Darker Water

  But this thing with Lane was different. It just worked. I didn’t question why because it didn’t matter. It worked, I was getting well-laid, she seemed to be enjoying herself, and there was no drama.

  If I’d thought the sex was amazing when we started… There’s a lot to be said for spending some time learning someone’s body and finding out exactly how to make them happy.

  And I was. Very happy.

  After the first time, I’d had a second of ‘this was a huge fucking mistake.’ For a minute—or an hour—I actually thought I was the one who was going to screw things up by liking her a little too much. But now I know my initial reaction was due to a really great orgasm with a very impressive woman and being greedy enough to not want to share her with anybody. I’m better now. Even though that’s all still true.

  As long as Lane was good with the arrangement and didn’t get girlie, my life was golden. Other than the occasional tough day at work or anything to do with my family or lawyers. But knowing I would be spending the night with her mouth on me made the nine-to-five stressors a lot easier to handle.

  From the outside it might have looked like we were dating—going out, lots of sleep-overs— but I didn’t give a shit what it looked like. All I cared about was what it was. For both of us. And it was pretty damn close to perfect.

  After seeing her website again and asking a few questions about her business that should’ve been easy to answer, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I get that whole right brain/left brain artistic thing, but something had to be done. I liked her a lot, but I wasn’t going to have her move in with me because she couldn’t pay her rent.

  We went to her place to get her stuff because, sure, what kind of idiot would keep their business stuff at their place of business? But I was fine with it because she really liked elevators—something about fooling around in one making her feel naughty. And who was I to stop her from that? But today, we couldn’t fool around because a guy was on the elevator with us, so I settled for standing behind her and groping her ass.

  Unfortunately, even if Hillary hadn’t been home, Lane still had weird issues about having sex in their apartment.

  “It’ll just take a few minutes to get everything together,” Lane said before going into her room. Leaving me with her roommate. Great. I’d hoped crying all over me when she was upset over her fight with Eric and then crying all over me after I helped her figure out what was going on meant that we’d moved past horribly uncomfortable moments like this.

  “Carson.” Hillary had great posture—her back was straight, her shoulders tense, both feet on the floor. When I sat down on the other end of the couch, I couldn’t help but emulate it—back, shoulders, both feet on the ground. Then I bumped it up a notch and kept my knees slightly more than shoulder-width apart just in case I had to run for it.

  I bowed my head. “Hillary, good to see you again. How’s Eric?”

  “Fine.”

  “Great.” Awkward silence, complete with an out-of-the-corner-of-her-eye glare.

  She turned directly towards me in one motion, speaking before she’d completed the move. “Laney’s been hurt before.”

  Wow. This was going to be that kind of conversation. The kind I’d only seen on TV. I thought I’d gotten through this minefield the other night. Helping her with Eric had obviously meant more to me than to her. Or maybe she had just as bad a memory as I did.

  But okay, I could do this. “I’m not going to hurt her, Hillary.”

  “Then how’s it going to end?” she snapped. “Let’s say she meets somebody she wants to start dating, which she won’t because she spends all her time with you. But let’s just say she does. What then?”

  I slumped back on the couch. I was wrong—I couldn’t do this. “Okay, let’s just say she does, which she won’t because she’s still dealing with all the shit from the last guy she dated. The guy I’m betting you didn’t have this conversation with because he seemed so nice and cared about her so much. So much that he couldn’t bring himself to let her know he was fucking somebody else.”

  Even though Hillary backed off a bit, I wasn’t done. “But sure, let’s just say she meets someone. If that happens, she will tell me one of two things—either she still wants to be my friend or she doesn’t. Obviously I’d prefer the former and obviously, either way, I’d be unhappy things had to change.”

  I swallowed, not having actually thought about that possibility in a little while. ‘Unhappy’ didn’t begin to describe how I’d feel if Lane or her new boyfriend wanted us to cut ties. I’d miss the sex and I’d miss her. “I’ll never stop her from doing whatever she wants to do.”

  “And when you start sleeping with another woman, you’re going to tell her so she won’t get hurt, is that it?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Well, thanks, Hillary. That means a lot.” I should’ve stayed in the car. Consider that mistake never made again.

  “Laney isn’t the type who can sleep with a guy and not give a crap about him. How could you have spent this much time with her and not figure that out?”

  “I know she gives a crap about me. It’s just not a romantic crap. Lane’s different than she used to be, mostly because she didn’t like who she was.” I blew out a breath. “Maybe you need to re-figure her out.”

  “You’re not good for her.” Hillary’s intent was good, and I liked the idea that Lane had people watching her back, but I wasn’t the one she should be worried about. Things were completely clear between Lane and me.

  “Hmm… Since she’s not fourteen, we’re not her parents, and this isn’t 1950, I think she gets to make her own decisions.”

  “Okay, I’m—” Lane walked into the room, stopping as soon as she saw us. “Oh shit. What’s going on?”

