Darker Water

  Well into the exhausted, post-orgasmic preamble to deep, deep slumber, I wished he was in it with me. And I’d be happy to help him get there. But out of everyone I knew, Carson was the one who’d never be shy about telling me exactly what he wanted. So, if for whatever reason he gave a little while ago, he didn’t want to, maybe I’d...sleep. And then when we...

  Chapter 18 - Carson

  When I woke up, I still had a raging hard-on. Not at all helped by Lane’s leg being on top of mine, her thigh far too close to my cock. Plus, since I’d been the one to take them off her, I knew for a fact she wasn’t wearing any panties. If I moved a little to my left—

  No. I wasn’t going to move to the left, because that would be highly stupid.

  I’d fucked things up really nicely last night. I wouldn’t have kicked her out of my bed in the middle of the night, but I had a couch for fuck’s sake. I didn’t have to slide into bed with her, press myself against her as I listened to her come, and then sleep with her wrapped around me.

  I’d slept. Shit. I’d actually slept. Before I stopped bringing women to my place completely, I’d tried to sleep with one of them in my bed a couple times. I couldn’t send a woman out onto the street at two in the morning just because the party was over. But eventually I always had to give up and go into another room.

  Except with Lane. I’d crawled into bed with her because I couldn’t stop myself. And pulling her closer, feeling her body, making her come, and tasting her on my fingers after she crashed—all of those were things I couldn’t stop myself from doing. And I would do whatever it took to do them again.

  But I wouldn’t kiss her. Kissing was great—I was all for kissing—but not after a night like the last. Not when I’d made a hundred different bad decisions within twenty minutes of seeing her in my bed. If I wasn’t careful, I’d screw it up or make her think something was there that wasn’t. I couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. I wasn’t worried about myself, but she wasn’t used to the kind of relationship we could have.

  She stretched, her face squishing up before she opened her eyes and saw me. “Oh shit.”

  I laughed. “Good morning to you too, Lane. How was your week? Mine was no fun at all but it’s picking up rapidly. Thanks for asking.”

  She sat up, her cheeks on fire for a reason I didn’t understand. It was the morning-after-very-little-happening. Great stuff but definitely nothing to be embarrassed about.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. “For the…um…”

  “The what?” I got it when her blush darkened. There’s something innately wrong about thanking the person you’re in bed with for giving you an orgasm. Like it was a big surprise or a special gift. What the fuck other reason would you be there for?

  “I made you come because I wanted to, not because I wanted your gratitude. Or payback.” I smirked. “Although I’m not opposed to the idea. But not now. Maybe later.” Damn, I wanted to kiss her. A lot. “You know what’s worse than a woman giving you a hand job because she feels obligated to?”

  “What?”

  “Her not giving you a hand job at all. I’m just kidding.” I smiled, pushed out of bed, and went into the kitchen to cool off with some scalding hot coffee. “We agreed to talk about where things stood when I got back. I can be patient a little longer.” Look how long it had been already.

  It was going to happen, I knew that. She’d finally said it would, but more than with anyone I’d ever been with before, things had to be clear between Lane and me. Or she’d get hurt, and I’d feel like the biggest asshole on the face of the earth.

  “It would be helpful if you weren’t so nice about all this,” she called.

  Was I being nice? No. I was being horny and selfish and a little bit desperate.

  “Nope, all of this is me being a selfish prick. I’m only being your friend for self-serving reasons.” Anything that kept us in the same room would get me where I wanted to be sooner. And honestly, if I could only hear one thing for the rest of my life, I wanted it to be her screaming my name.

  “You’re so full of shit. When’s the last time you worked this hard to get a girl to sleep with you?”

  “Never.” Ever, ever. Nothing even close to this. “But you’re helping me test out something new. To me, at least. The theory is: the more the sexual tension builds up, the bigger the explosion will be when it finally happens. This is all foreplay.”

  “I’m not sure I can live up to that kind of expectation.”

  If last night was any indication, then yeah, she definitely would. My anticipation was so high, I’d been like a teenager touching a woman for the very first time. Unless I’d kept a certain amount of pressure on her, she would’ve felt my hand shake. Luckily, once she’d started shaking it wasn’t a problem anymore.

  She jumped in the shower while I made coffee. I’d already poured two cups when I realized I’d never made coffee for a woman before. That had to be some kind of record. My rep was a lot more exciting than my reality, but I would still need a lot more hands to count the number of women I’d slept with. I needed less than one to count the number I’d cared about.

  That I knew exactly how she took it—grotesquely sweet with lots of cream—didn’t bother me at all, though. We’d spent a lot of time at coffee shops. Her choice of locations where we couldn’t get horizontal wasn’t lost on me. It showed a certain cute naïveté that she didn’t realize I wanted to take her vertically just as badly.

  I’d just given up my search for milk that wasn’t chunky when I heard her come into the kitchen.

  “I only have sugar and—”

  Her body pressed against my back, molding into me. She hadn’t put anything on after her shower, not even a towel. This was very good. She was fully awake and taking things into her own hands. Hopefully into some of her other parts too. As long as she wasn’t doing it out of guilt. Or payback. A payback orgasm seemed an awful lot like a pity-fuck, and that was never going to happen. I was horny as fuck, but I still had some pride.

