Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(68)

I push harder, wanting her to reach for it. Needing her to reach for it. Because then it’s too late. I’ve found it, my need consumes me as I push inside her once, hard, my orgasm taking over, washing over my skin, my thoughts, my brain, my everything. Fuck, I’m done.

Spent.

She’s shuddering all around me, too, her body clenching around my cock, milking every last drop out of me until I can do nothing but collapse on top of her, exhausted. I think I shouted her name out loud but I can’t be sure. Wade probably heard if I did.

I really don’t f**king care.

Chelsea’s arms are around me, her mouth at my ear. She’s coasting her hands down my back, up and down, scraping her nails on my sensitive skin, and I shiver in her embrace, press my lips against her neck. She tastes amazing. She’s whispering something in my ear that I can’t really hear since my head is still buzzing, my ears ringing.

Fuck. That was intense.

“I’m too heavy,” I tell her, bracing my hands flat on the mattress so I can lift away from her, but her hands press hard on my back, keeping me in place.

“A couple more minutes,” she murmurs, her voice soft, her lids downcast. As if she’s feeling shy again and well … f*ck that.

I kiss her. A fierce, possessive kiss that’s full of tongue and heat and demand. I need her to know she doesn’t have to be shy with me any longer. We’ve done everything.

But she doesn’t know everything. Not about Mom. How Des deals in my f**king house. How I’m one of Des’s clients. And I smoked pot and was high as hell when I gave her an orgasm in a no-name hotel in a no-name city.

Shame washes over me and this time I do pull out of her embrace, offering her a brief smile when I find her studying me with concern etched all over her beautiful, flushed face.

“Where are you going?” she asks, sitting up, completely naked and comfortable with it. I stare at her br**sts, those pink ni**les that match her lips that match the rose I gave her, and I want to climb right back into bed. Clutch her close and never let her go, pretend that my problems don’t exist and will never bother me again.

Never bother us again.

But that’s just wishful thinking. I gotta get the hell out of here. At least for five minutes. I need some clarity.

I need a f**king hit.

“I’ll be back. Gotta get rid of this.” I peel the condom off and pinch the top, keeping it in my hand as I make my escape out of the bedroom, still naked, not caring. I dart across the hall into the bathroom and slam the door, flick the lock. Dispose of the condom, then search through the cabinet drawers until I find what I’m looking for.

A joint. We keep them everywhere in this house. I mean, what the hell? Was someone gonna sit on the toilet and pass the time by taking a few hits? I wouldn’t put it past Wade to try something like that.

The idea disgusts me. I should disgust me because here I am, hiding away from Chelsea, contemplating smoking a joint rather than going back inside my room immediately so I can hold her close and show her how much she means to me.

I stare at the joint I hold pinched between my fingers. I can smell it, that strong, skunk-like scent that I love. Used to love.

Fuck it. Still love.

There’s a lighter in the drawer, too. Of course. I pull it out and flick it once. Twice. Five f**king times before it finally catches and I bring the joint to my lips. Light the burned-out tip, hear the subtle crackle of the paper catching fire. Glancing up, I catch myself in the reflection of the mirror. Naked and sweaty and about to suck in a bunch of smoke that’ll burn my lungs and clear my brain.

I don’t want to clear my brain. It’s full of Chelsea.

The lighter drops to the counter with a loud clatter and I stub the joint out in the sink, then rinse it out. I drop the half-smoked joint into the toilet and flush, watch as it disappears down the drain forever.

If my friends caught me flushing a joint they’d be pissed. But I don’t care. I need to get this shit out of my life. I need to focus. I need to do the right thing.

I need to prove myself worthy of Chelsea. But no matter how much our relationship means to me, it also scares me.

Scares me so much I’m afraid I might do the wrong thing. And once I do that, I can never go back.

CHAPTER 18

Chelsea

I’m attending a college football game for the first time ever. Only took me three years to do it. Of course, I never had a reason to attend one before. I hated sports. I kind of still do. I can never understand exactly what’s going on down on the field and that drives me crazy. I like knowing what’s happening at all times.

As Owen teased me about last night right before we drifted off to sleep, I do wish there were a textbook for all of these things we’re supposed to know and do and learn and watch. If I can’t figure it out right away or read up about it, I’m lost. And frustrated.

I hate that.

But I’m letting all the anxiety go. It’s the second half, our team is winning, Owen is out on the field, and I’m sitting with his sister and niece, bundled up against the crisp, cold fall air. The baby is adorable, sweet and content in her mother’s arms, and when Fable offers for me to hold the baby, I take her, bouncing her up on down on my knee, cooing at her and saying the dumbest stuff that has probably ever come out of my mouth.

I don’t care. Autumn likes it. She reaches for my face and my heart stops. She smiles at me and I want to make her do it again. Her eyes remind me of Owen’s, green and clear and achingly beautiful. No wonder Owen goes on and on about how sweet his niece is. She’s adorable.