Blue Crush (21 page)

I suck in a gulp of air. My shoulders relax, then my arms. My hands flatten on his broad back. “Oh,” I say before his lips brush mine. “You’re attracted enough to me?”

He leans back, his gaze incredulous. “I almost kissed you in the hallway the first night we met—before talking to you. You’re seriously questioning my attraction?” He rolls over and runs his fingers through his hair, staring at the ceiling. “Gen, I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out how to reach you. I thought you hated me—thought I was a cheating ass—and then we kissed at the cascades. I wasn’t going to let you shut the door after that.”

Well, when he puts it that way … “If that’s true, why are you worried about us having sex?”

He rubs his jaw as if searching for the right words and rolls to his side to face me, his head resting on his hand. “I’m not worried about it. I just—this is important to me. I don’t want you to feel rushed.”

“But you don’t get it. I’ve never been horny for a guy.” He grins. “I mean—you know what I mean. I like you too. As frustrating as you can be with your training torture,” I grumble.

“Okay.” He captures my mouth in a lingering kiss. “As long as that’s settled. Just so you know …” He runs his lips down my throat and licks the top of one breast. “I will have to kill anyone that looks at you wrong or hurts you, now that you’re my girlfriend.”

He called me his girlfriend …
Enough talkie.

He lifts his head and I frown at the distance. “I was an inch away from murdering that dick at your job.”

“Who, Drake? But that’s what the mudder is for,” I mumble and try to reach his lips, which he keeps an inch away no matter how far I lift up. I huff in frustration. “I’m going to be a badass and guys won’t dare paw me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Alpine Mudder.” I kiss his chin, dipping my tongue over his scar.

“What does the mudder have to do with men pawing you?
And who’s pawing you?
”

I tug him on top of me because this conversation has gotten his blood rushing in the wrong places. “No one. I’m just trying to get more assertive around men, but—can we talk about this later?” I palm him through his pants. I’m very interested in the enormous object that’s been sexually tormenting me these last weeks.

His eyes go dazed. He rolls onto his back and pulls me on top, kissing me deeply.

Buttons finally undone, I shove his shirt off, exposing a mile of smooth, muscular skin, and run my hands down his chest and stomach. Lewis’s breathing kicks up a degree as he watches me unzip and spread the fly of his pants, sliding his boxer briefs low, exposing him.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed to feel him. I want Lewis in every way.

More smooth skin, lightly tanned. I’ve never wanted to do this—have never done it before—but I want to now.

I circle him with my mouth.

His head drops back on a groan, his eyes darting quickly up, as if he can’t miss anything, not even to feel. “Genevieve.” His voice is a gruff whisper, shooting a spark deep in my belly.

By instinct, I lick him from the base up, holding him and wrapping my mouth around the head, sucking. I’m in uncharted territory, but so far so good. He smells like a hint of pine even down here, mixed with laundry detergent and that distinctly masculine scent I associate with Lewis.

He’s panting, his thighs like granite beneath my arms. “Is this okay?” I ask.

A garbled word more like a pleasure moan escapes his mouth.

I’ll take that as a yes.

I squeeze the thick base and fill my mouth with him, popping him out a few seconds later to inspect his thick, silky head, because suddenly, it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen, when before I used to not look. I love the way Lewis’s skin feels against my lips. I run my mouth down his length, my chin hitting the zipper of his pants. Which reminds me—I want to see the rest of him.

But I’m not finished here … maybe if I’m quick with the disrobing?

I sit back and slide his pants to his ankles when he lifts for me. Lewis sits up more quickly than he seemed capable of doing a second ago and slips my T-shirt off, pausing to unhook and discard my bra in the process.

I’m standing at the edge of the bed now, determinedly untying his shoes to get the dang pants the rest of the way off, when he shoves my sweats over my hips, his hands palming the insides of my thighs.

My mind blanks.

His large hands are millimeters from the throbbing pulse between my legs. He slides them up and around my ass, pulling me closer and kissing me slow and sensual, one arm wrapped tight around my back. “Take off the rest of your clothes.”

“Yeah,” I say breathily.

He chuckles. “Your shoes?”

I glance at the heels I’m still wearing. With sweat pants—the baggy material gaping above my ankles.

