Quit Me If You Can

17. Kennedy

17

KENNEDY

MalLaw: Do I know you?

M y heart is hammering out of my chest. I feel like a criminal. I stare at his response for a long time before I can bring myself to type a reply. It takes forever because I keep having to battle typos.

MrsAquaman: Isn’t the point of this to not know whether you know who I am or not?

No reply. No dancing dots . Is that it?

So I try again.

MrsAquaman: It’s kind of the point of being anonymous.

MalLaw: Maybe you’re right, but I’m not keen on chatting with some horny old creep or someone else’s wife at this hour.

MrsAquaman: Someone else’s wife?

MalLaw: Mr. Aquaman?

MrsAquaman: Oh. I can assure you I’m female, of legal age, and not his real wife.

Surprising, funny, unexpected—off to a smashing start! (That was funny, right?)

And, no reply.

MrsAquaman: I sure wish I was though.

I can’t help but giggle. Okay, now that was genuinely hilarious. The three dots start to dance again.

MalLaw: Good luck with that.

Shit. This is getting me nowhere. He’s going to log off soon if it keeps going this way. How to hold his interest? I decide to take a different tack and try something else. It’s no secret that guys are obsessed with sex (thanks, Harper, and occasionally, my own field studies), so why not dive into that territory?

MrsAquaman: I’d like to know something about you.

Crickets.

Alrighty then. Taking a deep breath, I psych myself up to tackle the subject head-on. Might as well.

MrsAquaman: What’s your ultimate bedroom fantasy?

The dots indicate he’s typing. Men. So predictable. The dots stop and start several times before he finally sends a response through.

MalLaw: As in… a sexual fantasy?

Oh, this is getting juicy! Worth every minute of jail time for this serious deception.

MrsAquaman: Yup

MalLaw: It’s less of a fantasy, and more of a memory.

MrsAquaman: Oh, really? Care to share?

MalLaw: How old are you?

MrsAquaman: 30

Geez, did I tell him my real age? I’m such a dope. But then again, he’s a man. He won’t remember my age or my birthday or anything. No man ever does. He just wants to make sure I’m not underage. I’m legal, all right, buddy.

MalLaw: Once when I was in law school, I brought my girlfriend into the library with me while I was cramming for an exam. But I wanted her so bad, I couldn’t concentrate. So we ended up sneaking off to one of the cubicles and, well, you can guess the rest.

OMG.

I sit straight up, having an internal freak-out.

MalLaw: There, stranger. Happy?

I want to tell Harper so bad, but she’s still conked out and snoring so loud that I turn the TV off, adjust her pillow, and throw a blanket over her. Then I go into my bedroom.

I know the exact night Cade is talking about. Yep, that’s right. I’m the girlfriend he’s referring to.

I can’t believe that out of the million women he surely hooked up with after he ended things with me, I’m his ultimate sexy memory. I’m so flattered and excited, I can barely bring myself to type something back.

Cade always acts so tough, so indifferent, or else, like a heartless monster.

But I still linger in his fantasies, don’t I! At least in a sexual one.

MrsAquaman: Your girlfriend not only stuck with you in the dull old library while you tried to study, she was up for a little extracurricular activity too?

MalLaw:

MrsAquaman: Sounds like you were a lucky man.

Cue awkward silence.

MrsAquaman: I hope you married that woman.

Oh, ow. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure I’ve blown it now.

Fifteen minutes go by with no reply. Each minute feels like an eternity. I lost him this time, for sure. But I still take it as a win. Honestly, I got more out of it than I thought I would. I never expected Cade to sit around chatting with a random stranger about such personal details of his life.

Could it be that he’s lonely… like me?

My thoughts are interrupted by the app’s specific chime. Two more messages. What took him so long?

MalLaw: Your turn. What’s your ultimate bedroom fantasy?

MalLaw: Or memory.

If I were brave, I could share one of my own memories about him. But then he’d know it was me. Then I realize I don’t have to talk about the past.

MrsAquaman: I’m really into powerful men. Think boss. A tall, drop-dead gorgeous boss, and he swings by late one night with some “urgent” work. But the only thing truly urgent is how badly he wants me, if you catch my drift…

MalLaw: Keep going.

MrsAquaman: And he doesn’t even say a word. He pushes me against the wall, grabs my hands, shoves them above my head. His knees jerk my legs apart. By that time, my panties are drenched.

Oh, I’m starting to enjoy this. A lot.

