Chapter 42
LOREN
Megalodon
Is it possible to fall in love with someone’s arms but hate their personality?
Asking for a friend.
I wake up being poked in the back by Elliott’s massive erection.
We’re not talking regular morning wood. This thing is a two-by-four.
Since he is still very much asleep, I’m not sure exactly how to navigate this precarious situation. If we’d had sex last night, I’d let my itchy hands grab it. But since we snuggled and fell asleep in each other’s arms, we’re caught in a gray area.
And touching it without consent even though it is very much touching me feels wrong.
He stretches his arms over his head with a groan. “The longer you look at my dick, the harder it’s going to get.”
Guess he’s not asleep after all.
Harder? How is that possible? That thing belongs with the other standing stones at Stonehenge. “Sorry.”
A smirk. “No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not. I mean, it’s there. It’s impossible not to look at.”
“You keep giving me compliments like that, and I’ll never let you leave.”
It’s not a compliment. It’s a statement of fact. “So…this is awkward.” Wonderful. Looks like I’m back to blurting, something I can’t remember ever doing with Elliott.
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“How do you figure?”
He reaches down to adjust himself, which shouldn’t be hot but totally is. At some point in the night, he kicked off his jeans, leaving him in a pair of black boxer briefs.
Loren approves.
“Strip out of those things you claim are shorts and I’ll show you.”
“That’s a bad idea.” At least that’s what I tell myself. Because the list of reasons to avoid Elliott got a whole lot shorter last night.
Elliott Grant is absolutely the commitment type.
Not saying he’s looking for a relationship with me, but at least it’s not outside the realm of possibility like I originally thought. And he was respectful of my choice not to have sex with him. Didn’t even try to push.
He showed me a side of himself even more irresistible than all the others: His insecurities.
“I disagree. As a matter of fact, I think it’s the best damn idea I’ve had in a long time.”
“So what? We have sex, get it out of our system, and then go about our lives as if nothing happened?”
His eyes narrow and his lips press flat. “Sure. If that’s what you want to do.”
“Really? Because you sound mad.”
His biceps flex when he drags his hands down his face. Who knew frustration could be so sexy? “Yeah, well, being referred to as something to ‘get out of your system’ doesn’t make me feel very appreciated.”
After his girlfriend broke up with him because she thought other guys might be better, Elliott needs to be appreciated.
He showed his hand last night; it’s only fair that I do the same today. I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat, bracing for the truth. “I don’t know how to do this.”
The way he scratches his chest draws my eyes to the trimmed hair covering his glorious pecs. “Do what?”
“Go from friends to whatever this is. If we hook up, does it mean we’re dating?
” At least he doesn’t flinch when I ask.
How mortifying would that be? “Are we just hanging out and hooking up? Friends with benefits and whatnot?” Who says whatnot?
Me, apparently. “I’m just trying to figure out the rules before—”
“Loren?”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
Excuse me? “Don’t tell me to—”
His hand falls over my mouth, silencing my argument. “You’re allowed two words: yes or no. Got it?”
Elliott Grant: Word police.
He wants one word answers? Fine.
“Do you want to fuck me or not?”
My face lights on fire.
Holy. Shit.
I cannot believe he just said that to me straight out. I am in so far over my head right now.
Is the answer to that question ever “no?” Look at the man.
From behind his hand I mumble, “I don’t think that’s a—” He presses a little harder.
“Yes or no, Chaos?”
I wait until he removes his hand to croak my one-word answer. “Yes.”
“Good. Because this isn’t how I normally wake up.
” He kicks the covers all the way off us, his black boxer briefs riding up muscular thighs sprinkled with dark hair.
His large hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly, his eyes darkening to a stormy hue as they sweep from my disheveled hair to my shorts.
“This is what happens when I have to spend the night with your ass pressed up against me, knowing I can’t touch you. ”
His tongue sweeps across his lips, and that one simple move turns me into a sweaty, panting mess.
“Now, take off your shirt.”
So many nervous words swell in my throat, but I swallow them down.
Yes or no. “No.”
He quirks an eyebrow, his hand stilling on his massive erection. “No?”
Since I’m not allowed to say anything but yes or no, I sit and lift my arms, waiting for him to realize what I want.
A grin finds its way to his lips, and he kneels before me, catching the hem and lifting it up and over my head.
He sits back on his haunches, his dick pressing against his boxers as his gaze sweeps over my bare chest.
He holds out a hand, stopping a fraction of an inch away from my breast, and quirks a brow.
That’s a big fat, “Yes.” Yes yes yes.
His hands cup my breasts, holding and anchoring around them. He doesn’t go for my nipples, just teases along the edges, deceptively soft and delicate for a man with such big hands. Even so, my nipples are straining for his touch.
He urges me back onto the bed and then settles over me, easing his head down and down, until I can feel his heated breath panting across my goose-bumped flesh. When his eyes rise to mine, I nearly expire as I pant out a desperate, “Yes.”
I don’t claim to be experienced in the art of lovemaking by any means, but Elliott Grant puts the three men I’ve been with to shame. Not only does he understand the meaning of foreplay, but also he is a master.
Every breathless, eager, “Yes” that falls from my lips leads to a new sensation. New pleasure. He doesn’t seem to be in a rush at all, taking his time.
Back and forth, sucking, teasing, swirling his tongue over my nipples, even scraping with his teeth, until it feels like I ran through sprinklers in my underwear.
His hands glide down my ribs to my hips, gripping tightly before flattening against my thighs, spreading them wide enough to fit his hips between them. “You wet, Chaos?”
For some reason, this is harder for me to confess than any of the truths I’ve given him so far. “Yes.”
“That’s my girl.” He guides himself against my underwear, notching between my folds, and pumps his hips forward, dragging against my clit.
