SEVEN
Autumn
"I'm not being like Mom!" I objected, offended to the core, as she knew I would be when she hurled that little ditty at me. "It's just... it would have been nice to know you were having a friend over a little more than half an hour before they show up. I'm a mess. The house is a wreck. And Coop could use a bath."
Growing up, our mother had always had this weird rule about never allowing us to bring friends over to the house unannounced. It didn't matter that the house was always immaculate - which we knew it was since we were the ones who had to clean it, followed by a white-glove inspection.
It also never mattered that she was always put together because she rose before our father to put a full face of makeup and a dress on, and carefully tame her hair. We were pretty sure that the man had never seen her without makeup on. Because we always saw her sneak out of the bedroom late at night, go into the bathroom, and come out with a fresh face.
And, well, she was a freak about getting our dogs groomed, so they were never in need of a bath.
She just had a rule that made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
In this instance, I thought my arguments were fair. I had gotten home around five-thirty after handing off the store to my night girl and guy duo, then promptly ripped off my bra through my sleeve before I was even halfway in the door since the damn thing had been poking at me under my arm since fifteen minutes after I left the apartment that morning. I had gone into the bathroom, throwing on an old Good Vibrations! Tee that I had picked up at the first sex store I had ever gone to, and a pair of flannel PJ pants. I had even swiped off my makeup, sure that no one but Peyton and Coop would be seeing me the rest of the night.
And the apartment was just due for a scrub that I had been too tired to give it. It was clean enough with just some shoes thrown about, a couple piles of books of Peyton's here and there, and a bit of an accumulation of dog hair in the corners.
But, whatever, I guess.
Peyton's friends dropped in here and there all the time. Sometimes the apartment was still smelling of floor cleaner. Other times, it looked like a bomb detonated in the living room. They wouldn't care too much.
I was making a big deal out of nothing.
Truth be told, I was just in a crummy mood.
And, yes, if you must know, it had a lot of everything to do with a man who had amazing blue eyes, inky black hair, and lips that could set a woman's panties on fire.
I hadn't been able to move from the spot leaning against that wall for an almost embarrassingly long time. My legs felt wobbly, my head a little woozy. It just seemed smart to stay in that spot until the aching need between my thighs eased enough to make clear thought possible. Then I walked myself back to my store to sit for another fifteen minutes before I started getting emoji messages from Peyton that had pictures of peaches and cucumbers. Of tongues sticking out and Spock fingers. Of a hotdog and a bagel.
Then and only then, having a small chuckle, I grabbed Coop and made my way home.
Where, well, I spent some quality time with various devices I had bought from my own store. You know, for research purposes.
None of it helped.
If anything, I felt even more frustrated afterward.
Then I tossed and turned, sweating through my sheets as I had vivid sex dreams about having my pants yanked down and fucked hard and dirty against a wall down a side street.
Then I dragged myself back into work after too-little sleep to discuss BDSM with a pair of new enthusiasts. I had to clean up the coffee he had brought the night before.
Then darn Coop dragged me down the side street where it all happened. Because I needed that.
The butthead.
So my snapping at Peyton had nothing to do with the house being a bit messy and me looking a wreck. Her friends wouldn't care. They were the most chill group of men and women I had ever met. They'd have to be to hang with my weirdo sister.
I just needed to get a grip.
Hell, maybe seeing some people would get my mind off things that it had no business contemplating.
"Sorry," I said, stirring the spaghetti with the slotted spoon, realizing it was a poor excuse for a meal to serve guests, but I had only been planning on feeding it to myself when I started cooking. "I'm just in a mood."
"You're in a dude-mood," she agreed, ducking into the fridge to grab the veggies she had sautéed up for lunch. "Mix these in the sauce," she instructed, and I did since it was a vast improvement in the way of making it actually seem like dinner and not a pity-me meal. "That is some good old-fashioned blue tubes you've got going on."
"Why do I tell you things?" I asked, shaking my head.
