Promise Not To Fall Page 8

  But those quarterbacks, they’re guys like Jake. So why isn’t he with the perfect woman in that perfect relationship? That’s probably a question for another day. Back to the good stuff.

  My heart is hammering in my chest, beating so erratically it might just burst out of my chest.

  Jake pulls back, unbuckling his belt, and slides his zipper down on his cargo shorts.

  I’m trying to be funny when I say, “I’ll be easy on you. Us city girls tend to get a little wild.”

  Laughing, he takes his shirt off and tosses it carelessly over his shoulder. “Is that so?”

  “Yep.” I dip my hands between my thighs, tracing my clit just to see what he’ll do.

  The look on his face is something I’ve seen before. Hunger. Uncontrollable lust. The muscles in his face tighten, his jaw clenching. He shoves his hand inside his shorts and begins stroking himself, as if he can’t take it any longer while working on kicking away his shorts and boxers.

  Watching his hand work over his cock, but having it concealed inside his shorts, heats my skin to degrees you wouldn’t believe. In the name of all things good and holy, fuck me, that’s intensely hot! I think the greatest porn is ones where the guy is masturbating. I don’t need to watch sex, but if there’s a guy jerking off on camera—a hot guy—you bet your ass I’m gonna watch.

  Pulling back, he removes his shorts, slower than I would like, and then returns, hovering. My eyes dip south to his erection now staring at me.

  Look at that monster!

  With a dirty smirk, Jake pries my legs apart, and then he’s there between them, waiting for me to make the decision. I thought I already had by inviting him back to my room, but apparently, Island Boy wanted me to say it.

  Maybe to work me up a little more, he strokes himself from base to tip and grips the head of his cock. Seeing his hand on himself again is about as much as I can handle. So sexy. Grabbing him by the shoulders, I yank him to me. “Get inside me. Now. Like, right now.”

  Dropping forward on his elbows, he stares in my eyes and tells me he loves me.

  Do you believe me?

  Ha. I’m fucking with you. Instead, his voice lowers to a gruff, deliciously rough whisper as he asks, “You sure?”

  I nod. Maybe a little too eagerly. “Dude, come on already. I know how this works.”

  With a deep chuckle, he draws himself from me, leans over the side of the bed to find his shorts and what I assume is a condom. I watch as he opens the package with his teeth and then proceeds to put it on before settling back between my legs.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I prepare myself. He smells so good, like sun and boy and, God, have I missed it, dick. It’s one of those moments where I literally tingle as he enters me. And sigh.

  Once he’s inside me, my breathing literally stops and brain cells are dying awaiting the oxygen that isn’t returning anytime soon.

  Jake’s body is so heavy, his grip too strong and his hands too rough. But I’m in no position to stop him. I need this.

  My nails dig into his shoulders as he pushes inside me, careful, but still, if I had to guess, it’s been a while for him too by the way his body shakes when he slides in and out.

  You know the kind of girl I am, and you better believe I know what I want and how I want it. That includes sex. There’s certain positions I want, some I hate and others, if you try them, I’ll straight up knock ya out.

  Panting like he’s running a marathon, Jake’s thrusts are coming harder and faster, and he’s giving me a look I don’t understand, or I don’t have the mental ability to understand with the amount of alcohol in my body.

  His hands run over my hips, carefully, but with impatience, his touch sweet, just like his drinks. My eyes are closed, but open when he raises my left leg and reaches between my legs to adjust the angle. His hands slide slowly over me, taking his time to learn my contours.

  All right, he’s taking too much time going slow. I want to come and need it faster. I squirm against him. With my leg hooked around his arm, he has the correct angle, and he pushes inside me again, draws back, and then gives me a little more like he’s teasing me. He is teasing me. Jerk.

  “Move faster.” And then like the slut I’ve turned into, I take his hand from beside me and move it to my neck and close my hand around his, squeezing. “Don’t strangle me, but I like a little pressure here, and move faster.”

