Must Love Jogs (Must Love Series Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  “I want to,” she pleads softly.

  My ability to continue to resist reaches its last breath. “Then say it.”

  Abby lifts her eyebrows.

  “I’m not gonna let you regret your first time with…anything. You want somethin’, Angel? You’re gonna have to say it. And you’re gonna have to say it like there’s not a single doubt in your mind because there damn sure better not be.”

  Silence swiftly fills the air.

  As much as I want her and fuck me, I want her, I am not going to be a mistake. I don’t want to be remembered as a mistake. Whatever happens between us, whenever it does, I want her to always think about me like I was an amazing moment, not just another item on a checklist for life goals.

  Slowly, Abby closes the gap between us. She lightly presses herself against me, her delicate nipples immediately crushed by my chest. “Blake Shaw, I want you to touch me tonight.”

  A growl festers in the back of my throat.

  Her dark brown eyes fill with lust like never before. “Everywhere.”

  Control is relinquished and my mouth is mounted on hers without further argument. My tongue wildly punishes her for every crime it can think of. Abby whimpers in response to the aggressive nature yet doesn’t back down. Doesn’t pull away. Her fingers latch onto my shirt for stability as she allows her tongue to be seized again and again by mine. Anxiously, my hands roam her sides, the feeling of the soft flesh against my calloused hands maddening. I slide my hands down to cup her ass and she gasps against my lips so sharply I accidentally lick her bottom lip. The moan she offers in reward has me silently loathing this decision.

  This isn’t going to be enough. Nothing is going to be enough until I’m given approval to have my fill of her in every way possible.

  Through a haze of heady groans and tempestuous tangles of our tongues, we tumble together onto her cream-colored couch. Her hands eagerly explore the cut of my chest and my biceps before beginning to tug my shirt upward in a request to banish it from our situation.

  I lean myself all the way back and let my eyes admire the topless delight I can hardly believe I get to call mine.

  The corners of my lip slowly curl upward, but the uncertainty in Abby’s eyes kills it. “What’s wrong, Angel? You want us to stop?”

  She shakes her head. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  A cocky smirk appears. “Not possible.”

  To my relief the look dissipates and in its place thrill appears.

  “Now, since I won the bet, I feel I should have the honor of pulling these jeans off to see my prize in all its glory.”

  Abby bites her bottom lip yet doesn’t disagree.

  I swiftly shed my shirt and smile again at the comfort it clearly provides her. I give her a brief moment to drink in the sight of the tattoos that cover my bicep, as well as to feather them with the tips of her fingers.

  This isn’t the first time she’s seen them or touched them, but it’s the first time it’s ever felt this stimulating.

  A shudder runs throughout me and it takes all the will power I have to keep my cock from coming. Rather than proceed to be the victim to her touch, I slowly roll my thumb across one of her nipples. Abby arches into the touch with a heavy breath. The transference of power back to me grows my grin once more.

  I have to stay in control here. It’s the only way I won’t embarrass the hell out of myself.

  After repeating the action on the other side, receiving an identical response, I drag my fingers down the middle, mapping out every spot that makes her moan or shiver. When I finally arrive at the top of her jeans, I abandon the idea of taking my time. She needs this part to be quick. Painless. Like ripping off a sexual Band-Aid. With a quick flick of my fingers and an even swifter sleight of hand, the button is undone and the jeans join my shirt in the discard pile.

  My mouth drops at the sight of the delicate red material hardly covering her bare pussy.

  Bare? She’s fucking bare? She has no idea how sexy that is nor does she have any clue how much more intense it’s going to make everything feel.

  “Everything okay?” Abby’s shaky voice redirects my attention.

  With our eyes locked, I slowly nod. “Even better than I imagined.”

  She tilts her head at me sarcastically.

  Sensing the spawn of an argument about to leave her lips, I slightly press my thumb against her thong covered clit. The gasp it grabs causes my dick to greedily cry for more. I continue the battle of self-control while watching Abby’s first steps into her sex life spiral fiercely. Her eyes shut tightly. Her fingers clench the couch cushion. Her rapidly rising chest struggles for stability. The combination tempts me to tug off her panties and see how she responds to my tongue in place of my thumb.

  It takes longer than expected before I see her beautiful eyes flutter back open. Her face tilts to where she can see me and I ask, “More?”

  Abby doesn’t hesitate to nod.

  I let out a low groan, hook my fingers around the string and tug it off. Once it’s on the floor, I spread her legs wider and slide a finger to her soaking entrance. She gasps again except this time I don’t give her a moment to adjust. I push deep inside forcing her walls to worship the invasion.

  “Blake…”

  The cry of my name has me bruising my bottom lip.

  There’s no way in hell I can last at all if she keeps that shit up.

