“I don’t believe it for a second.” She starts to rub my cock against her clit faster. “But I need to ease the ache of missing you first, then we can talk.”
My heart swells from her admission. “I’m good with that, ease the ache all you want, baby.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
SADIE
“Do I bounce and hit it, or hit it in the air?” I ask from the other side of the net, holding a tennis racket in one hand and a ball in the other.
“Hit it in the air, like we practiced,” Andrew calls from his side of the court.
Playing a little dumb, I say, “I can’t remember.”
My hot boyfriend, with the messy-sexy hair, and forearms for days, jogs over to me with a beautiful smile caressing his face. I watch in fascination as the rarely there sun shines down on his bronze skin, highlighting each sinew of muscle in his chest. He has the right amount of muscle.
“I thought we went over this.”
“I need a refresher.” Yes, I’m playing the helpless woman but how can I not? I just want him to wrap his arms around me again.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He chuckles, his chest rumbling behind me as he grips my arm and shows me how to toss the ball up and hit it once again, his breath tickling my ear as he speaks.
“Just like this, remember?” His face is pressed against mine, his lips barely caressing along my skin, the sensation of him being so close makes my entire body tingle with electricity.
Instead of answering him, I turn around in his arms and link my hands behind my neck. I press my lips against his and melt when his hands find my lower back, pulling me in closer. This man, he’s so addicting, so sweet, so freaking hot, especially when he pins me up against the wall of his shower and has his way with me.
“You know, if we keep doing this,” he gives me little pecks on my lips while he talks, “we’re never going to get our exercise in.”
“I know a better way to get in our exercise.”
He spanks my behind playfully and says, “No sex until you try gnocchi tonight. We made a deal.”
“I don’t understand why we made that deal.” I pout as he puts distance between us and adjusts himself. Satisfaction. Right there, ladies.
“Because you’ve refused to try it, therefore I had to make a threat to get you over your weird aversion to potato pasta.”
“Why is a noodle made out of a potato? Just call it an Italian tater tot and get it over with.”
He runs his hand over his face and speaks through clenched teeth, “For the hundredth time, it’s not a tater tot!”
“It’s made out of potato and is the shape of a little cube. Sounds an awfully lot like a tater tot.”
He shakes his head and retreats back to his side of the court. “I can’t handle you right now. Just you wait until tonight. I’ll show you that gnocchi is not even close to being Italy’s version of a tater tot.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I call out, bouncing the ball in front of me. I toss it up in the air and smack it over the net, placing it perfectly in the corner and screaming it past Andrew. The look of pure shock on his face is comical.
“What the fuck? Are you playing me?”
I hold up my fingers and say, “Just a little.”
Straightening up, he looks me up and down and says, “I feel so used.”
“You’ll get over it.” I pull another ball out of my shorts and say, “15-love. Serving up.”
Quickly, he gets into position and defends my serve. We volley for a bit before he sends the ball down the line, giving me no chance to put it in play. Tricky bastard.
“Don’t think because you have tits and a perfect pussy that I’m going to go easy on you.”
“When have you ever gone easy on me, Cannon Cock?” I give him a pointed look.
An arrogant smile crosses his face. “That’s fucking right.” Feeding his douche quota for the day, he pelvic trusts in my direction, which gets a giant eye-roll from me.
“Keep that up and I won’t feel bad about never eating gnocchi.”
“Yeah, but that means you’ll never get laid.”
I pick up the ball that’s stopped rolling on the green synthetic and say, “Yeah, not a problem.”
“Ha!” he scoffs. “Please, baby. You’re addicted to my lovin’. No way you can quit cold turkey. It’s cute that you’re trying to convince me otherwise.”
Ugh, unfortunately he’s right. I am addicted to him. As much as I wish I could say I’m not . . . I so freaking am.
***
“Admit it. Admit it right fucking now.”