  I have control in all aspects of my life, but in the bedroom, I like a man to exercise his ability to boss me around. My problem is I’m very vocal about what I like.

  With my demand, he stops midthrust and stares down at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What?”

  “I want you to choke me a little.” My voice trails off, lower. “And if you speed your slow-ass movements up, I could come.”

  With a low chuckle, he rolls his eyes and says, “You asked for it, City Girl.” And with a growl, one that emerges from deep within, shaking me to my core, he goes to work on strangling me—not too tight—and fucking me like he goddamn means it.

  Jake does everything I want him to. With heavy kisses, ones that leave me shivering and shaking, he whispers, “Is this what you want, dirty girl?”

  And breathlessly, I tell him, “It’s everything I need.”

  Curling his hands around my shoulders, he drives my body into his thrusts, which seems harder each time, my breath expelling on contact.

  “That’s it,” he growls into my neck, sucking and biting the heated skin. “You like to be fucked, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I nod against his shoulder, biting down as the pleasure starts to peak. “God, yes, Jake!”

  He likes his name being screamed. “Say it again. Tell me how much I own this goddamn pussy.”

  “You own it.” I wrap my legs around him, forcing him into me harder and harder.

  Hooking his arms around the backs of my knees, he curls my body into a ball so my knees touch my ears. Completely awkward, but so fucking good. “I did the moment you stepped in the bar.” He draws back, his lips finding mine as he brings me in for a passionate kiss. His kisses, oh God, his kisses. “Come on, City Girl.” He thrusts into me, harder, and then again, slamming me into his movements. “Tell me how bad you fucking want it.”

  “I want it!”

  “That’s not loud enough,” he hisses, demanding more.

  “Fuck me harder, motherfucker!”

  Okay, I could have left off the motherfucker part, but it makes the corners of his lips twitch into a smirk.

  Groaning again, the breathless sounds he makes sends a thrill through me, pushing me further over the edge as his mouth moves over my jaw and to my neck. One hand stays curled around my shoulders, but his right hand moves and angles my hips as he drives into me, harder this time. The angle takes my breath away. “I knew the moment you walked in my bar, you’d be screaming my name.”

  Yeah, he’s pretty sure of himself. He has every right to be. Now I know why.

  “Why’s that?” I whisper in his ear, kissing along his neck, his pounding pulse rapid against my tongue.

  “Because I wanted you to be,” he says, pulling back. Jake looks down at me, his face flushed and determined. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  And then he flips me over, like, hey, you’re pretty, but I wanna see that ass. And I’m totally okay with that because, call me crazy, but I love a good fuck from behind. He pulls out and gets me on my knees. One hand presses into the small of my back, the other on the back of my neck as he pushes my head into the pillow.

  He doesn’t last long like that, and with every move he makes, he leans forward until eventually he slumps forward completely, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, bringing me closer to his chest that way. I like this.

  His left hand moves from my waist to my neck again, never far from where I asked him to be.

  When his fingers squeeze my neck, that’s what sends me over the edge. It’s the force of his movements, the way his other hand sneaks bet
ween us to circle my clit—shit, it’s fucking everything he’s doing. I can feel it rising, and when I finally let go, warmth spreads from my thighs to my toes. Jake knows when I come, clenching and shaking beneath him as my back arches, and his grip on my neck slips.

  When he knows I’ve come, he flips me over again with just a simple movement of his wrist, like I’m some kind of toy for him, and I’m on my back with him between my legs once more. His hand moves from my neck completely and fists the pillow beside my head.

  He throws himself into his own movements, chasing his need. Resting his forehead against mine, he jerks his hips forward, faster, and then his movements halt completely and he collapses into me, giving me all his weight. His hands move from beside my head to my ass, giving me one more long thrust.

  He grunts in assent, groaning long and low into the curve of my neck, his body shuddering around me as his hands grip the cheeks of my ass harder as he comes. I can feel him then, the pulsing inside me as he swells. So hot!