MaILaw: What color are your panties?

MrsAquaman: Fuchsia

Shit. That’s the color of the panties I left on his desk.

MrsAquaman: Or wait, no, I mean black. Must have mixed up my colors. And the door is still open. Anybody could easily see us.

MaILaw: Hot. Go on.

MrsAquaman: He simply yanks my panties off, he practically destroys them, he’s in such a hurry.

MaILaw: Because he can’t wait to be inside you?

How naughty. How wrong. And I’m loving every sinful minute of it.

MrsAquaman: Because he lost control.

I type some of the naughtiest things I can think of, playing it all in my mind like a movie, starring Cade and me, of course. I take care not to say anything more than I already have that might even hint at who I am.

The thing is, Cade doesn’t shy away from my sexting one bit. It brings on a weird mix of feelings, especially since as far as he knows, he isn’t sexting with me , but a total stranger. But since I’m the star of his ultimate sexy memory, and since he just jogged that very memory by confessing it to me, maybe I’m the one he’s thinking of while we carry on our little exchange.

We go on and on, describing things we’d do to each other, and before I know it, he asks me to touch myself. He’s so good at this, and I’m not saying no. He has a knack for saying deliciously dirty things, and I rub and rub my clit… and I’m soooo close to exploding.

MrsAquaman: I’m almost there…

The silence becomes so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

MrsAquaman: Don’t stop talking.

Cue the crickets chirping, a tumbleweed rolling by, and an awkward cough in the background. Nothing?

MrsAquaman: Hey. You there? Where are you?

Fifteen minutes go by.

Then a half-hour.

Before I know it, it’s midnight.

Of course, he goes MIA on me.

That’s Cade’s best talent. To get you all worked up and right there on the edge—only to vanish without a trace. Did he fall asleep? Maybe he finished for himself and rolled over and passed out. Men.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, the silent phone dangling from my hand. I wasn’t expecting anything, yet I’m still disappointed. Serves me right. I should’ve known better. Give Cade an inch and he’ll take a mile, then bolt for the hills. That’s just how it goes. Always has, always will.

Eventually, I figure I have to take matters into my own hands. I tuck the phone under my pillow.

My gaze drifts to the shelves of endless books lining the wall.

I close my eyes.

I’m in the Columbia Law School library, wearing my green summer dress.

There are towers of books around me, filled with a maze of legal jargon and historic cases. But I’m not alone. Cade is here too, his intense brown eyes scanning a thick textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. His blue jeans are torn at the knees, and that white shirt that fits him just right, with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, expose the veins on his forearms.

“Can’t find what you’re looking for?” I whisper-tease.

His head turns and he looks at me. “Oh—I’m looking at it.”

My heart skips. Classic Cade. Teasing, infuriatingly charming, and devastatingly handsome. I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “We’re supposed to be studying, remember?”

“I am studying,” he says, closing his book with a thud and putting it back on the shelf. He moves slowly towards me like a predator on the hunt—too cocky for his own good. “Studying you .”

I back up until the shelf presses into my back. A book digs slightly into my spine, but I hardly notice. Cade’s nearness makes the rest of the world fade to a dull buzz.

He stops an inch away from me and his heat envelops me. Those impossibly long lashes. He leans in close and gently places his arm against the side of my face. As he leans closer, his hot breath tickles the sensitive skin of my neck, and I can feel my pulse quickening.

My logical mind hollers at me to pull back, to inject some sense into this impossible atmosphere—an aisle in the law library!—but it’s drowned out by the pounding of my heart.

His gaze is intense, a stormy ocean I’m drowning in willingly.

“Problem is, you make it ridiculously difficult to concentrate,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

“Maybe you should have better control then.”

Cade’s laugh is soft. He leans in, his head dips, and his lips brush mine so lightly that it’s agonizing. “Maybe I should, but where’s the fun in that?”

His sculpted chest presses against my breasts, causing my nipples to stiffen against the fabric of my dress. Every inch of my body aches for him, yearns for his touch.

You know what? He might have a point , I think.

I’m about to pull him closer, to end the unbearable lightness of his touch, when a sound in the nearby aisle makes us jump apart. A student, head buried in a stack of books, unknowingly saves me from the consequences of a potentially reckless decision.

I clear my throat and smile. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We absolutely should not,” he agrees, but neither of us makes a move to leave. Instead, we stand there, caught in the moment of desire, our bodies mere inches apart.