  I already knew that once wasn’t going to be close to enough with her, and I didn’t want us to stop hanging out together. Lines couldn’t be crossed haphazardly if I wanted to keep all of that.

  She reached around me and ran her hand down my abs, past the waistband of my boxers.

  “This is because you wanna feel good, right? Not because of any dangerous, emotional, female reason?” My voice was like sandpaper as I not only felt her fingers curl around my quickly hardening cock, I also saw them. Fuuuuck.

  “You don’t know anything about women, do you?”

  I knew how their bodies worked but right now that was only one of the things that I needed to be paying attention to.

  “Don’t ask me why I want it,” she said. “Just give it to me.”

  Yeah, I think I could do that. When she started moving her hand, stroking my cock, I groaned. Coffee forgotten. Time and space gone.

  As tight as her grip was and as fucking great as it felt, it wasn’t going to be enough. I needed to feel her come again, this time around my cock.

  “If I turn around now things are going to escalate, Lane.” I spoke with my eyes closed, my hands clutching the countertop. “So what would you say if I asked you how far you wanted to go with this?”

  “I’d say, ‘Why are you asking me questions when you should be fucking me?’”

  With a quick breath that might have to hold me for a while, I spun around and lifted her into my arms, unable to keep my mouth off her. Lips, jaw, neck, collarbone—anything I could reach.

  I’d been imagining this happening since day one, but had to struggle to remember I wanted it to last. That meant I shouldn’t lay her down on the kitchen table or put her on the counter or even the couch. Making sure it was done right meant we needed a bed. First time, anyway.

  Holy shit, I was finally going to get to put my mouth everywhere I wanted to.

  It was easy to know how her body was doing—I’d been watching her for weeks, noticing every time she lo
oked happy or satisfied or horny. Plus, she was so fucking expressive vocally. Her gasps and moans acted like a goddamn GPS. If I touched her the right way, she made one sound. If I did something she didn’t like as much, she made another.

  I tried to remember to check on her from time to time just to make sure she was doing okay and that no feelings were where they shouldn’t be, but I kept getting distracted by everything else that was going on. And even though I wanted to feel every inch of her with my hands and tongue, I knew the theory was right—after weeks of foreplay, shit was about to combust.

  She was just as hungry as I was, as if I’d opened a cage door and was now face to face with a wild animal. It was an actual possibility that if we ever found my boxers, they’d be in shreds.

  Inside. I had to be inside her. Or I wasn’t going to make it until tomorrow. Focus. Okay, what did I need? Besides her, of course. Besides her legs apart which was only making my focus weaker. Jesus, her skin was so soft. Concentrate. There was something I—

  “Condom,” she gasped.

  Right! Right, a condom. Get to the drawer. Focus on getting to the drawer. Open it. Maybe I wasn’t getting enough oxygen. But at least I got the condom. We fumbled a little—a lot—in our need to connect, hurrying to make up for all that wasted time.

  Everything was absolutely amazing. A bit chaotic but in a good way, in a things-are-incredible-and-are-only-getting-better way. With me, to me, to her and then—

  “Holy fuck!”

  —inside of her.

  “Oh my god, Carson. Oh my god.”

  I stayed still because her GPS told me very clearly that she needed a second. I needed a second too. I’d never looked into the eyes of someone I cared about and seen exactly the same surprise on her face that I felt.

  I kissed her, knowing this was exactly where we were supposed to be.

  Oh shit. “You feel... God, Lane. You feel…perfect.”

  She was so worth waiting for.

  Chapter 19 - Laney

  What I’d always thought was sex, wasn’t. Because this sex made me want more before Carson even started moving. Even calling those other times sex was like calling a paddleboat a yacht. So this was pretty much the best day of my entire life, and I wanted to beat my head against the wall for putting it off for so long.

  All the air came out of my lungs the first time he pressed into me.

  “Lane, stop. You can’t do that.”

  “Do what?” What did I do wrong?

  “If you keep it up I’m going to come. I don’t want to come yet. And you don’t want me to come yet. So switch from my name to ‘oh god’ or something.”

  I busted out laughing, making him groan when my muscles tightened around him. “If I forget, are you going to gag me? Please?”

  “Fuck!” He whistled on an inhale. “Don’t say shit like that.”

  “Or tie me up.”

  “Stop it,” he growled.

  “Or spank me.”

  “Well, that was going to happen whether you mentioned it or not.” Then he was laughing too, and cursing, and blaming me for whatever was going to happen and whatever he had to do to make sure it did.

  When he started moving, both of us stopped laughing. I couldn’t do anything but feel and press into every thrust. It was almost eerily quiet, other than the occasional gasp or groan. Okay, a lot of gasping and groaning, but I couldn’t help it. Especially when he started thrusting faster, going deeper and harder.

