What. The. Fuck.
Oh, it’s on.
Motherfuckin’ challenge accepted.
I pounce before she even knows what’s happening, grabbing her under the thighs and tipping her backward. I follow right over, holding myself above her. “You could test the patience of a saint, you know that?” I say, but I don’t give her time to reply. I push my lips against hers, using the pressure to coax her open. And then I do exactly what I wanted to do last night. I touch her.
I slide her tank top up, revealing an inch of skin at a time until I hit the swell of her breasts. Her skin is like silk under my hands and I think I’d be happy spending the rest of my life doing just this. Yet I want more. So much more. I dip my head, circling my tongue around her belly button before trailing it upward. I don’t know how much follow through Em is looking for, but I have full intentions of making her come.
Slowly, I hook my index finger into her shirt, lifting it over her head. She’s beautifully exposed, no bra constricting my view. And she’s beautiful. I flick my gaze up to her face, watching her as I brush my thumb over her tightened nipple. Her breath hitches as she keeps her eyes on my hand touching her. I cup her and lower my head. I repeat the movement, this time with my tongue and she arches off the bed.
Fuck. I nearly come in my pants. This woman is so damn perfect for me.
Her fingers curl into my hair as I suck on her. I rest all my weight onto my elbow, and slide my other hand down, skimming the waist of her pajama pants.
I linger here for longer than I normally would. I can’t tell you why. Maybe I’m letting the anticipation build. Or maybe I’m scared. Maybe it’s both. That angel and devil still twisting me up.
Em’s hand covers mine. My eyes flit up, meeting hers as she pushes my fingers past her pants and into her panties. I groan against her breast. She’s soft, like velvet. Warm. And so wet.
She returns my moan as I slide my finger through her folds. There’s no coming back from this. I knew when she left my place last night it would change everything. I had no idea how. I had no idea this would be the result. And now that I understand what this is like, how good it feels, I will never be able to settle for less.
I slip inside, just one finger, pressing up, then swirling around. Then I add another as I caress her clit with my thumb. She bends off the bed again. I find her mouth and swallow her whimper of pleasure.
Em drops her hands, one fisting the sheet, the other stroking me over my sweats. My hips thrust into her palm and it’s all the encouragement she needs. She jerks and tugs until my waistband is at my hips and I’m beyond trying to be the nice guy. I want this—her—so damn bad. She slithers into my boxer briefs, taking me in her hand.
I growl, pressing harder against her clit, moving my fingers faster. We both cry out. She begins to pump me. My balls draw up tight. I’m on the verge of becoming a one-pump chump—just from her hand. I can’t fathom what it would be like to be inside her.
That thought undoes me.
My gut clenches, my toes curl. I need her to come before me. She has to. I’m not that guy. Ladies first.
“Em,” I plead, my voice rough, like I swallowed sandpaper.
“Cooper,” she moans. “I’m going to—”
I’ve watched quite a few women come. I’ve made quite a few women come. But this, watching Emerson consumed with pleasure as I find my own release, is the single most erotic moment of my life.
I shoot my load half into her hand, half onto her hip. Maybe a little on the comforter. Oops.
Em doesn’t seem to care in the least, so I collapse to my side by her, allowing my heart to slow, but I keep my hand inside her panties, not quite ready to stop touching her.
“Wow. That’s so much more fun when someone else is responsible for your orgasm,” she pants.
I shift my head to look at her. I knew she was a virgin, obviously, but I never thought about that.
“Am I the first person, other than yourself, to give you an orgasm?”
She bites down on her lip. Chin dipping in a nod.
Well.
Fuck.
That’s so incredibly hot.
“Heath is a shmuck,” I utter.
And really, he is. The guy has no idea what he missed.
I pull her head toward mine so I can reach her lips without making a bigger mess of us. “I want to be responsible for a lot more of your orgasms.”
Like, all of them.
She smiles against my lips. “Am I still allowed to make myself come?”
Okay, maybe not all of them.
“Mmm,” I growl. “Okay,” I yield quickly. “But you have to let me watch at least once.”
She grins, fingers snaking into my hair. “As long as you let me watch you too.”
Where has this woman been all my life? Oh, that’s right, across the street, well until seven years ago.
“Deal.”
THE TALKING
Emerson
Apparently, once you’ve touched someone intimately, it makes not touching them difficult. I never really felt that way with Heath—not that we were ever all that intimate with each other—so I didn’t know it’d be this way. But as Cooper picks me up the night after our awesome morning make-out session, that carnal smirk plastered to his face, my first instinct is to climb him like a tree.
I settle for wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him. And really, it doesn’t feel like settling at all.
“Things would have been so much more fun if you’d greeted me like this these past couple of weeks.”
“You haven’t been having fun?” I ask, grabbing my jacket and purse.
“I said more fun.”
I pull the door closed behind me and nod. “Agreed. So what’s the plan for tonight? More Netflix?” There’s this excited hitch to my voice that is so obvious. And it has nothing to do with streaming movies. Normally, I might find this embarrassing, but with him, I am shameless.
