Depths (22 page)

He reaches his hands up my body and runs them over my thighs, making goosebumps prickle up and down my legs and right to my toes.

“It’s
your
birthday,” he points out, as if I didn’t know.

“And I love being on top.” I squirm a little, just to make him moan, and let the laughter bubble out of my throat when he does, exactly as I expected. “If you want to switch when you get your strength back, I’ll consider it.”

And that’s where all our conversation stops. Because I press up on my knees, take him in my hand, and slide down over him in one tight, slick press of my body over his.

“M-m-Maren,” he stutters, and I feel another burst of pride. One second in, and my sex is making him stutter. That’s pretty nice work if I do say so myself.

I put a hand to my lips because the pressure is so good, I’m afraid I’m going to get loud and crazy fast. I rock my hips back and forth to test the best position, and pull back up slowly, then press down, repeating this whole crazy, sweet, wet motion that steals my breath and voice and mind.

There’s nothing but the perfect stretch of me around him and the rhythm that starts out manageable, then spirals into a quick, maddening frenzy.

I’m panting and he fists both hands into the sheets, gritting his teeth in an effort to keep some semblance of control.

But I’m having none of it. If I’m about to go over the damn cliff, he’s coming with me, no exceptions.

“Your hands…” I manage to gasp out, rocking harder, spreading my legs wider. “Your hands…need to be…on
me
. Now!”

He lets the sheets loose and half sits up, rubbing his big, rough hands up my legs, around to my back, down to cup my ass like he’s trying to slow the tempo. I hold back at first, but eventually agree to his suggested pace when he tilts me forward, and I feel my body working itself into the tight flex and pulse that precedes a spine-tingling orgasm.

He slides his hand between our bodies and his fingers press and rub on the peaked, sensitive place where I’m starting to come undone quickly.

“Come for me,” he says, kissing my mouth when it bumps up or down near his face.

I’m losing my rhythm because he’s touching me in a way that makes it hard to do anything but feel his hands on me and the length of him in me. I can’t even kiss him back, because I’m in some kind of zone. Every cell in my freaking body is driving with wild intent towards one explosive goal, and I’ll be damned if I deviate from that goal for a single second.

I adjust once, then again, but I can’t seem to hit that exact place I need to. Suddenly Cohen rolls me under his body, and I wrap my arms and legs around him tight when he does. He presses into me as deep as he can, rocking in and out until he hits that exact point as familiar as the click of a key in a lock.

“Mmmm.” I’m thinking so many things, so many sweet and nasty things I want to whisper in his ear but he’s unraveled me, left me panting and breaking apart in the most knee-knockingly, breath-stealingly delicious way.

I covered my mouth before, but by now I just can’t care. He slides in and out, and I finally can’t feel him, can’t feel myself, don’t know what’s happening, and don’t care.

I reach my arms up for what? Nothing. I want to let go. I’m not doing this for any kind of shallow cheap thrill. I’m in this to rip through to the shuddering depths.

That’s where it starts. My orgasm builds from somewhere so deep and dark, and it crashes over me like a tsunami wave, making me buck from shoulders to hips, making my voice tear and scream from my throat in a jibberish of raspy syllables that end with the only word there is for me.

“Cohen! Cohen!”

His face is perfectly twisted, unable to contain another second of composure, and that’s good. I scratch my fingernails down his back, buck my hips against him, let him feel every quiver and slick wave of pleasure he’s giving me. I’ve never wanted to share sex the way I do with him. I’ve never wanted to drag my partner in and let him see every last wild thing.

He jerks in and out, buries his head in the crook of my neck and shoulder and lets out a long, shuddering moan.

“Maren,” he bites out, and I feel the lock of his shoulders and stiffening of his back as he drives his hips against mine hard and gives in to his release.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the damp smell of sweat, tinged with the sharp scent of latex. I can hear the crash of the waves outside, and start to get confused between their rush and the thud of our hearts.

I twist against him, my hair tangled around his arm, smudges of my lipstick on his neck and chest, my fingers twined around his. I didn’t even remember making a move to hold his hand.

He rolls over and takes off the condom, and I have this dreadful fear that he’s just going to get up and walk away. But he turns on his other side and reaches a long arm out, dragging me close.

“Get over here, birthday girl. When you blew out your candles did you wish to strike a man dead with pure sexiness? Because you almost achieved that.”

I nuzzle his neck and suck on the salty skin. “I would definitely not want you dead. Maybe maimed, but only so that I could keep you locked away to use as my sex slave.”

He presses my hair back off of my face and rubs his thumbs in circles over the curves of my ears. “How did this happen? How the hell did I get lucky enough to convince you to get into my bed?”

“You actually weren’t all that convincing.” I kiss the tip of his nose and bite back a sigh when his hands bump down over my shoulder blades and back to cup my ass, squeezing appreciatively. “I was just super horny.”

“Should I feel used?” He smiles and drags his fingers up and down my back with excruciating lightness.

“Well, I guess so. I did use you, after all.” I drop my mouth to his shoulder and blow a raspberry, loving the way he laughs, loving that we can transition from passionate to goofy to honest without any hiccups.

“Do you promise to use me again?” he asks, his low voice rasping over my ears and somewhere in me. Somewhere a little deeper than I’m totally comfortable with.

But that’s not all that surprising. I’ve been wading in the shallows for so long, the depths freak me out.

“I promise.” I brush his hair back and love that I can. That he’s mine to groom as I please. “But maybe not until later. I have to go check on my dad soon.”

His lids half close and his mouth does this adorable pout. “Maren? I know you hate talking about your dad and your family in general, but maybe we need to talk about them a little.”

