The Sure Thing (4 page)

They stayed and ordered Chinese for dinner, and then
Gabe
dropped them at Becca's place where he waved goodbye and made them promise to do the deed before Becca forgot how.  She was too happy to kill him. When they got inside the apartment, Nick twirled her around and hugged her, rocking her gently as he nuzzled the crook of her neck.  Oh my, she could get used to this.

“Nick,” she whispered in his ear. 

“Mmmm...” 

“Kiss me.” 

And he did, expertly, thoroughly, until she thought she'd break out in sobs of pleasure.  He kissed her over and over, varying the tilt of his head, the pressure of his lips,
and the
probing rhythm of his tongue.  She never wanted him to stop.  Her body writhed against him shamelessly.  Nick backed them towards the couch, still kissing her, smiling against her lips when he kicked the leg of the coffee table in his clumsy haste.

He sat with her straddling his lap, and Becca became lost in the feel of him.  His hair was thick and soft at the nape of his neck.  His shoulders were slick and hot through the thin material of his oxford shirt
. S
he could
feel the taut muscles underneath
, working as he slid his hands up and under her shirt, exploring the bare skin of her back.  He pulled her shirt over her head, and she helped, lingering to unhook her bra and let it slide from her shoulders.  With one arm cradling her back, he lifted his hand and lightly brushed her nipple with his palm.  His touch was so soft and fleeting she growled in frustration. 

He
smiled, and their eyes locked for a long moment.  His gaze was tender, and it set off a flicker in
her
stomach that made her gooey and breathless. His hand brushed her nipple again, and then he was standing, his arm now firmly tucked around her waist, lifting her so effortlessly it made her gasp.  God, he was strong.  She clung to his shoulders and buried her face in his neck as he walked with purpose to the bedroom, and when they hit the bed together, she was suddenly desperate for him.  

She reached for his shirt and began unbuttoning in earnest, getting stuck on one button and then giggling frantically when he took over and ripped it open the rest of the way.  He was pretty desperate, too.  Liberated from his shirt, he guided her gently on the pillow and nestled his hips between her legs, grinding against her, rubbing his chest over her breasts while he kissed her with those very talented lips.  The combination of the coarse tickle of his chest hair on her inflamed nipples, and the hot length of him grinding her through two layers of clothing
,
almost undid her, and she began to whimper.

“Nick.”

“Hmph.”  He wouldn't stop kissing her.

“Take off your pants.”

“Do I have to?”  His face contorted in mock horror.

“Yes...Nick, please...” 

He stood on his knees, straddling her hips, and reached for the button of his jeans.  Becca helped, sliding her hands under his waistband and pushing
them
and boxers
down
in one smooth motion.  Oh my.

“C'mere,” she said, urging him on as he duck-stepped up her body, his pants still bunched around his thighs, until his knees nestled under her armpits. 

She
raised her head and took the tip of his penis in her mouth, savoring the smooth skin, tonguing the wetness at the tip.  He tasted like soap, and man, and sex, and when he moaned her name it shot a hot, urgent message to her core, already wet and slick with excitement.  His hand found the back of her head, matching her rhythm, gently urging her on.  She stopped and pulled her tongue along the base of his shaft, opening her lips, gazing up at him. 
He
looked blissed out, his eyes closed against his arousal, his head tipped back revealing the strained muscles of his neck. She sharpened her tongue and flicked the sensitive spot along the underside of his head, and
felt his his cock twitch
, his body shiver.   He eased himself away reluctantly.

“I won't last, Becca.”  He slid back down her belly, rubbing his erection over her damp, hot core, her panties now drenched.  “And you're making me feel selfish.  I want you to feel good
, too
.”  His hand cupped her, hard and high, and the indirect stimulation on her clit made her catch her breath.

“Yes...I feel good.” 

He kissed her stomach as he unbuttoned her shorts, and she lifted her hips without conscious effort, anything to help him, anything to make this sweet torture end.  She had to have him.  His fingers parted her, slipped inside her, and she let out a sob of relief.  His tongue followed his fingers, licking gently, teasing and tugging her until she thought she might melt right into the mattress.  She was close, so close, but she didn't want to come like this, she wanted him inside her, she wanted to see his face
as
she went over the edge. 

“Nick...please, I want you.  I want you inside me.”  He lifted his head, and released a groan that was full of lust and need.  He
dove quickly off the mattress
and groped for a condom in the back pocket.  Becca squirmed impatiently as he
kicked off his jeans and boxers and
sheathed himself, her knees pulled high against her shoulders.

“Becca.”  His voice shook, with emotion or desire, she couldn't tell.  “You're beautiful.  So beautiful.” 
Moving over her, he gripped
himself and rubbed her, up to her clit, then down, slow and teasing.  He pushed in an inch then pulled out.

“Nick...please.”  She tried to wiggle her hips against him, but when he resisted, she reached between his legs and cupped his balls in her hands, squeezing gently, tracing her finger between the soft sacs.  He let out a grunt and his breathing became labored, uneven.  Then her finger wandered back further, exploring gently. 

“Oh God, Becca,” he moaned, and plunged into her. 

He
stayed there, and for a moment the room was silent, except for the sound of their labored breathing.  He filled her, engulfed her.  She
felt his hot breath
against her neck.  It was perfect.  He was perfect.  But when he finally began to move, it was with a slow, torturous
rhythm.  In and out, in painstaking control
, until her head fell back in frustration. 