Maybe I’m having one of those sexual awakenings. And I didn’t even need to have sex to do it. Who knew Cooper Fitzpatrick would be the one to stir this side of me? I certainly didn’t.
Cooper shakes his head, taking my hand in his. Though it feels natural, right, my heart beats a little faster. Holding hands is different than making out. Strangers can make-out at a party. Hell, even kids play Seven Minutes in Heaven or Spin the Bottle as a rite of passage, sucking face with people they hardly know. But I highly doubt all those same people would grab someone’s hand and hold it in theirs.
Kissing is sexual. A basic need. Handholding is affectionate. Familiar.
I feel like this one gesture has lifted us past friends with benefits and set us solidly down in a whole new category.
“Maybe later,” Cooper says, rousing me from my thoughts. “I thought we could have dinner together. Have you eaten?”
Dinner.
Together.
We are definitely drifting into new territory.
That sounds like a date.
Is that what we’re doing?
“Are we dating?” My voice sounds strangled, which is weird, because I’m not opposed to the idea. At least, I don’t think I am. But, um, this is kind of—I don’t know, I don’t want to say sudden because he did have his hand down my pants and his tongue in my mouth—but… Unexpected?
That’s basically the same thing, isn’t it?
Maybe I should have seen this coming.
But, come on. You do not have to date to be physical with someone.
Cooper pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “You want to label it?”
I lift our interlocked hands. “Maybe we should?” It comes out sounding like a question. I’m not entirely sold on the idea. Maybe it’s better not to know. To just let things happen. Naturally.
Wait. Is that what’s happening? Is this the natural course of our relationship? Is this a relationship?
“I mean,” I try to explain, “it’s probably better that we are both on the same page. So there’s no con
fusion.” Because I’m so confused.
He starts walking toward his car again, his brow creased in thought. “What kind of confusion?”
I bite down on my lip. I realize I prompted this line of communication, however, that doesn’t mean I really want to do the talking. Coop opens my car door for me and I slide in, grateful for the few extra seconds it takes for him to round the car so I can gather my thoughts.
“Now,” he states once he’s settled beside me. “What confusion?”
“Okay, if we were dating, is it exclusive? Or are we open to see other people? Do you want to see other people? Are you already? Do I? Should I? If we’re not—if we’re just friends with benefits—then maybe we need some boundaries or rules or—”
Cooper’s hand slips into my hair as his lips press into mine. I melt into the kiss immediately, a content moan in my throat. It’s kind of amazing how the pressure of his mouth can quiet my mind.
Is that normal? Because I’ve never experienced it before.
He pulls back, but keeps his fingers threaded through my hair, the space between us minimal. His gaze holds mine and his voice is soft and low as he says, “I like you, Ems.”
“I like you too,” I breathe.
He grins, inching closer. “You’re my friend, but you’re also more than that. Not my friend with benefits—that’s a bullshit expression guys use so they don’t feel obligated. I’m not most guys. If you allow me to do dirty things to your body, I should feel some sense of obligation to you. It’d be different if we were strangers having a one-night-stand. There’s no foundation there. But we’re not strangers. Not even close.” His gaze moves over my face like he’s trying to read it. I have no idea what he sees right now.
“I want to do things with you, outside of the bedroom. I want to take you out and spend time with you. I also want to stay in and do nothing with you. If you want to call it dating, I’m okay with that, but I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you either. A few weeks ago, we were in love with each other’s siblings—and I know how crazy that sounds. I know that’s not something that’s going to just disappear. For either of us. But we need to get over them—we don’t have a choice. And if we might have a chance of helping each other do that, why not take it?
“But…” His tongue slides across his bottom lip, eyes focused on mine. “No matter what you call us, I need you to know I don’t share. And I don’t expect you to, either.”
I release a slow breath, my pulse throbbing and my stomach full of butterflies. “That was a way better speech than your wedding toast.”
~*~
So we’re dating. Kind of. It’s up to me if we call it that. But even if we don’t, we aren’t seeing other people. Only each other. Like dating.
We’re tucked into a quiet booth in the back corner of a small Italian restaurant. I’m nibbling on a breadstick that’s deliciously warm, crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. Cooper’s watching me, an amused quirk to his lips.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask when I’ve swallowed my bite.
“You can ask me anything you want and I promise I’ll try to answer it.”
“What did you do when…” I trail off, taking a sip of my water as I second-guess asking him this question.
“I fell from Heaven?” he supplies. “Well, it wasn’t that bad. The Heavens cried, of course, but I mostly just drifted slowly down to Earth with my angel wings and all. Halo got caught on a tree limb, though. Real shame. I have a thing for small round holes.”
I give him a flat look. “You know Satan was a fallen angel.”
That wolfish grin appears, sending a blast of heat to my abdomen as he fixes me with a pointed stare. “I think we both know who the devilish one is here.”
Ah, yes. He’s referring to my slightly aggressive approach to our morning fun-time when he tried to behave gallantly. I regret nothing. “I believe I warned you that I’m not all that sweet.”
His eyes blaze even in the low light. “You’re very sweet, you’re just also naughty. I like a girl who can do both.”
I like that he likes me.
