by Kim Karr
I do as he instructs, but in that second I felt his body tremble—I saw the excitement clear in his eyes.
“A nice girl like you shouldn’t be taking my hard cock inside yourself for a better grade.”
“I told you I want an A. I’m determined.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I know he’s out of role again, but I pretend he’s not.
“Oh, professor, I’m very sure.”
In the next moment he reaches for his jeans and pulls out a condom. Once he rolls it on he plunges inside me and positions my hands in his on either side of us, flat to the table. Something about being restrained makes every thrust feel deeper, more intimate. Maybe it’s because I’m vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. Again he’s in control, setting the pace, but I don’t care. I just want to feel him.
“I love fucking you like this . . . you look so hot when your tits bounce up and down.”
I wrap my legs around his waist and move as close to him as I can. I think I’m practically off the table.
He gently licks my ear and blows his warm breath over it. His words come faster now. “Your pussy wraps my cock so tight, your legs feel so good around me . . . and you like my tongue licking your ear, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes,” I pant.
Whether or not we’re still role-playing doesn’t matter to me anymore. I lose myself in him. In his dirty mouth. He tugs at my lip and I tug back. Then I press my mouth to his and attack it as hungrily as he has attacked mine. I’ve heard girls say, “I fucked him with my mouth,” but I never knew how that could make sense—until this moment. I moan loudly and call out his name a few times and I’m pretty sure he’s just as far gone as I am.
In fact, I know he is when he stops my assault on his lips to whisper in my ear, “I’m so deep inside you, so close, I want to fill your pussy up with my hot come. . . . Would you like that?”
I wet my lips, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I nod and answer truthfully, “Yes, yes!” Goose bumps form all up my arms. I cry out this time more frantically, “Yes, yes, yes!” and he does the same as we ride out the wave of unbelievable pleasure we’ve found together.
CHAPTER 7
Maybe Tomorrow
Ben
I can hear the sound of the seagulls above me as my feet hit the sand. I feel the burn—five miles barefoot on the beach has never felt so good. I take the steps two at a time and plop myself on a lounge chair up on the deck, watching the tops of the palm trees sway back and forth and the waves crashing against the shore. I’m drenched with sweat and decide a shower before coffee is in order.
Opening the glass door to my house, I catch my reflection and think about how the last couple of nights have been somewhat of a mind fuck. While I thought I would be closing the book to my past, instead I opened a new chapter. It feels ironic that the first time I’m more than just hot for a girl she shuts me down, only offering sex. I know I’m not the most romantic guy on the block and haven’t always taken women’s feelings into account, but something doesn’t feel right about a sex-only relationship with S’belle. There’s something else there; I can feel it between us. But she keeps pulling back and distancing herself. And since I’m no expert on women, I’m at a loss as to figure out what comes next.
I hadn’t been with a woman since the night I was arrested. And being with S’belle—well, felt fucking amazing. Although I hadn’t counted the long days, I do the math quickly—yeah, that’s seven months without sex, a shit ton of time. Celibacy wasn’t a conscious goal. But I’d had my share of too many faceless women. Booze and random hookups, they always went hand in hand. Give up one—you give up the other. The drinking clouded my judgment, and the women were just warm bodies. I wasn’t moving forward living that life. I knew I had to stop and I did.
I had pulled my shit together. I started my own company, one with a goal I’m passionate about—helping struggling publications. I want to breathe life back into words, making magazines that improve people’s lives relevant. And I hope that’s what I’m doing.
Now I have this crazy, absurdly sexy goddess wanting to role-play with me and no strings attached. I know that she’s been trying to appear tough, but I’ve seen the vulnerability clear in her eyes. I know it has to be either because she doesn’t trust me or maybe because she doesn’t see me as dating material. Fuck.
I look up at the towering fifteen-year-old ficus tree in the middle of the two-story atrium and think, Am I dating material? What the fuck? Now I’m asking a tree. But it is what sold me on the place. Well, the tree and the carefree beach vibe—they make the house feel alive. From an outsider’s point of view, it must look like the perfect bachelor pad. A circular sofa, a sunken dining area, and bleached walnut floors surrounded by shaggy Moroccan rugs and alabaster lights. Stylish, rogue, sophisticated. The Realtor said it would make any woman’s heart skip a beat. Funny, the only women I’ve had here are my sister and the housekeeper.
I make my way into my bathroom, thinking about when I should call S’belle and whether to tell her I want more of a relationship. The shower tile feels cool underneath my toes and I turn the water on. Muscles aching, I bend my neck to let the hot water massage away the tension. As the warm heat sprays down, I close my eyes and see her. Red hair tumbling over her shoulders, an effervescent smile that does something to my chest, small but fierce—she’s got an innocent quality, but it doesn’t diminish her seductive allure at all. She’s many things and I can’t quite determine which of them I’m more fascinated by.
I shut the water off, towel myself dry, and slide on a pair of sweats—thankful it’s Sunday. Fuck, I’m horny just thinking about her and I start to second-guess myself. Maybe a casual affair is just what I need right now. My cock grows hard at the memories and demands my attention. Fuck, I’ve been having sex with myself for so long, it’s strange to think I have someone to call. And not just someone—the woman I’ve never forgotten since our first time together.
