“I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if my being here, living this life we lead… if I’ve ruined my chances for it, that’s all.”
“Stell.” I grab at straws to comfort her about a topic that makes me feel completely awkward. And even more disconcerting are the thoughts her damn question has stirred in my mind. She’s my best friend. After a decade she knows all of my quirks, my pet peeves, everything… What would happen if we tried a relationship now?
I bite back the laugh at the thought. Stella is like my sister, Rylee, to me. Well, all except that Stella and I had sex way back when we were actually dating.
But the thought lingers in the back of my mind, what if we are right for each other but met at the wrong time? A backfire on the street down below has the both of us flinching, our instinctive training to duck at the sound of gunfire taking over.
We laugh at how ridiculous we look and how only here, only with us, would this be normal. “Look,” I tell her, “if in ten years we are still nomads, still single, then we’ll revisit this conversation.”
“What about it?” she asks, her eyebrows narrowing as she tries to figure out what I’m saying.
“If we are each other’s once-in-a-lifetime.”
Her sharp inhale makes me realize what I just said, the stupid inferences she could make from it. But at the same time, when she laughs, I hear her nervousness, and the look in her eyes is so real, so vulnerable, that when I glance down to her lips, I’m forced to swallow over the lump in my throat.
It has to be the moment, a simple slice of time when two friends who have lived a lifetime together as a result of their volatile careers fall into that trap of need mixed with comfort and a splash of loneliness. The minute I lean forward and brush my lips to hers, I hate myself for it, and yet at the same time, the immediate recoil I thought would happen on my part doesn’t happen. It’s just a whisper of a kiss, but my lack of reaction scares the fuck out of me.
I rest my forehead against hers. “Sorry,” I murmur, my hands threading through her hair.
“Well, that wasn’t exactly the birthday present I was planning for you tomorrow, but…” Her voice fades into a laugh.
“I told you I don’t want anything,” I say to squash that argument again, but then feel the need to repeat it. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. After ten years, that’s the only time we’ve ever crossed that line.” The heat of her breath hits my lips and tempts me when I’m never tempted by her.
“I guess we have ten more years to see if it happens again.” I can hear the smile on my lips in my tone, and even though we both are in agreement that what just happened shouldn’t have, we sit in the darkness for a minute – foreheads touching, lips so close – almost as if the both of us knew what was going to happen the next night.
How this moment was going to be the lasting memory I would use to get me through the darkness her death would bring.
“Here’s to you, Stell,” I say as I lift the bottle of whiskey up to the sky and take a long pull on it.
The circuit of thoughts that has etched a goddamn groove in my mind starts again. Hell yes, I loved her… in my own way. I just wonder if her absence has made me read more into that emotion than it really was. People place those who die on pedestals, forget their misgivings with a bat of an eyelash, and become more connected to them since they can no longer tell them what they feel. Is this what I’ve done to Stella and our friendship? Is this why I’ve held tight to this last kiss we shared even though it was a stupid move?
I’ve been through the seven stages of grief. You name each one of them, and I’ve fucking done them more times than I care to count. But when all is said and done, I’m here and she’s not. Guilt is a goddamn vise squeezing out of me every ounce of emotion I never wanted to feel.
Plain and simple, I miss her. The easy banter, how we could sit comfortably in silence, that I could predict her remarks before she made them. We were a team and now I feel lost, wondering why I pushed so hard to get back here. So focused on getting out of my house, I didn’t think about how many damn memories were here waiting to haunt me.
I just need to get back in the game. Meet my photographer tomorrow and get back in the swing of things, use the hunger I feel deep down to propel me through the flashes of sadness that still come. Then I’ll be better. Besides, it’s not like I have any other option.
Plug and chug.
The memories continue to come, the good, bad, and horrific, and who knows how long it’s been when I lift the bottle to find it empty. Suck it up, Thomas. This will be the only fucking rooftop pity party you’re allowed to have. You wanted back; now you’re here.