“Harder.  Jesus, Nick,
harder
,” she moaned, and right when she thought she'd claw the skin off his back in agony, he
picked
up the pace, pumping her
faster.  Then he shifted his hips a few inches up,
sending
his pelvis
grinding
into her clit with each thrust, and she knew she was a goner.  As the waves of her orgasm hit, she wrapped her legs tight and high around his back, and milked his cock with her contractions.  She
felt him lunge
, lose control of his breathing, and let out a choked cry as he came, his cock pulsing, his stomach clenching with uncontrolled aftershocks.

After a moment, he let himself rest gently on top of her.  She clung to him, feeling too happy, too full, too much.  She was feeling too much.  She needed to break this spell now, before she did something humiliating like cry, or tell him she loved him. 
But before she could roll out from under him, he
leaned down and kissed her gently
.

“Becca.”  He looked at her with serious, intense eyes, and she became uneasy.  “I don't want to leave you.” 

Oh, this was bad.  This was so, so bad. 
She
opened her eyes extra wide so that tears wouldn't fill them.  She dragged her fingertip down his chest, and followed it with her gaze.

“But the rotting molars in Hermosa Beach need you.”

“I don't care.  I want you.”

“You hardly know me!”

“Listen
,
the first time you had chocolate, when you were a kid, did you think to yourself
,
‘Oh
, this is nice.  Perhaps I'll get to know the hearty cocoa bean over
the
next few months, and then I might try it again
?
'”

“Maybe.”

“Bullshit.  One taste and your brain
screamed,
  'More!  I want more!  Screw vegetables,
screw whole graints,
gimme more chocolate--now!'”

His
damp
curls framed his face, his cheeks still flushed from sex.  She pushed his hair from his brow and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.  “But you know better than anyone that too much chocolate is bad for you.  Cavities.  Emotional entanglement.  Yuck.”

He looked down at her with such tenderness she could hardly stand it. “You could never be bad for me, Becca.”

CHAPTER SIX

He left, of course.  Come Monday morning, Nick was on a plane back to LA
,
  unbearably low.  Going to work, reassuring patients, hell, just getting out of bed became a supreme struggle.  It was crazy
.  H
e'd spent less than three days with Becca, and her absence now had the power to make him
feel
cold.  Alone.  Without hope.

On Tuesday, he couldn't take it anymore
,
a whole twenty-four hours without contact
,
and he sent her a text
.

I just drilled a woman for almost an hour, and I was thinking of you.
 

Silly, light.  He knew she loved a good drill joke.
  Half
an hour later, he got back: 

Who is this?  Dad?

He
spent the rest of the day with a dopey grin on his face, so dopey that his hygienist Debbie started giving him weird looks.  When he got home he wanted to call her, but he couldn't.  Before he'd left, they'd agreed not to se
e or call each other
until Katie and
Jordan's wedding in three weeks
.  It would give them time to evaluate their feelings.  It was also supposed to keep them
from missing
each other too much, but it seemed like a colossal failure from Nick's perspective. Technically, though, they
had not
mentioned texting.  It took two episodes of Mad Men and three beers before he broke down and sent a message.

Are you awake?
 

His phone was silent for several minutes.  Just when he convinced himself
she had
already gone to bed, he saw the screen light up.

Yes.  Didn't we say no contact, Nicholas? 

So I'm Nicholas now?  Am I in trouble?

Yes.  What's your middle name?

Andrew.

Well, Nicholas Andrew Brady, you are a terrible rule-follower.

I'm weak.  I miss you.  May I call you?

There was a long pause.  Nick sucked on his bottom lip.

Yes, but just for a minute.  I'm serious, Nick, we need to stick to our guns here.

Four hours later, he was sprawled on the couch in his boxers, an empty bag of pretzels on his c
hest.  He'd switched to speaker
phone after the second hour, and he was pretty sure Becca had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, but he didn't hang up.  He couldn't.  Every once in a while he heard her shift her head against her pillow, or sigh in her sleep.  He imagined her in the ivory-colored panties and bra she's worn the night before he left.  He imagined it very, very vividly, until he
began to grow
hard.  He tossed the pretzel bag on the coffee table, shifted his boxers, and released his erection, stroking himself as a sexy, languid vision of Becca removing her panties played tricks with his brain.  He heard her sniffle a bit in her sleep.  He was embarrassingly close to climax
,
like he was back in high school, ready to shoot off in thirty seconds. 

“Nick?”  Her voice was low, and rough with sleep. 

Oh God, he was going to come.  He reached blindly for a napkin on the table right before his orgasm hit, hard
.
H
e caught wave after wave of semen, then slumped back on the couch as he released the last few drops.  He cleared his throat and coughed a bit, to hide his ragged breathing.

“Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.  I just...had my hands full with something.”  God, he was such a pervert.

“One of us should be an adult and hang up, so we can get some sleep.”

“Hmm,” he replied.  He was still winded from his orgasm.  He was so tired.  And maybe it was his exhaustion that made him blurt, “Becca, I want to come see you this weekend.” 

“Nick...”

“I know it's against the rules, but the rules aren't working.  Or they're meant to be broken.  I don't know, I can't think, I've been awake for almost twenty-four hours.  I just know I want to see you.”