by Jc Emery
“You need to marry him,” she says. With clumsy movements she reaches over and pries the bottle from my hands and takes a swig of it. “You’re it for him, Mel.”
Like I can argue.
Like I’m not trying to telepathically signal my mom to corral Janet and start planning our impending nuptials.
That Jameson doesn’t know we’re having, but we so are.
“He’s it for me, too,” I say.
“We can be sisters,” she says and takes another drink before setting the bottle on the coffee table and crawling off the sofa.
“You drank too much!” I scream as she disappears down the hall and for the bathroom. The room starts to spin, and I realize that maybe I have no room to talk. “Oh hell.”
“I should never leave you alone,” Jameson says. I look around to see where he’s standing and find that he’s behind me, on the other side of the back of the couch.
“No,” I say. “You shouldn’t. I don’t like it.” He shouldn’t leave me alone. Ever. His blue eyes practically twinkle with the amusement he finds in my current condition. Despite the softness I find there, I sense a slight disappointment as well. Walking around the couch, he comes around and plops down next to me. Everything is half-blurry and half-in-motion even though I know the TV that’s mounted on the wall is in fact not moving around. I can’t even deal with how drunk I am right now. It’s ridiculous.
“You look a little green around the gills, Lulu,” he says and pulls me into his side. I love it when he calls me that. It’s special because it’s mine. It’s the one thing I have from him that I don’t have to share with anyone—something Lydia never had. Everything is perfect here. If only for a minute, it’s perfect.
“I can still have all the sex,” I say, and my eyes fall close. The last thing I hear is his laughter fading away.
Chapter 20
Melanie
“I mean it—about the sex. I can have all the sex now,” I say when I wake up. I’m groggy and barely prying my eyes open when I realize we’re not alone. Hennessey is in an armchair near the couch, and my little proclamation sends him running. He gets up quickly and walks by Jameson while offering him a fist bump that Jameson doesn’t refuse.
“Where’s Royal?” he asks.
“You know what sounds good? Cake.”
Cake plus sex equals win.
I decide, moving on from my second proclamation, that I’m totally good to get down and do the horizontal boogie. I do have some shame left. I’m nestled into his chest, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t much care where his sister is. I actually don’t care where anyone is but him. I know he’s going to turn into Mr. Bossy if I don’t answer him, though, and I love a bossy Mr. Gorgeous.
“Focus, baby. Where’s Royal?”
“Sick in the bathroom.”
“I should have watched you both better,” he says while twirling a finger in my hair.
“We’re adults,” I say. “She can do adult things. Like I can do adult things.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, but I can tell my mouth is heading down a road that’s going to embarrass the rest of me. I feel clearheaded and foggy all at the same time. It’s like I’ve activated some sensors whose only mission is to get Jameson naked and try to remember how this sex thing works.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a partner.
“Oh really, like sitting here on the couch drunk off your ass? Adult things like that?” he says and pokes me in my side with his finger. I jump in place and start giggling uncontrollably at the images in my head of him poking me with his dick and not his finger. My drunk brain distorts his finger into a finger dick that’s poking me relentlessly. But not in my side.
“Finger dicks are weird,” I say. His chest rumbles with a deep laugh.
“God you’re fucking wasted.”
“No really,” I say and turn around to face him. I’m lacking the faculties required to realize that when I turn around I’m going to be pressing my crotch up to his, but once I’ve turned, I don’t bother to move. This is the closest I’ve been to his impressive firehose since the day he told me he loves me.
“Seriously, though. Penises are weird. They’re all cylindrical, and they have a mushroom head. Weird.”
Holy fuck, Melanie. Shut up.
Sober Mel gets nervous and is awkward and says inappropriate things, but drunk Mel gets nervous and says all the inappropriate things about her boyfriend’s dick that she can think of, apparently.
“Hey, my dick isn’t weird,” he says with a devastating smile. He adjusts a throw pillow behind him and props his head up better so he can look down at me. “I’ve never had any complaints about my dick.”
