17. The Wow

Juliet

I can't blame the mirrored bed for what we did in the car. I can't even blame the liquor.

One glass didn't make me tipsy. Monroe did, with his limo, and his wow, and his stupid, big-hearted willingness to help me out. Ugh. Why can't he be a bad boy for real?

But it's clear tonight was a mistake. A toe-curling one, but a mistake, nonetheless.

I roll my shoulders as I walk across the lawn, shrugging it off, moving on.

It's no big deal. It was just a momentary lapse of reason, and you'll go back to being co-workers.

But another voice says, let it lapse again, girl.

That's not helpful, so I ignore both voices as we head up the steps of the house.

The second Monroe punches in six-nine-six-nine, I snap my gaze away from the lock pad. I do not need this sex house's vibe seducing me again.

I take a deep breath, in and out, letting go of the limo ride fully.

Monroe holds the door open for me. Disappointed, I go inside, wincing as I walk through the living room. Our footsteps echo loudly and awkwardly in our silence.

What happens next? Do we brush our teeth, put on jammies, and hop into separate bunks?

Yes. You do. Like responsible adults.

I hate that thought. But it's what we should do, so when we reach the hallway that leads to the main bedroom, I force myself to adult. "Why don't I get ready for bed and?—"

"—great. I'm going to…" But he never finishes the thought. Just turns the other way toward the kitchen.

Okay. That's clear. The man is leaving the limo ride in the past, like everything else.

I swallow past the lump in my throat as I trudge into the bedroom, not even bothering to flick on the lights as I fall face-first onto the bed.

"Ugh," I mutter into the pillows. "This sucks."

I do nothing but lie there, sad, a little empty, and all sorts of annoyed. With him, but also with me, and with this whole damn dating experiment.

After a minute or two of feeling sorry for myself, I grab my phone from my purse, skipping my self-improvement podcasts.

I don't need help. I need music, and I need it fast. I toggle over to my show tunes and click on"Popular" from Wicked. It has nothing to do with love or romance, and—bonus—Monroe would hate it.

I hit play, and the bright voices of Idina Menzel and Kristen Chenoweth fill the bedroom. It's like an assist from a witch that can deflect Monroe. This song witch will wipe the kiss and the limo ride from my mind. But when I flip over so I can head to the bathroom and wash my face, I flinch.

He's here, standing against the wooden frame of the bunk bed. His forearm rests against the top bed. The other hand holds a glass of…scotch, from the looks of it. His eyes are hard. Determined. I must not have heard him come in over the music.

He lifts the glass, knocks some back, then says in a rough, commanding tone that is clear over the song: "There's something I meant to say in the limo."

"What's that?" I ask above the rising notes.

His eyes lock on mine. His jaw is set hard. His gaze, full of fire. "We're not done."

My pulse soars. I hustle to hit stop on the music. "What do you mean?" I ask, full of dirty hope when the Broadway stars are silent.

"I mean, we're not fucking done at all, Juliet. I should have made this more clear in the limo." He points to the mattress I've been wallowing on. "But I'm not letting you get into that bed alone." Then to the wooden ladder. "I'm not climbing that goddamn ladder another night and sleeping six feet above you."

"You're not?" I ask, barely able to hold back a smile.

He's dead serious as he growls, "I can't take it anymore. Being this close to you and not touching. I can't stand another second of not having my hands all over your beautiful body."

He doesn't even wait for me to answer. He heads to the bureau next to the door and sets down his glass before he turns back to me. "Is it the same for you?"

My throat is dry. My cheeks are hot. I nod savagely as I launch myself at him, flying across the room. "Same." In seconds, I'm back in his arms, my hands grabbing the lapels of his jacket. "This suit."

He lifts a brow, a cocky move. "I had a feeling you'd like it."

"Yeah?"

"You've always said you like suits," he says, grabbing my hips, and manhandling me a little. I don't mind the rough play at all.

"Have I said that?" I tap-dance my fingers up his crisp dress shirt.

