Love Locked (6 page)

She has to get at it.

“I’m turning around.”

“OK.” His voice sounds as choked as hers feels.

She faces him and nuzzles the hollow between his neck and shoulder. They haven’t even kissed yet. She’s been desperate to kiss him — long and deep, while her hands roam his body — but there isn’t time now. She knows what she wants.

She doesn’t even remember when his shirt came off, but she’s glad it’s gone. It means she can kiss her way down his chest, and abs, while her hands go ahead, loosen the drawstring at his waist, work at the waistband of his running shorts.

By the time she’s on her knees, by the time she’s level with his crotch, there’s only one thing to do. She looks up, through her eyelashes, a smile on her face, and when their eyes lock, she reaches in and pulls his cock free.

Oh, God, she loves the heat of it. The softness of the skin. And the straining length and thickness of a full erection.

This part’s about him but, just for a second, she has to slip her hand between her own legs; use her fingers to ease away some of her building tension.

This is one of her favourite things, and something she doesn’t get to do often enough. She loves licking away the beads of precum — its salty thickness gives her a taste of what she’s aiming for.

She loves taking long, slow licks, and she loves sliding her whole mouth over a hard cock. She loves, occasionally, letting it pop out, because it feels twice as good when she slips it back in.

Thinking about it — anticipating it — has her lightheaded; dizzy with desire. She starts at the base, placing her tongue on the ridge and following it up, to the head.

It jumps, he moans, and grabs her head, his fingers spreading through her hair.
Oh, fuck, yes. Push me.

She pauses, right at the tip, waiting, holding her breath, then he shoves, and she inhales and sucks the length of him into her mouth.

“Mmmm …” It’s her turn to say it again. She hopes the vibration adds to his experience. This is delicious. This is amazing. This has her soaking wet.

When he’s also soaking wet — slippery with her saliva — she lifts her hand to the base of his cock. Grips it firmly while she works with her mouth, sliding up and down, in and out. Sucking, licking, slurping.

There’s always a moment when the ache inside her intensifies, when she wants the cock inside her so badly — needs it to fill her up — but from experience she knows that’s usually very close to the peak moment; the moment when he’ll say,
“Yes!”
and his cock, if possible, will get even harder. She knows she’s close to getting what she wants, so she keeps going.

“I’m coming,” he warns.

Good
, she thinks. She swirls her tongue around his cock, one direction, then the other to let him know —
Good. Come. Please.

In case there’s any doubt left, she cups his balls with her free hand, brushes her fingers lightly between his legs.

Please. In my mouth.

And then he’s leaning back, jerking, and grunting, “Oh!” and the rush is coming; her lips feel it pulsing through his cock a split second before it erupts in her mouth, and she can’t get enough of the sweet, salty burst. She takes it all in, and swallows before licking the end for any drops she might have missed.

Still gripping her hair, he pulls her head back and tilts her face up. She meets his eye, licks her lips, and grins. “Better than ice cream.”

He laughs. “God, you’re amazing.”

She knows he thinks so now, but … with the tension gone, the thirst quenched, the lust satisfied, all the joy drains out of her, too, just like that. She sits back on her heels and studies him.

It’s not the place, not the time — not with his pants still around his ankles — but she’s already bracing for the crash. “You’re going to send me a ‘piss off’ text tomorrow morning, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Like last time. This is the only sexual experience I’ve ever had that’s hotter than those texts we sent. Last time you blew me off, so I can only guess you’re going to do the same this time.”

He pulls up his shorts. Runs his hands through his hair. “Oh, God. Jocelyn. It’s complicated.”

“How is it complicated?”

“It’s like you said. This” — he puts one hand on his chest, opens one to her — “is all new to me. I’ve never felt … I never knew …”

“So? What’s the problem?”

“You know what the problem is.”

Jocelyn stands — her stiff right knee popping as she straightens it. “Are you guys married?”

He shakes his head.

“Engaged?”

“No.”

“Is she pregnant?”

“Of course not …”

“Well. So. If you know there’s something more intense, if you know there’s something that feels better, how is it right to stay with her? How is it good for either of you?”