  Slowly, I drag my finger back out and use the wet digit to toy softly with her clit. More gasps and whimpers fill her home and I can’t fight the honor swelling my chest.

  I am going to be this woman’s first and only everything.

  My finger pushes back inside, this time to the brink. Abby whines at the unusual feeling, but rocks her hips upward to beg for it to continue. Not wanting to overwhelm her, I begin a gradual pump, using the palm of my hand to brush her clit as assistance. She freely flows with the movements. During every thrust, her pussy clings onto my finger for dear life and the pressure I apply to her swollen nub increases just slightly. My attention oscillates between the lecherous look permanently mounted on Abby’s face and the even more lascivious sight of her fucking my finger. All of a sudden, her hips falter in their determination to meet each push. Her body quivers at the same time her pussy begins to pulsate. She drops her jaw and the most carnal cry is sacrificed. The feeling of Abby coming on my fingertips, from my fingertips, pushes me to the point of insanity. I move my free hand over my cock to massage it through my jeans. My momentarily relief is stolen when her eyes grab a glimpse of the action. Without waiting for consent, Abby shoots herself upward, and drops her hand on top of mine. I let out a harsh hiss, which she responds to by sliding her palm underneath mine. Her fingers curl firmly around my cock. My head falls forward and my finger that is still buried deep inside of her twitches.

  The words impetuously fly off my tongue, “Stroke me, Angel.”

  There’s no denial of my request. I remove my hand from between her thighs and she sends her fingers to undo the buttons of my jeans. I hastily help, suddenly the most desperate I’ve ever been in my entire life. As soon as my cock is sprung free, she grabs it again with the same amount of force. Between the burning of her stare and the searing heat of her touch, I have to strain every muscle in my body to not ruin this moment like a school age kid during his first time.

  Abby bluntly states, “You’re huge.”

  A small chuckle leaves me. “Every man loves to hear that…”

  She hums at the same time she gives me my first stoke. “And long…Are you supposed to be this long?”

  The innocent questions clench my balls.

  What man doesn’t want to hear he’s fucking well endowed, especially from the woman he plans to fall into bed with every night for the rest of his life. Oh hell, what am I sayin’? That’s twice I’ve had that thought tonight. Is it just the starving sexual appetite or is this really it for me?

  I let myself continue to watch her exploration. Her
grip remains firm, but her movements refuse to pick a speed. The slow to fast to slow again is the most delicious torture I’ve ever endured. My balls reach the point they’re aching so much in anticipation for relief I become lightheaded. Too close to coming, yet too far from doing it in my favorite nature causes my lungs to constrict, ceasing my ability to breathe. Abby’s thumb unpredictably swipes the pre-cum off the tip of my dick and I crumble.

  “Coming,” I breathlessly try to warn.

  Rushes of heat surge out of me and into her hand. She sweetly moans at the feeling, treating the sticky substance like a reward. I shudder, growl, and yank her to me. Our tongues fuse back together and I helplessly fall deeper into the blissful abyss.

  No other woman has ever made me feel like this. Not sure another woman ever could. Regardless, I don’t plan on finding out. Abby Atkins is my angel and life with her, absolute heaven.

  Blake places his cappuccino back down on the table, eyes still swimming with happiness.

  He’s always looking at me like this. Every time we’re together there’s so much unremitting adoration in his expression it makes me feel like the only thing he lives for is me. That theory is obviously ludicrous, but the elation it ignites is not. It’s been 2 ½ months of endless beatitude in and out of the bedroom. I’ve never laughed this much or spent this much time away from practicing. What’s crazier is everyone keeps telling me my playing is better than it’s ever been. They rave how they can feel passion pumping out, almost as if I’ve mastered the art of fusing my soul with the music. While it’s exciting to hear, there’s an undeniable nagging in the back of mind. What happens when Blake grows tired of the touch and rubs? What happens when his patience for my mundane choices withers away? What happens when I’m left all alone with nothing but my cello?

  His fingers toy with the handle to the cowboy mug I bought specifically for him to drink out of at my house. “I hate how much I love these damn things.”

  I lean back into my chair. “Cappuccinos?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “What’s wrong with normal coffee?”

  Instinctively, I gag.

  Blake chuckles triumphantly. “Said specifically for that face.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  “So you keep tellin’ me.”

  “You know, when I was on tour in Italy, I rarely left my hotel room, but there was the most incredible little coffee shop a block over. I’ve honestly never had cappuccinos that can even come close in comparison. The inspiration behind the naming of the beverage was fascinating to learn.”

  His smile remains.

  “Rather than bore you with the details of that, why don’t you tell me why you hate loving them. Do you feel less manly? I mean, I bought you a cowboy coffee mug to help with that! It’s got The Count on it.”

