After we ate chicken noodle soup and sandwiches, the meal I delivered to her door for us earlier, Story managed to get me to strip down to my underwear and spend the day with her in bed with one simple request. “I want you to stay.”
Miniature gold candy wrappers litter the bed, and her nightstand has a cup of Gatorade and cold medicine in some cocktail she created. With one hand waving in front of her and candy in the other, she says, “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much money in my life, Cooper.” She pops a small Reese’s in her mouth and falls back on a pile of pillows.
I’m not sure what to think about what she says. It’s nothing in the scheme of things, but she acts like she won the lottery. Remembering how she got upset about the delivery guy’s tip, seeing the small apartment, and how empty her fridge is, the pieces click together. But hearing her tone and the excitement rattling through it has me glad I gave it to her.
She’s not had it easy and probably had to work for anything she ever got. I should feel good that I could make such an impact. But I don’t. Lying on the bed next to her, I turn to look out the window. I’ve never been uncomfortable when it comes to discussions involving money. It’s just not anything I’ve ever had to worry about. So, thinking about it isn’t something I do very often.
I feel good when I’m with her until I fuck it up in regard to money by flaunting it without a second thought, which then makes me feel like a bastard. Has my life been so sheltered that I never realized the impact I could make? Before I get too self-indulgent and start analyzing all my failures, I bring her hand to my mouth and steal the mini Reese’s from it with my teeth.
Story smiles. Fucking hell. My chest tightens, and I know I’m in trouble. If she can do me in with her smile, I worry what other magic this goddess possesses.
I slowly chew the chocolate, biding my time to regroup my thoughts. This is nothing. Just two people having some fun on an unexpected free day.
The lie sours on my tongue, and I close my eyes to rid the wave of guilt that rolls through me.
She props her chin under her hands on top of my chest. “Do I want to know where that money came from?”
I stroke her head and then caress her cheek. “Nothing illegal but talk of money is not what I want to do with you.”
“Ooooh,” she says, flirting and sitting up. “What do you want to do with me, Mr. Haywood?” Her gaze slides to the wall behind the bed, troubling her lip, and then she repeats, “Haywood. Let’s talk about that instead.”
“Let’s not. I want to kiss you. That’s what I want to do.” Grabbing her waist, I roll her onto her back and kiss her until her breath deepens, hoping her thoughts turn to other things.
One full day. One day where I can be just me. Not a name on a building bought and paid for almost a hundred years ago. Not the inheritor of a town settled two hundred years ago. Not the one with a target on his back for bearing the name so many hate.
Just me and her and this bed. That’s what I really want.
Pushing me away, she leans back with a smile on her face. “You’re going to get sick, Cooper.” The words don’t match the come-and-get-me expression she’s sporting.
“What if I tell you I don’t care as long as I get to kiss you again?”
“You just want me to take care of you, don’t you?”
I move over her, pressing my hips and a certain well-built organ of mine against her. Settling my arms on either side of her head, I lean down and steal a kiss before whispering, “I would love for you to take care of me.”
Laughing, she taps me on the nose. “You are definitely not talking about being sick.”
“No, I’m not.” I lower and start kissing her again. Gentle at first and then when she wraps her arms around my neck, holding me to her, I run my tongue over her lower lip. Her lips part, and our tongues meet in the middle.
God, she makes me want to skip a few steps, but when I hear her moan, I just want to keep going. Each sound is like a little victory for my dick and inspires me to stay the course. If Story’s this responsive from a few kisses, I can only imagine how wild I’ll drive her when we have sex.
She caresses my face, looking into my eyes like I can do no wrong. “I’d take care of you.”
“I know.” I do know, too. She’s that good, has that kind of heart, and is a girl I want more than today with if given a chance. I start wondering if maybe I’m not such a bad match for that kind heart that beats hard in her chest.
I can’t let myself go there.
This is a moment. Fun. There’s that fucking word again. I need to remember that we’re nothing more than a connection made from necessity. Looking into the soul of her eyes, though, I’m starting to believe I might be wrong.
Needing to bury my thoughts and let my body rule over my head, I kiss her again and then whisper against the corner of her lips, “You’re so incredibly sexy, Story.” Running my hand over the waistband of her pants, I dip down to kiss her neck. The dip of her waist draws me to trace it with my palm and then go higher under her shirt. Her skin is hot, but this time, it’s not from a fever. It’s from being with me.
Me. Me alone.
Seeing her nipples peak under the cotton T-shirt is such a turn-on. The sound of her breath hitching has me lifting my head to check on her. No flirty smirk or eyes that captivate. Instead, she’s looking at me for something more. “You okay?”
“It’s so embarrassing, but . . .” Shaking her head, she keeps her eyes focused on mine. “No, I’m not okay.”
“What?” I push up with my eyes still locked on hers. “What’s wrong?”
Tugging me by the shirt, she pulls me back down on top of her, and I land with a thud before she kisses me again. This time, she rolls us to the side and mounts me.
This girl is trouble.
Now straddling me, she sits up and rubs the apex of her thighs against me. I say, “I thought something was really wrong.”
“There is, but it only happens when you stop kissing me.” Cupping my face, she bends down and presses her lips to mine.
I chuckle. This time, I pull back while rubbing her hips. “Then I won’t stop.” Our mouths crash into each other’s, and as if it’s open season because our bodies become frenzied.
Hands.
Legs.
Tongues.
Hair.
Tangled thoughts lost in her.
I kiss her until her lips are swollen. I fucking love seeing my work on her. She’s come twice and is ready for rest. When her eyes can barely stay open, I slip out of bed and clean up in the bathroom. She never leaves me to seek my own release, but I’m ready to take this to the next level. At this rate, I need to keep extra underwear here.
Dropping them to the floor, I decide to take a shower to wash off. The water never gets above lukewarm, making me miss the hot water at my place. Story will love it. I wonder if she enjoys baths. I could set her up, give her a romantic night—wait, what am I thinking?
These thoughts plague me when I have no idea what’s happening with the two of us. I need to shut my mind off when it comes to her and get my shit together so I can graduate next semester.
When I return to the bedroom, Story’s already asleep. Soft slumbering sighs escape from her barely parted lips as she lies under the covers we had previously shed. I grab a pair of her baggy-for-her, too-short-for-me pajama pants from the drawer and pull them on.
Before settling in for a nap with her, I set us up. The cup on the nightstand is empty, the remains of her concoction coating the bottom, so I take it to the sink. I pull two fresh ones from the cabinet to fill with water—one for her and one for me—and place them on either side of the bed.
I’m not sure how she’s feeling, but judging by what we just did, I’m thinking she’s on the mend. She sure moves like it. Fuck, she’s hot.