Chapter 5
Matt
It’s just one night. It’s just one night. It’s just one night.
I keep trying to tell myself that. That this is the only night we sleep together. I’ll take her to her sister’s wedding, and I’ll even pretend that my name is Brian if it’ll make her happy. Though I do want to know who this Brian really is. But that’s neither here nor there.
What is, however, is this kiss. This fan-fucking-tastic, sparks-flying-everywhere, hit-it-out-of-the-park kiss. This kiss that’s already making me want more than one night with her. Somehow, I have to shove that down and go along with her plan. Because that’s perfect for me and my life right now.
No strings. No commitment. No chance to get hurt.
With my hands on her face, I keep her close. I apply pressure without meaning to, my urgency pouring out of me. The kiss speeds up, becoming more frantic as we switch angles and her tongue pokes out to slide into my mouth. But then I remember what happened at the bar and decide to throw the brakes on this. She got so drunk earlier that she threw up. She doesn’t need to make a drunk mistake, no matter how sober she thinks she is.
I move my hands down to her shoulders and squeeze before pressing her away. “Hold on,” I tell her on an exhale.
“No,” she whines, attempting to get close to my lips again.
But I hold her back. “Look.” I spin her toward the stairs and guide her up them. “Sleep on this. If you still want to do this in the morning, I’ll be happy to oblige.” At the top of the stairs, I gesture toward my bedroom. “But if you wake up and realize that it would have been a mistake, then no harm, no foul.”
“What happened to not being professional when you’re off the clock?” she mumbles as she kicks her shoes off.
Behind her back, I smirk at her and start to unbutton my shirt. “This is my bedroom,” I tell her. “And I’m sleeping in here too. Is that considered professional?”
She turns to face me and squints. “No,” she settles on saying, “I guess not. Good enough.” Then she reaches behind her back to unzip her dress. After a few moments of struggle, she huffs out a deep breath.
“Let me,” I offer, my own shirt now in my laundry basket by the closet. I walk over to her, and she pulls her hair over her shoulder. “I like this dress, by the way. It suits you better than the clothes you normally wear.”
Goose bumps rise on her bare skin, and a slight shiver runs through her body. As I trail my thumb down her spine while unhurriedly undoing her zipper, she rubs her arms.
“Thanks,” she says timidly.
When I reach the bottom of the zipper, I run my hands under the thin straps of her dress and help them over her shoulders. Then I put my lips next to her ear and whisper, “I like your hair down, too.”
As her dress tumbles to the ground, she sucks in a breath. It’s a short but sharp intake of air, enough that I don’t miss it when it happens. Though I almost do because the sight before me is nothing short of incredible.
Her strapless bra doesn’t hide how sleek her muscular back is. And her panties don’t completely cover her backside, so the bottoms of her cheeks peek out from under them. All of her backside is toned and slim. She clearly takes care of herself. And I clearly feel like admiring her.
Before I can pull my gaze up, she spins around and faces me. And catches me staring. But I don’t care. I slowly trail my gaze up her front, allowing myself to enjoy the view while I have it in front of me. When I meet her eyes, she’s watching me, a sexy smirk on her lips.
“Like what you see?” she questions.
I give her a slow nod, not breaking eye contact.
“Good,” she says, taking a step forward. But she stumbles over one of her feet and shrieks as she trips.
My arms shoot out to stop her from hitting the floor, and she falls right into them. I drag her up by her underarms and steady her against my chest, where she presses her warm, pink cheek to my skin.
And deeply inhales?
“I thought you said you weren’t drunk,” I say on a light chuckle.
“Maybe I am,” she sighs. “It’s been so damn long. I guess I can’t remember.” She clutches my back, pressing her fingers into my bare skin. “But I don’t think it’s the margaritas. Or the shots.”
Her slightly slurred speech could tell me otherwise. That sounds like a lot of alcohol. But her long yawn tells me she’s had an exhausting night and it’s time for bed. So I shift us toward my bed, pull the comforter down, and lay her on the open spot. As soon as she’s able, she rolls onto her side and snuggles into the pillow.
It’s cute as fuck, and I will my brain to permanently remember this scene.