“I … just … it’s not right to leave somebody because of sex, Jocelyn. Is it? I mean, do you think it is?”

She sighs. Sadness spears through the space behind her breastbone. “I don’t think it’s just sex, Lucas. Maybe that’s my problem.”

She pushes past him, walks to the door and opens it. “You’d better go.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says.

“I doubt it.”

He moves to kiss her on the cheek, but she turns her face away. “Just go.”

He hesitates on the top step. “I’ll think about what you said. I promise.”

She shrugs. “Yeah. OK. Let me know how that works out.”

She already knows he won’t be talking to her come tomorrow morning.

The only thing she’s still not sure of is whether today was worth it.

She’ll have to wait until the tingling retreats from her pussy to be able to think straight and really know.

Chapter Seven

(10:10)

I
T’S REALLY REMARKABLE HOW
well she’s gotten to know Lucas in such a short time.

Right on cue, right on time, first thing in the morning, there’s a text from him.

She almost can’t be bothered to open it.

When she does, she just nods.
You were right. I’m an idiot. Sorry. :(

Fine. Yeah. Whatever. She knew it was coming.

And because she knew it was coming, she’s OK with it. She’s ready to carry on. Go to work. And, yes, maybe call that waiter back. Give a blow job to somebody who, in the morning, might want her to give them another blow job. What a concept …

She thumbs back
It was TGTBT

???
is his reply.

Ask your girlfriend.

And that, she determines, is her last thought on the subject. It’s over. Banished from her brain. She’s not wasting any more energy on it.

Except that’s not quite how it works out.

Because as the day wears on, she feels more and more dragged down. More and more tired. More and more stupid. It wasn’t worth it. She should have known it wouldn’t be worth it.

Although, at lunch, as she’s waiting for the microwave to finish heating up her soup, she flashes back to his fingers twined through her hair, pulling her face into his crotch.
Oh. My. God
.

And when she’s at home, changing into her running clothes, she brushes her fingers across her nipples.
Mmmm …

Halfway through her run, the moment of climax pops into her head — his cum gushing into her mouth — and her insides twist, and she stops, and bends double, ribs heaving by the side of the path. “You OK?” a couple of guys running by ask her.

“Oh, yeah, fine. Thanks.”

Would she give all those memories up? Would she avoid the highs to fend off the lows?

As she runs home alone it’s a tough call to make.

She takes the route past the pub. Throughout the spring she’s been drawn to the busy patio, the pop of yellow umbrellas. It doesn’t exactly make her happy to come by here. It’s more of a weird kind of satisfying torture — like pulling on a hangnail, or chewing on a tender spot on the inside of her mouth.

Now, as she runs by, she hears, “Hey!”

She keeps running. “Hey, Jocelyn!”

She stops, turns back to see the cute waiter standing at the edge of the patio, smiling at her.

“Oh! Hi. You remembered my name.”

“Of course I did. When you think about someone a lot, you remember their name.”

Jocelyn gets that this is her chance to say his name, but she can’t. She doesn’t remember. She bites her lip.

“You don’t remember mine, do you?” He grins. The loose curls of his hair lift in the evening breeze.
Cute
. “That’s OK. It’s Adrian. Just call me Ade.”

“Ade. Hi. Yes. You good?”

No wonder he smiles so much. He has truly dazzling teeth. “I’d be better if you’d come in and sit at the bar and let me bring you dinner and a drink.”

“Oh. I’m running. I’m sweaty and … not very nice, I’m afraid.”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m OK with you the way you are, but if it bothers you why don’t you come back after you’ve changed? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I … uh …” Her stomach growls so loudly his eyebrows fly up. She has not–much in her fridge and little–to–no motivation to try to cook anything with what is there.

She also doesn’t want to sit and stare at her phone all night.

She nods. “Yes.”

“Yes? That’s great.” He taps the menu he’s holding. “You can have anything you want.”

Is she imagining it, or did he emphasize the “anything?”

“OK. I’ll be back soon.” She gives a little half–wave and turns to run off again.

