THREE WEEKS, TWO DAYS AGO: 1:09 A.M.
I run a hand over my hip, the skin finally healed enough that I don’t flinch every time I touch it. My first tattoo—I’m a rare breed, I know. But I’ve always been the indecisive type, so I never got one before because I knew I’d just want something else in its place two days later. But this one will stick, and not just because it has to now.
With one giant breath I release the thin black fabric of my shirt and let it fall over the ink, hiding it until I’m ready for him to see. I sit up on the bed in Alec’s spare bedroom, too wired to sleep now. I was dozing on his couch not two hours ago and he teased me until I crawled in here. The second I saw the hall light turn off I’ve been contemplating getting up and joining him. I’ve spent a good hour with my internal debate team.
Alec’s room is a mystery to me. For all the hours he’s spent at my place, in my room, one would think he’d be comfortable with reciprocating the access. Yet whenever I’m over, he steers me toward the second bedroom if I needed to crash or change, just the way he did tonight. His own door is always closed, and I tease him on having a weird fetish. He admits to nothing, and blocks me every time I try to go in there. At some point the game became more fun than the actual idea of entering the mystery room. The moments when I got so close that he had to lock his arms around my waist and swing me in the other direction became what I was really after. He has such great arms, such a great laugh. dpgroup.
My toes barely tap the carpet as I creep to that door I’ve never been through, knowing that most of the mystery will still remain, since it’s past sunset and I can barely see five feet in front of me.
I pause at the doorknob. I wonder how it’s going to smell, if there are posters adorning the walls. Is he as messy as I am, as neat as he is everywhere else in his place, or somewhere in the middle? I wonder how he sleeps in his bed—if he’s all over the place or stationary all night long.
I let out a small breath of relief when his door opens soundlessly. The sweet and comforting scent I’m so familiar with wafts through the air in one large, concentrated dose, rocking me on my already unsteady bare feet.
He’s snoring.
He snores?
I didn’t know he was a snorer. Every time we’ve fallen asleep, I always went out first. He was the one to stay up and watch me doze off into dreamland. It seems unfair all of a sudden—that he got to see me at my most vulnerable when I never took the opportunity to see him. I can’t help but sneak forward, suppressing an amused grin at the nasal noises.
A slight breeze hits me, and I let my gaze drift from the lump in the bed to the open window, the curtains that frame it blowing slightly with the night air. Guilt gives me a subtle kick in the ribs as I remember what he said: I can’t sleep without a fan. He let me borrow that fan last week, and I’m horrible when it comes to remembering to return things.
I watch the blue curtains flap against the wall. “I’m bringing it back tomorrow,” I quietly promise.
Suddenly a snort comes from the bed.
Making myself as small as possible, I creep to the bottom of the bed, taking steady breaths, begging my heart rate to calm. It’s Alec. Just a friend. We’ve established that plenty of times. He knows about Eli and how much it hurts to go over the line of friendship and into something more. But when I push my knee into the mattress, letting my weight settle into the bed and ruffle the comforter, I feel the line slowly start to fade. I’m not sure what the line is; I’m not even sure if there is a line anymore.
Alec’s snores soften, like he knows I’m here right beside him inhaling his scent, reveling in the fact that I’m not alone, he’s not alone—we have each other, and it’s okay to have each other. His body stretches, and I dodge his arm as it comes up over his head. He rubs one sleepy eye before popping it open. When he comprehends that I’m sitting in front of him, his other eye shoots open and he sits up with a gasp.
“Jesus,” he says, his voice gravelly with sleep and surprise.
I quietly chuckle. “No, just me.”
He manages to give me a sleepy laugh, then uses his fists to push himself up and leans against the headboard. “Everything okay?”
The small smile on my lips drifts off into the moonlight. Okay. Everything is always okay. It’s rarely wonderful or fabulous or amazing, and I know it’s because I’ve held myself back from feeling all of those things. I faked it—faked it hard, even with Eli. And in this moment I know what I want to say: Everything’s okay…and that’s the problem. I want more than okay. I want to dive into a relationship. I want to feel. I want to love. I want it, and I’m terrified of it. Because I thought I had it, and I lost so much time with you. We could’ve already had it all if I hadn’t forced you to wait for it.
I could say it out loud, but I don’t. My eyes fall to his lips, the lips that told me they loved me so long ago, and I wonder if they still do.