  I turned to her seriously and grabbed Hillary’s hand, pulling her towards me. “Lane,” I said in a low voice. “Your mother and I need to talk to you about something.” Hillary ripped her hand away. “She thinks the young man you’re sleeping with is no good.” Then I looked at Hillary. “Right, honey?”

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  Lane looked at Hillary. “I’m not sure exactly what I missed but I’m fine, Hills. Promise. Yes, he’s a jerk—”

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  —“but at least he’s honest about it. I’m fine. Really.”

  “You deserve more than just a hard cock, Laney.” She got up and went into her room.

  Lane stared at her until she slammed the door. “Can we go now?”

  I didn’t say anything until we were in the elevator. “She’s right.”

  “About you being a jerk? I know—I agreed with her.”

  “You deserve more than a cock.”

  “I don’t want more than a cock right now.” Without turning to me, she reached over and wrapped her hand around my package. “I’m happy with the one I have.”

  When I’d told her to get her financial stuff so we could see exactly how bad it was, I thought she’d bring a laptop. Nope, not Lane. It was on paper. Lots and lots of paper. She had to be the last person on earth who still used paper. For anything.

  Right before I was going to give her shit about it and possibly order a “Welcome to this century” card, I got distracted. It happens.

  “What?” She looked up from the worksheets she’d laid out all over the coffee table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Because I wanted to fuck her. All the time. “I like this a lot.” My knee hit hers. “Sex with a beautiful woman almost whenever I want it and definitely whenever she wants it. Someone to scrub my back before I get distracted and want the sex I already mentioned. Someone to talk to without worrying she’s going to be reading into every word.” I nudged her knee again. “You don’t, right?”

  “Right.”

  I slipped my hand around the nape of her neck and saw my bicep twitch because I was trying so hard not to pull her into me and open her mouth for my tongue. This might be g
etting to be a little much—I couldn’t be next to her without needing to feel her. A little control might be nice.

  “It’s a tiny bit away from perfect, to be honest,” I said. “But something’s missing.” She tensed slightly. Something about knowing she wanted perfection and thought it would be possible with me made me really fucking happy. But it wasn’t good.

  I pulled her forward so I could whisper. “You know what would make it perfect, Lane?”

  “What?” Her voice was breathy and sexy as hell.

  “If you go get me a beer.” I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, even when she smacked me. Even when I grabbed her by the waist and brought her onto my lap, straddling me. Then I stopped laughing and she stopped smacking me and both of us sighed as she rocked against me, making me harder.

  “Were you saying something about perfection?” She didn’t stop moving.

  “I don’t remember what I say normally, why would you think I can remember it now?”

  I’d had a moment of absolute genius the other day and had bought seven boxes of condoms and put some in every room, even taking them out of the box for easy access. And when all she had to do was reach over to the side table and grab one, I thought it was probably the smartest thing I would ever do in my life.

  “Weren’t we supposed to work on accounting stuff?” she asked.

  “I can’t concentrate on numbers right now.” Or anything. “I’m seriously starting to worry about myself. I’m having trouble thinking about anyone el—” I kissed her to shut myself up.

  “Carson,” she said after a minute, pushing me gently in the chest. “I want...” When her cheeks reddened, my mind went into overdrive trying to figure out what made it happen. Whatever she wanted was hard for her to talk about while she was sitting on my cock with a condom in her hand. Those were three good indicators that it was something I really wanted to hear.

  “Tell me.” I waited until my patience ran out, which was actually only a few seconds later. “Jesus, tell me what you want, Lane.”

  “I want to do it up against a wall. You always see it in movies, and…”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  She flinched. “Is that too weird?”

  “Jesus, woman. Stop worrying.” I slid my hands under her ass and picked her up. “Nothing is too weird. Nothing. If you want it, you got it. All you have to do is tell me.”

  There’s a certain finesse to fucking up against a wall. It’s not as simple as it seems. Well, most of it is simple, but to do it right, you need a good wall. A door has too much give and will thump every time you shove her back against it, and that usually distracts the woman from being totally in the moment. Probably worried about someone hearing us, as if I give a shit if anyone hears us.

  But the other requirement for a woman like Lane is to have something to hold onto, which is why the door is sometimes a better option. If she didn’t have a ledge or a doorframe or knob to hold onto, she was going to hold onto me. Not a bad thing at all—it’s great when she holds on. But when we’re vertical, holding on actually makes it harder for her to thrust back and force me that tiny bit extra into her. That tiny bit extra is worth a hell of a lot, probably more psychologically than physically, not that it matters.

  But it got her involved and she enjoyed it more. Because Lane likes to fuck me back. I love it when Lane fucks me back.

  That door got pounded so hard, it would never be the same. And we might be locked in here forever.

  Chapter 21 - Laney

  He collapsed onto me, his arms around my waist and under my ass, the stubble on his cheek scratching my neck. I pried my fingers off the doorknob and frame.

  No wonder they always do it against the wall in movies—it’s fucking awesome. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “Their loss. Truly.” He groaned and pressed deeper when I shook my head. “Don’t move. I’m going to fall over if I stand up right now, babe.”

