30. THE ONE WHERE HE BEGS
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE ONE WHERE HE BEGS
WestParkerComedy: Told @HexedHeroine I’m willing to wait for it and then she took me to see @HamiltonMusical where *SPOILER ALERT* Hamilton dies? Mixed signals much?
Comment: This isn’t funny anymore just kiss already!!!!
Comment: Day 29817 asking for Hex and West to actually post something together and not just tease us with these vague ass posts
The smell of pizza fills the hotel room, box wide open on the middle of the king-size bed.
I’m sitting legs crisscrossed in the middle after changing into a pair of sweats and an oversized T-shirt from a small town Michigan restaurant Frankie and I stopped at on our road trip to Chicago last summer.
A seagull holds a piece of pizza in its beak, a watercolor sunset fading into the edges of the shirt’s purple color.
I still think about their frozen schooners of beer.
West kicks his shoes off and plops down on the edge of the bed, tossing me a couple napkins and packs of red pepper flakes and parmesan. “Load it up.”
We got a classic cheese pizza, upon my request. I will never accept any slander for just a cheese pizza. It’s all you need if the pie’s any good!
Sprinkling the whole thing with the four packs we were given, I dive in, wiggling with happiness. “Mmm,” I moan, rolling my eyes to the back of my head. “New York has the superior pizza, hands down.”
West swallows. I scold myself for watching his throat bob. “Mm, no.”
I slap the bed with my free hand. “Don’t you dare tell me you’re about to say Chicago has better pizza!”
He licks his lips and fingers after finishing his first slice.
I’m not looking. I’m. Not. Looking!
I’m definitely looking, but it’s hard not to after the night we had! It was fun… Simple as that. West and I always find a way to have a good time together. He somehow makes the anxieties of this new and unpredictable experience seem more manageable than what they’d be if I were in this alone.
“Absolutely it does. Deep dish with extra cheese?” He pretends to melt onto the bed and then sits up, reaching for another piece.
I gently slap his hand. “You can’t insult her like that and go back for more,” I joke, giving him the most serious glare I can muster.
It used to be a lot easier, but when he’s giving me that cute little dimpled smile, it makes me want to pull my phone out and add one more exclamation point to my daily reminder.
“You want me to apologize?” he asks, a single brow creeping slowly up his forehead.
Oh no, I think. “Yes,” I say.
West sighs, and I immediately regret what I’ve set in motion. He slides to the floor, on his knees beside the bed, and my thoughts go to a place they shouldn’t. “Please, baby. Please forgive me, I’ll never—”
Is he talking to me or the pizza?
“You always take it too far. Get up.” I try to act chill and fun, but my brain is programmed to like this shit. These are the scenes you read about—the ones you wish happened in real life but never do.
It’s over a stupid pizza debate, but nonetheless, if West fucking Isakson was on his knees in front of anyone else, they’d crumble too!
“You said to apologize.” He looks up at me with his big blue eyes, really painting on the sad puppy dog look.
I scramble to the edge of the bed. “Get up, right now.” Touching West is a mistake, but it’s too late, because my hands are already on his glorious biceps, trying to tug him back onto the bed.
The bed I’m on…
We both freeze, and I know I need to let go of his arm. I know I need to back up. I know I need to relax.
But I can’t do any of that.
West is still on his knees, just like he’d been on stage. It’s only this time, I’m actually over him, peering down from a bed. The one he definitely doesn’t need to crawl back on with me…
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come to mind. I roll my lips together, my brain moving a million miles a second—similar to how quickly my heart’s beating. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
We shouldn’t?
We should?
There are so many reasons we shouldn’t, but I’ve recently come up with a few reasons we should.
I’m at a crossroads in my mind, and I don’t know where to go from here.
“Joey, I—”
I don’t let him finish. My hands move from his arm to his cheeks, cupping his face as I lean down to press my lips to his.
I have to know if last time was a fluke. I can’t keep torturing myself, thinking there’s something more here if it was my lonely mind playing tricks on me. But is the pressure of the internet wanting us to be more getting to me too, or is this real?
The kiss starts off slow, not lacking a burning need for more. It’s never sloppy, no missed cues as to where we go next.
His hands cover mine, bringing them to his shoulders as he rises from the floor, putting one knee on the bed between us. West pulls me into him, straddling his leg as he deepens the kiss. His tongue slips through my parted lips, commanding control in a way that has me turning to putty in his hands.
