Birthday Girl

I can feel her. Her warm legs snaking through and over mine between the sheets, and she’s hot and wet between her legs as she grinds on me. I grab her by the hips and flip us over, yanking down her panties and diving down, taking her in my mouth.

God, her moans are so sweet, and I don’t want to ever leave this bed. I want to do nothing but feel her and taste her and smell her, make her smile and sweat and come. She’s mine.

But suddenly, my eyes pop open, blinking into the early morning’s dim light.

I’m alone, and I breathe in through my nose, chasing her smell in the dream.

I close my eyes. “Jesus,” I pant, licking my dry lips.

I fist my hands, still feeling her ass in my palms, and I need her. I need the same soft body I had in my arms last night so badly my jaw aches from clenching it.

Rubbing the sweat off my neck, I peer down and see my dick tenting the sheet.

Fuck.

I need to get laid. That’s all there is to it. Jordan isn’t special.

She’s not.

She’s a hot, young woman living in my house and constantly in my face, walking around in her short shorts with her long legs, perky ass, and lips that taste like a fucking peach. It’s like putting a steak in front of a starving pit bull and saying “don’t touch.”

I groan as my dick swells with blood, growing even harder.

God, if I called her in here right now, would she come? I’m tempted to take back what I said last night, I want back what I had in my hands that much.

But no.

I’m already aching with guilt, and losing control and going further with her would do a world of hurt. Last night was simply the result of not being fed in too long. Nothing more.

Christ, she’s a kid. If she were two years younger, I could go to prison for what I almost did to her last night.

I need to get this out of my system.

Throwing off the sheet, I get out of bed and pull on some boxer briefs and jeans. After throwing some cold water on my face, brushing my teeth, and running some gel through my hair, my dick has calmed down enough to leave my room. I pull on a T-shirt and the rest of my stuff that I’ll need for work and walk out of the room.

If Cole hadn’t come home when he did…

I jog down the stairs, pushing it out of my head. I just hope she doesn’t think she needs to leave on account of this. It probably would be for the best, but I don’t want to be another person she can’t count on.

In the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of coffee and open the fridge, looking for the milk.

I pinch my brows together, shifting cartons around and only finding almond milk. I take it out and wrinkle my nose, studying it. Almonds produce milk?

Jordan. I roll my eyes and uncap it, sniffing it. “Hmm…” It doesn’t smell bad.

I shrug and pour it in the coffee.

Picking up the mug, I slip my other hand into my pocket and lean against the counter, blowing on the coffee.

I hear Jordan’s footfalls on the stairs, and my stomach twists as I blink long and hard to brace myself.

She breezes into the kitchen, lifting her eyes and meeting mine long enough to give me a quick, curt half-smile before trailing around the table and pulling her book bag off a chair.

She seems in a hurry.

I force the words out. The sooner we deal with it, the sooner we can get back to normal. “I’m sorry about last night,” I tell her. “It was my fault, and it shouldn’t have happened. Okay?”

Her hands slow, and I see her eyes shift as she digs in her pack, but she doesn’t look at me.

She pulls the zipper closed and straightens, heading toward me and pulling open the fridge.

“I gotta go,” she says.

I watch her warily. She doesn’t seem mad. She just seems nervous. Maybe she was waiting for me to take the lead to see how to handle this.

Or perhaps she wants to act like it didn’t happen at all. Maybe she regrets it.

Do I regret it?

Yeah. Yeah, of course I do.

But I enjoyed it, too. The need to take her up to my bed and savor every second and every inch of her was like looking forward to heaven last night. I wanted it. I couldn’t wait.

And I wouldn’t have stopped. My muscles hurt just thinking about what I was going to put my body through to enjoy every moment with her.

But even without Cole, she’s still half my age. Nothing about this is right.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Jordan,” I say in nearly a whisper, “but you are just a girl.”

She pauses at the fridge next to me, and I see her swallow. She’s so pretty. Hair clean and flowing, make-up subtle with just a hint of pink on her lips…

“My head wasn’t straight,” I explain. “We’re both lonely, and I’ve loved having you here so much the boundaries got blurred. It won’t happen again.”

She nods, and her gaze drops. I wish I knew what she was thinking. It’s not like her to be so quiet. Does she hate me?

