by Racquel Reck
I nuzzle up to his ear. "I want to."
He shucks my pants and thong then kneels down in front of me. Running his hands up my thighs, his eyes eat up my nakedness. Last time we were in this position I was embarrassed. Not anymore. He’s been here before, and my body remembers every slow touch and every heated lick.
Pulling my left ankle up to his mouth he lightly kisses just above the bone. Hot pleasure races up my thigh and slams into my core. I moan and arch back. Who the hell knew that was an erogenous zone? He gives me a moment to recover and when I look back down at him he’s grinning.
Okay, smart-ass. So he knows a few things about pleasuring a woman. And now I’m dying for him to show me.
He continues his assault of gentle, torturous licks and sucks up my calf to the back of my knee, stopping just as he reaches the end of my inner thigh. The heat of his breath is so close to my pussy it throbs, wanting the same attention. He looks up, a gleam flashes across his eyes and he runs a finger lightly down the crease.
My breath hitches. So close. For a minute I think he’s going to go there, instead he runs both hands down my leg, massaging all the way to the sole of my foot. "I love that look on your face."
"You’re a tease." I adjust my butt because it’s going numb from leaning against the soundboard. "We should—ahhh..."
He begins the next slow torture session on my other leg, and all the discomfort is a fleeting memory. Ankle to inner thigh, I watch him watch me. A flood rushes, awaking every cell in my body. When he reaches the juncture between my legs, he gives one fast lick down the center and stands to take my mouth.
My hips jerk, and my hands fly to his belt buckle. The ache inside me is unbearable and I’m way beyond ready for him. His hands thread through my hair as he chuckles through our kiss. I bite his lip ring. He groans, and runs his hands down to cup my ass. Hard. He lifts me, forcing me to stop meddling with his belt so I can wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
He carries me across the room to his couch. "Thought your ass might need a break."
"I really don’t care about my ass right now."
He laughs as he places me down on the couch, then escapes my arms to bring his black Slayer T-shirt up over his head. Every cut of his hard muscles bunches, and I lick my lips, ready to feast on everything that’s Morgan.
He quirks a brow as he undoes his belt buckle and stops.
Oh, no way! I’m done with the teasing. "Take ’em off."
"Are those pregnancy hormones?” He grins. “Or are you always this demanding?"
"Both." I sit up, but before I can leave the couch he shucks his jeans and boxer briefs. His erection is big, glistening at the tip and I bite my lip. My pussy clenches, remembering the raw sex we had almost two months ago.
Morgan hovers over me, his mouth so close to mine. His breath is heavy and his biceps twitch. "Turn around."
Huh? Oh, yeah. He remembers? I told myself I’d take that step with him. I’d let him see my face. Now that I’m reminded of it, my chest is pounding. I grip his hair and bring him down into my kiss as I spread my legs to accommodate his body. Maybe if I get lost in him for a minute, I’ll find the courage.
My hands travel down his back, exploring every ridge and curve. There’s power in those muscles, enough to crush someone. The look in his eyes earlier, like he couldn’t comprehend why Gary would push Bebe, and the way he pushed us both behind him out of harm’s way, I know he’d never use his physical strength to harm me. It’s meant to protect me, like it should be. He’d never lift his fist to me. I feel safe and, as his thumb lightly strokes my cheek, cherished. I glide against his erection, coating him with my juices.
He groans as my fingers make their way down to his tip and rub over the moisture. His hips jack, the head sliding over my clit.
He slides against me, building white-hot pressure in my core. Every time his head hits my sweet spot, it tightens a little more. My breath is erratic, and my heart pounds out of rhythm. Then everything in me short circuits and snaps in a hot rush.
Morgan rips his mouth from mine as my orgasm slams into me. My spine arches and my toes curl. "Morgan!"
"Fuck!" Morgan speeds up his tempo, gliding his cock over me until I’m a trembling mess of languid limbs. My thighs are buzzing, but my core isn’t satisfied.