"'Cause you loooove me. And you know I'm just thinking of your health here. Orgasms make you live longer. It's science."
"I have orgasms."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Poor BOB isn't getting a break lately. Garlic bread?" she asked, reaching for what was left of the crusty bread we had bought for lazy day sandwiches.
"You're really going all out," I observed, looking for the colander.
"So?"
"So, I once saw you serve your friends Ritz crackers and vodka."
"I'm hungry!" she objected, something in her tone I couldn't quite make out, and completely didn't trust.
"Alright," I said, brows drawn together as I strained the pasta and tossed it back into the pot, mixing in the veggies and sauce as she slathered butter and garlic into slices of the bread. "Whatever. I'm going to go put Coop in my room so he doesn't hurt anyone with his enthusiasm."
I was just coming out of my bedroom when there was a knock at the door followed by Peyton's voice going all sing-song and calling out, "I'm cooooming!"
My brows drew together as I moved into the doorway of the living room. Peyton's friends had a tendency to just burst in since more than a few of them had keys in case of late-night drinking and needing a place to crash.
"Oh! Wine!" Peyton cheered, making me smile. She was a sucker for a decent - or cheap - bottle - or box - of wine. "Come on in. Hey, Autumn, Doggy-Daddy is here!" she called, obviously unaware that I had come back out.
Doggy-Daddy?
Doggy-Daddy!
Even as the implications of that settled in, she was moving out of the doorway, and there he was.
There he was.
Looking like a goddamn male model in dark wash jeans and a lightweight navy blue sweater that hugged his perfect body way too nicely. I mean, you could make out some abs there. Or maybe that was my imagination. My filthy imagination, full of sex dreams of his naked body.
"Hey sweetheart," he said, spotting me before he even took a step inside.
His smile was sweet as his eyes dipped to give me a once-over.
In all my bralessness.
In an ugly old tee.
In baggy PJ pants.
With no makeup on.
And, because I think this part bears repeating - without a bra.
"Your sister didn't tell you she invited me, did she?" he concluded even as my head turned to shoot daggers at Peyton who was just grinning at both of us.
"She failed to mention which friend she was having over."
"Of course she did," he said, giving her a raised-brow look.
"What? It totally must have slipped my mind!" she insisted, not even trying to sound convincing. "But you're here now. And we have spaghetti with mixed veggies and garlic bread. And this lovely, lovely little girl right here," she said, stroking her hands down the fancy red wine bottle. "So you might as well stay. Or she will totally let me drink all of this myself. And when I drink whole bottles of wine myself, I tend to drunk-dial exes. That is never pretty."
"Aw, honey, who the fuck would be dumb enough to give you up?"
"Save that silver tongue there, Hottie Mc Death Row," she said, digging through a drawer to find a corkscrew, seeming completely unfazed by the charm.
Meanwhile, he hadn't directed a word of that at me, and I felt lightheaded.
That was Peyton, though. She didn't get all fluttery over compliments or sweet talk. It's why nine out of ten of her relationships failed. She hated the superficial. She needed a depth of which none of the men she had ever met seemed capable of.
"And use those big, manly muscles instead," she went on, handing him the wine and corkscrew. "Oh, yeah, slide into that glass you dirty little slut you," she cooed at the wine as Eli poured it into the three glasses she supplied. "Oh, dear Lord. What is this? I need a lifetime supply of this," she informed him as she turned away, sipping, and leaning down to check the progress of the garlic bread.
I had been watching her, still giving her the evil eye, and I had somehow missed Eli picking up one of the other glasses and making his way across the room toward me.
One second he wasn't there. The next, there he was. Right in front of me. I got to learn right then, too, that he not only looked good, but he smelled amazing as well. It wasn't overpowering either. Whatever he had on, be it cologne or just a good deodorant, it was subtle, making you want to lean in close and get a better whiff. Maybe while you licked his neck and...
Oh, God.
Okay.
I needed to shut that down.