I pull my sweatpants down and kick them off. Running my hand down my stomach, I wrap it around my dick and think of how it felt to be inside her. I stare at the ceiling and pump slowly from my balls to my tip, thinking of the noises she made when I touched her, how she screamed when I fucked her.
My breathing comes in short bursts as the past blends with the present and images of her then and now pass through my mind. Her tongue, her mouth, her sweet pussy. My bed is still unmade from my restless night’s sleep and I settle my head on a pillow, bending my legs to push my hips up and pump my fist harder, faster. After a few minutes, I slow my hand to prolong the pleasure, but thoughts of her thrusting her hips into mine rush my need for release. I arch my back and tip my head, letting the feeling absorb me as I come. But it’s not even close to how I felt last night when I was with her.
Rising from the bed, I hop back in the shower. This girl does crazy things to me. I can’t get her off my mind, and just thinking about her gets me all worked up. Thinking what the hell? I open the shower door and grab my phone off the counter to text her.
I want to take you out tonight.
Her response is immediate.
At brunch with my family. I’ll be in touch in a bit.
I take a deep breath. Okay, focus, Ben. I try to think about all I have to accomplish in the next month before the announcement of my takeover, but my mind keeps reeling back to her. Something is going on in my head. I have an urge to fill the empty void of loneliness that has loomed within the depths of my soul for far too long. Fuck, that’s dramatic. What the hell is wrong with me?
I hurry out of the shower and get dressed for the second time in thirty minutes. If focusing won’t work I’ll refocus. I grab my laptop and take it outside and attempt to throw my mind as far into my work as I can. I finish up the draft press release announcing my company, Plan B, and its holdings to the public. Then I glance down at my phone to make sure I haven’t missed a call or a text. I stare at the screen waiting for her to get back with me—if this isn’t a chi
ck move, I don’t know what is.
“I knocked,” a voice says over my shoulder.
I glance up. “I didn’t hear the door. Sorry.”
“No worries, I let myself in,” Serena says.
“You on your way to the airport?”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Yes, Jason and Trent went ahead to get the luggage checked in. We were running really late but I had to stop and say good-bye.”
“And check on me?” I shoot my sister an inquisitive glance.
“No, well, yes.” She looks down at me.
“I’m fine. Really I am. I’m glad that part of my life is behind me.”
“Is it?”
I set my laptop on the table beside me and plant my feet on the floor. “Caleb talking to you?”
“Maybe.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Ben. Just think about it first.”
I study her expression. No judgment, just concern. “Fair enough.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing work on a gorgeous day like today.”
“Well, if you’d stop stalling and come to work for me, I wouldn’t have to.”
“You can hire anyone. You don’t need me.”
“But I do. Your mind is like a computer.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. I mean, come on, you have a love affair with the number twelve.”
Her hands go to her hips. “You know it’s my lucky number.”
Laughing, I toss my phone on the chair. “Yes, and why exactly is that? Because you’re the biggest geek on the planet. And I need the biggest geek to work for me. Social media and apps. Think about it.”
“I’m really not that savvy. I just like numbers, especially even ones. And come on, I’m thirty-six and this is turning out to be an amazing year.”
I raise an eyebrow, questioning what that means.
“Thirty-six is divisible by twelve.” She beams at me.
That sounds like something S’belle would say, and the thought makes me laugh. “Like I said, you’re the biggest geek on the planet.”
“Gotta run,” she says, kissing my cheek and avoiding my umpteenth request for her join me at Plan B.
I shove my hands in my pockets and shake my head, watching her take off down the wooden steps. “Tell Trent to call me,” I yell after her.
“I will,” she calls back.
I rush to the railing. “And, Serena . . .”
She stops in the sand and raises her hand over her forehead to shield herself from the sun’s glare.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
My sister and I have always been close. I know why she loves the number twelve. It’s not because it’s an even number or because she loves how divisible it is—it’s because that’s how old she was when our father was killed. I was only five and my memories of him aren’t really that clear, but my sister’s are. She always told me stories about how much fun we had together, and I think a small part of her will remain twelve so that her memories stay alive. Every day that passes I see how very much like our mother she is and I hope that I’m just a little like my father.
With the sun directly overhead, I realize it’s past noon and I should figure out where I want to take S’belle on our date tonight. I snatch my phone and pace the planks of the deck. Fancy restaurant might be too stuffy. Casual might look as though I’m cheap. Bringing her here will definitely look as if I just want to get in her pants. But she did say sex only. Having no fucking idea where to take her, I decide I’m done waiting for her to call. It’s not as though she can’t take a call in front of her family.
I squint at the screen and press her name. When she answers on the first ring, I know I made the right choice.
“Hello?”
“Red, it’s me.”
“Me who?” But she asks in a way that I know she knows it’s me.
“Ben . . . Ben Covington,” I say to humor her.
There’s silence for a few moments. “Oh, hey, Ben.” She tries for casual, but there’s something more than casualness in her tone.