"Shay?" His voice is soft.
I open my eyes to see the awe in his.
"You’re fucking beautiful when you come."
Something inside me cracks. My chest expands and fills with warmth. It’s everything I needed to hear. The heat in his eyes blows every taunt from Gary out of my mind. I reach down and position him at my entrance.
His brows shoot up, then dissolve into uncertainty. "Are you sure?"
Morgan
Shay tugs me down and whispers in my ear, "I want you like this."
She’s trusting me with a part of her that’s vulnerable. I’m a patient man. I wanted to show her she could put her faith in me, that I wouldn’t laugh and destroy her security even further. Her willingness to take this step shifts something inside, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to crush it. She needs this. I slowly slide into her tight, slick heat.
Her eyes drift closed and when I’m in all the way I pause, memorizing every feature on her beautiful face. I nuzzle the tip of her nose with mine and kiss her cheek, the side of her mouth then her other cheek and her eyes flutter open. My new favorite color is green. But not just any green. It’s the shade that’s in her eyes now, full of—what? Lust? Passion? Or is it—
"You have to move, babe, in order for it to work." Her coy smile and her muscles tightening around me remind me of what we’re doing.
I pull out and thrust into her. Caging her in with my arms, I rest my forehead against hers as I continue my slow assault. Her hands drift down my back to my ass and her nails dig in. The building pressure at the base of my cock speeds up my tempo. I fight to go slow, but my body wants to go faster. I want her to enjoy this. To show her how much it means to me that she picked me to tackle her biggest insecurity.
She clenches around me.
Fuck. I can’t help it.
She meets my thrust and a moan escapes her lips. I jack straight up, needing to see her face. My cock pounds into her. Faster. Harder. There’s no slowing down. My need to take it slow is gone, fueled by the urge to possess her.
Her eyes are closed, and her black-and-white hair is in a tangled mess. She juts up her chin, arching her back. Never have I ever seen a more perfect sight. Her swollen lips are parted and breathy little sounds escape her. Her pussy pulses, milking my cock as she comes all over me.
My balls tighten and my teeth grind, trying to hold back the explosion that is about to break free. Letting her ride her orgasm out just so I can see into her eyes one last time before I lose it. “Look at me.”
They open.
Every muscle in my body goes taut like a rubber band and snaps free. A high like I’ve never felt plows into me. I erupt inside her, lost in the depths of sea green eyes.
Twenty
Shay
I roll over in Morgan’s black flannel sheets and lay my head against his warm chest. His heart is pounding as fast as mine. After making love on the couch in his studio, we watched some kind of action movie but only got partway through the beginning before doing it again on his living room floor. Then there was the kitchen, the shower, his balcony—thank God he lives in the country—and finally his bed. Everything aches.
Wait? Make love? Why the hell am I thinking all kinds of hearts-and-flowers shit? What we did was hot. No need to get all sentimental. But damn, the idea of it feels good. Okay, we made love in my mind. I can settle for that.
My stomach growls.
Morgan laughs. "Are you hungry?" He waggles his eyebrows.
I playfully smack him. "Nowadays I can’t seem to get enough."
He looks down at me, his hair all messy and a gleam in his eye.
"You can’t be ready to go again?"
>
He stretches and sits up. "No. But I can go get you something to eat. How about a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats?"
"Cereal? At night?"
"Anytime is a good time for cereal. And technically it’s not night." He nods toward his alarm clock.
It’s three in the morning. Such a smart-ass. I shake my head.
"Besides, don’t pregnant women get all types of cravings?"
"Not for cereal."
"What then?"
My mouth wants something salty. Maybe cheesy, and I want something smooth and creamy. "Do you have any Cheez-Its?"
"Uh, yeah." He quirks a brow. "You don’t want something more filling?"
"And cereal is filling? I could eat a whole box of Cheez-Its. Don’t knock the appetite of a pregnant woman."