"I wouldn't have come if I didn't think she'd cleared it with you," he offered, holding out the wine glass toward me. My hand rose, fingers curling around the glass, but he didn't immediately release it, his fingers brushing mine.
"She's a pain in the ass like that," I agreed, voice an airy whisper.
"Would you have had me if she asked?"
God, yes!
But also, maybe not.
I was way too mixed up about the whole situation.
"I don't know," I admitted.
"That's fair," he surprised me by saying, giving me a small smile as his hand dropped. "She likely wouldn't have taken no for an answer anyway."
"You are getting to know her pretty quickly," I agreed with a small smile.
"Oh, my ears are ringing," Peyton declared, slamming down the baking sheet onto the top of the stove. "Dinner's served!" she declared, going right ahead and loading up her own plate. "So I was thinking a little slashy-slashy fucky-fucky for a movie, but Autumn here is pretty hardcore against the slashy-slashy part." She took her plate and wine over to the accent chair, balancing the plate on her thigh, holding the wine in her hand, and reaching for the remote. "So... what? Comedy? I guess we could all use a little comedy. Especially with that crummy mood Autumn has been in all day today."
I was going to kill her.
She wouldn't have to watch any slashy-slashy.
She was going to friggin experience it for herself as soon as he left.
"Sorry to hear that," Eli commented, looking at me, and his eyes were full of regret.
"It happens," I brushed it off, moving past him toward the kitchen to put food onto plates for us, mostly because I wanted something to do. I wasn't the least bit hungry anymore.
"Oh! This one looked hilarious. Buddy cop, oh wait, maybe this is the wrong audience for that."
"I have no problem with cops," Eli surprised us both by saying. At our gazes moving in his direction, he took the plate from me and shrugged. "I did something wrong. They arrested me. That's their job."
"Ah, right," Peyton said, brows low. "Except what you did was right. Any who, okay. Let's watch a remake of a classic and tear it apart instead."
Eli and I took our plates and wine toward the living room, Peyton's placement so conveniently meant that Eli and I would have to sit on a somewhat petite couch, ensuring that our legs and arms would brush almost constantly.
"And here we go," Peyton declared, hitting play.
And there we went.
After an awkward fifteen minutes, I began to relax. I was pretty sure the wine had a hand in that since I didn't drink often, and I had been doing nothing but pushing my food around my plate.
Peyton knocked the movie which, to be fair, was absolutely dreadful. We ate. Drinks were refilled. Then Peyton's phone started buzzing, taking her attention for a good ten minutes before she declared. "Um, I'm heading out. Doggy-Daddy, nice seeing you again. Thank you for the awesome wine."
"Peyton," I called as she moved toward the door, in such a rush to leave that she slipped into my shoes which were a whole size too big for her. I knew she heard the warning in my voice. But, as my sister, she chose to ignore it. "You kids have fun now!" she called, wiggling her brows at me as she disappeared.
"She's... subtle," Eli commented as soon as the door clicked closed.
"Yeah, no one would ever accuse Peyton of being dull," I agreed, standing, collecting the plates, and moving toward the kitchen.
I busied myself scraping plates then running water over them.
And I didn't hear him move.
But he did.
Until his front pressed into my back.
His hand slid across my belly, just a subtle pressure.
"That was a dick move last night."
I hadn't expected to discuss it. Let's face it, many - maybe most - men weren't great at communicating at all, let alone initiating conversation. Especially when that conversation was about their fuck up.
"It's fine. I... understand," I comforted him, knowing it must have been hell for him to walk away after so long a spell of celibacy.
"I don't think you do," he countered, resting his chin on my shoulder as his other hand reached out to shut off the faucet.
"I'm a good listener," I offered, wanting to extend an olive branch.
There was so long a pause that I was sure nothing was going to be said, that we were just going to keep standing there somewhat intimately as I tried my best not to think of how things could escalate.
"That night," he started suddenly, voice low, but somehow painfully tortured as well. "When I did the things that got me sent to jail a while later, that wasn't the first time I raged-out like that."
The pause was long enough for me to wonder if I should speak. "Okay."
