Darker Water (21 page)

She turned directly towards me in one motion,
speaking before she’d completed the move. “Laney’s been hurt
before.”

Wow. This was going to be that kind of
conversation. The kind I’d only seen on TV. I thought I’d gotten
through this minefield the other night. Helping her with Eric had
obviously meant more to me than to her. Or maybe she had just as
bad a memory as I did.

But okay, I could do this. “I’m not going to
hurt her, Hillary.”

“Then how’s it going to end?” she snapped.
“Let’s say she meets somebody she wants to start dating, which she
won’t
because she spends all her time with you. But let’s
just say she does. What then?”

I slumped back on the couch. I was wrong—I
couldn’t do this. “Okay, let’s just say she does, which she
won’t
because she’s still dealing with all the shit from the
last guy she dated. The guy I’m betting you
didn’t
have this
conversation with because he seemed so nice and cared about her so
much. So much that he couldn’t bring himself to let her know he was
fucking somebody else.”

Even though Hillary backed off a bit, I
wasn’t done. “But sure, let’s just say she meets someone. If that
happens, she will tell me one of two things—either she still wants
to be my friend or she doesn’t. Obviously I’d prefer the former and
obviously, either way, I’d be unhappy things had to change.”

I swallowed, not having actually thought
about that possibility in a little while. ‘Unhappy’ didn’t begin to
describe how I’d feel if Lane or her new boyfriend wanted us to cut
ties. I’d miss the sex and I’d miss her. “I’ll never stop her from
doing whatever she wants to do.”

“And
when
you start sleeping with
another woman, you’re going to tell her so she won’t get hurt, is
that it?”

“Yep.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Well, thanks, Hillary. That means a lot.” I
should’ve stayed in the car. Consider that mistake never made
again.

“Laney isn’t the type who can sleep with a
guy and not give a crap about him. How could you have spent this
much time with her and not figure that out?”

“I know she gives a crap about me. It’s just
not a romantic crap. Lane’s different than she used to be, mostly
because she didn’t like who she was.” I blew out a breath. “Maybe
you need to
re-
figure her out.”

“You’re not good for her.” Hillary’s intent
was good, and I liked the idea that Lane had people watching her
back, but
I
wasn’t the one she should be worried about.
Things were completely clear between Lane and me.

“Hmm… Since she’s not fourteen, we’re not her
parents, and this isn’t 1950, I think she gets to make her own
decisions.”

“Okay, I’m—” Lane walked into the room,
stopping as soon as she saw us. “Oh shit. What’s going on?”

I turned to her seriously and grabbed
Hillary’s hand, pulling her towards me. “Lane,” I said in a low
voice. “Your mother and I need to talk to you about something.”
Hillary ripped her hand away. “She thinks the young man you’re
sleeping with is no good.” Then I looked at Hillary. “Right,
honey?”

“You’re such a jerk.”

Lane looked at Hillary. “I’m not sure exactly
what I missed but I’m fine, Hills. Promise. Yes, he’s a jerk—”

“Hey!” I yelled.

—“but at least he’s honest about it. I’m
fine. Really.”

“You deserve more than just a hard cock,
Laney.” She got up and went into her room.

Lane stared at her until she slammed the
door. “Can we go now?”

I didn’t say anything until we were in the
elevator. “She’s right.”

“About you being a jerk? I know—I agreed with
her.”

“You deserve more than a cock.”

“I don’t want more than a cock right now.”
Without turning to me, she reached over and wrapped her hand around
my package. “I’m happy with the one I have.”

When I’d told her to get her financial stuff
so we could see exactly how bad it was, I thought she’d bring a
laptop. Nope, not Lane. It was on paper. Lots and lots of paper.
She had to be the last person on earth who still used paper. For
anything.

Right before I was going to give her shit
about it and possibly order a “Welcome to this century” card, I got
distracted. It happens.

“What?” She looked up from the worksheets
she’d laid out all over the coffee table. “Why are you looking at
me like that?”