“Fuck,” I say into the emptiness around me as I rise on unsteady feet and let my buzz filter through my limbs. Once the mattress is covered up by the tarp to protect it from the dust that blankets everything like an irrevocable stain, I make my way back downstairs.
I smell her before I see her. That subtle scent of hers, which seems so out of place in the air heavy with spices, fills the stairwell when I hit the eighth floor. She’s coming up as I’m coming down. Our eyes meet and hold across the dimly lit concrete landing.
Anger fires within me. She’s stupid for being here alone. Does she know how much fucking danger there is in this country? The disrespect that’s shown to women simply because of their gender? Add to that, she’s American. I think of how many times Stella and I went round and round on this topic before she just gave in and allowed me to be at her side most of the time.
And I don’t want to care about this loose cannon of a woman, but my feet are glued to the floor as an indescribable current shoots through the empty space between us. I try to deny it, want to deflect it somehow, but we stand there, gazes held, and remain silent.
“Did you want something?” I ask, eyebrows raised, impatient.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “No. I thought I did… but now? Not hardly.”
She starts to brush past me. Something about that haughty tone of hers with a subtle accent I can’t place pushes buttons I don’t want pushed, and I reach out and grab her upper arm. The force of my hold pulls her body into mine so that our chests touch, and the sharp inhale of her breath is unmistakable since it presses her breasts further against me.
Our eyes lock, breaths mingling over each other’s lips, and that straight shot of lust spears to my lower gut and takes hold. We stand in a silent battle of wills. The same woman I was irritated at for wanting me earlier, I’m now pissed at for wanting to walk away.
Talk about a confirmation that my head is a cluster fuck of emotions. Jesus Christ. Let her walk the hell away, Tanner. Bygones.
But my fingers don’t relax. They hold tight just like the invisible grip she seems to have over me.
The air thickens, and the sexual chemistry that I felt earlier at the bar – the zing I tried to avoid by leaving the festivities – sparks and lights up the space around us like an exposed live wire. The sad fact is I know I’m about to get burned but don’t let go.
“Just for the record, Loose Cannon, I would have bought you a drink.” I grit the words out, angry at myself for even saying them.
She eyes me with caution, trying to figure out what the hell I mean by Loose Cannon. “It’s BJ, and I prefer to stay off the record,” she says with that little fuck-you lift of her chin as she asserts her obstinacy despite her quickened pulse beneath my fingertips.
And fuck… I have to bite back the laugh on my lips because isn’t that a fitting name for a woman with lips like hers. Images flash through my mind of what she’d look like staring up at me while her mouth is wrapped around my dick.
She pulls me from my lewd but damn fine thoughts when she tries to jerk her arm from my hold. My spine stiffens some because hell if I’m up for resistance right now. I’m emotionally drained, exhausted, and as much as I don’t want to feel that grenade of desire sitting low in my belly, I still want to pull its pin so I can lose myself for a bit in the soft curves and sweet tas
te of a gorgeous woman no matter how fucking insolent she is.
I clench my jaw. A fleeting show of resistance before I give in to my need and the sexual tension. She gasps when I release her arm only to bring it up to her neck at the same time I crash my lips to hers.
And fuck yes I’m a dick for not letting her push me away, for letting my own need for this woman who will most likely move on by the week’s end control my actions, for taking without asking, but goddamn her small display of independence turns me on something fierce.
I brand my mouth to hers, press my tongue between her lips as she parts them. Her hands push me away, but the movement of her tongue tells me she wants more. She’s a clear contradiction in all meanings of the word. Soft and supple body, but I can feel the toned muscle beneath. Between kisses she tries to pull back, but a soft moan in the back of her throat when my free hand cups her ass tells me how much she wants this.
Her hands fist in my shirt at the same time my hand takes hold of the loose bun at the nape of her neck to tilt her head back and look into her eyes. But her mouth stays right where I want it because I’m nowhere near done with her yet.
“I don’t like you,” she claims through gritted teeth. Our hands run possessively over each other, but derision laced with defiance glimmers in her eyes.