“It’s okay,” she says gently.

But I shake my head. “It’s not. I don’t expect that from you. I want you to know that.”

God knows she gets enough of that shit at work.

Taking her apple and bottle of water, she turns and walks for the table, picking up her bag. She can’t have class this early, but I’m not about to question her like it’s my business. I’ve done enough to her the past twenty-four hours.

I watch as she leaves the kitchen and enters the foyer, pulling her house keys off the hook. She reaches for the door but stops, pausing.

“My hands were on you, too,” she says.

And then she pulls the door open and walks out, closing it gently behind her.

I stare after her, the empty space making me suddenly want her back.

“Don’t say things like that,” I mumble to an empty house.

If I know you want it, too, how will I be able to resist you?

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Dutch asks.

I shake my head, tossing my gear into the bed of the truck. “Nothing sounds worse than a bar full of people and pre-frozen mozzarella sticks right now,” I tell him. “I have a date with a leftover calzone in the fridge.”

Todd passes by, laughing. “I’ll bet calzones taste even better with a certain barefoot blonde making them, too.”

My neck heats up from the teasing. I don’t think anyone knows Cole isn’t staying at the house right now, but Jordan’s and my interactions haven’t gone by unnoticed. Poker night, the lingerie show, her bringing me lunch…. The guys are drawing their own conclusions, I’m sure.

And actually, the calzones were take-out from a couple nights ago, but yes, Jordan’s not working tonight, and I’m anxious to see how she is. And to—hopefully—get back to normal with her.

Not too anxious, though. I kept the guys an hour later today on purpose, because while I’m dying to see her, I don’t want to be dying to see her, and I needed to prove that I have some control over myself.

Dutch pulls on his baseball hat, shooting me a half-smile like he agrees with Todd, but I just frown and climb into my truck. I don’t need the mental image of Jordan walking around my kitchen in her bare feet, bending over counters to grab things, and doing that cute thing she does where she blows her hair out of her face, but it just falls right back into the same spot again.

We can live there, and our lives will continue until she gets her own place. She’ll go to school and work and once in a while a guy just may come by to pick her up, and I’ll carry on, too. I’m a single man. She has to expect I’ll be out with a woman here and there. It’s fine, and it’s as it should be.

If she were ten years older, though…

I smile to myself, finally feeling like I got my head back on straight. I twist the key, starting the engine, and pull out of the lot, making my way home.

I’m glad I didn’t try to get out of the site right away at five. And all in all, I did well. I was the one who stopped things last night, right? Twice? I have a moral compass, and while it wavered, it found true north. Eventually.

And I’m only human. Would anyone not notice how beautiful she is?

I blow out a breath, turning on the radio as I coast into town and wind through the neighborhood streets.

I need a date. I’ll just twist, wind, and mold what happened with Jordan last night as some six-minute fluke under the full moon and go back to being…her, like…elder and shit. Just a responsible adult she relies on for guidance. That’s it.

She’s not a woman, she’s not experienced in the world, and I’m not the man who’s going to marry her or give her kids. I have no right to her.

I take a deep breath, feeling ready, and pull onto my street and up into my driveway. It’s just after six, Jordan’s VW is here, but that doesn’t mean she is. I told her not to drive it yet, but she could be with her sister.

I park and grab my lunch box before climbing out of the cab. Reaching into the back, I pull out my tool belt and swing it over my shoulder, walking across the lawn to the porch stairs.

But I see something out of the corner of my eye and turn my head, seeing Kyle Cramer’s house. Jordan is stepping out of his front door, followed by Kyle who hands her a piece of paper and smiles down at her.

She continues to inch away, but she smiles back and jerks her thumb toward my place, and they both exchange a few words and nod. Turning away from him, she walks my way, and my gaze flashes to him still standing behind her, seeing his eyes roam her backside.

My lungs fill with heat, and instinct starts to kick in. Don’t even try it, asshole.

She approaches, looking up and slowing for only a second when she sees me.

I jerk my chin, keeping my tone even. “What was that all about?”

She blinks, walking up the porch steps. “Oh, he, uh…he has his kids tonight,” she says, “but he forgot he had a baseball game, so he asked me to watch them. I said yes. He was just running through the house and procedures with me.”