"Yes. I believe your words on air the other day were, and I quote, I am a sucker for a suit."

I fiddle with the collar, having too much fun with him again. "So you wanted me to be a sucker?"

He just grins, saying nothing, just dragging me closer. What is he holding back? More words? There are parts of Monroe I'll never truly understand. But when he crushes his lips to mine once more, I stop thinking about the unknowableness of this man. I stop thinking entirely.

We kiss, and we grab, and we grope. Hands travel into hair, around waists, across stomachs. I kiss his neck, sighing happily when I get an up-close-and-personal hit of his soap. Shea butter and rosemary. It makes me a little woozy, and it's not just the scent. It's that he still uses it. Or did he start again? I'm dying to unearth hidden meanings, but what if there aren't any?

Best to leave that alone and focus on how good it feels to touch him again. He plays with the corset, undoing one eye hook as he kisses me madly, the kind of kiss that leads straight to bed.

We're at the door, so I flick on the lights at last. "How do you feel about lights on?"

He flashes a smile. "You don't know."

It's a statement. One he sounds delighted to make. "I don't know," I confirm, and then I swallow and find the guts to acknowledge the thing we don't speak of. That week. "We only slept together that one night."

In a tent. At a nearby campground. I had roommates. He was staying with his father. We wanted to be alone, so we made our alone time happen in a tent.

His blue eyes are fiery as they travel up and down my body. "Only once. Such a shame," he says, regretful, wistful, but aroused too. "And now, I want lights on with you. Want you to ride my cock. Want to watch you in front of me and above me. Want to see you fucking everywhere."

I can't breathe. My heart's beating too fast. He's not holding back in the bedroom department. Not one bit. Every single cell inside me is humming. I have no idea what will happen in the morning. But for once in my life, I'm not interested in planning the next date.

I want the here and now.

"We're doing this all wrong," I tease as I tug off his jacket.

"How do you figure?" he asks, working open my corset.

"Well, we're supposed to be in that bed at night and accidentally touch under the covers in the dark, and then one thing would lead to another."

He scoffs. "Fuck accidental touching. There's nothing accidental about the way I'm going to have you. Touch you. Fuck you."

I tremble everywhere, growing wetter with each of his plans.

He dives in for another kiss, stripping me free of my corset at last, letting it fall to the floor right as I undo the final button on his shirt then shove it off.

For a long, luscious moment we stare at each other. Half-naked. His eyes are lasered in on my tits, and mine are keyed in on his firm chest, then his trim abs, then the grooves between them, and finally, the happy trail that I want to play with.

I reach for his pants to undo them, but he's faster, lifting me up over his shoulder and carrying me the rest of the way to the bed. When he sets me down, he's careful not to bump my head and focused on his mission. He slides me onto the lower bunk, then removes my shoes and undoes my jeans, tugging them off. His moves are fast, deliberate, determined. I'm down to just a pair of pink panties, and he's gazing at them with hunger in his eyes.

"Did you wear these for Jared?" He doesn't mask the jealousy.

I shake my head. "I don't sleep with anyone on the first date."

He looks up with hooded eyes. "Not anyone?"

"It's a rule," I whisper, my chest heaving, my core aching.

"You're breaking it." It's not a question, but it's clear he wants to know why.

I give him the best answer I can with a hopeless shrug. "With you. I'm breaking it with you."

Then, he shudders. All over. It's the sexiest and most vulnerable thing I've ever seen. It's like he can't believe he's here with me. Like he can't believe I said that.

Or maybe I'm reading something into nothing.

I don't even know anymore. I just want this man. My eyes stray to my panties, and I say, "Take them off. They're for you."

He breathes out reverently then slides my undies down, taking his sweet-ass time now, coasting them off inch by seductive inch.

I'm naked and he's still in pants. I pout, then demand, "That's not fair. Get naked now. You wanted to watch me ride your cock, didn't you?"

"Correction: I want to watch you the whole fucking time."

