Darker Water (20 page)

I’d been imagining this happening since day
one, but had to struggle to remember I wanted it to last. That
meant I shouldn’t lay her down on the kitchen table or put her on
the counter or even the couch. Making sure it was done right meant
we needed a bed. First time, anyway.

Holy shit, I was finally going to get to put
my mouth everywhere I wanted to.

It was easy to know how her body was
doing—I’d been watching her for weeks, noticing every time she
looked happy or satisfied or horny. Plus, she was so fucking
expressive vocally. Her gasps and moans acted like a goddamn GPS.
If I touched her the right way, she made one sound. If I did
something she didn’t like as much, she made another.

I tried to remember to check on her from time
to time just to make sure she was doing okay and that no feelings
were where they shouldn’t be, but I kept getting distracted by
everything else that was going on. And even though I wanted to feel
every inch of her with my hands and tongue, I knew the theory was
right—after weeks of foreplay, shit was about to combust.

She was just as hungry as I was, as if I’d
opened a cage door and was now face to face with a wild animal. It
was an actual possibility that if we ever found my boxers, they’d
be in shreds.

Inside. I had to be inside her. Or I wasn’t
going to make it until tomorrow. Focus. Okay, what did I need?
Besides her, of course. Besides her legs apart which was only
making my focus weaker. Jesus, her skin was so soft. Concentrate.
There was something I—

“Condom,” she gasped.

Right! Right, a condom. Get to the drawer.
Focus on getting to the drawer. Open it. Maybe I wasn’t getting
enough oxygen. But at least I got the condom. We fumbled a little—a
lot—in our need to connect, hurrying to make up for all that wasted
time.

Everything was absolutely amazing. A bit
chaotic but in a good way, in a
things-are-incredible-and-are-only-getting-better way. With me,
to
me, to
her
and then—

“Holy fuck!”

—inside of her.

“Oh my god, Carson. Oh my god.”

I stayed still because her GPS told me very
clearly that she needed a second. I needed a second too. I’d never
looked into the eyes of someone I cared about and seen exactly the
same surprise on her face that I felt.

I kissed her, knowing this was exactly where
we were supposed to be.

Oh shit. “You feel... God, Lane. You
feel…perfect.”

She was
so
worth waiting for.

What I’d always
thought
was sex,
wasn’t. Because
this
sex made me want more before Carson
even started moving. Even calling those other times sex was like
calling a paddleboat a yacht. So this was pretty much the best day
of my entire life, and I wanted to beat my head against the wall
for putting it off for so long.

All the air came out of my lungs the first
time he pressed into me.

“Lane, stop. You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” What did I do wrong?

“If you keep it up I’m going to come. I don’t
want to come yet. And you don’t want me to come yet. So switch from
my name to ‘oh god’ or something.”

I busted out laughing, making him groan when
my muscles tightened around him. “If I forget, are you going to gag
me? Please?”

“Fuck!” He whistled on an inhale. “Don’t say
shit like that.”

“Or tie me up.”

“Stop it,” he growled.

“Or spank me.”

“Well,
that
was going to happen
whether you mentioned it or not.” Then he was laughing too, and
cursing, and blaming me for whatever was going to happen and
whatever he had to do to make sure it did.

When he started moving, both of us stopped
laughing. I couldn’t do anything but feel and press into every
thrust. It was almost eerily quiet, other than the occasional gasp
or groan. Okay, a lot of gasping and groaning, but I couldn’t help
it. Especially when he started thrusting faster, going deeper and
harder.

We watched each other and, while I didn’t
know what he was seeing, I saw everything. In his eyes and his
mouth, the way his expression changed right before it got too
intense and he had to kiss me or change position to break the
tension. But he always went back to looking at me, as if he
couldn’t help himself, as if he were trying to tell me something
that he couldn’t say. I didn’t know what it could possibly be or
even if I was right about something being there. It was just a
feeling, a powerful one, almost as powerful as the pleasure.

His kiss made everything almost too good, too
beautiful and intimate, way more than I could’ve ever dreamt
of.

Then the opportunity to think passed. “I’m
gonna—” Oh god. I was losing it, trying to hold it back because it
was all-consuming, too dangerous. I couldn’t stop it, though. When
the dam broke, what I wanted or didn’t want or thought or didn’t
think made no difference anymore.

He groaned as if he was experiencing it
alongside me. But he couldn’t have because he was still moving,
rocking deeper into me, and he wouldn’t have been able to do that
if he’d felt the same thing I did. My orgasm went on and on,
lengthened by his intensity as he started really driving into
me.

He said my name quietly, reverently. “It
wasn’t supposed to feel like this.” Before I had a chance to
consider what he said or respond, he pressed deep inside me and let
go.

Aside from kissing a lot more, separating, a
quick trip to the bathroom, and getting under the covers, neither
of us had moved in about an hour. Neither of us had gone to sleep,
either. We just stared up at the ceiling, absorbed in our own
thoughts.

Every once in a while I’d glance at him out
of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t think he looked at me once. A
little paranoia set in—even though that was by far the most
incredible sexual experience of my life, there was a chance he
would’ve given it a five out of ten. What had he said about
Hillary? The parts he remembered were good, but it wasn’t overly
special.
Nothing
about me was overly special, but somehow
I’d convinced myself it would be different for us.

Maybe he was staring at the ceiling, trying
to figure out a way to tell me to leave. Oh my god. Of course he
was. He just didn’t want to seem rude. Not that I actually imagined
Carson would have a problem being rude, but what did I know? I
opened my mouth, but he spoke first, still not looking at me.

“I need to know something.” His voice was
flat, without any of its usual humor or sarcasm. “When you were
with a frog you loved, before he became a frog, is that what it
felt like?”