“I beg to differ.” I laugh at the ludicrousness of her statement, considering the predicament we’re in. She tries to step back, but when she doesn’t release my shirt, I know she still wants more.
And fuck, I’m definitely all in. I need this outlet more than I ever realized until I was in the thick of it. I’ve kept to myself at home, fought with my sister when she attempted to fix me up with one of her friends, punished myself, and now with the heat of a woman’s body pressed up against me and the taste of her kiss seared in my goddamn brain, there is no way in hell I’m walking away now.
“I don’t like you,” she reiterates.
“Too bad,” I tell her as I go in for the next kiss. One that’s full of angry desperation and irresistible need with teeth nipping and tongues meeting and that ache deep in my balls taking hold of me. My hips pin her against the cold cinder-block wall behind her.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she tears her mouth from mine, our chests heaving. And then just when her protests stop and her tongue starts to dance with mine again, I pull back.
“You’re arrogant and —”
“You don’t have to like me to fuck me,” I say, cutting her off. “You just have to want me.”
She protests, and I cut her words off with my mouth on hers at the same time my hands grab her wrists. Even as I gain the advantage, I feel like she’s pulling out the ground from beneath my feet. “Fuck you!” She manages to get the words out between fervent kisses.
I chuckle against her lips before pulling back and looking straight into her desire-laden eyes. “That’s the plan.”
Chapter 3
T
hank Christ we’re actually on my floor, because the minute the comment is out of my mouth it’s like our desire overwhelms all sense, and we launch ourselves at each other, caught up in kisses tinged with greed. Her hands are in my hair while mine are fumbling with the door at her back as the need between us escalates to volatile levels.
We stumble through the stairwell door into the hallway without breaking physical contact. I keep moving her backward as her hands slide beneath my shirt and singe the bare skin at my waist with their warmth. We manage the few feet to my door, and I struggle with getting the key from my pocket because my jeans are stretched so goddamn tight from my dick, hard and ready.
I’m cursing between heated kisses, wishing this third world country had those credit card thingies versus an actual key, because my senses are so focused elsewhere that it takes a minute for me to get the key in the hole.
Once I get the door open and then shut it behind us, everything happens in flashes of time. Hands pulling our shirts overhead, feet kicking shoes off, my mouth kissing her exposed neck, fingers undoing her bra and tossing it to the floor. Take, sate, taste are the only thoughts on my mind.
The room’s completely dark except for the light of the moon coming in through the open curtains. When she fists my hair in her hands to hold me immobile, I have no other option but to feast on the expanse of flesh from the curve of her neck down to her breasts. Her taste, her scent, the sounds she makes; I feel like I will never get enough of her.
“I still don’t like you,” she says, her quiet murmur turning to a gasp as I close my mouth over her hard nipple. The sound of the effect I have on her, the scent of her perfume in the dip of her cleavage, and the taste of her skin on my tongue are like a sensory aphrodisiac that grabs hold of my balls and doesn’t let go.
The reverberation of my chuckle gets absorbed by her skin as I flick my tongue over her tightened peak before grazing it with my teeth. I don’t care if she likes me or hates me right now because it feels like it’s been so damn long since I’ve had sex. My only thought, my sole focus, is the heat of the moment and losing myself to the all-consuming euphoria of getting off. I know that makes me an asshole, but I’ve never pretended to be anything else in the whole ten minutes we’ve known each other – so at least I can’t be accused of pretending to be something I’m not.
The bed’s only a few feet from the door, and the back of her knees hit it. My body bent at the waist, my mouth continues to taste and tempt as she lowers herself to the bed so that she’s sitting and I’m standing. And fuck, I thought I was doing pretty damn good on restraint until she unzips my cargo pants and her chilled hands slide inside. The contrast of her cold hands on my rock-hard dick paralyzes me momentarily because, damn, it feels fucking fantastic.
