Love Sex & Other Games: Part 2, Page 2

  Wait.

  Hold up.

  I don’t regret making an ass out of myself and causing future holiday mayhem for the rest of my life. Because of Em.

  Miles is saying something, I have no idea what. I’m too distracted trying to make sense of what this could mean.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry too.”

  “Uh-huh, that’s cool, man,” I murmur. “I got to go. Lock up when you leave.”

  THE KISS

  Emerson

  After slipping on a pair of my favorite pajamas—pink fleece pants with tiny cartoon owls and matching tank top—I wash my face clean of all makeup, grab a spoon and the half-gallon of strawberry ice cream from the freezer sans bowl, and snuggle into bed with my thickest blanket.

  I need total comfort tonight.

  It’s times like this I wish I had a roommate and didn’t have to come home to an empty, quiet apartment. Not that I could live with anyone again. Did that freshman year of college and hated it. I like my privacy. I like being alone—except when I don’t.

  I pull Netflix up on my laptop and begin what I know will be the thirty-minute process of deciding what to watch. Between heaping bites of ice cream and movie surfing, I try really hard to ignore the way I’m feeling.

  Not that I can even identify the emotion. Or emotions. There are too many. I just—no. NO. I am not going to think about it.

  La la la la la la…

  But then I come to a stop on Daredevil and no matter how hard I try, I cannot keep the thoughts at bay. They seep in, oozing into my mind like a slow-rising flood. The drive to Cooper’s house—in the confined space of his car—the sexual tension building between us. My physical attraction to Cooper. He’s sexy and adorable at the same time. And his hands—he has really great hands. Smooth, sun-kissed skin, the slight puff of a vein I’d like to trace, and thick, long fingers. I contemplated a lot about those hands and all the things he hinted he could do for me—to me—with them.

  Then the mental attraction to Cooper. When he speaks, I listen. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a room full of people, on opposite sides of the room, my ears perk to the sound of his voice. I tune into him each time. Everything that comes out of his mouth either makes me think, makes me laugh, or makes me want to punch him. Or, like tonight, makes me want to climb on top of him and test just how far I’m willing to go with someone I’m not in love with.

  Heath never got this much consideration. Heath never even got half this much consideration.

  I take another massive bite of ice cream, cringing at the instant headache. And, of course, I think about Miles. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t happy to see him. I don’t know if it’s more because I really wanted to test the waters with Cooper, and Miles put the brakes on that real quick. Or that I instantly hoped Miles wouldn’t know how I wanted to test the waters with his brother because even though I know—and disapprove of—what he did to Cooper, my stupid heart still thinks he’s a glitter-bomb of greatness personified. And then I felt guilty for all of it.

  I still do.

  Every person should come with an emotional off button.

  I’d pay good money to make that happen. Not that I have good money. Not that any money is bad…

  The pounding on my front door startles me out of my thoughts and nearly right off the bed. Jesus. I grab my phone before leaving my room, you know, to call 911 in case serial killers knock—you never know—though I have a pretty good idea who it is.

  Pounding on my door like he’s the damn police.

  I peer through the peephole and—yep. Just a serial smartass.

  I flip the lock and pull the door open, looking up at Cooper. His hair is messy, like he ran his fingers through it a few too many times. I find it annoyingly endearing. And sexy. How does messy hair make him look cuter? It’s so unfair. Girls cannot get away with that shit.

  “Nice jammies,” he says, eyes moving over me, pausing on my chest. This tank top is tight, plus I’m not wearing a bra since I was going to bed. Leave it to Coop to notice that the second he sees me. I ignore that fluttery warm feeling in my tummy. Or at least I try to ignore it.

  “Eyes up top, Fitzpatrick.”

  He grins, but doesn’t shift his gaze from my chest. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to point?”

  I shut the door.

  He swings it right back open and steps inside, closing and locking the door behind him. I guess he’s staying. “Don’t pretend you aren’t happy to see me. The proof is written all over your shirt.”

