Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)

How ready for me.

She lifts her fingers, running them over the musical notes on my hipbone.

I settle between her legs, rubbing the head of my cock against her heat. Arching her back, she whimpers, murmuring my name in a half-begging voice. She’s a live wire, and touching her is the best thing I’ve ever done.

I shudder at the thought of not doing this again.

But thought is drained from me when I push inside, sinking into her welcoming paradise. I still myself when I’m all the way in, my breath stuttering, my pulse skyrocketing.

Pleasure sparks along my skin, and my dick hums the happiest tune in the world. This is where we both want to be. Bracing myself on my elbows, I lock eyes with the woman who’s been by my side for the last several years.

My best friend.

My new lover.

It’s all too much, and not enough at the same time. She’s gazing right back at me, vulnerability etched in her blue eyes. And something new too.

I want that something new.

Surrendering to the feel of this kind of bliss, I move inside her, trying to say with my body what she means to me. That I love fucking her because I’m fucking the woman I’ve fallen in love with.

Some good it did trying to stay just friends. Maybe I was never just friends with her. Maybe I’ve always been racing to this. Toward flushed skin and urgent kisses. Toward arched backs and needy whimpers of yes and more and so good.

She laces her hands tighter around my neck, tugs me closer, and brings her lips to mine.

“Miller,” she whispers before she kisses me hungrily.

I’ve been racing toward her.

Toward my name on her lips as she chases the edge of desire. I want to take her there. I want to be the only one who ever does.

Swiveling my hips, I rock into her, every nerve ending in me crackling. She matches each stroke, and we move together. We kiss together. We say nothing together, and our silence speaks volumes.

We’re always talking. Joking. Laughing. Saying dirty things.

But if I open my mouth now, I’ll tell her how I feel.

I swallow the words, keeping them to myself till I know she can handle them. Till we can handle us.

I kiss her neck, then go deeper, so deep she’s writhing and begging, her breath speeding up, her eyes squeezing shut. She moans my name, and it’s never sounded as good as it does when Ally’s coming apart beneath me.

Relentless pleasure blares through me, a euphoria that signals my orgasm isn’t far enough away.

But I want more for her.

I want her too far gone. I grit my teeth and somehow stave off my own climax so I can flip her over to her hands and knees. She’s still trembling, still moaning softly as I push her palms toward the pillows. I grab the ribbon, wrap it around her wrists, and tie the ends to her headboard.

She looks at me, biting her lip. “Take me.”

If she only knew why I need her like this. Because I’ve wanted her for years, and when I sink back into her, it occurs to me that maybe I’ve been falling in love with her for six years too.

Six years.

And now I’m here, and all this touching has unlocked all these feelings.

Feelings I don’t know what to do with.

So I do as asked.

I take her.

I want to take her and keep her, and I know that as I fuck her, I’m making love to her.

It can never be anything else with my Ally, my Honey, my woman.

Soon, she’s nearing the cliff again, then she’s soaring off, crying out, and I give in too, as pleasure barrels down my spine, curling tight in me till I come hard inside her.

The ecstasy blots out the complete and absolute mess in my head.





Chapter 27





Ally



I order Vietnamese like a champion, and then we play Bananagrams as we wait for the delivery, making it through four words before we kiss again. The kiss lasts a few minutes, then I sink to the floor, bring him into my mouth once more, and treat him to another blow job as he sits back on the couch, moving my head up and down between his legs.

When he comes, my cell rings, and it has to be the food delivery. Flailing my arm, I grab for the phone, checking the number, then hand it to Miller.

“Yessssss,” he says on a final moan as I suck him dry. “Come on up.”

Perfect timing.

We eat, then we drink wine, then we return to my bed, and he kisses me everywhere. I’m pretty sure I’ll be sore tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure I don’t care about anything but the way he treasures my body.

I run my fingers over the inked notes on his hip, humming a few words from one of the Heartbreakers’ most popular songs. “All I want is to find you again . . .”

A slow and peaceful grin spreads on his face, and he answers me, crooning softly, “Even if that’s crazy.”

My thumb slides higher over the artwork on his body. “Tell me, tell me . . . I haven’t lost you.”

He beats out a gentle rhythm on my belly. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

I cease the singing. Maybe because it’s not our song. Or maybe because it’s skating perilously close to words that might overwhelm this fragile thread between us.



*

As the night crawls past midnight, we slide under the covers, and we don’t stop.

We are wild, hungry creatures, needing more. More contact. More touch. More of each other.

I pull him on top of me. “I like every position so far, but I really like looking at you, Miller.”

“Baby,” he groans, and closes his eyes as he enters me.

I wrap my legs around his hips, bringing him as close as I can. Our slick, sweaty bodies slide against each other. In the dark, in the absolute bliss detached from all reason and responsibility, the hope inside me dares to swell again. The way he touches me makes me feel so rich with love that I want to blurt out everything. To tell him I want him in my life every night.

When I’m scarily close to breathing the most dangerous words, he goes so deep in me that I see heaven.

My brain turns into a delicious haze of lust and love as I surrender once more, and he joins me. When he tugs me against him, and I curl into his arms, all I want is to let this perfect night stay absolutely perfect.

Once the sun rises, I’ll find a way to make sense of the emotions occupying all the space in my heart.

For now, I have Miller’s arms around me.



*

My refrigerator is a desolate wasteland. My belly is the maw of a shark, growling and chomping.

“How is this possible?” Miller scratches his head as he considers the empty shelves that mock our rumbling morning tummies. His rumpled hair after a night in my bed is adorably sexy, and I riffle my hand through the strands. He harrumphs as he paws at a loaf of bread nearing the end of its life. “Why do you hate food so much?”

Laughing, I park my hands on my hips. “I’m a New Yorker. I’ve found all the cheap takeout and delivery in the city. It’s an art form that makes the fridge irrelevant.”

He squeezes my ass. “But don’t you know you have to have eggs and coffee for your man after you fuck him senseless?”

I imitate a ruler, standing straight and tall.

My man?

He means my friend, right?

He rubs the pad of his thumb across my cheek, taking my focus away from dissecting the finer meanings of his words. “How about we take a quick shower and grab a bagel? You can feed me that way.”

I nod quickly. That, I understand. Bagels are what we’ve always done. That’s the breakfast of friends.

I glance at the time on the stove. “Let’s be speedy. Chloe should be back in an hour, then I’m taking her to Brooklyn to spend the day with Kirby and Macy while I finish some work.”

He points to the bathroom. “Get your cute little ass in the shower.”



*

As he washes my hair with strong but tender hands, the questions return.

Are these the hands of my man?

Or my friend?

Or my temporary man?

My head says “friends with benefits,” but my heart screams something else entirely. Something I can’t quite make out over the rushing of the hot water.