18. Amanda

CHAPTER 18

Amanda

C razy as it seems, the time away with Blake actually seemed to help my writer's block. Ever since we got back, the words have been coming a lot easier. I'm not only working steadily on Dirty Broken Bad Boy Billionaire (try saying that five times fast) when I'm with Blake, I'm spending time with Phenelope and Luthwen when I'm not.

Ironically, I don't feel the push to put my characters in a sexual situation anymore. If anything, it's a sweetly romantic one, held back through loads of tension and unrequited feelings as they soldier through their fantasy world. But when it comes to sex, it's pretty much the last thing I want to write when I have scene upon scene of my erotica focused on double penetration with dildos and sixty-nining and anal beads.

I can't say that the increased productivity in our writing has led to a drop in our sex life because that's simply not the case. We've just somehow found a rhythm and made it work. Apparently, exhibitionism seems to be a theme. We made love on the beach, in the car, deep in the vines of a vineyard.

At least, I think it's all working.

The sex is amazing .

But…there's something else.

Something I can't put my finger on.

Something I don't want to put my finger on.

I've noticed it since we got back.

When we fuck, there's this tenderness on both our parts that keeps coming out, wrapping around us like it's second nature. When we're done, we no longer just get up and go back to work and move on with our lives.

We linger. We stay in bed forever. Just talking. About everything. Relationships, childhoods, books, films. We laugh.

We laugh a lot.

And each time this happens something in my heart aches. Because I'm experiencing everything that a relationship should be, but it's not a relationship at all. No one even knows we're together except for Ana, and she doesn't know about the books so the actual whole truth has never been laid bare.

I want to be honest with him. But I don't know how I feel and I don't know where to start.

I really like what we have and I don't want to ruin it.

But I want more.

Not more books, not more money, not more work, not even more sex, as good as it is. I just want more of him . I want all that he is and I want to be able to call it mine and dive in and possess every part of him. I know I sound no better than the possessive alphas in our books, but it's true.

He's becoming something more to me, something very real but all we're surrounded by is fiction.

We take a break from each other for a few nights. This is mostly my doing. I need to talk to Rio, need to go out and lift my head out of the sand. I need to see the life around me, the world that exists without the books and Blake. I need to know that no matter what happens, there is always more out there, even when Blake feels like all I need.

"You look like you need another drink," Rio says to me .

We're back at our favorite place, the Tapas Bar, managing to snag a table on the small patio that ducks out into the middle of the alley. The weather is beautiful, a welcome respite after a week of rainy gloom. We're in the heat of summer again.

She pours from a near-empty jug of sangria and it splashes noisily into my cup, spilling a bit onto the table. "Shit, we need more," she says, signaling to the waiter for another. She gets half out of her seat and yells after him, "And napkins too, please!"

I fish the orange out of my glass and suck on it with a sigh. "I'm fine."

I'm not really sure how to tell her I've been sleeping with Blake for a month now. She'll definitely be hurt that I didn't tell her earlier, and when she gets hurt, she likes to hurt others. Like, physically.

"I'd say you need to get laid," she muses, eyeing me over her gigantic sunglasses, "but I'm not sure that's it. Either you've been hitting it hard with your battery-operated boyfriend or you've managed to snag dick elsewhere. You seem a bit…spent."

"Well, I have been running a lot," I tell her, taking a long gulp from my glass. That's still true. When I wake up in my own bed, I try and go running, and sometimes when Blake hits the gym in his apartment building, I'll jump on the treadmill.

Just like fuckbuddies would do , I tell myself dryly.

"That's not it," she says. She leans in closer, her layers of brass bracelets rattling on the table. "Are you doing hard drugs?" she attempts to whisper. Very loudly.

I jerk my head back. "What? No!"

Tell her. Tell her now.

"So, whatever happened with that guy you were seeing?" I casually ask her .

Damn it, Amanda!

She cocks her head, studying me. "You're trying to change the subject. You never ask me about any guy I'm humping."

"Because you always tell me, whether I want to know or not. Anyway, the last text I got from you, you said that God was testing you with copious amounts of brownies and dick."

She shrugs and sips her drink. "Both were enjoyable. But you know what? I'm over men."

"Again."

"Yeah. I mean, what's the point? What can they offer that my fingers can't?"

"Fingers cramp up."

"As do hands when they're giving a hand job for the millionth time."

I give her a look. "Hand job? Who have you been with lately, a sixteen-year-old?"

"Ugh. Even I wouldn't do that. No, seriously. After I get my degree I'm blowing this popsicle stand?—"

"Too bad you've already blown everyone in it," I mutter under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

She narrows her eyes at me. "I heard that."