Because I wanted to fuck her. All the time.
“I like this a lot.” My knee hit hers. “Sex with a beautiful woman
almost whenever I want it and
definitely
whenever she wants
it. Someone to scrub my back before I get distracted and want the
sex I already mentioned. Someone to talk to without worrying she’s
going to be reading into every word.” I nudged her knee again. “You
don’t, right?”

“Right.”

I slipped my hand around the nape of her neck
and saw my bicep twitch because I was trying so hard not to pull
her into me and open her mouth for my tongue. This might be getting
to be a little much—I couldn’t be next to her without needing to
feel her. A little control might be nice.

“It’s a tiny bit away from perfect, to be
honest,” I said. “But something’s missing.” She tensed slightly.
Something about knowing she wanted perfection and thought it would
be possible with me made me really fucking happy. But it wasn’t
good.

I pulled her forward so I could whisper. “You
know what would make it perfect, Lane?”

“What?” Her voice was breathy and sexy as
hell.

“If you go get me a beer.” I couldn’t stop
myself from laughing, even when she smacked me. Even when I grabbed
her by the waist and brought her onto my lap, straddling me. Then I
stopped laughing and she stopped smacking me and both of us sighed
as she rocked against me, making me harder.

“Were you saying something about perfection?”
She didn’t stop moving.

“I don’t remember what I say normally, why
would you think I can remember it now?”

I’d had a moment of absolute genius the other
day and had bought seven boxes of condoms and put some in every
room, even taking them out of the box for easy access. And when all
she had to do was reach over to the side table and grab one, I
thought it was probably the smartest thing I would ever do in my
life.

“Weren’t we supposed to work on accounting
stuff?” she asked.

“I can’t concentrate on numbers right now.”
Or anything. “I’m seriously starting to worry about myself. I’m
having trouble thinking about anyone el—” I kissed her to shut
myself up.

“Carson,” she said after a minute, pushing me
gently in the chest. “I want...” When her cheeks reddened, my mind
went into overdrive trying to figure out what made it happen.
Whatever she wanted was hard for her to talk about while she was
sitting on my cock with a condom in her hand. Those were three good
indicators that it was something I really wanted to hear.

“Tell me.” I waited until my patience ran
out, which was actually only a few seconds later. “Jesus, tell me
what you want, Lane.”

“I want to do it up against a wall. You
always see it in movies, and…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

She flinched. “Is that too weird?”

“Jesus, woman. Stop worrying.” I slid my
hands under her ass and picked her up. “Nothing is too weird.
Nothing. If you want it, you got it. All you have to do is tell
me.”

There’s a certain finesse to fucking up
against a wall. It’s not as simple as it seems. Well, most of it is
simple, but to do it
right
, you need a good wall. A door has
too much give and will thump every time you shove her back against
it, and that usually distracts the woman from being totally in the
moment. Probably worried about someone hearing us, as if I give a
shit if anyone hears us.

But the other requirement for a woman like
Lane is to have something to hold onto, which is why the door is
sometimes a better option. If she didn’t have a ledge or a
doorframe or knob to hold onto, she was going to hold onto me. Not
a bad thing at all—it’s great when she holds on. But when we’re
vertical, holding on actually makes it harder for her to thrust
back and force me that tiny bit extra into her. That tiny bit extra
is worth a hell of a lot, probably more psychologically than
physically, not that it matters.

But it got her involved and she enjoyed it
more. Because Lane likes to fuck me back. I
love
it when
Lane fucks me back.

That door got pounded so hard, it would never
be the same. And we might be locked in here forever.

He collapsed onto me, his arms around my
waist and under my ass, the stubble on his cheek scratching my
neck. I pried my fingers off the doorknob and frame.

No wonder they always do it against the wall
in movies—it’s fucking awesome. “I’ve never done anything like that
before.”

“Their loss. Truly.” He groaned and pressed
deeper when I shook my head. “Don’t move. I’m going to fall over if
I stand up right now, babe.”

It sounded so bizarre to hear Carson call me
anything other than Lane, so the four-letter pet name caught me off
guard. He didn’t notice.

