Chapter 3
JULES
I never used to be the kind of person who was down for a Smash and Dash. I understand that’s en vogue for my generation, but I can’t think of anything less appealing than the chronic avoidance of genuine human connection. I mean, I enjoy sex, it’s fun and it feels good, but how boring to not have to work for it. Make me earn it; I like a challenge. I think to myself Rowan’s never made me work for anything. It’s always been easy with her. From minute one. If anyone had to work for it, it was her. Probably harder than she’s ever had to. I know her reputation: She’s drowning in pussy.
I guess sometimes people do things that are out of character, against their better judgment or even their better angels. I wonder if that’s what I’m doing now, propped up on the gold-filigree bathroom vanity, my back against the lighted mirror as Rowan presses her lips to mine. It’s only a Smash and Dash because we don’t have any other choice. That’s how we have to do things. Still, this is risky, so public, and so soon after almost being caught. Worth it, though. It’s been a long week without her. Keeping our distance was my idea. Worst idea ever.
“I missed you.” She whispers it into my mouth as if she’s stolen the words from me. She reaches up, moves my long, loose hair away from my neck—kisses, then licks my skin, sweet like sugar. The bite that follows is less saccharine, more bitter, lips and teeth and just a hint of pain, but somehow still sweet. It’s everything I like about her in a single action.
“I missed you, too.”
She glides her hands under my tank top and they creep into my bra. She massages my breasts, traps my nipples between her fingers, gives them a tiny pinch. Rubbing. Mmm. Another bite on the side of my neck, harder. Sucking. She goes for my earlobe and I have no more words for her to steal, only low moans. I can’t take it anymore; I’m throbbing for her. I want her inside me, but she’s not going to give me what I want until I beg. She gets off on the power.
She can have it. “Please, Rowan. Please.”
“Good girl.” She nudges my legs open with her knee, runs her left palm up my inner thigh, up my skirt. Her slender fingers find their way into my panties, then into me—two to start with. If I want more, I’ll have to ask nicely. Her left eyebrow raises, but it’s involuntary. She’s marveling at my readiness as she always does—not surprised, amused. It’s no secret she gets me wetter than a Slip and Slide. She gets straight to work, thrusting deep, thumb teasing my clit, light and quick like the flutter of dragonfly wings.
Tonight, she’s a bit rougher from the get-go than usual, more frenzied, but I like it. And I understand the reason. The Boston Harbor Hotel is neutral territory for our families, though I’m not here unsupervised. “The henchmen,” as Rowan calls them, are waiting for me at the bar. Neither the round of fancy martinis I bought them nor chatting up Rose and Shannon will distract them for long. And the clock is ticking: The $100 bill Rowan slipped the washroom attendant only bought us fifteen minutes of the restroom being “closed for maintenance.” It’s not enough time. I want all night. I want to meet the sunrise with her arms around me. But this is all we ever get—precious pilfered moments. Jesus, that feels so good.
I don’t want to waste another second thinking. I reach out, palm the back of her head and pull her closer. We’re nose to nose and I’m panting into her mouth. “Kiss me,” she commands, and I do. I give her lower lip a nip, and then my tongue is in her mouth, tangling gracelessly with hers.
I paw at her jeans and feel her muscles tense. She backs out of the kiss, although her fingers keep up their steady tempo. “Please, Rowan. I want to touch you,” I murmur. She considers me, emerald eyes alight with awe. It’s not something I’ve done before—not to her—even a month and a half into our clandestine rendezvous. She’s always so attentive, so focused on making me feel good. She never thinks of herself. It’s time for that to change. She is all I ever think about.
My legs are beginning to shake. I feel the heat rising inside me as my climax builds. “Slow down.” I encircle her wrist. “Together, okay?”
There’s an expression I recognize, devilish delight, transforming into something unfamiliar—submission. “Anything you want, gorgeous.”
