Chapter 22
It’s a beautiful day. Sunny and not too hot yet, dew clinging to the blades of grass and summer flowers. On top of that, we won’t have to film until this evening. Cassidy probably has enough footage of us on quiet mornings and cleaning up before bed. I’m so distracted by how nice the day is, I make it all the way to the parking lot before I realize I forgot my fucking headphones.
I let out a silent curse to myself and pause in the sunshine while I debate running without music today or going back upstairs. If I was living alone, I’d run back upstairs, no question. But Andie’s up there. In our bed. Maybe in the shower.
After the last few weeks of us acting like a married couple, it feels so natural to touch her. Dangerous. I don’t trust myself to go back up there to see her in our bed, looking like a dream come true.
I’ve been sneaking into work later and later every morning, just to catch Andie in her robe as she steams my clothes. It’s not some 1950s fantasy I have—I’ve made it this long without a woman fussing over my laundry—but it’s Andie. In the morning. Undone. Soft. Her smiles when she’s like that make me lightheaded.
It’s worth every ounce of flak I catch from my bosses for “losing focus.” Apparently staring off into space during a meeting, requiring everyone to repeat what they said has me on even thinner ice than showing up late and slipping out the door early to film.
A large semi drives by; the roar of the engine and stench of diesel make me grit my teeth. Fuck it; I’ll go back upstairs, and if I’m lucky, she’ll still be asleep, and I can sneak out without being tempted to cross the line between us that’s looking flimsier by the day.
I head back inside, up the elevator, and pause to take a deep breath before opening the apartment door like it isn’t also my home. My headphones are charging on my nightstand, so I tiptoe through the living room and nudge open the bedroom door.
Andie gasps, eyes wide. We both freeze.
My brain short-circuits when I see what she’s doing.
Her legs are wide open on the sheets, and she’s holding a purple vibrator in one hand. Caught red-handed. She curls her free hand around the T-shirt she’s still wearing, her knuckles blanching.
My dick likes that very, very much. I’m only in running shorts, so there’s no way Andie’s missed it either. Goddammit. These days I’ve been getting by with fucking my own fist in the shower.
Apparently, she’s been helping herself out during my runs.
Adding that knowledge to the image of her morning softness—I am so far gone for this woman. And we are officially on dangerous ground.
Gathering what little is left of my frayed self-control, I drag a hand down my face, turning around, and say with a growl, “I forgot my headphones.”
The only response I get is a little “hmph” and the sound of her vibrator turning on. Jesus fucking Christ, there’s only so much I can take. “By all means,” I grumble, “do continue.”
She snorts and I hear a shuffle on the sheets. I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel something soft land on my shoulder. I reach up to grab her panties, still warm from her body and smelling like her. I’m about to come in my shorts. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m trying to get off,” she says with her usual amount of snark. “You’re the one who barged in here like the building was on fire.”
I let out a heavy, shaking sigh. I realize too late I’m standing in front of the dresser. Which has a goddamn mirror on it. My eyes meet hers in the reflection. The sheets are crumpled at her feet, blocking the view I want the most. It doesn’t stop my dick from twitching a cheer of encouragement.
“Are you going to leave?” She sounds so removed, aloof. Like she isn’t half naked in our bed with a vibrator. With me right the fuck here.
“No.” The word rumbles out of my throat before I can think this through.
She rolls her eyes and shifts in the sheets to get comfortable. If she’s playing chicken with me, she’s really fucking good at it. I actually believe she’s going to—
I hold my breath as I watch her position her wand vibrator where she wants it. She lets out a contented sigh, and I nearly black out. I press my hand to the top of the dresser to steady my buckling knees.
The line we drew to keep from touching: absolutely hilarious.
I drag in ragged breaths and try to remember why I came back up to the apartment, and I can’t. Then Andie tilts her head back, exposing the soft underside of her throat, and all I can remember is that I desperately want to bite her there.
A swear escapes my mouth in a groan.