“Jocelyn?”

She turns, jogs backward. “Yes?”

“You’ll remember my name from now on.”

She’s glad he said that. It gives her something to think about other than Lucas’s morning–after “sorry.”

***

Jocelyn’s tipsy. She thinks of texting Sam again — same pub, same message:
Drunk
— except she left her phone at home. On purpose. She doesn’t want any ghosts of Lucas here with her tonight.

“You OK?” Ade leans in next to her. For a minute she thinks he’s going to kiss her cheek. There’s something sweet and friendly about him. Puppy–doggish. Nice.

“Yeah, great, thanks.”

“You ready for some dessert?”

Dessert
. She’s sipped just enough white wine to make the suggestion seem bed–related rather than food–related. She pauses, her eyes widen, and she watches as his do, too.
Bingo
— her message implanted into his brain.

“Oh.” He smiles, and there’s a hint of wolf cub alongside the puppy dog. “Hmm. Well. In the meantime, I hear the chocolate cake tonight is really good.”

She thinks of the dinner she’s already eaten, and calculates the possibility of all her clothes coming off later tonight — not by herself — and says, “Maybe just another glass of wine.”

“Whatever you like,” he says.

“Whatever?”

“Whatever, ever, ever.”

Nice
.

They’re weaving a bit as they walk along the sidewalk. Ade, being chivalrous, insisted on catching up with Jocelyn’s alcohol consumption by sitting down and doing four shots in a row. So now he’s drunk, too.

He stops. “Wait. What’s happening here? Am I walking you home?”

Panic bubbles in her. Not to her home. No way. She tells herself it’s because she wants to be free to leave whenever she wants; it’s easier to slip out his door than to try to manoeuvre him out of hers.

That’s true, but there’s something else. Beth. Jed. She doesn’t want them to catch her towing home a sexy waiter. Doesn’t want word to get back to the other Campbell brother.

Stupid, Jocelyn
. Yup. Stupid. But there it is — it’s how she feels.

“You’re walking me to your home.” She makes sure it’s a statement, no wobble in her voice that might turn it into a question.

“I have a roommate.”

“I can be quiet.”

He grins. “You might not need to. He mostly sleeps at his girlfriend’s.”

“Perfect!”

As soon as Ade opens the door, he darts away; disappears down the hall of the converted basement in the cute house where he lives. He comes back smiling. “All clear.”

There’s that panic again.
Oh
.
Shit, Jocelyn, this is not the time to freeze up
.

She stands on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around his neck. “Good.” She whispers it in his ear and he responds right away — just like she needs him to — stepping to her; pushing her against the wall. His hands are on her hips and he’s kissing her, and she’s kissing him back.

She opens her thighs so his leg slides between them, then she tilts her pelvis and rubs herself against his hard leg muscles. “Ooohhh …” she breathes.

His hands are under her shirt now, reaching up, hitting her bra, fingers sliding under the fabric to find her hard nipples.

She arches her back, pushing her breasts into his hands. Never stops kissing him.

Finally he pulls his mouth off hers. “Oh, my God. I … it’s been a while … can we do something first?”

She raises her eyes to his, looks up through her eyelashes. “Probably … what kind of something?”

He takes her hand, leads her to the first door off the hall. A nice room. Not huge, not small. Tidy. The bed made. It sums up what she knows of Ade so far — nice, tidy, polite. The bedside clock glows 10:10 …
Lucas
.

Screw Lucas.

“We can do anything you want,” she says.

He pulls her close again, runs his lips up her neck, to her ear. “That is such a sexy thing to say.”

Well, if it works for him: “
Anything
…” she repeats.

“I want to go down on you.”

Hah
. She was ready for handcuffs, costumes. Prepared for contorted positions, or doing everything in front of the mirror.

He wants something simpler, and so much harder.

She stiffens, doesn’t answer right away, and he kisses his way across her face to her lips. “Please … I love it. And, my last girlfriend — she — well, didn’t love it.”

All her confidence, all her bravado, all her alcohol–fueled belief that she can do anything; give them both the night of their lives, is gone.