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This is what a pancake must feel like.
Lo sheds his shirt. “Moffy too. He’ll be upset he didn’t make it to midnight this year.”
“We can tell him he didn’t miss anything exciting.” I roll on my stomach and reach for the baby monitor by the clock. Xander is fast asleep in his crib. He turned one on Christmas. It was the start of us trying to make his birthday memorable, despite having to share it with a holiday.
Lo pulls off his socks. “So my sister told me the name of her baby tonight.”
I perk up and set the monitor back. “What’s her name?” The Abbey baby isn’t due yet, but we all know she’s having a girl. “Is it based on a video game character? Is it Zelda?” I kneel on the mattress, my thoughts wild at all the possibilities. They’re into pop culture like us, so the options are endless. My eyes grow big. “Are they naming her Hermione?! I might die.”
“Don’t die, love.” Lo drops his pants, the bulge in his boxer-briefs calling out to me.
“…it’d be a happy death,” I say dazedly. His cock. In me. “…I’d die out of…love.”
Lo crawls onto the bed, and I try to shimmy down towards him, so he can crawl on top of me. I even wiggle out of my pants, now down to my panties and muscle shirt. He sees the needy suggestion in my eyes, but he’s not taking the bait yet.
Focus off his cock.
It’s so hard.
I flush at the double meaning.
“Are you going to give me any hints?” I wonder.
“Vada Lauren Abbey,” he tells me the name. “Vada for—”
“My Girl,” I finish. The lead character of that 90s film is named Vada. Garrison reblogs a lot of My Girl gifs and makes them for Willow, but both Lo and I first saw that movie when we were about eight or nine. It fits them better than all of my suggestions, even Hermione. “And Lauren, as in—”
“Me,” he finishes this time.
My eyes well. “Lo.”
“Yeah, I know.” He nods. “It’s a horrible middle name.” His sarcasm is so apparent, especially as his smile grows, overwhelmed by being a namesake.
I wipe a fallen tear. “Is it spelled the same?”
“She asked me if she should do the L-O-R-E-N version, and I told her to go traditional. I figure I have thirty-three years of bad karma stored up in that name. Best way to dodge it is by going L-A-U-R-E-N.”
I nod. “Smart thinking.” As the topic of conversation fades, my mind reroutes to what’s knelt in front of me.
Loren Hale in black boxer-briefs. Loren Hale with cheekbones that cut like ice. Loren Hale with a six-pack and muscular thighs. Why his thighs turn me on, my nefarious brain cannot compute. It just sees them and his biceps and those cheekbones and chants, closer, closer, closer.
Lo leans forward, finally, and his hands fall onto either side of my head. He hovers above me. I try to tug him down so his weight adds pressure against my body.
He never lowers.
So I ask, “Lo, are we going to have New Year’s Day sex?” I’m honed in on his rising lips and the dimples in his cheeks. I sense him studying my body for a second, but I can tell he’s horny (maybe not as much as me) by his hardness and the flex of his muscles.
Then his lips dip down to mine but veer off to the base of my neck. “Yes,” he says into a kiss. Yes!
My pulse hammers, skin tingling by my neck. I lie flat on our bed but I’ve already split my legs around his body. I’ve already grabbed onto his shoulders. If I could do a pull-up, I’d already be against him.
Reasons to work out.
It’s so enticing, but not as enticing as not working out.
“The first sex in 2024,” I muse. “This is a big deal. Give me a second. I have to think how we’re going to do this.” I squeeze my eyes shut because his body, his face, his eyebrows and hair are all distracting. “Anal? Or maybe on top? OhmyGod, maybe we should do it standing up? No, on the floor! No, in the bathtub!”
My mind actually races between positions, so fast that I bite my thumb nail. I’ve opened my eyes, but I stare off into a faraway sex land called Lily Hale’s Dirty Mind.
“Lil, calm down.”
“Huh.”
He pinches my cheek.
“Hey!” I rub my cheek. So mean.
“Calm down,” he repeats, his face blanketed with seriousness.
“I am calm. Calm but excited.” I try a pull-up on his body. Nope, not happening. I wait for the thud on the mattress, but I quickly realize that I never lifted myself off the bed to begin with. Weakling, that’s me.
“If it’s a big deal for you, then I’ll make it the best sex of the goddamn year, but I want you to enjoy it without being compulsive, yeah?”