It’s an attractive look.

“Here—” He shifts me until I’m sitting across one of his legs, and lifts my calf, unbuckling the strap for me.

Why are his masculine hands unfastening the dainty buckles of my heels such a turn-on? I slide my palm up and down the erection that’s caressing my hip, calling to me.

His breathing picks up along with the speed of his fingers on the straps. I feel a tug and a jerk and then both shoes go flying across the room and he’s leaning me back onto the mattress, lying over me, this time fully naked because he’s kicked off the rest of his clothes, and God, he feels good.

I moan and he kisses my mouth, one hand running over my breast, down the length of my side, my stomach. His lips follow the trail, kissing my belly button, my hip. His hands and shoulders spread my knees apart and he palms my ass, lifting—

“Wait.”
I try to sit up, but I can’t really, because my ass is in the air with his head between my legs.

He kisses the crease at the top of my thigh. “Yes?” His tongue darts out and he licks me
there.

“Unggh.
I’m not—”
Wow, that feels …
“—comfortable with this?” My words are a hesitant whisper.

I never used to be comfortable with oral sex. Used to all but jerk a guy’s face up when they went anywhere near that region, but now?

Now it seems like an excellent idea.

He parts me and dips his tongue, circling and finding the spot that’s been hot and throbbing because of him. His talented fingers join the mix and that’s it.

He’s down there for all of thirty seconds before I’m screaming, and I mean, fucking screaming and gasping, and then he’s crawling up my body covering my mouth with his. Lewis plants his hips between my legs, his length rubbing the spot he just seduced the shit out of, and then he’s rocking into me, slow and melodic—setting the whole
I’m-going-to-explode
back into motion.

I grab his ass and hold on, because suddenly a second orgasm sounds like a fantastic idea.

“Condom?”
I gasp. I’m on the Pill, but we haven’t talked about other stuff.

His breath fans over my cheek, lips grazing my ear. “It’s on.”

It’s on? Wow. I was really—yeah, well,
occupied.

That’s the last coherent thought I have as Lewis slides in and out, picking up a steady rhythm, and then I’m moaning and gasping out another, more intense, orgasm than the first—which I didn’t think possible.

His body tenses and a deep, sexy groan erupts from his chest, his arms stiffening on either side of my head. His breaths are rapid as he holds himself above me. After a moment, he collapses to the side, rolling me with him.

It’s official, I think, as my legs tangle with Lewis’s. I’ve gone from prude to sex animal. I’m plastered to his front, breathing in his scent like a drug, his arms locked around me, and I’m not sure I ever want to leave this place. I’m considering a repeat of what we did, just as soon as I regain oxygen to the brain.

Limbs languid pieces of useless matter, I drift off, in the arms of the only person in the world I’ve ever shared myself with. My whole self, my mom bullshit, my body, my heart …

A beam of light streams through the beige curtains opposite my bed, heating my face and blinding me. I curl into the warm, smooth wall next to me. Lewis reaches behind, pats my thigh as if to get his bearings, and curls his arm around my back, tucking me close into a reverse spoon. His wide shoulders shift, blocking the light. I drift back to sleep—until my phone rings, disrupting the most perfect morning I’ve ever woken to.

I fumble for the phone on the nightstand. The ring-vibration combo sounds like a siren, jarring my brain. I intend to press Ignore
,
but my eyes aren’t working so well and I accidentally hit Talk
.

“Hello? …
Hello?
” sounds through the other end. “Genevieve?”

“Mom,” I croak. “It’s early. Too early for—”

“Are you still sleeping? I should have known. I mean, really, how do you get anything accomplished when you sleep the days away?”

This is ironic, given my mom slept away many a morning after all-night benders with guys half her age.

“I work late, Mom, and I’ve been training. Tired. Can we talk later?”

“Training? For what?”

“Alpine Mudder. You should come. It’s in a couple weeks.” I yawn. Lewis slips out of bed and my thoughts congeal into a static hum.

His naked body. His ass … what we did last night.

My mom says something.

“What?”

She huffs out a sigh, then her breath stills. “Wait a minute. Is there someone with you?”

“The mudder—” I say in a rush, holding to the previous topic and gripping the phone.