I don’t want her to get cold or feel awkward being mostly naked in my bed when we barely know each other, so I go to my dresser and grab a T-shirt for her to wear. When I bring it over to her, she’s already breathing steadily, her eyes closed and her hands curled under her cheek. I think about letting her sleep, but then I imagine her waking up horrified by her lack of clothes and think better of it. So I gently unfurl her arms and slip the shirt over her head, adjusting it over her torso once it’s on.
Then I amble over to my side of the bed and get in. My arms nearly reach over on their own accord to pull her close to me, but I remind them that she’s not mine to do that to. She’s not here because we’re together. She’s here because she got drunk and needs a favor. She’s here because I agreed to take her to a wedding and give her no-strings-attached sex for one night. Clearly, that’s not happening tonight. But that doesn’t mean I’ll skip out on the wedding.
If it means I’ll get another chance at no-strings sex with this incredible woman, then a wedding date is the least I can do.
∞∞∞
Cadence
When I manage to crack my eyes open, I almost can’t tell that I’ve done so. It’s pitch-black in the room, and no light creeps through the blinds. Plus, my head feels fuzzy and achy, so I’m careful as I roll out of bed to get some water. But, as soon as my feet touch the floor, panic shoots through me. My bedroom has carpeted floors, yet cold hardwood flooring is under my feet.
So where the hell am I?
I fumble around, trying to find a lamp or my phone to create a source of light. Instead, I knock a glass—or something made of glass—over. It smashes to the floor, small pieces scattering across the wood. As I gasp, my heart pounding an uneven beat in my chest, an arm snakes around my waist and tugs me backward on the bed. Right up against a strong, muscular body. A warm, comfortable, sexy-feeling body. And everything about last night comes crashing back.
The bachelorette party. Throwing up in the bar’s bathroom. The package deliveryman. Him taking me back to his place. Falling asleep in his bed.
And oh my god. Telling him that I wanted to show him my package-handling skills.
Then his deep, sleep-filled, gravelly voice fills my ear. “Don’t move. Let me turn the light on.”
I wouldn’t be able to move if I tried. So I stay put as he lights the room up. Except for pulling my hands to my eyes to stop the prickling pain in my eyeballs. Ouch. This is why I don’t ever drink. Or spend the night at a stranger’s house.
Okay, he’s not a stranger. I see him more often than I see my gynecologist, and his arm around me feels natural and soothing. But the house is strange.
Okay, the house isn’t strange. It somehow feels comfortable, like I’ve been here before and wouldn’t mind staying forever. But still. I shouldn’t drink that much. Period.
When I’m able to peel my hands away from my face, I peek over the bed and see glass all over the floor. Amber and teal pieces shine in the light. And, when I look at him, disappointment is etched across his face.
“Stay here,” he says as he gets off the bed. “I’ll go get the broom.”
“I can do it,” I tell him, reaching out to stop him. “This is my fault.”
But he ignores me and heads out the door, leaving me to wonder what I broke and why it’s disappointed him so much. I can’t tell what it is by the colors or the pieces of glass. There are no pieces large enough to give me any hints. So I wait in the bright light of his bedroom until he comes back a couple of minutes later with a broom in one hand and a glass of water in another.
“Here.” He holds the water out to me. “I thought you might need this.”
Once I take the water, he turns his fist over and drops a couple of pills onto my open palm. I should probably care more than I do about what they are, but they look like aspirin or some other pain reliever. So I pop the pills into my mouth and wash them down with a gulp of water.
“Thanks,” I say as he sweeps the small, broken pieces into a dustpan. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” His voice makes it sound like it’s anything but. A sleepy rasp makes it even worse.
I woke him up and broke something that means something to him. Wonderful.
“Can I ask what it is?” I hedge and then hold my breath.
He inhales deeply and pauses his sweeping. After a few silent, tense moments, he says, “It was blown glass. My grandfather used to make it.” Then he continues cleaning the mess up, his movements gruff and stiff.
“Used to?” I ask before thinking twice about how personal that question could be.
His answer is nearly what I feared it’d be. “Yeah. He’s sick now, so he can’t anymore.”
My stomach lurches, turning at the thought of having ruined something so valuable to him. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat. “I’d offer to pay for it, but I’m sure it was priceless.”
“That it was,” he says on a sigh, sweeping the last piece into the dustpan.
My gulp is so loud that it catches his attention and he looks at me. Really looks at me like he’s noticing how upset I am over this for the first time. He leans the broom against the wall and sets the dustpan on the bedside table. Then he approaches me and cups my cheeks.
