feeling less worthy of it.
“He was a tool. An immature prick. But have you ever thought that maybe he’s changed. It’s been almost twenty years and the last three he’s been trying to forge some kind of relationship with you.”
She gives a disdainful sniff. “He has three more kids. He can father them. As far as I’m concerned, he’s too late to be any kind of father to me. ”
By the set of her jaw, I can see I’m not going to change her mind. And it’s really not my place to as I’m probably a little biased when it comes to believing in a person’s ability to change. It happens and I’m living proof of it.
Those Nights in Montreal Page 11
