58. Indy
FIFTY-EIGHT
INDY
I wonder what it’s like to have willpower.
Because I have none.
He buzzes me in late at night and when I’ve made my way up the stairs, he’s already waiting for me.
We don’t speak.
He attacks me with his mouth.
He drags me inside.
We undress in a rush, clothes littering the floor like breadcrumbs throughout the apartment.
He fucks me in his bed, and I sneak out a few hours later.
And I tell myself this was enough.
I will get myself some of that self-control now.
He sucks me off against his front door, sneakers still on, my pants around my ankles, my bare ass against the cool door.
My hands in his hair.
My cock so deep down his throat that when I come, I swear I see stars.
I also swear this is it when I drag my ass home later that night.
This was definitely the last time.
He comes with a row of throaty curses, his balls slapping against my ass when he empties himself inside me.
My arms give out, and I collapse on the bed. He yelps when he falls on top of me.
I land in the middle of the wet spot I painted on his sheets a moment earlier and snort out a laugh. His chest vibrates against my back.
“What?” he asks, lips tickling my earlobe. He bites down on it gently.
I shake my head. “Nothing. ’S not important.”
He pinches my ass, and I give him a halfhearted glare over my shoulder.
“Tell me,” he says again. He catches my earlobe between his teeth and pulls. “I want to know why you laughed.”
“Why?” I ask with a yawn, closing my eyes. Just for a moment though. I have to get going soon.
“It’s you, okay? Which means I want to know.”
I try to ignore the way my chest jolts.
“I’m lying in a wet spot,” I say. His mouth stills on my neck, and I start to laugh again. “Not the great, life-changing musings you were expecting?”
He groans and rolls his hips.
“Fuck, that’s so hot, though.”
He’s already getting hard against my ass again.
I turn my head and look at him. “Really?” I keep my voice even. Dry.
Even though everything inside me is humming with a dangerous, vibrating desire that’s getting stronger and stronger with every moment I spend with him.
We don’t really talk about what we’re doing.
I just show up at his place, night after night.
And then there’s this one evening when I ring his buzzer, and he doesn’t answer.
And instead of going home, I wait. And when one of his neighbors comes out, I slip through the door behind him then go and stand by Nick’s door.
Like a fucking stalker. And I do realize this is fucking pathetic, and what the fuck am I even doing here? Go the fuck home, Indy.
But I wait some more.
Nick comes jogging up the stairs about twenty minutes later, all out of breath. He sees me, his shoulders relax, and he walks straight into me.
“Got held up. And my phone died,” he says, just before he backs me into the door and kisses me.
“How long have you been here?” he asks when he pulls away long enough to unlock the door.
I wave him off. “Just a little bit.”
And it’s terrible.
Because I would have waited for as long as it took him to get here.
“Batch number four.” Nick holds a spoon out to me. “This one’s got a tablespoon of soy sauce in it.”
I eye the row of identical bowls lined up next to where I’m sitting on the counter then dutifully lean forward and swallow the contents of the spoon.
I sigh happily and lean back.
“Awesome,” I say.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “And would you say ‘awesome’ is an upgrade from ‘really great’ which is what you said about the third version?”
I purse my lips. “I liked number two best.”
He nods and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“Because it tasted the best.”
“That’s really not helpful.”
“How is it not helpful?” I ask with a laugh. “You want to know about the taste. I told you what tasted the best.”
“But what makes it better than the other three?”
“The taste?” I smirk when he tugs my earlobe and tries to look annoyed. “Okay, okay. Let me think for a second. Give me some more.”
He holds the spoon out for me and I taste it again. We’ve been at it for a while, taste testing different versions of the sauce he’s been trying to perfect.
“I like the lemon,” I say. “Gives it a kick. And I like the texture. It’s creamier than the other three.”
He eyes me for a bit. I raise my brows just before he leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips.
“Thanks,” he says. “Number two it is.”
“Just like that?”
“Did you change your mind?”
“No. Just… You don’t want to get a second opinion from somebody who knows what they’re talking about?”
“No.” He licks the spoon then puts it down on the counter. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my sweats and starts to tug them lower until the head of my cock is trapped between my stomach and the fabric. Cool air hits the tip and makes a shiver race down my back.
“But I feel like I should return the favor now. Taste something you made.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“It’s the same old thing.” I’m breathless already.
“I know. It’s a classic for a reason,” he says, just as he yanks me off the counter into his arms. I yelp and wrap my legs around his waist.
He carries me to the bedroom, and I laugh the whole way.
I roll myself toward the edge of the bed with a groan. It’s so warm in Nick’s bed. Wrapped in his arms. Tucked against his chest.
I never want to leave, and that’s exactly why I have to go.
He pats the bed next to him and blearily opens his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
He looks adorably rumpled with his bedhead and his bare ass peeking out from under the sheet haphazardly twisted around his hips.
“It’s late,” I whisper. “I have to get going.”
It’s been weeks of forcing myself out of his bed in the middle of the night and dragging myself home through the cold, then falling into my empty bed. Alone.
It’s getting more and more difficult every time I do it.
I never want to leave.
That’s exactly why I have to go.
“I had plans for you,” he says.
I laugh. “What kind of plans?”
“I was going to wake you up by going down on you. And that’s just the start.”
“Yeah?”
“There are follow-up ideas. Many. I have an excellent imagination.”
He grabs my jeans and tosses them onto the other side of the bed.
“I know.” I smile. “I’ve been on the receiving end of your imagination.”
“You should sit on my face.”
I blow out a shaky breath. “Nicholas…”
“Blue.” He gets on his knees and knee-walks to the edge of the bed. His knuckles graze my stomach when he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls me toward him until he’s kissing me.
I never want to leave.
And that’s exactly why I have to go.
In theory.
In practice, I need very little convincing to fall back into bed with him.
And stay the night.
I set all those rules, and then I just break all of them, one after another.
I set new boundaries, and then dismiss them.
It’s frustrating as fuck.
Because it’s going to hurt.
It’s going to break me.
He’s going to break me.
And I do absolutely nothing to protect myself.