"Oookay." He climbs out of bed and pulls on his dark green boxer briefs.
“Oh. And do you have any sour cream?"
He’s at the door and turns around. "Say what?"
"I like to dip my Cheez-Its in sour cream."
His face screws tight.
"Hey, don’t knock it till you try it, I-eat-cereal-at-night man."
He nods. "Good point." And he’s out the door, humming a tune as he walks down the hall.
Musicians. I smile and fall back into his comfy bed, sprawling out and taking in the softness of his flannel sheets. They feel almost as good as he does.
Out of all the positions we did tonight, the one on his couch in his studio will stay with me forever. His acceptance of me, the way he looked as he worked above me, staring into my eyes as he lost it, was better than any of the fantasies I conjured up over the past two months. He’s patient and kind, and the way he worshiped my body, I want more. Even now, with my girlie parts screaming for rest, my mind doesn’t want to. I want to feel that connection again.
Damn. I’m addicted.
"Want to tell me what you’re smiling about?"
Heat flashes to my cheeks.
Morgan hands me the box of Cheez-Its as I sit up against the headboard. "You."
"Me?" He smiles and sets his bowl of cereal down on the nightstand. After handing me the tub of sour cream, he climbs into bed. "Damn, I miss out on a lot. You want to tell me how I provoked that when I wasn’t in the room?"
"Cheez-Its are so yummy with sour cream. You should try some." My mouth waters as I dip the first salty square into the creamy goodness and pop it into my mouth. I moan as the flavors combust on my tongue. "I ate them almost every day when I was pregnant with Ben."
Morgan stops chewing, glances at me out of the corner of his eye, then swallows his bite of cereal, hard. He looks away and shakes his head.
"What?"
He sighs and looks at the spoon as he fishes only the flakes onto it, avoiding the nuts. "It’s nothing."
"Obviously it’s not."
He sets his spoon in his bowl. "Everything is going so good right now. Let’s just forget it, okay?" He smiles, but it’s a weak attempt.
"I want to know what you’re thinking." I have to know.
"It’s nothing. I was thinking something stupid, and I don’t want to ruin tonight."
I set the Cheez-Its and sour cream on the other nightstand and take his bowl of cereal.
"Hey, I’m not done with that."
I climb onto his lap, set it on the nightstand, and look him in the eyes. "There was something going on with you just now, and I want to know what it is."
"Shay." He holds my arms at arm’s length. "Now isn’t—"
"If we’re going to see where this thing’s going between us, you can’t shut me out, because it’ll lock out our feelings. Now tell me where your head went."
He takes a deep breath and lets it out, then eyes me. "You’re going to get upset."
"I’m upset now. I’m not going to get better unless you tell me."
"I was just thinking about how many times Gary must’ve gotten out of bed at night to bring you your cravings."
That’s it? Huh? He’s worried about how good Gary treated me while I was pregnant with Ben? I don’t even know what to say to that.
"I’m not jealous. And I know it’s not a competition, but—"
"Trust me, there’s nooo competition between you and Gary. There never will be."
"It’s just—"
I grab his face. "Look at me and know I’m serious. You’re a thousand times better than he’ll ever be. You want to know how he treated me when I was prego? He fucking ignored me. Cheated on me and treated me like I had scabies. He never brought me food or massaged my feet. Hell, when he found out I was pregnant, he disappeared on me for two weeks. He never wanted Ben. But I’ll tell you what he did do. When I got hormonal in front of people he called me names. When I got emotional when we were alone he hit me. So trust me. You have him beat."
Morgan’s eyes flash and his jaw clenches. "Motherfucker!"
My breath trips, and my heart speeds well over the posted limit.
I should’ve never forced this conversation. The look of fury in his eyes has me scooting off his lap.
His hands come down on my thighs and he takes a deep breath. As he lets it out, his eyes soften. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It just pisses me off. He’s a fucking scum-bag, and I swear to God, Shay. You better keep me the hell away from him."
