Chapter 25
THE BANGOVER
Cricket
My arms and legs are noodles made of jelly.
Floppy and boneless and likely to completely fall apart in a mess.
Except they still work well enough for me to explore Heath’s body.
Specifically, this unbelievable hard-on.
He’s thick and long, and he makes a guttural noise in his throat as I slide my fist up his length, lingering at his head to rub the bead of moisture at the top with my thumb.
“Is this me?” I whisper.
The lights are on.
I can fully see him.
He can fully see me.
Or he could, if his eyes were open.
But his head is arched back and he’s panting for breath as I stroke him.
“Yes,” he says on a long hiss.
I smile so big my cheeks hurt. “It’s not just evening wood?”
“Don’t—get—evening wood.”
“Do you get morning wood?”
“No. Condom. Back pocket.”
“You were hard two mornings ago.”
“You.”
The glow is back.
The glow that comes with believing he’s attracted to me.
Not just anyone.
To me.
I roll my fist down his length again, and his breath catches.
“Good?” I whisper.
“Fuck yes.”
His body is gorgeous.
Wide shoulders. Solid trunk. Flat copper nipples. Dark chest hair. His arms are sculpted and veiny, and his legs are thick and strong.
And his penis—it’s a work of art.
Large. Bold. Commanding. Standing fully erect over a nest of curls, with tight balls that I take time to stroke and play with too.
Heath as a person, fully clothed, is irresistible. Capable and smart and able to do nearly anything, with a patience that he might have to work hard for, but he does it.
And that’s attractive as hell. Knowing that he actively tries to be a good person—how could anyone not love that?
His body’s the icing on the cake.
And tonight, I get to play to my heart’s content.
Well, probably not that much.
But more than I have before.
“Cricket—” He gasps as I stroke up his length once more.
“I like your penis,” I whisper.
“He likes you too. Too much.”
His voice is strangled, and it’s impossible not to smile.
The idea that this man likes me—that he trusts me with his naked body—my heart is soaring.
He likes me.
“Are you saying I need to stop?” I ask.
“No. But yes. But no.”
He grips my wrist, stilling my hand, and he breathes hard, eyes pinched shut like he’s trying to get himself under control.
It’s almost better than the orgasm he just gave me, knowing that I’m doing this to him.
I’m driving him mad.
I don’t drive anyone mad.
Not in the good way, at least.
“You make me feel like I’m not broken,” I whisper.
His eyes flicker open. “You’re not broken.”
“I felt like I was when I got here. Am still, sometimes.”
He shifts, reaching into his back pocket before pinning me to the bed. “You’re not broken, Cricket. You’re built for a kinder world.”
“Do you know how impossible it is to not like you?”
“Yeah. I’ve tried.”
I crack up.
He grins, and then he’s kissing me again, slow and soft, tasting like me, and I know.
I know this isn’t a one-time thing.
This isn’t because he’s sacrificing his penis on the altar of Cricket wants to get laid, so I guess I’ll suffer through it so that she doesn’t have to log in to a dating app.
He likes me too.
He said so.
And in my experience, a guy doesn’t do the slow, soft, thorough kisses with a woman he doesn’t like.
He traces my ears with his thumbs while he pins me to the bed with his body and kisses me until the ache is building between my thighs again, his hard-on pressed against my pussy.
I’m soaked between my thighs and getting wetter, and I can’t resist rubbing myself against him.
He groans low in his throat.
Condom.
He had a condom.
We should—
Something clatters overhead, and we both freeze.
He looks up.
I stare past him at the ceiling.
“Fluffy?” I whisper.
Footsteps pitter-patter, and Heath lets out a soft fuck.
Fluffy doesn’t make that noise.
Lavender does.
He’s on his feet and pulling his pants up in a split second, leaving me naked and suddenly chilled.
I know it’s not personal.
It’s not.
Even if I suddenly feel more naked than I did even in the cellar yesterday.
“Tell her I invited you down for tea,” I blurt as he pulls his shirt on.
He shoots another look at the ceiling, and then back at me.
Our eyes connect, and I get another shiver.
Not the chilled kind this time though.
This is a pure heat shiver.
“Do not go on the dating apps.”
There’s a commanding authority to his voice that I’d respond to regardless of what he might order me to do.
“I’ll take you to the bar,” he adds. “When you’re ready.”
“But you don’t date?”
He growls, kisses me hard, and heads for the door to the steps. “It’s not a date. No dating apps. Go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Lock the door behind me.” And then he’s gone.
I flop back on my bed and smile at the ceiling as his footsteps join Lav’s upstairs.
He likes me.
He came down here to kiss me.
He brought condoms.
He doesn’t want me on the dating apps.
And he’s taking me on a date.
Not a date, I hear him say in my head.
Fine.
Fine.
It’s not a date. We’re not dating.
Maybe, just maybe, becoming the Cheeky Beaver isn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened to my life.
It brought me here, didn’t it?
And maybe it’s not a date.
But whatever you want to call it, it feels pretty damn spectacular.