Fall With Me

by J. Lynn

  Sleepy, I looked over my shoulder at him. He’d turned the light off upon his return, but I could make out the sharp slope of his cheekbone. “Are you doing okay?”

  He didn’t respond for a moment and when he did, he proved that he got what I was asking. “A lot better. Sorry to come into your house like that. It’s just that . . . seeing lives end for no real reason and not being able to do anything to change it doesn’t get easier.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.” I wiggled around so I was facing him. His eyes were open and there was a soft smile on his face. “I’m glad that I could . . . that I could be here for you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I know it has to be hard.” Before I could think about what I was doing, I placed a quick kiss against his lips. “I wish it was different.”

  The arm around my waist tightened. “Me, too.” He kissed my forehead. A moment passed as my eyes fell shut once again. “Make you a deal? If you let me borrow some eggs in the morning, I’ll make you a kickass omelet you’ll be wanting me to make every morning.”

  I grinned as I snuggled close. “Then it’s a deal.”

  Chapter 14

  I woke up before Reece.

  It was still early and only a thin sliver of sun was peeking through the blinds from the window across from the bed. We were tangled together, our arms and legs forming a pretzel. Somehow, I was on my side, my back tucked close to his front.

  When I dared a peek at him over my shoulder earlier, I probably ended up staring at him for an unsuitable amount of time, but it was rare to catch him so relaxed. The sculpted lines of his face were relaxed. No trace of Cop Face whatsoever, but there was still no mistaking he was a man—­a man who’d fought overseas for our country and had come home and put his life on the line every time he clocked in for work.

  If I was honest with myself, he was probably the first man I’d been with. Not that all the other guys were boys, but none of them took on the kind of responsibility that he did. The worst any of them faced was a delayed plane or their Internet stalling out on them while they were playing Call of Duty.

  But he was more than just the sum of what he did for a living. Yes, he was brave and strong, but he was also kind and honest. He was loyal. He was wicked smart, and he knew how to work my body like it was built just for him.

  Rehashing last night in my head, I felt my cheeks heat as I clearly recalled asking him to do me, but replace the do with a fuck, and I’d never said that to a guy before.

  All I remembered was falling asleep facing him, talking about omelets and deals, and now all I was thinking about was how . . . how great our first time was.

  Our first time.

  I ran the tips of my fingers over his still hand, tracing the strong muscles and bones. I’d been fantasizing about having sex with Reece for a fairly decent amount of time. Years, really. Even though we’d gotten close to doing it almost a year ago, and even after what we did the night on the couch, none of it came close to what it was actually like with him, which was amazing.

  Our first time.

  That was what I was thinking when I woke up. With the way everything was last night, I’d made the decision to delay the conversation I needed to have. I had no regrets about that. It was the right choice, but I was going to drive myself crazy if I didn’t clear the—­

  Reece shifted behind me without warning. His fingers curled around mine as his leg drew up between my thighs, spreading them. In under a second, his hips were pressed against my rear and his face was buried in my neck. I could feel him, hot and hard, slipping between my legs, resting where I was suddenly throbbing for him.

  “Mornin,’ babe,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck as he let go of my hand and gripped my hip, pulling me back against his erection.

  Biting down on my lip, I moaned. “Morning.”

  His teeth caught my earlobe, and I gasped. He chuckled as he rotated his hips, pressing right against my core. My body arched all on its own, and he let go of my ear, making his way down my throat. Wow, he was frisky in the morning.

  “I’m having a dilemma,” he said, voice rough with sleep and arousal.

  So was I, because I was so torn between stopping him and having a much needed conversation, and seeing where this was heading.

  “I really want an omelet,” he continued, nipping at my shoulder as he rolled those magical hips again. “I think I might have dreamed about that omelet.”

  “Really?” I gasped.

  “Yeah, babe.” He slipped his hand up my waist and then under me, cupping my breast. He squeezed gently. “But I also want to fuck you senseless.”

