Illicit acollection, p.111
Illicit: A Contemporary Romance Collection, page 111
“Halle,” he whispers almost to himself before he crosses the small space between us and picks me up off the ground, forcing my legs to wrap around his waist. The muscles in his shoulders ripple and stretch as he adjusts me, and I relish the feel of those muscles under my hands as he maneuvers us. “I take it the bedroom is this way?”
I nod. I don’t know if I can formulate words right now.
Unable to stop myself, I grind on his hard cock through his pants. A low carnal groan rumbles through his chest. His hot wet mouth kisses a trail along my collar bone, over to the base of my neck. I tilt my head, offering him better access and his tongue swipes out, dipping into my suprasternal notch, his teeth grazing my overheated flesh. We breach the threshold of my bedroom, and he strides to my bed, gently laying me down on it before he dips down and kisses my mouth again. This man is a full-contact sport. There is no separation, no close enough. His weight presses me firmly into the mattress, and I swallow down the moan Jonah breathes into my mouth. Everything about him is so fucking delicious. Large, strong hands slide up to cup my lace-covered breasts, and his moan morphs into a low growl.
Jonah’s nose glides along the crest of my breasts as his talented hands kneads me, his fingers twisting and tweaking my pebbled nipples through the fabric. Scooting lower, he nips at my flesh, before kissing the smooth expanse of my abdomen. He stops at my naval, his breath warm on my already overheated skin. A whimper slips through my swollen lips as he continues to squeeze my tits with just the right amount of pressure. My back arches off the bed with the sensation of it.
“God, you’re perfect.”
I grin. I can’t stop it. That’s the perfect thing for him to say to me right now.
“I need to taste you, Halle.”
Oh hell. I moan, arching farther into him. I was wrong. That is most definitely the perfect thing to say to me. I squirm as his mouth trails just a bit lower. I can’t stop my reaction to his lips against my flesh. It’s been far too long since a man has done that to me. “I want to see if you taste this sweet everywhere. Can I do that, love?”
I nod my head desperately. “Yes,” I pant, my eyes cinching shut as he continues to slither lower and lower. “Oh, hell. Yes.”
When he reaches the top of my panties, he pauses, staring down at my red lace-covered pussy. It’s intense. And hot. Not enough, yet too much. His eyes find mine. He lowers his face into the lace and inhales deeply. Oh, holy fuck.
“Mmmm,” he hums, shooting the most delicious vibrations straight to my clit. “So lovely.” He grins and it’s wicked and sexy and I think I might come a little just from that. “I’m going to make you scream my name over and over tonight. I’m going to make up for all those orgasms you said you were missing. And only after all of that has happened, only when you’re begging me, will I fuck your tight cunt.”
My eyes close again, my head rolls back and my mind clears, going someplace warm and light, because slowly—so goddamn slowly—he pulls my panties down. I feel them slide across my feet, and then he’s spreading my legs wide open. He kisses me, right on my bare mound like he’s introducing himself, asking for permission to take what he’s about to give. He licks me, then sucks on my clit as he slides two fingers into my soaking wet heat. I whimper, biting my lip. Sounds I’m positive I’ve never made before explode from my mouth as he pumps in and out of me.
“So sweet,” he purrs against me. “Just like I knew you’d be. I could do this all night.”
I had no idea dirty talk could make me this hot. No freaking clue. And the way he’s touching me? Caressing me? Watching my reactions to everything he’s doing? It’s just so much. I feel like I’ve been perpetually hanging out with the minor league and suddenly I graduated to the majors. And now that I’ve discovered what pleasure and desire are truly meant to be like, I never want to go back.
“Come, Halle,” he demands, sucking on me until my head spins. “Come on my face.”
His words unleash something inside me. He commands it and I come so hard I see flashes of color splattering behind my eyes. My mind splinters along with my body, and there’s a damn good chance I’ll be screaming his name soon. Just like he said I would. I’ve never done that before. Never said anyone’s name during sex. It always felt a bit cliché, to be honest, but Jonah’s name flies unrestrained out of my mouth, as if to remind me who is making me feel this incredible.