I lean up on my knees, holding my breath as I watch Alec’s own breathing hitch. His eyes remain fixed on mine, his Adam’s apple bobbing when my left leg slides up in between his. The line we’ve drawn between us seems like a distant memory when my hands find the back of his head, fingers tangling in the dirty-blond strands. The comforter pulls under my knees as he fists the fabric. He’s trying to keep his hands off me, and the thrill of having such a strong effect on him lights my entire body on fire.
My breath comes out in a whoosh and my forehead touches his. I close my eyes, feeling them water underneath the lids. I want him. I want to be selfish with him. I want to take him for my own and fall madly, crazily in love with him, more and more every day. I haven’t wanted anything so much in all my life.
“Theresa,” he whispers, his hot breath washing over my skin. “It doesn’t…have to mean anything.”
I blink my eyes open, leaning back a little to watch his face. “What was that?”
“If you’re not ready. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
He keeps his gaze on me, and I let go of his hair, sliding my hands down his chest. Temptation is a funny thing. It’s like it knows what your weaknesses are and plays them to its advantage. Alec has always been my temptation. The forbidden fruit. And his words were the devil’s snake, slithering off his tongue and whispering in my ear. Now they seem like an angel’s voice, telling me that I’ve been very dumb for far too long.
I trace the dark design on his T-shirt, not saying a word. He has no idea how ready I am. This isn’t me fighting with myself anymore, fighting with the notion of love. It’s me giving in to it, embracing it. It’s me hoping I’m not too late for it.
The comforter relaxes under me, and Alec unclenches his fist and brings his hand gently to my face. The pad of his thumb smooths over my cheek, and he gives me a half grin.
“So many thoughts.” His finger taps my temple. “Care to talk about them?”
I shake my head, the ends of my hair tickling the print on his T-shirt. I’ve wanted to cut it short, but I’ve been too afraid to go through with it. Seems to be my thing.
I lean forward, letting our foreheads kiss. His fingers slowly caress the back of my head, fisting my hair, turning me on so much that my skin automatically rises with goose bumps.
“I am so done talking,” I say with a small laugh that I hear him echo. His thumb tumbles from my cheek to my bottom lip, and I resist the urge to take it into my mouth and give it a bite.
“Theresa,” he says, his voice thick and guttural. I imagine myself climaxing just from his voice alone. “Decide what you’re going to do here, please. I don’t know what’s happening, and I kinda want to be in the loop.”
I laugh and he smiles, pulling on the fistful of hair he has in his grasp.
“Am I driving you wild?” I tease, finally taking his thumb into my mouth. He lets out a breathy groan.
“You always drive me wild.” He gulps. “Damn it, either go back to your bed or kiss me.”
“Those are my only options?”
The hand in my hair drops to my shoulder and runs down my arm. I shiver from the sensation.
“I told you,” he says, using that throaty voice, “it doesn’t have to mean anything. But years of self-control aren’t going to last much longer with you sitting on top of me like this.”
Years. I waited years for the wrong person. I could’ve had so much time with Alec, so much time, discovering what real love feels like. I scoot up closer, his leg pressed hard between mine, muddling my thoughts.
“What do you want me to do?”
“It’s not up to me.”
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Kiss me.” His eyes close and he moves his hand to cradle the back of my neck. “Dear God, please kiss me.”
I close the distance that’s been keeping me from falling in love. My mouth touches his soft and ready and willing and waiting mouth, and the world tilts on its axis. I feel my heart reach out and cling to his, tethering us and tying us together. His tongue probes mine, dancing in a sensual rhythm, pulling our heartstrings so tight that if I was to ever be apart from him, it would destroy me. Far worse than when Eli hacked away at those very same strings for years until they broke and shriveled. It terrifies me, but in the most wonderful way possible. To even have so much to lose makes me want to cling to it, love it, appreciate it all that much more.
I set my hands on top of his shoulders, using them as leverage as I adjust. Though I’m loving the sensation of his hard, toned leg pressing between mine, I’m not close enough. I want to be able to sink into him, press our belly buttons together, feel my heart beating against his. He palms my hips, assisting me in my quest to close the gaps between us. I yank on the side of the comforter, and he kicks it out of the way, our lips grazing and bumping into each other. He tastes like cinnamon from his toothpaste. It sets my mouth on fire, making my entire body flush.
My knees sink into the pillow resting behind the small of his back, and I slide onto him with purpose, pressing my soft and ever increasing damp desire against his hard and ready body. A low groan rises from his chest, making the air around us snap and pop.