“Why you?” I follow her.

She glances back at me, and I realize that sounded rude.

“I mean, he must have babysitters lined up already,” I add. “I was just curious why he asked you.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs and grabs her bag, checking to make sure she has what she needs. “Probably because I’m right next door, and he thinks I’m still into pocket money,” she jokes. “It’s fine. Really. I have nothing else to do. I’ll be back late, okay?”

Late? The games are over by ten.

He must be joining the team at the bar afterward.

And then the degenerate’s going to come home drunk, to a barely legal, hot babysitter.

Fuck no.

She moves for the door, swinging the pack on her shoulder, and I take a step.

“Wait…” I say.

She turns, but her eyes only drift over me, never staying too long.

She’s trying to avoid me.

“If you want,” I broach gently, “you can just bring the kids over here. They can swim.”

She finally meets my eyes, and I notice hers are red. She’s unhappy, but she’s trying to hide it. Jesus.

She shakes her head, looking apologetic. “You just got off work. You want to relax, and they’ll be noisy.”

She drops her gaze again, looking nervous.

Is it me or is it something else? I did the right thing last night. I don’t want her to feel rejected, because she’d make any guy the luckiest man in the world.

Someday.

Maybe she’s not angry I stopped it, though. Maybe she’s upset it happened at all.

I take another step, lowering my voice like I’m afraid the neighbors can hear us. “Are you mad at me?” I ask her.

She pops her eyes up, answering quickly. “No.” And then she searches for her words. “I’m just trying to sort through some…things in my head.”

I can see tears welling in her eyes, and I hurt everywhere. Why do I always want to hold her so much?

She bows her head, trying to hide the tears she can’t stop, and I step up to her and only hesitate a moment before putting my hand on the side of her face. My fingers wrap around the back of her head, and she doesn’t push me away.

“I’m here, okay?” I whisper. “Nothing’s changed. I still love the smell of your candles and the sound of your music in the house.” I pause and then add, “Although I’m not a huge fan of the cucumber wraps you snuck into my lunch yesterday.”

She breaks into a quiet laugh, her shoulders shaking.

I rub her cheek with my thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And I pull her in, hugging her to my chest and just wanting nothing more than to protect her and give her every damn thing she doesn’t have.

I wrap my free arm around her, and after a moment she gives in and snakes her arms around me, too, melting into me. We hold each other so tight that I don’t know if I’m holding her up or she’s holding me up, but for a moment, I’m afraid I’ll fall if I let her go.

“Bring ’em over,” I tell her. “It’ll take the pressure off you having to entertain them. I’ll get the floaties ready and order some pizza.”

She pulls back, sniffling, but there are no more tears pouring out of her eyes and she quirks a half-smile.

“Kids like cheese only,” she says, an air of peace settling back in her expression.

“Yeah, I remember.” I think Cole still likes cheese-only, actually.

She drops her bag by the door where it was before and casts me a look before leaving, an understanding settling between us. I’m not here to hurt her.

And providing I can stay the hell off her better than I did last night, then I won’t.

“I can’t do it!” Jensen yells, water dribbling off his lips.

The seven-year-old treads water, the goggles huge on his face. Below him, three dive rings stand upright on the bottom of the pool, and after I got him brave enough to hold onto my neck while I dived down to retrieve them, I thought it’s time he try.

Cramer is a twat, but his kids aren’t bad.

“Try to go feet first then,” I tell him. “Here, put your face in and watch me.”

The pool only goes to six feet, but I swim anyway, putting myself above the rings. Jordan is in the shallow end with Ava, who’s only two, and showing her how to blow bubbles in the water. I was relieved to see her come out in a more conservative bikini than that damn sea shell one, but I’m not finding the no-cleavage halter top of this one any easier to take, unfortunately.

“Ready?” I say, tearing my eyes off her soaked hair plastered to her back and look at Jensen.

He nods, like his head is too much weight for his body, and I suck in a breath, launch up, and then fall feet first to the bottom of the pool, releasing air as I descend and pushing the water up with my hands.

My feet hit the floor, I grab a ring, and I push myself back up to the surface, taking in another deep breath. He pops his head out of the water, sputtering a little water.