  We watched each other and, while I didn’t know what he was seeing, I saw everything. In his eyes and his mouth, the way his expression changed right before it got too intense and he had to kiss me or change position to break the tension. But he always went back to looking at me, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he were trying to tell me something that he couldn’t say. I didn’t know what it could possibly be or even if I was right about something being there. It was just a feeling, a powerful one, almost as powerful as the pleasure.

  His kiss made everything almost too good, too beautiful and intimate, way more than I could’ve ever dreamt of.

  Then the opportunity to think passed. “I’m gonna—” Oh god. I was losing it, trying to hold it back because it was all-consuming, too dangerous. I couldn’t stop it, though. When the dam broke, what I wanted or didn’t want or thought or didn’t think made no difference anymore.

  He groaned as if he was experiencing it alongside me. But he couldn’t have because he was still moving, rocking deeper into me, and he wouldn’t have been able to do that if he’d felt the same thing I did. My orgasm went on and on, lengthened by his intensity as he started really driving into me.

  He said my name quietly, reverently. “It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.” Before I had a chance to consider what he said or respond, he pressed deep inside me and let go.

  Aside from kissing a lot more, separating, a quick trip to the bathroom, and getting under the covers, neither of us had moved in about an hour. Neither of us had gone to sleep, either. We just stared up at the ceiling, absorbed in our own thoughts.

  Every once in a while I’d glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t think he looked at me once. A little paranoia set in—even though that was by far the most incredible sexual experience of my life, there was a chance he would’ve given it a five out of ten. What had he said about Hillary? The parts he remembered were good, but it wasn’t overly special. Nothing about me was overly special, but somehow I’d convinced myself it would be different for us.

  Maybe he was staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out a way to tell me to leave. Oh my god. Of course he was. He just didn’t want to seem rude. Not that I actually imagined Carson would have a problem being rude, but what did I know? I opened my mouth, but he spoke first, still not looking at me.

  “I need to know something.” His voice was flat, without any of its usual humor or sarcasm. “When you were with a frog you loved, before he became a frog, is that what it felt like?”

  “I was just thinking about that.” And just thinking how they hadn’t compared, not even a little. “Um…no, it never felt like that.”

  He let out a breath, and his body relaxed a little. Then he scooted me closer. “How are you feeling?”

  “Really good.” That wasn’t even close to an accurate description, but it was the best I could come up with. “I’m still tingling.”

  “Glad to hear that,” he said on a laugh. “What about the other stuff—the…feelings stuff?”

  “Well, I really like you and that was a fantastic way to start the day, but I’m not going to turn you into a frog.”

  “I already am a frog, so that doesn’t help.”

  “No, you’re not.” And I wouldn’t make him one. “I feel exactly the same way I felt yesterday except a little more tired and a lot more satisfied.”

  “Great answer.” He finally turned his head towards me and studied me for a moment. I started to get fidgety, not knowing what to do.

  “Should I leave now?”

  “Not if you don’t have to.”

  “I don’t.” So I curled up under his arm a little more and pulled the blanket down so I could trace his abs with my finger. None of the frogs had a body even close to Carson’s, nor were their sides as ticklish.

  “Quit it.” He swiped my hand away and then flipped onto his side to face me, looking at me seriously. “Can we do this again? I mean on a different day because I’ve already decided we’re doing it a few more times today. In fact, I’m going to take you in a very long shower as soon as you answer the question.”

  “Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, we can do this again.”

  And we did. Repeatedly.

  I’d spent most of my free time with Carson before we started having sex. After? After, we were practically inseparable. Still friends, still hanging out, but the minute he decided he wanted to get me alone, he did. Wherever we were.

  It was going so much better than I ever imagined it would. Even though Carson was amaz
ing in bed and out of it, somehow knowing there was no possibility of a future negated all the crap that used to get me in trouble. We had all the good parts of a relationship and none of the bad.

  I was finally able to be with someone without expectations or resentment, insecurity or subtext. Because those were all things that didn’t exist in Carson’s world. If he wanted something, he asked for it...or demanded it…or just took it. And when I wanted something—I couldn’t ask for anything more than this.

  Whenever Carson asked me something, I answered without hesitation, not worrying how it would make him feel or if he would judge me. Every once in a while, my mind would flash back to one of the frogs and I’d instantly feel my shoulders lift and self-consciousness set in. That didn’t happen with Carson. It didn’t happen because we both knew there was no forever for us, nothing to protect or plan.

  Knowing what I wanted and being able to say it made my time with him easy and stress-free. In a million years, I would never have thought things could be so perfect. I’d always believed love was what I wanted. I was wrong. I’d wanted to like myself and be with someone who did, too.

  Love wasn’t real, but this was. And I wasn’t going to let myself ruin it.

  Chapter 20 - Carson

  Why the hell had I waited so long to do this? Oh right, because I never imagined I could get along with anyone this well. Someone I liked hanging out with who I could also strip, screw, and shower with. Without the clingy, needy thing I’d seen my friends suffer through—whether they knew they were suffering or not.

  It wasn’t as if I’d never slept with the same woman twice, but I’d never had a regular, couple-nights-in-a-row kind of thing. Too risky. Hook-ups were spread out, no less than two weeks apart. No one could get overly comfortable that way.