Lengths (22 page)

Suddenly, I don’t give a fuck where we are or what memories there are in this room for me. My mouth drags over her face, down her jaw and neck. I kiss her shoulders, and the round swell of her boobs, jiggling in the lacy cups of her tiny bra. I pop them out and suck on her nipples, run my hands over their full weight, rub my face over her smooth skin. She walks back until she’s leaned against the door, her fingers working on me hard and fast. I move a hand under the sweet swell of her ass and hike her up so she can wrap her legs around my waist, her back braced on the door.

My free hand is wild, moving fast over soft skin, eager to touch her everywhere and trying to slow down and savor what I’ve been missing like a madman for weeks. I lock my mouth over hers and move my fingers up her thigh, pushing the scrap of fabric that makes up her thong to the side so my fingers have free access. She’s soaked already and pressing herself hard against my hand.

I slip a finger into her and she tilts her head towards me, bites my earlobe and tugs at my hair, moaning deep, hungry moans. I work my fingers harder and faster, sliding against her with less skill than I’d like. I want to focus on her, but it’s all a crush of sweet, hot,wet need, and my brain is blurry as hell. My belt comes undone under her quick fingers, and she flicks open the button and slides down the zipper, her hand working under the waistband of my boxers so she can grab my dick and cup it softly, then work with quick, frenzied strokes that are making me see little bursts of silver at the edges of my eyes.

Her body bucks hard, going stiff and pulsing against my hand. “Now. Now, please, now,” she pleads, her fingers pulling against me more quickly. I wrap my arm around her and move the few inches over to my mom’s nightstand. I realize that my soul is about to flambe in so many levels of hell. Who the fuck steals a condom so he can fuck his girlfriend in his mom’s room on her wedding day?

I do. Damn straight.

I move her back against the door, just in case anyone feels like bursting in on us, and rip the wrapper open. Whit grabs the condom and fits it on me in one slightly awkward, eager roll, and I lift her hips higher, then settle her on my dick in one quick, long thrust. She bites her lip and rolls her head back on the door, arching her back, and pressing harder against me, her tits bouncing a few inches away from my mouth.

“More,” she gasps.

I pump in and out of her, slowly, trying to draw this out, because she’s twice as hot and tight and wet as I remember, and I’ve needed this for so long, needed her for so long. My mouth dips low and catches first one nipple, then the other, enjoying her moans and the way she yanks my hair. She jerks my head back with a rough pull and looks at me, her lips parted and shiny, her eyes wide and nearly black with total need. She drops her hands down, cupping my face and her eyes close and her mouth makes a small ‘o’ as she strains harder against me.

“Faster, Deo. I want you now. I want you…more…fast.” She tears through the buttons on my shirt, my tie loose but still on, her fingernails raking down my chest and ribs as her body rocks against mine, with quicker, slicker pulses and total, focused concentration.

I hold her under her ass with one hand and use my other to pull her face closer. She kisses me, but absentmindedly, and I realize she’s completely locked in her own world, pressing against me to get to the place she needs to be.

At this point I’m ready to be her whatever, do whatever she needs to get to her release. I rub my hand slowly over her face, down her neck as she tilts her head back. My fingers drag along her collar bone, pinch softly at the soft, sensitive peaks of her nipples, before letting them rub against the rough pad of my palm. Her breath hitches and she presses so hard against the door, her hair is flattened and pushed up wildly. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, fisting around them and then digging into the skin through the thin fabric of my shirt.

She grinds against me, and I press into her, holding steady as her mouth comes open, her breath pants in quick gasps, and she finally yanks at my hair, crushes her forehead to my neck and muffles a scream into my collar. The relief I feel at the hot, wet downpour of her orgasm is knee-weakening. I come hard, and hold her sweaty, limp body against mine for a few minutes.

When she looks up, her eyes are glazed and her smile is lazy. “Thank you so much. I needed that so badly.” She rubs her nose on my shirt and takes a long, deep breath. “And I feel like a complete whore. We need to go mingle, Deo. This is your mother’s wedding.”

She unwinds her legs from my waist and stands on the floor, unsteady in the heels she never kicked off. I collapse my weight against the door and take off the condom, straighten myself up and button myself back together. I’m happy. This is good. Right?

