Chapter 9 Shay #2
When Viola brought the check, Hayes didn’t let me see it, just tucked his card inside the folder and handed it back. “Don’t even think about it,” he said when I opened my mouth to protest.
I had a feeling this was going to become a thing with us.
Ella yawned, wide and jaw-cracking. I checked my phone—nearly nine. Later than I’d intended. Mari must be home by now.
“You still want to do the movie?” Hayes asked as we stood.
I looked at Ella, whose eyes were already drooping despite her best efforts. “I don’t think the little one is going to make it.”
The drive to Mari’s apartment passed in comfortable silence punctuated only by Ella’s soft snores from the backseat.
My hands were steady on the wheel, but inside, anticipation thrummed through my veins like electricity.
Last week had been spontaneous, unplanned.
This time, we both knew what waited for us at the end of the night.
I knew I had no reason to feel this way. We’d slept together before. But something about it felt different this time around.
We dropped Ella off, and I turned the car around, back to Hayes’s place. The drive stretched and contracted simultaneously, minutes feeling like hours and seconds all at once. Streetlights blurred past. Every traffic light we caught felt like torture. Every green light a gift.
Inside his house, the door had barely clicked shut behind us when Hayes spoke.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
The confession made me feel oddly flattered, familiar heat unfurling through me, liquid and insistent.
“Constantly. It’s been distracting.” He stepped closer, his presence filling my senses—the clean scent of his cologne, the heat radiating from his body, the barely contained hunger in the way he looked at me. “You are very distracting.”
“I’d say I’m sorry, but that would be a lie.”
“Good. Don’t be.”
Then he was kissing me, his mouth moving against mine with purpose.
His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with surprising tenderness even as his lips claimed mine with increasing urgency.
The kiss went on and on, building in intensity until I was dizzy with it.
His hands roamed my back, slipping beneath my shirt to find bare skin, and I gasped against his mouth at the cold touch, the contrast sending shivers skittering up my spine.
My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
“Bedroom,” I managed between kisses. “Now.”
I tugged him toward the stairs, not waiting for a response. He followed, his hand finding mine and lacing our fingers together, the gesture gentle and sweet.
We met in the middle of the room, colliding in another kiss that stole the breath from my lungs.
His hands were everywhere—my hair, creeping down my sides to my waist, where he pulled me flush against him.
I could feel him through his jeans, already hard and ready, and the knowledge sent heat pooling between my thighs.
I tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, breaking the kiss only long enough to get it off.
His chest was exactly as I remembered from last week—nicely defined, with a scattering of dark hair that my fingers itched to explore.
I traced the lines of his muscles, feeling them flex beneath my touch.
“Your turn,” he murmured, his hands finding the hem of my shirt.
I raised my arms, letting him strip it away. His eyes raked over me, taking in the black lace bra I’d chosen with maybe too much optimism this morning, and the look on his face was worth every penny it had cost.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, voice almost reverent.
“Less talking, more touching.”
He complied, his hands sliding up my ribs to cup my breasts through the lace.
His thumbs found my nipples, circling them until they hardened into peaks, and I arched into his touch.
His mouth closed over one nipple through the lace, sucking hard, and my knees went weak.
I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him there, riding the waves of pleasure that crashed through me with each pull of his mouth.
He released me with a wet pop, then reached around to unhook my bra.
It fell away, and I felt his mouth again, this time without the barrier of lace.
His tongue swirled around my nipple, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp, and all the while his hand worked the other breast, pinching and rolling until I was panting.
Heat built low in my belly, coiling tighter with each touch.
I reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle in my haste. He helped me, stepping back just long enough to shed his jeans and boxers, and then he was naked before me, beautiful and aroused and mine for the taking.
I drank in the sight of him—all lean muscle and bare skin, his cock hard and flushed against his stomach. Last week, we’d barely gotten our clothes off before the urgency had taken over. Tonight, I wanted to memorize every inch of him.
“See something you like?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Maybe.” I unzipped my jeans, shimmying out of them along with my underwear until I stood before him just as bare. “What about you?”
His eyes went molten. “Come here and find out.”
We came together in a tangle of limbs and seeking hands, falling onto the bed in a graceless heap. He rolled us so I was beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
“I want you,” I breathed against his mouth.
He ground his hips against mine in response, his cock sliding through my wetness, and we both groaned at the friction. I reached between us, wrapping my hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip, and the sound he made when I squeezed was pure sin.
“Shay.” My name was a warning, and a plea—all in one.
“I want you inside me.” I guided him to my entrance, lifting my hips in invitation. “Now.”
But instead of pushing forward, he stilled. His hand covered mine, gently pulling it away. “Not yet.”
Frustration sparked through me. “What do you mean, not yet?”
He kissed me, slow and deep, stealing my protest. “I mean that I want to taste you first. Want to feel you come apart on my tongue before I have you.”
The words sent a shockwave through me, desire and surprise warring in my chest. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He was already kissing his way down my body, pausing to worship my breasts, my ribs, the soft skin of my belly. “Let me.”
I couldn’t have refused if I’d wanted to. Not with his mouth trailing fire across my skin, not with his hands spreading my thighs, opening me to his gaze.
“Beautiful,” he said, his breath ghosting over my most sensitive flesh.
Then his mouth was on me, and every coherent thought fled.
He started slow, almost lazy, his tongue tracing patterns that made my hips buck and my hands fist in the sheets. He explored me like he had all the time in the world, learning what made me gasp, what made me moan. When he found my clit and sucked, I nearly came off the bed.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my hand flying to his hair. “Right there.”
He hummed his acknowledgment, the vibration sending fresh sparks of pleasure radiating through me. His tongue circled my clit in maddening strokes, never quite giving me the pressure I needed. When I tried to grind against his mouth, he held my hips down, keeping control.