The student passes, oblivious to the electric storm he just walked through, leaving us alone again.

“Tell me to stop then,” he says.

But I can’t. The words won’t come because… I don’t want them to.

And with that, he takes my hand and hurriedly guides me past aisles and aisles of books to one of the cubicles at the very back.

There’s no door, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just him and me and the muted library sounds. Rustling pages, soft footsteps in distant aisles.

Cade pulls me close, then tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“This,” he whispers, his lips grazing mine, “is where I should focus all my studying and attention.”

He smiles, that crooked smile that has undone me more times than I care to count. Without another word, his strong hands cup my face, and he leans in, eliminating the scant space between us.

His lips meet mine.

The world outside ceases to exist.

The kiss is everything. A clash of need that consumes me.

Nothing could have prepared me for the surge of intensity that floods through me when his tongue finds mine. And there’s absolutely not a single thing that could have braced me for the lightning bolt of heat that courses through my body when the back of his hand glides to the front of my neck, and his knuckles skim my heaving chest, then my breast, and round the curves of my hips, before he pulls me tight against his body. His hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming, as if he’s trying to memorize each curve through touch alone.

The heat between us is electric. Wild. Pure. Achingly beautiful. It’s just us, his strong hands, my trembling knees, and the overwhelming, irresistible pull to be close to him.

My fingertips glide down the strong contours of his broad shoulders and muscular arms, tracing every ridge and muscle on the way to that sexy ass and back around to other areas that I find so enticing to explore and tease, and arouse him further.

With a daring gaze, he takes my hand and leads it to exactly where he’s been waiting and dying for it to be (if the way his lashes drop is any indication), and I can feel the hardness through the denim of his jeans. My hand traces up and down, feeling the steel under my touch.

His face tenses, his mouth slightly open as he lets out a low growl.

“Unbuckle my belt, baby,” he whispers.

I fumble with his belt, my fingers shaking with urgency.

His hands find and guide mine, steadying them as I finally unbuckle his belt. The click of the metal is loud in the hushed library cubicle.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “Someone could walk in any second,” he murmurs against my lips.

The thrill of risk-taking adds a sharp edge to his desire. He gently forces me against the wall of the cubicle. The low partition can barely shield us from any prying eyes.

I’m about to joke and say, “Let them,” but he pushes my dress up, his movements precise and confident, and I lose my train of thought.

“God, you’re so fucking mine,” he breathes, tracing the lines of my panties with his fingers.

The second his fingers brush ever so lightly over my clit, every rational thought vanishes.

I want to moan, but he’s faster. His finger presses against my lips, silencing any potential sound I might make. His mouth finds mine again in an insistent kiss. His tongue plays with mine, mirroring the movement of his finger on my clit.

I’m panting now, completely succumbing to sensation.

We break apart just long enough for him to grab my ass firmly with both hands and whisper, “I need your legs around me, now. Lift them for me.” It’s a command, and I obey without a thought, completely instinctively, and wrap my legs around his waist. I cling to him tightly, my legs around his torso, my arms around his neck.

He reaches down to unbutton his jeans and slide down the zipper. His excitement is palpable, his movements hurried and reckless now. The soft sound of fabric moving fills the cramped space as he wiggles his jeans and boxer shorts down. His breath hitches slightly, and he positions himself with intention, the heat between us building to unbearable levels.

We hear footsteps.

“Cade,” I whisper, a mix of desire and warning in my voice. Someone’s approaching. The footsteps are distant, but we don’t have much time.

He nods, understanding the plea in my tone.

“I know,” he breathes back, his eyes locked with mine, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He pauses, allowing me a moment to catch my breath—or to change my mind.

But I don’t want to stop. Can’t imagine stopping.

His hands are gentle yet insistent as he guides my hips, aligning us perfectly.

We breathe heavily, our foreheads touching.

He pushes into me slowly, smoothly, until we are completely connected, lost in each other.

The small space confines us, but that only makes every sensation more intense.

Our movements are quiet.

Slow and desperate.

They’re taking over our entire existence.

I cling to him, my nails digging into his skin as I try to control the building pleasure within me.

My mind shuts down from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through my body. Every touch, every movement of Cade’s sends me spiraling nearer and nearer to the edge.

I feel myself getting closer… and closer… and closer —until I can’t hold back a second longer.

My head tilts back against the pillow.

With one final flick, I shatter into a million pieces, moaning quietly into the silent night of my bedroom.