But there’s something a little too fierce, a little too wild about the light in Whit’s eyes as she asks to borrow my mother’s brush and slips on the dress I grabbed for her. She’s kind of chattery, kind of happy, kind of unmoored, and I feel a prickle of fear, because this feels like I just got spit out of a tornado and sucked into the the early surge of a wicked tsunami.

Her eyes shine like she’s delusional with fever. “Let’s dance, Deo! Let’s drink! Let’s be wild!”

I take her hand and follow her out the door, wondering why, just when I feel like I got everything I ever asked for, I can’t shake the press of dread that looms over me.

-Eighteen-

Whit

Deo shields my eyes from the sun streaming in through the curtainless window. Because that’s just Deo. Thoughtful. Gorgeous. Protective.  All the things I’ve ever wanted someone to be, but wouldn’t let them.

I blink the sleep from my eyes and roll over to face him.

“Morning,” I grumble.  Deo runs his hand through his thick hair and his smile is wide and sexy.  “What?” 

He puts the tip of his index finger between my eyebrows and slides it down to the tip of my nose, then brushes his thumb over my lips, his eyes lazy and a deep, gorgeous gold. I’ve only ever noticed them this particular shade in the early morning, after a long night of sex. Can sex change the color of your eyes? Or is it something way simpler? Did the sex change me and what I notice about Deo?

“Nothing, I just love it when you actually sleep. Even though you’re still a scary beast in the morning.”
              “Deo, we haven’t exactly done a whole lot of sleeping.” I bite his thumb when it slides too close to my teeth. It’s true. We haven’t left my bed in three days, but there have been other extra-curricular activities to keep  us busy. Very busy. Very deliciously busy.
              I stare up at the popcorn ceiling while Deo traces an invisible line up my arm. I know what he’s doing. Next, he’ll move on to my collarbone, then my neck, and then—
              I roll off of the bed to stop it before it can start, but Deo hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me back to his warm, bare chest. He presses his mouth to the back of my neck and the room starts to go fuzzy.
              “Where do you think you’re going?” he growls. Deo’s hand grazes up my thigh.
              “Come on, let me up. Rocko and Marigold came back from their honeymoon last night; you know I’ve got to go to the shop before him to set up. I don’t want him stressing on his first day back.” The words are supposed to sound tough and confident, but they come out on a little gasp when his fingers creep higher than my upper thigh. I want to be able to sashay away from Deo, but he knows me too well, and he’s doing every single thing he can to ensure I get back in bed with him, wrapped tight in his arms, my brain nothing but a blob of over-sexed jelly.
              His fingers are doing things that actually make me weak in the knees with excited craziness, but his words are kicked-back and calm.

“First of all, doll, they honeymooned at an ashram, so I doubt anything could stress him out. He’s probably still got a contact high. Second, he’d understand if I told him you were late because we had to thread the needle.” I clamp my fingers over his wrist, push his hand away, and bite my bottom lip hard. I need to focus, or I’ll fall into his amazing net of sexiness and exchange my job, my degree, my life for endless hours of mind-blowing sex with this irresistible slacker.
              Which I realize, with a stab of humiliating horror, does not bother my independent soul the way it should. Am I becoming some love-sick romantic? This is worse than I thought.
              I mull over his last words and blink, before his euphemism clicks. “Seriously, can’t you just say ‘fuck’?” I let the rough word crash over the dewy romance of this morning and enjoy the little frown Deo exhibits when he’s confronted with unsettling lack of subtlety before I flip over and kiss him quickly on the lips. He tries to lunge at me, and manages to pull me back down, but I roll out of his embrace and hop off the bed.
              “Are you going surfing this morning?” I take in his long, lean body and have to wrestle down the crazy-strong urge to jump right back into bed with him. He’s stretched out in the bed’s dead center, sheets wrapped around some of him, while other parts are gorgeously displayed. He has his arms behind his head and is grinning like he’s got a secret. 