  With my hands wrapped around his back, his breathing ridiculously heavy, I don’t want to let go—hell, I don’t want this night to end. Ever. I want to stay here with him buried inside me come sunrise. I don’t let go of him either. I might not.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, he moves a few more times, riding out the last of his orgasm, and then he really gives me his weight and I realize how goddamn heavy he is. Rolling to the side, he collapses against the bed, his arms flung out and his chest heaving. “Damn, City Girl.”

  I’m gonna go ahead and take that as a compliment. Barely able to draw a breath, I have no words. All I have is shortened gasps, trying everything I can do to keep myself from hyperventilating. I know how cliché it is, but it’s the best sex of my life. I’m not lying. I want to cry with how good that felt, how badly I needed it.

  Rolling to his side, he brings me flush against his chest, his lips lingering at my shoulder. He’s still trying to catch his breath.

  “I know that was incredible, but promise not to fall for me,” I tease, swallowing and then letting out another forced gasp.

  Jake lets out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “I’ll try not to.” He kisses me again, grinning against my lips. When he pulls back, his knuckles brush over my cheek gently, his eyes fluttering closed.

  I’m not sure if he plans on staying here to sleep, but for now, something feels so right about this.

  I watch him sleeping, my thoughts centered around how many city girls he might have done this very same thing with. Am I just another one added to his menu? Does it really matter if I am? Surely this won’t go anywhere.

  I don’t know why, maybe it’s my already broken heart swelling at the thought of feeling something while I’m here, but my thoughts make me anxious. And I can honestly say that anxious isn’t a feeling I’m comfortable with. My heart’s suffered enough in the past month. I’m not sure it can survive more than a tropical fling with my island boy.

  I told him not to fall, jokingly, but what about me?

  1 part Grey Goose® L’Orange

  ½ part Cointreau1 part fresh lemon juice

  1 part simple syrup1 part muddled clementine1

  ½ parts sparkling wine1 mint spring

  Muddle clementine sections with lemon juice. Add remaining ingredients. Shake with ice until chilled. Strain into a Collins glass and garnish with a mint sprig and clementine rind peels.

  With dreams of tropical drinks and the best sex of my life, I wake up to Jake kissing my forehead and then slipping quietly out the door. Like he hadn’t been there at all. Curling into my overly fluffy pillows I plan on stealing, his memory feels burned into my head and skin.

  Once Jake is gone, even hours later as the warm Bahama sun filters through my room, I still feel his touch, his grip on my skin, and taste his kiss. That’s when you know it’s a good night, when you’ve been fucked thoroughly. But as I’m lying here, that’s when I realize how much alcohol I’d consumed. Not only do I have a hangover from hell, I’m thinking I might not ever drink again. Probably a lie, but it’s looking pretty good about now.

  My theory on not drinking lasts about an hour, and then I lie in bed until nearly noon and contemplate what my approach will be tonight. You’d better believe I’m going back there.

  Rylee barges in my room not long after that. “What up, bitch?”

  “Calling me a bitch doesn’t make me want to get out of bed,” I mumble from under the pillow over my head, blocking out the light that hurts my eyes. I rip the pillow from my head. “How’d you get a key?”

  “The maid you pissed off let me in.” She’s now sitting on the bed.

  “What an asshole. She should be fired.” I roll over and cover my head again. “Can we do spa day another day? I’m not sure I can actually move.”

  “What happened to you last night?” She grabs up my ripped dress from the floor.

  Removing the pillow, I sit up and smile, my cheeks heating. “Only the best night ever.”

  “Nice. Do tell.” She stares at me, waiting, knowing I tell her everything.

  “I met a guy last night.”

  Her eyes widen. “Look at you….” She seems pleased. “Who is he?”

  “Bartender,” I reply, feeling the burn on my cheeks. I shouldn’t be embarrassed, and I don’t think the burn is from embarrassment. I think it’s from anticipation that maybe I might have sex with him again. Like tonight.

