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"I could say the same," she whispers.
"I want you."
"Then have me."
"Tell me it's mine."
"It's yours for as long as it can be."
"This won't end easily."
The words come out in short, agitated bursts between unsteady breaths. My body is covered in sweat. I'm angry, with no fucking idea why. I'm trying to sort through it and all I can think about is someone else doing what I watched Joel do last night when I go back to California. Someone else can fucking be here to have her—the one girl that makes me want a little more than a steady fuck. "No," she says, "so make it unforgettable."
And then I watch the most beautiful woman I've ever met come around me as I spill my seed into her body on one final drive forward. She rolls her head back, her pussy still clenching around me, milking me for everything I've got. I bite down on the front of her throat, and then memorize the salty taste of her skin, her smell, and the look on her face just after she comes. I'm dealing with shit I've never dealt with before, but one fucking thing I know for sure: she'll always be the one I'll wish could've turned into more.
Tynleigh
"I never thought I'd be buying a suit on vacation," Bryant says with the hint of a smirk in place, standing in front of the body length mirrors with his arms held out to his sides, looking at me standing behind him and talking through the mirror's reflection as he gets fitted for his suit. "Isn't the point to throw all of this shit to the wind and relax? What happened to button-downs and khakis on the beach?"
The older man sizing him never looks up at us. He carries on with measurements as if we're not here. I'm trying to keep the heat in my core at bay, because this whole cleaned up bad boy look is quite enticing. His large size straining the material of the jacket already causes an ache deep between my thighs. A beard and a suit—it's like a blessing from the sex gods, presenting you with a rebelling biker trying to be good. It doesn't go together, but fuck if it doesn't make your girlie bits squeeze in anticipation.
"I'll buy one in every color, though, if you keep looking at me like that with fire in your cheeks," he says, pulling me into the here and now.
I clear my throat, pushing away the Bryant fog in my head, and hoping the cheek comment was just one to get under my skin. "Quit your bitching. I'm the one that was roped into this shit against my will. It's my way. The best man has to wear a suit. At least I'm not going completely formal," I say, our eyes locked in the mirror. When his smile expands my eyes veer to glance at myself, realizing the back of my hand is pressed against my cheek as if checking for heightened temperature. I didn't even realize it was there. "Oh, shut up," I add, his smile not faltering at all, not even a little. If anything it's growing. His skin has to be tight by this point.
"Just admit it, baby. That's the first step to acceptance. You want me right now, don't you? You want to shed the body of this suit, make it yours . . . I'm sure this gentleman would give us a quick break at our request." His voice is deep, raspy, and taunting, the smile now in his voice instead of plastered on his face like before.
My eyes widen when the older man glances at me, a subtle smile dusting his face. Now, to be clear, modest is something I've never been, but usually I'm not with a man in the form of a casual encounter or day date if that's what this is. When in a bar the sexual humor is expected and when in business it's considered inappropriate. My thoughts are already trying to sway to this morning and the two different times he pushed inside of me before letting me off of that damn pull out bed, both times spurred by a comment about last night as if he was trying to mask Joel with himself. Then the swirling memory of his mouth pressed against my lips and his beard causing jolts of electricity to shoot up my spine between those two times as my thighs hugged his head appears.
The sexiest laugh sounds as the heat courses through my body, targeting every facet of my center and reminding me that my thoughts are pulling me out of consciousness at the worst possible time, and I'm still wearing the shock from his comment on my face. The shock that has never been present before when referencing something sexual.
But nevertheless, I quickly wipe off my shocked expression and dish it right back. "I think you've met the quota for what's in the range of normal today. Cross that thin line and it's considered a problem. I'm going to pay for Saxton's suit and make sure the pastry shop is ready for us while you finish up."
Then I turn on my heels, adding an extra ass sway as I leave him with his sexual connotations. It's part of his charm it seems, and one that I think I like more than I care to admit. I remember his jealousy this morning and his anger last night, and something light tugs at my heartstrings.
No . . . Don't even think about it.
