“Ow,” I say around a laugh, and he chuckles.
“You just took off your chastity belt, are you—” He raises his eyebrows.
I bite onto my lower lip and examine the way a silver speck dances in his eyes. “No, no—not yet. But I felt like taking them off, ’cause you’re naked, and that’d just be mean to not be too.” I make a face and he rolls his eyes briefly before leaning down and craning his neck to peck my lips. We catch each other’s eyes and stare. I lean up and kiss a bit longer. He smiles against my lips and pulls me up.
I straddle his hips and moan, my soaking sex rubbing against his rock-hard tip. I could just gently glide down on him and lose my virginity to this man I have just learned to trust. And I mean really trust. But something is telling me not yet. Not right now, even though the time is perfect. I have never felt so connected with him. So comfortable…but not…now. Sometime in the future, yes, but not now.
I fall back on the bed and stare at him through my lashes. “Make me feel good…please.”
“As long as you said please,” he jokes, waving his head side to side.
“Shut up and get in between my legs,” I say, shocking myself and him. I grab him by the shoulders and pull him toward me. He lays against my chest and collides his mouth with mine. Our mouths mingle and our tongues dance, my skin sizzling and his neck glistening with sweat.
“Fuck, you are so damn sexy,” he grumbles, rubbing my sex. I let out a breathy moan and arch my back. His kisses proceed down my earlobe until they turn to deep suction, leaving bruises I don’t have any makeup to cover up. Looks like I’ll be wearing turtleneck sweaters all week. “I just want to—”
“I want to feel you inside me,” I moan, and he cocks his head to the right. “Gotta start small, right, and I’ve seen what I’m going to be working with—” I am cut off abruptly when I feel a long finger plunge into my tight sex. “Grey!”
He chuckles and pecks my skin. “You’re telling me. You’re so fucking tight. Jesus…” He looks down and then back at me with a snort. “I am so going to wreck you.”
“Shut up, Gr-eeey!” I scream out and hit his shoulder when he adds—or at least tries to—another finger. “Fucking hell, Grey.”
“Yep,” he says and nods proudly. “Totally fucking wrecked.”
“From the top,” I say and push his chest until I fall onto his chest, his hand still cupped around my dripping sex. “I don’t trust you on the bottom anymore. Your jokes are ruining the goddamn moment,” I grumble against his skin, then kiss and lick his salty neck.
“My jokes follow me every position I am in, bab—” I reach down and cup his still-aroused dick. His eyes widen, and he wags a finger at me, barely stifling laughter. “Tou-fucking-ché, Westerfield.”
I roll my eyes and smash my lips against his to shut him up. But he can’t shut me up. For the rest of the night, I scream and moan his name, and pretty soon afterward, he is doing the same with me. There comes a point in time when neither of us can properly speak, let alone shout, resorting to grumbles and incoherent yelps and murmurs.
How have I fallen so goddamn hard for this boy, and how do I escape this hole of pure emotions that has me screaming his name instead of catching my breath?
Chapter Seven
I wake up and turn around to find Grey still sleeping. I laugh at how cute he looks: his pink lips pursed, tongue hanging off the side, and his nose scrunched up. I lean over and gently press my lips against the little wrinkles in his forehead. He shifts in the bed and turns around. I laugh into my hand and push my wild hair out of my eyes.
Yawning, I sit up against the headboard and look at the crumpled white sheets. I pinch my swollen lower lip and hold back laughter as I think of the activities that occurred last night. Him between my legs, his hair crazy, damp. His hands clutching my thighs. I glance down and blush at the fading handprints. Me on top of him and rubbing myself on him. I close my eyes and let my hands fall into my lap.
I still can’t believe how perfect last night was. It did not go down the way I expected it to. At all. But glancing down at him and feeling the amazing pit in my stomach, I do not regret it. We didn’t go all the way, but what happened was unforgettable in its own way. I have the strong urge to lean over and squeeze his cheek just to bother him and watch his nose scrunch up in that cute way I’ve noticed, but I really need to shower. And I could use an entire pot of coffee.
