7. Not Going to Plan
Chapter 7
Not Going to Plan
Whitney
This was not going to plan.
Who was I kidding? What plan?
I’d bought a large bottle of wine in an effort to build a rapport with Mensa. Instead the man made it clear he knew what was up by sharing he had to stay on his toes. The fact he knew I was lying threw me like nothing else.
Thinking back on it, my voice had held just a hint of a quiver when I said I hadn’t been investigating him.
Him mentioning a file… there wasn’t an official one on him, unless you counted my personal collection of notes. I watched him like a hawk, and his love of Skittles was clear, but Sierra confirmed it when she’d shared a story of Mensa spending an afternoon at her house in order to keep her safe.
Now, I had to sleep next to that man while he wore nothing but his t-shirt and underwear.
Gah!
I finished in the bathroom and padded to the bed. Mensa had turned out all the lights. He’d turned on the TV, which gave me enough light to see.
And boy, did I see. Mensa had taken his shirt off and his muscular tattooed chest stole my attention. My mouth went dry. I lifted the covers and climbed into bed.
Mensa pointed the remote at the TV. I grabbed my phone and set the noise app to a continuous setting.
After I set the phone on the nightstand, I rolled to my side, away from Mensa. “Sleep well.”
He sighed. “You too.”
It took more time than usual for me to find sleep. It was cold in the room, but I felt like I was producing ten times my normal body heat. I forced myself to stop thinking about my body heat, and eventually, I fell asleep.
A door down the hall slammed and I woke with a jolt.
“Fuckin’ pricks,” Mensa mumbled.
I heard and felt his mumble. Then I realized I’d somehow rolled to my left and tangled a leg with his. My arm rested along the curve of his hip.
His hand clamped down on my wrist when I made to pull free. “Don’t. Move.”
“Mensa… you hate my guts, and I never meant to—”
“Don’t hate your guts. You were wriggling around non-stop until I put an arm around you. Once you started breathing Darth Vader-style, I rolled away.”
“But—”
“Then you rolled into me,” he murmured.
Embarrassment flooded my system. “Still, I can let you—”
His tone sounded defeated. “Just stay where you are. It’s three-thirty. We only gotta make it three more hours. Go to sleep.”
Another three hours? Shoot me now.
I took a deep breath. My breasts tingled at the thought of how solid his body felt against mine. He really was different from any other man I’d shared a bed with. Dark hair, even more tattoos than I’d ever imagined, and I’d spent some time imagining.
I told myself to stop thinking this way. It felt good that he didn’t hate me, but we were still wrong for each other.
“You aren’t sleeping,” he muttered.
“Neither are you,” I whispered.
“Keeping a lock on my control is what matters right now. You go to sleep, I might be able to do the same.”
Control? I moved my arm a little and his hold tightened.
“Blume, I mean it. Stay still.”
“Did it occur to you that I’m in the same boat?”
His voice became husky. “You’re not. You’re just in the same bed.”
He let go of my wrist, and I skated my hand along his abs. They weren’t quite as ripped and muscular as his chest. His abdomen clenched.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Are you?” he asked in a velvet murmur.
That gave me pause. “Yes.”
He slid his hand down and over mine. “I don’t hate your guts. I just don’t like… what you stand for.”
“What I stand for? You hardly know me.”
“Law and righteousness.” He made a low hum as he paused. “And pop music.”
“Pop music? You are not to be believed!”
“Raise your voice a little more, Whit, and the whole floor will hear you.”
I yanked against his hold.
He moved my hand lower. “You don’t like me either. Admit it.”
I sighed. “I do like you… I don’t want to like you so much.”
“Same,” he grunted.
“You don’t want to like me? Why?”
“Could ask you the same thing. We aren’t compatible.”
“Donny’s fabulous food notwithstanding,” I muttered.
“Great food is great food. Hell, it’d only give me one more reason to dislike you if you didn’t dig his grub.”
He held my hand to his lower belly, and with every breath he took, I swore he inched my hand even lower.
Anticipation had me tingling somewhere other than my breasts. “What is your point, Mensa?”
“Not sure I have one.”
I scoffed. “Then let me roll over—”
“Seems you do have control.”
“You were testing me?”
“I was testing myself, but I can see why you’d say that.”
