by Ava Ashley
It’s hard to hard the grin.
“But, there’s no martini clouding my head this time.” She fumbles in her purse and pulls out a condom.
“Please?” she begs.
“For you? Anything.” I smile. The simple statement has a ring of truth. I take the foil packet from her long fingers.
The raging tide of rushing blood and pulse urges me to move quickly as it threatens to crush us both. Sloane clutches to me for life.
I suddenly pull back. I look into her eyes and smile a memory.
“You have freckles on your nose,” I whisper. She reaches up to cover them. I grasp her hand in mine.
“No. Don’t. They’re cute. Sloane.” Her name melts like chocolate on my tongue. She stands, gathering her things like she’s ready to bolt.
“Lennox,” she gasps, struggling to catch her breath. “Wait. Are we sure? What is this?”
I stand. My words are husky and close as I lean my forehead against hers. “A total rush.”
With that, I back her up against the wall and kiss her. Hard. There’s no gentle brush this time. It’s an instinct-driven crush of survival. I grip her lower lip in my teeth and suck it deeply into my own warm mouth, holding it there just long enough for the circulation to slow, then let it go. I can feel her blood pulse back in. Hard. Fast. Strong. Setting the beat for our little dance. I reach a hand to her top button. It strains it against the fabric. Tighter. Tighter. Until it pops. I trace down the valley between her breasts, her beautiful rounded breasts, with a single finger. My other hand drifts, reaching deftly to unhook the button of her jeans. In one swift move, I have them down around her ankles.
I loop a finger around the waist of her undergarment and give a swift, hard pull, exposing the involuntary clutch in her core. I let my fingertip explore that hard little kernel of desire in her moist folds. A soft moan escapes her lips.
I pop the next button on her blouse. And the next. As I nuzzle her neck in that sensitive hollow just behind the ear, she fumbles, awkwardly, for the belt of my robe. It drops to the tile. I almost don’t hear her breath catch in her throat. This time, it’s not about me.
But, suddenly, her arms instinctively wrap tightly around herself. She looks away.
“Don’t,” she whispers raggedly. I tilt her face back towards mine with a single finger.
Her eyes stare deeply into mine. I hold her gaze. She smiles. “Sea glass.”
This time, it’s my breath that catches as she presses her mouth against mine. My eyes may harbor flecks of sea glass, but she was the one that cut, broken edges of raw emotion slashing like a shattered bottle. She grips the back of my neck, pulling me in so closely I’m in danger of losing myself. I take the risk.
Her kiss tastes like coffee and chocolate. Bitter and sweet. I lift her up, hands supporting the gentle curves of her waist. I carry her to the rug near the fire and lay her down. I brush my fingers through the spun golden brown of her hair. She arches toward me, inviting me in. I accept.
I take the rose-blushed nipple of her left breast into my mouth, flirting with it with the tip of my tongue. It swells, obligingly, to an aroused peak under the attention. I let my lips leave a trail of feather-light kisses as I brush to the right breast, lavishing equal time there. Sloane groans, her pubic bone grazing against my growing desire.
“Not yet,” I breathe hotly in her ear. This was going to be different.
She clutches into my back, nails searching desperately for purchase deep in my shoulder blades. I let my tongue trace a warm line down the center of the flat expanse of her barely-rounded belly, over the bare mound below her navel, until it finds what it’s looking for – the moist, waiting center of her – and I take her in. She gasps with the rhythm of my tongue as it glides, first in slow, measured licks, from the edge of her dripping entrance to the small, firm nodule of her pleasure-center, then in quick, pulsing plunges into her very core. Just when I thought she would rip the fur from the rug beneath her, I slid two fingers inside of her, curling the edges up until they found that sweet spot. Her muscles tighten around me, but I maintain the rhythm. Then faster. Faster. Her eyes roll back as my measured strokes elicit a feral cry of ecstasy. She collapses, chest heaving, body quivering.
“My turn,” I warn hoarsely.
