I STRIP AND climb into bed. Maybe Abby won’t ever come out of the bathroom. Maybe I’ll wait all night and she’ll hide in there and talk herself out of this.
She’s probably changed her mind, and that’s completely okay.
That doesn’t mean I’m not staring at the bathroom door willing it to open with all my might. Because I am; I’m staring at the door so hard my eyes are aching. I even try bargaining with the universe.
If she comes back out, I’m going to remember to donate blood every month until I die.
If she comes back out, I’ll send all of those thank-you cards my mom always nagged me to write.
If she comes back out, I’ll sit her down right now and tell her that I was the good kind of messed up after we kissed, and it was all her—her smile and her laugh and her curves and her wit and her kindness and her quirks. I’ll admit to her that getting over my infatuation for her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and maybe I’ll even admit to myself that maybe I didn’t make it all the way back to “just friends.”
Okay. I won’t do any of those things. But I will be grateful. I’ll be so grateful and excited I’m not even sure how I’ll manage to play it cool long enough for her to cross the five feet from the bathroom door to the bed.
The door opens a crack. Abby’s arm reaches out and turns the light off. I sit up and reach for the lamp, but she gives a little squeak.
“No, please. Leave it dark?”
“Okay,” I croak, but I remain upright, waiting as she inches toward me. My racing heart kicks up a notch further as I realize that she’s naked, holding her bundle of clothes in front of her torso like a shield. As she reaches the bed, she drops the clothes to the floor and, in one swift movement, ducks under the sheets. She covers herself, right up to her chin, then exhales. I could reach out and touch her, but she’s gripping the sheets, and her hands are trembling.
“It’s still not too late to back out,” I say, but instead of the relief I’ve seen in her eyes every time I’ve said this all night, she turns to give me a pointed glare as if I’m issuing her a challenge.
“I’m game if you are.”
Holy shit. This is really happening...and now I’m shaking like a leaf. That’s new, and holy shit, it’s embarrassing. This isn’t your first rodeo, Ross. Pull yourself together. I gather up the charm and bravado I’m pretty sure I normally possess in bed, and I move just a little closer to her.
“I’m game,” I murmur. I reach to gently brush her hair back from her face, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Now I run my finger over her shoulder, onto her collarbone. Goose bumps rise on her skin, and her sheet-covered breasts rise and fall faster as I come close. I want to pull the sheet back and expose her, to see her body. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her with the full force of the passion and urgency I feel. I want to let myself go, and I want to take her with me. Right fucking now.
I know we’re doing this to make a baby.
I am doing this to make a baby.
But even so, this is a chance to stop repressing the chemistry between us, and to let myself feel it and explore it with Abby.
“Should we kiss?” she blurts. It’s dark in here, but not so dark that I can’t see the huge expanse of her pupils as she stares at me. She’s nervous, but she’s excited. I laugh softly, and trail my finger lazily down toward the sheet, then up to cup her jaw in my palm.
“I think that’s a good place to start.”
She leans toward me, and I bend in to gently place my lips against hers. We both move too fast, and our noses knock as we awkwardly come together. That does nothing to shatter the tension, but we do break apart again and share a soft, slightly breathless giggle.
But then she brings her mouth right back to mine, and now she meets the movements of my lips with confidence. I bring my other hand up into her hair, so that I’ve cupped her skull with my palms just like I did on the rooftop. I wonder if she remembers but I only wonder for a second, because I hear the half-muffled groan she gives and she presses her mouth hard against mine. Her tongue darts forward to brush over my lip—hesitantly, testing the waters.
I didn’t expect her to take the lead—but I’m delighted that she wants to, so I pause as Abby wraps her arms around my neck and she deepens the kiss.
Even if it kills me—and it might, given the urgency I’m feeling already—I’m going to let her set the pace here. I’ll let her explore the landscape of the spark between us as fast or as slow as she wants to.
That’s why, for a long while, we just sit there and we kiss. It’s like we’re new to kissing, and neither one of us knows how to move things along, or maybe we’re just trying to make up for thousands of missed opportunities to kiss one another over the years. It’s almost like a trial run—each movement merely a test to see how the other reacts. We take turns gently dominating—Abby kisses me passionately, then retreats, and then I kiss her back with just as much fire, and every time we cycle around like that, the heat between us seems to intensify, until I hear little catches at the back of her throat when she breathes.
Dear God, I could build my life around those sounds. It’s like a gift or a melody—like birdsong at dawn on the first morning of the rest of my life. Then again, that could be my erection talking. He’s apparently an overdramatic bastard when he’s finally allowed to call the shots.
Eventually, I do need to move things along because there’s only so much a guy can take. I lean away from her and check in.
“Abby...still okay?”
She pulls me impatiently back to her mouth, and I laugh softly and run my hands down her shoulders, over her bare upper arms, then gently, hesitantly, across to cup her breasts through the sheet.
I want to worship at the altar of Abby’s breasts. They’re everything I’ve tried not to notice from afar—full, heavy, perfectly shaped, luscious—filling my hands like they were built for them. Would she freak out if I told her just how beautiful she is like this?