Again, I tugged, but he rolled toward me. “Hate me, yet?”
Moonlight filtered in through a gap in the curtains, giving me an excellent view of his features. I stared into his eyes. “No.”
“Are you fighting it?”
I pushed my head back into the pillow. “Fighting what? Hating you?”
He leaned forward an inch, and when he spoke his voice was deeper and huskier. “Control.”
Then I noticed he’d let go of my hand. His tone, his weight… hell, just the wait for a moment like this with him, it stoked a fire inside me.
My body buzzed with need and my control felt like a melting ice cube. There, but quickly dissolving to a slippery shard.
“Yeah,” I breathed.
He backed away, and to my surprise, I let out a low whimper.
“I want a straight answer to this. Someone suggested I… bang you and get it out of my system.”
My timing sucked because I inhaled sharply through my nose right when the A/C cycled off.
Of course, he heard it.
“If you don’t want that, I’ll lay on the floor.”
I wanted him, but I also wanted more than just a quick bang to work me out of his system. Nobody else had to know about this… especially if it was just for tonight.
“I didn’t hear a question. Or was that the question?”
He brought a hand to the side of my head and his thumb stroked my cheekbone. “Thing is… I don’t think you can be honest because I’m not sure once will be enough.”
I didn’t either, but I kept quiet.
In the ensuing silence, my need grew to an ache.
After a long moment, he said, “It can’t mean anything, and you strike me as the meaningful type.”
That crazy voice in my head pointed out that ‘can’t mean anything’ was worlds apart from ‘won’t mean anything.’
Fool that I was, I let that notion take root even if I didn’t openly acknowledge it.
With a deep breath, I reminded him, “I still haven’t heard a question, Mensa.”
“Do you want to sleep? Or do you want me to fuck you hard enough that you have to go to sleep?”
“Does the latter involve kissing and you fucking me more than once?” I asked.
“As long as we’re on the same page, definitely.”
I ran my free hand into the hair at the side of his head. “I’m not going to sleep… and neither are you.” Then I leaned up and pressed my lips to his.
The moment we kissed felt like pure magic. Surprise, joy, wonder, and the certainty that I didn’t want it to end.
He drew in a sharp breath and leaned into me. I went along with his lean, but kept my hand in his hair, which helped to keep his lips locked with mine.
Once my head hit the pillow it was like he realized what I’d done. He swung his hips to the right, forcing my legs to spread, and he fell through. The bulge of his erection tested my self-restraint because I wanted to buck my hips something fierce.
I touched my tongue to his lips. He groaned and opened his mouth. Rather than let me in, he pushed his way inside my mouth.
My free arm rounded his bare torso and glided along his back. He had defined muscles there, and I couldn’t wait to see those dips and valleys in the light.
That felt like a record scratch.
It can’t mean anything.
Would I get to see him in the daylight? Hell, would I get to see him at all?
If this was it, I would damn sure make the most of it.
I pulled free from the kiss. “Lights.”
“What?” he hissed.
“Lights. I want to see you because you’re determined to get me out of your so-called system.”
He chuckled. “‘So-called’? What’s that mean?”
I shoved a hand into his boxer-briefs. “Don’t worry about that. Hit the freaking light.”
“Goddamn, you’re bossy,” he complained.
“Genius, you ain’t seen nothing yet, then again, it’s still dark in here.”
He leaned away, but stopped. “Did you just fuck with my road name?”
“Does it matter? Or are we going to bump uglies?”
“I’m thinking you need to shut up.”
“Why?” I chuckled.
His forearms hit the pillow on either side of my head and he lowered his face to mine. “Because I don’t ‘bump uglies,’ with anybody, Blume.”
“Really?” I drawled.
“Yes, really, because nothing about a sweet, wet pussy is ugly. And when I take this pussy of yours, it will be far from bumping.”
I laughed. “Is that so?”
“Are you laughing?”
“That’s obvious. Turn on the light before I do it.”
He leaned down and buried his face in my neck. Then I felt him playfully bite me there… and suck on my neck.
“Mensa!”
He sucked harder.
I gasped.
“Oh my God, you have to stop. I can’t have—”
He increased the pressure and I moaned while my traitorous hips bucked.