"My brothers and I, we were raised to be different than most other kids."
"Different how?"
"Our violence was encouraged. Because my parents knew that one day it would be necessary."
Pacifist by nature - self-defense classes aside - I couldn't understand that in the least. "Why would violence be necessary?"
"For the family business," he hedged, and I was pretty sure that whatever the family business was, it was not like the military or something. It was likely something criminal. Which, well, made a lot of sense. "My Pops got his leg-up in the business world by starting loansharking back in the eighties before we were even born. He expected us to follow in his footsteps."
"So you did," I figured.
"We did. Me and Hunt, it never came natural to us. We were both I guess just... softer. Couple years before I went away, he took off, wanting to get away from it all, but seeing no way out. He didn't get to stay away though. Because you don't walk away from this shit. Not in this town. Not with such a fragile balance between the syndicates. If word got out that one of Pops' own sons ran off, it wouldn't look good for him. And while loansharking isn't the easiest organization to run, there are absolutely men willing to step in and take Pops down if they saw enough of a weakness there."
"What happened to him?" I asked when he trailed off, wanting to keep him talking, wanting to understand.
"Shane, one of my other brothers, went up and brought him back. Then he got the only thing he could get if he truly wanted out for good."
"What's that?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew thanks to all the new gang and prison type shows I had gotten into over the past few years.
"A beat-out."
Yep.
That was exactly the phrase that had been in my head.
"By your father?"
"By all of us."
The brothers.
Geez.
My back pressed into his chest slightly as I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you had to do that."
"It was, as horrible as this sounds, just part of the job. Like all the other men I had needed to visit in the past when they didn't make a payment. But the thing is, I couldn't control it. I wasn't like my old man or my brothers. I couldn't stay connected and get the job done. I fucking... I raged-out. It was like a switch got flipped and the normal, rational, self-controlled me wasn't there anymore. Usually, when I went on a job, one of my brothers always came with me to pull me off."
Well.
That made a helluva lot of sense then, didn't it?
Sad sense, but sense.
"That was what happened the night with the woman getting beaten?"
"Exactly. Once I saw her, the switch flipped, and I wasn't even really aware of anything until a long time later when the shooting pain radiated up my hands. I have been beating people for a living since I was eighteen. Nothing ever made my hands hurt anymore. I guess that was what snapped me out of it. The man was just broken bones and blood. The woman was sobbing in a corner. And there was a small crowd."
"So you ran off."
"I figured it would blow over. The cops would take one look at the woman and agree it was one of those rare, fair eye-for-an-eye situations and put no effort at all into tracking me down."
"Except he wasn't just any man."
"Exactly," he agreed, fingers starting to trace absentminded circles over my belly. Well, to him they were absentminded. To me, they were, ah, distracting? Effective? Hot as hell? Yep, all those.
"It sounds like you and your family were close." Past tense.
"The tightest a family could get," he agreed.
"Were they mad about you going to jail?"
"No. Devastated might be a better word."
"I don't understand then..."
"When I got arrested, when I realized the ramifications of the part of me that was capable of raging out, I decided I couldn't be that person anymore."
I had a feeling I knew exactly where this was going.
"So, I cut off ties with my family. I rejected letters and visitation. I tried to shut it down, disconnect. I figured the only way for me to be a somewhat better man was to completely dissolve the man I had been before. Which gets me back to the point," he went on, making me try to scramble to remember what the point even was, where this conversation even started. "Last night, I had no business coming to see you, tainting your nice little world with my presence. And I sure as fuck had no right to put my hands on you."
But, God, it felt so right to have his hands on me.
It was taking actual concentration to keep from grinding my ass back into his crotch.
"Why?"
"Because I can't be around you and keep myself disconnected. And I can't be connected and still be sure that I won't rage-out again."
That was, well, fair.