One night, Halle. It’s just one night.
Right.
Why does that thought make me so goddamn sad? It’s not even Jonah necessarily. It’s the sex. I don’t need confirmation that I chronically pick the wrong men, but if I had any remaining doubts, they’re gone now. How can I have this one night and not any after it? How can I experience this, feel this pleasure, and know I might never have it again? It literally makes me want to cry like that girl. You know, the one who cries after sex and we haven’t even had sex yet.
But Jonah buried a piece of his soul—whatever that means—and I’m just getting out of a horrible relationship with a man who consistently lied to me. I just . . . I don’t even know what. I want more of this. Is this what happens to girls like me? We think we’re all big and tough, and cool and shit, and can handle whatever sexual adventures are thrown at us before we move on, only to find out just how wrong we are. I don’t want to be that girl. I want to be the one who can handle it when he walks away from me tomorrow—or tonight. Who can reminisce back on this night with a smile and an air of satisfied joy instead of regret and heartache.
Christ, I get all this emotion from just one orgasm? I mean, it was a phenomenal orgasm, but it doesn’t have to be life changing. It doesn’t have to reign this sort of power over me. Right?
“You all right?” he asks warily, noting the shift in my demeanor. I wish he weren’t so observant and in tune to what my body is doing. I love it, but as a result, he’s everywhere.
“Yes,” I say, forcing a smile. But I’m not, and I wonder why. Is it because I’m giving him exactly what I said I wanted? Why can’t I have this one night? Why can’t I enjoy it and him for what this is? “I’m fantastic,” I add. I think I might mean it. I can do this. I want to do this.
“You sure?” he asks warily.
“Absolutely. Please don’t stop. I want this.”
He climbs back up my body, hovering over me and staring directly into my eyes. Reaching up, I run my hands across his smooth, angled jaw and into his hair, drawing his face down to mine and kissing him with everything I’ve got. Showing him—and me—just how okay I am with this. I taste myself on his lips and that only seems to spur me on.
Jonah breaks the kiss to remove his pants, his boxer brief slipping down with them. I can’t stop myself from staring at him, drinking in the sight before me. Marveling at how big and hard his cock is as it stands at attention, begging for my mouth to wrap around it. I lick my lips reflexively at that thought, a fresh wave of moisture pooling between my legs. God, this man. He’s impossibly tall, crazy, sexy gorgeous and cut like Zeus.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks leisurely, stroking his cock as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking and wants to have some fun with my limits.
I can have some fun too. “My mouth on your cock.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, loving how unnerved I can make him with a simple threat. “You’re going to do that later. I’m dying to see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock, those eyes staring up at me as you take me down your throat. But for now . . .” He lets the sentence hang, coiling up into the musty, sex-scented air as he grabs a condom. After sheathing himself up, he’s back on me, kissing me like he’s in no hurry to be inside me. The kiss is passionate. Languid. Toe-curlingly decadent. I could live and die by this man’s kisses.
His fingertips glide down my thigh all the way to my calf before he lifts my leg and tucks it over his shoulder. And then he’s inside me, massaging secret, hidden places within. We’re nothing but desire mixed with passion and longing. Holy hell, the longing is incredible. Years of pent-up everything are somersaulting out of me like a prison break, being absorbed by the electricity that’s swirling around us, unable to be restrained. He thrusts into me, his eyes on mine the entire time.
“You feel so good,” he groans, beads of sweat coating his forehead. “So tight. So perfect.”
“Don’t stop,” I moan desperately, not even caring that I’m begging him. I grasp his shoulders, my nails digging in with each push and pull.
He shakes his head. “I won’t go over the edge until you do.”
Thank God. “Harder. Deeper.”
