Breaking Even (19 page)

Once he’s fully sheathed under the latex, he looks up to meet my eyes and his slow grin crawls up to capture another piece of the heart I should be guarding. I reach for him and he comes willingly, but he shocks the hell out of me when he thrusts in without any warning.

My breath comes out in a rush as the full, deep, stretching sensation hits me. And he pushes in farther, finding a place inside me that I
know
has ever been touched before.

“Fuck. You feel even better than I thought you would,” he groans, acting as though it’s a bad thing. I think.

Again, thinking is rather hard to do right now.

He pulls back and rocks in, and my breath comes out again as my body tries to acclimate to him. Even with the condom on, I can still feel the piercing enough. And I love it. In fact, I’m ruined. I’ll never want another man without it.

I really hope we stick together long enough for me to feel it without a condom.

My thoughts all run together when he drives in harder, and I pull him down to me, hoping his lips on mine will help drown out the humiliating sounds I’m already making.

He pulls out of me suddenly and then he takes my place while pulling me to be on top of him, both of us sitting facing each other, as he grabs my hips and plunges me down onto him, impaling me divinely.

His eyes roll back as he releases a sound that pushes me to the edge too soon. Our kiss becomes wild as our bodies collide, and he moves one hand to my hair, tugging just enough, and keeps one hand firmly planted on my hip, making our centers hit with force.

It all feels too good. A myriad of emotions and sensations hit me at once as he takes a nipple in his mouth, pushes himself up to let his piercing hit a spot inside me that has been dormant, and his hands... There’s something about his hands being on my body—owning me, claiming me, needing me.

I’ve never felt so sexy in all my life, and I love it.

His name is coming through my lips before I can stop it. My body burns hot and cold, a powerful eruption of mind-blowing perfection goes off, and I fight to stay vertical when my whole body tries to fold under the force of the orgasm.

He keeps going, making it impossible for me to not to whimper from the overwhelming sensations and ecstasy-laced high that I’m still riding out. But then his body jerks under mine just before he stills, and his breath comes out in a hard rush that slithers over my skin with a gentle, warm touch.

He pulls me to him and kisses my neck, his breaths slowly starting to return to normal, and I almost hold my breath.

Now that the moment has come and gone... What happens?

“You can go fix food now,” he says through a winded tone.

I laugh lightly while shaking my head, and his lips come up to capture mine in a kiss that means so much more than it did seconds ago. It’s only three. We have a while before it hits that awkward point where you don’t know whether to stay or go.

Maybe we can have fun for that entire time.

“How am I supposed to walk after that?” I mumble, very distracted by his talented lips and wicked tongue.

All of the groceries are still at my house. There’s no way these stems of jelly are going to support me for walking and cooking.

“Fine,” he says, breaking the kiss with a grin that gives me too much hope. “You can cook in thirty minutes.”

When his lips brush mine and he flips me to be on my back, that excitement floods me again.

“And what are we going to do for those thirty minutes?” I ask, trying not to giggle, squeal, or scream out in joy.

He purses his lips as though he’s giving that serious thought, and then he slides to the edge of the bed. All I see is him dropping the old condom into the waste basket beside the bed, and then the nightstand opens again before a foil-crinkling resounds in my ears. I feel the tingles of excitement rock through my body like a live wire has just been set loose inside me.

“I have a few ideas,” he says, grinning over his shoulder.

When he turns around, a new condom is on, and I can’t look at anything else. This day is so different than I thought it was going to be.

“I’ve always been a fan of show and tell,” I murmur distractedly, feeling his grin rather than seeing it because my eyes are otherwise engaged.

“Really?” he asks mildly, crawling back over the bed toward me, looking like a stalking predator. I’ll happily be his prey. “Because I’ve always been a bigger fan of show,” he adds, and then his lips come down on mine just as he thrusts deep inside me.

This is my new favorite day of the year.

***

RYE

Something smells incredible, but it’s too hard to move. Opening my eyes seems impossible. But my stomach growls in response to the delicious scent that is getting stronger, and I’m forced to wake up.