“I was just thinking about that.” And just
thinking how they hadn’t compared, not even a little. “Um…no, it
never felt like that.”

He let out a breath, and his body relaxed a
little. Then he scooted me closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Really good.” That wasn’t even close to an
accurate description, but it was the best I could come up with.
“I’m still tingling.”

“Glad to hear that,” he said on a laugh.
“What about the other stuff—the…
feelings
stuff?”

“Well, I really like you and that was a
fantastic way to start the day, but I’m not going to turn you into
a frog.”

“I already
am
a frog, so that doesn’t
help.”

“No, you’re not.” And I wouldn’t make him
one. “I feel exactly the same way I felt yesterday except a little
more tired and a lot more satisfied.”

“Great answer.” He finally turned his head
towards me and studied me for a moment. I started to get fidgety,
not knowing what to do.

“Should I leave now?”

“Not if you don’t have to.”

“I don’t.” So I curled up under his arm a
little more and pulled the blanket down so I could trace his abs
with my finger. None of the frogs had a body even close to
Carson’s, nor were their sides as ticklish.

“Quit it.” He swiped my hand away and then
flipped onto his side to face me, looking at me seriously. “Can we
do this again? I mean on a different day because I’ve already
decided we’re doing it a few more times today. In fact, I’m going
to take you in a
very
long shower as soon as you answer the
question.”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, we can do
this again.”

And we did. Repeatedly.

I’d spent most of my free time with Carson
before
we started having sex. After? After, we were
practically inseparable. Still friends, still hanging out, but the
minute he decided he wanted to get me alone, he did. Wherever we
were.

It was going so much better than I ever
imagined it would. Even though Carson was amazing in bed and out of
it, somehow knowing there was no possibility of a future negated
all the crap that used to get me in trouble. We had all the good
parts of a relationship and none of the bad.

I was finally able to be with someone without
expectations or resentment, insecurity or subtext. Because those
were all things that didn’t exist in Carson’s world. If he wanted
something, he asked for it...or demanded it…or just took it. And
when
I
wanted something—I couldn’t ask for anything more
than this.

Whenever Carson asked me something, I
answered without hesitation, not worrying how it would make him
feel or if he would judge me. Every once in a while, my mind would
flash back to one of the frogs and I’d instantly feel my shoulders
lift and self-consciousness set in. That didn’t happen with Carson.
It didn’t happen because we both knew there was no forever for us,
nothing to protect or plan.

Knowing what I wanted and being able to say
it made my time with him easy and stress-free. In a million years,
I would never have thought things could be so perfect. I’d always
believed love was what I wanted. I was wrong. I’d wanted to like
myself and be with someone who did, too.

Love wasn’t real, but
this
was. And I
wasn’t going to let myself ruin it.

Why the hell had I waited so long to do this?
Oh right, because I never imagined I could get along with anyone
this well. Someone I liked hanging out with who I could also strip,
screw, and shower with. Without the clingy, needy thing I’d seen my
friends suffer through—whether they knew they were suffering or
not.

It wasn’t as if I’d never slept with the same
woman twice, but I’d never had a regular, couple-nights-in-a-row
kind of thing. Too risky. Hook-ups were spread out, no less than
two weeks apart. No one could get overly comfortable that way.

But this thing with Lane was different. It
just worked. I didn’t question why because it didn’t matter. It
worked, I was getting well-laid, she seemed to be enjoying herself,
and there was no drama.

If I’d thought the sex was amazing when we
started… There’s a lot to be said for spending some time learning
someone’s body and finding out exactly how to make them happy.

And I was.
Very
happy.

After the first time, I’d had a second of
‘this was a huge fucking mistake.’ For a minute—or an hour—I
actually thought
I
was the one who was going to screw things
up by liking her a little too much. But now I know my initial
reaction was due to a really great orgasm with a very impressive
woman and being greedy enough to not want to share her with
anybody. I’m better now. Even though that’s all still true.

As long as Lane was good with the arrangement
and didn’t get girlie, my life was golden. Other than the
occasional tough day at work or anything to do with my family or
lawyers. But knowing I would be spending the night with her mouth
on me made the nine-to-five stressors a lot easier to handle.

From the outside it might have looked like we
were dating—going out, lots of sleep-overs— but I didn’t give a
shit what it looked like. All I cared about was what it
was
.
For both of us. And it was pretty damn close to perfect.

After seeing her website again and asking a
few questions about her business that should’ve been easy to
answer, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I get that whole right
brain/left brain artistic thing, but something had to be done. I
liked her a lot, but I wasn’t going to have her move in with me
because she couldn’t pay her rent.

We went to her place to get her stuff
because, sure, what kind of idiot would keep their business stuff
at their place of business? But I was fine with it because she
really liked elevators—something about fooling around in one making
her feel naughty. And who was I to stop her from that? But today,
we couldn’t fool around because a guy was on the elevator with us,
so I settled for standing behind her and groping her ass.

Unfortunately, even if Hillary hadn’t been
home, Lane still had weird issues about having sex in their
apartment.

“It’ll just take a few minutes to get
everything together,” Lane said before going into her room. Leaving
me with her roommate. Great. I’d hoped crying all over me when she
was upset over her fight with Eric and then crying all over me
after I helped her figure out what was going on meant that we’d
moved past horribly uncomfortable moments like this.

“Carson.” Hillary had great posture—her back
was straight, her shoulders tense, both feet on the floor. When I
sat down on the other end of the couch, I couldn’t help but emulate
it—back, shoulders, both feet on the ground. Then I bumped it up a
notch and kept my knees slightly more than shoulder-width apart
just in case I had to run for it.

I bowed my head. “Hillary, good to see you
again. How’s Eric?”

“Fine.”

“Great.” Awkward silence, complete with an
out-of-the-corner-of-her-eye glare.