  Blake’s eyebrows furrow. “First off, it’s The Duke. The Count is a Sesame Street Character, which is a children’s television show I’m sure you never watched.”

  I shake my head.

  My parents limited the amount of television we were to enjoy. Most of the time if it couldn’t serve a dual purpose of being educational as well as entertaining we weren’t to watch. When I got older, I chose to spend my time reading historical books on musical figures like Beethoven and strong women figures in music like Billie Holiday, in hopes they would help me to be a better musician.

  “Second of all, I hate lovin’ ‘em ‘cause they remind me of my brother.”

  “Which one?”

  “Oliver.”

  “I haven’t met him.”

  His posture undoubtedly transforms. “Nope.”

  Wrapping my hands around my cup, I push, “And why not? Do you not want me to meet him? Do you think he won’t like me?”

  Blake lets his eyes drop down to the cup. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Would be more believable if you could look me in the eyes and say it.”

  He shoots them back. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Then what?”

  His silence returns along with a solemn look.

  Being worried if I would annoy his brother to death is a fear I could understand. Even when I’m trying to be friendly, I typically come off bitchy. It makes Dana and Sienna laugh while Ollie just smiles and insists her best friend is purposely snarky all the time, so she’s used to it. It’s nice to have other accepting people, women in particular, around. It’s nice to have more than just Dana to talk to now.

  Not willing to budge on the topic, I inform him, “I’m not letting this go.”

  “I caught that.”

  “Tell me.”

  An unexpected heavy sigh falls onto the table. “Out of all my brothers, Oliver and I get along the least.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re very different despite being very close in age. He’s high-tech and expensive suits. Martinis, when he’s not at a bar that carries our beer, and a huge fucking fan of cappuccinos. Truth be told, the reason I believed you pushed me away from the beginning is the same reason I believe Oliver’s always distanced himself from me.”

  “Which is?”

  Blake gives his lips a small press together before answering. “I’m not good enough.”

  Disbelief coats my face.

  “The moment I walked through your front door Abby your success slapped me in the face. Seein’ those plaques, those achievements, those…tokens of a life well lead felt like a highlight reel of why we probably would never work for longer than a night. I don’t measure up. I haven’t travelled the world. I don’t speak another language. I don’t own my company. I barely made it through college. I still don’t know the difference between sushi and sashimi no matter how many times we eat it.” He gives the back of his head an uncomfortable scratch. “Growin’ up Oliver always had this way of makin’ me feel…less intelligent than everyone else. Less…important. As adults, it jus’ got worse. To him…my life is nothin’ but a big joke. One party that’s lasted too long. One brief moment people will forget about. And I know I shouldn’t care what he thinks... but the problem with that is part of me feels he’s absolutely right.”

  The rawness of his admission causes a deep ache in my chest. I give him a moment to gain his abandoned composure before I reach across the table to link my fingers with his. I let my thumb stroke his hand in the same comforting nature he always does me. “You wanna know what I think?”

  He gives me forced smile. “Sure.”

  “I think you under value the skills you do have.”

  His head tilts in question.

  “You have remarkable people skills.” The look of sarcasm in his eyes rushes me to continue. “I know you think anyone can have those, but I’m walking proof of the opposite. You have this ability to not only make people smile and laugh, but bring out this undeniable joy inside of them. I’ve seen it. Complete strangers who can’t help but be drawn to your lively nature. Tips made better because of a miniscule suggestion you give to a waitress to help with a difficult table. You understand people and something inside of you constantly calls to want to make life better for them. That’s not something you can ever learn in a classroom, Blake. And it’s something I absolutely love about you.”

  Love. Now there’s a word we are continuously tossing around but never between I and you. I’ve never been in love before. Not sure that’s what this is. Then again, I’m not sure it isn’t. I’m not exactly excellent at expressing my feelings in an eloquent way, so we’re not having that conversation any time soon. The one about me being on the pill, but still wanting him to wear a condom when the time came was awkward enough. When I asked for Dana’s opinion on the subject of love, she lectured me about how I was in it the minute I let him convince me to listen to a Taylor Swift song. Pop music isn’t all terrible! I’ve grown to enjoy quite a bit of it including her. She’s sassy and spunky. Beats are catchy.

  He gives my hand a squeeze of thanks yet let’s his mout
h run away the other direction. “Do you love it more or less than that thing I do with my tongue?”

  While he’s passed the basic strokes course and moved onto the overly extended licking one, I’m still a step behind. Every time I get the courage to finally want to do it, he manages to distract me by beating me to the punch. Once he’s feasted on me like something fit for a king, I can barely muster up the energy to assist in jerking him off. On the upside, he has a fondness for doing that on my boobs and I find it highly erotic in all the right ways.

  The obvious attempt to veer away from the intense conversation is received. “More.”