“I haven’t heard back from you.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
Is she blowing me off? Well, she’ll have to do it to my face. “I want to take you out to dinner.”
“When?”
“Tonight.” I think I already mentioned that in my earlier text.
“I’m not sure. I have a lot to do.”
“I thought we could talk about this thing we have going on.”
“Oh, um . . . ,” she stutters, clearly not expecting my comment.
“I was thinking Pebbles,” I add. Where the hell did that come from? It’s the perfect spot.
She’s quiet for the longest time, but I don’t break the silence. I can play along a little too.
“Sure, I can probably make it. What time?”
Now I know I hear excitement in her voice. “Seven. I’ll pick you up.”
“Seven thirty and I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, but I want you to know, I like to pick a girl up when I take her out.”
“We’re meeting for dinner. You said you wanted to talk. This isn’t a date.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
She’s silent but still there.
“And, Red, I’m looking forward to it.”
All she says is “bye” before she hangs up.
I’m not at all surprised she said yes. I know she wants to see me too. If she’s scared about going out with me, I’m confident I can prove I’m worthy. As soon I suggested we go to what she had already told me is one of her favorite places, I swear she purred at the mention. I’ve got this.
CHAPTER 8
Run Run Run
Bell
The mental anguish and sleepless nights have left me exhausted. So I decide on a quick nap after brunch to try to rid my mind of the thoughts I know I shouldn’t be thinking, the idea of the two of us as a couple. However, my nap turns into an all-day siesta full of dreams of him. As I bury my head into my pillow, the sound of his voice keeps ringing over and over in my head. Red, it’s me. Ben Covington. His voice through the line melted any resistance I was feeling toward the idea of seeing him for another date.
I still remember the first time the same thing happened in college. It was our first official conversation. And it was the first time he had strung those two perfect words together, his name, in a way that reverberated through the library and slid into my soul—forever.
• • •
The library was filled with people. Hushed voices echoed through the huge space. The enormous arched windows in the back gave the vast space a feel of magnificence while also allowing a powerful amount of light to shine in. Rectangular wooden tables and artificial trees were scattered around, giving the place a more homelike feel. I spent a lot of time there and appreciated those touches. I was premed and biology was kicking my ass. So I often sought refuge in the library to study and help drill everything I needed to know into my brain. Deep within one of the stacks of books, I spotted him. He stood in one of the aisles, lost in his novel. He was the same guy who had captured my attention one night at a party, but who didn’t even know I existed.
With his mop of shaggy blond hair and tall, lean, muscular body, he looked like a sexy, younger version of Ocean’s Eleven’s Rusty Ryan, and my pulse raced at being close to him. Something made me stop; I was frozen in place and couldn’t pass him by. He seemed at ease leaning against the shelves, tapping the heel of his black suede sneaker against the mass of books behind him as he read. I wanted to see his face, so I lifted my sunglasses and let them rest on top of my head. Then I ambled along the aisle pretending I was looking for a book. I thumbed one out and slid my finger down the smooth binding, then shoved it back. I repeated this gesture, swinging a glance his way with each push and pull. I got closer to where he stood with every repeated motion. I was an arm’s length away before I knew it,
but he hadn’t noticed. He was lost in his reading, blond hair falling over his eyes. He wore a plaid button-down shirt, untucked, and a pair of worn khaki shorts. Plaid would normally have been a total turnoff to me, but on him it just seemed to fit. Crazy thoughts whirled in my head of skimming the frayed edges of his shirt with my fingers or maybe even unbuttoning it.
A snort, almost a snicker, escaped his throat and I bit down on my lip at the sexy sound. He was laughing to himself about something he was reading. Watching his slow, easy grin made my pulse race. It just seemed so natural, without any pretense. When I ceremoniously took out my next book, I accidentally dropped it, I was so lost in watching him, in watching the seductive way his mouth tipped up at the corners. He glanced at me, meeting my gaze as he effortlessly bent to retrieve my book. I stared into his blue eyes, but only for a moment. His eyes were intense and I felt magnetized by his proximity. I could tell by the way he moved that he was sure of himself, full of confidence, but it seemed less like arrogance and more of ease. His hands gripped the book on the floor while my eyes swept up to his other hand, to the spine of the book he was holding. He was reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and seeing its title rendered me utterly speechless. What an odd book to be reading with such in-depth interest, I thought.
That slow, easy grin that had to melt every girl’s heart turned into a smirk. “Kama Sutra,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
I wasn’t really listening. I didn’t hear what he said. My heart pounded as my gaze swiveled from his book to his face—tanned skin, eyes bluer than the sky, cheeks flecked with just the right amount of stubble. He was rugged and handsome and hot.
My voice sounded dry. “What?”
“The Illustrated version of A Lover’s Guide to Kama Sutra. You’re looking for help? In a library?” he asked in utter seriousness.
“No, no. No, I’m not.” Horrified, I grabbed the book from him and shoved it onto a shelf. But I noticed that my skin tingled where it had brushed his. Of all the books in the world, that’s the one that I had to be touching—are you kidding me? It took me a few seconds to collect myself, but somehow I kept the conversation going.