“Did you see?” I ask, wiping my eye. “I let out bubbles and pushed the water up above me, and it helped me sink to the bottom.”

He nods again.

“Wanna try?”

He shakes his head.

I laugh, slicking my hair back. “Okay. Another time then.”

Just then, a stream of water pummels my back, and I look over my shoulder, seeing Jordan shooting me with a squirt gun. The little girl on her hip laughs, and Jordan scrunches up her nose, making a battle-ready face and aiming the water at my head. I jerk away, hearing the little girl cracking up behind me.

“I want one!” Jensen rushes for the side of the pool and grabs one of the Super Soakers Dutch left when he brought his kids over one day last summer. I grab the other one, and all of us start filling up our weapons, Jordan giving hers to the toddler and getting another for herself.

For the next ten minutes, we barely stop to take a breath as we laugh, attack, and dart around the pool to escape the onslaught. Everyone turns on each other, the baby shooting Jordan right in the eye, and Jensen hitting me in the head.

I grab the baby, using her for mock cover, and Jordan squeals, diving under the water to escape shots coming from Jensen, Ava, and me.

The boy eventually pushes himself up on a step to sit, and both Jordan and I are breathing hard from the exertion. I set the baby on the deck, and she walks over to the picnic table and starts munching on watermelon. Jensen joins her, taking another slice of leftover pizza.

Déjà vu hits me. I’m surprised I still have the energy for this. Seems like ages ago I was trying to teach Cole how to swim and letting him bring his first girlfriend over in middle school while I covertly kept an eye on them from inside the house. This wasn’t as stressful as I remember it being, though. Maybe because I’m older.

Or maybe because it’s easier when there are two adults wrangling the kids instead of one. I actually had fun tonight.

I watch Jordan as she hops up onto the pool deck and sits with her legs still dangling in the water. Taking each water gun, she empties and shakes them out, setting them aside.

The duality of her swimsuit has the coils in my brain twisting tighter and tighter, and I’m so confused. She wears black on the bottom. Adult, sexy, and beautiful against her tanned skin. And pink on the top. Innocent, sweet, and entirely Jordan, because she can be such a girly-girl.

Her thighs, toned and smooth, and the cute, studious expression on her face as she furrows her brow and concentrates on her task. Everything about her is young.

Except her eyes.

Eyes that can be so patient, because she’s had years of practice being disappointed, but eyes that can also be angry, because you know shit has been hitting the fan in her life since day one and hasn’t eased up one bit.

You can see her brain working through every decision and every interaction, because she’s so good at assessing consequence and danger by now that it’s become second nature.

She knows that time always passes and her day will come. Just hang tight.

She has the smooth skin and body of a young woman, but the eyes of someone who’s seen decades.

My eyes fall to her mouth, remembering the feel of her kisses, and another rush of heat coats my chest just under my skin. I turn away, running my hand through my wet hair.

It wasn’t a fluke. I want her.

I love the smell of her in the house, the way when she sits next to me, either here or in the movie theater that first night, so easily and comfortably like we’re two peas in a fucking pod, and how I’m excited to wake up every day, knowing I can see her.

“Jesus Christ,” I say under my breath.

I’m having my first fucking crush in like twenty-years.

“What?” I hear her ask.

I lift up my head, turning toward her. Did I say that out loud?

“Nothing,” I shoot back.

She peers up at me as she empties the last gun, and I pull the noodles up out of the pool and toss them up on the deck to evade her eyes.

I want more of what happened last night, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.

A phone starts ringing on the picnic table again, and I look over at her.

“Your phone’s ringing again.”

She nods, a slight frown crossing her face. “Yeah, I know who it is.”

My eyebrows rise a little. Who’s she trying to avoid?

The phone had rung several times since I’d been home, and to my knowledge, she hadn’t answered it.

She looks over at me, seeing me staring at her with a questioning look on my face, no doubt.

She just laughs to herself, explaining, “Guys in town think I’m easy picking now that Cole and I are over.” She runs her fingers through her hair, fluffing the wet strands. “They’re swooping in to comfort me.”

She says the last with air quotes, and my armor instantly steels. Comfort her?

But I force myself to back off. It’s actually just what I need to put things in the proper perspective. She should be going out with her friends.