Andie sounds remarkably unbothered, if a little breathless, when she asks, “Are you just going to stand there or what?”
I’m going to hell. Maybe I’m already there, and Andie’s the devil who brings out the worst in me. All I know is, I’m lowering the waistband of my running shorts and freeing my dick. If she’s going to get off being a pain in the ass, so the hell am I.
Her eyes catch mine in the mirror and she smiles a devious smile. “So he’s not a perfect gentleman after all.”
If she knew all the places in this apartment I’d imagined bending her over and fucking her until she screamed, she wouldn’t be saying something like that. I don’t dare say that out loud, so all she gets is a grunt as I curl my fingers around my dick and squeeze until my vision blurs around the edges.
I don’t miss how her eyes fall to my thighs. She lets out a whimper and shivers on the bed. “I’ll make you a deal.”
I grunt again. How on earth can she hold a conversation right now?
“Whoever finishes first does the dishes for the next month.”
I can’t help but let out a puff of laughter. She hates doing the dishes. Hates it. Complains about it every fucking time, like the world is going to end if she has to unload the dishwasher when it’s done. I manage to get out a “fine” before she lifts the hem of her T-shirt and my brain sputters to a halt.
I pump my dick as she slowly reveals her stomach, then her ribs, then the glorious underside of her breasts, and finally, her nipples. They’re hard and erect and waiting for my mouth. Heat tumbles through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, slamming my hand on the top of the dresser, clutching her panties so tightly I can’t feel my fingers anymore.
Her perfume bottles rattle against each other, making the perfect music to complement her low laughter. I grit my teeth and start fighting back; every time she loads that fucking dishwasher, I want her to think of me and how I could absolutely ruin her for any other man.
In a low voice, I tell her, “I can hear how wet you are.”
She lets out a tiny whimper in response. Her vibrator turns up a notch and I smile to myself.
“Tell me,” I say as I pump myself once, twice, “is that for me?”
Our eyes lock in the mirror, and for a moment I think she’ll tell me to fuck off. Instead, she says, “Like you don’t think about me when you fuck your hand.”
“I do,” I admit with a shudder. “Of course I do.”
She lets out a long moan that ends quivering into the silence. A slice of heat slides through my belly and I take in a deep breath. She enjoys the idea that I think about her when I get off.
More than a little breathless, my voice ragged and raw, I tell her, “I think about burying my dick in that pretty pussy of yours. All the time.”
She whispers my name, maybe to scold me, but it also sounds a little like, Yes, please, don’t stop.
My strokes are less controlled now, and pleasure slowly unravels in my spine. “I think about you saying my name, just like that.” She groans, and her hips buck against the sheets. “You like the idea of me fucking you, don’t you?”
“God, yes.” The words are a reluctant whisper as she tosses her head back, eyes closed. Her tits thrust into the air as her back arches. She flicks her vibrator up another speed, and my fist flies over my dick to keep the pace.
“I think about your nails scraping down my back as I fuck you, hard enough that you’ll feel me there, even when I’m gone.” That admission is too raw, too close to how I feel about her. I clench my jaw as stars pop in my vision.
She’s writhing in the sheets now, leading herself up to the edge while I tell her what I want to do with her. The way she’s responding is a punch in the solar plexus—she’s been thinking about this too. We’ve both been craving each other, and here we are, all of it within reach and we’re still across the room from each other like we might combust if we did touch.
“Christopher,” she begs, using my full name, the one no one else uses with me. It’s like no time has passed at all.
“Do you remember that night, when everyone else was at the homecoming game?” My legs tremble, heat gathering low in my spine. “When we snuck into the art studio?”
She swears, hips bucking. She remembers. I don’t know how either of us could forget. I bent her over one of the tables and buried my face in her pussy until her scream echoed in the empty room. As she came, she knocked over a can with paint brushes in it. I can still hear them clattering to the linoleum floor, the can rattling as it followed.
