Chapter 14 Melbourne #2
I arch up and almost kiss him, not even thinking, just obeying the hunger in my body. At the last second I realize I’m doing it and twist my arms from his grasp, sitting half up. “Here, let me, uh…” I grab a pillow and flip face down with it under my hips. “Fuck me this way.”
Rather than falling right back on top of me, he palms my ankles and caresses up my legs with teasing slowness. When he gets to my ass, I cock my hips, asking for it. He kneads my ass cheeks, then rubs between my legs in long, slippery passes with his full hand. His fingers settle on my clit.
“Fuckin’ hell. You’re aching to go off, aren’t you?” I widen my legs, practically desperate, and he gives the area a pat with his fingertips. “Are you going to let me finish too this time?”
“Yes, anything…” I clench my ass and rub my clit against the pillow, looking for relief. “Just fuck me now—hard.”
“Saucy girl, ordering me about.” He cradles my ass in his hands and squeezes again.
I wriggle side to side on the pillow with a helpless moan. “I know. You should probably give my ass a few smacks for it.”
“Should I?” A stinging swat follows close on the heels of his words. My welcoming yelp trails off to a whimper.
“Again, please,” I direct in a gasp, shoving a hand beneath myself.
“Keep doing that while I come. You can have yours after—” As I’m saying it, his hand arcs down again, and the sweet sting sends me into overdrive.
I cup myself with one hand, thrusting against my slippery fingers, my panting mixed with nonsensical pleading as he smacks my ass.
The delicious moment creeps closer until I finally thunder over the edge with a scream.
My legs tense, knees shaking, and my pussy clenches in waves, clamoring to have him back inside me.
Either he knows, or he’s following the dictates of his own need.
He covers me with the taut, angular warmth of his body and docks into me with that exquisite dick.
My legs are wobbly with aftershocks, but I prop onto my knees higher so I can back up to meet his strokes.
The pillow is mashed between my legs in a way that makes me rub against it, and before long I’m headed up the peak again, my breath gusting as much in surprise as lust.
After a few minutes, his own panting twists into a strangled groan as he comes, releasing with a sound like, Ah! as if he’s discovered something amazing. His tousled head falls to my shoulder, and his breathing as it struggles to catch up to itself is almost like weary laughter.
Something about it makes me really… fucking… happy. I’m listening to him, enjoying the sound, and I’ve pretty much forgotten that I was about to finish again until he winds his arms around me and rolls onto his back, taking me with him.
I’m lying on him like he’s a pool raft or something, his dick still inside me, and to my surprise, he reaches one hand and settles it over my clit, then puts the other on my nipple. With gentle precision, he rubs me in both places at once.
My head is leaning back on his shoulder, and he says, “Come for me again like the fucking marvel you are. That’s it, sweetness… follow it…”
I relax and focus on his hands, the rise and fall of his breathing beneath me, his scent, the vibration of his voice as he coaxes me again toward ecstasy.
My legs tremor and my quick breaths transform into a shriek as another climax steamrolls through me.
His touch goes whisper-light, then drops away.
He smooths both hands down my shoulders and arms, then brings them up to cross over my chest, giving me a sort of backward hug.
After a few minutes of recovery, I ease off him and roll onto my face, completely spent. I feel him get up and go into the bathroom, then come back and get into bed, pulling the duvet over us both.
“That was fuckin’ rad,” I mumble with my cheek smushed against the mattress, barely coherent. “Where’d you learn the last bit?”
He chuckles, passing a hand down my back in a slow caress and punctuating it with a gentle pat on my ass. “I don’t know,” he admits.
“Well…” I lift one limp arm and manage to make a weak A-okay gesture, which he may or may not be able to see in this light. “My compliments, either way.”
As I drift off, he nestles closer. The last thing I’m aware of is his lips delivering a lingering kiss to my shoulder.
I pretend to be asleep and let him do it.
I generally have girls sleep over after sex, because it doesn’t feel safe to send them out alone at night.
But guys? Nope. Total mood kill, the realness of sleep.
The idea of some fuckwit snoring and mumbling and farting beside me, thrashing around and disturbing my rest…
no thanks. Call yourself a cab and get the hell out, pal.