I’ve always been seen as the controlling type, but behind closed doors, I want to give that up. I want someone to take care of me for once.
I want to let go and let someone else lead.
West fell into that role effortlessly the night we met, and now, it seems it wasn’t just my imagination playing tricks on me.
He grabs my waist with one hand, helping me rock my hips against his thigh. I hadn’t realized I sank down until a rush of pleasure floods between my legs from the friction.
I should stop. I need to stop. I do not want to stop.
West presses his thumb so hard into my hip I know there will be a mark there later, maybe even a bruise. I shiver at the thought, accompanied by another roll of my hips. A moan vibrates against West’s lips, and every part of me is fighting something different at the exact same time.
My brain is trying to use logic—telling me this is a bad idea, but the rest of my senses are in such a state of overdrive, its warning goes up in flames.
I don’t let my brain make the decision. I let my body.
West grips my jaw in his hand, pulling our lips apart as I grind against his leg again. “You said no sex, but I wanna see you come. So fucking bad.”
Logic screams, but the sound of my pleasure is louder when I moan at his words.
God, there are too many layers between us.
This man makes me want him so uncontrollably that I’m dry humping his leg like we’re in high school and this is the loophole we found in our purity rings.
The hairs stand on the back of my neck when his hand slides between my legs and applies pressure through my sweatpants—exactly where he knows I need it.
Fuck, I was so wrong about him not knowing where the clit’s at!
My breath hitches at the swirl of his finger.
“How’s that sound, baby?” West asks, still holding me in place by the jaw. “Do you want me to make you come?” His eyes lock on mine, ready for an answer.
“Please,” I moan softly, my eyelashes fluttering at his touch between my legs.
“Thank fucking god.” West’s voice is a deep rumble, and his lips are back on mine, followed by the sound of his rings meeting in a pile somewhere.
Letting go of control doesn’t feel natural, but when I finally do, the lifted weight off my shoulders and body adds to the euphoria of West’s touch.
The hand on my chin slides down the side of my neck, trailing down my arm, and then the curve of my waist until he grips me again, pushing me down onto his hand pinned between us.
West rubs my clit through my pants, and I’m getting close to begging him to slip his hand inside the waistband.
Meanwhile, my head’s swimming from the intensity of his kiss. It’s wild, but calculated. Practiced. West knows what he’s doing. He’s not fumbling his movements.
The nerves I saw the night he sat on the end of the bed and watched me strip haven’t returned. The moment I’d given him permission to get rough, something shifted between us.
“West,” I moan against his lips.
He tears the oversized T-shirt over my head, returning his mouth to one of my nipples, using his free hand to pinch the other hard enough to make me gasp. “I wish you could see how goddamn pretty you look right now,” he groans, gently biting my nipple.
Goosebumps scatter across my skin, and West captures my mouth with his again. Distracted by the kiss, I don’t notice his hand slipping into my pants until his fingers press into my bare clit.
I arch my back, and West follows the movement, kissing down my neck.
“No bra or underwear is fucking diabolical, you brat.” Between his words, how he rubs at the right speed and applies the perfect pressure, I’m close to coming already.
It hadn’t taken him long to figure me out the first night, and apparently, that wasn’t a fluke either…
“So wet for me.” He bites the flesh where my neck meets my collarbone, but not hard enough to leave a mark.
West slips a single finger inside me for one pump, followed by a second. I clench around his large fingers, unable to respond to his question because I’m holding back a moan the neighbors in the next room would complain to the front desk over.
I squeak, struggling to breathe through the next wave of pleasure. My nails dig into his shoulders, his shirt protecting him from the worst of my grip.
West hums a pleased sound. “I gotta get you somewhere you can scream for me.”
I’ve stopped moving my hips, giving in to West’s control. His thumb massages my clit, fingers rubbing against my G-spot.
The first strike makes me inhale a pained breath, rising up to escape the excessive jolt of my imminent orgasm.
“Mmm, you’re close aren’t you?” He bites his lip, and even while in the throes of immense ecstasy, I don’t miss the cocky gleam in his eyes when I nod my head because I can’t form words.
West’s grip tightens around the back of my neck to lead me down, sinking his fingers completely inside me again.
I’m too gone to fight his hold, and why would I want to? I quiver as he massages his fingers against the spot inside a few more times, never forgetting to give my clit the attention it needs.
“Fuck,” I whine, the muscles in my legs starting to shake.