Why the hell was I asleep?

I look over at the clock to see it’s seven in the evening. Did I really just take a nap?

It’s then I see the cute, white cotton panties that are still on my floor where I threw them earlier.

Brin. That’s why I took a nap. I never would have thought she’d be so damn ravenous in the bedroom. In fact, I barely kept up. We spent the afternoon doing all my favorite things, and now I feel as though I’ve spent the day working out.

She’s not in the bed, which prompts me to frown, and then I curse myself for being disappointed.

I didn’t go over there for this. In fact, I went over there for the exact opposite. I wanted to explain about Jessica, but I also wanted to tell her how much I valued her friendship, even though we haven’t been friends for long.

I didn’t want her thinking it had anything to do with her, but I’m not the relationship guy. It’s not what I want.

Then she had to go and fucking say the shit she was saying, and every time she said something, I wanted to shake her. And she was right—I was fucking with her head. Problem is, she’s been fucking with mine, too.

I never meant to kiss her. I never meant to grab her up from the floor or enjoy the way her legs immediately wrapped around me. I never meant to hold her like I wanted nothing else. And I sure as hell never meant to walk over here and fuck her in my house, on my bed, on my floor, against my wall, or in my closet—I still don’t know how we ended up in the closet.

But the first taste I had of being inside her was different than anything I’ve ever experienced. There was more going on than just sex. I’m not sure that even makes sense, but for once, sex was more than just a means of having fun. It meant something.

I’m scared this has just gotten incredibly complicated. What do I do now? Brin is addictive. I never would have thought she could be so damned addictive.

The smell gets even stronger, more divine, so I stand up and grab my boxers, deciding to go investigate. The closer I get to the kitchen, the bigger my smile involuntarily spreads, which just worries me that much more. Why am I smiling? Why the hell can’t I stop?

When I reach the kitchen, my stupid-ass grin gets painful. Brin is standing at the stove, wearing nothing but my shirt, and singing quietly as she stirs something in a pan. My shirt looks really damn good on her.

It’s hard to tell what she’s singing over the sizzles and crackles on the stove, especially since she’s doing it so quietly. But I take a seat on the stool behind the kitchen island bar, and I watch the show she’s putting on.

Is she singing the Macarena? Does anyone even know the words to that song?

She grabs a pan and moves it to be on a cooling rack on the counter, and I prop up and watch her as she bends over to look in the oven, inspecting whatever is in there. My shirt doesn’t crawl up high enough for me to see her bare ass. Damn.

She closes the oven door and turns around, but when she sees me, she screams as though I just said
boo.
I just arch an amused eyebrow to complement my teasing grin, while she gasps for air and covers her heart.

She’s brushed her hair and put on a little makeup, something she would have had to do at her house when she went to collect the groceries. That makes me feel like a jerk. She feels like she has to try and look better right after mind-blowing sex.

I don’t know how to deal with her—this. Us. But I refuse to think about it right now.

“Don’t do that,” she hisses, her scowl forming and making me smile harder. I love her angry face.

“Don’t do what? Sit at my own bar?” I ask coyly.

She stifles her grin as blush rises to her cheeks. I’m pretty sure she just forgot about what happened in my bedroom during her startle and her little scolding.

“Um... I thought you might be hungry, and I still had all the groceries. I hope this is okay.”

I just grin bigger while standing up and making my way around to her. Christ, it’s like I can’t help myself. This can only end badly. But I don’t want to think about it right now.

When I reach her, I pick her up and slide her ass on the bar while I step between her legs, and her breaths go erratic. That makes me feel so fucking good.

“I told you a few hours ago to cook. So I don’t mind. Especially since I gave you thirty minutes and you took much, much longer.”

This time she’s the one that looks amused as she wraps her legs around my waist.

“That’s not my fault. You’re the one who wanted to try to go through a whole box of condoms.”

Damn. This conversation is actually starting to wake up the exhausted appendage that should be in a coma. How is that even possible?