It wasn't that typical 'you're too good for me' bullshit that guys tried to pull. It was somehow simpler, and much more honest than that. He didn't trust himself. He was scared about what might happen if he lost even a small bit of control. And a big part of me went out to him over that. I couldn't imagine how it felt to have something inside of you that you had never been able to control in the past, but wanted more than anything to be able to hold control over in the present and the future. It must have been terrifying to know that you were capable of such violence.
And it must have been absolutely devastating to know that to keep that part of you tamped down, the only solution you could come up with was to stop being the man you had been all your adult life, to cut ties with the people who knew you only as that man.
Life must have been hard and so, so cold for him for so long.
My heart went out to him.
And I wanted to maybe just be a little bit of warmth he could feel comfortable around.
He deserved that, didn't he?
"Have you ever raged-out on a woman?" I asked, and felt his whole body go tense behind me.
"Of course not."
"So, I don't have to worry about that with you."
There was a pause before his arm tightened around my lower stomach. "I'd never hurt you."
I wasn't sure why I was about to say it, why I was going to agree to something that, thus far in my life, had never been something I wanted. Maybe a part of me realized it was different. It wasn't exactly casual, in the traditional sense of the word, if there was meaning behind it. Right?
"How about, when you're here, you can connect with me?" I suggested, going ahead and leaning almost fully back into him like I had been wanting to do since he moved in behind me.
"Autumn..."
"I know what I'm offering, Eli. I'm just seeing if you are interested. You want a safe place to reconnect? Why not here? Where there is no one to flip your switch, where you don't have to worry about rage or family or the man you were versus the man you are trying to become. You can just be. With me. That's it. No expectations."
Except maybe some mind-blowing orgasms.
The pause after my words made me suddenly wish I could just suck them right back in. My belly flipped uneasily as my pulse seemed to start to pound in my throat, wrists, and temples.
"I just want to be clear on what you're offering here," he said, his warm breath teasing over the skin of my neck.
Anything he wanted, that was what I was offering.
But, ah, I guess that wasn't the best thing to say to a man you hardly knew.
"Sex. A friend. Whatever you need on any given day."
There. That didn't make me sound like a giant slut because I wanted him so badly, right?
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you offer me friendship or sex?"
Okay, so there was a very distinct pre-orgasm tightening just hearing him say the word sex. My body was responding like I was still some blushing virgin. Weird.
"Well, we've kind of had a friendship going on and off for the last couple of years," I hedged.
I should have known he wouldn't let that slide.
"Why do you want to offer me sex, sweetheart?" he asked, his hand pressing in just in the center of my lower stomach where the pressure was already almost unbearable, like he knew that fact, and was more than willing to exploit it. Which was, well, hot. "Is it because your panties are soaked just standing here with me? Is that it?"
Good God, yes.
My head fell back against his shoulder as I took a long, steadying breath.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said, voice low. "Though, just to make sure, I should probably investigate further, don't you think?"
I felt my lips twitching at that, loving when a man could play a little, when sex wasn't always serious.
"That might be wise," I agreed, taking another deep breath, not surprised when it came out shaky.
I barely got the words out before his hand was suddenly in the hair at the base of my neck, pulling, twisting, and using it to turn me around, slamming me back against the counter as his lips crashed down on mine.
I had no idea what I had been expecting, but whatever it was, this was harder, hotter, without a shred of self-control.
His lips bruised into mine. His fingers pulled my hair until my lips parted on a whimper, giving him the space to surge inside.
My hands fisted in his shirt, my nails digging crescents into the skin beneath.
His hand released my hair, grabbing the back of my skull instead, tilting backward to give him better access, half curling me over the sink as he did so.
His lips ripped from mine, leaving them swollen and overly sensitive, to trail down my neck, his scruff scraping over my delicate skin in a way that I knew there would be beard burn there for a day or two after, and finding myself almost unreasonably pleased by that fact.
"You smell fucking amazing," he growled as his teeth scraped my neck, sending a visible shiver through my body.
I had no idea what I smelled like since I was pretty sure after my shower this morning, I hadn't remembered to put on lotion or perfume. But, hey, if my natural scent was turning him on, I was willing to give them all up permanently.
