Crazy Girl(65)

“It’s all pretty fascinating,” I admitted, attempting to sound cool and casual, like him, as I shifted to slide off him.

Grabbing my hips, he halted me. “Don’t.”

My body tensed. Had I hurt him when I moved? “Did I—” My words clipped off as he slid his hands over my breasts, his thumbs flicking my nipples. It was like a switch, a quick flick, and my body reacted to him. Arching my back, I pushed my chest against his hands encouraging him to grope harder. Dropping my arms, I gripped his sides, allowing him better access. Smooth and seamless, his left hand floated down my belly until his fingers whispered over my clit, the teasing sensation causing me to arch more, desperate for his touch.

But he didn’t give. He ghosted me, torturing me with only a hint of the touch I craved from him so badly. I bucked up, but his free hand pushed me down, holding me against him.

“Please,” I whimpered, licking my lips.

“Please what?” he asked, his voice coy and low. I wanted to groan in frustration. He knew damn well what. But he was going to make me beg.

Turning my head, I pressed my forehead to his cheek, my right hand finding his as I drew my fingers through his beard, all while pushing down, attempting to make him give me more. I was more comfortable with him than I should have been. “Please, baby,” I begged in a whisper. “Please.” The author in me couldn’t find more words…or the right words. Or maybe there were too many words. Touch me, fuck me, fill me, make me come, make me feel good, make me scream. So many words, yet all I could get out was please.

Pressing his mouth to my forehead, he kissed it. Then, his voice low and deep, he said, “Put me inside you, babe.”

I was frantic to feel him, but when my hand flew at warp speed to do just as he said, he grabbed my wrist, stopping me. “Slow,” he told me.

Though hot as hell, the position we were in took a little maneuvering, especially without looking. Taking him, I slid the head of his cock up and down my sex, hoping I was torturing him, too. Grabbing my hips, he yanked me down in a quick jerk, his way of demanding what he wanted.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he gritted. And I was. I was amped. Every molecule in my body was honed in on this one sweet spot, waiting for relief from the ache he’d created.

Sheathing him inside me, I moaned and he hissed as I grinded down. The motion and angle were foreign, yet it worked. It more than worked. Every inch of him, I felt slide in and out of me.

“Right there, baby?” he asked. Another thing about this man that drove me bugfuck was he always asked about me. Did I feel good? Was this good? He was a pleaser; a lover who found pleasure by giving.

“Yes. There,” I panted. “So good.”

When his hand returned between my legs and his deft fingers found my clit, I was done. When I cried out, a curse word burst from my mouth, the pleasure hitting me like a bucket of ice water, sudden and intense, and it sent him into hyper-drive. I was lost in the maddening bliss, my eyes squeezed shut, my back arching, as he bucked up and I writhed against him. When his free hand clenched my waist, he let out a roar as he pressed me down, holding me, pulsing his hips to drive himself deeper inside of me as he came.

When he stilled, his hands held me in place, keeping us connected. He wanted to stay inside me. I figured he probably did this without thought, but for me, it was another firefly. It meant something, and I made a point to capture it. Our chests heaved up and down, my head rising and falling with each breath he took as I lay atop of him. I never wanted to move from that spot. Somehow, he’d consumed all of me; he was under me, bearing my weight; inside me, for with his body he’d enraptured me mentally and physically. I felt safe with him, cocooned in that moment of intimacy. I’d written about moments like this between characters in my novels, tried to convey it in words, but I’d never quite experienced it.

“Thank you,” I managed between pants. Thanking him sounded ridiculous, but it felt right. What he’d just done to me was amazing, something I would never forget. “Thank you. Thank you,” I murmured again.

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. “You don’t have to thank me, Hannah.”

“I know.”

Wrapping his arms around me, he rolled us to our sides, attempting to keep him inside of me. Holding me close, he kissed my shoulder.

“Do you realize we just did a mini naked choke hold class, naked?”

“What?”

“That’s what that choke hold was called, a naked choke hold.”

I chuckled as I kissed his knuckle.

Wiggling back against him, I burrowed my head into his arm. His body relaxed, and after a few moments his breathing slowed as he began drifting off to sleep. As I lay there, something in my core knotted, shooting a sensation through me, making even my skin tingle with it. Panic. I was panicking. This man was my muse. Yet I wanted more. I was jealous of my characters. I wanted what they had. Want, need, feelings…I was falling for him. He could possibly be the life raft in my sinking career. But I knew with every fiber of my being, he’d also ruin me.





“In life you must be willing to risk everything

you have in order to gain everything you want.”

-a.bentley





Economics 101

It was one of several classes I’d taken in college during my brief time as a student. Ninety-eight percent of the curriculum went in one ear and out the other; it was a miracle I’d passed it. But out of all the hum-drum I remembered and committed to memory, one thing stood out.