Twenty - Seven - Serena

“But I’m selfish.”

 

 

 

 

Sixty-two minutes.

That’s how long I’m able to stop myself from going after him. I’m so weak. So desperate.

Our sexcapade over the past twenty-four hours might be enough to knock me up, especially since I’m ovulating. Might be.

To some extent, I got what I wanted. There’s no need to continue chasing him, torturing him. I can go. I can leave him and hope all the sex we’ve had so far is enough to do the job.

After watching him walk away from me on the beach, I went back inside and swore to let him be, put an end to it.

But that resolution lasted all of one hour. Because, while getting knocked-up is my motive, the fact of the matter is, I’m obsessed with Kholton Sharpe.

I’m obsessed and addicted. I’m obsessed and addicted and desperate. I crave him like a drug. My soul reaches out to his. My body bows before his. My heartbeat echoes like a gong when he’s near. My skin sings when he touches me. I think about him nonstop. I stalk him. I study him. I dream of him.

I want all that he wants, and though I cannot give it to him, I also cannot give him up. I’m restless.

That’s why I’m now jogging to Brock’s house at one o’ clock in the morning. Hashtag pathetically selfish.

Although this area is relatively safe and I can spot at least two couples on the beach and another drinking wine on their balcony, I’m still paranoid as I jog the distance. Getting kidnapped does that to you.

I run into Brock at the pathway to his house. He’s holding the hand of a completely different woman tonight. This one looks Filipino. Seems he likes them exotic.

When he realizes it’s me, he glances around as if searching for someone. “Don’t tell me you’re out here by yourself at this hour.”

I fold my arms against the chilly late-night wind and shrug.

He curses under his breath, something along the lines of “crazy” and “rich people thinking they’re invincible.” Unlocking the door, he uncouthly ushers his date inside and then me. Rough much?

“Left him up on the balcony an hour ago,” he tells me.

And that’s where I find him, lounging back on a sun-bed, a green hand-towel thrown over his face, two beer bottles on the ground.

I can’t tell if he’s asleep or not. One arm is hanging off the sun-bed, dangling near the beer bottles, the other is resting on his stomach.

I stand there watching him for a long time, until I hear him mutter under the towel, “I can smell you, Serena.”

Really? I step further out onto the balcony, sidling toward the sun-bed. The crashing waves against the shore sound so much louder up here. Or is that the sound of my heart?

“Oh, yeah?” I say. “What do I smell like?”

“Bullshit and cowardice.”

Umbrageous, but it’s the truth. I am full of shit and I am a coward.

I yank the hand-towel from his face.

He stares up at me, flat and expressionless. “Your ex escorted you?”

“Yes,” I lie. Better he thinks Max escorted me here than to freak out that I came alone. I remember him cautioning me that first night. If only I’d listened…

“Man, I’d hate to be him.” The chuckle that follows is bitter. “Almost feel sorry for the guy.”

Another truth that makes me wince. Although Max knows he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with—pre-Kholton—he’d confessed that it’s not easy for him to watch me parade with other men, whether ruse or real. We were together for five years, after all. We were in love.

Kholton scans me up and down, my little floral dress, my gel sandals. “You came to give me what I want?”

“No.” I throw one leg over the sun-bed and straddle him. He’s already hard. Predictable. “I’m here to take what I want.”

When I lean in to kiss him he turns his head.

I try to force his face back to me but he grabs my wrist.

I grind against his erection.

He bucks up his pelvis to get me off him, but I fist his shirt and hold on. He dodges me when I try to kiss him again. Grabs my other hand and jackknifes up.

We’re eye to eye, nose to nose, mouth to mouth, glaring at each other, panting in each other’s faces. Not from exertion, but desire.

He’s so fiercely hot my heart aches.

I shift and sink my teeth into the flesh of his forearm.

He drops my hand at once and growls.

I go in to kiss him again and, this time, he meets me halfway. His fingers curl in my hair as he kisses me with rough passion. Our tongues clash and battle it out. He’s mad at himself for giving in. I’m mad at myself for using him.

I rock against his hard-on. A throbbing bundle of need pounds like a migraine between my legs.

He tugs my head back by my hair so my neck is bared to him, and then he feasts on it, sucking my skin so raw I know it’s going to leave a mark.

His other hand dips between my legs and finds me bare. “Christ,” he growls against my skin.

He fingers my slippery, swollen clit.

Head tilted back to the sky, I mewl. 

Abruptly, his hands are gone. I look down to see he’s undoing his pants. To speed things up, I ease up so he can get himself out, hard and promising.

Quivering and impatient, I shift and hover above it.

Squeezing the head, he lifts his gaze to mine. He resents me in this moment, but I don’t care. I smack his hand away and sink down on him, instantly soothing the ache inside me.

When I take it to the hilt, he sucks air through his teeth.

God, I love the feel of him filling me.

Gripping my ass, he begins rocking me against him. “This all you want?” he grunts out. “My cock?”

In answer, I cling to his shoulders and ride him like I mean it.

He rips down the front of my dress and devours my breasts, deep moans rolling in his throat. He palms them, cups them, squeezes them, sucks them, marks them. It’s fuel, food for the whirlwind of pleasure building up inside me like a hurricane, getting stronger and stronger.

I ride him, harder, wilder, faster. I’m panting, sweating, hanging on for dear life.

Out of nowhere, my orgasm spin-kicks me like a samurai and I convulse, rocking, shaking, stifling my cries.

While my body is overcome with rippling euphoria, unable to keep riding him, Kholton grips my hips to still me and begins pumping upward, hard, fast, relentless.

“This what you came for, right?” he grits out. “Take it. Fucking take it.”

“Oh…Oh gah…Please…Argh,” I wail as quietly as I possibly can.

His pumps are merciless, punishing, delicious. It hurts so freaking good. Yes, no, yes.

Falling back on the sun-bed, he takes me with him, hugs me to his chest, and resumes pumping into me. It’s not long before his unremitting pounding has me unexpectedly imploding all around him again.

With a growl and a curse, he follows suit, filling me with his seed. Warm and sticky. My walls clench and milk every last drop from him.

Like two balloons tied by a single string, we deflate together, a sweaty, panting, tangled mess.

I tried my best to be quiet, but Kholton didn’t. Brock might be too busy with his girl of the night to have heard us, but if there’s anyone down on the beach or awake in neighboring houses, they most certainly heard. Probably even saw us, too.

But I don’t care. I’m so hot for Kholton I’d have sex with him on a packed subway.

“What time does your plane leave?” he asks after an extended moment of ragged breathing.

“Eight.” My face is tucked under his neck. “We have to stop in Washington for a few days before heading back home.”

I wait for him to speak again but he doesn’t. “Can I sleep over?”

His chest puffs up and deflates with a sigh. “You either want me or you don’t, Serena. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I know.” I press myself tightly to him. “But I’m selfish.”

He doesn’t reply with words, but his arms come around me and hug me even closer to him.

It’s answer enough.

He’s selfish, too.