Stumbling into Love
Page 5
“Why’d you sneak out on me?” he asks, cupping my sex. I swallow hard as heat pools between my legs.
“I . . .” My head falls back, and a moan slips past my lips as his fingers slide through my slick folds.
“Look at me.”
I lift my head and meet his gaze. My heart speeds up when I register the dark need in his eyes.
“Why?” His thumb circles my sensitive clit, and my hips jerk into his touch.
“I don’t know,” I whimper, trying to force his fingers to give me more.
“Why?” he repeats as my back hits the bed.
He lands on top of me and uses his knees to spread my legs farther apart.
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying to me,” he growls while thrusting two fingers deep inside me.
I cry out in bliss as they curve up, hitting me exactly where I need them to.
“Why’d you leave?”
“Wesley . . .”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t want me if you really knew me,” I admit on a gasp.
His fingers speed up in response.
“Oh god.”
My back arches high off the bed. He pulls my breast into his mouth, scraping his teeth across my nipple before releasing it.
“I do want you.”
“You wouldn’t if you really knew me,” I pant as my nails scrape down his cut abs and wrap around his hard length. I stroke once, then twice more, before he pulls himself from my grasp.
“You’re wrong.” His mouth hovers over mine. “So fucking wrong.” His words whisper across my lips as he thrusts inside me hard, sending me sliding up the bed. Digging my heels into the backs of his thighs, I wrap one arm around his broad shoulders and thread the fingers of my other hand through his hair. Taking my mouth again in a deep kiss, he pulls out slowly—so slowly that I feel every inch of him as my walls ripple around his length.
“Please,” I beg, tearing my mouth from his.
“What do you need?” he asks, sliding his hand between us and finding my clit once more with his thumb.
“Harder!” I plead.
His eyes flash, but he doesn’t stop the slow, steady torture.
“Please.” I lift my hips, trying to force him to give me what I want.
“You want more of my cock?”
“Yes! Please fuck me!” I don’t know where those words come from, but as soon as they are out, his pace picks up and his mouth takes mine again. Kissing him back, I moan against his tongue.
He sends me over the edge, and I shatter into a million pieces.
Slowly coming back to myself, I blink open my eyes to find him completely still and looking down at me.
“This time, keep your eyes open and on mine when you come,” he says, lifting my back off the bed and settling back on his calves while positioning me so I’m sitting on his lap. He pushes one hand into my hair to keep my head in place and locks the other around my back, holding me flush against him.
“Oh . . . ,” I breathe as he moves his hips up into mine, sending a whole new wave of sensations through me.
Grabbing hold of his shoulders for leverage, I do my best to move my hips in sync with his. It’s hard to concentrate on what I’m doing, though, as he looks into my eyes like he’s searching for something. Needing to break eye contact, I try to kiss him. His hold only tightens, keeping my head in place as his hips jerk faster and his arm around my waist brings me down hard, forcing my orgasm closer.
“Wesley.”
“Give it to me.”
It’s as if his voice actually commands my body. I give in and let go.
With my eyes locked on his, I watch his heated gaze as his hips jerk.
“Mine,” he groans as he comes.
Releasing my hair, he tucks my face against his neck by pushing his palm against the back of my head. Holding me close. Making me feel safe and protected.
The sound of both of us breathing heavily fills my ears as his heartbeat pounds against the damp skin of my chest. Swallowing, I close my eyes, which are filling with tears.
I have no idea what the hell just happened. Well, that’s not true—I do know what happened, but sleeping with him again was so totally not part of the plan I came up with this morning.
“Fuck,” he whispers in a grated tone.
That brings me back to the situation at hand. I pull back and look at him.
“Um . . . ?”
“I didn’t use a condom.”
I blink at his statement as what he says sinks in. My pulse skyrockets.
“I’m clean. I get tested every six months—and I haven’t been with anyone in longer than that.”
“I . . .” I close my eyes, then open them back up. “Me neither. I . . . I’m clean, too . . .” I look away from him as his words replay in my head over and over, at loudspeaker volume, reminding me of how stupid I am.
“I’m sorry, gorgeous . . .” He gives me a tight squeeze. “I didn’t even think. I—”
“I’m not on birth control,” I blurt out, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
I see him flinch when he realizes what that could mean.
This cannot be happening.
I lift my hips away from his, mourning the loss of him as I do. I scramble out of his grasp and stumble off the bed, almost falling on my face.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
His sharp tone stops me in my tracks. I look up to find him sitting on the side of the bed—in all his perfect, naked glory.
