Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
ZARA
I am so damn nervous.
I don’t remember being this nervous on my first day of med school or the morning of my wedding. But put me in an empty apartment with my college crush, and I’m nearing critical meltdown status.
I can’t believe I invited him over. I can’t believe he said yes.
I should have asked my sister for more advice.
Like, where does she keep her stash of condoms? Or what if he wants to do kinky stuff? Should that be discussed ahead of time? What even is kinky stuff?
My sex life hasn’t exactly been wild in recent years.
Okay, ever. My sex life has never been wild.
In fact, there was a time during my marriage when I seriously debated whether there was something wrong with me.
Tanner and I never seemed to work together, and I was aware of his reputation.
He had plenty of other satisfied women out there, so if it wasn’t good with me, it had to be my fault, right?
At some point, we just sort of gave up.
Oh god, what if Hendrix thinks I’m bad at it too?
My eyes dart over to him as I root around in a kitchen drawer for a bottle opener for the wine. Wine that I don’t even want. I just needed something to do when we got inside the apartment, so I opened my mouth and offered him wine.
Thank God my sister actually had some.
I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to have casual sex anymore. I’m not even sure I know how to have sex anymore. What if Tanner has broken me and I…
Hendrix’s hand closes over mine, stilling it. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even heard him step into the kitchen. But now he’s right behind me, his body pressed against mine.
My heart starts to race for an entirely different reason.
“Let’s forget the wine, yeah?”
I close the drawer as I silently nod and turn to face him.
I am of average height for a woman, but I feel incredibly short standing in front of him. He has to be at least six two or six three? And his eyes are such an intense blue. Even in the dim light of the kitchen, I can see the tiny flecks of gold scattered among all that indigo.
Beautiful. That’s what he is. Utterly beautiful.
And for the moment, all mine.
The revelation gives me a momentary surge of confidence, and I rise onto my tiptoes to gently press my lips against his.
There is nothing soft in the way he reacts. His hand slides around my waist, and suddenly, I find my ass on the cold marble countertop. He steps between my thighs, slants his mouth, and kisses me like he’s been waiting his whole damn life for the privilege.
He grips my hair in his hands, angling my head so he can lick and kiss his way down my neck and collarbone.
By the time he reaches around to unzip my dress, my breath is ragged, and my thighs are slick.
The straps slip off my shoulders, and the fabric pools around my waist. When he grabs the backs of my calves, I assume he wants me to stand so he can finish unzipping it, but instead, he just slides me to the edge of the counter.
“Spread your legs wide, Cupid. I like seeing you like this,” he says with a grin.
“Like what?”
His eyes wander over my lace bra and the red fabric of my dress pooled around my waist. “A little disheveled. A little wild.”
I have to admit, I do kind of like it too. And as soon as that thought takes root, I find myself saying, “Take off your shirt.”
I fight the blush creeping up my neck. I instantly start to worry I’ve been too bold. But the cocky grin that spreads across his face washes away all my doubt. “All right.”
He left his suit jacket in the car, and I watch as he slowly works each button.
You’d think the white tank he has underneath would be a bummer, but it’s not.
That thin fabric leaves little to the imagination, and I finally get my first look at the tattoos on his arms and the chiseled abs hiding underneath.
Dear god, is he auditioning for an action movie I’m unaware of? I’ve never been able to use the word rippling in real life until this moment, but that’s how I would describe his body.
The crisp white fabric flutters to the ground, landing in a heap on the tile, and then his eyes return to mine. My stomach flips.
“Anything else you want, Zara?”
I secretly love it when he calls me Cupid, but hearing my name on his lips, still slightly swollen from kissing me, is so incredibly hot.
The bravery from earlier has faded slightly, so I find myself giving a nod. He smirks, his hands ghosting up my thighs. “Don’t be shy now. Tell me what you want.”
I want to tell him to take the lead. To just do whatever he wants to do.
But that’s what the old Zara would do. Or at least the version I became when I married Tanner.
The version of me who stopped asking questions and pushing for answers.
Who became complacent. Who stood on the sidelines rather than taking charge.
I do not want to be that person anymore.