  It sounded so bizarre to hear Carson call me anything other than Lane, so the four-letter pet name caught me off guard. He didn’t notice.

  “What’d you think?” he asked.

  “I think I loved it, but I’ll need more data before I submit my official response.”

  “Okay, but I’m gonna need a little break first.” He slid out and straightened, pulling me up with him. “What is it about your neck that I love so much? It’s addictive. Do you sprinkle crack there or something?” He ran his teeth across my shoulder to my neck and up to my ear.

  “When I come back, we need to talk.” He grumbled. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. Makes it sound like we need to have a serious conversation, which is something I never, ever want to do. It’s nothing serious. Just me being greedy.”

  While he was in the master bathroom, I put my clothes on and stopped in the guest bathroom for a quick assessment on my way to the kitchen. My cheeks were flush and my hair was out of control. But I looked really happy. Probably because I was.

  I’d just finished filling my glass when I heard him shout.

  “I thought you wanted to do it again!” He was still completely naked, completely at ease with his body, which he had every reason to be. “If I had my way, I’d have it like the Japanese do. Everyone leaves their shoes at the door. Only mine would be exclusive to you, and you’d have to take off everything but your shoes.”

  I scooted onto the counter and handed him the glass when he motioned for it. “You can’t get your own?”

  “You owe me for not getting me a beer earlier.” He smiled flawlessly, like there wasn’t a single thing wrong in his world. And there probably wasn’t. If there was, he’d change it.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Right.” He held out my empty glass before rolling his eyes dramatically and refilling it. “I need a favor. Although I’m not sure it’s actually a favor and, even if it is, I’m not sure who it’s for. I’ll be getting a lot out of it either way but—”

  “Did you know that after we have sex you don’t stop talking? At all.”

  His smile faltered.

  “I’m not complaining. Most men don’t talk enough.” There was something in his eyes, as if my comment made him nervous. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve just never heard that before.”

  “It’s not a bad thing.” I didn’t understand his reaction—how could he have taken that as an insult? “It’s a good thing.”

  “I don’t… I don’t talk after sex. I leave.” After a few more seconds of silence and one deep breath, whatever had been there was gone. His smile was forced, but he obviously didn’t want to go into it. At some point we’d made a silent agreement to never talk about anything serious, but it was starting to get to me. I liked him, cared about him. If it was a female friend, I would feel the same way. I just wasn’t sure how to ask.

  “And that’s an absolutely awful segue to the favor, but I’m gonna ask anyway.” He came closer and put his hands on my knees. “I want you to make a bucket list of all the things you haven’t done and want to or have done and want to explore further. Sexually speaking, obviously.”

  What? “Never gonna happen.” Make a list of all the things I would probably be, or already was, bad at? “Not only would it be mortifying to put on paper, but it would mean we’d only do things I either have no experience doing or am totally insecure about. So I look stupid and you get to have terrible sex.”

  “There is no terrible sex, especially not with you and me.” He pushed my knees apart so he could get closer. “Right now I’m like a kid in a candy shop, and I want everything at once. But since that’s not physically possible, I’m happy with whatever I get. Because it’s all candy.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Hey,” he said, tipping my chin up so I’d look at him. “I’ve never done anything like what we’re doing either and, honestly, it’s making me feel really fucking good. I’m thinking we need to even things out, so your needs are getting met and I’m st
aying within your limits.”

  “So you can stay in the candy shop?”

  “Exactly.”

  I’d assumed it would be more of a boot camp thing—‘Practice makes perfect.’ Not that I minded practicing with Carson but... “It’s still mortifying. I can’t do it.”

  “I promise not to show it to anyone, and it’s not like you have to put your name and homeroom number at the top. It can be three things or twenty. Like the wall thing earlier and the scene you started explaining to me the day we met that I’m incredibly disappointed in myself for not having set up yet.”

  Things started flying through my mind—some I’d always wanted to try and others I fantasized about but never wanted to try in real life. Probably.

  “Whatever I want?” I asked.

  “Whatever you want. I promise to be gentle...unless you don’t want me to be.” He looked at me expectantly.

  “Okay.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “Wait, you mean right now? You want me to do it now?”

  “Well…” He stepped back and held his palms up. “I don’t have any pants on and am getting hard just imagining what you’re going to write on that list, Lane. So, what do you think?”

  Chapter 22 - Carson

  Lane kept looking up from the blank page and glaring at me. “Stop hovering. I’ll show it to you when it’s ready.” On the top she’d written: Candy.

  Shit. I put on a pair of shorts and went through my calendar for the week and tried to think of anything other than all the things I fucking prayed she put on that piece of paper. It was another brilliant idea. Maybe this much sex was helping my cognitive abilities, too—increased blood flow or something.

  Writing things down would be a stepping stone to just saying what she wanted. I didn’t understand why it was so hard for her to do, but it was. If she was really going to move past those assholes who screwed with her head for so many years and who made all her decisions for her, then this kind of shit was important. It was also really fucking fun.