“I didn’t hear you complaining earlier,” I murmur as I press my lips to her neck, unable to stare into her blue eyes anymore.

Her breath hitches and her legs get tighter around me. “I’m not complaining now. You are. I’m just trying to make you something to eat.”

I grin against her neck as my mind goes to the gutter, and she laughs while pushing me back.

“That’s not what I mean.”

I just snicker quietly, until my eyes gravitate to hers again. I really shouldn’t be getting lost inside her pools of blue, but something inside me is all fucked up right now.

“You look good in my shirt,” I say as my eyes stroll down her body, landing on the hem I’m pushing up. “Especially since you didn’t put your panties back on.”

She groans while hopping off the counter, and I frown at her back while she goes to the stove.

She mutters something about thongs and never being comfortable again, though I have no idea what she’s going on about. Then she takes the pan off the stove and puts it beside the other.

“You can’t touch me until you eat. I’ve worked hard on getting this ready.”

The fact that she told me I can’t touch her makes it imperative that I do touch her. Does she not realize this?

“Hey!” she squeals, giggling as I pull the shirt up and start moving my hands all over her body very playfully.

She tries to twirl out of my grasp, but she just ends up facing me, and I lean down and kiss her with a need that scares the fuck out of me. When her tongue sweeps in, my knees try to buckle, and I groan when she jumps up and wraps those sweet legs around me.

With her like this, I don’t have to bend over, and I also have her as close as possible. Well, almost. I’ll have her as close as possible in a second.

I’d fuck her right here if my condoms weren’t in my room.

“The food,” she says against my lips, though she doesn’t put any real willpower behind getting down.

“Can wait,” I say, acting as though I’m finishing her sentence.

I’m rewarded with a grin and a kiss that gets hungrier. I’m going to overdose on sex at this rate.

***

RYE

“Food is excellent,” I say as I take a bite of the chicken.

She glares at me, and I almost choke on my bite when I try to laugh. Even from across the table—which is where she put me when my hands kept getting too close to her during the reheated meal—she looks too tempting.

“It would have been excellent two hours ago. Reheated, it’s just barely okay.”

“Easy, tiger,” I joke, still getting her threatening glare.

She attempts to look angry for a moment longer, but the humor in her eyes and the small smile on her lips destroy that ability. She sips her wine while she studies me. Shit. We’re about to talk. About this. About us. I don’t know what to say.

“Do you have to go in early?” she asks instead, surprising me.

“No. I rarely do. It’s only on occasion. Usually I go in around ten and leave around eight. Well, I prefer to leave around five, but we’ve been unnaturally busy and I’m trying to get my new staff up to par.”

She grins as though she enjoyed something about that answer. Maybe it’s because we’re having a normal conversation for once.

“You?” I ask.

She sighs hard while nodding. “I have to go in at six tomorrow. Two hours earlier than usual.”

This time I grin. I really don’t think I’ve ever had this sort of conversation. Especially not over a dinner someone cooked for me—since this is the first time someone has cooked for me. She looked really good in my kitchen. I’ll worry about how all of this is affecting me later. Right now, I just want to enjoy it because it’s new. And God help me, I like it.

“Why a garage?” she asks while forking some more of the cold-in-the center chicken.

I bet it really would have been excellent when it was fresh off the stove. Next time.

Fuck me. I’m already planning a next time.

Clearing my throat and ignoring my inner war, I shrug. “I loved cars enough to never grow bored. My attention span is usually small, so for a career, I needed something that would keep me intrigued.”

“And you just started it up? That easy?”

I chuckle while shaking my head and wondering if she’d get mad if I came to sit beside her again. Honestly, if she doesn’t want to be touched, then she should change out of my shirt.

“No. It wasn’t easy. I inherited a lot of money from my grandfather years and years ago. My father put it in a trust fund to keep me from touching it. My Granddad only left it to me to piss off my dad,” I say fondly, and she tilts her head. “When I was of age, I emptied a chunk out and built my garage, hired a staff, and started from scratch on collecting clients. For the first year, I spent more than I made, but that second year... Things picked up.”