Proving Paul's Promise (17 page)

His hips arch toward my hand. My eyes jerk back up to his face, and I see that he’s still asleep.

I wrap my hand around him and give him a gentle squeeze. His dick pulses like it likes being petted. The purple tip calls to me so I scoot down in the bed and touch my tongue to the bead of pre-come that has beaded on the slit. I pull back. He tastes salty and clean.

I want more.

I bend lower and grab his dick at the base, then take the head into my mouth and close my lips around it. A flash of salty spray hits the back of my tongue as he pulses delicately. A breath escapes his lips, and I look up to find his mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut.

I take a little more of him, and he rolls to his back. His eyes fly open, and he lifts his head to look down at me, but I close my eyes and take him all the way to the back of my throat.

“Friday,” he says softly, his voice rough, his tone nasally from sleep. “Stop.”

I shake my head, and his dick moves back and forth in my mouth. He groans and threads his fingers in my hair. I suck harder. His dick is so hard I can barely pull it back from his stomach, so I get closer and take him deeper, shuttling my hand up the base. There’s way too much of him for me to take him completely into my mouth.

“Friday, please stop,” he says. He sounds like he’s struggling, and I look up to find that he’s watching me. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come in your mouth.” He tugs on my hair, and I wince, but I don’t stop. “Friday,” he says a little louder. “Pull back.”

I shake my head again and lock my mouth around his dick. I’m not popping off. I don’t care if he gets up and moves; I’m going with him.

But he’s not moving. He stays. He stares down at me. His blue eyes are intense and so fucking hot that I never want him to look away from me. “Please pull back,” he whispers.

I say “no,” but it comes out more as a mumble because I don’t want to break suction. I can taste more of him now, and his salty essence tickles my tongue.

“Take it, then,” he finally growls. Then he holds my head in place with his fingers tangled in my hair and pushes into my mouth. He groans, and his dick pulses, and he comes so much that it runs out the corners of my mouth because I can’t swallow fast enough. “Take it,” he says again, and he thrusts over and over, until he’s done. “Take all of it,” he whispers. I do. I suck him clean, and finally, he jerks away. “Enough,” he says quietly. “Too sensitive.”

I laugh. He wipes the corners of my mouth and pulls me up to lie on his chest. I turn so that my face is over his heart and listen to the beat of the blood racing in his veins. It slows, and he grows quiet, his hands swiping up and down my naked back. It’s more fingertips than hands, and it tickles in the best of ways.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he finally says.

I turn so that my chin pokes into his chest. “Why?”

“Because every time I look at that pretty mouth of yours, I’ll see you with your lips wrapped around my dick and my come leaking out the corners.” He slaps me on the ass. “I won’t be able to get you off my mind.” He’s quiet for a minute. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t do anything I have to do,” I remind him. It’s true. I pretty much do what I want when I want. It’s one of the benefits of being single and alone. One of the only benefits. “
Don’t let me come in your mouth
is a stupid complaint for you to have, to be honest.” I laugh against his chest.

A chuckle rumbles through him. “It’s been a really long time.”

“How long?”

“Months.”

I snort. “Like you didn’t use a little hand action.”

He scoffs. “Men don’t do that.” He pauses. “But once or twice a day.” I look up and find him grinning down at me.

He’s silent for a moment.

Then he blurts out, “This doesn’t change anything.”

“What doesn’t?”

“You ambushed me by taking my dick in your mouth while I was sleeping, but this doesn’t diminish what we have. I’m still going to marry you. I’m not going to let you get out of it.”

I sit up. “I don’t think I said yes.”

His gaze drops to my boobs, and he licks his lips. “You will.”

I shake my head.

He sits up and cups the side of my face. “You don’t want to be married or you don’t want to be married to me?”

“It’s not—” I stop. I don’t know how to say what I want to say. “It’s not you.”

He tosses the covers back. “Oh, don’t give me the it’s-not-you speech.” He mocks a female voice. “It’s not you, it’s me. I need some time to work on me right now. I need to focus on myself. I need you to get the fuck out of my life.” His voice goes back to normal. “If that’s how you feel, you should just say it.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” I scramble naked across the bed trying to catch up with him, but he’s already at the door. He closes it behind him. I lay my head against it.

