Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (8 page)

BOOK: Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance
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It’s good with her. I feel it, and I know she does, too. There’s something to be said for doing this with someone I’ve known forever and feel safe with. I can let go with her and be myself. I don’t have to hide the agony I carry with me every second of every day. She knows. She was there. I don’t have to explain anything to her, and that’s a huge relief.

My brain, which runs on full speed every minute that I’m awake, gives me a break when I’m with her. I have something else to think about besides regrets and remorse and relentless grief. Staying so busy I don’t have time to breathe is a coping mechanism that’s worked well for me over the years.

But fucking Honey works better.

She looks up at me with those bottomless eyes, and I lose myself in her.

The guys I work with say I’m a machine because of how much I get done in an average day. I don’t ask them to do anything I’m not willing to do, too. I push myself harder than anyone, and the result is a very successful business that gets bigger every year. For all I care about success.

The women I spend time with call me a machine in bed because of my stamina and because I’m “emotionally remote,” as one of them said. If that makes me a machine, I can live with that more easily than I could live with an emotional involvement.

Staying removed has worked for me, and even with Honey Carmichael’s silky-soft skin wrapped around me, I’m not about to change my mind about that. But I do love the way she looks at me when I’m inside her—part awe, part confusion, part affection.

I cling to the affection. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed it until Honey showed me what I’ve been missing by powering through life, one meaningless encounter at a time. The affection is what brought me to her tonight for one more dose of her special brand of sweetness.

She’s so tight and wet and hot that I’m on the verge of release way too soon, so I withdraw from her, enjoying her little squeak of protest. I bend my head to take her left nipple into my mouth while pinching the right one between my fingers. Kissing my way down the front of her, I lift her legs to my shoulders and open her to my tongue.

“Sweetest honey I’ve ever tasted.”

Her thighs tighten around my head, and I lose myself in her. The only thing I care about is making her come harder than she ever has before. I want to leave my mark on her. I want her to remember this after it’s over. Why I want that is something I can think about later, when I’m back to being alone again. Right now, I have far better things to concern myself with than returning to my empty, hyper-regimented life.

I draw her clit into my mouth and suck hard, running my tongue back and forth over the tight little nub while pushing my fingers into her at the same time. The combination has the desired effect, and she erupts with a cry of pleasure that travels right to my hard cock. He wants in on this right fucking now.

She’s still coming when I push into her, triggering a second orgasm on top of the first one. Her fingers dig into my ass when she pulls me deeper into her. As I pound into her, she raises her hips to meet my every stroke. We move together like longtime lovers, a thought that causes me to lose my rhythm for a second.

Of course she notices. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m good. You?”

“Mmm. Yes, I’m good.”

I smile down at her. “Sweetest Bit-O-Honey I ever had.”

She returns my smile and buries her fingers in my hair, drawing me into a kiss that’s so sweet and tender, I begin to ache on the inside for what can never be. If only I were different. If only I were capable… But I’m not, and wishing for things that can never be is a surefire path to madness.

I know myself, and I have no doubt I’m better off maintaining the status quo than deviating from the course that has kept me sane all these years. But I’ll confess that I’m tempted to want more for the first time since Jordan died—and that scares the living hell out of me.

“Fuck, Honey…” I start to withdraw from her. “I forgot a condom.”

She stops me. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”

“I am, too. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” I pick up the pace, driving myself relentlessly and taking her with me. “God, this feels so good.”

She comes again, and the tight clamp of her pussy on my cock finishes me off. I come hard and land on her afterward when my arms won’t hold me up any longer. I worry that I’m crushing her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her fingers comb through my hair in a sweet, calming caress that has me relaxing into her embrace.

My eyes are heavy from the night without sleep. I should get up and go home. Spending the night isn’t part of my program, but I decide a few more minutes won’t hurt anything.

Chapter Seven

T
he next thing I know
, it’s morning. Sunshine is streaming through the blinds in Honey’s bedroom, and the smell of coffee and bacon makes my stomach growl.
Fuck
. I spent the night. I check my watch and see that it’s after ten o’clock. I can’t recall the last time I slept that late.

Wait… Yes, I can. A poignant memory resurfaces so suddenly it takes my breath away. My mom waking me up at noon to tell me that Jordan was trying to call me to come get her to swim in our pool. Her car was in the shop, and I’d been driving her around all week. Groaning at being awakened, I dragged myself out of bed to go get her and brought her to my house to swim.