  Oh my God.

  I was so wet it was freaking ridiculous, and it didn’t help when he caught my nipple between his fingers. Okay. I really needed to focus on what was important. “Reece, I—­” A cry cut me off as he rubbed against me, hitting that spot. “Oh God . . .”

  “I know you want that omelet, and let me tell you, I make a damn good omelet.” His knee spread my legs further apart, and I braced myself on my forearm. “You’ll have a mouth orgasm once you have the pleasure of that omelet.”

  There was a good chance I was about to have an orgasm now.

  Brushing my hair over my shoulder, he pressed a kiss at the base of my neck. “But how in the hell do I walk away from this?” His fingers did something truly sinful with my breast, and my hips pushed back again, and it happened. I don’t know how. Call it an act of God, but the very tip of him slipped in. “Damn,” he groaned, holding himself still. “Fuck the omelet.”

  In a heartbeat, he was inside me, buried all the way.

  “Reece,” I cried out, my body a riot of sharp, splintering sensations. From this position, the fullness and length of him was so much more.

  “I love the way you call out my name.” He kneaded my breast as he began to move, his hips pumping slowly and hitting every nerve ending my body was blessed with. “Do it again,” he ordered, his voice settling over me like velvet.

  I did it again.

  Pleasure licked across my skin as I rocked my hips back against his. Dragging his hand down my stomach, he thrust in, sealing my body to his as he shifted, positioning me on my knees. The feeling of him behind me was intense, overwhelming and wonderful.

  I rocked my hips back against him, shivering at the sound of his approval. His grip tightened and then he started to move, his pace fast and hard. My hands slipped across the bed, reaching the spindles in my headboard. I grabbed them, holding on as he slammed into me.

  My head was swimming. I couldn’t make sense of where his body ended and mine began. We were both moving frantically until his strong arm slipped under my breasts and he hauled me up. My hands hit the wall above my bed, and his hips pistoned up.

  Reece was totally in charge as his hand cupped my chin, guiding my head back and to the side. His thumb dragged over my lower lip, and I caught it, sucking it in deep.

  He shouted something that would’ve blistered the ears of sailors and then he brought my mouth to his. His kiss—­the way his tongue stroked mine—­was no way near as fast as he moved inside me, but it was in no way less beautiful or devastating.

  “I want to feel you come,” he said, his voice rough in my ear. “Do it for me, Roxy.”

  Never in my life had a guy talked to me like that during sex, and I discovered in that moment, it did something for me. It did a whole lot, because when he pressed his mouth to the spot below my ear, release thundered through me, whipping through me, and his heavy groan in my ear was the first warning as his hips jerked wildly a second before he pulled out. Wet warmth spilled over my lower back. Tiny aftershocks swirled through me as his hand drifted lazily over my stomach. Neither of us moved for a few moments and then he carefully smoothed my hair over my shoulder, catching the strands that were falling into my face. I lowered my head to the pillow, letting him slowly ease m
e back down onto the bed, flat on my belly.

  My head was buzzing when I heard him say, “Don’t move.”

  Only a handful of seconds passed before I felt him wiping something soft across my lower back and rear. It dragged what sounded like a mewl out of me, because I was pretty sure every part of my body was overly sensitive now.

  The bed shook as he flopped down next to me, and it took great effort for me to turn my head in his direction.

  One arm was tossed over his eyes, and my gaze got hung up on that heavy bicep for a moment. He was smiling.

  I smiled.

  “Roxy,” he said, lowering his arm. He looked at me, his dark lashes so incredibly thick. I realized I never quite captured them that well when I painted them. “Are you on the pill?”

  As the haze cleared from my head, my limbs suddenly went stiff as his question filtered through my thoughts. Are you on the pill? Yes. I was on the pill. I took it. When I remembered. There’d been a dry spell this last year, and I always used condoms, sooo I sometimes forgot to take it. When was the last time I forgot? Two weeks ago? Was it more than one pill? Oh dear baby Jesus, my heart started to pound.