  “Nice.” Her approval’s evident. “Can he get us free drinks?”

  “Why? You get free drinks here.”

  Rylee shrugs. “Ready for our spa appointment?”

  I don’t really want to go, but I suppose I need it. I’m in pain from Island Boy. And pleasantly so.

  I can’t wipe the smile off my face or take my limp away as I throw on my yoga pants and tank top, not caring what the rest of me looks like. This isn’t normal for me. I’m the girl who spends exactly twenty minutes in the shower every morning. Starting with my hair, I wash everything evenly and then rinse… and then start the process all over again. Some might call that obsessive-compulsive disorder. I call it being precise and complete. I also, though no one knows this, will blow-dry my hair evenly on each side and brush it for three minutes. I’m very weird. I think I qualify for a twelve-step program since I’ve admitted I have a problem… admitting I have a problem is Step 1, so I’m well on my way to some sort of recovery. And I do like completing organized lists… only eleven more steps go to!

  As we enter the elevator, Rylee wants more details on my night, claiming hers was uneventful.

  “He did tequila shots off my vagina area when I asked if I could lay on the bar.”

  Rylee gives me that look. The one that says, yeah, right. “You, Kendall Landon, laid on a bar? Did you wipe it down with sanitizer first?”

  “No. I was amazing last night,” I point out, proud of myself. “It was like I was an entirely different person. And incredibly drunk.”

  Another strange look is thrown my way. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”

  “Don’t judge me. I was on a mission… a mission to try every drink on the menu—and the bartender.”

  Rylee holds up her hands, palms facing me, laughing lightly. “Oh, I’m not judging you by any means. I’m actually really freaking proud of you.” Inside the elevator, she presses her back to the mahogany wood, smiling. “I never thought you’d do something like that.”

  It’s when we’re in the elevator that I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls. And I have to immediately look away. Let’s just say it’s a good thing we’re heading to the spa and not out for lunch. Maybe the spa staff can do something with my appearance.

  My usual golden-brown hair with the precise waves is all over the fucking place and half-assed into a messy bun, much like it had been last night. Only there’s a big chunk I missed while trying to imprison it into the bun of shame, and now it vaguely resembles a half-assed mullet. Classy look right there.

  “Did you see Wesley down
there?” Rylee glances up from the phone in her hand and then back down at it.

  “Where?”

  “At the bar last night.”

  “No....” I stare at her, confused. I guess if I had seen him, I might not have remembered, given the amount of alcohol I drank.

  “Oh.” Her brows draw together, perplexed. “He went looking for you last night, but I fell asleep. I assumed he was with you.”

  “I never saw him.”

  She didn’t appear too worried as she follows me out the elevator to the spa. “He’ll show up eventually.”

  “I thought you were going to have a romantic first night here? Why would he come looking for me?”

  “Ugh, I thought that too.” She hangs her head, watching her flip-flops on the marble floor of the lobby as we cross it. “He was being all moody because I didn’t want to go down to the bar. So we got in a fight, and I just went to bed. Fuck him.”

  They do this a lot. Rylee doesn’t have the energy to fight. She finds it boring. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. She’s completely opposite from her older brother too, who in fact started an argument about everything.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that you guys are fighting when technically you’re on your pre-wedding honeymoon?”

  “I guess so.” The relaxed lines of her face tense. “I don’t know. All I know is I’m about to spend four hours getting pampered. Screw him. And this is on his credit card, so whatever. He can pay for being a dick last night.”

  I’d wondered on the plane what the point of this trip is. Why would anyone want to go on a pre-wedding honeymoon? Testing the waters maybe? Otherwise, what is the point? To me, there needs to be a reason.

  Their answer?

  They just wanted to.

  Another thing about Rylee is that she doesn’t like to think about her own problems. Ever. It ruins her “happiness bubble,” and she never wants to leave it. I guess you can say I never want to leave my bubble of control, so I get it.

  Rylee smiles at me. “Tell me more about this guy from the bar. Was he good?”