With the bedsheet wrapped around my body, I get up and walk into the bathroom. A headache spikes my brain, and I stumble into the sink and groan. I need to take my medication, but it’s at the dorm. Without them, I’ll have a splitting headache all day, and I will not be able to function. Maybe I can take a pain killer in the meantime until I can take the ones I need…
I open the cabinet and search for bottles either labeled aspirin or Tylenol. I shift my eyes all around and end up finding a quarter-filled bottle of aspirin. I shake out two on my palm and swallow it with some tap water. The flavor is chalky and leaves my tongue clammy, but after wiping my tongue on my upper lip, the heavy taste has kind of subsided. I wash my mouth out before gargling and rinsing my mouth with Listerine.
My eyes unintentionally land on Grey’s medication. Still capped and fresh. Filled to the top and not taken by the patient, who is supposed to take them. I bite my tongue, shut the cabinet door, and turn around, drumming my fingers underneath the sink’s edge. I don’t know why it still bothers me that he doesn’t take his medication. It’s his decision if he wants to take it or not, and I’m in no position to demand he does.
I push the nagging thought out of my head and leave the bedroom.
Eyes closed, I enter the kitchen as I belt out a winded yawn. What time did we go to sleep last night? I ask myself and rub my eyelids. The more important question is: How could we go to sleep at a reasonable time when we were doing…unspeakable things? My naughty subconscious drawls like a seductress. A crooked smile curves my lips as I think about Grey and his chest and his fingers and—
“Busy night last night?” a sudden deep voice sounds, and I squeal in fear of a burglar. But then I open my eyes and find David sitting at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal. His eyes do a brief once over, but he stops in respect and grins at me in a knowing way.
“I have no idea what you mean…” I play dumb and give him my back as I reach up and open the cabinet holding the coffee mugs. I can’t believe this. I completely forgot David lived here. And we weren’t exactly quiet last night. What if he’s picturing what we did based on how we sounded? Does he think any less of me than he did before?
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I only arrived around three. I poked my head in to see if Grey was here, and when I saw you asleep, I went straight to my room.”
Smiling, I turn around and nod at him. “Thank you.” He nods back and eats another spoonful of cereal. I turn around and set the coffee under the industrial coffee machine, which I partially die for, and select a tab for French vanilla. I push off the cabinet, pull the sheet up a tad higher, and pull out two slices of bread to pop them in the toaster for me and Grey.
“Hey, David, where’s the—uh—sugar?” I tuck a hair behind my ear. I feel weird standing here in nothing but a sheet asking for sugar for my coffee.
He smiles but doesn’t comment on my obvious shyness and points past my legs. I smile nervously and bend and pull out the jar of sugar, making sure my hand is gripped around the top like steel. He laughs and glances at his phone, continuing to eat. I stand, kick the cabinet with my foot, and use a spoon to put three spoonfuls in the coffee and stir until it’s all dissolved.
“So,” I start, wanting to ease the slight tension and awkwardness lingering in the air. “How long have you guys been roommates?”
“Five years,” he answers. “I, uh…” He pauses, and I look up from the coffee I’m stirring. He’s biting his lip, as if contemplating whether he should continue or not. Rubbing his chin, he locks eyes with me. “I sorta took him under my wing after somet
hing bad happened to him.”
I stop stirring. “What happened?” I don’t know if I’m pushing a boundary, but a sense of worry coils around me, desperate to know what happened to the boy in the other room.
“His, um…his mother kicked him out pretty young. When he was sixteen,” he says, and my eyes widen. Grey told me about that, but not about David taking him in so young. Questions flood my mind. I want to ask them all, but then again, I don’t think he’s the one I should relay my curiosity onto…
The moment the bread pops up with a loud ping, I spot Grey shuffling into the kitchen. He’s rubbing his eyes, and I nearly flush at the sight of him shirtless, his dark hair disheveled. My smile trembles as his dark gaze lands on me. His lips quirk into a devilish smile.