“I have to go to work.” I pull nervously at my hair with shaking hands, then gesture between us. “This”—I swallow—“wasn’t a part of my plan . . .”
“Part of your plan?” His eyes narrow and hold mine.
I bite my lip, then shake my head. I wonder why the hell my brain and mouth are not cooperating with me.
I tie my hair back up into a ponytail and finally release my lip.
“I didn’t think you’d be home. I . . . I have to get to work,” I explain as I put on my bra, then pick up my panties and pants. As I put them on, I avoid looking at him again even though I can sense him watching my every move. I bend down to slip on my socks and sneakers, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him leave the room.
He comes back a second later, pushing a piece of paper under my nose.
“What’s this?”
“My number. Your cell’s dead, and you’re taking off again. I’m giving it to you so you’ll have it if something comes up.”
If something comes up? Like if I’m pregnant?
He’s not giving it to me so that I will call him. That hurt. Actually, that killed.
My stomach turns as I whisper, “Right.” I shove the piece of paper into my pocket.
Skirting him, I step into the living room, pick up my top and jacket, and put both on quickly before grabbing my bag.
I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist. I stop midstep. I swear I see hurt in his eyes when I look up at him, but I brush that thought aside, knowing I must be seeing things.
“Call me,” he says softly.
I swallow. “Sure.”
I shake off his hold, then head for the door. I try to make it look like I’m not running away when that is exactly what I’m doing. As soon as I’m outside and on the sidewalk, I hail the first cab I see, get in the backseat, and let out the breath I’ve been holding. I give the driver directions. Thankfully, the morning rush hour is over so it doesn’t take me long to get uptown.
I arrive at work a little less than thirty minutes late, unlock my office door, and head inside, flipping on the lights as I go. My dad and I painted the front of my office a calming, soft blue that goes well with the abstract art prints I framed and hung on the walls. Across from my desk, against the opposite wall, are two golden-brown chairs with cool-looking wooden arms. They match the coffee table in front of them, where several magazines are splayed out. Blowing out a breath, I head toward my desk.
Days like today, I’m thankful I’m my own boss so I don’t have anyone to answer to. Taking the leap by starting my own massage-therapy business was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done, but so far there hasn’t been a day I’ve regretted it.
“I . . .” My head falls back, and a moan slips past my lips as his fingers slide through my slick folds.
“Look at me.”
I lift my head and meet his gaze. My heart speeds up when I register the dark need in his eyes.
“Why?” His thumb circles my sensitive clit, and my hips jerk into his touch.
“I don’t know,” I whimper, trying to force his fingers to give me more.
“Why?” he repeats as my back hits the bed.
He lands on top of me and uses his knees to spread my legs farther apart.
“I don’t know.”
“Stop lying to me,” he growls while thrusting two fingers deep inside me.
I cry out in bliss as they curve up, hitting me exactly where I need them to.
“Why’d you leave?”
“Wesley . . .”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t want me if you really knew me,” I admit on a gasp.
His fingers speed up in response.
“Oh god.”
My back arches high off the bed. He pulls my breast into his mouth, scraping his teeth across my nipple before releasing it.
“I do want you.”
“You wouldn’t if you really knew me,” I pant as my nails scrape down his cut abs and wrap around his hard length. I stroke once, then twice more, before he pulls himself from my grasp.
“You’re wrong.” His mouth hovers over mine. “So fucking wrong.” His words whisper across my lips as he thrusts inside me hard, sending me sliding up the bed. Digging my heels into the backs of his thighs, I wrap one arm around his broad shoulders and thread the fingers of my other hand through his hair. Taking my mouth again in a deep kiss, he pulls out slowly—so slowly that I feel every inch of him as my walls ripple around his length.
“Please,” I beg, tearing my mouth from his.
“What do you need?” he asks, sliding his hand between us and finding my clit once more with his thumb.
“Harder!” I plead.
His eyes flash, but he doesn’t stop the slow, steady torture.
“Please.” I lift my hips, trying to force him to give me what I want.
“You want more of my cock?”
“Yes! Please fuck me!” I don’t know where those words come from, but as soon as they are out, his pace picks up and his mouth takes mine again. Kissing him back, I moan against his tongue.
He sends me over the edge, and I shatter into a million pieces.
Slowly coming back to myself, I blink open my eyes to find him completely still and looking down at me.