I breathe hard into his open mouth, holding as still as I can so I can tell him that everything that has happened between us has meant something, and this will too. I want it to mean something. This is the start of us, I hope. Not Theresa and Alec, friends. But Theresa and Alec, lovers. The words are much harder to say than I expected. I want to shout them out, but at the same time, they carry so much weight.
Alec’s hand flexes on my hip, massaging with just the right amount of pressure to get me to move. The first glide against his shaft bounces the words I was ready to say up into the air, and instead the only thing my tongue is capable of is heavenly expletives.
“Again,” he says, his voice laced with authority. The hands on my hips grip tight, but never force me into it, not that they would have to.
I press into him a second time, moaning with him as the sensation sends pleasure shocks up and down my entire body. I knock our belly buttons together, mash my breasts into the hard plate of his chest, pull on the ends of his hair, and whimper into his open mouth. His knees bend underneath me, locking me in place. I feel him flex his length, teasing me with its subtle rubbing. The moon peeks through the clouds right then, lighting up the faint smile on his face and the burning desire in his eyes.
I put my fingertips between our mouths, settling them on his bottom lip. Never have I felt so much contentment with another person. Contentment and craving all balled up in one. It hits me so hard it takes the breath clean out of my lungs—I’m about to truly make love for the first time.
I already feel that it’s so much more than I’ve ever experienced, and it’s not because of the perfect lighting or the fact that I haven’t had sex in a long while. None of what I’m feeling would ever have happened if this was with anyone else.
“Your turn,” I whisper to him. “Kiss me like you’ve always wanted to.”
His bottom lip quivers against my fingertips. “You sure about that?” He gives me the gorgeous Alec eye contact. “I’m not going to stop once I start.”
I drop my hand and lightly graze his lips with mine. “I don’t want you to stop.”
His cinnamon-scented breath releases in a long sigh against my mouth, and his lips close the small gap remaining between us. His warm tongue doesn’t waste time finding mine, and he probes with careful, sensual strokes, like he’s embracing every moment while it lasts. I feel a tug on my hem, and his careful fingers slide up my bare back until the crook of his elbow gets caught in the fabric of my shirt. The once gentle caress turns into a fiery grip, short nails digging into my skin. Our tongues stop dancing to duel over who can get closer, who gets more of this kiss. I lift my hips up and slam down on his lap, pumping over and over until we’re both in so much pleasure that our mouths can’t keep up. I can feel the sensation like it’s crawling under my skin; I’m so close to ecstasy but I can’t reach it with so many layers between us, but I don’t want to stop either. It’s a cruel joke that’s being played by the sexual universe, and I have to blink a few times at the ceiling to get myself to stop.
Sensing that I need to slow it down, Alec drops his knees, allowing me space to back up. I reach down automatically, needing to feel his hardness with my own hand. He throws his head back into the wall, swallowing hard, then pants at the ceiling with his eyes pressed shut.
I’m not a novice when it comes to hand jobs. Many years of “having fun” have given me plenty of opportunity. I have to admit, though, I never thought of how intimate one is until now. This isn’t a man I just met who will be long gone in the morning. This is my best friend. We know each other’s pasts, bad habits, and drunken nights. I know how he likes his coffee and how he can’t hit a F4 unless he hears it first, and I know that he feels like he’s falling behind his friends but that he’ll never admit it.
I know him, and I’m touching him knowing that we’ll face each other in the morning. That I’ll see him as my best friend, but something more now. This is intimacy, and I want even more of it. I want to know him as much in the physical sense as I do the mental and emotional senses.
I slide my hand out from his blue pajama pants, and I watch as he slowly tilts his head to catch my eye. My tongue snakes purposely across my lips, and I tuck my fingers into the elastic of his pants.
“Up,” I tell him, and he lifts his hips, letting me slide the bottoms off until he pops free. I lick my lips again, then bend forward. He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His brow is knitted in the middle of his forehead.
“You don’t have to…it’s been a while, so I might—”
“I know.” I turn my head and kiss his palm. “Let me know when you’re close and I’ll stop.”
His body moves in silent laughter. “Torturing me?”
“In the best way,” I say with a wicked grin. Then I drop my lips to his perfectly cut stomach. He rolls his hips upward, reaching down with his long, masculine fingers. Sweet caresses tangle in my hair until my mouth opens over him. Then the soft hold turns rugged and commanding. It hurts a little, but it’s an encouraging sort of pain. I slowly slide my tongue around the head, lapping at the salty taste. His hips thrust farther upward, and his fingers dig ever more deeply into my hair. I follow his lead, letting him push me into the position he wants, feeling my own pleasure pool between my legs.