“Nope.” His smile lures me in and makes me ask my next question, eyes narrowed. I’m not huge on surprises, and Deo’s are always the kind that shock me in every way. After the furniture store date and subsequent sex-cation, I don’t know if I’m ready for any more shenanigans from him.
              It occurs to me that I should try to keep him close, so I make sure my voice stays nonchalant when I ask him. “Okay, so what are you up to? Want to come to the shop with me?”
              Usually Deo jumps at a chance to spend the day bumming around Rocko’s with me, but he shakes his head, his smile so huge, a tiny twinge of panic surges through me. What is this all about? “I can’t, I’ve got a few things to take care of.”
              I pull my eyebrows together. “Oh really? Like what
things
?” I try to  make my voice sound light, and casual, but I can’t disguise the tone that screams
what the hell?
Deo tends to get crazy ideas and just...run wild with them. Sometimes a little too wild.
              Deo laughs, and I realize that he knows exactly how nervous he’s making me and is enjoying it thoroughly. “Like…things.” He stretches his arms back and every bulging muscle silently invites me to press my body against his. I decline the invitations through gritted teeth. This boy and his addictive sex will be the death of my productivity. It’s so damn tempting to just bury my workload and fall into him. Just for one more day.
              And those thoughts are exactly why I need this distance, this safe space away from his irresistible allure. Deo is too wild, too unpredictable, too crazy when I’m trying to take things slow and plot my life out.

Still, I wonder what the hell he’s up to.  

I hate this. I hate that I don’t have a leg to stand on in this case, when all I want to do is scream at him about keeping shit from me. But I can’t. Still, I thought we’d sort of made a silent pact that things would be different the other night when he came home with me and then took up semi-permanent residence in my bed.
              I inhale deeply and push the air back out in one loud, long whoosh. Deo raises a dark eyebrow and glances at me out of the corner of his eye, smiling in this adorably indulgent way that makes me furious and light-headed at the same time. He notices my dramatics, but he doesn’t comment.               Instead, he climbs out of bed and puts his pants on, the zip of his zipper indicating that the conversation is over.
              I wish that I was above using my womanly charms to get information, but in this case, I’m not. I cross the room and wrap my arms around him from behind. I let my fingernails rake across his chest and bump gently over the ripples of his abs. I watch as his breathing picks up and, when he looks at me over his shoulder, he lets his eyes half-close in that sexy way that lets me know just how much I’m turning him on.
              “Whit,” he says, turning around to face me and putting a few inches of space between us, I know so he can clear his head. Fail. “You are damn sexy, but I’m not telling you where I’m going.” 

I push my bottom lip out into my best pout, my last ditch effort to sexually extort this information.
              “I’ll tell you later. Tonight even. You’ll love it. Promise. Don’t be a big, nervous grizzly about this.” Deo kisses my pouty bottom lip and chuckles as he snatches his shirt off of the floor.
              “I get first shower!” I yell, dashing into the bathroom before he can duck in.
              I’m dabbing on my dark red lipstick after the quick shower that washed off the last of the Deo’s smell from my skin. I ignored the little part of me that sighed sadly when the smell of my body wash replaced the scent of him. Something small and bright and heart-stoppingly distinct catches my eye in the reflection of the hallway mirror.

I turn around to make sure it isn’t a mirage.

Sure enough, next to Deo’s Vans are the dress pants that he kicked off hastily, when we barely made it in the front door after the wedding, but before we fell into my bed for an extended stay. And next to the pants is a tiny red box that must have fallen out of his pocket. I cross the room and pick it up and run my thumb over the soft velvet. My heart is thumping so ferociously in my chest, it wouldn’t surprise me if Deo could hear the steady pounding over the sound the shower and his passionately off-key rendition of Otis Redding’s “Try a Little Tenderness.”

The room feels like it’s tilted off its axis, and I grip the wall to keep from sliding to the side. I don’t want to open it. I know what’s in it.

The croak of the old hinges reverberates through the entire apartment, and my fingers shake slightly, making the box flutter in my hand.
It’s bad. It’s really bad.

Inside is a gorgeous, vintage-looking sapphire ring. It’s something that, if this were a time far in the future and things were completely settled and I were ready to get married, I would drool over and lust after and drop major hints about. It’s something so beautiful and perfect, it’s as if it were hand-picked for me by someone who knows me inside and out. It’s  unique and breath-taking and so, so...wrong.