“Well, maybe you should give one a chance,” I tell her, forcing the words out. “I want you and Cole to make-up and be friends again, but you should get out and have some fun.”

The words taste like shit in my mouth, but I feel good I did the right thing. She’ll date someone. I can start seeing someone. We’ll get distracted and invested in new people.

“I will,” she answers, cutting off my train of thought. “Carter Hewitt invited me to go tubing this weekend, so I said I’d go.”

My face falls. I don’t know a Carter Hewitt, but…

“Tubing?” I say, trying to keep my cool.

I approach her at the edge of the pool. “Uh…no,” I tell her, shaking my head. “No.”

“Huh?” Her eyebrows pinch in confusion.

“Six hours of drifting on a river with nothing else to do but drink your ass off?” I blurt out. “By the time he gets you back to his truck, you’ll be three sheets to the wind, and then you really will be easy picking.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Absolutely not.”

Her eyes round, and her jaw clenches in anger.

Oh, shit.

“You are so…” she whisper-yells, so the kids don’t hear, “old school!” She scowls up at me, her lips tight. “This alpha, possessive, keep-your-daughter-locked-up-with-a-shotgun thing is insulting! I’m not an idiot, and you…” She bares her teeth. “Are not my father.”

I arch an eyebrow as she pulls her legs out of the water and stands up, huffing. I fall back, floating through the water. Yeah, believe me, I know that. The thoughts I have about you aren’t the least bit fatherly.

“Wrap up the pizza in tin foil before you put it in the fridge,” she orders me. “Don’t just slap it on a plate.”

I lock my jaw to hide my amusement at her orders. Like I haven’t wrapped up leftovers before in my adult life.

Grabbing the kids’ bags and towels, she takes Ava’s hand in hers and leads Jensen toward the back gate. “I’m going to run them home and get them in bed,” she tells me and then turns to them. “What do you guys say to Mr. Lawson?”

“Thank you!” the kids say in their slurred voices with mouths full of food.

I step out of the pool and grab a towel, drying off my hair.

“Mr. Cramer said he’d be home by eleven,” Jordan says. “But I know the team usually stops for beers at the pub after the game, so I might be late. I have my key if you lock up.”

“I’ll be up,” I reply under my breath. I’d trust a junkie to hold my wallet more than I’d trust Kyle Cramer.

I hear the wooden door swing open and the kids shuffle through.

Then I hear her voice. “Oh, and you’re a jerk,” she says.

I peer over at her. “You’ll thank me when you’re not getting date-raped.”

She makes a face and pulls the gate closed, slamming it hard.

I stare after her, laughing quietly. She’s so fucking adorable.

And then my face falls, realizing I’m almost giddy. I’m not a smiler, and I’ve far exceeded my quota since she’s come into the house.

I finish cleaning up the backyard as the sky slowly turns black overhead, and I make sure to wrap the pizza in tinfoil, as instructed. The pool is cleared, the toys and floaties put away, and the picnic table is clean. Grabbing the damp towels off the deck, I trail into the house and lock the back door, turning off the pool light, as well.

Tossing the towels into the washer, I leave the lid open, so I can put more in after my shower.

As I head for the stairs, though, the doorbell rings.

Crossing the living room, I pull open the front door and see a young man through the screen. My guard rises a little, but I push it open, forcing him to back up.

“Hey,” he says.

I nod, taking in the posh, wannabe frat boy who looks slightly familiar, although I can’t remember from where.

“Remember me?” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Jay McCabe. Cole’s friend.”

I shake his hand, studying him. Jay…

“Is Jordan here?” he asks. “I was told she was staying here still.”

Jordan? What does he want with…

And then it hits me.

“Jay,” I say, realization dawning as my spine straightens steel rod straight. “Her ex-boyfriend?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk and a light hits his eyes. “Yeah, we went out.”

But I’m not even listening anymore. I run my fingers over my thumb, itching to fist my hands, as my chest starts rising and falling with heavy breaths.

I step out of the house and walk straight for him, only about an inch taller, but I make sure he knows it.

His face falls when I don’t stop, and he stumbles back to avoid me walking into him.

“Hey,” he protests.

But I keep going. I walk until he’s forced backward, down the stairs and to the fucking grass.