The door opens a minute later, and his arm slides in. He’s holding a can of ginger ale and a pack of crackers. “Eat and drink these quickly so you won’t spend the morning puking.”

“Are you still mad at me?” I ask as I take them from his hand.

“Yes.” The door closes. Bile rises up my throat, so I take a quick sip of the ginger ale. This is usually how it goes in the morning as soon as my feet hit the floor. But the drink actually makes me feel better. Go figure.

I sit on the edge of the bed and fall back, eating a cracker and trying to be still for a few minutes.

The door opens again and only his voice comes in. “Glad it worked.” The door shuts with a
click
.

I grin. I can’t help it. He’s taking care of me even though he’s mad at me. And that scares me even more than it would if he ignored me and treated me like every other man in the world. Like I don’t exist.

Paul

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I shouldn’t have let her do that. I had been lying there for an hour watching her sleep. She sleeps with her mouth closed, and she fidgets even when she’s out cold. Maybe that was because I was in bed with her and that’s new for her, but I’m not sure. Or maybe she’s just always unsettled and fretful. That actually sounds more like her.

I closed my eyes when she opened hers and pretended to be asleep. But I could feel her eyes on my chest just like they were her hands touching me. And when she lifted the waistband of my boxers, I didn’t want to stop her fingers from roaming. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Or maybe that makes me a really horny guy. Or maybe it means I’m in fucking love with her and want her hands all over me.

And when she closed her mouth around me, I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t even try. Sure, I told her to pull back, but never, not once, did I really want her to. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I needed her.

But.

But.

But.

Me getting off shouldn’t be high on my priority list because it will mean nothing to her tomorrow that she swallowed for me. It won’t cement her to me. It won’t. I know it won’t.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I shower, get dressed, and quickly, before she even comes out of her room, leave to go to work. Logan is going to meet me there at nine to put the tattoo over my heart. Her tattoo. The broken butterfly. My broken butterfly. I’m going to brand myself with something that is all Friday.

Logan is already there when I arrive, and he has already set up his station. He’s even wearing gloves and has his machine prepped. He motions toward the chair, so I pull my shirt over my head and take a seat. Logan shaves the area really quickly.

“Did you forget how to talk?” I ask him. He has an excuse not to use his hands, but he can use his voice. Unless he doesn’t want to.

“I was thinking,” he says, and he transfers his stencil onto my chest.

“Thinking about what?”

He shakes his head. “Did you want to see it before I start?” He waits with his gun poised over my chest.

I shake my head and get still. If Logan drew it, it’s fucking perfect. I have no doubts about that.

Logan watches what he’s doing closely, so he can’t look at my lips to see what I’m saying. I sit quietly with my eyes closed until he’s done. Sometimes being with Logan makes me feel quiet and peaceful inside. But there’s something on his mind, and I want to know what it is.

He’s finished and lifting his gun away from my skin when Friday walks into the shop. She’s all decked out in her retro gear, and she’s wearing four-inch-high heels with laces that wrap around her naked legs. They stop with fat bows on the backs of her thighs. If I can see her bows, her dress is too fucking short. She’s wearing bright-red lipstick and heavy eyeliner, and she’s so fucking pretty. No. She’s fucking hot. Smoking.

Logan preps my new tattoo for wrapping. “Do you want to see it?” he asks, holding a piece of plastic up.

“No, just cover it,” I tell him.

He puts the wrap on and affixes tape, and I pull my shirt over my head. I am dying to see it, but I want to keep Friday from seeing it for now. I’m sold on her, but she’s not so much on me. I don’t know how she’ll take it.

I go into my office and pull out a piece of paper. On it, I draw little hearts around the edges, because I know she likes them. Then in big block letters I write:

WANTED: WIFE
TERMS NEGOTIABLE

ONLY BEAUTIFUL LITTLE
BOMBSHELLS NEED APPLY
PREFERABLY ONES NAMED FRIDAY

I tack it to the bulletin board and go to my office to wait for her to find it.