His fingers found the bottom of my tee, not even pausing before sliding under, grabbing my bare breasts in his large palms, thumbs flicking over my half-hardened nipples, dragging a ragged moan out of me.
"Fuck," he growled, yanking the shirt up and leaning down, sucking one of the hardened points into his mouth, lavishing over it with his tongue as his thumb and forefinger pinched the other one painfully.
My body, so unused to touch for so long, and having long-since forgotten the sensation of pain/pleasure through my system, trembled hard as my leg raised, wrapping around his hip, pulling his pelvis to mine, groaning shamelessly when his hard cock pressed into me through his jeans.
"Off," I growled, raking my hands down his back to grab his shirt. "Take this off."
I needed to feel his skin on mine like I needed my next breath.
He pulled backward, reaching down to pull off his sweater. I meant to reach to pull my tee off, but as his belly and chest got exposed, I couldn't do anything but watch. Each inch of exposed skin was like a treat. His skin was somewhat pale, likely thanks to years inside, but no less delicious as it hugged the subtle outlines of his abs. They weren't the same abs they had been in that poolside picture from his Instagram, but they were abs nonetheless, and I had a sudden urge to lean forward and run my tongue between them.
Then the shirt was up and off him, showing off his strong chest, the hint of ink on his upper arms, the small scratches on the back of his neck from my fingers the night before.
My hand reached out, running over the red indentations. "Met this chick," he said, voice all gravel. "She couldn't keep her fucking hands off me," he added, smirk devilish.
"Really?" I asked, head tipped to the side, lower lip nabbed by my teeth. "Did she do this?" I asked, finger trailing down the center of his chest, moving across to circle his nipple before moving between the center of his abs, feeling my sex clench when the muscles tensed under my touch.
"Not quite," he answered, voice getting rougher still.
"Hmm. Did she do this?" I asked, hand moving down flat to cup his cock through his jeans, making a low, primal growl rip from his chest.
"You wanna play, baby?" he asked, and the promise in his wicked smile made my belly go liquid as he suddenly reached out, yanking the bottom of my shirt up and over my head, but then dragged it back down, pinning my arms at my sides. "I can play."
He turned me too fast for me to respond, pushing my entire upper body down against the counter, my sensitive nipples meeting the cold quartz with a whimper, then grinding his cock against my pussy and ass, the lightweight material of my pajama pants providing no barrier at all.
"How many times did you come last night thinking about me?" he asked, thrusting against me, then grinding against me in a circle, making his cock hit my clit perfectly. My choked whimper was not answer enough. "Tell me or this ends right now."
His cock pulled back and surged forward again, almost tripping me over the edge. "Four!" I cried out, desperate for more.
"And it still wasn't good enough, was it?" he asked, pulling back, fingers slipping just inside the waistband of my pants and panties, hooking, but not pulling down.
"No."
"Didn't think so," he agreed, snagging the material, and yanking down until I could step out of them, leaving me bare to him except for my little straight jacket of a t-shirt.
Never having been one for insecurity, shrugging off the conservative guilt I was raised in around the time I first touched a cock and had a hand touch my pussy, there wasn't even a thought to wanting to cover up. In fact, it was just the opposite. There was a strange, primal, raw urge for him to stare at me, to look at the round cheeks of my ass, to see the wet desire of my pussy. The urge was so strong that I felt myself tipping my butt up at him, inviting him to inspect what I was offering.
I wasn't surprised when he let out a low groan before his hand slapped down on my cheek, then his fingers kneaded in slightly.
His finger slid down and inward, teasing over my inner thigh, but careful not to give me any kind of relief from the torment.
"Tell me, did you think about me while I was inside?" he asked, one finger tracing the seam where my sex met my thigh, making me try to instinctively move my hips to get his touch to shift inward. But he wouldn't allow it. "Tell me," he demanded.
"Y... yes," I gasped out, my legs almost shaking from the frantic need between them.