Maybe. But I can’t not tell her.
“Abby,” I whisper, and I tear my gaze back to her face. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, and she stares at me from the shelter of her eyelashes. “Your body is incredible.”
She whimpers. There’s no mistaking the sound—this isn’t fear or uncertainty, it’s pure, unadulterated need. Her shoulders shake, and she tilts her head back, exposing her neck to me. Her breathing is ragged, and her death grip on the sheet releases. Something in my brain snaps altogether when I realize that all that’s holding that damned sheet up is my hands.
I tear the cover away from her body abruptly and ease her back down into the pillows as I kiss her again. This time the kiss is hard and demanding, and she doesn’t back away from it. My hands are drawn back to her breasts, and her nipples pull hard and tight against my palms. Everything is moving faster now. I need to kiss her everywhere, and I do; her fingers claw into my neck as I bring my mouth oh-so-close to her nipples only to pass them by, teasing a long line from her neck to her navel and back to her mouth. I’m toying with her—refusing to give her what she wants, and soon she’s twisting and trying to force me to shift my attention. I laugh a little when I hear the curse she tries to muffle, and then she laughs, too.
“Stop teasing me,” she whispers, a glint in her gaze.
“No. It’s fun,” I whisper back, and our eyes lock until we laugh again. I’m surprised by the levity—because inside I feel like I’m on fire, but this is Abby. And we laugh together all the time; apparently even when we’re pawing at each other like wild animals. In this particular moment, our laughter is as soft as a whisper, as intimate as the interplay of our bodies.
But Abby has had enough teasing; she’s even had enough laughter. Her expression sobers as she slides her hands into my hair and firmly directs my mouth to her breasts, leaving no doubt in my mind that she will no longer tolerate my games.
Who am I to deny her? Her fingers are hard against my scalp as I take a turn at each breast, kissing, licking, nipping... God, I could do this all day. Soon she’s moaning softly, and her legs are shifting restlessly against the bed. I raise my gaze back to hers. Even in the darkness of my room I can see the flush on her skin. Her pupils are huge and her eyelids are heavy. Best of all, her gaze is focused and the intent in her eyes is clear. She wants me. She wants me.
She wants me.
“I’m ready,” she breathes.
“Oh, Abby,” I say, and I lean back up to brush my lips over hers. She groans softly in complaint when I pull away again. “Sweetheart, you are just getting started.”
I shuffle farther down the bed, and Abby squeals and shifts away from me as she realizes my intention.
“You don’t have to do that,” she whispers stiffly, and I smile at her gently.
“Have to has nothing to do with any of this,” I say, and she searches my gaze.
“Don’t you just want to...”
She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Don’t I just want to skip to the main event, and bury myself in her body? Don’t I just want to find release; after all, isn’t that what the goal is here?
Of course I do.
But miss the chance to taste her?
No fucking way.
“If you don’t want me to, of course I won’t,” I say, and I marvel at the mild and patient tone of my voice. It’s all fake. The voice inside my head would have me plead with her: Please, Abby. Let me put my mouth on you. Let me breathe you in. I can smell the scent of her arousal in the air as I bend to kiss near her belly button. I just know she’s going to taste like fucking heaven. Please, Abby. I kiss her pale thigh, beside the hands she’s entwined to cover herself. “Abs...if you’re comfortable with it...I’d love to...”
Abby whimpers and her hands fall away from her body to ball into fists beside her hips. I stare down at her body and feel the full force of the moment. It hits me hard in my chest, and I’m totally out of my depth here.
I just adore her. Abby is everything, and there’s no pretending otherwise. Not now, and maybe not ever again.
As my lips touch her body, Abby releases a groan. I glance up to check that it’s the good kind of groan and find her eyes are squeezed shut again. She’s breathing hard, like she’s been sprinting.
She’s every bit as into this as I am, and that realization sends a thrill through me. But my patience and self-control are shot to hell. There’s no way I can draw this out as much as I want to, so I focus my attention where it counts, using my hands and my mouth until her hands are in fists against my sheets and she is wound so tight...so wet, well and truly ready for me but... I’m greedy. I want to know all the secrets I’ve never let myself wonder about. Is she noisy when she comes? Does her face screw up, and then relax? Does she sigh in relief?
“Marcus, I can’t take much more,” she whispers as she tugs at my hair, trying to break me away, but I’m not moving—not yet. I lift my face from her body to look up at her, but my hands stay busy.
Abby stares down at me, completely caught up in the moment now, bold enough even to hold my gaze right up until she starts to spasm around my fingers. She smiles the whole damned time, even once she’s closed her eyes and gone completely limp and she’s catching her breath. I’m smiling, too, like a total fucking idiot, so caught up in her climax that I feel ten feet tall just having watched it happen. Have I ever felt so pleased to bring a woman to orgasm before?
No.
It always mattered to me to be a considerate partner, but not like this. Because I’m a selfish bastard when it all boils down and being able to make my lovers come was actually about me—my manhood, my skill in bed, my performance.
This is different.
This is pure, unadulterated selflessness. Her pleasure is my pleasure.