  I have to press my lips together hard to keep from smiling. He doesn’t need any extra encouragement. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  He pins me with a stare, his expression suddenly serious. “We were in the middle of something important before you took off.”

  Heat creeps into my cheeks. “You mean you hiding in your bathroom while I sat on the couch by myself? It was okay at first, but got a little boring.” I point to my couch, brows raised. “We can pick up where we left off. Do you want the couch this time? I can take the bathroom.” I immediately pivot on my heel to head in that direction.

  Cooper is on me before I can even take a single step. My phone hits the floor and my heart hammers in my chest as his hands grip my hips. But I’m not scared. Or maybe I am, but not because I think he’ll hurt me.

  He turns me around and guides me backward until my butt hits the wall, but he holds himself nearly a foot away. He’s not touching me in any other way, yet there’s a predatory spark in his gaze holding me paralyzed.

  Every muscle in my body is tensed with expectation. My skin is feverishly hot. The hairs on my arms rise above goose bumps. All this from one look. I may be a virgin, but I recognize lust when I see it. And Cooper is hungry. For me. I shiver and it seems to fuel his desire.

  “I don’t mean that part,” he murmurs, voice thick, husky, and amazingly sensual.

  My lips part. I wet them, trying to find words. His hooded eyes trail the movement as he edges closer. His hands leave my sides. My breath hitches in anticipation, waiting to feel where he puts them next.

  One rests on the wall, palm flat beside my head. The other moves slowly upward toward my face. He extends his index finger and drags it over my lips. “I mean the part where I was getting ready to taste these, and you were going to let me.”

  I can’t breathe. I mean, I’m breathing, my lungs moving in and out, my chest heaving, but I can’t catch up.

  Holy shit. He’s going to kill me with foreplay. This isn’t even foreplay. It’s foreplay to the foreplay. If this is how he preps for a kiss, I can’t even imagine what he does before sex.

  My eyes flutter.

  He’s doing it again, inching nearer and nearer. My fingernails are digging into my palms. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, but he continues to sustain a torturous distance between us. Is he waiting for me to give the okay? Waiting for me to make the next move? I don’t have moves.

  I grasp the side of his shirt, knotting it in my hand. I may even tug a little, silently pleading for him to fill this gaping cavern between us.

  His hand drops to my collarbone, tracing it. It reminds me of the night of the wedding. When I opened myself up to him for the first time.

  Sweat forms at the nape of my neck. I can feel it beading there, threatening to slide down my spine. I’m on fire and Cooper is steadily stoking the flames, his fingertips feather-light as they expertly caress my skin. But somehow—somehow—I manage to find my voice and my inner smartass comes out.

  “I don’t recall that part.” My tone is off. Not the one I reserve for sarcasm at all. It’s low and breathy. Excited. “Was that before or after you freaked out and locked yourself in the bathroom?”

  The corners of his lips lift, his fingers pausing on my neck. “Are you stalling?”

  My mouth drops. Insulted. “Me? You’re the one who pushed me against a wall and hasn’t kiss—”

  Cooper cuts off my retort, his mouth closing over mine. And
then he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him back. Oh, my god, we’re kissing. His fingers, still above my collarbone, slide up until he’s cupping my throat. It’s gentle and firm at the same time, ensuring I’m not going anywhere. And it’s totally hot. I wonder if he can feel the rapid thump of my heart in my pulse point.

  I jerk hard on his fisted shirt, and this time he allows me to pull him against my body. He presses me into the wall and deepens the kiss. His tongue slides against mine softly, slowly, tentatively. He’s not asking for permission, though. It’s the exact opposite. It’s like he’s playing with me. Teasing me. Only allowing a small sample of what could be.

  I release his shirt and push upward onto my tiptoes as I grip handfuls of his hair. It’s so soft. Thick. I pull harder. We battle for control. Him deliberately sticking to the measured, unhurried dance of lips and teeth and tongues. Me demanding to devour and imploring to be consumed.

  In the end, we both win.