"Doing this?" he asked, finger finally sliding up my slit and working circles around my clit, making my vision go white for a moment, sure I was going to come, certain there wasn't a force on Earth that could stop it.
Except him taking his finger away, that is.
"No," I whimpered, shoving my ass back toward him, completely shameless with the need for release.
"And maybe this too?" he suggested, and the next thing I knew I felt his hands holding my thighs apart as his tongue replaced his finger, sliding between my lips and rolling just around the outside of my clit, hinting at relief without offering any.
The tortured moan came from somewhere deep inside as my fingers spread, wanting to reach out, wanting to grab his head and hold him there, wanting contact, but being denied everything but captivity.
Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, his lips closed around my clit, sucking it in strobes.
And I fucking shattered.
The orgasm ripped through my body with an intensity that made me struggle to keep on my own feet as he kept working me, kept intensifying it, dragging it out.
It wasn't until I felt completely wrung out that I felt the brush of his jeans against my ass before he reached down to snag the center of the back of my shirt, yanking me upward, making me arch my back, causing my breasts to press out, something he noticed because his other hand went there, squeezing one just to the point of pain before working the nipple in gentle circles.
"Bedroom," he demanded, voice a hoarse growl. Before he even finished speaking, I was shaking my head. "Why not?"
"Coop is in there," I told him, and as my brain cleared of the sex fog it had been in, I could hear him whimpering and scratching to get out.
There was a low growling noise that I took for disappointment or frustration, or both.
"I have condoms in my purse," I supplied, thinking maybe that was the hold up since everyone stored them where they tended to need to use them - near the bed. Even though I didn't have casual sex, I carried them everywhere, occasionally dropping them in the bathrooms in bars, just in case anyone needed some.
I barely finished speaking and his arm was reaching for it, undoing the main zipper, then going instinctively into the second zipper that every woman knew was tampon and condom storage. He came back with a condom that was a fall promotion, pumpkin spice flavored, and made a weird laugh/snort hybrid before I heard the slide of a zip, seeming to drown out any other thought in my head.
The desire, sated just a moment before, came surging back in a wild wave, completely taking me under again.
There was a whoosh.
Pants hitting floor.
A scrape of metal as he kicked the material to the side.
A crinkle of a wrapper.
Just when I was sure I was going to feel him surge inside, to put an end to the clawing need for fulfillment, his hands grabbed my hips and turned me.
Brilliant eyes on mine, he lifted one of my thighs, coaxing it around his hip to fold over his lower back, opening me up to him. And when he reached for the other thigh, his hard cock pressed against me as his hands sank into my ass, holding me aloft as he walked through my kitchen and into the living room, turning, and dropping down on the couch.
He had barely managed to sit before his hand was at the back of my neck, yanking me down to seal his lips over mine.
I struggled against the shirt, the urge to reach between us, grab his cock, and position it where I needed it to be so I could press down and take him in something akin to obsession.
But I couldn't get free, the material straining too hard against my shoulders.
So I dropped my hips, and ground my pussy against his cock, whimpering into his mouth as the head pressed into my clit. In response to the sound, his hand crushed almost painfully into my skull.
I knew he was lost too, likely way more lost than I was.
Six years.
It had barely been two for me, and I felt like I was losing my grip on my sanity every second that I didn't come.
I rode him, like we were fumbling teenagers too scared to go all the way, his hardness giving me just enough friction to drive me upward, to get me just right to the brink.
His lips ripped from mine as his hand sank harder into my ass, hard enough that there was a chance I would actually have bruises - a thought that made my sex clench threateningly - and lifted up.
Finally.
That was all I could think as my hips rose, as he reached between us to press his cock up against the entrance of my pussy, holding it there as a promising pressure for a long second, before surging his hips upward, and filling me to the hilt.
"Oh, my God," I cried out, fingers curling into my palms because they couldn't curl into him to hold on.
"Fuck," he growled back, closing his eyes, and taking a slow, deep breath.
He was seeking control. After so long a dry spell, I couldn't imagine how hard that would be to find.
