Page 34 of Tangled Up

Her fingers thread in my hair, tugging as she writhes on the bar. I slide my palm across her flat stomach, holding her down as I draw her closer and closer to the edge. I push two fingers into her slick core, and her muscles tremble and flutter. Her ass rocks with my movements, and she makes soft, whimpering noises. She’s salty and sweet, and her skin smells faintly of coconut.

Just when she’s about to come, I stop.

“Oh, God…” she whines, but I step back, shoving my jeans off my legs and lifting her from the bar.

My forehead is tight, and lust drives me. Turning her to face the sofa, I press her chest forward against the back pillows.

Her heart-shaped ass points up at me, and I grasp my cock in my hand, sliding it up and down her slippery folds until I find her entrance. I plunge into her hard, and we both moan loudly.

The room tilts, and I hold still as pleasure floods my stomach. Four days have passed, only four days, but I’m feverish with need and hunger.

Grasping her hips, I pull her to me as I rock faster, sending her onto her toes with every thrust. She moans loudly, bracing a hand against the cushions, reaching with the other to scratch my thighs with her fingernails.

She pushes against me, lifting her ass against my pelvis, and my eyes land on that smaller hole. A memory of all the things we’ve done hardens my cock even more, and I lick my thumb before circling the tip against that tight little pucker. A gentle press, one more, and I slip it in her ass to the first knuckle. My eyes squeeze as I thrust again, filling both holes.

“Beck,” she cries, breaking into orgasm. Her pussy clenches, and her ass sucks my thumb in a way that blanks my mind.

“Fuck…” I come hard, bowing over her as the sensation grips my body.

We’re both shuddering. My knees are liquid, and I grasp her hips for balance. It takes several seconds for us to come down, and when we do, she straightens, leaning her back to my chest and curling her fingers in the side of my hair.

Holding her shoulders, I find her mouth and kiss her slowly. Our tongues caress; our lips pull. I slide my lips to the side of her neck, tasting the salt on her skin.

“Still my dirty girl.” My voice is low.

“You’re dirty.” She breathes a little laugh, stepping away and walking slowly to the kitchen.

I follow, watching her lift the thin dress off the bar and dropping it over her beautiful body. I step into my jeans again, pulling them over my hips. We’re standing in front of each other, quietly straightening our clothes.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Opening the refrigerator, I take out a chilled rosé.

She blinks up at me, her slim brow furrowed. “What are we doing, Beck?”

Definitely wine.

I take down two glasses before I answer her, pouring the rich pink liquid into each. “It’s supposed to be dry.”

Her question hangs in the air as I wash my hands, as she takes a sip. “It’s good.”

I do the same, tasting strawberry with a touch of pomegranate. I study the wine, my voice quiet, thoughtful. “No one fucks like we do.”

It’s how we used to talk to each other, cocky and possessive.

Mine. The word burns in my brain.

“Is that what this is? Fucking?”

Blinking up, I meet her gaze. She’s watching me, and I can’t blame her for protecting herself.

Taking a step closer, I put my hand beside hers on the bar, leaning down to inhale her hair at her temple. “Is that what you want it to be?”

She steps back, crossing her arms. “Are you giving me a say in what we are now?”

The sarcasm in her tone revives my old bitterness. “You’ve always had a say. You had the final say.”

“Don’t you dare try to rewrite history, Beck Munroe.” Anger blazes in her eyes. “You gave up on us.”

“My mother had just died, Carly. I was in medical school. I was drowning and spiraling at the same time.”

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