I’m in a state of complete ecstasy, almost as if I’m the recipient of this glorious oral play. I’ve seen Alec happy. I’ve seen him sad and angry and frustrated and joyous and exhilarated and scared and bold. I feel his moods as tangibly as if they were my own. When he’s happy, I am too. It’s who we are together—moving in one synchronized emotional rhythm. His pain is my pain. And his pleasure…
A low cry releases from his mouth, his head pressed far back against the wall, every muscle on his body taut, veins visible even in the dark. The sounds he makes echo in my own throat, as I’m getting off on his vulnerable and sexy-as-hell masculinity. He pulls on my hair, fighting between coaxing me on or forcing me to stop. The salty taste of him begins to overpower, and I quickly back away, obeying the promise I made to him before I went down.
I watch as he calms his breathing, his body slowly relaxing back into the sheets. His dark green eyes meet mine, and I realize that I too am panting like a dog. I run a thumb under my bottom lip to wipe away the residue, my breath coming fast and hard. The corner of his mouth picks up as he watches me, and he straightens his back, reaching out his hand.
“Can I?” he asks, tucking his thumbs into my waistband. I’m not sure if he’s asking to return the favor or if he’s just asking to take off my clothes. Either way, the answer is yes.
I nod, then push up so he can get the material around my butt. He pulls like he’s in a tug-of-war, yanking them off so quickly they make a whooshing sound before they flutter to the floor. His hands go right back to my body, finding the hem of my nightshirt and lifting it over my head. My nipples are tight and ready, and his eyes blaze and he goes absolutely slack-jawed at the sight of them. I inhale deeply, letting my chest align with his mouth in case he should choose to close the five-inch gap. He lets out a small laugh at my lack of subtlety.
His lips press lightly against one of the peaks, teasing me before his arms wrap tightly around my middle, and his weight pushes me back into the bedsheets. My hands smooth up his arms, squeezing the muscles he usually hides under a button-down. He has no idea how fit he is, no idea how incredible I feel when he wraps these arms around me. My hands won’t stop wandering over the hard hills of his body, pulling and rubbing and grabbing and clinging. I want to suck on his biceps, lick across his triceps, bite down on his quadriceps. I want to paint his entire body with only my tongue and lips as a brush.
His chest presses against mine, and my legs spread wide for him to settle between them, his mouth continuing to love on my neck. I could stay in this position forever, to have an endless stay underneath his perfect body. The undeniable feeling of safety and trust is nearly tangible, and I find myself curling into it, cocooning myself under his warmth.
He feels so good on top of me.
A wave of déjà vu hits. The thought sounds almost familiar, as if I’ve thought it before. Alec’s lips travel up to mine, and as the soft passion builds between our mouths, I realize this isn’t the first time we’ve been here. The memory floats back to me through a fuzzy, almost dreamlike lens.
I blink my eyes open, slowing down our rhythm, eyes watering for no real apparent reason. Alec notices my sudden trepidation and slowly pulls back, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks, shifting his weight onto his arms.
I shake my head and let the quiet whispers of our breathing fill the silence for a moment or two.
“Alec…?”
“Hmm?”
“It…it feels good. You on top of me.”
He lets out a long breath, a hint of a smile setting on his kissed lips. “You remember?” he asks, smoothing a piece of hair off my cheek.
“Yes.” I drop my eyes from his gaze in a moment of uncertainty. “And no.”
“You were very drunk that night.”
Something pricks at the back of my eyes, and I blink furiously to ease the discomfort. I got a redo for that kiss—a spectacular redo—but what of the rest of it? What about the things I don’t remember, or that are fuzzy? He was in love with me then. How could I do that to him? My hands grip his skin and I can’t imagine him drunk right now. Alec wouldn’t do that to me if I’d said I loved him and he didn’t feel the same. He wouldn’t give me a drunken night. He wouldn’t dangle himself in front of me. And all the pain and heartache I may have caused smack into me hard, making it difficult to breathe.