"Well, I said it loudly," I retort.

"Don't use Friends' references at a time like this. I'm telling you my life plans. This is serious business. Once I'm out of here, I'm traveling the world and teaching English and I'm probably going to go stay at a yoga commune in India and learn to be one with myself, then go to Bali to surf and maybe fall in love."

"That's the plot of Eat, Pray, Love ."

"It was a good book."

"Yeah." My stomach growls even though I'm not hungry. Nothing like second-guessing your current quasi-relationship to kill your appetite. But I know drinking sangria on a hot day without food is asking for trouble .

I pick up the menu and start considering the options.

Olives?

Fried potatoes?

Rio taps me quickly on the hand. "Oh my god, Amanda," she whispers harshly. "Look but don't look."

Of course I follow her gaze to the alley and look.

Walking on the sidewalk amongst the many people out for dinner and drinks is Blake.

He's wearing black pants and that slate grey dress shirt he wore when we had sex in the library, the shirt that unbuttons just enough to see a hint of chest hair, that showcases those shoulders and large forearms on which I've memorized every freckle and hair. It's one of my favorite shirts on him, and when he wore it the other day for the cover of the Billionaire book, I couldn't help but throw myself at him. As usual.

His hair is shiny, disheveled, catching the evening light and he has this cagey look in his eyes, making him look brooding and intense and all the things I want to see in him.

He looks like mine.

I want him to be mine.

I swallow it down though, prepared to just sit there and watch him move past, his long legs taking easy, casual strides.

Then I realize there's some guy with him. Shaggy hair to his shoulders, tanned, wearing skate shoes, board shorts, and a Quiksilver tank top. The guy probably smells like surfboard wax too.

The two of them look like men on the prowl, and a pang of horror runs through me when I imagine what their plans are. After all, Rio and I are out and I'm keeping an open mind about the guys I meet. Why would I expect less from Blake?

They're almost gone, Blake's gaze now directed at the bricks on the ground beneath them. I almost exhale the breath I've been holding when Rio stands up in her seat and yells.

"Hey, Blake! "

"Oh my god," I hiss at her, grabbing her dress and trying to pull her back down. "What are you doing?"

"It's water under the bridge, isn't it?" she tells me, waving at them.

I dare to look over to the alley. Blake's eyes light up when he spots me. Even though I've never met the guy he's with, he doesn't look too confused. He probably assumes that Blake has slept with one of us.

His assumption would be right.

"Hello ladies," Blake says, hands thrust casually in his pockets as he strolls to the railing between us. His eyes linger on me and they're nothing but warm. "How are we this evening?"

"Where are you guys going?" Rio asks. She gestures to the seats. "Here, sit with us. It's been ages since we've seen you, Blake."

"Yes," he says, smiling at me. "Ages.

I try to show nothing on my face, but I can tell his friend is studying me very closely. I wonder what Blake has said about me, if anything.

"We'd love for you to have drinks with us," Rio says, finally sitting back down. "And I just ordered more sangria!" She pretty much yells that last part. People in the alley turn to look at us.

I give Blake a withering look. "You better sit with us or she's just going to get louder."

He holds my eyes for a moment saying nothing and saying everything. He nods, biting his lip in that way he does while still smiling.

"Heath," he says to his friend and gestures to the table. "Might as well."

Heath looks at us eagerly. He's definitely game.

"We'll be right in," Blake says, and they disappear inside the front door of the restaurant .

Once they're out of earshot I grab Rio's hand, squeezing it painfully hard. "What are you doing?"

"Ow, you wench," she says, ripping her hand away. "Like I said, water under the bridge. When's the last time you saw him? When you handed in your assignment? That was ages ago. So he was an asshole in class, he's not in class anymore."

"You can't fuck him," I warn, shoving my finger in her face.

She looks completely taken aback.

Just then the boys show up.

"Hey, thanks again," Blake says, taking the seat across from me. "We were looking to get a few drinks somewhere, but every place is packed."

"It's the weather," I tell him.

"What a small town Victoria is," Rio muses.

"Very, very small," Blake says, grinning at me.

I can't help but smile back. Yeah, that smile? Still horribly infectious. Every part of him is horribly infectious. Once you have his cock inside you, that's pretty much all you'll ever want for the rest of your life.

"Amanda," Rio repeats, and I realize she's been talking.

"Huh?" I ask, tearing my eyes away from him.

"I asked you if you had fun working with Blake," she says.

I raise my brows. "Uh, yeah, it was fun."

"She's very smart, you know," Blake says.

"You're not so bad yourself," I tell him lightly.