He pounds into me, drawing me closer and closer to something I have no name for. It’s more than just a climax. It’s more than a peak. It’s consuming. Engrossing. By far and away the best thing I’ve ever experienced. Seconds later, I shatter, coming apart at the seams as he slams into me relentlessly. He follows me over, growling out my name as his body stills and shudders before he collapses on top of me, both of us panting for our lives.
“That was . . .”
He nods against me and I can feel his smile. “Yeah. It really was.”
I run my fingers up the muscled contours of his back, and regretfully, I realize I didn’t explore his body the way I would have liked. The way he explored mine. But that thought gets pushed to the back of my mind when he props himself up on his elbow and leans in to kiss me. When our lips slide apart and the moment has passed, he climbs off me, heading for the bathroom attached to my bedroom. And all I can do is lie here, staring at my ceiling, reminding myself over and over again just how awesome a one-night stand actually is.
6
Halle
Sunlight streams through my window, bright and unrelenting. My eyes shut against it, cinching tight as I turn my face back into my pillow with a small groan. I’m sore. In a million different places I never knew existed on, or in, my body. That makes me smile like the post-orgasmic-drunk girl I am into my pillow. Jonah. My fingers glide across the smooth sheets, seeking that spot, that spot that was most assuredly occupied by him when we fell asleep in the wee hours. But it’s now empty. And cold. Like it’s been empty for a while.
For a moment, I tell myself he’s just in the bathroom. Or maybe in the kitchen. Or maybe he ran out to get us coffee and breakfast. But no. He’s gone.
I spend a solid five minutes convincing myself it’s a relief. I can avoid the morning-after awkwardness and bullshit phone number exchange, which neither of us will ever use. I got exactly what I was after—asked for—last night and anything more would be too much more. Unwanted even.
But it sorta sucks to wake up alone after the night we had.
We used a lot of those condoms—at least three of them—and then after that last time, he spent more time going down on me. My stomach flips as I recount it. Hours and hours of sex. Intimate words and acts. Mind-numbing, soul-awakening pleasure. Being dominated in a way I never knew I’d enjoy.
My phone rings from somewhere in my apartment and slowly, remorsefully, I drag my sorry ass out of bed and shrug on my robe. As I’m tying the belt, I see my phone.
Aria. I stare at her name, wondering whether I should pick up. It stops ringing only to start again almost immediately. I groan, but a smile stretches on my lips. Smiling can’t be helped when your friend is annoyingly and endearingly worried about you.
I’ve barely answered when her voice screeches in my ear. “It’s twelve thirty.”
Oh shit. Seriously?
“I cannot believe you’re just waking up! You were supposed to call one of us by now, Halle Jane. I realize you’re new at this whole hook up thing, but that’s what girls do. We let our friends know we’re not dead in an alleyway, or worse, in The Fens.”
I’m silent, gnawing on my bottom lip while I try to come up with a response.
“Is he still there?”
I shake my head, looking around my apartment just to confirm what I already know. “Nope. He left some time ago. No idea when, I was still asleep.”
“Did he leave you his number? A note?”
“Nothing,” I reply, but I’m still searching around just in case I’m wrong. “Wait.” A piece of paper catches my eye. “Yes,” I breathe out, surprised. “Holy crap, Aria. He left me a note.”
“Oh,” she exclaims, just as surprised as I am, though her tone is more pleased than mine. “That’s good, right?”
I don’t know.
“What does it say?”
I read it over and then sag down onto one of my barstools, because this feels like a copout. I almost wish he hadn’t left anything at all. I clear my throat, then read the note aloud. “‘Sorry to run out on you, but I had an emergency that could not be helped. Last night with you was everything. Jonah.’” I sigh. I don’t even know what that means. Everything is such a vague word. I think I might have preferred the word perfect. He peppered me with that one a lot last night. Couldn’t he have used that one last time?
“Did he leave his number?”
“Yes. He did. But it’s probably fake, right? I mean, who leaves in the pre-dawn hour with an emergency?” I emphasize sardonically. “That has to be a total bullshit excuse to escape the morning-after stuff. I bet he left his number out of guilt and if I tried to call it, he’d blow me off.” I sigh again and stare down at the note he’d scratched out on the back of the convenient store receipt from last night.