I tense up. Instantly. My muscles have gone from jelly to stone, and I hate that it happens so fast. I try not to also hate Cohen because his words brought it on, but I want to lash out at something that won’t lash back for once. And he’s just lying there.

Why is he doing this right now? I want that to be the last thing on his mind. I guess I should have never even mentioned needing to leave.

Cold, slicing words are on the tip of my tongue, but there’s something about his face, so open and sweet. I can’t. The anger stops boiling, and I lay my head on his chest and count back from ten before I say anything.

“I hate it because it’s not fixed.”

“Fixed?” His voice echoes in his chest, where my ear is pressed. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m not crazy,” I insist, looking over at his nipple as I talk. Funny how comforting it can be to talk to a guy’s nipple. Way easier than looking him in the eye for sure. “I know we’ll never be a real family again. Mom and Rowan never forgave Dad for falling apart and not even trying. And I know they love me. They just work hard: they don’t have time to deal with anything other than the bakery. But I know Dad can get back on his feet.”

He strokes a hand through my hair, gently untangling the knots our crazy sex made. “I think you have an amazing heart, Maren. And I’m not telling you to stop believing in your dad. People turn their lives around every single day, right? But, it’s got to come from him. No matter how much you want it to happen, it’s got to be from your dad.”

“I know that,” I rush to explain, tripping over his words in an effort to get mine out. “I do. Seriously. But he does want to, that’s the thing. You don’t understand how depressed he is. How much he wants something else.”

“I believe he’s depressed.” Cohen pauses, and I can tell he’s choosing his words with care. “But depression…that’s, like, it’s a thing that needs to be dealt with, Maren. Professionally. And if you’re around him all the time, it’s going to start pulling you down. Don’t get upset, but it kind of has already, right?”

I push off his chest and yank the sheet up to cover my nakedness, getting ready to present to him the same argument I’ve argued to myself every time I think about leaving.

“I’m so young, Cohen. I can go back to school anytime. He needs help now. And if I don’t stop and help him, I’m scared…” The words are in my mouth, but I’m having a really hard time forcing them out. “I’m scared he’ll
die
, Cohen. And I’m not being a drama queen. I’m afraid he’ll have a heart attack or puke in his sleep and choke on it. So I check on him and make sure he’s okay, the same way he did for me when I was growing up.”

He nods. “I get it. I do.”

That’s not all he has to say, I can tell. “But?” I press.

“But what?” He hooks his fingers around mine and pulls me down close to him again. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t.”

I lie down next to him and press my face in the sheets. “Jason grew up with his mom. He never even knew his dad. And he and his mother talk, like, once every two months, maybe. So he never got it. But I thought you would get it, since your family is so important to you. So, I guess I don’t get what you don’t get. If that makes any sense.”

He rolls over so I’m trapped under him, his arms on either side of me. “I get family. I get they can be a pain in the ass. And sometimes you need to give more than you really want to. But no father can expect his daughter to just give up everything and care for him when he’s perfectly capable of caring for himself.”

I turn my head to the side to avoid his eyes, so focused and severe. “I could never be that selfish.”

“There’s such a thing as not being selfish enough, Maren. And, I know you don’t want to hear this, but your dad is being super selfish. To you.”

He sighs when I press at him, trying to get him off of me. I want to throw my clothes on and stomp away for a minute, but I can’t.

I left the vast majority of my clothing in the foyer and on the stairs. There is one tiny ball of crushed lace that would be more embarrassing to pick up and try to untangle and put on in front of him than to just be naked. I try to pull the sheet, but he’s wrapped in it.

Jason would have laughed at my stupid situation before he rolled over to take a nap.

Cohen gets off the bed, pads to his dresser, and pulls out a t-shirt. I take it from his hands and stuff it over my head, glad it’s a little long, because I don’t absolutely need to have underwear on with it. I am not going to be able to effectively state my case concerning why I need to take care of my father first right now with my ass hanging out in the breeze.

He pulls clothes on and says, “Would you like to sit on the deck?”

I nod and he leads me to the small wooden deck just off his bedroom, already set up with two chairs. The sun is just setting, making the sky so neon bright, I can barely stand to look directly at it. The hiss and crash of the waves is an awesome antidote to the jumble of thoughts piercing my brain like a bramble.

I don’t notice him leave, but when he comes back, he has two beers in his hand.

“Thank you.” I take a long sip.

“I love having you here,” Cohen says, squinting into the light. “You know, when I got this place, one of the main reasons I picked it was because I could picture having a wife here and a family. Eventually. And I thought I was going to marry Kensley. Bought her a ring and everything.”

I curl my legs up and drink more, not sure I want to hear this story.

“I stand by my first thoughts on her,” I confess. “She’s an idiot, Cohen.”

I think back to what he and I just did in that bed, and I try to imagine just walking away from it for no good reason. She must have been out of her damn mind.

“Thank you.” His smile melts me. I expect him to look sad when he revisits his break-up, but he seems okay. “I thought it was all figured out, right? And I was pretty upset when she first left. But I realized something that now seems pretty damn obvious.”

When he doesn’t make a move to finish his sentence, I prod him. “Okay. Tell me what you realized.”

He takes a long pull of his beer then looks out at the sun, now falling like a neon disk into the ocean. “You know, I’m a guy, so I was thinking of Kensley from a guy’s perspective. She was good-looking, she was into the idea of being married, we had fun together.”

I make a noncommittal sound. I so wish I could be more mature, but I want to drag Kensley around by her hair and scratch her stupid eyes out.

“But the person you marry, she’s going to be your family. Maybe even more than the family you’re born to, right? And when I started to think of Kensley as family, not some girl I was dating, it just made no sense to me. She and I made no sense on that deep a level.” He looks at me like I’m supposed to get it, but I don’t get it.