  Cooper moans into my mouth, matching my frenzied pace. His cock is hard against my stomach. There’s a part of me that wants to reach between us and take him in my hand, to feel every solid inch of his length. But there’s this other part telling me to slow down. Keep it just a kiss for now.

  Just a kiss.

  It feels like so much more than just a kiss.

  When Cooper pulls back, it’s not like other guys I’ve kissed. He doesn’t look at me, wordlessly asking for reassurance and recognition. Instead, he brushes the hair from my neck and drifts his lips over the shell of my ear.

  “Your mouth is cold and tastes like strawberries,” he rasps. “Are you hiding ice cream from me?”

  I let my head fall into his solid chest and laugh.

  This might have been the best first kiss I’ve ever had—not that there’s been many. But still, the best. And I’m eternally grateful he kept it from getting awkward.

  “Not hiding it,” I say, my voice wobbly. “I was in bed, getting ready to Netflix and Chill.”

  He makes a sound I feel reverberate through his chest. “Dirty Netflix and Chill?”

  I shake my head, still pressed into his chest. “With ice cream?”

  “Oh, I have so much to teach you,” he muses.

  That declaration does funny things to my insides—low in my belly and deep in my core.

  “Can I join you?” he asks, and before I can answer, he’s pulling me by the hand in the direction of my room. “I’ll be a total gentleman.” He shoots me that wolfish grin, animalistic and playful all at once. “This time.”

  “Fine,” I easily concede, “but I don’t want to share my ice cream.” This time, I add mentally. But I am more than curious what Cooper can do with the frozen treat. I stifle a shiver.

  “You’re so greedy,” he replies, flopping heavily onto my bed. He points to my nightstand. “You have a whole container of it.” And then he gasps when he looks at my computer. “You were going to watch Daredevil without me?” He shakes his head, his expression pitiful. “How could you? I feel so betrayed.”

  I nudge him off my side of the bed, forcing him to the middle. “But at least I let you kiss me,” I say.

  He smiles, eyes meeting mine. “Highlight of my night.” He beckons me with a curved finger. “You should come here and let me do it again.”

  THE MORNING

  Cooper

  I wake up in a bed that isn’t mine, in a room that isn’t my own, with a raging hard-on that belongs one hundred percent to me. I know instantly where I am. Emerson’s scent—a light mix of mint shampoo and vanilla perfume—registers as soon as I open my eyes.

  Even though the bed is large, I’m tucked against her back, spooning her, my dick pressed into her ass. No wonder it’s harder than usual. This is going in my top three favorite ways to wake up.

  Last night was pretty fantastic. Getting to spend time with her like we’ve been doing, just hanging out and watching a show together, but with the bonus of sucking her tongue into my mouth and nibbling her lips. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so turned on from kissing. My cock pulses with the memory.

  I’m going to need to set some strict limits with myself. No sex. I groan internally. Because I really, really want yes sex. But no. NO sex. There are plenty of other things we can do though. All of which are almost just as fun. Some of them even more so. But knowing how Em feels about loving the guy she loses her virginity to, I won’t take that from her.

  I’m not writing anything in stone, because I’m a guy and good intentions or not, sometimes we lose the ability to think with our brains when there’s a vagina involved. Especially when that vagina belongs to a woman that has me grateful to make out on top of the covers and spoon her all night with clothes on just because I get to be around her.

  I plan on moving slow. Ridiculously slow if need be. I didn’t even try to steal second base last night. Thought about it. Wanted to. Badly. But my hands remained in places that were nice to touch without crossing any lines we couldn’t come back from, never straying to her naughty bits.

  Okay, I may have let a finger or two graze the sides of her breasts. And I also may have palmed her ass two or three or twelve times. But that’s it. Stop judging me. I deserve a medal for that shit. It was like the more I held back, the more she tried to tempt me. Which is going to be fun later on, but for now, when I’m trying exceedingly hard to be a gentleman—

  What? I am.