I shake my head, willing the heat in my face to go away—or, more precisely, the throbbing between my legs. The man turns me on with a look or a word. Or, let’s be honest, doing nothing at all but existing.
He’s truly talented.
“What’d you really want to ask me?” he urges.
My gaze drops to the napkin in my lap. It’s a deep red, matching the tablecloth, and probably my face. I toy with the corner, folding it over and over. I hate to pick at a wound, but I also think it needs to be discussed.
“When Rosie and Miles started dating, it crushed me,” I say. “But I always hung on to this little sliver of hope that maybe they wouldn’t work out. That maybe they’d break up. And then I’d have my chance. Even after they announced their engagement, though that hope was smaller than ever, I still clung to it.” I finally lift my head, meeting his eyes. “I never told a soul how deeply I felt for Miles—not even my closest friends. But I felt like Rosie betrayed me when she told me she was with him. I guess I just don’t understand how you continued to have such a close relationship with your brother after what he did.”
If this conversation bothers him, he doesn’t show it. But I imagine he’s well practiced in the art of concealing his feelings when he wants to. Years of practice.
“I think guys handle these things differently than women. Inside, I mean.” His finger slides around the rim of his glass, his eyes unfocussed as if seeing something else. Remembering another time.
“How did you handle it?”
He glances up at me, a tilt to his lips. “I beat his ass.”
My eyes widen. I’ve seen them wrestle. I’ve seen them argue. But I’ve never seen them physically combat each other. “What? When?”
“I came home for a last-minute weekend visit. Walked into his room to surprise him.” He chuckles and I’m amazed at how genuine it sounds. “I was the one who got the surprise.”
“They were..?”
“Bumpin’ uglies?” He nods stiffly. “Yeah. Fully in the act.”
“What did you do?” He couldn’t have kicked Miles’ ass right then because Rosie would have surely told me that. She would have surely known how Cooper felt about her.
“I turned around and walked out.”
“What did they do?”
“It happened pretty quickly,” he explains. “Rosie screamed. Miles stared at me—caught with his hand in the cookie jar.” I mentally cringe at the image. “After that, I sat in my room. Rosie went home.”
“And Miles?”
Cooper shrugs. “Hid from me the entire weekend, right up until it was time for me to go. Mom made him come out of his room to say goodbye. I stewed on that shit all weekend. I had questions and things I needed to say. Maybe if he’d taken the time to talk to me, either before they got together, or even after I caught them, maybe I could have gotten it all off my chest. But that’s not how it happened. I had days of pent-up rage in my veins and he came within reach.”
“And you beat his ass.”
A breath puffs past his lips. “I beat his ass. The first hit knocked him down, the second kept him down, the third I don’t even remember. And then I went back to the dorms and proceeded to get shit-faced drunk.”
“For the last six years.”
“Exactly.”
Only, Cooper hadn’t been drinking much lately. My eyes flit down to his glass of Coke, then back up to him. He gives me a knowing smile before picking up said glass and taking a long drink.
“Anyway, the next time I went home, the both of us acted as if nothing ever happened. It still hurt and it will always be in the back of my mind—I don’t think I’ll ever fully trust him again—but it’s not like he could help who he fell in love with.”
My eyes want to tear up as I look at the man in front of me. I don’t think he has any idea just how incredible he is. “But he could have helped how he handled it. Yo
u’re his brother. He shouldn’t have let you find out that way.”
For the first time in as long as I can remember, Miles doesn’t look quite so pretty to me. He was young, and he shouldn’t have to suffer with his poor decisions for the rest of his life, but it shows what kind of man he is deep inside. A man very different than his brother. And Cooper is so much more than I thought he was.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” he murmurs.
I smile. “I really want to be kissed by you.”
He slides out of the booth, coming around to my side, and places his hands on my face, cupping my jaw. His thumb grazes my lips before trailing over my cheek, all the way over to my ear where he lightly pinches the lobe. It makes my eyelashes flutter. Then finally, he leans in, eating up the space between us until his mouth is on mine. This isn’t a polite kiss. Not the kind that should be done in public. No. This is the kind reserved for backseats, elevators, bedrooms—not in front of people dining in a nice restaurant, but Cooper doesn’t care and after a beat, neither do I.
THE VISITOR
Cooper
“How often did you and Miles hang out after Rosie left for school?” I question. I’ve been wanting to ask her this for a while, but I didn’t feel comfortable bringing my brother up, that is until after our discussion earlier tonight. I hate the way her smile fades when she hears his name. The way the sadness creeps into her eyes when she talks about him. Tonight was different, though.
Tonight, she said his name in this way that almost made him sound like a stranger.
Is it shitty that makes me feel relieved? I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.
We’re in the car, on the way back to her apartment, my hand resting on her thigh in between shifting gears. Her fingers are doing a languid caress over my arm, up and down, in a nearly hypnotic way.
“Rosie asked him to keep me company, you know, look out for me. He was my ride to and from school every day so I didn’t have to take the bus. He helped me with homework after school from time to time. And we hung out on weekends if he wasn’t going out to see Rosie or she couldn’t come home. Why?”