The minute Abby’s eyes open, she shoots me a still-so-desperate look and then she’s reaching for me, pulling me up over her again. Her hand goes right for me and I can’t even let her touch me because I just can’t wait another second. I shake my head and redirect her hand and I’m clumsy with urgency and desperation. I fumble in the drawer beside my bed, automatically reaching for a condom. I tear it open with my teeth and move to slide it down over myself—until Abby gives an out-of-breath laugh.
“Ah, Marcus...did you forget who you’re with?”
She sounds so relaxed now compared to that awful, awkward dinner—back to the easy, teasing friend I am used to. I look at her fondly, and then I realize what I am doing—what we are doing. I curse and toss the condom over my shoulder.
“No,” I mutter as I pull her into a sitting position to kiss her deeply. “I forgot why we’re doing this.” As she kisses me back, I shuffle against the pillows, dragging her with me until I can lift her onto my lap. Abby straddles me automatically, and our gazes lock.
She is perfection—and as Abby sits naked in my arms, I can’t help but let myself pretend that, just for a moment, she’s my perfection.
“I’ve never done this bare before,” I admit.
She cocks an eyebrow at me and says wryly, “I’m not surprised, given that you’ve never been with anyone long enough.”
“That’s not why.” I brush the hair back from her face and kiss her softly. Abby laughs and pulls away just a little to add, “Yeah, I suspect another important factor might just be that you never wanted to get someone pregnant before.”
I laugh, too, and then the laugh somehow morphs into kissing, and another moment of lightness is lost as the passion resurges. I lean back into the pillow and watch as she gently lowers herself around me. As she takes me within the warmth of her body, a loud groan bursts from my lips, bouncing around the silence of the room.
“Are you okay?” She pauses, her gaze growing alarmed, and I give an uneven laugh as I nod.
“Too good, Abs. This feels too good.”
Her eyes fall closed again, and she shifts to take me in deeper. “Does that feel okay?” she asks.
Through clenched teeth I reply, “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever works for you.”
“I can’t—I don’t—I mean, I just won’t...not again. Not twice in the one night,” she says unsteadily. I catch her hips in my hands to still her.
“Just because you haven’t before, doesn’t mean you can’t,” I whisper. I hold her like that for a moment, until the slight tension in her face releases again. I guide her hips, moving her forward so that she can grind herself against my pelvic bone. “Sometimes it’s just about patience...different sensations...maybe the second time you need a different kind of pressure. But you’re in control here, Abs. Try to adjust how you move, until you feel yourself becoming aroused again. Okay?”
“So not only are you a recently qualified fertility expert, you’re also a sex instructor?” she says, and laughs. “Do I know you at all, Marcus Ross?”
I slide my hand along her body, up to cup her cheek and to hold her gaze steady with mine. I sit up a little so I can kiss her, then whisper against her lips, “You know me better than anyone else on this planet, Abby Herbert.”
Silence falls as Abby closes her eyes as she moves. I watch, spellbound. I’m gritting my teeth and praying for patience, but I get to see the shift in her breathing and the delicious tension rise back to her features as the pleasure starts to build in her again. She looks at me briefly to check. “Are you sure this is okay for you?”
“Sweetheart...just about anything you want to do to me at this point is going to be okay with me.” I groan, and she laughs huskily. I have to close my eyes now as she starts to move faster because the sight of her rocking against me is just too much. I’m frantically trying to think unsexy thoughts about budgets or branding or the quarterly marketing plans—anything to calm myself down. I’m not going to last, and I desperately want to—for her. I want to feel her come around me. I want to follow her over into the abyss, especially now that she doubted she could orgasm twice, but by the strained sounds she’s making, I suspect she’s about to prove herself wrong.
She’s rocking faster now, and harder—her movements less controlled. She holds on to my shoulder tight with one hand, and with the other, she clutches at my waist. I run my hands up and down her shape—from her thighs to her hips, then up her back and then all the way down, loving the softness of her skin and the way that she just fits with me.
Soon, no amount of distraction will help me, and I just can’t hold back anymore. I grasp her hips and I flip her, and she squeals and laughs as she rolls onto her back. I brush the hair back from her forehead and rain kisses over her face and her neck.
“Are you close?” I croak against her, and she nods, disbelief registering in her gaze. We kiss, and she’s greedy, too, now—meeting the passion in my kisses with demands and promises and heat. “Good,” I whisper, but what I’m really thinking is thank fuck for that. “Can I go a little harder?”
She moans her assent, and I lean my elbows beside her face so that I can take some of my weight as I give in to the instinct to find my release within her body. She meets my increasingly frantic thrusts with eager, demanding movements of her own, and then I hear her cry out my name. And then she comes, and that’s it for me—I’m lost, too. The orgasm is torn from me, its echoes rolling on and on along my abdomen and into my legs.
It’s the kind of climax that changes you—a singular, perfect moment of clarity and oneness.
But as I collapse onto Abby, and my thoughts return, I realize that she was actually right about one thing. Everything has changed tonight. This isn’t the kind of sex you can just forget ever happened. For better or worse, things between us are never going to be the same.