“Yes,” she agrees. I settle in above her, balancing my weight with straight arms. She places her hands on my shoulders and gently glides them down my arms and back up, across my chest, down the ridges of my abs and guides my pulsing erection into her. Small currents of electric pleasure shock through my body as I slide into her, slick and warm. As I plunge into her, deeper and deeper, it fleetingly occurs to me I’ve never actually felt this much physical sensation from a woman.
Sloane keeps my pace, tilting her slim hips in perfect time to my quickening thrusts. The pressure builds. An intense tingle travels down into my legs and I feel my sac tightening. Sloane grips my ass, her own moans joining mine as my orgasm ratchets to the point of explosion. A scream erupts from Sloane and, suddenly, a rush of complete relaxation washes over me. It rolls, in waves, and I shudder. I lower myself on top of her, used up.
We lay there, breath ragged, for several minutes. The flames crackle.
“Can I just stay in this moment? Right here? With you?” She whispers in that half-asleep, after-sex voice.
A log pops loudly. I feather a kiss on her lips and pull a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
This might be my brother’s best mistake ever.
Chapter 7
Sloane
This wasn’t exactly what I had planned.
Of course, I hadn’t exactly planned on losing my job, my house, or subletting my belly for thirty-nine to forty-two weeks either.
But regardless of what I had planned, a little squatter has inarguably taken up a comfortable roost in my uterus. And I was out of a job. And a house. And fact of the matter was, Giselle did suggest I get as intimate as possible with the details of Lennox Hardy.
The heady scent of Lennox’s musk mixes with the woodsy pine of his cologne and drifts under my nose with every rise and fall of my cheek on his chest.
Yeah, well, the details don’t get much more intimate than this.
Of course I had no intention of writing a D-I-Y on how to bed a football star, so last night’s acrobatics, while mind-blowingly incredible, were not going to get me the article I needed, or the job with Giselle’s magazine. I need to redirect my focus. I shift my weight, ever so slightly.
The movement causes the black sheet to slide down Lennox’s hip, exposing the muscled washboard of his abs, and pools in a dark puddle of satin next to the perfect curve of his hip.
Oh, yeah, sure. Try to redirect your focus now, Sloane.
Okay. Time for a mental regroup. Let’s analyze the situation.
My plan hadn’t gone completely awry. I had shown up last night and played the delinquent brother card as intended to gain access and ask a few, discreet, probing questions. And it wasn’t like I was being a total “stalkerazzi” by being here. I tried to justify my actions in my head. Lennox had willingly extended an open invitation when he put his number in my phone.
And, also according to plan, I did manage to glean a few juicy details about Logan and Lennox’s past. The boys hadn’t discovered each other until they were in their teens. Their parents had sheltered them from the truth for some reason. That in itself was a story hook that turned pages and sold issues. It also begs the question – why did they give up one twin in the first place?
It also has me keenly curious about a side of Lennox that’s never been explored by the media.
Champion.
And I’m not talking MVPs, division titles, or Super Bowl rings. No. I could see the hint of a hero, a defender of the underdog, in Lennox.
But, the only Lennox Hardy the public knew commanded the front page of supermarket tabloids and online gossip sites. It was difficult sometimes to tell which was bigger – his over-the-top spoiled celebutante antics o
r the cup size on his latest arm jewelry.
In other words, not the type of guy I’m typically attracted to.
Okay, yeah, well, there was that one time. My eyes drift to my belly. Then, Lennox’s perfect face. A near exact copy of Logan’s chiseled features.
Fine. Two times.
But, last night, there had been something else, a glimmer. And it was sexy as hell.
From the sounds of it, Lennox has been bailing Logan out of scrapes for years, including giving him the lifesaving kidney that had exposed the boys’ familial bond. I let my fingers wander to the serpentine scar wrapped around his torso. I traced it from the posterior side of his flank as it arced around toward the front. It was a sizeable mark. A nephrectomy wasn’t an easy surgery for anyone, let alone a sixteen-year old, to go through. You’d have to be pretty brave...and a loyal friend.
It’s such an admirable quality and I can’t quite seem to wrap my head around why Lennox is so hell bent on hiding it. It would certainly go a long way to temper the “bad boy” veneer he’s got lacquered all over him. Unless he was hiding something else?