The overwhelming flood of sensations lifts me off the freaking mattress.
“Look at you. Soaked all the way through.” The way he holds my knees gives me a gloriously unobstructed view of those abs hard at work, flexing with each thrust of his hips.
He seems entranced by the way our bodies slide together.
A dark lock of hair falls onto his forehead.
What was his ex-girlfriend thinking? She must cry herself to sleep every night remembering how she gave him up. Her loss is my gain—
He drops forward onto his elbows, dragging his tongue down my neck, kissing and sucking until he’s back at my breasts once more. It’s all too much. Every sensation. Every emotion.
I’m so close. Too close. Falling over the edge. Flying.
His eyes shoot to mine, pupils blown out. “Did you just come?”
“Yes?”
“Good girl.” He doesn’t stop there and stick it in. He keeps going, as if we have all the time in the world.
In one fell swoop, my shorts and underwear are gone. When my knees try to close, he pushes them apart once more. His palm flattens on my stomach, right above my pubic bone, his thumb casually stroking above my clit. It is infuriating and amazing at the same time. “Yes?” he rasps.
“Yes.”
His thumb barely grazes over my slit, and I’m back to squirming all over again.
Each leisurely stroke brings me that much closer to the edge once more. He dips a finger inside, curling upwards. His thumb works in strokes, his other finger pumping in and out before he adds a second. “Look at all this just for me.”
I can’t take it anymore.
I grip him tightly. There’s a wet patch on his black boxer briefs, from him or from me, it’s impossible to tell. When I tug on his boxers, he removes them, then settles back into place. His thick tip glistens.
“Condom?”
He shakes his head. “One more first.”
“One more wha—” He presses down with his thumb at the same time his finger curls and I’m on the edge again. My question ends with a whimper.
Now we need a condom.
“Drawer.”
He grips the handle of the top drawer and arches a brow.
“Yes.”
The random collection of items within slides to the front when he opens it. Chuckling darkly, he withdraws my neon pink vibrator. “Next time, we’ll use this.”
Next time.
If I wasn’t so spent, I’d squeal with delight.
Elliott’s frantic search comes up empty. I do have condoms, don’t I?
I nudge him aside to search for myself. Damn, that’s a lot of bobby pins.
Where the hell is my freaking condom? I clamber off the bed, running out of the room to where I left my purse on the dining table.
I dump the thing out, random items spilling across the table, lip gloss rolling onto the floor.
Elliott watches from the doorway to my room, one shoulder propped against the doorframe, his other hand gripping his dick that doesn’t seem to mind the delay at all.
Receipts, a burger wrapper, those sunglasses I thought I lost… Wait! “I gave it to you.”
His hooded eyes widen. “My room. Now.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. We fall into the room together, tangled up in each other’s arms, my parts rubbing his parts and his parts rubbing my parts in a gloriously hedonistic frenzy as we drop onto his bed.
The air in here smells divine, and so do these sheets.
There will be plenty of time to talk about how clean it is later. Right now, all I care about is the fact that he is dragging a condom from the drawer.
The mattress dips as he kneels on the bed, tearing open the condom with his teeth before stretching it over his length. He catches my knees, spreading my legs once more. But then he stills, ocean eyes meeting mine. “You sure?”
That we’ve come all this way, and he is still asking if I want to do this means more than he will ever know.
I have no doubt that if I told him I didn’t want to have sex anymore, he wouldn’t pressure me into it.
But I am not backing out. Elliott Grant wants to fuck me, and there’s no way in hell I’m telling him no. “Yes.”
Inch by inch, he pushes inside, stretching my body with his until I can take no more. I can feel the panic start in my chest, tightening, making it difficult to inhale a full breath. He’s given me two orgasms, and I can’t even take all of him.
He drops a kiss to my forehead. “Relax, Chaos.”
How is he so freaking sweet? “I think you’re going to break me.” I don’t mean physically. Already, I can feel an Elliott-shaped hole in my heart.
“Nah. We’ll make it work.”
He stills, giving me time to breathe. I lift onto my elbows to kiss his bobbing throat, the stubble on his jaw.
“You feel so fucking good. If I didn’t want to make this last, I could come right now.” His words rasped against my ear melt me into a boneless pile of goo, making more room for him to ease his hips forward until he bottoms out.
I feel like giving him a high-five.
But since he’s a little busy, I lay back and enjoy the ride.
And what a ride it is.
Elliott’s fingers never stray far from my clit. I don’t think it’s ever had this much of a workout. It’s like he’s looking for a genie and I’m the magic lamp.
“You going to come for me again, Chaos? I hear third time’s a charm.”
“I don’t think I can.”
His eyes narrow. “Wrong answer.”
I’m wrung out, no energy left, holding on for dear life.
Then a tingling sensation that’s becoming all too familiar gathers low in my stomach.
Another orgasm rips through me, more intense than the others.
His eyes seem to ignite when they lock with mine.
He bucks his hips three more times, losing his tempo before collapsing with a muttered, “Holy shit,” against my sweat-slickened temple.
Holy shit is right.
Elliott fucks like the world is ending.
He rolls onto his back, his chest heaving as he stares up at the chrome ceiling fan. His proud dick is still way too thick where it rests on his thigh.
Well, that was unexpected.
This man deserves a freaking medal.
His palm flattens against his heart, and he chuckles. With another muttered obscenity, he grabs a tissue from his bedside table and removes the condom, tossing both into the trash can.
I wait for the awkwardness to set in. For the blurting to start.
But then he pulls me into him, tucking my head beneath his chin and asks if I want him to make pancakes.
Not sure if we’re still playing the game, but my answer to that will always be… “Yes.”