“This time, keep your eyes open and on mine when you come,” he says, lifting my back off the bed and settling back on his calves while positioning me so I’m sitting on his lap. He pushes one hand into my hair to keep my head in place and locks the other around my back, holding me flush against him.
“Oh . . . ,” I breathe as he moves his hips up into mine, sending a whole new wave of sensations through me.
Grabbing hold of his shoulders for leverage, I do my best to move my hips in sync with his. It’s hard to concentrate on what I’m doing, though, as he looks into my eyes like he’s searching for something. Needing to break eye contact, I try to kiss him. His hold only tightens, keeping my head in place as his hips jerk faster and his arm around my waist brings me down hard, forcing my orgasm closer.
“Wesley.”
“Give it to me.”
It’s as if his voice actually commands my body. I give in and let go.
With my eyes locked on his, I watch his heated gaze as his hips jerk.
“Mine,” he groans as he comes.
Releasing my hair, he tucks my face against his neck by pushing his palm against the back of my head. Holding me close. Making me feel safe and protected.
The sound of both of us breathing heavily fills my ears as his heartbeat pounds against the damp skin of my chest. Swallowing, I close my eyes, which are filling with tears.
I have no idea what the hell just happened. Well, that’s not true—I do know what happened, but sleeping with him again was so totally not part of the plan I came up with this morning.
“Fuck,” he whispers in a grated tone.
That brings me back to the situation at hand. I pull back and look at him.
“Um . . . ?”
“I didn’t use a condom.”
I blink at his statement as what he says sinks in. My pulse skyrockets.
“I’m clean. I get tested every six months—and I haven’t been with anyone in longer than that.”
“I . . .” I close my eyes, then open them back up. “Me neither. I . . . I’m clean, too . . .” I look away from him as his words replay in my head over and over, at loudspeaker volume, reminding me of how stupid I am.
“I’m sorry, gorgeous . . .” He gives me a tight squeeze. “I didn’t even think. I—”
“I’m not on birth control,” I blurt out, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
I see him flinch when he realizes what that could mean.
This cannot be happening.
I lift my hips away from his, mourning the loss of him as I do. I scramble out of his grasp and stumble off the bed, almost falling on my face.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
His sharp tone stops me in my tracks. I look up to find him sitting on the side of the bed—in all his perfect, naked glory.
“I have to go to work.” I pull nervously at my hair with shaking hands, then gesture between us. “This”—I swallow—“wasn’t a part of my plan . . .”
“Part of your plan?” His eyes narrow and hold mine.
I bite my lip, then shake my head. I wonder why the hell my brain and mouth are not cooperating with me.
I tie my hair back up into a ponytail and finally release my lip.
“I didn’t think you’d be home. I . . . I have to get to work,” I explain as I put on my bra, then pick up my panties and pants. As I put them on, I avoid looking at him again even though I can sense him watching my every move. I bend down to slip on my socks and sneakers, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him leave the room.
He comes back a second later, pushing a piece of paper under my nose.
“What’s this?”
“My number. Your cell’s dead, and you’re taking off again. I’m giving it to you so you’ll have it if something comes up.”
If something comes up? Like if I’m pregnant?
He’s not giving it to me so that I will call him. That hurt. Actually, that killed.
My stomach turns as I whisper, “Right.” I shove the piece of paper into my pocket.
Skirting him, I step into the living room, pick up my top and jacket, and put both on quickly before grabbing my bag.
I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist. I stop midstep. I swear I see hurt in his eyes when I look up at him, but I brush that thought aside, knowing I must be seeing things.
“Call me,” he says softly.
I swallow. “Sure.”
I shake off his hold, then head for the door. I try to make it look like I’m not running away when that is exactly what I’m doing. As soon as I’m outside and on the sidewalk, I hail the first cab I see, get in the backseat, and let out the breath I’ve been holding. I give the driver directions. Thankfully, the morning rush hour is over so it doesn’t take me long to get uptown.
I arrive at work a little less than thirty minutes late, unlock my office door, and head inside, flipping on the lights as I go. My dad and I painted the front of my office a calming, soft blue that goes well with the abstract art prints I framed and hung on the walls. Across from my desk, against the opposite wall, are two golden-brown chairs with cool-looking wooden arms. They match the coffee table in front of them, where several magazines are splayed out. Blowing out a breath, I head toward my desk.
Days like today, I’m thankful I’m my own boss so I don’t have anyone to answer to. Taking the leap by starting my own massage-therapy business was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done, but so far there hasn’t been a day I’ve regretted it.