The truth is, when you allow yourself to form an emotional attachment to a man, you're vulnerable to be shattered deeply when it doesn't turn out the way you thought it was going to. We, as women, have one shot to make an unforgettable impression on a man. There is one chance to be the girl they'll wonder about from time to time. It's always better to be the 'what if' girl than to be the one he used and abused emotionally for a piece of ass that he can brag to all of his friends about how she's madly in love with him. The second we let our guard down he's moving on to someone else.
Sex with no attachments is the best thing for the heart. It's my thing. I've been doing it for years. I've conditioned myself over time to enjoy it. Loneliness is a state of mind. Casual sex is something I can do, because allowing your heart to fall for another with a girl like me is emotional terrorism. There isn't any coming back from something like that, and in my writing career I have no desire to turn into an older version of Taylor Swift, writing about a constant new love followed by a broken heart.
My life is damn near next to perfect, and that's the way I intend to keep it. I've worked fucking hard to get here. There isn't a damn sexy, sex-skilled sweet talker on this planet that will change me. Especially not one with a beard that can render me speechless with one scruff against the skin between my legs that lives across the country. In a few short days he'll be gone and everything will go back to normal, whether that small voice in my head wants it or not.
Bryant
I walk through the lobby toward the glass entry doors. I paid for my suit for Sunday, and when I didn't hear Tynleigh within earshot and started looking around, the cashier pointed me in this direction for the ‘tiny feisty brunette’, as she was called. I couldn't help but smile in agreement. That she is. My cock thinks so too, obviously, because usually a weekly fuck is plenty for me to get by. Sometimes even less, but occasionally twice and rarely more. God knows I'm busy enough I can't live like a college frat boy anymore. But just as she said, this morning I wasn't content until I had fucked her twice and ate that pussy for breakfast like I was starving in between, still wanting more. Her taste, her smell, and her tight, pink cunt dripping wet makes me fucking crazy. Drinking on that multiple times a day is a problem I'd be glad to have.
Sweaty and spent, she started pushing me off, rambling about all the shit we had to do today when all I wanted to do was sink back between her thighs. Convinced we'd never leave the apartment, she wouldn't even shower with me. It took every muscle straining in my body to go shower alone while she dressed in the change of clothing she brought to give Saxton the apartment for the day—something about Kambry's birthday—and it was quite possibly the fastest shower known to mankind, because with every second that passed I imagined Joel walking in that door and finishing what he started last night. And now that he knows her, my mind is reeling with what could happen between them when I'm gone.
I rub my hands up and down my face, pushing away the unwanted thoughts again. There is nothing I can fucking do about what happens when I leave. She isn't mine to keep. She doesn't come with the option to own. A temporary possession is all I've got. My head has never been so fucked up over a piece of pussy. It's probably a mixture of my dad, Joel, and being here. She takes all of the shit in my head away. She's an escape from reality. But escapes are only meant to be temporary. At some point the high fades and we're left with the world we came from.
The feelings will quickly die out once I get back home. And if it gets hard, there are easy fixes. We don't keep a phone full of past fucks for nothing. That's the life of remaining single, and it's one I've chosen.
When I glance through the glass it all vanishes. Every thought slamming into the forefront of my mind. There she is. I halt, my palms going to the steel frame of the door, watching her pace back and forth outside in her tan heels as she talks on the phone, using her hand as she speaks. Now that her deep hazel eyes aren't locked on mine, I can finallylookat her for the first time since we left Joel's apartment. She's dressed in a loose black dress that hits her thighs versus the short, tight numbers she wears to the club. Sleeves end at her elbows. Jewelry decorates her neck and wrists. Her purse to match her heels is locked firmly under the arm holding her phone to her ear. Fuck, those legs . . .
Even for a girl that didn't freshly shower this morning she's the most beautiful one I've ever seen. Whatever she did while I was in the shower made her breathtaking. And I'm a dead man walking every time she looks at me—the swirls of brown within the deep green irises. The girl has eyes that could grip a man by the balls and bring him to his knees.
She still hasn't noticed me. Just keeps walking back and forth as if she's on a business call, looking at the sidewalk. A man passes by her and heads for the door. I move out of the way, letting him enter. The door chimes as it opens, but because she saw him pass it doesn't pull her attention. I use it to my advantage to exit unnoticed.