Heath's eyes are volleying between us. "Wait a minute. Is this the Amanda you had to work with on the book? For school?"

Blake gives him a warning look.

"Yeah, that's me," I say quickly. "Why? What did he say about me?"

"That you were a stuck-up bitch," Heath says .

Blake pounds him hard in the shoulder. "You are such a wanker!"

"That's okay," Rio speaks up. "Amanda hated your guts the whole semester."

"Oh, she told me that," Blake says.

"You thought I was a bitch?" I ask him, surprised, but not exactly insulted.

"Peach," he says, "I've told you I thought you were a bitch."

"No, you said I was a dork."

"And a nerd."

"And a prude."

"And a stick-in-the-mud."

"And a lot of things."

Rio and Heath are watching us. I shrug, trying to act causal. "Luckily we were still able to work together. We ended up getting an A on the project."

"You know, she's not a prude," Rio says out of the blue, or maybe her mind is just ten steps back tonight. "She just doesn't sleep around."

"That's good to know," Blake says, leveling me with his gaze.

"Wish we could say that about old Blake Dawg here," Heath says. "I'm pretty sure there's a waitress here that wants to kill him."

"What else is new?" Blake and I say in unison.

We both grin.

Eyes twinkling.

And I'm realizing how damn hard it is to sit across from him and not touch each other. Even when we're working, I usually have my limbs draped over him or he has his hands in my hair, or he's stroking his thumb over my shoulder. There's always contact .

"I guess you two really got to know each other, eh?" Rio says carefully. I'm wondering if she's picking up on anything.

"A bit," Blake says lightly. "Wouldn't mind knowing more though."

I feel like I've got something lodged in my throat. I try to swallow.

Then the waitress comes by, and while she doesn't appear to know Blake—thank god—the rest of the conversation eases off of us and onto other topics. All the while though, as the drinks flow and the tapas come out, I feel locked in Blake's force field. From the depth in his eyes, to his easy smile, the way his hand is across the table, so close to mine—he's all I can think about.

It's fucking unbearable.

"I've got to go to use the toilet. Excuse me," Blake says later, getting out of his chair. He turns around, and I see something in his eyes, a beckoning.

I chew on my lip, looking at Rio and Heath who are in deep conversation about travel. And by deep, I mean they're discussing the significance of full-moon parties in Thailand and what drugs to do.

"I'm going to go get a drink from the bar," I say after a minute, but they barely hear me.

I get up and head to the washrooms at the back.

There are only two private stalls and I have no idea which one Blake is in, and now I'm wondering if that look he gave me meant anything at all.

"Blake?" I whisper, looking between the doors.

Nothing.

I decide to try the women's one.

It's not locked.

But there is a woman on the toilet, pants around her ankles, doing her business .

"This is occupied!" she yells at me, and I quickly slam the door shut.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I cry out, feeling all sorts of embarrassed even though it wasn't my fault at all. Why do people do that? Just lock the fucking door.

I turn to go for the men's but there's already a man going for it, turning the handle.

He opens it wide and Blake is in there, just standing there in the middle of the washroom.

Luckily he's fully dressed.

"I'm sorry," the man says curtly.

"I was just leaving," Blake explains quickly, coming out of the bathroom and standing beside me. "Hi," he says, peering at me.

"Hi," I reply, smiling like a goof.

The man eyes us suspiciously before closing the door and locking it. The door thumps on its hinges, the man making sure it really is locked.

Then the women's washroom opens and the occupant comes out, glaring at me as she goes.

"You know her?" Blake asks as he ushers me into the washroom.

"Making all sorts of friends tonight," I tell him.

He locks us in, and before I can say another word, he's grabbing my face, lips devouring mine, tongue pushing into my mouth, stroking every pent up desire.

I grab him in kind, my hands in his hair, at the back of his neck while his hands grab my waist, my ass, pinching, groping. We grapple together in a frenzy of heat and lust and something unbelievably real.

I'm pushed back against the tile wall, pinned there, and I'm his, completely his. My body operates on pure instinct, throwing myself into him with no inhibitions, no caution. It craves him as much as my mind and soul do. As he presses against me, breathing hard and kissing me, messy and wet, I put my hands around his shoulders and relish the lean, taut muscles of his back as I pull him in.

One of his hands is lost in my hair, tugging on it the way I like, and I let out a breathless gasp from the sweet pain. The other is lifting up the hem of my dress, shrugging it up around my waist. He slides the satin of my underwear aside and lets out a deep moan that I feel vibrate through me as he explores me with his fingers.

"So wet," he murmurs. "You get so fucking wet for me." He sticks three of his large, long fingers inside me and I clench around them, begging for more.

"Hurry up and fuck me," I tell him.