“Well, I have a complaint about your dick,” I say and slap at his chest in irritation. He seems to recognize the error of his ways, and his smile falls. Somewhere in the back of my head I’m screaming at myself to Just. Stop. Talking. But I don’t. Because that would be wise and Drunk Mel is a fucking idiot.
“I can’t wait to hear this.” His lips are fighting a losing battle with the smile he recovers that’s brightening up my entire world.
“We’re in love, and I’ve never touched your firehose. Don’t you think that’s rude?” Once the words are out, they don’t sound so bad. It’s a decent argument, I suppose. “Friends are supposed to share their toys, and last I checked, I’m your girlfriend, so I have rights to that sucker.”
“Jesus,” he says while scrubbing his face and taking a ragged breath. “You’re too drunk for this shit.”
“Jameson Hayes, I want you to share your toys!” I crawl up his chest so we’re eye to eye and cross my arms over his gloriously defined pecs. When I realize I’m petting his nipples, I have to force myself to stop before he calls me out on it. I let my fingers walk up his chest to his throat and to his chin where I tap on his lips. This isn’t sexy, I tell myself. Be sexy, Mel. Be sexy.
“I bet you give good oral.”
That’s not sexy, stupid.
He narrows his eyes and swallows hard before gently dragging us into a sitting position. He gets me set on his lap and loops his arms under my back and my legs, holding me bridal style. It takes a deep breath and some grunting, but he manages to stand us up with me in his arms like I’ve just taken his name and he’s going to be mine forever. But even through my drunk state and images of finger penises and his firehose, I know that’s not the case. I’m just embarrassing myself, and it seems the only way I know how to make it better is by shaming myself more and more with every comment.
“Am I embarrassing you?” It occurs to me a bit too late that maybe I’m making him uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be uncomfortable. He should have sex with me.
“Nope, but when I tell you about this tomorrow, I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to die of shame. It’s going to be epic.”
“I bet your firehose is epic,” I say and bat my eyes because batting your eyes is sexy as shit. I think. He takes me into my room and lays me down on the bed. He wraps his big body around mine and spoons me.
“I’m not ready for back door sex,” I admit on a whisper with a giggle trailing my comment.
“Go to sleep, babe.”
I wake up before Jameson and try to remember how we got here. We’re both fully clothed and in my bed. My head pounds a little, but it’s nothing too bad. I’ve had worse. I trace my steps from the night before and come to the conclusion that we can’t have alcohol at our wedding. I guess I’ve never been as drunk and nervous as I was last night, because while stupid silly things happen, that never has. I’m a babbler and a pretty funny lady, I’ll admit. But the crazy comments about firehoses and sharing his toys is just plain over the top.
I slide out of bed and head for the bathroom where I brush my teeth and wash my face. I go through my basic morning ritual, and when I walk back into the bedroom, Jameson is still sound asleep, so I sneak off to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Hennessey is passed out on the couch and doesn’t move a muscle as I tipt
oe past him.
Back in the bedroom, I find Jameson coming out of my en suite bath. I take a quick sip of water to quench my thirst and drink him in. God, he’s handsome in the morning. This is what I have to look forward to, and it’s amazing. His straight, light brown hair shoots in all different directions like little sticks on his head. His blue-gray eyes shine, totally free of sleep and full of a hunger I’ve only dreamed about.
Something clicks in my brain, and I practically break out into a sprint when I realize what his hooded eyes mean—morning sex.
I cross the room and throw myself at him excitedly. He stumbles backward, into the wall, and wraps his arms around my torso. His hands claw at my shirt as he lifts it up over my head and I retract my arms. He says, “Tell me you’re not going to get sick and you’re sober enough for this.”
I’m never going to be sober enough for it, but if I don’t just go with it, I’m going to freak out and backpedal because I’m terrified of a million things that probably don’t matter. I’m terrified of not being enough for him. Not sexy enough. Not good enough. Not exciting enough.