All these years later, I can still remember the white bikini she wore and how it offset her dark tan. Jordan’s mother was Mexican and had passed down her dark hair and skin to her gorgeous daughter.

My mom made us lunch and then left for a hair appointment. The second her car pulled out of the driveway, we ran for my room, where we spent the next two hours making love before I took her home to babysit her younger brothers. We were hit by an eighteen-wheeler four blocks from my house and six blocks from hers. I never saw it coming.

The memory sears me, making me ache all over and reminding me why I don’t do sleepovers, why I don’t get involved, why I don’t do commitment or anything other than power through each day to lose myself to the blessed oblivion that only sleep usually provides, until the nightmares intrude to plunge me back into the darkness.

Running from the past and the pain and the grief is exhausting, but I’ve yet to figure out a better coping mechanism. Staring up at Honey’s ceiling, I run my fingers through my hair, wishing there was a way to scrub certain memories from my brain. It’s ironic that I have no memory of the accident or the immediate aftermath, but I vividly remember every minute I spent with Jordan. I remember the sweet joy of first love and the horrific, excruciating agony of being told she was gone.

I shudder at the memory of my parents standing by my hospital bed, both of them in tears as they broke the news to me.

And why the fuck am I thinking about this shit now?
Angry with myself, I get up and help myself to Honey’s shower. I get dressed with the intention of leaving as fast as I can without being rude.

In the kitchen, Honey is wearing a T-shirt that just covers her bare ass. Her hair is up in a bun, and she’s singing a country song I don’t recognize in the pure sweet voice that takes me back to her years as a singer in a local band. Standing watch over a pan on the stove, she’s so damned cute and sexy at the same time. A strange feeling twists inside me, filling me with yearning. For what, I couldn’t say, but whatever it is involves her.

“Hungry?” she asks when she spies me watching her.

“I could eat.” Wait, where did that come from? I was going to leave. “It smells good.”

She gestures to the barstools at the counter. “Have a seat.”

I’ll leave after breakfast. She went to all this trouble. It’d be lame of me not to eat the food she cooked, and I am hungry. The eggs are light and fluffy, the bacon perfectly cooked and the toast already buttered for me. She slides a mug of coffee fixed just the way I like it—cream and two sugars—across the counter before she joins me on the next stool.

She’s given me twice as much as she served herself. The metaphor isn’t lost on me. She came to me the other night wanting to be with a man who knew how to please a woman. But could she possibly know what her sweet affection has done for me?

Suddenly, I don’t want this to be over, but how do I tell her that? I want more—of her, of the affection, of the amazing sex and the tenderness. Panic wells in my chest, and I’m breathless with longing. Blood pumps furiously through my reawakened heart like it’s a deadened limb coming back to life. I
feel
something for Honey, something I haven’t felt for anyone since Jordan died.

But how do I change the rules that I set? I puzzle over this quandary while I enjoy a second cup of coffee. “I have to drive out to a job site this afternoon.” The words pour forth before I take the time to consider the potential consequences. “You feel like taking a ride?”

She looks over at me, clearly surprised by my offer. “Sure.” To her credit, she doesn’t remind me that I told her, just last night, that whatever this is between us would be over today.

I’m enormously relieved by her one-word answer—and to know there will be more time with her. How much? I can’t say, but right now, I’ll settle for more.

He was quiet at breakfast, so his invitation takes me by surprise. I assumed he was trying to figure out a way to bow out gracefully. Instead, he was apparently thinking about asking me to go somewhere with him.

Interesting. It takes some effort on my part not to show him he’s shocked me. I sense I need to tread lightly with him or scare him off. After spending the last two nights with him, I don’t want to scare him off. That’s the opposite of what I want, but I know how he rolls, so I’m trying not to overthink his simple invitation, even though I know there’s nothing “simple” about it.

“Let me just grab a quick shower,” I say after I finish loading the dishwasher.

Blake comes up behind me, wraps his arms around me and kisses the curve of my neck. That’s all it takes to make me wish he’d invited me back to bed rather than to his job site. “Thank you for breakfast. It was really good.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.”

His hands move from my hips under my T-shirt to my ribs and up to cup my breasts.

My nipples immediately tighten, and the ache begins anew in my pussy. I should be too sore after what we did last night to want more, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing my ass back against his hard cock.

He gasps and pinches my nipples.

“Are you in a huge rush to get to your job site?”

“I’ve got all day, darlin’.”

