Undecided(46)

“Do you really have to ask?”

“I just want to be sure.”

I look into his eyes, molten brown I now know darkens to nearly black when he’s turned on, the flush in his cheeks belying the utter control in his voice. I think he’d stop if I asked him to. I think he’d put on that Superman costume and do a jig if I requested it. I think Crosbie Lucas is not quite the cocky, smug ass hat he pretends to be.

“I’m positive,” I say.

Something soft passes across his features and he smiles as he kisses me, sweet and sure, then he presses inside slowly, carefully, and very welcome. His cock is as big as his build would suggest, but after the initial pang of discomfort it only feels good, and he groans into my neck, his damp breath making me shudder. It takes him a minute, then he lifts his head and watches my face as he slowly starts to f*ck me, taking his time, focused and intent.

I like it, but I don’t think I’m going to come again so soon. And I don’t really care—I just had the best orgasm I’ve ever had with a partner, I’m not complaining. After a while I wrap my legs around his hips, my fingers seeking purchase in that beautiful ass, feeling it shift and bunch as he moves.

“Can you come like this?” he whispers, trailing his fingers over my damp temples.

“I don’t think so,” I reply, feeling strangely comfortable with this kind of honesty. “But it doesn’t matter. I just did. You come.”

He arches a brow. “Oh, I’m going to. No question. But not without you.” He stops thrusting and reaches back, fingers encircling my ankle. I prepare myself for some sort of inane sex contortion showcase, but he merely bends my left leg up against my chest and shifts his body to the side a little more. This time he hits my clit when he thrusts, and a few moments later, I’m forced to reconsider my stance on a second orgasm.

“How about this?” he murmurs. He nips my earlobe and I focus on the newly building sensation between my legs.

“I think I might…”

“Tell me what’ll get you there.”

“Let’s try this for a minute.”

“Got it.” He grinds his forehead into the pillow beside me, his damp hair brushing my cheek, showing me just how difficult this is for him. How hard he’s working to make it good for me. His faint dusting of chest hair rasps over my nipples, and when I urge him to move faster he does, and I know I’m going to come again.

“I’m close,” I whisper.

“Nora.” He groans and threads his fingers through mine on either side of my head, holding me down and holding on, all at once.

“Just a little…”

“Oh f*ck…f*ck…”

“I’m—I’m—ohhhh….” I come and Crosbie’s right behind me. I feel him pump into me harder, a few rough thrusts, a litany of mumbled curse words in my ear, the almost painfully tight squeeze of his fingers on mine. But I couldn’t possibly care less about any of that, because my * is spasming so tightly, so good, just endless waves of pleasure I never knew I could feel.

Crosbie may be exactly the type of guy to boast about knowing how to do this, and I’m the type of girl who would roll my eyes and blow him off. Until now. This is no laughing matter. This is incredible.

Eventually he lifts his head and I turn so we’re eye to eye, and it’s a tiny relief to see the same stunned and satiated expression on his face that I know is on mine. “Wow,” I mumble.

He laughs, a tired sound, and wipes his hand over his forehead. “Jesus, Nora. You’re so f*cking beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever come like that.”

“Is it the blue eye shadow?” I ask, belatedly remembering that not only did I wear Thelma’s hair and clothing, I wore the makeup, too.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth as he slowly pulls out. “It’s you.”

He gets up and pads out of the room, bare-assed, to dispose of the condom and clean up, and I slide under the comforter and stretch out like a very satisfied cat. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to feel like tomorrow, but right now I feel amazing, all the stress and tension of the past couple of months forgotten.

Crosbie comes back in with two glasses of water, then sets them on the milk crate and flicks on the lamp before turning off the ceiling light. “So,” he says, crawling under the covers before passing me a glass.

“So,” I say.

We drink in silence and stare at the ceiling. I’m aware of every inch of his body that’s touching mine, the sound of his throat working as he swallows, the hum of his breath when he puts the empty glasses on the floor and turns out the light. And then I’m not aware of anything else, because somehow, impossibly, I fall asleep next to Crosbie Lucas.





chapter twelve


I wake up alone. It’s just before eight the next morning, the bright November sun spilling in through curtains I forgot to close during last night’s activities.

Speaking of which. I arch my back and flex my fingers and gently feel between my legs—a little sore, but in a good way. Hell, in an amazing way. So amazing I’m not even especially worried about the fact that I had sex with Crosbie Lucas. That I moved into this apartment on the understanding that it was a place to be studious and responsible, and then banged my roommate’s best friend. Because it was so worth it.