There's something about the way he puts it, the focus on me…but I'll analyze it another time.

He hops off the bed, undoing the zipper as I reach for my purse, finding a condom as he drops his pants to the floor.

My memory breathes a happy sigh of relief. The front of his black boxer briefs are tented. "Off. Now," I demand, pointing.

With a sexy smirk, he sheds them in seconds, revealing a hungry cock pointing right at me. I'm so worked up, so aroused, driven only by this intense need deep within me to touch him, have him, feel him. I reach for his cock right as he climbs on the bed, climbing over me, then batting my hand away.

"Hey," he says in a caring tone, meeting my gaze. "You good with this?"

It's the first admission we've made of what's happening. To all the things that bind us. The past, but also the podcast and our work together, the plans we discussed last night at dinner even. But most of all, to our vastly different wants.

There's an unspoken question in there, but it's not hidden. It's the "you're okay with this just being sex" question.

My throat tightens for a second or two, but then I push past the rush of emotions, zeroing in on the flood of sensations instead. "Very good with it," I answer breathily, then shove the condom at him to prove just how fine I am with fucking him.

With a filthy smile, he looks down at me, then comes in for one more kiss. This one's a full-body kiss. He covers me, his chest on top of mine, his cock nestled against my center, our skin touching everywhere. Sparks shoot through me, radiating to my fingertips.

Monroe kisses me deeply as our bodies say hello again. When he finally sits up, careful not to hit his head on the bunk above us, he smacks me on my outer thigh. "Get on my dick, baby. Need to watch you."

Gladly.

We do the position dance, shifting around, bumping a little awkwardly, but I don't feel weird or uncomfortable with him. I just feel eager as he rolls the condom on, then grabs my hips, guides me over him. He slides one hand up my stomach to my breasts while he offers me his dick.

My mind is popping as I take it, rubbing the head against my wetness.

The sound I make is so feral I'm not even sure it comes from me. It's so wild, so heated. But he feels so good. He's groaning, too, rumbles of encouragement, words too like yes and just like that as I position myself over him. He nudges his cock against me, opening me more.

I sink down. My moan bounces off the walls as he fills me all the way up.

"Yes, baby," he murmurs, and it sounds almost unbidden. Like he can't help himself. Like he can't help it, either, when he says, "Look at you. Just fucking look at you."

I set my hands on his pecs then gaze down at the man who's sometimes my nemesis, who's often my foil, but who's always, first and foremost, my biggest fan.

That's both a terrifying and thrilling thing to realize in the heat of the moment.

I try to shake off those weightier thoughts. Try to dismiss them as I begin to move, slow and languid at first, adjusting, discovering.

Finding our pace.

This isn't how we fucked that one time. This is all new. It's more frenzied. It's needier. It's somehow even hotter.

He's looking at me with wild desire in his eyes. But I swear there's something more. Something like reverence. Something like that wow.

Maybe I just want to see that as I ride his fantastic cock, as my nerves ripple with excitement, as his muscles flex and his hands curl tightly around me.

"You," he bites out, studying me, then looking above, staring wantonly in the mirror. "You've never looked sexier."

"Same," I say. It's all I can manage. It's all I want to chance saying.

His hands clamp my hips tighter; his thrusts grow faster. More frenzied.

And his dick grows harder inside me.

He's so turned on watching me that my belly coils. Pleasure doesn't just build. It races. It rushes. It speeds up everywhere.

I don't even need to play with my clit. He's hitting a spot deep inside me, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Fuck, baby. Need you to come," he grunts out.

But I'm already there, bliss taking me hostage, pulling me under as I fall apart, crying out as pleasure tears through me, spreading to every cell.

I'm still coming down from it as I collapse onto him, then he grabs my ass and pumps up hard, ferociously, till he tenses for a long time, then stills.

Groans.

Sighs.

Wraps his arms around me.

Pulls me close.

I don't know where we go from here but right now, I just don't care.