“What’d you think?” he asked.

“I think I loved it, but I’ll need more data
before I submit my official response.”

“Okay, but I’m gonna need a little break
first.” He slid out and straightened, pulling me up with him. “What
is it about your neck that I love so much? It’s addictive. Do you
sprinkle crack there or something?” He ran his teeth across my
shoulder to my neck and up to my ear.

“When I come back, we need to talk.” He
grumbled. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. Makes it sound like
we need to have a serious conversation, which is something I never,
ever want to do. It’s nothing serious. Just me being greedy.”

While he was in the master bathroom, I put my
clothes on and stopped in the guest bathroom for a quick assessment
on my way to the kitchen. My cheeks were flush and my hair was out
of control. But I looked really happy. Probably because I was.

I’d just finished filling my glass when I
heard him shout.

“I thought you wanted to do it again!” He was
still completely naked, completely at ease with his body, which he
had every reason to be. “If I had my way, I’d have it like the
Japanese do. Everyone leaves their shoes at the door. Only mine
would be exclusive to you, and you’d have to take off everything
but
your shoes.”

I scooted onto the counter and handed him the
glass when he motioned for it. “You can’t get your own?”

“You owe me for not getting me a beer
earlier.” He smiled flawlessly, like there wasn’t a single thing
wrong in his world. And there probably wasn’t. If there was, he’d
change it.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Right.” He held out my empty glass before
rolling his eyes dramatically and refilling it. “I need a favor.
Although I’m not sure it’s actually a favor and, even if it is, I’m
not sure who it’s for. I’ll be getting a lot out of it either way
but—”

“Did you know that after we have sex you
don’t stop talking? At all.”

His smile faltered.

“I’m not complaining. Most men don’t talk
enough.” There was something in his eyes, as if my comment made him
nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just never heard that before.”

“It’s not a bad thing.” I didn’t understand
his reaction—how could he have taken that as an insult? “It’s a
good thing.”

“I don’t… I don’t talk after sex. I leave.”
After a few more seconds of silence and one deep breath, whatever
had been there was gone. His smile was forced, but he obviously
didn’t want to go into it. At some point we’d made a silent
agreement to never talk about anything serious, but it was starting
to get to me. I liked him, cared about him. If it was a female
friend, I would feel the same way. I just wasn’t sure how to
ask.

“And that’s an absolutely awful segue to the
favor, but I’m gonna ask anyway.” He came closer and put his hands
on my knees. “I want you to make a bucket list of all the things
you haven’t done and want to or
have
done and want to
explore further. Sexually speaking, obviously.”

What
? “Never gonna happen.” Make a
list of all the things I would probably be, or already was, bad at?
“Not only would it be mortifying to put on paper, but it would mean
we’d only do things I either have no experience doing or am totally
insecure about. So I look stupid and you get to have terrible
sex.”

“There
is
no terrible sex, especially
not with you and me.” He pushed my knees apart so he could get
closer. “Right now I’m like a kid in a candy shop, and I want
everything at once. But since that’s not physically possible, I’m
happy with whatever I get. Because it’s
all
candy.”

“I can’t.”

“Hey,” he said, tipping my chin up so I’d
look at him. “I’ve never done anything like what we’re doing either
and, honestly, it’s making me feel really fucking good. I’m
thinking we need to even things out, so your needs are getting met
and I’m staying within your limits.”

“So you can stay in the candy shop?”

“Exactly.”

I’d assumed it would be more of a boot camp
thing—‘Practice makes perfect.’ Not that I minded practicing with
Carson but... “It’s still mortifying. I can’t do it.”

“I promise not to show it to anyone, and it’s
not like you have to put your name and homeroom number at the top.
It can be three things or twenty. Like the wall thing earlier and
the scene you started explaining to me the day we met that I’m
incredibly disappointed in myself for not having set up yet.”

Things started flying through my mind—some
I’d always wanted to try and others I fantasized about but never
wanted to try in real life. Probably.