Chapter 7 #2
He hit the door with his fist once. Twice. Hard enough for the wood to rattle. “Fallon,” he called.
Nothing.
He slammed again. “I’ve got something to say and I’m not leaving until you open the door.”
Another second. Then the handle turned. She stood there, hair loose now, eyes bright and furious. “What the hell do you want?”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years. “I can’t make promises,” he said, voice low, rough-edged. “I’ve been broken for a long time. I can’t promise I won’t hurt you.”
Her chin lifted, steady, defiant. “That’s fine. I’m not built for picket fences and decisions past today. Besides, I can’t promise I won’t crush you.”
The air between them snapped—charged and alive.
He moved first. Closed the space between them in two steps. His hands came up, cupping her face, and then he kissed her—hard, hungry, desperate in a way that felt like both surrender and survival.
Fallon didn’t hesitate. She met him halfway, fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss was heat and apology, whiskey and want, a collision neither of them tried to avoid.
When they broke apart, they were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“This is a bad idea,” he whispered.
“Definitely,” she said. “But I’ve had worse.” Her lips curved, soft and dangerous. “So much worse.” She tugged him inside, slamming the door shut.
The cool kiss of the air conditioning was a jarring contrast to the heat simmering off them, breathing heavy, their bodies pressed closer than they had ever been.
He let out a slight, broken sound at the feel of her softness against him, the brush of fabric against fabric before their bodies inevitably drew together.
In his mind, this was all kinds of wrong. He wasn't good for her. He wasn't suitable for anyone. Yet, he was selfish enough to want her, to take what she was willing to give.
"Bedroom’s this way," Fallon whispered, a thread of laughter coloring her voice. She slipped from his grasp, and Buddy trailed after her like a man who’d follow her anywhere.
His gaze flitted across her back, the way her hair brushed against her back, the expanse of taut shoulders, and then the sway of those shorts as the space between them grew. She moved like a woman who knew her power, who understood the impact she had.
Her bedroom was filled with the glow of the moon through the partially opened blinds. Her eyes flickered to him, uncertain for a moment before she turned towards the bed, pulling off her tank top without hesitation.
His breath hitched, caught between surprise and desire, as the smooth plane of her bare back met his skin, casting shadows that danced over and highlighted each dip and curve of her frame. This was Fallon—raw, vulnerable, but undeniably fearless.
She tossed her top aside, her bare skin glowing in the soft light diffusing through the window.
His heart pounded an unsteady rhythm, echoing the throbbing pulse that had taken up residence in his veins.
The air seemed to tighten around him, the scent of her—vanilla and coconut—sweet and maddening, wrapping itself around every atom in the room, setting his senses ablaze.
The moment hung suspended, stretched between heartbeats as he stood there, frozen, caught between the urge to retreat and the visceral pull towards her.
"Are you just going to stand there?" Her voice, sultry and amused, cut through his hazy thoughts, prodding him back into fevered reality.
In response, he reached for her, his hands finding her hips. His fingers dug into the soft fabric of her shorts, grounding him in the present— this was Fallon, alive and warm, beneath his touch. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice barely rising above the deafening beat of his own pulse.
She chuckled softly, a sound that did unthinkable things to his insides, before her fingers were on his shirt, her touch searing through the cotton, plucking at the buttons.
Her lips found his in the darkness, their bodies aligning in an intoxicating dance that was now becoming familiar yet remained utterly terrifying.
Her lips were molten silk against his, a fervent promise that sent a shockwave coursing through his veins. Wordlessly, Fallon guided his hands to the waistband of her shorts.
He moved slowly, nerves wreaking havoc on his usually steady fingers. The button popped open, and he tugged the zipper down gently. The shorts slipped down, pooling at her feet, revealing her in her intimate glory.
There was no further hesitation as he urged her back onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress.
His hands traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist in a journey of revelation, each touch filled with his raw worship and desire.
His lips left a trail from her collarbone down to her naval, each kiss punctuated with a gasp or writhe of pleasure from her.
He pinched and plucked at her tight nipples with one hand, while the other toyed gently with her clit, circling before slipping inside and repeating, all while he watched her in suspended awe.
Fallon arched into him as his mouth found her clit, a moan tearing from her throat that shot straight to his groin. The wet heat of her was overwhelming and drove him into a frenzy that matched the heady pulse of her body beneath his.
His hands skimmed under her, fitting snugly around her ass to pull her closer, granting him further access into the bittersweet paradise that was her scent and taste.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tightening sporadically in time with the flicks of his tongue.
The tiny gasps and gentle bucking of her body were pure music to his senses, stirring a profound longing within him that he'd been denying for far too long.
"Buddy," she breathed, her voice shaky and gasping.
He flattened his hand over her taut belly as she quivered under his touch, on the verge of exploding. She tasted like honey, and he couldn’t get enough. He lifted his head for a second, catching her gaze.
"Yes," he encouraged. His fingers worked faster and his thumb strummed her clit.
She bucked against his hand, squeezing her eyes shut as she rode out the wave. Her breath hitched for a second before her body trembled, every string pulled taut before snapping.
As the shudders began to subside, he slid back up her body. “I should’ve asked this sooner,” he whispered. “Birth control?”
“On the pill,” she managed. “But there are condoms in the drawer if we need…” she blinked a few times, catching her breath. “… do we need them?”
“I don’t. Clean.”
“Me too.” She wiggled underneath, and he nearly came undone.
He pushed himself into her, and everything tilted. Steadying himself for a moment, he stared into her eyes.
She clenched around him, her walls contracting again. He groaned, his own release dangerously close.
The world narrowed to just them, their heavy breaths, the slick sound of skin on skin, the soft squelch every time he thrust into her, the delicious friction driving them both to the edge.
"I'm close," he warned her, his voice a choked whisper as he struggled to hold onto his control. He wanted to feel her come apart beneath him one more time before he allowed himself the same pleasure.
"D-don't stop," she said, her legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him deeper.
He adjusted his angle, his thrusts changing into a deep grind that made him see stars. She clenched around him as her second orgasm ripped through her, her cries muffled in the crook of his neck where she'd buried her face.
The feel of her squeezing him, the sweet friction of her body milking him, was too much. He let out a low groan as he followed her into oblivion.
Exhausted and sated, but not wanting to crush her with his weight, he slid to the side, pulling her into his embrace. He traced lazy circles on her bare skin and stared at the ceiling fan as it rotated above.
She draped an arm and a leg over his body as she tugged a sheet over them. “You’re not going to sneak out in the middle of the night, are you?”
He pressed his lips against her temple. “Not my style. When I leave, you’ll be kissing me goodbye at the door, or kicking me out because I snore.”
“And what if I snore?” She glanced up and smiled. “Because it’s been known to happen.”
“I guess I’ll have to wake you up and find a way to quiet you.”
“That’s a promise I can get on board with.”
“I’m an old man. Twice in the same night is not happening.”
“Maybe not for you, but no reason you can’t do things—”
He covered her mouth. “Don’t tempt me. Now, close your eyes and get some sleep.”
“On one condition.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear this.”
“More like a question.” She rested her chin on his chest. “When was the last time you tested the theory on whether or not—”
“Years,” he admitted. “But I know morning will work, and I like shower sex, so let’s not ruin that for me, okay?”
“Jeez, you’re demanding.”
“You have no idea.” He kissed her sweet lips and then closed his eyes.
His last coherent thought before he drifted off was that he'd deal with the consequences of this night sometime—probably in the near future. For now, he'd just relish having her in his arms.
Even if it was only temporary.
Even if he didn't deserve her.