And I didn't need it.
I didn't need him under control.
I needed him moving inside me, I needed just a moment or two and I would be crashing, and he could come with me.
"Eli," I called out, watching as his eyes slowly slid open, almost pained looking. "Fuck me," I demanded, moving my hips in a circle on his lap, making a low rumbling sound move through his chest.
Whatever hold he had on his control was lost then as his hand moved to hold onto my thigh and he started thrusting upward into me - hard, fast, unrelenting.
"God, yes," I whimpered, folding forward to rest my head in his neck as my hips slammed down to meet each thrust, taking him as deep as my body would allow.
His hand left my thigh, slipping into my hair, and yanking backward. "I want to watch," he said in a harsh whisper as his other hand moved between us to start working my clit.
It was seconds.
Just seconds.
And he was making the orgasm from just a moment ago feel like child's play as another, stronger one broke through me, making my breath and cry catch in my throat for the first hard, deep pulsation, then topple out together in a gasping sob as the pleasure kept coming.
"Fuck, Autumn," he growled, surging through it even as his entire body got tight, trying to hold on until I was spent, then slamming deep, cursing out my name again as he came.
I collapsed forward into him, body trembling slightly in unexpected aftershocks, something I hadn't felt in years, something that I usually only experienced after unusually intense sex, or strong connection, or both.
"Come here," he said, when he tried for the second time to peel me off of him. This time, he yanked harder on my shirt, giving me no choice but to move. As soon as I was pressed back, he reached out, gently snagging the material of my shirt that had held me prisoner the whole time, and releasing me of it. His hand rose, finger tracing down my jaw for a moment, eyes almost reverent. "Okay, now come back here," he demanded, pulling me down toward his chest.
And, well, there was no stopping my arms from going around him, something I had wanted from the moment he put his hands on me.
His hands went out as well, one holding the back of my head gently, the other tracing sweetly up and down my spine, something that had my insides doing butterflies that I tried really hard to ignore, knowing I had a tendency to read more into things than they needed to be read into.
"Yeah," he said a couple moments later. "I'm going to want a repeat of that."
I pulled back, smiling down at him, unable to help it. On one hand, because, yeah, I wanted a repeat of that as well - about a thousand repeats of that - but also because it meant I would get to see more of him. Though I knew that was dangerous, dangerous territory when all I had told him I needed was sex and friendship.
In a way, though, that was true.
What was a relationship, after all, but sex and friendship?
This just wouldn't have the labels.
I guess I could live with that.
"I can get behind that," I agreed, then my smile went a little wicked. "Or have you get behind me. You know, whatever you prefer."
The chuckle moved through him and somehow me at the same time as he looked up at me with those bright eyes, the tension around them seeming gone for the first time since I saw him trying to get his dog to follow a command.
"Oh, I'm gonna prefer a lot of things," he promised, patting my thigh. "Lift up," he demanded softly, and I did, trying to hold back my reluctance to feel him leave me. But, well, unfortunately, safe sex had its less-than-sexy sides that needed to be dealt with.
So I lifted up and he slid out of me then out from under me, moving down the hall to find the open bathroom door.
Alone, feeling a little bit too exposed, though it wasn't in a literal way, I reached for my shirt, turning it right-side-out, and slipping into it before stretching my sore leg muscles and going in search of my panties.
Eli came out a moment later, body still relaxed - a sight I liked seeing way too much for a casual sex buddy - and came toward where I was standing in the kitchen, fetching his underwear and pants, jumping into them both simultaneously.
"Sounds like Coop needs a walk," he commented as he reached for his shirt.
Me, well, I was still pants-less, but my hands thought reaching for my wine to settle my swirling thoughts was a better idea than pulling pants back on.
"Yeah, he's not usually locked up this long," I agreed.
"Wanna shrug into something warmer and walk him with me?"
And, well, I so, so did.
More than I should have.
But that wasn't going to stop me.
We took Coop for a walk.
And it was a hell of a lot like couples would do.