I lean into his chest and kiss the side of his neck. He’s a sweet, kind guy, but I’m really digging this growly protective side. He runs his hands along my back and kisses my temple. Heat rushes south. I soak up the comfort and stability that is Morgan. Nuzzling under his chin I make my way up to his mouth.
"I’ll never let him hurt you again," he says against my lips then slips his tongue inside. He cups my face and breaks our kiss. "You’re mine, Shay.” He rubs his hand over my belly and watches it. “And I protect what’s mine."
If Gary had said something like that, I would have been off the bed and running for the door. But Morgan is different. I may be his, but I know who he is. He’ll treat me like a person. And I couldn’t ask for anything more.
#####
The rays of dawn creep though his window as I climb out of bed. I look over at Morgan, snoring loud enough to block out the sounds of the TV. The news is on and in the lower left hand corner—Crap! When I called to say goodnight to Ben, I told Tryst I’d pick him up by eight.
Morgan’s exhausted. It would be a shame to wake him, but I don’t want to skip out like I did before. He might think I regret everything we did.
Maybe leave a note?
After I dress, I search the top of the dresser for a pen and something to write on. Nothing’s up there besides his Xbox and TV. Hum... Nightstand. There has to be something in the top drawer. After all, he was writing late at night at the cabin, so maybe he does the same here. I open the drawer to have a look and my heart drops.
A bag of pot is lying on top of loose cigars.
Morgan’s a pothead? How in the hell did I miss that?
No.
NO.
NO!
This can’t be happening. I can’t be with another druggie. I swipe the bag. He fucking lied to me.
I slam the drawer so loud Morgan shoots up in bed. His eyes snap open and confusion crosses his face. He must see the anger I’m throwing off because he looks a little scared. I whip the bag at his face. I hope he chokes on it.
"You’re a fucking druggie. And you fucking lied to me!"
He scrambles to his feet. The sheet tangles itself around his legs and he starts to go down, but catches himself. "Shay, I can explain."
Yeah, I bet he can. Gary had tons of explanations for his drug use. And I’m sick of hearing them. "Don’t ever call me again." I storm out of his room.
Rage boils up from old wounds that are cracked open. My body is shaking with fury as I collect my coat. I can hear him stumbling around upstairs. As I get to his front door, his footsteps come pounding down the stairs. "Shay, please, wait!"
Fuck that. I’m gone.
Twenty-one
My phone goes off. Fuck it. I head to my garage, pot and cigars in hand. Every nerve buzzes, wanting me to roll a blunt. For a second the thought crosses my mind. She will never come back now that she knows I’m a pothead. Everything went so great last night, and my fucking drug problem robbed me of it this morning.
I set the bag of ganja and ten loose cigars down on my workbench. Reaching under it, I grab all my bowls and bongs. I’m to blame for this, but this is my motivator. I grab a hammer, then set The Caterpillar, my blue glass hookah, in front of me.
Don’t do it!
Mary Jane has been my biggest supporter. She chases away the bad memories with laughter. She gives me courage to speak my mind with every hit. She soothes my nerves with her calming smoke. She has been there in my times of struggle, lifting me up and giving me strength to face every problem life has thrown at me. Her sweet chemical is more than a dear old friend.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m talking like I’m in love with an inanimate object.
THC is a jealous bitch. It made me a liar so I could have her. I knew Shay’s views on drugs. I’m no better than douche bag. I’m worse—at least he didn’t hide his drug addiction from her.
Anger burns hot in my gut. The fumes of my rage are rising. I raise the hammer. I fucking hate myself.
"I hate you!" I slam down the hammer. Pieces of blue glass shatter across my rickety old workbench. I raise it again. "You’re a fucking bitch!" Another blast and tubing goes flying.
My chest pounds. I raise and bring down the hammer in rapid succession. When The Caterpillar is nothing more than shards of glass and dangling rubber tubes, I move on to my pipes and bongs, continuing the massacre of my paraphernalia.