I’m barely able to contain my “thank you” as I undo her button, unzip her fly. She’s wearing teal lace underwear. Not such a tough girl, after all. I swallow a smile at the thought and slide my hand beneath the waistband. So smooth. Further. I dip a finger inside her, discovering that she’s already soaked just from touching me. Incredible. She seems like a two fingers kind of girl, so that’s what I give her. And I use her wetness to massage her clit with the side of my thumb, matching her speed on mine. She starts to do that thing that drives me wild—fingers spread, drumming quick and hard on my G-spot. The moan I release is guttural. Feral. Her lips twist into a sly, knowing grin. “You fucking love that don’t you?” she asks, a soft exhalation following each word.
“God, yes.” Her confidence is so damn sexy. I have never wanted to give a woman an orgasm more in my entire life. I pick up the pace and hit my rhythm exactly right; her breath catches in her throat. She closes her eyes, chomps down on her bottom lip, and rocks against my hand. I can’t tear my gaze away from her. The look on her face is delicious. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy. “You’re so beautiful.”
I can tell she’s not used to hearing that and doesn’t know what to do with it, because her mouth is on mine again, silencing me. Her tongue slips in, brushes my tongue. The way she kisses me—like she’s been lost, wandering the desert for days, and my lips are crisp, cool water.
Her breathing is getting erratic. I feel her throbbing, the walls of her pussy clenching around my fingers. “I’m gonna come,” she whimpers. I snatch her chocolate-colored ponytail, tug her head back. I want to see those stunning eyes overflowing with desire.
“Me, too.” My entire body is quaking, edging closer to that moment. My muscles strain to the point of snapping. Hers do, too. And then it happens for both of us. It’s sublime, the birth of a star and its collapse all at once. “Oh my God!”
“Fuuuck!”
She pulls herself out of me and rests her forehead on my shoulder. Her breath is ragged and balmy—warm, wispy ghosts caressing my skin.
I free my fingers from her body and lick them clean under her scrutiny. “I’ve been curious to know what you taste like. Have you been eating pineapple?”
She laughs close to my ear. It’s loud and throaty, a sound I’ve never heard from her before. “I didn’t realize you were such a top.” She kisses my cheek and, without warning, drops to her knees. She looks up at me from between my legs. “My turn to taste you.” She reaches up my skirt, bunching the sides of my panties into her fists.
I stop her. “You should probably get back to your girlfriend.”
She sighs, the elastic snapping back against my hipbones, rises and nails me with those eyes, fierce and fiery. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s who my father wishes were my girlfriend.”
I watch her zip and button her jeans in one swift, sharp motion. She sidesteps me and turns on the tap, rinses away the remnants of me and dries off with a throwaway towel. We’re not in the backseat of her Jeep or my BMW as usual, yet her routine is the same. She barely broke a sweat, but she’ll still want to freshen up now that we’re done. It’s one of my favorite of her quirks, her fondness for cleanliness. It’s why she always smells so good, like lavender mixed with vanilla.
“I’m not sure there’s a difference,” I say.
Her fieriness extinguishes in an instant. “You know there is, Jules.”
I melt when she’s like this, bare and honest, without the hard and proud mask her family taught her to always wear. I catch a glimpse of the affection she feels for me. Her eyes are glistening with it, even though she can’t say it out loud. It’s so forbidden it could get her killed; my family is just as hard and proud and violently screwed up as hers.
“I’m sorry. Yes, I do know.”
“You’d better.” And the mask is back on. “I’ll leave first. Wait a few minutes, yeah?”
“Sure.”
She heads for the door, and I think that’s where we’re going to leave it for the night. Until I see her shake her head, so slight it’s almost imperceptible. She backtracks to me, takes my face into her hands, and kisses me. As she pulls away, she mutters, “I’m so soft for you, it’s ridiculous.”
That makes me smile. “Same.”
“Nah, you’re always soft.” She winks. “I’ll call you.” She opens the door and then she’s gone, returned to the real world, her friends, and the woman with the right last name who is, for all intents and purposes, her betrothed.