Aria is silent, and I hate her silence. It’s confirming everything I already know. I should not feel like this. I should not care. I don’t think I would have cared this much if he had just disappeared into the night like a sex aberration or spirit. This note is throwing me.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We both agreed to one night.” Even if our chemistry was better than anything I’ve experienced before. Better than the sort of magic drug dealers cook up in their basements. There was nothing forced or manufactured about it. It was the kind that only occurs naturally when two people really click.
I crumple up the receipt and toss it in the vague direction of the trash, annoyed that it hits the floor about three feet away, just as a flash of gold catches my eye. His cufflinks.
“If that’s what you agreed to—”
“He left his cufflinks,” I interrupt her.
“What?”
“His gold cufflinks. He took them off last night and set them on my kitchen counter. He must have forgotten them in his haste to escape.”
“Or he did it on purpose to have an excuse to see you again.”
I shake my head automatically. I know that’s not the case. Even in the half-minute it took him to remove these last night, I could see they’re special to him. I pick them up, admiring their weight and smooth, cool texture. “No way. These are real gold. And they’ve got his initials on the face and on the bottom”—I flip them over and gasp—“Oh Aria.” My voice fails me.
“What? What’s on the bottom?”
My eyes glide across the tiny script of the message engraved. Half on one cufflink. Half on the other. “One says: Bravery. Kindness. Strength. The other says: Love. Laughter. Joy.” I sink back into my unforgiving barstool, staring at the words. I buried a piece of my soul, he had said. “I need to get these back to him.” I knew they were special, but somehow, it feels like whatever piece of his soul he buried gave him these.
“Are you going to call him?”
“I have to,” I whisper, my ire at his having run out on me ebbing. He did leave his number, even though neither of us are looking for anything serious. I already know I don’t have it in me to be a booty call for that man.
“Christ.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t even know his last name. Just the letter on the cufflink. H. I have no clue what he does for a living, or where he lives, or whether he kills stray cats and cooks them up for dinner parties. I let a man repeatedly inside my body and I know nothing about him.”
“Brunch. At our usual spot. Thirty minutes. I’m calling Rina and Margot now. Neither of them are working today. And Halle?”
“Yeah?” I ask absently, my gaze still on the cufflinks. I can’t seem to look away from them.
“Bring the cufflinks and the note.” The phone beeps in my ear, meaning she hung up without saying goodbye. I set my phone down on the counter, still staring at the cufflinks. Heaving a sigh, I set them next to my phone and head toward the shower I so desperately need.
I survey the aftermath of last night as I enter my bedroom. My dress is still on the living room floor, but my bra and panties are on the floor in here. My sheets are a tangled mess, and I know if I were to press my face into the pillow he used, it would smell like him.
Which is exactly why I set to work on stripping my bed and carrying all my linens down the hall to my laundry closet. I stuff the sheets into the washing machine and start it, then head directly to the shower. Just because I am going to seek him out to give him back his cufflinks, doesn’t mean I want a do-over. The sex was just sex. Sure, it was fun and seriously hot, but that’s as far as it will ever go.
But here’s the problem—I think I might be ruined. At least as far as sex goes.
Seriously. I think the sexy bastard ruined my vagina for all future men. I mean, I’ve slept with six guys, not including Jonah. Okay, so that’s not exactly a lot. But still, I feel like that should be enough of a sample size to understand that not all men fuck the way Jonah I-don’t-know-his-last-name does. That they don’t take the time to understand and pleasure the woman they’re simply hooking up with. Because that’s what he did. I don’t even know how many orgasms I had last night because I freaking lost count.
All-night sex with one man, and I just know I’m going to be comparing every future guy to him. And most likely be disappointed with the results. Fabulous. Just fabulous.
Okay. Moving on. It was one night, and this is Boston. The majority of men are not like Matt. Or the douchebag before him, or the douchebag before that douchebag. And so on.