Since I can’t really verbalize what’s going on inside my head, I opt for unbuttoning the top of my jeans. His gaze travels south and watches as I undress myself for him. Very slowly, he does the same. He starts with his shirt and tosses it aside. I slide my jeans down as my legs shake, but only a little, and he removes his socks. I take a deep breath, scared as all get out that I won’t measure up to the women he’s used to, but do it anyway and remove my bra. He stops what he’s doing and focuses in on my movements as I then inch my panties down over my hips and down my thighs until they fall to the floor.
“I love you,” I say.
He nods his head and drops his boxers, then closes the distance between us. When he presses his naked body up against mine, I gasp. It’s like being electrocuted without actually having unnatural currents of electricity running through my body. Every part of me is charged with this very clear, decisive choice to give myself to this incredible man.
Jameson claims my lips with a kiss that begins slow and soft, but when I’m moaning into his mouth, with my pulse beating between my legs and feeling so damn needy, I swipe my tongue against his swollen lips. He deepens the kiss, and soon we’re both panting. He groans into my mouth and uses one hand on my lower back to press me harder into him as he lines us up and bends at the knees just enough to slide his hardness against the very front of my center. My head falls back as he slowly, carefully, rubs himself against me. He’s not where I want him, need him, but he’s so close. His lips claim my neck, trailing gentle kisses from the base up to my jaw and back down again. He makes a point of kissing the wishbone around my neck and tilting my head so when I open my eyes, he’s all I see.
“I want you to move in with me, and to say yes when I ask you to marry me, and to take my last name, and to have my babies. I want every tiny fucking little moment of the rest of our lives with you, only you, and I get it if it’s too soon for you. We just got together, but in my heart, I’ve been yours since the day I met you.”
“Oh crap,” I whisper. I suck in a deep breath and am treated to his delicious scent.
“You’re not ready,” he says with a soft nod. But I am. I’m more than ready. I’m just not as good at these big declarations as he is. It takes me a minute to catch up to him. He keeps blindsiding me with these amazing, wonderful, unexpected declarations of love that I almost don’t believe it’s real. But nothing could possibly be any more real than Jameson and me and our love. So even though I never expected it to be this good, and for it to happen like this for me, I believe it. I force myself to feel every word.
I want you to move in with me.
Say yes when I ask you to marry me.
Take my last name.
Have my babies.
He’s still rubbing himself against me so slowly, so carefully, and it’s not enough. I move my legs farther apart, and with the pressure and easier access, he rubs against my clit. I want to let my head fall backward, but he’s still keeping it upright so he can gaze into my eyes. I take a chance he might not like and hook one of my legs around his hip and pull myself up. The hand on the back of my head relocates to under my other leg as he hoists me up, and I wrap myself around his waist.
“I need to feel you,” I whisper against his lips. He adjusts so he’s leaning against my dressing table for support. “You can put a condom on in a minute, but for just this moment, I want only you.”
He adjusts his grip on me, giving me some freedom to seek him out, and when I finally get him where I want him, he holds me firmly in place, not letting me slide down. He’s at my entrance, and I’m ready, so ready for him. Jameson arches his back, and with a shaky arm, he holds me up while his other hand finds my folds. He rubs my clit with a slow, purposeful softness that has me clenching so tight that he almost slips out of my entrance. I buck against him and slide down half an inch. He’s concentrating so hard on his efforts, so aware of what he’s doing to my body, that when my body starts that climb toward combustion and I don’t think he’s ever going to lower me onto him, he begins to slide me down. Just as I start shaking, he slams me down, fully encasing him in my body, and he holds me to him tightly.
“Bed,” he grunts and takes a deep breath as he shudders. We stay still for a moment before he walks us to my bed. He lays me down so slowly, careful not to lose our connection, and stands at the edge.