“There is! There’s a boy with you. Who is it? Have I met him? Please tell me it’s not the anal-retentive one.”

“The what? No, Mom. I have to go. Don’t forget the mudder. You said you wanted to visit again before I returned to school. The mudder will be a good weekend.” Or disastrous. I haven’t decided.

“Should have known you’d be an athlete,” she grumbles.

That gets my attention. My head clears and I sit up. “What? What are you talking about? You suck at sports—” I blurt before realizing how bad that sounds. “I mean, you love golf, and that’s what’s important. It’s not all about being good, but … what did you mean, exactly? Is there someone else athletic in our family?”

“No—no, nothing.” Her voice is tight. “You’re right. It skipped a generation. I think your great-grandfather—yeah, your great-grandfather was a baseball player, or was it football? Anyway.”

“But you said you should have expected it, so didn’t you have someone in mind?”

“What? No, Genevieve. Are we going to argue all morning or are you going to tell me about this race and that boy in your bed?”

I rattle off the date of the race and ignore her last question. “Love you, Mom.”

“But—”

“Bye.” I press End and shudder with the sheet clutched to my chest. My sex life is not a conversation I wish to have with my mother.

Lewis has his pants on and no shirt. It’s a pretty, pretty view.

I lie back and smile. “You sure you have to leave?”

His eyes skim my body beneath the sheet like I’m naked. “Unfortunately … gotta work …” He grins widely, a naughty gleam in his eye. “Good thing I’m part owner. I set my hours.” He launches onto the bed and I bounce a foot in the air, a squeak escaping my mouth.

Lewis has only recently shown this side of himself—the playful, fun side—and that’s after I was already dangerously attracted to him.

He reaches past my head and pulls his cell phone off the nightstand, his palm running down my side while he types rapidly with his other hand. I try to peek at the screen, but he angles the phone away and gives me a punishing look.

He tosses the phone over his shoulder. “I gave myself the morning off.” He drags the sheet below my breasts and I run my hands over his shoulders, the muscles of his arms.

“Is this why you work with your dad? To set your own hours?” Totally not complaining. I fully support this work ethic, as it benefits me.

Lewis’s phone buzzes twice. “Ignore it,” he whispers, kissing the valley between my breasts.

His phone buzzes twice more and he looks up from his place near my belly button. Glaring, he reaches for the phone, one hand holding my waist in place. He stares at it and sighs heavily. Covering me with the sheet, he spins his legs off the bed and onto the floor.

I sit up. “What’s wrong?”

He kisses my cheek and stands. “My architect texted, reminding me about a client meeting. The guy’s already there.” Damn. Bummer he has to leave. “And … Mira needs something.”

My heart drops into my stomach. He’s leaving because Mira texted him, or because of the work appointment? If it’s for work, why mention Mira?

Lewis frowns at his wrinkled pants. “These look okay? I don’t have time to go home.”

I waggle my head in a way that says not so much. “Your shirt looks good though.”

Somehow, the shirt ended up draped over the lamp instead of crumpled on the floor. He pulls it on, sweater in hand, and I mourn the loss of naked Lewis and my beautiful morning.

Is this how things will be? Lewis always leaving to put out some fire for Mira? The idea depresses me.

He takes in my body beneath the sheet and frowns as if he regrets leaving. “I’ll call you later, okay?” I nod and he leans down and pecks me on the lips, squeezing my hand. I wonder if he sees something on my face because he kisses me again, this one tender, his thumb brushing my chin before he walks out the bedroom door.

I launch across the room and peek out the curtain, the sheet wrapped around me. Lewis climbs into his car and reverses, glancing once at the chalet before pulling onto the street and disappearing.

A hollow, achy sensation blooms near the center of my chest. I don’t know what I thought would happen after we had sex, but a desperate need to be near him wasn’t a part of it.

Is this love—with the person I said I’d never go near? The issues with Mira still exist, that much is obvious.

Friggin’ hell.

I try to go back to sleep and fail. Lying in bed, brooding, I worry that Lewis might be dangerous to my mental health. The last time I cared for someone, he betrayed me, and the feelings I had for the A-hole come nowhere near the confused mix Lewis draws out of me.