“There’s my girl,” he grumbles, his voice deep and his Spanish accent much thicker than ever. It’s always been hidden under his words, but you could hear it just the faintest. But now…wow, I never knew the language could sound so sexy, clasped around his tongue. If only David wasn’t here…
“Uh, hi.” I shyly wave at him and glance at David, who looks amused as Grey walks into the kitchen. He glances at me, and I nod slightly. I won’t bring up what he just told me.
I don’t know how to act with Grey around other people, and he knows it, because he howls in thick laughter like the bastard he is and smacks my butt on his way to the fridge.
“Grey!” I flush and glare at him, mortified. Did he forget his friend is in the same room as us? “I made you toast,” I grumble, annoyed, and nibble on my own.
“That’s what’s up.” He nods at me with an over-bearing grin and leans on the counter next to me. “She and I are sort of a thing.” He shrugs casually and hip bumps me. I nearly choke on the bread.
“I see that,” David says and shoots his eyebrows up. He smiles and brings his glass of orange juice up to his lips. “Did this thing of yours begin last night, or before?”
“Don’t know,” Grey says and taps his chin. “Maybe while I was in between her legs?”
I spit my coffee back in the mug and blush bright red. “Jesus, Grey!” I slap his arm, but he laughs like I amused him. Like what he said didn’t just totally invade our intimate memory. He can’t just say things like that! It’s embarrassing and way too much information. You don’t see me going around screaming that he and I fooled around last night.
He just snorts and winks at me. “That was almost as lame as your attempts to push me off your sweet pus—”
“Grey! Stop it!” I slap my palms over my ears and glare at him. My face cannot be any hotter. He and David laugh and, embarrassed, I turn around and run to the bathroom. I’m mostly sure David laughed because of my reaction; but his friend, I know he laughed at my expense. I bet he gets off on embarrassing me.
“Asshole,” I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes as I shut the door behind me. He is horrible—yet still very much the captor of my heart and everything in between. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be a dick sometimes. Most of the time. Maybe he’ll ease up and be more tolerable—no, I can’t even finish that nor fool myself with that idea.
I let out a sigh as I reach inside the shower tub and twist on the tap. As the water spurts out and begins to warm up, I take the time to fold and place the bedsheet in the hamper by the front wall. By the time I walk over to the shower, it’s warm, sending a smile across my face. This will definitely make up for the fact that the guy I’ve fallen for is an asshole.
I step inside and draw the white curtain back. The water splashes, covering me from head to toe. It’s warm and feels amazing as it pounds down on me. I look around, find a fresh bar of soap on a little ledge in the tiled wall, and drag it across my chest. I scrub until my skin becomes noticeably pinker and do the same to my stomach. I momentarily let the water run down my chest, closing my eyes in satisfaction. I can’t help it; the water feels terrific. Much better than the mostly cold water at the dorms.
The curtain is abruptly pushed to the side. I let out a scream and instantly try to cover my body.
“Calm down,” Grey says, and I growl at him in annoyance and splash some water at him. He laughs. I turn my head to rub some soap out of my eyes. It stings for a bit, but I run my palm down the middle of my face and blink a few times under the water.
“Will you please shut the curtain? I’m getting cold,” I complain, shuddering to show my point.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get real warm soon,” he says vaguely. His hands touch my hips, and I quickly turn around and gasp, rushing back in shock. He is naked and in here. With me. Right now. What is he doing? I know we just did some pretty unholy things to each other and have seen each other naked, but this is way too much, way too fast. Showering with another person is really intimate. And serious.
He curls a hand around my waist and pulls me flush against his soaking chest. “Whoa, there. You almost busted your ass. And we can’t let that happen.” He glances down, and I have to force myself to not melt into the ground. Dimples pop in his cheeks, and water spirals down his nose and off his steep jawline. “You have the ass of a goddess. We have to do whatever we can to protect it, am I right?” I nearly gush when he winks at me and grips my ass.
“Don’t touch me.” I manage to whip my raging hormones into place and turn around.
“What the fuck did I do?” he asks incredulously.
“You humiliated me in front of David,” I tell him.
“I smacked your ass! It’s not like I dragged the sheet from your body and bragged about the marks that still litter your body,” he says in his defense. Something wicked gleams in his eyes.
Before I can stop it, he has me pinned against the cool wall and my head tipped back.
“You’re my girl, princesa. Meaning I wouldn’t intentionally embarrass you or expose you in that way. You’re mine to protect. Mine.” His lips contact with mine, and I almost melt. But then I think back to what he said and I push him away. He raises his brows, completely shocked.
So he does think us doing sexual things can just wipe away a problem between us? Nice to know.
“Am I? Or are we just ‘sort of’ a thing?” I put up air quotes and face the water again.
“I said sort of,” he said with laughter. “Why are you getting so worked up about ‘sort of’?”
Doesn’t he understand by now that I want so much more with him? Not just us being “sort of a thing” but the whole goddamn thing. I know I sound insane, but it just hurts that he doesn’t want to commit to me all the way. He’s always saying how much he wants me and only me, yet he can’t seem to claim me in a much larger role than some sort of hookup thing.
“Because it means I sort of mean nothing to you.” I mirror his sarcastic grin before turning away. The water glides down my back, and I grit my teeth when a wave of cold is all I feel. He blocked the water. I feel his hand touch my shoulder, ready to turn me around to make fun of me or what I said like he always does, but I brush it off.
He lets out an exhausted sound and walks around to face me. “You do mean something to me, Liv. A whole lot more than you think.”
“Then why is it so hard for you to make us exclusive? Or at least call me your—”
“Don’t you think it’s a little sixth grade to pressure a guy into calling a girl his girlfriend? There aren’t fucking twelve year olds chasing after you, are there?”
“No,” I say and narrow my eyes incredulously. “But there is one in front of me.” I spin on my heels and vigorously scrub the soap lingering on my chest. I want to get out of here as quickly as I can.
“I want to be more than some girl you play with from time to time,” I continue, and he tsks.
“How can you think of yourself like that?” he asks, his voice soft, almost drowned out by the pounding water. “How can you not see that you’ve come to mean so much to me? So much…more? I adore you, Liv. I am absolutely, completely, utterly in adoration of you. I can’t seem to think without you invading my thoughts. You mean everything
to me.”
“Then what are we exactly, Grey?” I face him again.
He rolls his eyes with an endearing, dimpled smile. “A guy and a girl about to bone in a shower,” he says and waggles his eyebrows playfully as he takes steps toward me. But I hold a hand out that meets his broad, tatted chest.
“I’m being serious, Grey. I know we’re much more than friends. We did just go on a date last night. So, like, are we actually dating, exclusive, or—?”
He grabs my wrists. “We are two people who enjoy each other’s company. Why do you need more than that?”
I stare at him for what feels like an eternity. He isn’t getting this. Not that I’d expect him to, though. He’s used to random flings with random girls whenever he wanted for however long he wanted. But I am not one of those girls. I want something solid and acknowledgeable with him. I want to be able to call him mine and him vice versa, without having to go into deep, complicated details. Like: “Oh, we’re just really good friends, but we occasionally have sexual interactions with each other, which indefinitely terminates our idea of being friends. But we are friends.” I may not know much about this, but I’m pretty sure that is the textbook meaning of friends with benefits. And to be honest, I don’t want Grey to be my friend. I want him to be more.
“Say something, Liv,” he practically pleads, cupping my face.
“I’m not just going to be nothing with you, Grey. I have dignity, and being friends with benefits isn’t quite cutting it in the dignity department,” I tell him truthfully. “If you’re not ready to fully be with me, then please let me go…both literally and figuratively.” My throat clenches toward the end, and I have to look away to hold back the tears.
He rocks his jaw back and forth. “I’m not ready to be in an actual relationship, not after—”
Grey: The Infatuation (Spectrum Series Book 2) Page 7