“Patience,” he murmured, then slid two fingers inside me.
The stretch was exquisite. I was wet enough that they glided in easily, and he crooked them just right, finding that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
His mouth continued its assault on my clit, tongue and lips working in tandem with his fingers, building me higher and higher.
He sealed his mouth over my clit and sucked hard, his fingers pumping faster, and that was all it took.
I shattered.
The orgasm crashed over me in waves, white-hot pleasure radiating out from my core to every nerve ending. My back arched off the bed, my thighs clamping around his head, and through it all, he kept going, wringing every last tremor from my body until I was boneless and shivering.
When I finally came down, he was kissing his way back up my body, his lips slick with my wetness. The sight of it—of him wearing evidence of my pleasure—sent a fresh pulse of desire through me.
“That was…” I couldn’t find words. He kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “But I need you inside me. Now.”
This time, he didn’t argue. My body still thrummed with aftershocks, oversensitive and wanting as he settled between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. “Ready?”
“God, yes.”
He pushed forward slowly, inch by inch, letting me feel every bit of the stretch. I was swollen and sensitive from my orgasm, and the sensation bordered on too much, but then he was fully seated, and it was perfect. He filled me exactly right, and we both groaned at the feeling.
“Move,” I urged, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He did, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, and I cried out at the force of it. This was what I wanted—hard and fast, the kind of desperate fucking that made you forget your own name. I urged him on with my hands and my body, meeting each thrust with one of my own.
But then something shifted. He slowed down. Instead of the punishing pace I craved, he gave me long, deep strokes that hit different angles, touched different places.
“Hayes.” Frustration edged my voice. “Faster.”
“No.” He captured my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. “Not tonight.”
“What—” The question died as he rolled his hips in a slow grind that made my eyes roll back.
“I wasn’t patient last time.“ He thrust deep and held there, his cock buried to the hilt. “But tonight, I want to savor every second of this.”
He shifted his weight, changing the angle, and suddenly the slow pace didn’t matter because every stroke hit that spot inside me that made rational thought impossible. My eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by sensation.
“Look at me.” Hayes’s voice was gentle but firm. “Eyes open, Shay. I want to see you.”
I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze. What I saw there stole my breath—not just desire, but something deeper. Something that made my chest tight and my throat close up.
He continued his slow, torturous pace, each thrust long and devastating. His free hand roamed my body—cupping my breast, trailing down my side, slipping between us to find my clit. When his thumb pressed against it, circling in time with his thrusts, I nearly sobbed from the intensity.
“That’s it,” he murmured, watching my face. “Let me take care of you.”
I wanted to fight it, wanted to flip us over and take control, to set the pace I was comfortable with. But something in his eyes, in his touch, made me surrender. Made me trust that he knew what I needed even better than I did.
The pleasure built differently this time—not the frantic climb I was used to, but something slower, deeper. It radiated through my entire body, gathering in my core like a storm building on the horizon.
“Hayes—”
“Call me by my name,” he said, voice low and dark.
“Tom.” His name came out broken, pleading.
He released my wrists, gathering me close, and I wrapped myself around him, clinging as he continued that maddening, perfect rhythm. “I’ve got you. Just feel it. Feel me.”
His thumb pressed harder against my clit, circling faster now, and the contrast between the slow thrust of his cock and the quick stimulation on my clit was too much. I felt myself spiraling, the pleasure cresting like a wave about to break.
“Come for me,” he whispered against my ear.
And I did.
This orgasm was different from the first—deeper, longer, more consuming.
It started in my core and radiated outward, rolling through me in waves that seemed to go on forever.
I cried out his name, my body clenching around him.
He didn’t stop moving, didn’t chase his own pleasure yet.
Instead, he worked me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I was trembling and gasping beneath him.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, kissing my temple, my cheek, my lips. “You’re always so beautiful when you come.”
Only then did his rhythm falter. His thrusts became shorter, more erratic, and I could feel him getting close. I tightened my legs around him, urging him deeper, wanting to feel him lose control the way he’d made me lose mine.
“Shay.” My name was a groan, coming out more like a curse. His body went rigid as he buried himself deep. I felt him pulse inside me, felt the tremors that wracked his frame, and something in my chest expanded, warm and dangerous and entirely too much like affection.
He collapsed onto me, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows, and we lay there breathing hard, hearts hammering in tandem. His face was buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin, and I stroked a hand down his back.
“That was…” He trailed off, lifting his head to look at me.
“Yeah.” I smiled, feeling languid and satisfied in a way I hadn’t in longer than I could remember. “It really was.”
He kissed me, soft and sweet, then carefully pulled out. I winced at the sensitivity, already feeling the pleasant ache that would remind me of this tomorrow. He pulled me against him, tucking me into his side like I belonged there.
My fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, following the rise and fall of his breathing as it steadied.
The room had cooled slightly, sweat drying on our skin, leaving us sticky and sated in the tangle of sheets.
My hand drifted lower, across his ribs, down to his stomach, and I felt it—a ridge of scar tissue, slightly raised, running diagonal across his lower abdomen.
It was perhaps three inches long, pale against his skin, the kind of mark that had healed long ago but never quite disappeared.
I traced it with one fingertip, feeling the texture change under my touch.
“How did this happen?” My voice came quiet, intimate in the darkness.
His body went still at the question, something I felt more than saw. I doubted I would have even noticed it if we hadn’t been pressed together as we were.
“Childhood accident,” he said, and I traced the scar again, slower this time, feeling the way his muscles tensed slightly beneath my touch. There was a story here, buried under those two simple words.
I let the moment pass.
I continued to lie there longer, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and wondered what the hell I was getting myself into.
Whatever it was, it felt like falling.
But maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing.