10. Indy #2
I stand there, dripping rainwater, and for a moment, I have this bone-deep realization that everything I’ve done today is idiotic. Every thought that has gone through my head and pushed me to this moment right here and now… incredibly stupid.
But then the door to the kitchen flies open, and there’s Nick, and all the irritation flows back out from behind that flimsy excuse of a dam I was starting to construct.
His brows rise when he sees me standing there. He leans his forearms on the counter and looks me up and down.
“Sorry,” he says. “We’re closed.”
My teeth grind together, and my fingers tighten into fists.
“You’re a dick.” I wipe the wet hair out of my face. I’m out of words. I guess that’s what I came here to say, and now I’m done. It’s so stupidly anticlimactic that I’m more embarrassed by how lame it all is than about the outburst itself.
He tilts his head to the side. “You drove all the way here to tell me I’m a dick?”
Maybe I would back down with my tail between my legs, if…
If he weren’t so goddamn flippant about this. If I somehow mattered at all. Because here I am, and he takes up about two-thirds of my headspace at any given moment, and sure, a lot of it is irritation. But not all of it.
He’s under my skin, and right now my priority isn’t getting rid of him. It’s getting even. It’s getting under his.
He’s spent years toying with me. Years. Tormenting me with looks and words.
But… never actually doing anything.
It’s a slow realization that somehow also slots into place quickly.
He’s all words.
I move. In a flash I’m behind the counter and in front of him, the fabric of his shirt in my grip.
He quirks his brow at me.
“What’s the plan, Blue?” he taunts. “Gonna punch me? Go ahead. You’ve wanted to for a while, so get to it.”
I have wanted to punch him for a while.
Instead, my grip in his shirt tightens, and I yank him forward.
I have just enough time to see the flash of surprise in his eyes.
And then my mouth is on his.
I don’t know if it’s a conscious decision or just an inevitable culmination of years of tension. For a moment, we both just stand there. I’m not sure which one of us is more startled, me or him. The kiss feels awkward now. Dry lips, a tentative press of my mouth against his. Awkward.
I should move. I should back away. I should run for my life. At least for my sanity.
But then he makes a sound, low and thick and somehow helpless in his throat, and my breath catches.
He tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut.
My lips slide over his cheek. My forehead is against his temple.
We’re suspended in the moment. My heartbeat is so loud it drowns out every other sound, my body trembling with a strange current. Fear. Need.
I move.
The smallest bit.
It’s more a twitch than anything else.
Nick lets out a curse and lunges at me, pushing me against the counter, the edge of it digging into my lower back, and his mouth comes down on mine.
He sighs into my mouth like the kiss is a relief. One of his hands goes to my head, fingers sliding into my hair, holding me still. I could tell him it’s not necessary. I’m sure as hell not going anywhere.
My hands go to his waist, and I pull him closer and steady myself in one go. Our bodies arch against each other. He pushes his tongue into my mouth. Every nerve in my body is on fire as our tongues rub and lick over each other.
He bites down on my lower lip, more gently than I would have expected, and my body jolts, fingers spasming against his hips.
He’s kissing me again, and I’m moving. Rocking against him. Nick lets out a low moan and shifts his body, his hand going to my lower back, guiding me, pulling me against him so our bodies line up and I can feel his hardness against mine.
His tongue ventures into my mouth again, and I’m leaning into him, a tight knot of want building in my stomach, and I don’t know what’s happening to me because nothing—nothing—has ever felt quite like this.
This isn’t a kiss. At least, not the kind of kiss I’m used to. This is something else; something more. More potent. Far more dangerous. Something that sweeps through me like a tidal wave, and Nick is the only point of contact I still have to stable ground.
My ears ring.
Nick shoves his hand between our bodies, and it takes me a moment to compute that the desperate whimper that faintly lingers in the air came from me, but that’s not possible, is it?
I don’t sound like that. Never have. There’s an edge of panic at the realization that this is Nick putting some distance between the two of us.
Only that’s not what he’s doing. Instead, he wrestles the button of my jeans open, and that’s… My throat goes very dry and a rush of blood roars in my ear as he slides his hand inside.
The ringing is still somewhere in the back of my head, and I don’t think it’s in my ears anymore, but I don’t have time to think about that because now Nick’s fingers are circling my cock. His big, strong hand wraps around me and grips me with the perfect amount of everything.
I squeeze my eyes shut and then pry them open again because I don’t want to miss any of it.
Nick’s hips shift as he moves against me, and for a moment, I don’t understand what he’s doing, but then his jeans are open too, and I blink for a moment and try to settle the roar of my blood into something more manageable.
Nick’s other hand is still wrapped around me, working me over, and then his bare hip is against my palm, and his cock slaps against mine, and I shove my own hand between us.
I wrap my fingers around him, thick and scorching hot and silky smooth, and I have no fucking idea how I’m still upright, but my hips are rocking against Nick’s, my cock fucking into his fist, and he’s doing the same, and everything else in the whole world becomes small and pointless background noise.
What matters are our panting breaths and the violent slam of my heart, and the way pleasure climbs higher inside me.
This vicious, undeniable wave that floods through me.
It’s fast and frantic and loud. We’re being so fucking loud.
Reckless. So fucking reckless.
Nick groans against my mouth. Hot wetness spills onto my wrist and over my fingers and his fist tightens around me. I can smell his release. His cock is slippery and wet and so are our hands. The muscles in my thighs lock as the tension between us peaks.
A violent shudder moves through my body.
A hot mouth presses against mine.
I come so hard, my knees go weak.
I slump against Nick, my forehead pressed into his collarbone, eyes squeezed shut, a panting, moaning mess.
And all I can think is, this is how you ruin me.
For the next few minutes, there’s only me and Nick left in the world. We’re sharing the same breath, skin to skin, holding on to the stubborn delusion that we didn’t just royally fuck up. At least for a few more moments.
Maybe I could stretch it out for a bit longer, but then I look down, and the real world comes crashing back in.
I have his cum on my hand.
And neither of us has made a move to tuck ourselves back in, so there’s his cock. And his hand is still wrapped around my dick, cupping me, thumb moving absently over the side of my softening shaft. His breathing is very loud in my ears. And oh shit, what the fuck have I done?
I’m suddenly aware of the vibrating somewhere on the floor.
He lets go of me abruptly and then both our moves are precise and fast. Cocks back into pants. Zippers up. Nothing to see here.
There’s still cum on my skin. My hand is still sticky with Nick’s cum. I spread my fingers wider and stare at my palm.
My phone keeps vibrating on the floor. No idea how it got there. It must have fallen out of my pocket while we were—
A shaky breath escapes.
My phone stops vibrating, but Nick’s starts ringing.
He ignores it, but when it stops and starts again, he snatches it off the counter.
“What?” he snaps into the phone.
Good to know orgasms don’t make him mellow.
“Yeah, he’s with me.” Nick looks straight at me for the first time since he made me come my brains out.
He turns around and stalks out from behind the counter, then says something else I can’t hear.
He hangs up, walks to the window, and looks outside before he turns around and stomps back to the counter.
“What?” I ask.
“They sent out a tornado warning.”
I stare at him dumbly. I don’t know why his words are this difficult to compute. We’re in Maryland. We get tornadoes.
I grab my own phone to check.
Tornado Warning, Anne Arundel County until 11 p.m. Seek shelter immediately.
I glance up from my phone, eyes wide as thunder cracks overhead. Close enough to rattle the windows.
“Oh shit.”
He’s already on the move. “Confirmed on the ground. Headed for us.”
Something crashes into the side of the building, and I jerk and whip my head around to see what it was. The glass panes of the windows flex faintly under the pressure of the wind.
“Nick.” I turn to look at him, alarm loud and clear in my voice.
He grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the back. The kitchen lights seem too bright as we rush through the open space.
There’s another crack of thunder and something outside slams against the building. I flinch.
“Is there a basement?” I ask him.
He ignores the question. Instead, he stops and yanks the door that leads to the walk-in fridge open.
Cold air comes out in a wave. I freeze on the spot, shoulders tightening while I stare at the narrow room in front of me.
A strip of clear space between two tall shelves filled to the brim with containers of produce and food.
Yeah, no. No, thanks.
This place is too small, way too small, and the building above us is big. Multiple stories big. No. No, thanks.
“No.” I shake my head.
Nick blinks. “What?”
“I’m not—” I try to swallow. Try to breathe. “I’m not going in there.” That’s stupid. We have to get out of here. “My car.” I start to turn.