I’m about to wholeheartedly agree, but his movements distract me. His left hand has left the mattress, and his fingers lightly skim the sliver of skin above my cotton panties. I follow his carnal gaze, and my travel leads me to my white muscle shirt, the fabric askew. My boob is exposed, nipple hardened.
I spend so much time ogling him that I forget what I even look like. And how much he’s attracted to me. Which I can see is a whole lot.
My hand drops off his shoulder and onto my hipbone. I stop myself from inching lower. Don’t be compulsive. I think about his previous declaration.
“Can we scratch the best sex of the year?” I ask. “Because if that’s true then all the rest of the sex this year will be not-the-best, and I won’t have anything to look forward to.”
His amber eyes abruptly tear off my nipple and set daggered onto my face. “Lily Hale, are you telling me you wouldn’t look forward to fucking me?”
Now that he phrases it like that…
“Absolutely not. Scratch everything I just said. I’m not picky. Best sex. Okay sex. Awesome sex. Any kind of sex is what I look forward to—as long as it’s with you.” I try to nod resolutely, but it’s harder lying down.
“Okay sex?” He frowns and nearly sits up. No, come back! I tug at the band of his boxer-briefs, and he lowers to his previous position. Yes! “When have we had okay sex?”
“When something interrupts us and I don’t come.”
His jaw tightens, but then he nods like he gets it. “Tonight, I promise not to let anything interrupt your orgasm.” He holds out his pinky finger. Loren Hale initiating a pinky-promise.
My heart sputters, and without pause, I hook my pinky with his.
Lo kisses me urgently, deeply. My lips swell beneath his, a moan tickling my throat. His hand slides beneath my muscle shirt, kneading the soft flesh of my breast.
I run my hands over his arms, his abs. His cut muscles are the product of many workouts that help him combat stress better than a bottle of bourbon. I kiss him just as vehemently, my legs tightening around his waist. He’s still too far away.
Lo disconnects from my mouth. “Lil.” His voice is low and hoarse. “You. Naked. Now.” He lifts my muscle shirt over my head while my dazed mind has already imagined him inside of me.
“You…aren’t naked?” I try to tug at his boxer-briefs.
He groans as he attempts to pull my panties off my legs. I won’t disentangle from his waist. We’re a hot mess, but my mission is his cock, not undressing myself.
Lo pries my gangly legs off his waist.
I make a noise that may be a whine, but it’s an I want you whine and come back to me! plea.
Lo handles my body like someone nurturing and stimulating an animal in heat. His narrowed eyes flit to the ceiling, very briefly, to contain his own arous
al. I could pounce on him and fuck him, and as I squirm for Lo and only Lo, the muscle in his jaw tenses.
He quickly pulls my panties off my ankles, and I clutch his lean build. I want to be a koala clung onto the Loren Hale tree, but so much space still separates his body from mine.
He’s knelt between my legs.
My breath hitches, my skin hot and beginning to glisten with just my thoughts. I unsuccessfully removed his boxer-briefs. He pulls up the black fabric, air and that article of clothing separating us. Without panties, I’m exposed and empty. I need his hardness, the pressure right up against me.
“Lo,” I moan in desperation.
Sex might be more complicated for him than me. I’m on reach orgasm mode while he’s on focus on Lily’s health, don’t come before Lily, nurture and protect and then fuck her good mode.
Anyone else could easily take advantage of my addiction, but he doesn’t. Lo would never propel me to a bad place just because I’m willing to do anything in bed. I need restrictions. I need slow.
I need him.
Lo seizes my hips that rock upwards. “Easy, love.” He pushes my abdomen down, and then his hand drifts between my legs. I tingle and clench, even before he slips two fingers inside.
I shudder so fast, and he deserts me just as quickly. “Lo,” I whimper. I don’t realize my hands are sliding down my thighs until he grips my wrists.
He kisses the edge of my lips and whispers, “Take a breath.”
Fuck. Fuck. I want to fuck. I inhale a short breath, my head slightly leveling. In the middle of the bed, he stays on his knees.
I sit up. “Please,” I beg. I just need his skin on my skin. I wrap my arms around his frame, tucking my body against Lo.
He does something out of the ordinary.
Lo slowly lies backwards, his shoulders meeting the champagne comforter.
I splay my palms on his chest, lifting myself up just a little in realization. I’m on top of Loren Hale. I’m straddling his waist.
I rarely ever end up on top or in control because I take it too far.
My lips part while my whole body shakes. Lo watches me. His amber eyes bore through my soul. He also lies here for my pleasure, but my brain only sees this body that can offer me the best orgasm of my life.
