The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 62

He put me on his dresser and ripped them off in a flash. He was rock hard. Tensing, I didn’t know what for, but he paused a second longer than I wanted. He reached for his drawer, but I wasn’t waiting. Condom be damned. I wanted another Naly, and I took his dick in my hand like a stick shift. I put that fucker in gear. Scooting to the edge of the dresser, I moved him inside me at the same time.
Channing gasped, his hand grabbing the dresser.
“Holy fuck, Heather.”
I really wasn’t waiting. He could adjust at his own pace. I began rolling my hips, riding him in a smooth motion, taking him deep, then bringing him back to the edge and repeating. I went slow at first, speeding up next.
Channing was frozen, rigid as I rode him until suddenly, another growl erupted and he grabbed me, spinning and dropping us both onto his bed. One hand clamped onto my hip, and the other grabbed the top of his headboard, and he began to ride me in return. He lifted himself, his hips matching my motions at an almost frenzied speed. I was blind with desire. The pleasure built and built, coating my insides, tensing me, stretching me.
I loved this man, but I might’ve loved what he did to me in bed the most.
Reaching up, I grabbed him, trying to bring him down. I wanted to feel his weight.
“Hell no,” he grunted and just thrust harder into me.
God.
He was like a man possessed, but this had been my time to dominate. Not his. He was tormenting me. I mean, he was giving it to me, but I wanted more. I needed more, and snarling, I grabbed his arm and yanked him down.
“Wha—”
I broke his hold from the headboard. Before he caught himself, I flipped our positions, dragging him down on the bed and clambering on top. I threw one leg over him, and I sank down on him.
Oh, damn. That felt good.
I could feel him in spots I hadn’t before, and bracing myself on his chest, I began going again. His hands went to my hips, and he matched me, our hips almost dancing together, grinding.
This. Yes. This way.
My head fell back, and I savored this.
After a bit, I felt him sit up, and his lips found my breasts.
Pleasure coursed through me. I grabbed the back of his head. My fingers sank in, holding him to me as he took my nipple in his teeth. I began to crave that, yearning for him to torture the other one too.
There were no pretty words between us. There weren’t flowery promises. There was just us. Our love. Our bodies. The addiction we had for each other. We were linked, like invisible chains. They were there, whether we wanted them or not. The farther apart we went, they just went with us, growing taut until the other gave in and came back.
That was how we were, and as I rode my man to completion, felt him jerking under my body and shooting up into me, this was ecstasy. I squeezed him, savoring how he felt inside me. I didn’t need the drug. I had him. I went over the edge and felt my orgasm almost assaulting my body. It went all the way to my toes, to my fingers, to the base of my neck where one of his hands had crept, anchoring me as he came.
I gasped, panting.
My eyelids peeled open, and I stared down at him.
I saw the same contentment in his eyes, and one corner of his mouth curved up. “You are welcome to do that any time, anywhere, and anyway you want.”
“Maybe I’ll fly out tomorrow.”
His arms came around me, pulling me down. He rolled on top and fitted right between my legs.
“Yes. Maybe you’ll fly out tomorrow.” He wasn’t ready for another go, but he laid on me, and I savored this feeling of him. I traced my finger down his back as he ran a hand down my side and leg.
I raked my fingers through his hair.
We lay like that for an hour.
Channing had to make some calls, but when he came back, he climbed right into bed. We stayed there the rest of the day, and when it was getting dark out, he rolled me to my stomach and thrust in from behind.
It was his turn to make me see the stars.
47
Heather
I was on the plane the next day.
People were still getting to their seats, but I had my seatbelt on. I’d gone to the bathroom. My phone was in my hand, headphones on for music, and I was already bored. Flipping through the travel magazines in the seat pouch in front of me, I glanced between them and my phone. Then I thought, fuck it. I called Sam. We hadn’t talked for a while—not since the day at Manny’s when I needed some strength not to end up in bed with Channing.
It’d been a losing battle from the beginning.
“Hey!” She answered a second later, sounding out of breath.
“Hey. What were you doing?” I grinned. “Bumping uglies with your man?”
She laughed. “Yeah. Right. I wish. I was doing some of those mommy Pilates. Anything to help with the birthing, you know. I’m worried how stretched I’ll be.”
“Are you trying to induce yourself?”
Another laugh. “Yeah. Right. I’ll be like that closer to the date, but it’s too early.”
Wait—what?
“When’s your due date again?” I should know.
I was a horrible friend. I couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t I remember?
“We have another month. Mason wants to do a C-section, but I told him…” She stopped. “Heather?”
I wasn’t being carted out for a surprise birthing present. “Mason didn’t ask for me to fly out, did he?”
“Wait. What?”
I knew. I didn’t need her to ask Mason. I knew.
That fuckhead. Channing lied to me.
“Hey. Um…” I motioned to the lady next to me, mouthing, “I’m sorry” as I undid my belt and got up.
That fuckhead.
Fuckhead
Fuckhead.
I was going to kill him.
No, I was going to find him, then kill him, then bring him back to life, and maybe I’d kill him again. He knew damn well what he was doing.
He was getting me out of the way.
“Are you okay? Heather?” Sam was still on the phone.
Shit. “Sorry, Sam.”
I grabbed my bag from the top and started for the front.
“Miss!” A flight attendant stepped in front of me. “Miss!”
“I have to go.” I was past her, going back up the ramp.
“Heather, are you okay? Where are you?”
I laughed, wincing at how bitter I sounded. “I’m leaving an airplane I was put on to come and visit you as a surprise.”
“What?! Really?”
Another grimace. She sounded so happy.
I tucked the phone in the crook of my neck, gentling my tone. “Yeah. Listen, I have to go.”
“The plane is taking off?”
“No. I’m off the plane.”
“What? I thought you just said—”
“I know.” I was past the flight attendants. Both saw me and shook their heads. “Listen, Sam. I’ll call you later. I’ll explain everything, but I’m not coming.”
“Oh. Oka—”
I hung up on her. I would text her to apologize, but I had a suitcase to try to stop first.
“There’s an emergency…”
I started there, and I got a denial from the first employee, then a denial with a smile, then a denial with a forced smile, then a long pause, and then two phone calls until I was exiting the airport with my luggage.
Channing had given me a ride to the airport, so I dumped my stuff in the closest taxi and gave the driver my address.
I was officially off the concussion-healing regimen.
I was going to kick Channing’s ass.