“Fuck me, Parker.” His mouth is buried in my hair and the words tickle my neck.
“I’m pretty sure I just did.”
He laughs, taking my hips in his hands once more to guide himself out of me.
I move to climb off his lap, but he pulls me down, his arms wrapping around my back, pressing me into his chest once again. We’re both a little sweaty, but our breathing is returning to normal. He brushes my hair out of my face, and when his fingers comb through the strands, I let out a contented sigh.
“I almost forgot what that felt like.” I’m too blissed out to process words, so they’re just coming out of my mouth without a filter.
“What, sex with me?”
“No, orgasms. At least, orgasms at the hand—and mouth and dick—of someone other than me.”
His hand in my hair stills and he leans back a little so he can look me in the eye. “Are you trying to tell me none of these boyfriends of yours were capable of giving you an orgasm?”
I shrug a little, my brain finally catching up and realizing this is a low-key-mortifying revelation to make, especially while naked and draped over my one-night stand/ex-boyfriend’s lap. “I mean. They could. Sometimes.”
“So they knew how and just didn’t?”
“I don’t think it was really their fault.”
“Yes, it most certainly was.” His hands resume stroking up and down my spine as if he wants to prove just how easy it is for me to get turned on.
“It’s probably your fault actually, for giving them such a high bar to live up to.” I trace the tip of my tongue over his nipple.
He growls, which was the exact reaction I was hoping for. A distraction reaction.
I sit up, putting some space between us. He’s pinned beneath me and so I take advantage, circling my hips ever so slowly.
“Parker...”
“What?” I turn up the innocence, even as I let my hands slide over my belly and up toward my breasts. “You did say you wanted me for the entire night.”
He chuckles, but his eyes never leave my hands, watching intently as I brush them over my nipples. “I’m not seventeen anymore. I need more than five minutes.”
I pout playfully. “Fine.” I push myself up off his lap. “Guess I’ll just go take a shower then, while I wait.” I head down thehallway, letting my ass sway like Jessica Rabbit’s as I walk. And frankly, I don’t know what the hell has come over me, but I do know that when Seth scoops me up in his arms a few seconds later, I smile wider than I have in a really long time.
26
Sex with an ex may seem like a good idea at the time, but in reality, it just leads to more heartache.
—Lana Parker, “Refrain and Abstain: Why You Should Never Sleep with an Ex”
The sunlight framing Seth’s navy-blue curtains is fuzzy when I wake up, and I can tell by the hints of pink and orange that it’s barely sunrise. I’m not sure how much sleep we ended up getting, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours. After our shower, where I went down on him and he returned the favor, we wound up in the kitchen, searching for sustenance, which we eventually got to eating. The leftover pizza left us both full and the multiple orgasms left us both sated, and we fell into Seth’s bed at some ungodly hour and promptly drifted off to sleep.
My bladder is protesting, so I slip out from underneath the sheet and make my way to the bathroom. I’m absolutely wrecked. My hair is tangled so badly even rats wouldn’t nest in it. Remnants of my smoky eye have trailed all the way down my cheeks, my lips are swollen, and my chin is covered in a pink rash courtesy of Seth’s ever-present stubble.
But my eyes are clear, and those bee-stung lips are smiling. I pee and wash my face and find some mouthwash to swish around.
It’s most definitely morning, and I know I should leave. I had my one-night stand. What I should really do is find my dress and my panties and head home before Seth wakes up and we have to have a super-awkward conversation.
But instead, I find myself back in his room, sliding in between the cool sheets. The movement stirs him out of his sleep.
His hazy eyes find me and he smiles. “You’re still here.”
“I can go, if you want.”
His arm latches around my waist and pulls me into him. Neither of us bothered to put any clothing on before climbing into bed last night, so the movement brings us skin-to-skin. He’s already half hard against my thigh and I know I should stop this before it starts—or starts again—but I don’t want to.