“Could we, I mean, if you want to, that is—” I let out an inelegant squeak when he lifts me right off my feet and walks us into my bedroom, putting me face down on my bed. “Blake—”

“Like this,” he says gruffly as he unzips his fly. He tests my readiness by running the tip of his cock through the dampness between my legs. “God, you’re always so wet for me, Honeydew.”

I raise my hips, hoping to encourage him to get on with it. He doesn’t need much encouragement.

“How do you want it? Hard and fast or slow and sweet?”

No man has ever asked me that before, and I’m struck by the realization that I’m slowly becoming addicted to the way
this
man makes love or fucks or whatever it is we’re doing here.

“Honey?”

“Hard and fast.”

“Are you sore?”

“A little.”

“Then let’s start out slow and easy.”

True to his word, he enters me from behind in slow but steady thrusts, giving my body time to stretch to accommodate him. He’s so big and so hard that the burn is inevitable, but it quickly gives way to pleasure. Grasping my hips, he pumps into me as my nipples rub against the quilt on my bed. I fist a handful of the quilt because I need to hold on to something when he picks up the pace.

I cry out in surprise when an orgasm hits me while he’s deep inside me.

“Ah fuck,” he groans, surging into me as he comes. “You make me lose all control when that tight pussy clamps down on me.”

“You make me lose control with that huge cock of yours.”

He grunts out a laugh. “Glad you like it.”

“I’m quickly becoming addicted to it.” I no sooner say that than I wish I could take it back. He doesn’t want me addicted to any part of him.

“I can live with that,” he whispers, biting down on my earlobe before withdrawing from me. He gives me a playful swat on the butt. “You got me all dirty again, so let’s hit the shower and head out before I forget I’ve got stuff to do and drag you back to bed.”

Am I allowed to say that I wouldn’t object to being dragged back to bed by him? Maybe I’ll save that for another time, if there is one.

He joins me in the shower and seems to take great pleasure in thoroughly washing every inch of me with lemongrass soap.

“I love the smell of that soap,” he says.

“I get it from Marfa Brands in town.”

“Good stuff.”

“I’ll get you some.”

I’m once again fully aroused as if I didn’t just have a huge orgasm ten minutes ago. How does he do that? I hook my arms around his neck and draw him into a kiss that quickly escalates. I’m never insatiable like this with men. Usually, I’m a one-and-done kind of gal, but Blake is showing me a side to myself I didn’t know existed. And when he lifts me off my feet and once again impales me on that huge cock, I realize he’s ruining me for all other men one crazy fuck at a time.

And this is absolutely crazy! We just did it, and now we’re doing it again. I’m powerless to resist him as he controls my slow slide down his rigid shaft.

“Blake.” I’m breathless with desire and full to the brim with his hard, throbbing flesh.

A shudder travels through his entire body. “Hold on tight. This is gonna be really, really fast.”

He’s completely unhinged as he presses me against the tile wall in the shower and goes at me like he hasn’t gotten laid in a year. All I can do is hold on tight and enjoy the ride. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks, which he holds open to better the angle.

“Honey… God, Honey… So good.” His face tightens from the strain, and when his thumb finds my clit, I explode.

He comes with a roar that drowns out the sound of the shower. And then he’s kissing me again, like a madman or maybe like a man who is finally feeling something other than grief for the first time in years.

“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’ve never had sex without condoms with anyone else.”

“You like it?”

“If I liked it any more, I’d be dead.”

I might be giving myself too much credit, but he seems different after the time we’ve spent together, lighter maybe, and I begin to hope—

No. Just no. Remember what Lauren told you. You’re not going to find your home with him
. That may still be true, but whatever this is with him, it feels pretty damned good for right now.

* * *

I
t’s
after noon by the time we finally wear ourselves out and remember that we were going to drive out to one of his job sites. My brain is completely scrambled from orgasms. I wanted to know what the big deal was, and now I know. I get why sex makes people do crazy things like while away an entire Sunday morning in bed, in the shower and back in bed.

My body is still humming from the workout as I sit in the passenger seat of Blake’s truck, singing along to “Free Bird” on the classic-rock station he has on the radio.

“God, this song,” I say. “Takes me right back to high school and the band.”

“You guys were good.”

“Those were some fun times.”

“You ever talk about getting back together?”

“Once in a while there’ll be a group text, usually around the holidays when everyone is home, but we never seem to make it happen.”

“I thought you’d do something with your singing.”

“So did I.”

BOOK: Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance
6.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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