And shit, I’m a guy who’s all about foreplay. I love teasing a woman with my fingers, tongue, toys, and anything on hand so that I can bring her to the brink of coming, then ease back some so that she begs me for more in that strained moan women have that calls to the animalistic part of me, before I dive back in to make her body tighten and pussy pulse. Only then do I usually jacket up and slide into the wetness I’ve helped create.
But right now? I’m all about the endgame. So when her hands begin to stroke me with a measured pressure that’s equal parts strong and slow, I straighten up, let my head fall back, and lose myself in the sensations that are pulling me way too fucking quick to the edge.
The best part is this is a one-night stand. I don’t have to worry about misconstrued intentions or even speaking at all because we both know what we’re here for. And with my thoughts fractured a thousand different ways, this is perfect. Just what I need. A night of sweaty, gritty sex without promises. A hot and willing woman who will most likely evade my gaze when we pass each other in the lobby, and that’s just fine with me.
I lose myself to her touch, but the tension builds so goddamn fast. It pains me to put my hands on my shoulders and stop her as I step back. “Fuck,” I say, part groan from her stopping the motion, part verbal acknowledgment of what she’s doing to me.
And if the smirk on her face, the flush of her cheeks, and her budded nipples weren’t enough to taunt me, the laugh she emits does just that. I meet her eyes then, and it’s a mutual exchange of our consent of what’s about to happen despite her continued commentary on how much she dislikes me.
A split second passes, and then both of us are stripping off the remainder of our clothes in a riotous frenzy. I move to the cheap dresser in the room and pull out a condom, feeling like time is of the essence. When I turn around again, I’m staggered by the sheer beauty of the woman waiting for me. BJ is lying back on the bed, the lean lines of her naked body looking like an ocean of flesh and curves that I can’t wait to sink into. She’s let down her hair so that it fans in soft waves around her head like a black halo against the sheets.
“See something you want, Pulitzer?” I startle at the nickname. It throws me for a second until I refocus on her open invitation. Her confidence is so damn attractive and co
nfusing all at once, but who the fuck cares because the trim strip of hair on her pussy calls to me so that my mouth waters and my dick begs for the feeling of her beneath me.
When I walk to the edge of the bed, I have the satisfaction of watching her eyes widen as they travel down to take in my cock, and while I’m above average, it’s still a stroke to my ego to see her reaction. “I have a lot of wants, so right now I’m going to take the one thing I need. You think you can handle me?”
Her laugh is deep and rich and drowns out the sounds floating up from the street. It turns into an unexpected giggle that sounds like such a contradiction to her haughty remarks when I grab her ankles and pull her down in a sharp tug to the end of the bed. The heat of her pussy presses against my upper thighs and holy fucking hell, all coherent thoughts leave me because the sexual need within me takes over.
I grip her hips and pull her toward me at the same time I bend my knees so that our bodies meet in the most carnal of ways with her backside a few inches off the mattress. I grab a pillow from behind her with one hand while holding her up with the other and slide it beneath her ass. The minute she relaxes her hips, I line my dick up at her entrance and rub my head through her wetness, so damn turned on by her being aroused and ready that my balls tighten in anticipation.
My gaze travels up the length of her torso to where her hands are palming her breasts, the dark pink of her nipples visible between her spread fingers. Her teeth bite into her lower lip, and she looks up to me beneath thick lashes so that all I can see is the gleam in her eyes.
When I brush my thumb over her clit and stroke it a few times, adding friction as I push into her, the sensation of taking her is so intense, it makes the motion of my hand falter, and we each release a moan as we absorb that first-time connection.
“So good.” My voice is a low moan, and I’m so lost in the feeling of her hot pussy wrapped tight around my dick that I forget the first part of the sentence, intending to tell her you feel, but at this point, fuck correcting myself because I can’t think straight. She’s wet, I’m hard, and I’ll take this welcome back. I slide slowly all the way in, root to tip, and hold still so that she can adjust to me. My head falls back in ecstasy as her muscles grip me tightly, a silent urging to stroke her clit again.