No, seriously. Someone's going to knock on the door at any minute.

He laughs, low and rich, reaching down to lift me up so my legs are wrapped around his waist. I reach down between us and frantically try to undo his belt. He stares at my frenzied hand for a moment, clearly enjoying just how much I want him.

"Hold on, peach," he says, pulling down his pants and boxer briefs until his cock bobs freely, so dark and rigid. I love him like this, so raw, thick, and all for me.

He holds himself at my opening and waits for a few beats. I can feel the heat coming between us, the way his eyes burn into me, until his gaze drops to his cock as he's about to push its stiff length inside me. Before I can urge him in, my fingers tightening their hold on his back, he pushes with one large, powerful thrust.

I can't help the cry that escapes from my lips, and then the soft, "Oh," as he slowly, agonizingly, pulls himself out, his cock absolutely drenched.

He eases himself back in, a few inches at a time, his lips brushing over mine .

"You're really something, you know that?" he whispers against my mouth, his words breaking off into a groan. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

My heart catches high in my throat. I can't speak, I can only feel, and the intense gaze of his eyes tells me that something is happening, something new. His eyes continue to burn as he pushes himself in and out, pumping steadily. He grabs my chin lightly and holds my face, making sure I can't break eye contact, can't look away. It's nearly embarrassingly intimate, the way his stare feels like he's stripping me bare.

Our moans are hushed, our breaths rough and ragged as he moves inside me, his hips circling so he hits each and every tightly wound nerve.

It's so fucking good.

It's everything.

We are joined, connected, and the more he thrusts in, deeper, deeper, the warmer he feels, like barely contained fire. A bead of sweat rolls off his nose, and finally his eyes pinch closed as he approaches his climax, his mouth going for the crook of my neck where he bites and sucks and grunts as he pounds me, each thrust getting faster than the last.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hisses, inhaling sharply. "I'm coming."

Before I even have a chance to try and catch up, he lets go of my waist and slides a finger over my clit, petting it twice, and that's all it takes to set me off like dynamite.

I explode outwardly, until I feel like there is nothing left and he explodes into me. I can feel him inside, hot and potent as I throb mercilessly around him, my nails digging so hard into his shoulders as I ride him out that I know they're going to leave marks tomorrow.

My heart is huge, filled with stars and bliss.

This man. This gorgeous specimen of a man, who fucks me with all he has .

I want this man forever.

"Blake," I whisper, trailing off because I can't catch my breath, because I know what I want to say but I don't know how to say it.

He's breathing heavily into my shoulder and I run my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it, loving everything he is.

"That feels so good," he murmurs.

"Better than the sex?"

"Nothing is better than that." He lifts up his head and gazes at me with sated eyes. He gently brushes his thumbs over my cheeks. "I don't know how to top that."

He's got that look I love in his eyes, the one only I bring to him. Sleepy, relaxed, happy. Absolutely satisfied. But there's tenderness brimming underneath, something rare and beautiful, like a key that makes my heart want to burst free like a bird from a cage.

I smile shyly, suddenly feeling like it's all so much, too much, and if he wants to he can just reach into my soul and walk around in it, examine every inch of who I am and then just walk away.

"We should get back," I tell him.

He nods, brows knitting together for a moment. "Of course." He gently lowers me to the ground and then takes a wad of toilet paper, running it up the inside of my legs where I can feel him drip down. It's such an intimate gesture and yet quite crude at the same time. Pretty much like Blake himself.

We give ourselves the once over in the mirror. He smooths down my dress, I straighten his shirt. We head back outside.

Heath and Rio are still talking and barely look up at us when we return. I know it has to look pretty obvious—the two of us have flushed faces and dilated pupils—but I don't really care anymore.

Later, while Heath goes down the alley to smoke a joint and Blake goes with him, Rio tugs at my hair, much like Blake did earlier. Only this time it's not fun.

"You guys," she says, tugging with each word, "are totally fucking."

"Ow," I tell her, ripping my hair out of her hand. I smooth it back, pouting at her. "Well, it was hard not to be obvious about it. Though I suppose I could have said we were at the bar doing shots or something."

"No, not now," she says. "I mean, of course you just had a bathroom quickie. I'm talking about before this. You guys have been seeing each other, haven't you?"

"We're just friends," I assure her, having a drink of water.

"Friends with benefits?"

"Something like that."

"I don't believe it. It's something more. I've seen the way he looks at you. I've seen the way you look at him. You guys aren't just friends."

I feel my cheeks flame and hope the low lights of the patio hide it well. "I don't know what else to tell you."

But I do.

I could tell her the truth.

I'm falling in love with him.