Ari sits on the edge of the bed and pulls the enormous socks on; they’re more luxurious than some of her shoes.
“I don’t do this,” she says again, gesturing at the bed. “I told you this the first time we met. I don’t sleep over.” And I’m scared shitless of this entire thing, so I’ll be going and probably not contacting you for three weeks.
“So we won’t go back to sleep.” Josh peels back the covers so she can slide in next to him. These sheets must have a thread-count in the thousands. It’s like staying in a very nice, austere hotel. There’s an awkward silence hanging like a cloud over the room. Or perhaps that’s a fancy Japanese diffuser.
This is the weird thing that happens after sex: Once you’ve unraveled all the tension, you’re just two naked people sitting there like nervous idiots.
Josh rolls onto his side and his right arm snakes its way around her hip.
“This is dangerously close to spooning,” Ari says.
“And yet, you haven’t disintegrated.” His skin smells like the sandalwood/camphor/Russian leather fragrance of his stupid organic body wash. Maybe part of her wants to smell like those nonsense words, too.
Shit shit shit.
“I—I have things to do tomorrow. I mean, this morning.” Seems best not to mention the meeting is with his mother. “I need to get up soon.”
“Hmm.” His thumb grazes the soft, ticklish area where her thigh meets her hip, making her squirm. “Didn’t you say orgasms jolt you awake?”
“At this point, my vibrator is my main reason for waking up, period, so…”
His breath tickles the nervy skin on the back of her neck.
“Show me.”
20
“I DIDN’T BRING MY EQUIPMENT,” she replies, unsure if she’s trying to escalate or defuse. But frankly, this is far more appealing than snuggling.
“You have hands.” Josh shifts himself up toward the headboard, moving his left arm under her neck.
“But that’s a lot more effort.” It’s been forever since she touched herself without the aid of buzzing purple silicone.
She’s keenly aware of the way his erection presses insistently into her ass and she finds herself arching her back, pushing against it. Her legs part just enough to slot her right hand between them.
“I have hands, too,” he says. There’s a second or two of conspicuous silence before he shoves the duvet down the bed. “Roll over onto your stomach.”
He pushes down on her right shoulder so that she’s lying on her belly and there’s a thrilling little sensation streaking up her spine. Maybe Gabe was right about her having a thing for bossy people who think they know everything.
She lets an approving mmm slip out when he moves his hand between her legs, brushing it over hers. One—no, two of his fingers slide all too easily inside her and she sucks in a breath. Thank God they’re not staring at each other this time.
His fingers press down and—shit, shitshitSHIT. It’s the difference between let’s see where this pleasurable feeling leads, shall we? and there is definitely, one hundred percent an orgasm in my near future.
“Do you ever think about me when you touch yourself?” His mouth is right next to her ear.
She lets out some incomprehensible moaning sound in response and loops her left arm around the pillow, needing to hold on to something.
Part of her brain screams at her to say anything necessary to get more, more, more right now. That part is expanding like a helium balloon. The sensible part that knows all these statements could be used against her in the inevitable argument they’ll have later today when they’ve both come to their senses? That part is shrinking down to the size of a pea.
“I think about lots of things.” She bounces the question back to him. “Why? Do you think about me?”
“No. Never. Not even once.”
“You’re so fucking weird,” she says.
“You’re so fucking wet.”
He slowly pulses against this certain spot in a maddeningly steady, controlled rhythm. Ari hates being edged. Hates it. So, so, so…much. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Hmm?” he replies, obviously reveling in making her ask for it.
“I do this to other women.” She squirms to reposition herself, seeking a little more friction. He holds her firmly in place with his other hand. “It doesn’t work on me.”
That makes him laugh. Enraging. “Answer the question.”
Ari huffs but she’d rather be satisfied than indignant. “Statistically, I’ve probably, uh…”
He lays a series of kisses down her back, his nose dragging along her lower back, inching lower…and lower until he lifts his head.
“Yes?”
Admitting it feels like the final nail in the coffin they’ve been assembling for the last twelve hours.
“I have a very dirty mind, okay? But I don’t— Ahhh. Oh God.”
“That’s it.” He rubs firmly against the same spot. “Do you want to come like this?”
“P-pretty much always. How are you doing that?” And why hasn’t she been doing it to herself for the last ten years?
He eases his fingers out and she makes a disappointed little moan.
“Want me to keep going?”
“If you stop, I’ll cut you.”
That earns another chuckle. His weight on the bed shifts and she hears a rustling on the nightstand.
After eight seconds of packet-opening struggle, he pulls her hips up a bit, kneeling behind her. Her pulse is racing and she hasn’t felt this combination of tension and excitement flood her brain without chemical assistance in years.
He places one hand on her left hip and the other between her shoulder and neck. Ari can’t help but look back at him, like she needs to double-check an answer she knows is right.
“Okay?” he asks softly. He lets go of her hip to guide himself inside her. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“I’ve taken a whole fist, you know.”
“Not mine.” He spanks the fleshy part of her ass. “Brat.”
God.
Despite her fist-related bluster, a soft curse escapes her lips because this angle feels like…uh, more than she was anticipating.
He waits for them both to breathe in and out a few times before pressing her flush against the mattress, legs straight.
It’s slow at first—which is good because she has no leverage; it’s the kind of thing she never allows herself to do with random hookups. But not being in control at all is a minor revelation, and she’s just never trusted a man like this before, maybe ever, and it’s…
Well, she usually thinks of herself as fucking the other person.
His hands move over hers, fingers intertwining again, like a pervy inversion of yesterday’s intimacy.
There aren’t any tears this time.
He lowers himself onto his elbows, covering her back with the weight of his torso, thrusting deep and slow. Ari catches her breath just before he moves her hair aside and drags his mouth over the back of her neck.
“Just keep…doing…that,” she mutters.
They breathe in the same rhythm, both groaning when he nudges that same spot, over and over.
Josh reaches underneath her, palm flat against her rib cage, and pulls her up and onto her knees in front of him, until her back is pressed against his chest. The angle is shallower and his movements are more careful, but now he can reach his hands everywhere—cupping around the underside of her breast, thumbing the nipple, making her whimper.
It’s on the verge of too much.
“Are you always this…” She can’t come up with the words. What are words? “This…this—” Her hands reach back for anything to hold on to: She scratches at his shoulder, his back, pulls at his hair. She really has been missing out on morning sex. Holy shit.
His mouth is just barely on her ear and if he says anything—a deep vibration of any kind—she’ll fucking lose it.
“Arch your back more.” Gah!
She complies without a second thought, pushing her shoulders back against his chest. Maybe sex is better than a killer stand-up set.
“I’m almost— Don’t stop. I’m—I’m—” Pleasepleaseplease.
“You could be waking up like this every day.” His other hand nudges open her legs a little wider, just enough to position his fingers almost exactly where they need to be. But not quite. “Better than a vibrator?”
“W-why not both?”