I prop my feet up with my legs spread as wide as I can to give him the best access possible. I put my hands beneath my head so it’s tilted enough to watch as he slides in and out of me. My eyes lift and find he’s watching us, too. He must sense it—that I can’t take my eyes off of him—because he looks up and has to bite his lip as he holds my hips tighter and swirls his hips to create pleasant ripples that spread through my body.
“I love you so much,” I whisper and shudder at the same time. I don’t know if he even understands what I’m trying to say. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”
He slides his thumb up and down my clit again, and it’s no time at all before I’m grasping at the sheets.
“I have to watch this,” he murmurs as he watches me fall apart and explode and surrender to his touch. I break apart again and again with tremors that won’t quit. I’m gasping for breath and slowly coming down when his thighs tighten and his movements falter just slightly. Frantically, he pulls out and with two firm strokes, he’s coming on my stomach. His eyes are closed, and he swallows hard. I want to touch him, to help him through it, but can’t bring myself to move. He’s big, bigger than I thought he’d be. I felt him, for sure, but I guess I didn’t really look at his size until now.
He finishes and moves to turn around, but I hook a foot around his leg and urge him to lay with me. I catch sight of a large tattoo on his back, and now I’m more determined than ever to keep him here.
“I have to clean you up,” he says thoughtfully.
“Later. I like having your mark on me,” I say. He smiles, something predatory flashes across his face, and he curls up beside me. I tangle my legs in with him and rest my head on his chest.
We stay like this for a long while, neither wanting to get up, until we decide to start round two in the shower. It’s in there that I get the full magnitude of his beautiful tattoo in intricate detail. It’s a replication of his badge, right down to the imperfections from years of wear and tear.
“Kind of a tradition,” he says. In the center of his badge is the number 14. I place my lips over it, knowing there’s some significance to it. “Told you my family have been serving the city since the department was formed. Fourteen originally belonged to an uncle about six generations back. When we retire, we can pass our number down to a family member on the job or give it up entirely. We can also ask that it be retired. We’ve made a tradition to keep our badge numbers in the family. When I retire, I’ll give my badge to the next Hayes in line. That’s how we all have such low numbers.”
“I wa
s wondering how Jack got such a low number—8—of all things,” I say absently.
“The privilege of the first-born. That asshole inherited the Eight from my father and his father before him.
“Now, I have my Lulu naked in the shower—I’m sure we can find something better to do than to talk about my brother.”
“I think you’re right,” I say as I slide down his body and prop myself up on my knees. I run my hands up and down his thighs, teasing him, knowing what he really wants, before finally giving it to him.
Chapter 21
Melanie
Days later
“Hennessey, you’ve been a bad boy,” I mutter and press on the little red minus sign on the touch screen thus removing REBECCA- ORANGE from his contacts list. Hennessey isn’t my boyfriend, but that isn’t stopping me from literally erasing all inappropriate vaginas from his life. I wasn’t always like this—this bold and daring chick who steals her boyfriend’s brother’s mobile and erases his digital “little black book.” This is what Hennessey asked for. I’m calling it “Don’t Be a Douche” camp. I just hope it’s enough to keep him from being too pissed when he realizes more than half his numbers are gone.
“Did you just delete one of his contacts?” Royal, who is the absolute coolest brother-betrayer on the planet, asks in horror. Royal and I are already close, but unbreakable bonds tend to form over treachery and theft. And shoes. We’ve totally bonded over shoes. Well, it’s not really theft if we give the phone back. Either way, she’s the bomb for snagging H’s phone and handing it over to me. You know a guy is a dog when even his sister is selling him out. She doesn’t even know what he’s asked of me. All I had to do was ask for it and say it was important, and my bestie the klepto was on top of it. When Jameson and I have kids, she so gets to be godmother to our firstborn.
I try not to meet her eyes, though. I mean, what am I supposed to say? Yes, I abso-fucking-lutely did delete a contact. No, that won’t work. I’ve never been that much of a fan of honesty when it’s going to get me in trouble, if I’m being honest. I don’t want to lose my shoe-shopping buddy, so I keep mum about it.