“Sorry.” He wipes under my eyes with the pad of his thumb. “I’m just tired. The noise was loud, had me in a panic.”
On a sniffle, I tell him, “Which was my fault too.”
He laughs lightly. “You’re cute. Has anyone told you that lately?”
“Definitely not someone who’s upset about something I broke in the middle of the night.” I shrug.
“I’m glad I could provide you with a first,” he tells me, his dimples popping out.
“You’re not still mad?” I ask him, looking up at him through damp lashes.
He shakes his head. “Nah. I have other things to remember my grandfather by.” Then he tugs me down to lie back on the bed. He keeps an arm around me as we snuggle under the covers.
“Wanna talk about him?” I put my head near his chest and trace lines on his skin.
“Maybe some other time,” he says into the top of my hair, which gives me the chills.
There will be a next time? Besides the wedding, of course. Or is that what he means? That can’t be what he means. Who has time to tell someone about their grandfather at a wedding when their date is the maid of honor? I may have been drunk last night, but I remember specifying one night and no strings. I don’t know what time it is, but I’m sure the night is almost up.
This is starting to get complicated. And I can’t have complicated right now.
I sigh against his bare skin. “This isn’t what I had in mind for tonight.”
His chuckle is soft, but it still shakes us a bit. “Yeah, it’s not what I was thinking, either.” Then he gives me a squeeze, tightening his arms around me. “But I’m not complaining. This is more excitement than this bed has seen in a long time.”
“Well,” I say, propping myself up with an elbow on the bed and a hand on his chest, “we can’t have that, now can we?”
Both of his eyebrows rise on his forehead, and then he shakes his head. “No,” he responds. “No, we can’t.” Then he flips me over onto my back.
I wince a little, seeing as my head is still aching from the choices I made several hours ago. When he notices, he brushes my bangs off my forehead and tucks some of my hair behind my ear.
“You know what they say is a great cure for a headache?” he says, giving me a sexy smirk.
Before I get a chance to answer, he sits up on his knees and lifts the shirt I’m wearing so my panties are exposed. For the first time, I notice that I have this shirt on. So, as he’s distracted with pulling my panties down to my ankles, I bring the shirt up to my nose and sniff. Maybe that’s creepy, but I’m instantly obsessed with the fact that it smells like him. Just like he did when we first arrived at his house. A little sandalwood and a hint of cologne. Mmm.
“Feel free to take that off too.” He winks at me from my feet before climbing back up the bed. He stops at the tops of my thighs, smoothing his hands up my bare skin.
I go ahead and take his advice. Because why not? If I only get one night, I better do it right. And, by right, I mean naked. So I whip the shirt off and remove my strapless bra in record time. The promise of an orgasm that doesn’t originate from me is too much to pass up—headache be damned.
With his palms, he parts my legs, dropping my knees to the bed. I relax completely, allowing him to take charge and do whatever he wants to do to me. I haven’t felt this kind of surrender in probably as long as this bed has seen action—if not longer. Somehow, I can feel that we both need this kind of night, so I relax into it and enjoy the moment.
Relaxation takes a back seat to surprise at the first swipe of his tongue up my slit. But then a deeper relaxation I’ve never known slides through my limbs and I moan and melt against the bed as he licks me. His tongue gets firmer and stiffer on my clit for a while before giving me softer, gentler strokes.
Soon, his touch is more than I can bear. My moans go high-pitched, and my breaths become shallow pants for air. I grip the sheet in my fists and squirm as he tries to pin me to the bed and lick me until I come.
Which I do.
At full freaking force.
Harder than I’ve ever come before.
He latches on as I buck my hips and try to use my heels to push him away. It’s just too much. But he seals his mouth over my clit and sucks lightly, helping me ride this orgasm out until the very end. When I can’t take anymore, I drop my butt back onto the bed and push away, unable to feel another single ounce of pleasure from his tongue.
He teases the insides of my thighs with his fingertips as I come back down to Earth. Trying to catch my breath, I place a hand on my chest. But I can’t stop breathing so fast while he’s caressing my skin. Everything about his touch feels so good, so right. And I haven’t felt so good and so right in so long.
So, because it’s just this one night, I give in to the pleasure of so good and so right. I give in and wrap so good and so right around me like a warm, protective blanket. It’s the last thing I feel before I fall back asleep in his arms.