Page 41 of Run for the Money

I glare at him, because we already established I don’t care what kind of idea it is, as long as we’re following through. Because my brain is still shimmery mush, what I say is, “But you said I could choose cock.”

“I know, baby. That’s on me—I shouldn’t have offered,” he says, his voice pained. “When I packed, I was working very hard to be the kind of man with no intention of touching you. I don’t have a condom. I might have managed alright earlier, but I’m too far gone now to pull out.”

I twist my head to bite his thumb. He’s turned me feral. The way his breath catches tells me I’m not the only one. I don’t care if he pulls out or not. I don’t even care that it’s not an effective method of birth control. Ineedhim. Then my last remaining brain cell fights its way to the surface of my consciousness and provides me with a solution.

I release Nick’s thumb to say, “I’m on the Pill. Recently tested. Good to go. So, if you are too…”

He nods, stroking my lip with his recently-bitten thumb, an almost-reverent expression on his face. “I am. And fuck, do I want this, but I won’t last long. At all.”

“Don’t care. Just…please?”

The corner of his mouth twitches and I have to admit I love the tiny motion as much as his real smiles. I suppose the way I want him isn’t so simple after all. But that’s something to worry about later, or maybe never. My primary concern right now is having his body as close to mine as physically possible.

Nick kicks his jeans the rest of the way off and peels down his boxers, finally as naked as I am. He gives his thick shaft a slow tug that has me biting my lip. My fantasies were woefully inadequate. I drink him in, from the broad chest I’ve flung myself against so many times to the tree-trunk thighs I’m getting my first glimpse of, to his impressive—and impressively hard—cock jutting out in front of him. Naked Nick is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

I scoot back and he follows me, climbing onto the bed between my thighs. His cock drags along my leg as he leans forward to capture my mouth in messy kiss. I cling to his shoulders, expecting that any moment now he’ll surge forward into me.

But Nick takes me by surprise, moving molasses-slow. He reaches down to guide his cock into me, running the smooth head over my still-sensitive clit before entering me with a long, measured press. I’m tantalizingly full and light-headed with desire, but he holds perfectly still.

Sweat beads on his forehead and his shoulder muscles bunch under my fingers. Where he is all control, I am undone. I can’t take any more waiting. My hips won’t hold still, my breathing is too loud, and I swear to God if he doesn’t start fucking me, I’m going to turn to ash on this bedspread because the stretch of having him inside me is enough to light my body up.

“Baby, stop squirming or I’m gonna bust,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re too fuckin’ wet to be moving around like that when I’m this close.”

“I can’t. I need you,” I whine, thrusting against him in protest.

His eyes flash with something that looks like hunger but feels a lot stronger when it’s aimed my direction, and then it’s his hips that won’t stop moving. Each hard thrust sends sparks through my vision.

“Say it again,” he demands. “Say you need me.”

I can’t, but only because he’s finally fulfilling his promise to fuck my vocabulary into nothing. The best I can do is moan a syllable that sounds almost like a word while he drives his cock into me again and again. Nick’s all over me—hands, lips, hips. Individual touches blur into an overwhelming sensation of heat and pressure. When the pressure finally bursts for both of us into pulsing, wild bliss, I think Idocry, but I can’t be sure because I’m not part of my body anymore. I’m floating somewhere in the ether for either five hours or forever or no time at all—I can’t tell.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion from going nearly three days on barely any sleep, or the adrenaline crash from today’s races, or the weeks of swirling closer and closer to Nick; maybe things are different with him because he’s so different than anyone else I’ve ever known. But whatever the reason, the results are the same: being with him like this has split me wide open. As we lie in a sweaty heap on his bed, fighting to catch our breath, I’m pretty sure there’s no putting me back together.

Chapter 13

Nick

I’ve made quite the mess. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done—and the best. I’ve never been so fucking happy, or so fucking scared that I’ve blown up my entire life. I want to lie in this sweaty, sticky heap forever, Melanie locked in my arms, and I want to bundle her into my truck and drive her to Aspen to meet my mom. I’m deliriously tired—and plain old delirious.

Melanie’s warm and pliant underneath me, so beautiful it makes my chest ache. I take a few moments to kiss her—her flushed cheeks, her softly closed eyelids, her not-so-proper-after-all mouth. She hangs onto me, as if she’s as reluctant to let go as I am. Her hair is damp, my cum is drying on her inner thighs, and there are goosebumps on her arms. The goosebumps are what finally motivate me to move. The faster I get us cleaned up, the sooner I can tuck her under the covers of the bed we haven’t debauched yet and warm her up.

“Hang tight, baby,” I say, punctuating the sentence with one more kiss to her forehead.

I make short work of cleaning myself up, then return to her equipped with a warm washcloth. She’s right where I left her, looking dazed and sleepy. Understandable, given recent events. I’m pretty dazed, too, because the sight of her splayed out on the bed is intoxicating. It’s almost unbelievable that she’s naked, that I’ve not only kissed her again but we’ve also said all the things we’ve said, and followed through on all those threats and promises.

I sit next to her on the bed while I clean her off. Her eyes flutter open and she watches my movements. When I smile at her she smiles back, but she’s uncharacteristically quiet. I should say something. Something sexy and cool, that won’t undo the progress we made. Something that won’t send her running the moment we get back to Denver. What I want to say, over and over, is, “Mine.”

“How’re you feeling?” I manage instead.

“Um, sticky?” she says, pushing up to sit. “I’ll be right back.”

She takes the washcloth out of my hands and slips off the bed. She wobbles to the bathroom on Bambi legs—that Disney I’ve seen—and it’s more than a little gratifying. The bathroom door shuts and I swipe a hand over my face, as if that will clear my mind. I can’t tell if she’s quiet ’cause she’s exhausted, or if something else is going on.

I fold up the absurd privacy screen and lean it against the wall, out of the way. Then I sink into Melanie’s bed with a satisfied groan. The pillows smell like her shampoo—a little sweet, a little floral, entirely perfect. She can yell at me in the morning if she likes, but tonight I’m falling asleep with my nose buried in her hair. I want to be near her, every way I can.

The bathroom door squeaks and I open my eyes. I hadn’t realized they were closed. Melanie’s standing between the beds, looking at me nervously. What’s she nervous about now? Why isn’t she lying on top of me?

“Are we switching beds?” she asks.

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