Alarm sets in his eyes. “Jesus, what the hell?”

I step up to him and cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t normally throw my weight around a kid like you, but I want to make this clear,” I bite out. “You may have your own little posse of followers who are enamored of you or scared of you, but I…” I pause for effect, “am not. I know who you are and what you like to do. Keep away from Jordan, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d fuck off around my son, too.” I start walking into him again, forcing him off my lawn. “Don’t step foot on my property again, or I’ll put you in a hole under some wet cement, and make you part of the foundation of the next house I build, never to be seen again. Now take a hike.”

And I gesture with my chin for him to leave.

“Wha—”

“Did I stutter?” I cut him off.

He’s breathing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he digs into his pocket for his keys, I assume.

“Jesus,” he says and climbs into his car.

But all I can see is red. I want to tear him apart. How can my son call that guy a friend?

He took it upon himself to put his hands on her. He’ll never even set his fucking eyes on her again if I have anything to say about it.

I watch as he speeds out of the driveway and into the street, taking off as fast as he can. In a moment, any fear he might be feeling will turn to anger, and he’ll talk himself into believing I’m not capable of the threat.

And part of me hopes he tries his luck again just to give me an excuse.

I glance over at Cramer’s house, seeing all the lights on but no movement at the drapes, so hopefully she didn’t see him come here.

Walking back inside, I lock the door but then think better of it and unlock it again. You know, just in case she’s outside and he comes back and she needs to get into the house quickly or something.

I roll my eyes. Jesus.

Heading upstairs, I veer into the master bathroom and pull open the shower door, turning on the water. It quickly fills with steam, and I pull off my swim shorts and step in, closing the door.

The hot water hits my skin like a thousand needles, but it quickly follows with warmth that feels so good I’m almost lightheaded.

Planting my hands on the wall, I dip my head under the spout, letting the water cascade down over the back of my head, my neck, and my back.

What a clusterfuck.

I can’t get a hold of my kid, and when I can, he doesn’t want to talk to me. And it certainly doesn’t help the situation that I’m drooling over his latest girlfriend like I’ve never done for any other woman in my life.

And even worse, now that she’s single, I’m going to have every little asshole in town sniffing around my front door, just dying to get his hands on her.

I know I can’t have her, but it still won’t stop. The desire.

I close my eyes, emptying my lungs and feeling her everywhere. “Jordan,” I whisper.

My dick immediately swells, and I feel it growing hard at just the sound of her name. She kissed me back last night. She’s attracted to me, too. Does she fantasize about me?

I harden even more at the thought of her in bed, thinking about me. Wanting me.

I fist my cock, because it’s aching so badly, but I stroke it on accident, and I groan at how good it feels.

She fills my head, and I swear I can smell her. She’s so close.

I stroke myself, giving into the fantasy.

I’m in bed, and it’s pitch black in the room. A knock sounds on my door, and I stir, sitting up.

“Yeah?” I say, bending one leg at the knee and resting an arm on it.

Jordan pushes open the door, and I can only tell it’s her by the glimpse of her golden hair.

“What’s wrong?” I say gently.

I’m naked under the sheet, but she can’t see anything.

“It’s storming,” she says, lingering at the door frame. “Can I sleep with you?”

Lightning flashes through the windows, lighting up her body, and I catch glimpses of her naked legs and sweet face. The water continues to pour over me, and my cock in my hand gets longer. Reality slips away as I dive, chasing the only thing I’ll be able to have of her.

Whatever’s in my dreams.

“Come here,” I whisper.

She hurries over to the side of the bed, and I peel back the covers for her.

Sliding in, she huddles close to me, and I put my arm around her, feeling her leg come over mine. My hands roam, and all I feel is bare tummy and thighs. She’s barely wearing anything.

“Jordan…” I pant.

God, her skin is so soft, and she feels so good.

“I’m cold,” she says, her breath caressing my jaw. “Is this okay?”

My thigh sits between her legs, and I can feel the heat pouring out of her. I tuck her closer. “Come here.”

I rub her thighs and hips, up her back and keep her nose buried in my neck. Every inch of her is like an electric current to my dick.

I stroke slower but hold it tighter, like I imagine her.

“Is that better?” I ask her.