  “I wasn’t thinking.” He reached over with his other hand, rubbing his palm against my back. “I’ve never done that before. Swear to God, I’ve never forgotten to wear a condom.”

  “Neither have I. I’m on the pill,” I said quietly. “But I . . . I think I missed a day or something a ­couple weeks ago.”

  Reece didn’t spring out of the bed like his ass was on fire. He studied me a moment, then leaned over and rose up so he was hovering over me. He kissed my cheek. “I pulled out. We’ll be fine. And if that didn’t work . . .” He kissed the corner of my lips. “We’ll still be okay.”

  Oh God.

  Oh fuck me! Tears crawled up my throat. I don’t know why. I was so stupid. Maybe it was because he wasn’t freaking out about the slight chance that some sort of insemination just went down. Or maybe it was because he was so damn fucking—­ugh—­fucking everything.

  I had sex with him again—­unprotected sex—­and I let my hormones get the best of me, and I still hadn’t told him the truth about that night.

  He kissed me again and then playfully smacked my bum as he rose. “Come on. An orgasmic omelet awaits us.”

  I stared at him from my prone position on my belly.

  A boyish grin crossed his features as he rolled off the bed. He bent over, grabbing his pants off the floor. Pulling them on, he winked at me. “Mind if I use your toothbrush?”

  At this point, did it matter if he did? “No.”

  “Your ass better be out of this bed by the time I get done.” He then winked and turned, walking out of the bedroom.

  Barefoot. Shirtless. His pants weren’t even buttoned!

  I lay there for a moment, unsure of what I should freak out more over. The fact I was a bitch for still not telling him the truth or that I could’ve just gotten myself knocked up?

  Okay. The knocking up part was highly unlikely and I needed to devote my freak-­out energy to something more relevant—­the whole bitch part.

  When I heard the water turn off in the bathroom and the door open, I was the one who sprung from the bed like my ass was on fire. I’d just grabbed a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top when he appeared in the doorway.

  I was still buckass naked, and he totally noticed.

  Striding back into the bedroom, he wrapped one arm around my waist and lifted me up off my feet and kissed me. He tasted of mint and male, and I almost dropped my clothes.

  “You’re moving too slow this morning.” Bending at the waist, he hoisted me up over his shoulder. “I have to intervene.”

  I let out a shriek that was a half-­startled laugh. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”

  “Taking your sweet ass”—­his hand landed on my ass, causing me to jerk—­“yeah, this sweet ass to the bathroom.”

  He pivoted around as I held on to my clothes for dear life and then walked my sweet ass to the bathroom, depositing me on my feet. His hands lingered though, on my bare hips and then my breasts. He made a deep sound in his throat as he lowered his forehead to mine. “Now I’m thinking about getting you in that shower and—­”

  “Go,” I laughed, pushing at his chest. “As much as I like the idea of us getting all wet and whatnot, we’re never going to get that omelet.”

  Or get to talk.

  “Hmm.” His hand slipped to my rear. Tugging me against him, he squeezed, and as crazy as it was, my body started to rev up all over again. The man was living, breathing sex! He brushed his lips to the skin just above my eyebrow. “I’m thinking about saying fuck the omelet again.”

  Oh my. The idea was tempting. Everything about him was tempting, but I managed to get him out of the bathroom. While I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and then washed my face, I made myself promise I was not going to let anything get in the way of talking to him.

  Taking a deep breath, I caught my reflection in the mirror as I tugged my hair up in the ponytail. Where in the heck were my glasses? Good question. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide, and my lips had that swollen, totally been-­kissed-­for-­hours look.

  I straightened the blue and white polka-­dotted toothbrush holder and then made a serious expression at myself in the mirror.

  I looked half stupid.