Andrew stands over me, a paisley-covered apron hanging from his neck, and wooden spoon in his hand, dripping with marinara sauce. There is a knowing glint in his eyes and a smirk threatening to show.
“Come on, baby, I promise I won’t rub it in. Just say the magical words. You like gnocchi.” He crosses his arms over his bare chest, the one resting under the apron I made him wear, and waits for my answer.
There is no way I can lie, he’ll see it in my eyes. Especially when I ask for seconds, because gnocchi is the BEST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Oh my GOD! Why have I been putting this off for so long? I am insane.
“Well . . .”
Giving in, I shove a spoonful into my mouth and answer while I chew. “It’s amazing! Okay, I love it, and I want more. I want the whole pot.”
Andrew has many expressions, and I have to admit, I love them all . . . except when he’s angry. But that look of utter satisfaction and pride? He’s just gorgeous. Even though he has just achieved something wonderful, his face shows his happiness in me. He reaches down and kisses my mouth, currently full of gnocchi. “I fucking knew you would like it. I know you, don’t I know you?”
I nod. “You know me.”
He fist-pumps the air and turns toward the pot on the stove. “Fuck, yeah. I know my girl. And can you admit it’s nothing like a tater tot, because frankly it’s insulting that you would insinuate such a thing?”
“You’re being a little sensitive about gnocchi. It’s slightly concerning,” I joke.
“Just admit it.” With a bowl in hand, he sits down next to me at the small table in the apartment I share with Smilly. He’s still wearing his apron and from the side, I can just see the top of his boxer briefs poking out from his tight-fitting jeans. Mmm, the perfect dinner date. He’s hot and he cooks.
Throwing him a bone, I say, “Fine, they are nothing like tater tots. Are you happy?”
Under the table, he squeezes my upper thigh and winks at me. “Completely satisfied.”
Together, we enjoy our meal, helping ourselves to seconds, and talking about our second favorite Italian meals behind gnocchi, mine being spaghetti and meat logs—yes, meat logs—from Little Venice a small restaurant in downtown Binghamton, and Andrew’s being eggplant parmesan.
“Let me grab that for you.” Andrew stands and clears my plate for me.
“Cooks and cleans, what kind of show are you trying to put on right now?”
He starts rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher as he says, “Trying to win the best boyfriend award. Do you think I’m in the running?”
I take in his appearance and bite my bottom lip. “Most definitely.”
The sound of the front door opening disturbs our little tête-à-tête, and Smilly and Saddlemire both enter the apartment, their voices carrying against the walls until they see Andrew, shirtless in the kitchen, and me sitting very closely to him. They fall silent as they take it in: the single lit candle on the table, the mood music playing from my computer, and the partially naked man in the kitchen.
“Oh, what’s happening here?” Smilly asks, setting her purse down.
Better question is, what are they doing here? They were supposed to be staying at Saddlemire’s place tonight. I made sure to clear it with Smilly.
“Dinner date,” I answer, my throat becoming tight for some reason.
God, it feels like I just got caug
ht having a boy in my room.
I stand as Andrew finishes the dishes and quietly ask Smilly, “Why are you here? You were supposed to stay at Saddlemire’s place.”
“His roommates were having a party tonight, and he has an early morning tomorrow so we came here. I’m sorry. Can’t you go to his place?”
I glance back at Andrew and shake my head. “No, his roommates are having a party as well and last time they had a party, drunks kept wandering into his room in the middle of the night to tap his life-size Derek Jeter cut-out in the crotch.” It’s a ritual now. Poor Derek.
“Soo . . .” Smilly looks around and then smiles. “I guess we’re having a big sleepover.”
“I guess so.” Nerves flit over my body.
This will be the first time Smilly and Saddlemire get some real one-on-one time with Andrew. This should be interesting.
***
“There is no way you put that. Let me see your paper,” I say, climbing over Andrew’s lap to snag his board.
“I object to being used as a jungle gym.” he says, playing Keep Away with his board.
“Who are you objecting to?” I ask, struggling against his strength.