A knock sounds on my door, and Logan sticks his head in. “What did you think of it?” he asks.

“Close the door,” I reply.

He closes it behind him and leans against it. I go to the mirror and lift my shirt, and then peel back the plastic. He reads my lips in the mirror. “It’s fucking beautiful,” I say. “You changed it?” I look over at him and he shrugs.

“It needed changing.”

I don’t understand. “Why?” It was her. She’s the butterfly.

“She’s not broken,” he says. “So that didn’t fit her.”

I scoff. “Okay.”

“That’s why she’s pushing you away, you idiot,” he says.

I don’t understand, so I throw up my hands and wait.

“You see her as this broken little thing that needs you to take care of her. She doesn’t need that. She might have been broken at one time, but she’s not fucking broken now. She’s put it all back together. She’s made a life for herself, and you’re trying to change it. It’s kind of like she’s built this fortress around herself, brick by fucking brick, and you might think a fortress is too much, but it’s not. Do you know why?”

I can only sit and stare at him.

“Do you want to know why?” he asks.

I nod. My heart is in my fucking throat.

“Because she fucking lives there, Paul. It’s home for her. It’s safe and it’s secure and it’s hers. And she built it with her own two hands. So for you to swoop in and not only try to move her out of her fortress but also to tear it down, you’re fucking up everything she’s worked for. And that’s why she’s rejecting you. It’s not because she doesn’t love you, because I believe she does. It’s because you need her to change for you, and she’s too smart for that.”

I cough into my fist because words won’t come to me.

“Do you understand, now?” he asks. When he came in, he was all protective and confrontational, but now he’s softening, and he’s looking at me with those blue eyes that look so much like our mother’s.

“I get it,” I say.

He walks toward me and slaps me in the forehead. “You dumb fucker,” he says. But he laughs and pulls me against his chest and pats my back. He sets me back and looks into my eyes. “Now figure out what you need to do.”

Suddenly, my door flies open, and Friday walks in. She slams the fake advertisement I’d made down on my desk, her palm flat as it strikes the wood. I jump. I can’t help it. There’s no one else in the world who can do this to me.

“What the fuck is this?” she bites out.

Logan steps around her and closes the door on his way out.

I sit back and rest my elbows on the arms of my chair. I want to reach for her, but I know that would get me nowhere. Instead, I slide the paper from under her hand and tear it slowly into two pieces. I let it fall into the wastebasket.

She steps back and puts her hand over her heart. “Why did you do that?” she whispers. “I liked it.”

My heart leaps. “It wasn’t the right thing to do,” I tell her.

“Why not?” she asks.

I scrub a hand down my face. “Will you let me move into your fortress with you?” I blurt out.

Her brow furrows, and she looks so damn cute that I want to kiss her, but I know I can’t.

“What?” she breathes out.

I get up and walk to her. “That fortress where you reside? Will you let me live there with you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she asks. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me.

“I don’t want to blow all your walls to bits,” I say. She has a piece of hair stuck to her lips, so I pull it away and tuck it behind her ear. “I just want to live inside them with you. Fuck,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I fucking love your walls. Every single brick. But let me move in. Let me be there with you. Then you can find out if you love me, and you can invite me to stay if you find out that you do. Just let me inside.”

I take a deep breath and watch her.

“Did you hit your fucking head on the way to work?” she asks.

I laugh and rub my forehead. “No, but Logan just slapped some sense into me.”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m in fucking love with you, Friday!” I cry. “I fucking love you, you irritating, obnoxious, sexy-ass woman that I can’t get out of my fucking head.” I hit myself in the head with my fists like I’m knocking. “I’m in love with you.”

I drop down onto my knees in front of her, and she steps back, so I inch forward until I can pull her belly to touch my forehead. “I’m in love with you.” I look up at her. “I’m on my knees, and I’m not going to try to get you to marry me or make you do anything you don’t want to do. Just let me in, and I’ll be happy with it.”

“So, you don’t want to talk me into marrying you?”

I shake my head, staring up at her like a puppy.

“You’re not going to hold it over my head and refuse intimacy until I cave to what you want?”