  Everything was going to be okay. Reece . . . well, he wasn’t going to be happy, but he would be okay. I mean, hell, he didn’t flip out about the unprotected sex thing, and he basically said if we just created a baby Reece or baby Roxy, then we’d be okay. So he had to be okay with this. I was just making a mountain out of a molehill. Like Charlie would’ve said, I was being a drama queen.

  Time to pull it together.

  Sighing, I whirled around and left the bathroom. Spying my glasses on the coffee table, I snatched them up and slipped them on.

  Reece was in my kitchen and he’d already found the frying pan, which wasn’t hard since it wasn’t like I had that many cabinets. The eggs were already on the counter. He looked at me over his shoulder as he grabbed fresh peppers and a bag of shredded cheese out of the fridge.

  Seeing him in my kitchen, shirtless and barefoot with all that golden skin on display was something I could really get used to.

  I wanted to paint him—­like this. With his back to me, the muscles corded and strong.

  “I was thinking,” he said, tossing those items on the counter. He went for the milk next. “I got to work tonight and you’re working Wednesday through Saturday, right?”

  Edging into the kitchen, I nodded.

  He cracked a ­couple of eggs into a bowl he’d dug out of the cabinet. “That makes doing dinner and a movie hard.” He paused, glancing back over at me. “By the way, I really want to fuck you when your glasses are on.”

  Warmth swept across my cheeks. “You are so naughty.”

  One side of his lips kicked up. “Babe, you have no idea all the things I want and plan to do to you. Years’ worth of ideas.”

  I gaped at him. “Years?”

  “Years,” he insisted. “Anyway, back to the dinner and the movie. I was thinking we could do more like a lunch and then grab a movie another day since it will be hard to work both in with our schedules.”

  All I could do was stare at him as he found seasonings and made the omelets. He was making plans for us—­multiple days’ worth of plans. That damn swelling feeling was back in my chest.

  “It’s either that or wait until we’re both off next Monday,” he said, raising his arms over his head and stretching as the omelets cooked.

  Dear Lord, that sight—­all the muscles rippling, the pants hanging indecently low—­was pure sin.

  “But I really don’t want to wait until Monday. Do you?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  Omelets fini
shed, he pulled the pan off the burner, and I finally moved. I grabbed two plates and glasses out of the cabinet. “So how does Thursday sound?” he asked, slipping one perfectly folded omelet onto a plate. “I know Friday will be tough for you with visiting Charlie. So we can grab lunch.”

  I blinked back sudden tears again. Dammit, he was . . . so thoughtful. Hurrying to the fridge, I grabbed the tea. “Thursday would be great.”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  When I turned, he was placing the plates on my table, but his eyes were on mine. Clearing my throat, I nodded as I walked the jug over to the table and then grabbed the silverware. A look of doubt was on his face.

  “I’m okay,” I said as I sat. He was slow to sit down across from me. “It’s just that . . .”

  “What?” he asked, watching me closely.

  “It’s just that . . . I’ve liked you for so long, Reece. A really long time.”

  The grin was back. He picked up a fork and offered it to me. “Babe, I know you have.”

  I stared at him blandly. “Did you now?” I cut off a piece of omelet and popped it my mouth. “Oh God,” I moaned. “This is good.”

  “Told you. But yeah, I spent a good part of that time ignoring that you liked me, because there was a high chance your father would’ve gutted me if I made a move on you before you were old enough to buy liquor. And by the time that rolled around, well . . . shit was going on . . .” Reece frowned as his features tensed. “Wait. Damn. I just thought of something. Did we use a condom that night?”

  My stomach dropped all the way to my toes. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I probably would’ve fallen over. Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I had total shit for brains as I stared at him.

  Blood drained from my face as I clenched the fork. The tasty omelet turned to dust in my mouth.

  “Fuck,” he said, scooping up egg. “We didn’t use a condom, did we? Guess that’s water under the bridge at this point.”

  Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders. It was truth time. Hopefully not crash and burn and sob time. I placed my fork on the table. “There’s something I need to tell you.”