“Saddlemire, of course. He’s been the judge this entire game.”
The bro code must be strong tonight because Saddlemire clears his throat and says, “Sadie, sit your ass back on the floor and leave the man alone.”
Irritated, I find my spot on the carpet and raise my hand. Saddlemire nods at me. “I demand to see proof that he wrote ‘masturbating hand’ on his paper. There is no way we both wrote the same thing. If he wants to nix my points from being counted, he needs to show proof.”
“That’s fair reasoning.” Looking more regal than I’ve ever seen him, Saddlemire gestures toward Andrew. “Sir, please show us ‘masturbating hand’ on your paper.”
The biggest freaking grin stretches across Andrew’s face as he turns his Scattegories board in our direction and underlines exactly where he wrote masturbating hand.
DEVIL!
“Whoa.” Smilly sits back against the wall, a Twizzler hanging out of her mouth. “I’m impressed. What are the odds that you both answered masturbating hand under ‘things you wouldn’t touch’? I mean . . .” she glances down at her paper, “I just put measles. Masturbating hand, though, what the hell have you two been up to?”
“I was trying to be creative!”
We turn to Andrew who shrugs, not a care in the world. “I’ve been trying to make every answer dirty. Quite the challenge, I must say.”
“Don’t doubt yourself.” Saddlemire points at him. “Your Milky Melons answer for ‘something you bounce’ was on point.”
“I’m pretty proud of that one.”
Even though I’m losing, terribly, because someone else blocks almost every answer I write, I can’t help but feel a little giddy inside, watching Andrew get along so well with Smilly and Saddlemire. It’s hard not to get along with Andrew.
Stretching my arms above my head, I yawn and then look at Andrew. “I’m tired.”
He looks me up and down, a knowing glint in his eye. “You’re tired? Or sick of losing?”
“I’m tired,” I say with conviction.
My friends and Andrew all exchange a look and say together, “You’re tired of losing.”
The petulant child comes out in me as I toss my board to the center and storm off to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. It’s all in good humor, but it proves my point: the game is over.
My toothbrush is in my mouth when Andrew comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, placing a kiss on my neck. “I can go home, if you want.”
“What? No,” I reply with a mouth full of toothpaste.
“Sadie, you guys have one bedroom. I am not about to have a giant sleepover with Smilly and Saddlemire. It would be weird.”
I spit my toothpaste in the sink, rinse my mouth, and then turn toward him. “We’re going to sleep in the living room. I don’t want to share a room with them either, especially since they get really handsy with each other at night.”
He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “Okay. Let me brush my teeth, and I’ll help set up our bed in the living room.”
Already in my pajamas, I snag my comforter off my bed and my pillows and toss them in the living room. Then I take Smilly’s sleeping bags she stores in the linen closet for when friends stay over, zip them together and create a cushion for Andrew and me to sleep on so we aren’t lying directly on the carpet.
“Oh good, I was wondering how this was going to work,” Saddlemire says, looking at my setup while drinking his beer. “But, if you guys want to share the room, I’m all about awkward.” He laughs and walks away, stepping on my pillows in the process.”
“Sebastian,” I yell at him, catching his and Smilly’s attention. Using first names will do that.
“What happened? Why did you have to use the crab name?” Smilly runs in place, looking around frantically.
“He stepped on my pillow with his Sasquatch foot,” I complain as Andrew walks in, sans shirt.
“I didn’t mean to. Chalk it up to a classic case of not watching where I’m going.” Saddlemire glances in Andrew’s direction and groans. “Come on, man. What the fuck? If you have abs, you wear a shirt. Got it?” Saddlemire blows by Andrew and straight into the bedroom.
Smilly slowly walks by Andrew, taking him in. “I don’t mind the abs at all. New rule, if you have abs, you’re not allowed to wear a shirt in this apartment.” Turning to me, Smilly says, “I’ll get you a new pillowcase. Who knows what kind of diseases Sasquatch foot has lingering on it. Be right back.”