“I still remember how you taste,” I admit, closing my eyes. “How wet you were. How you clenched around my tongue as you came on my face.”
Her moans now are louder, punctuated by desperate pants. She’s somewhere else. Back in that studio, maybe. After she came on my tongue, she shoved me to the ground and rode me within an inch of my life before I exploded into her like I never came before in my life.
“Do you want to ride me again?” I dare to ask. “Like you did that night?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She thrashes against the sheets, fighting her impending orgasm, and I’m going to win this stupid fucking contest. All at once, she kicks the sheets in the right direction and I can see her glistening pussy, swollen and ready for me, as she says, “I want to come all over your dick.”
She opens her eyes and meets my gaze in the mirror.
My orgasm rips through me with such force my thighs slam against the sharp edge of the dresser. I shout her name and barely have time to cover the tip of my dick with her panties as I spill into them, bucking my hips like I want to be spilling into her. My knees buckle as I slam into the dresser, sending perfume bottles toppling over as my orgasm racks on and on and on.
And if this is what it’s like coming just near her, I might not survive being inside her. I can’t fucking breathe.
My only consolation is that she’s arching off the bed, shaking as she gasps my name over and over, like I am inside her.
I swear as a second, smaller orgasm rockets through me when I thought I was done. I slouch against the dresser, resting my forehead on the mirror as I catch my breath. Fucking hell.
Andie is an actual fantasy come to life as she trembles through her climax. Just when I think she’s done, she arches off the bed again and I chant in a whisper, “One more. Give me one more.”
Her shout as she comes again is incoherent, but I tell her, “Yes, God yes, that’s fucking beautiful.”
She collapses back on the sheets, trying to catch her breath. I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat, tearing my eyes from her listless form on the bed. I don’t know what to say.
All I know is the shame rising so quickly, I can’t stop it. It’s over my head now, drowning me, pulling me out to sea, farther and farther from her every single second. She doesn’t speak. The hum of the vibrator finally stops, leaving us in cold, stony silence. Isolated like we hadn’t just connected on the most primal level mere moments ago.
My energy is sapped, and I’m not sure I can walk without stumbling. I won’t be running today. My phone buzzes in my pocket and the shame rises up to strangle me anew.
I wince, remembering that I have a meeting this morning, and I don’t know how much time I just spent in this fantasy. Fuck.
It’s just as well. I don’t know if I could stop myself from touching her if she decides to steam my clothes this morning.
This feels too real. While we pushed each other to the finish line, we weren’t faking it. We were together. I don’t know how to go backward.
I force myself to stand, head still so light the room tilts a bit. But I manage to move without falling. I walk to the bathroom without looking at Andie on the sheets. I can’t stand to see her right now, to add to my humiliation.
Her voice is soft. “Kit.”
I pause, afraid to look at her. “I’m sorry.”
Andie sighs and the sheets rustle. Before I can back away, she’s in front of me in just a T-shirt, her cheeks still flushed from her orgasm. “I wish you weren’t.”
“No?”
Her fingers rest on my jaw, nudging my face so I’ll look her in the eyes. “I’m not sorry. Not when I was worried this side of you was gone.”
I frown, unsure of what she means.
She sighs, her fingers falling to my chest. My heart lunges toward them like it’s been summoned. “You’ve been so controlled,” she says to my chest, “I was worried I lost you.”
“I’m right here,” I say gently. “If you want me, all you have to do is ask.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to say something.
I sigh and press my fingers to the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes.
Her whisper is so small, I almost miss it. “I’m asking.”
I open my eyes and meet her gaze. Her eyes are open and honest and hopeful.
“I want you to be comfortable around me. Even when—especially when the cameras aren’t around.” She shifts on her feet.
My phone starts buzzing in my pocket again. I grumble a curse under my breath. “I’m running late. We’ll talk later, okay?”
Her hand falls to her side as she breaks our connection. I miss her touch already.
Before she can go, I bow to press my lips to her cheek and whisper, “You look beautiful.”