  Em stirs beside me, her ass brushing against my already throbbing dick. I grip her hip, holding her still, and pull my pelvis a few inches away. See? Gentleman.

  She wiggles around until she’s facing me. Her hair is a tangle of gold, half in her face, half spread across the pillow, a little even clinging to the stubble on my chin.

  “Mornin,’” I say as I use my finger to sweep the hair out of her eyes. Ah, there she is. Gorgeous.

  She really, really is.

  Her eyes drift over my chest, now bare. I chucked the shirt at some point in the middle of the night. I’ve never liked sleeping with one on. I don’t know how people can stand to be smothered that way, fabric twisted around them, constricting their movement. I did have the foresight to keep my pants on though. Again, gentleman.

  She takes her time checking me out with no attempt to hide how much she appreciates what she sees. Fuck if that doesn’t press all my buttons, turning me on, I mean, more than I already was. It’s really hot when a woman lets a man know she’s attracted to him. As long as he’s into her too. Which I am.

  Right on cue, her gaze lowers, pausing on my pitched tent. My Scout salutes her, jerking against my pants and begging for attention like the greedy bastard he is.

  No. Down, Boy.

  Her cheeks bloom with color and I expect her to kick me out of her bed or make a sarcastic remark to hide her embarrassment, so I’m surprised when I easily read the intense, fiery look in her eyes. Then, struck speechless when she says, “I want to jack you off.”

  Church choruses erupt inside my head.

  I open my mouth three different times trying to find a response to that. But all I can think is what a wonderful idea that is. Like, hands down, it beats out sliced bread. Maybe even the wheel. Definitely that banana-slicer thing.

  Em sits up, crossing her legs under her, and as she reaches for the drawstring on my sweatpants, I finally react. I catch her hands before they can make contact because once they do, I’m done. All self-restraint will be tossed out the window. There will be no way to tell her no. I can’t believe I’m able to do it now.

  “Wait, Ems.”

  “You have to pee? I’ve heard orgasms are more intense when you need to urinate. I learned it from a book and tested the theory—on myself, of course. It’s true.”

  Jesus.

  You know in old cartoons how a little angel and little devil pop up on each shoulder? That is literally happening to me right now. Little halo-wearing-Cooper on the left. Horny—I mean horned-Cooper on the right.

  Me: What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

>   Angel Me: Cooper, say thank you, but no.

  Devil Me: Hahahaha. Yeah, no. Do not say that, stupid.

  Me: What’s the worst that could happen?

  Angel Me: You move too fast and make things weird.

  Devil Me: There is no worst when you’ll have an orgasm.

  You know, the little devil makes a very valid point.

  Emerson reaches for me again and this time I sit up, pulling myself to the other side of the bed. “There is little I want more than you giving me a hand job—and those all involve other parts of your body doing other jobs to my body—but I don’t want to move too fast and fuck this up.” I rub my face, trying to put some conviction into my voice. “I like you. A lot. I like being around you. And as much as I want to do every sexual deed I can conceive with you, I don’t want to lose you either.”

  I lift my gaze to meet hers, worried what I’ll find, but once again she shocks me. She’s grinning, highly amused at the moment.

  “That is super sweet, Cooper. Really. Extremely gentlemanly of you.” See, told you! “And duly noted. Now drop your pants and let me play with your penis.”

  “Christ, woman.”

  “I explained this to you. When a girl wants to see it, she’ll ask. I’m asking.” She crawls across the bed, prowling toward me shamelessly. This is one of the hottest sights I’ve ever witnessed, even with her wearing fuzzy owl pajamas.

  “You’re not really asking,” I point out, my voice choked with desire. I’m losing the fight. Horribly.

  She stops beside me, sitting back on her heels. “Cooper,” she whispers, peering up at me through her lashes. “Can I pretty please rub your cock?”

  I honestly don’t know if she’s screwing with me now or not. At this point, I don’t care, either.

  She sighs. “Okay, then leave so I can play with myself. There was a whole lot of working up last night and no follow through. One of us needs to handle business.”