Andrew watches a retreating Smilly and then settles down on the makeshift bed with me. “What was that all about?”
“Stupid hairy foot stepped on one of our pillows.” I shiver. “There really is so much hair on his foot, it’s scary.”
“Here you go.” Smilly tosses a pillowcase our way and then twiddles her fingers. “Have a good night, you two.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and then disappears.
I situate the bedding, making sure to turn the Sasquatch pillowcase inside out and toss it near the bathroom in case anything was hatched in the process, and turn out all the lights.
Andrew is already lying down when I join him and instinctively, we both face each other. He’s now down to just his boxer briefs, his jeans folded nicely on the recliner behind him. His minty breath invades me as well as that devastatingly charming smile.
“Tonight was fun, baby.”
“It was.” I smile . . . because he makes me happy. “I was kind of nervous at first since my last boyfriend was so well liked by them.”
“Oh yeah?” He raises his eyebrow in question. “Do you think I compare?”
I stroke his jaw, scooting a little closer and answer, “Not even close. You are by far the favored one.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Even as my answer echoes through my ears, I know it’s the truth. Andrew doesn’t compare to Tucker. Both men are amazing in their own way. Tucker is loyal, committed, intense, and very raw. He knows every last inch about my life, the good and the bad. He just wasn’t right for me. Andrew, he’s goofy, funny, loving, and caring. He makes me happy, whereas Tucker reminds me of everything I want to leave behind, everything I want to forget. When it comes down to it, I can see a future with Andrew.
“Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys tonight.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Andrew.”
His hand starts to travel up the back of my thin tank top, and I welcome the feel of his strong palm pressing against me, the way his fingers expertly skip across my skin.
“I know, it was a big step for you though, so I wanted to show you I appreciate you trying for me.”
“You’re sweet.”
“Yeah?” He pulls me in closer and moves his hand higher. “Any other attributes of mine you want to compliment me on?”
“Fishing for compliments?”
“Always.” He leans forward and presses his lips softly against mine. His hand presses my back toward him assertively. His tongue flicks across my lips, but softly, with a gentle press of his lips. It’s Andrew. It’s sublime.
A light moan escapes my lips as I fall into his touch, into his kisses.
“God, you always feel so perfect in my arms, Sadie. Like I was born to hold you.”
I press my hand against his cheek and kiss him deeper, my hips starting to rub against his. I’m not surprised when I feel his erection, eager and ready.
No longer pulling me toward him, his hand travels to the front of my tank where he moves it up to cup my breast. He’s gentle, soft in his movements, igniting a wave of goosebumps across my body, as the pad of his thumb gingerly strokes my hardened nipple.
Against his impressive body, I feel so small. I feel sexy with his firm erection eagerly waiting attention. And I feel safe, his patience holding strong, letting me go at my own pace.
Growing more intense, he deepens his kiss, his tongue searching out mine, needy with his flicks, his grip on my breast growing tighter, his thumb now pinching rather than rubbing. It’s like a straight shot of pleasure to my center, setting my nerves on fire.
This quickly escalates, but that’s what happens with Andrew. He can be joking one second, and the next, he has me bent over, searching to see if I’m turned on, which I always am when I’m around him. I hadn’t realized how many facets to lovemaking there can be. Fun, hot, intense, blissful, hard, loud, gentle . . . Andrew seems determined to take me every which way as if spoiling me is his only goal. Is it normal to feel so cherished? Every time?
I move my hand from his face, down his bare chest, letting my fingers drift over the contours of his muscles, spending a little more time around his abs, loving how deliciously defined they are. My fingernails scrape down his skin, and I love feeling the heavy fall and rise of his breaths until they reach the waistline of his boxer briefs. His kissing seizes as I slip my fingers past the waistline and graze the very tip of his arousal.
“Oh fuck,” he mumbles against my lips, his forehead falling to mine.