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“You know, I want you to have someone,” she says. “It hurts that I go home to Craig and you just…go home, to that empty house on the coast.”
“I appreciate that, Mari,” I say gruffly. “Now, quit with the feelings; we don’t do that around here.”
She laughs. “Alright, text me when you resurface.”
“Will do.”
I push my phone in my pocket. The ocean has gotten a little restless in the span of time that conversation took. The placid surface rolls alongside the coastal grass. I wonder whether we’ll have a storm. The image of being holed up here with Serena, while rain and lightning rage outside, is pleasant. Maybe, if I’m lucky, it will, and I can use that as an excuse to keep her longer. I’m not ready for her to go. I’m not ready to explain why.
Hell, maybe I don’t even know why.
Exhausted, I go inside and set my empty cup in the sink. I’m going upstairs because when I’m in that bed with her, I don’t have to think.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SERENA
The most pleasant sensation wakes me up. Hot breath, light kisses that tickle on the nape of my neck. He’s behind me, one broad forearm encapsulating me. Holding me against his chest. Down below, he’s rock hard, pressing into my ass.
Probably why he woke me up in the first place. Eyes shut, I clear my throat.
“You can just put it in,” I murmur.
“Fuck.” His voice drops. The bed shifts as he rolls over and a condom wrapper tears. Then his body presses against mine, and he runs his palm down my thigh. I lift it, and he touches my pussy, waking it up with a tingling shock. He spits in his hand, wetting the entrance. Pushing my face into the pillow, I let out a little gasp as he guides the head of his cock into me. He moans, his face in my neck, and buries it to the hilt.
“Goddamn,” he rasps.
He’s annoying, but very sexy, and it drives me wild when he acts like my pussy is the best damn thing he’s ever felt. Hand on my hip, he thrusts and lets out a soft groan. From this angle, it’s very tight, but I don’t mind. I want him—need him—to use me. This feeling…it’s better than the first seconds of being drunk, when everything is pure euphoria.
Even though it’s a quickie, it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced. His chin rests on my head for a brief second, then he shifts so his mouth can graze my temple. I reach back, but he gathers my wrist and pins it against the bed. After that, it’s just dirty fucking, the bed hitting the wall, until he comes. We both fall still. His hard palm ghosts down my stomach, fingers finding my clit.
I’m on the edge. It takes less than a minute to tumble over it.
Panting, I stay still, squashed beneath his arm. After a while, the tension in it loosens, and his breathing deepens. I smile, but it’s bittersweet. He seems tired, honestly. I can’t blame him for that; I’ve never met anyone whose phone lights up as much as this man’s. Briefly, I wonder if I’m just another problem to him. A reason he has to stop and swipe his screen.
No, he reached out to me. He brought me here.
I stir, pushing his arm aside, and rise. He makes a grab for me, and I sidestep.
“God, you’re so horny,” I say, like I’m not just as bad.
“I can be worse, I promise,” he says, rolling onto his back.
“Go back to sleep,” I say, slipping through the bathroom door.
I clean up and put on one of his T-shirts and a pair of panties. When I go through the bedroom again on my way downstairs, his eyes are closed.
Good, we both need a little break. He’s got me off-kilter.
In the kitchen, it’s dark, with storm clouds gathering over the ocean. The way the waves roll reminds me of the grass in Wyoming. Whipping in shades of dark and light green beneath a tumultuous sky. It’s safe here, even though this isn’t a familiar place. Perhaps because he’s upstairs. Or just because, for the first time in a year, I don’t have this yearning in my chest to see him one more time.
I slip the mug into the coffee machine and hit the button. It gurgles, and the scent fills the room.
My brain goes to places it shouldn’t be. Wondering what it would be like to live alongside him. Get up, kiss him goodbye, and watch him leave for some studio somewhere. To sit at home and watch him on the television more than I saw him in person. Or worse, to wonder if there someone else better than me was flirting with him backstage.
I shake my head.
There are many reasons we’re incompatible.