But, what?
Carefully, I slip out from under the covers and drop to my knees on the floor. Maybe I can find some sort of evidence before he wakes up. Something that will appease Giselle, but not something that could hurt Lennox in any kind of way. I slowly turn and start to crawl away from the bed. Lennox rustles behind me. I freeze. I dare a slow head turn in his general direction.
The rise and fall of his chest is steady. Even. Rhythmic. A peaceful, contented smile curls along the edges of his mouth. For a half a second, I take a little bit of pride that I may be at least partially responsible for putting it there. He has one arm crooked, hand tucked beneath a tousled mop of sheepdog blonde. Long, golden lashes brush his high cheekbones as he sleeps undisturbed.
I exhale a heavy, but quiet, sigh of relief and continue my subtle egress. I get halfway across the room when I freeze in my tracks.
What am I doing? This isn’t me! What are you going to do? Dig through his trash? Root through his mail?
On hands and knees in the middle of the floor, I start to give myself a well-deserved mental ass chewing.
“Well, now there’s a position I could get used to.” Lennox’s voice teases in a sleepy drawl behind me. My head droops in embarrassment.
Lennox yawned like lion as he stretched his toned arms over his head. “So, I’ve heard of the ‘walk of shame’, but I gotta admit. I’ve never seen a ‘crawl of shame.’ Where are you off to?”
Alright, Sloane. Suck it up.
I took a deep breath and stood, straight and naked, and faced the king-sized bed. “I was just going to make some coffee. I didn’t want to wake you.”
He props himself up on one elbow. That familiar, roguish grin teases across his face as he surveys my naked body, tip to tail.
“It’s a little late for that. Certain parts of me are very awake.
“Are you kidding?! You’re not worn out?” I exclaim.
“Did you not see that pink robe? I’m the friggin’ Energizer bunny.”
“Even after everything we did last night? And, speaking of which, what exactly was last night?”
“Coach says I need to incorporate more cardio into my workout regimen.” He pats the bed next to him.
Ugh! I reach for my clothes, piled in a jumbled heap on the floor next to the bed. Jumbled. That’s an appropriate word. ‘Cause that’s about how I feel at this very moment.
“Tempting as that sounds, Lennox, I really have to go.”
The sudden, sad puppy look on his face belies his disappointment. I guess Mr. Lennox Hardy wasn’t used to girls walking out on him. My tongue fumbles for an explanation as I search frantically for my thong. It’s difficult to hold an intelligent conversation when you’re buck-ass naked.
“Looking for this?” Lennox twirls the lacy, black panties on his index finger. I reach across the bed and try to grab them from him.
“It’s not you, Lennox. It’s just that I have a ton of stuff to do today. I have to find a new place. Get a new job...”
Lennox sits upright in the bed, his juvenile attempts at “Keep Away” instantly forgotten. “What do you mean, ‘find a new place?’ What happened to your house? I thought you said it was your mom’s.”
I take the opportunity to snatch the thong from his hand and start getting dressed.
“It was. That and the thirty-year mortgage that I was still trying to pay off. Guess Ma figured she was going to live at least that long.” I yank my jeans on and aggressively zip the zipper. “Too bad she was wrong. And it’s kind of hard to pay the bank when your boss hands you a pink slip.”
“You didn’t get fired over your stunt at the stadium, did you?”
A hint of surprise widens my eyes. As misguided as our first meeting had been, it’s nice to know, he actually thinks about it. Thinks about me. I feel a warm tingle between my legs. I shake it off.
“No, no, no. Turns out the paper was ‘downsizing’. Not a lot of demand anymore for what Bunny and Charles Haversham III wore to the Sacramento Botanical Society Gala.”
“I’m sorry.” His expression of sympathy seems incredibly genuine.
“It’s okay. My boss was a dick anyway.”
“So, what are you going to do? Any leads on a new gig?”
I wince for a split second, hoping he doesn’t catch it. “Um, yeah. I may have a line on this one job. At least I hope so.”