Alexander does disturb my rest, but not in the way I worried about.
For one thing, the guy is so silent when he sleeps that it’s eerie.
I literally put a hand near his mouth to make sure he was breathing at one point.
He sleeps on his side with both hands tucked under his face, like an illustration of a Victorian child waiting for Christmas morning.
He should be holding a candy cane like Cindy-Lou Who.
I find myself thinking, as I watch him, That’d be hilarious—I’m totally gonna sneak a candy cane into his clasped hands some time and get a pic of it…
and then I remember that there’s no fucking way I’m ever letting the guy sleep next to me again.
As soon as the sun comes up, this pretty idiot’s gotta hit the bricks.
I did get a couple hours of “power sleep”—I have the same sleep trainer as Cosmin, my teammate, and that shit works—but about an hour before my alarm’s set to go off, I wake up and spend the whole damned time staring at Alexander.
I apparently have such a debilitating case of the dick-stupids that I even find myself wondering what he’s dreaming.
Have I lost my mind?
Forcing myself to turn away, I grab my phone and toggle the alarm off before it can make a noise, then slide out of bed. I brush my teeth and step into the boxers and tank top I flung off last night, then gingerly open the bedroom door to go to the living room and make coffee.
Priya walks out of her room as I’m struggling with the machine.
“Lemme do it,” she says impatiently. She’s wearing yoga pants and another of Jules’s shirts—it has a pic of the album cover of Pixies’ Doolittle, because my brother may be a dipshit, but he at least has great taste in old indie music.
Her hair is in two sleep-fuzzed braids, and she looks tired and sad.
She applies herself silently to the task of making espresso, and I hop onto the bar and watch her do it.
I know I have to apologize. You’d think I’d be used to it, since it’s a part of our established routine, but these days it actually feels a little worse every time, like picking at a healing scab so the scar keeps getting bigger.
As I watch her fussing with the espresso machine, my heart aches.
She turns around and hands me the tiny espresso cup, and she hasn’t made one for herself, which is an unspoken sign that she’s ready to forgive me.
It hits me again—as it does often—that she should’ve picked a better best friend, not a sarcastic bitch who doesn’t enjoy the things she does, like old black-and-white romantic movies and cooking that has more than two steps and reading dry science books and doing crafts that require patience.
Things I unfairly make fun of her for, because secretly I wish I was less cynical and sweary and impatient.
“Thanks,” I mumble, taking a small sip. I look down at the caramelly surface. “I’m sorry for being shitty. I’m glad Jules is going clean, and I’m glad he has you. You’re good for him, and to be honest I was fuckin’ jealous.”
“I know,” she says simply. There’s no sense of victory, no hidden I told you so.
I take another sip. She’s still waiting for something.
I glance over my shoulder at the closed bedroom door.
“So, about that. I had to get it out of my system—the guy’s hot, if a total prick, and I wanted to torture him a little.
But full disclosure: part of why it happened was to piss you off, since you can’t stand him. ”
“Very silly, considering that the reason I dislike him is for what he did to you.”
My throat gets tight. “I hate that we’re fighting.”
She comes over and hugs me. “We’re not anymore. Thank you for the apology.”
I set the espresso cup aside and hug her back, hard.
When she pulls away, she glances toward my room. “Be, um, nice when you kick him to the curb, all right? He’s a jerk, but probably doesn’t deserve being a prop in some stupid fight.”
“Oh, he got plenty out of it. Now he can go back to collecting art and rare vinyl and second-tier aristocracy chicks with names like ‘Beatrice Hughes-Cavendish.’”
“Did you actually let him sleep over? You never do that!”
“Who says we slept?” I give a comical wink.
“Are you”—she lowers her voice—“feeling something for him?”
“Fuck no. I ain’t built for it. I can barely tolerate the guy.
” I swing one leg restlessly, peeking at Priya.
“But, uh, you and Jules, huh? Looks like you really love him, I guess. Just… not more than you love me, right?” I prod her with my bare foot.
I’m trying to be light and jokey about it, but there’s so much insecurity behind it that my heart cramps.
“Sage.” She looks at me soberly. “You know it’s not the same.”