Suddenly he let me go and exhaled against me. “You can’t have a hickey? Too fuckin’ bad. You mouth off to me, I’m sucking on your sweet skin. Any-damned-where I please. Now, I’m turning on the light, and you’re gonna stay still.”
“Who made you the boss?”
“Not who, but what, baby. I got at least seventy pounds on you, and I’m damned sure gonna use them for the rest of the night.”
He leaned to the side and yellow-ish light flooded the room from the nightstand lamp.
I’d been trained to adjust to bright light, and in seconds, I saw the outline of his erection against his brick-red boxer-briefs. Instantly, I wanted his cock in my mouth.
He was quite right. I was bossy. I knew it, and I didn’t give damn. Even when others expressed their disdain (or disapproval) of my assertiveness, I didn’t back off. The bedroom wasn’t any different for me.
I shoved his boxer briefs down and his cock sprang free. Hair lined his crotch, but it was well-maintained. That wasn’t something I encountered most of the time, and I definitely liked it.
Dammit. I couldn’t think about the many things I appreciated about him.
No, I had to enjoy this night and that was it.
It had to be.
“Fuck,” Mensa groaned. “Woman, I told you—”
His words trailed off as though his train of thought broke. Likely because I shimmied my way down the bed under his frame until I was in position. If I wouldn’t feel bad about tearing them, I’d totally have ripped his underwear down the center… but that shit was harder than it looked with cotton boxer-briefs. Still, his hard cock was in my face, and I wasted no time licking up the shaft and guiding him into my mouth.
“Oh… goddammit,” he hissed.
My eyes crinkled with what would have been a grin, but my mouth was otherwise engaged. And did I ever engage. Mensa was thick, he had length, and he tasted damned good. After four bobs on his dick, he let out a frustrated growl and hauled himself away from me.
“Goddammit, Whitney. You’re not sucking me off right now.”
It might have been playing with fire, but I couldn’t keep myself from asking in a playful tone, “Not right now? So definitely later. You’re sure?”
He pushed forward and I fell to my back. His hands had gone up and under my sleep shirt; he found my panties, and he yanked them down. “Damn sure. Time to get my first taste of you.”
Using my legs, I helped him get my underwear off.
His eyes blazed at me. “Sleepshirt. Now. Or else, I tear it off.”
A huge part of me wanted to see him tear my clothes from me, but this wasn’t the time. With a short, excited exhale, I arched my back, pulled up the over-sized shirt until it bunched around my armpits, then leaned up, tore it over my head, and tossed it aside.
His eyes lit with fire now that I was naked. He brought his hands up my inner thighs, along my hipbones, to the outside of my torso and up, until both hands cupped my breasts.
“Oh… shit,” he breathed.
I chuckled. “That doesn’t sound good.”
His eyes met mine. “Because it isn’t.”
My brows arched. “Oh?”
He stared into my eyes for an eternity. “Three hours isn’t going to be enough, so I hope you don’t have to be anywhere before ten.”
I hated myself for it, but I giggled. “Ten? Really?”
His intensely serious tone caught my attention. “Yeah, really. It’s after three-thirty, and I plan to eat you out… no. I’m gonna suck on both your gorgeous tits, then eat you out. Luckily that doesn’t require protection.”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmured.
He grunted a chuckle. “I’ll see your mm-hmm in t-minus twenty minutes. You’re going to be screaming after I put my mouth on your clit. Besides, after I got you good and primed, I’m gonna fuck you missionary and watch you come because I’ve thought of nothing else for fifteen months.”
“Fifteen?”
“Yeah. Now, you stay focused. The second time I take you will be in a spoon position on our sides, and not to jinx it, but that one’s been my favorite for months now, even if I haven’t implemented it with you.”
My legs squirmed beneath him with my excitement. To say I wanted all of that was like saying preschoolers wanted Christmas gifts.
Listening to him, I wondered if the rumors were true. I’d heard from ‘sources’ that Mensa believed firmly in being a giver. He wanted women to get theirs before he ever took his orgasm.
I couldn’t wait to be the recipient of his giving nature, even if I wanted to give back to him at the same time.
He had hold of my hands and hovered over me. Then he lowered himself so we were chest-to-chest and crotch-to-crotch. “Last time, Whitney. Do you want this?”
I stared up at him. “Yes. I want this, Mensa. If you don’t, now’s the time to say so.”