She nods, her lips inches from mine.

“Your mouth is even warmer, though,” she tells me, feeling my breath on her. “It’s the warmest part of you.”

I fight to hide my smile. Who am I not to give my girl what she needs?

Turning her over onto her back, I keep running my hands up and down her body, but I start hovering my mouth over her skin, too. Breathing out hot breaths across her neck and through her black half-shirt, over her breasts and the hard nipples through the fabric calling to me, but I resist. I trail down her stomach, running my lips over her belly button, and for a moment, my teeth come out, dying to take a piece of her in my mouth, but she moans, and I look up, seeing the mounds of her breasts peek out from under the bottom of her little shirt.

Shower water spills over my face and streams off my chin, and I want this to be real. I want her in my fucking bed.

“Better?” I ask her.

She nods, her eyes still closed. “Mmm-hmmm,” she says. “Can you keep doing it, though? I’m still cold.”

Hell yes. I take her thighs as I roll over onto my back, bringing her on top of me.

“Come here, baby.”

I can’t have all of her, but I’ll take this.

I rub her thighs and slide my hands farther up her body, teasing her just under the shirt.

She wears a black top and black panties, and I joke, “I thought you liked pink.”

I can’t see her smile, but I hear it in her voice. “You want pink?” she taunts.

And then she pulls up her short shirt, settling it just above her beautiful breasts. She grazes the nipples, showing me where her pink is.

I shoot up, wrap my arm around her waist, and take one in my mouth, tugging on it and then sucking it into my mouth.

I feel the blood rushing to my cock, and I’m so close already. I open my mouth, like I can actually feel her soft skin between my teeth.

Jesus, I want to know how she really tastes.

“Warmer?” I ask, knowing damn-well her skin is hot now.

I feel her nod and know I have to stop this. I let it go on too long.

“Jordan, we have to stop.”

But I can feel that she’s soaked.

She starts grinding on me, rolling that ass as her words fall across my forehead. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “No one has to know.”

She starts dry humping me faster, her pants growing louder and heavier, and we’re alone in here, it’s dark, and no one has to know.

“Jordan,” I gasp, the world tipping on its side with the fucking pleasure. “Baby, we can’t. What are you doing?”

“I’m making it hard.”

Yeah, no shit.

I jerk myself harder, heat flooding my groin and fire spreading from my stomach and thighs.

She digs her nails into my shoulders, and I squeeze her hips as she rides the hell out of me.

“Baby, you have to stop,” I beg. God, I’m gonna come.

“But it feels good when it’s hard.”

I shake my head, whispering against her lips. “I’m not for you. Some other man’s going to…. We can’t.”

“I can’t stop,” she whimpers. “Please don’t make me stop.”

Her tits stand out at me and her hips roll in and out, and she’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.

Fuck, yes.

“Fine,” I finally growl and fall back to the bed, still gripping her hips as the ridge of my cock rubs against her. “Give your cunt what it wants.”

She mews, closes her eyes, and plants her hands back on my knees and takes what she wants from me.

I squeeze my cock for dear life, feeling her jutting hips in my hands, and I shoot, jerking harder and harder as I spill.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck!” I yell. “Shit!”

Oh, my God. I drop my head to the shower wall, the cum spilling out, and I slow my hand, the muscles burning as I release the rest.

I see spots behind my eyes, but I can still smell her sweat, and I don’t want it to be over. I want more.

“Godammit,” I mouth, licking my lips and forcing a swallow. “Shit.”

I want more.

I can’t remember the last time I came like that, but still…it wasn’t enough.

I take my hand off my cock and fist my fingers, aggravated. That was supposed to help, dammit. That was supposed to get her out of my system.

I feel my dick start to warm again, and I push off the wall, growling. I hit the faucet hard, turning the hot water to cold and rinse off.

I just need to fuck a real thing. Not her. Just someone else. I’ll lock myself in motel room with a box of condoms and get it out of my system.

Yeah. That’s what I’ll do.

This week. I’ll get it done.

I reach up to the rack and put my hand on my regular hook, grabbing for what I need to finish washing, but there’s nothing there.

It’s been missing for days, in fact, and I furrow my brow, looking around. “Where the fuck is my loofah?”