I blow a small raspberry. “That’s the kind of bullshit parents say.”
“And parents mean it too.”
I roll my eyes, uncomfortable with how serious this is getting. “Yeah, well. You’re way too good for the guy.”
“Not true. He’s a wonderful person. He’s having problems right now—and I didn’t realize the extent of it until last month—but it doesn’t diminish who he is. Julian has a good heart. He wants to get better, but he can’t do it alone.”
“Mmm.” I’m thinking again about what happened in Thailand, recommitting to not saying anything to Pri. Is it right to hold a grudge forever, considering that he was an adolescent when it happened? Incomplete brain development, high impulsivity… maybe I’m being too hard on him.
Do I need to stay mad for some reason?
“So, um,” Priya begins, avoiding my eyes. “If the pills were a problem for him over a year ago, why didn’t you say anything to me?”
I almost blurt out a lie. Then I decide she deserves better even if it makes me look like a complete shit. “Because I know how you are, ‘patron saint of lost causes,’ and I was afraid it’d make you invested in him, and… I wanted you to myself.”
My God, it sounds even worse than I thought. So selfish. My conscience points out critically, Maybe you and Julian both abandoned each other.
“That’s why I got so mad at you guys that night at my parents’ house,” I confess, feeling like it’s now or never to say all of it.
“I was scared for Jules and threatened by you two being a thing.” I poke her with my foot again, smiling, needing to lighten the mood.
“So much for you claiming all these years that you’re ‘not Julian’s type,’ eh? ”
“Psh! I still don’t believe I am. He’s mister adventure sports, and the most adventurous thing I do is try out a really complicated recipe.”
“You’re doing something very adventurous: taking a chance on love. Helluva lot braver than me. I’d take a fifty-g crash over that romance crap any day.” I point a thumb over my shoulder. “He was fun but… y’know, it’s probably time for that pickup service you joked about last night.”
My bedroom door opens, and Priya and I both swivel to look.
Alexander leans in the doorway, sleep-tousled and shirtless and hot as a midrace tyre.
My stomach drops, because next comes the moment when I have to tell him we’re done.
But what I really want is to crawl between the sheets with him and order room service and talk for hours, watch him have tea and read The Guardian or whatever fancy-pants bullshit he does with his mornings.
I’m not ready for him to leave, but his expiration date was up hours ago.
“Morning, Salvi,” he says with a sleepy smile. “I’d take one of those if it’s no trouble.” He points at my teeny cup on the counter, then nods sideways toward the en suite, indicating that he’s going to shower.
The door closes. Pri and I look at each other. I feel heat in my face, and hurry to the compact chrome machine, prodding it. “How do you work this fuckin’ thing?”
“I’ll do it. Here, let me.” She starts it up, and while it’s purring out a glossy rope of espresso, she gives me a sidelong look. “What’s ‘salvi’?”
I shrug. “Just a dumb joke. Salvia officinalis. It’s Latin for ‘sage.’”
“Okay, that’s honestly cute. Points.”
“It is kinda cute, right?”
“He, uh, looks more like a regular person without a shirt.”
I chuckle. “Took off his rich-boy chain mail.” I gnaw at my lower lip. “He was, like, really nice last night. Surprisingly warmhearted and real with me. I kinda almost believe him that the blog stuff was a prank that got outta hand. He’s maybe a decent guy. I think.”
She flicks a smile my way. “Maybe you bring out the best in him.”
“Wanna know something funny? He kinda brings out the good in me too. I didn’t realize how dumb and immature I was being with you until some stuff he said made me see it through an outsider’s eyes.”
“Huh.”
“And I’m a little impressed that even though he’s been trying to get into my pants—like, you’d think he’d just agree with anything I say—he’s stuck up for you multiple times.”
She slow-turns, all amused bewilderment. “No way.”
“Yes way. A hundred percent.”
There’s a long pause before she gives another, “Huh.” She hands me the steaming shot. “There. Now go have coffee with the guy you ‘barely tolerate,’ who definitely didn’t give you an adorable nickname.”
I take both cups and head for the bedroom, gearing up for what feels like it might be the first heartbreak of my life.