“How…how do you not hate me?” I ask, the first traitorous tear rolling down my temple and into my tangled mess of hair. “To pull you this close, only to push you away?” I sigh, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, begging them to keep the rest of the tears locked behind the lids. That night was so long ago, it seems, but in a way it was just yesterday. I should’ve known then that he was better for me than anyone else, that he’s the one I’m in love with. How could I kiss him, pressure him, even though I was drunk as a skunk, when I had no intention of staying with him after? I feel rotten to my very core, and I press my palms even farther into my eyes, causing a dull ache in my head.
“Theresa,” he says, pulling on my elbow until I drop my hands. He cups my face, resting his forehead against mine, noses touching, and lips barely a centimeter apart. I watch his eyes, only his eyes, not being able to make out much else due to our proximity, but also not wanting to look anywhere else.
“I tried to hate you. I tried to turn off those feelings or turn them into something else. It was impossible with you.” His grip tightens, causing my neck to tilt back a little. “No matter what you’ve done, or what you do now, I will not hate you. I don’t have that in me.”
He presses his lips to mine so forcefully that I can’t speak. After the first second, I don’t want to talk. I don’t even want to breathe. I just want to be sucked into him and stay there for the rest of my days. I want to crawl into his skin and set up camp. This kiss won’t ever end if I have any say in the matter, and my body is his, every single part of it.
I shift underneath him, gripping his hard length before moving aside my thong. Our lips don’t break even for a split second as he pushes his way inside me without any apprehension.
Dear God, it feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can only think in clichés—no one can hold a candle to him, words cannot adequately describe the pure amount of joy I’m in, he has completely shaken my world. As swept away as I am, I’m equally terrified that this amount of pleasure is only given to a person in small, cruel doses, and that it will end as soon as it has begun.
His mouth pops from mine, only to let out a throaty expletive against my kiss-swollen lips. Hearing the naughty word wets my already primed sex, and his pupils dilate as he slides with more ease in and out of me. He repeats it in another guttural and possessive groan as he thrusts, the same curse after curse, and I soon find myself moaning in tune with him, like we’re creating our own X-rated musical. I can feel the rise of pleasure happening so quickly inside me that I’m afraid a premature orgasm will halt what is the most intimate and joyous moment of my life thus far, but it doesn’t stop me from begging him for faster, faster, more, more, until I’m arched back in blissful languor, not knowing who I am or what I am, only that this man, my best friend, has brought me to the brink of heaven, and I don’t know when I will fall back down to where I was before now.
The pleasure is so strong that I feel pressure building behind my eyes, wave after wave rocking so much in me—waves I’ve never felt before even with the most experienced of partners. I’m gripping his arms, latched tight around his hips, meeting him thrust after thrust, and never wanting it to end, but knowing that pleasure this powerful is bound to make a person combust.
His green eyes meet mine once more, making the pleasure I’m experiencing double in intensity, before we both slam our eyes shut and let out one final synchronized groan. The moment I fall back into my body, tears rain down my cheeks. My breath hitches hard, and I gasp, trying to get air, trying to figure out why I’m crying so hard when I’ve never been so happy.
Alec’s fast and warm breath washes over my face, rippling the sweat and tears lingering on my skin. He lies still as I feel him slowly soften inside me. His lips press light kisses to my nose, my cheeks, my chin, not asking why I’m crying so hysterically. Maybe he’s used to bringing women to tears from the pure pleasure of his lovemaking, but I’m sure not used to it. I’ve never reacted this way before. I can’t explain it either, because I’m not sad. It was just…it was just…everything.
He goes to roll off me, but I tighten my grip on his arms, shaking my head. He lets out a breathy laugh, and my bottom lip juts out a little as he leaves me completely.
“I’ll clean us up,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. The few seconds he’s gone in the bathroom gives me the time to calm myself. I place a hand over my heart and smile as it goes from a rapid pitterpatterpitterpatter to a slow pit-pat. Alec comes back with a washcloth and takes care of us both. This is also a first for me; usually there is a condom in play, and I realize with an ounce of dread that neither of us had protection. I’m on the pill, and I’ve been tested, but I have no idea of his sexual history in the medical sense.
The mattress dips as he rolls back on next to me. I curl into his chest, running my fingers over the muscles I will have to appreciate more next time.
“I’m clean,” I tell him. “Probably should’ve said that before.”
He silently laughs against me. “Ditto.”
“Also on the pill.”
I feel him nod against my hair. “Good. I’m sorry; I didn’t think—”
“I didn’t either.”
He’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. I’m sure drifting off, and in the very sleepy edges of my mind, I think I catch him whispering something to me. Something that sounds like “I love you,” but it very well could be a dream.