“I want you to make me come,” I tell him, feeling my voice shake and hating myself for it. Hating that part of me that still feels small.
But Hendrix doesn’t seem to notice. He just smiles as his fingers hook onto the waistband of my panties.
“And exactly how would you like me to do that?”
No one has ever asked me what I want in the bedroom. It’s empowering. It’s sexy, and most of all, it’s healing.
As my confidence swells with each heated exchange, I raise my heel and place it on his shoulder and apply a bit of pressure. A devilish grin spreads across his face as he takes the hint and slowly drops to his knees. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
And then he looks up at me through hooded eyes and says, “It will be my fucking pleasure.”
“Zara.” Hendrix’s sexy voice calls to me. So deep and rough.
“Mmm?”
“Zara.”
Wasn’t he just on the kitchen floor? I remember the way he looked at me, like the very idea of eating me out was making him crazy. I rub my thighs together just thinking about it, and suddenly I feel an arm snake around my waist.
“Jesus, Zara. You’re killing me here.”
A hand caresses my cheek, and my eyes flutter open. The light from the window feels blinding, and I blink several times, trying to catch my bearings.
And then I see him.
Hendrix. In my room, my bed. Wearing clothes?
“Did you have a good dream, Cupid?” he asks, sounding smug.
I blink a few more times, taking in the room around me. No kitchen. No counter. I glance down. Definitely no sexy red dress.
“I, um…” I lick my lips, my mouth feeling dry, but he just grins and holds out my phone, which I now notice is vibrating.
“Your mom is calling. Also, you said my name in your sleep.”
“I did, huh? My mom?” Talk about conversational whiplash.
He laughs. “Yep. Second time she’s called too, so it’s probably important.”
I snort. “No, she just doesn’t like to be ignored.” I try to wipe away some of the sleep from my eyes before grabbing it from him. Then I look at the screen. Oh, goodie. She’s FaceTiming me.
I swipe to answer and am not surprised at all to see not only my mom, but my sister teaming up on me in a group call. Seriously, who holds a group call at—I check my watch—noon? We slept in until noon?
Hendrix heads to the bathroom to make himself scarce. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday when we explored the city.
“Hi,” I answer. Oh, I sound rough. My voice has taken on that raspy quality only achieved through hard-earned sleep, and now that I’m looking at myself in the camera, the visuals aren’t too great either.
I quickly try to tame my hair and wipe away the mascara remnants under my eyes.
“Are you just waking up?” my mom asks. At the same time, my sister says, “Oh my god. Is that your room?”
I promised to call them when I got settled in and tell them how everything was going, but I never did.
I’m not avoiding them. I actually like my family—a lot.
And I replied to all their text messages, so they know I’m alive and everything.
But things have been so busy that I’ve never really gotten to the point where I feel settled.
“Yes,” I answer, giving the room a cursory glance.
It is quite grand. Not as flashy as the hotel in Nashville.
My room—sorry, suite—was twice this size and reminded me of when our class learned about Hearst Castle, and I went home convinced California had a king and a queen like a fairytale, because only fairytales had castles.
That was obviously before I learned how a capitalist society actually worked. “To both of those questions.”
My mom clutches her heart, looking panicked, and goes for the most obvious reason for my late morning slumber. “Please tell me you’re not doing drugs.”
Vi snorts out a laugh as I try not to roll my eyes. “It is my day off, Mom. I am allowed to sleep in.”
“Well, we’ve barely heard from you in a week. How am I supposed to know?” I can hear the hurt in her voice, and now I feel guilty.
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just been so busy and—”
The toilet flushes, and I freeze. What are the chances they didn’t hear that?
Zero to none is my guess.
Violet’s eyes go wide, but she quickly tries to regain her composure to save me the embarrassment of explaining exactly who is in my bathroom.
Did I mention that I love her?
My mother, however, doesn’t give two shits about embarrassing her children, especially when it comes to our dating lives, and she goes right for the kill. “Sleeping in, huh?” A wry grin spreads across her face.
“Um, yep.” I scoot down in the covers like I’m six years old again and hiding from the monster in my closet. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed. Hendrix and I didn’t even do anything.
Last night, at least.
Not that I wouldn’t have been open to it. So very open to it.