“Well, I hope you get it, Sloane.” It’s sounds sincere, but he seems distracted. Like he’s turning something over in his mind.
“Thanks, Lennox. I appreciate that.” On a whim, I kneel on the bed and lean in for one last kiss. His lips are just as soft as the night before and they reignite the same embers of desire in me as it had last night. God, what I wouldn’t give to just stay a few more moments. Here. Lost in the absolute desire. From the rising mound my hand brushes, it seems as if Lennox wouldn’t mind the same thing.
He laces his fingers in my curls.
“Did you mean it? Last night?” his voice rasps.
“Mean what?”
“That you wanted to stay. Here. With me.”
I pull back slightly. “Wait. What?”
“You said you wanted to stay here. In this moment. With me.”
My brain scrolls rapidly through the events of last night, trying to pinpoint the moment he’s talking about. Unfortunately, there were so many delicious moments from last night, my brain keeps pausing to savor every one.
What exactly had I said?
“I guess I can think of worse ways to spend my time,” I whispered finally.
A long moment of silence passes.
“Then stay,” he husks under his breath.
“What? Like for the day?”
“Longer.”
I pull back and look him dead in the eye. “What are you talking about, Lennox? You barely know me. More importantly, I barely know you.”
But, isn’t getting to know him kind of the whole point behind this little visit, Sloane?
Regardless of how uncomfortable this little venture was making me feel, it was my last chance at getting a job. And, more importantly, my last shot at trying to get mom’s house back. My hand drifted subconsciously to my abdomen.
And you’re not just looking out for yourself anymore, Slo-Poke.
I could hear Ma’s voice echoing in my head.
Lennox leans up on that one elbow again. “Maybe. But, I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous proposition,” I threaten.
“Yeah, yeah. Sometimes I do actually let the big head do the thinking.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
“Ooh. You’re snarky before your morning joe. I’ll keep that in mind if you accept my proposal.”
“Proposal?” My forehead crinkles in confusion. What in the hell was he talking about?
He sits upright in the bed. The first golden rays of morning slip through the chinks in
the blackout curtains in the bedroom window. Sort of like he’s starting to slip through the chinks in my own personal armor.
“You need a place to stay, right?” Lennox queries.
I nod. “In theory. I crashed a few nights at my friend Emma’s, but her boyfriend made it a little obvious that I was putting a crimp in his sex life. I don’t have any family nearby, unless you count Frank. And, besides, he lives in assisted living housing for veterans.”
“You know you take forever to answer a simple question. Keep up this pace and I’m gonna start calling you Slo-Poke.”
His use of Ma’s nickname for me tugs on a heartstring.
“Yes,” I finally manage. “I need a place to stay. But, just till I get back on my feet again.”
He waves his hand noncommittally, as if the time factor is irrelevant. “And Logan’s worried that if his constituents find out about this kid, it will ruin his run at the Congressional seat.”
I’m starting to see where Lennox is going with this and the idea is more than a little nuts. But, I decide to hear him out.
“So, here’s my proposal.” He grabs my hand. “Move in with me. Pretend to be my girlfriend.”
And, there’s the crazy.
“Lennox, I think it’s time you got evaluated for CTE. One too many hits to your melon. That’s insane!”
“Are you kidding? It’s brilliant! We fake a relationship. At least until the election is over. So, that gives you eight weeks to get your feet back under you, allow Logan to win his campaign and, I’m not going to lie, it will probably help me out, too. This bad boy’s used to drawing a line in the sand, but, uh, recently I may have stepped over it. Management’s not too thrilled with me right now. If I can show them I’m in a stable relationship, it would go a long way to help my rep. My contract’s up for renewal in February. I need to make nice or I’m headed for the draft and I like California. It’s a win-win situation. And if you’re that worried about it, you can have your own space. There’s a guest room down the hall with a locking door. If you think you’ll need it.”
He seems almost giddy about it. Like a kid on Christmas. If I had to be honest, my heart fell a little bit. Sure, he was offering me a place to stay, but it sounded more like a business deal and less like it was motivated by any sort of attraction to me.
