Do you have a waffle maker?
I stare down at the text from Justin and frown. Is this some sort of strange sexual innuendo that I’m not familiar with? It wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not exactly hip on all the lingo. I recall a conversation with Sara and Bailey once where my horizons were broadened to say the least. Who knew there were so many euphemisms for lady parts? Pink taco. Fur burger. Muff. Bearded Clam. The Notorious V. A. G., Red Wagon. Sheesh, that was a hilarious night. Pushing the thoughts away, I shake my head and begin to compose my response.
I don’t think so.
Okay. No problem. See you in 15.
Maybe it wasn’t sexual after all. Maybe he’s just craving waffles and I’m reading way too much into everything. Either way, I have fifteen minutes to ready myself until he arrives, and since it’s not enough time to take a leisurely bath like I wanted to, I pile my hair into a bun, and take the world’s fastest shower, still managing to wash and shave all the important parts somehow in under eight minutes. I’ve dressed in black leggings and a cream-colored t-shirt when my intercom buzzes.
He’s here.
I pull my hair out of its bun and shake it out around my shoulders so my waves fall back into place.
It’s been a long week of work for me and brutal practices for him, and now it’s Friday evening and I have Justin all to myself until tomorrow. I’m practically giddy at the idea of that.
When I answer the door, he’s already smiling. All six foot two of him is happy and excited to see me, and just that secret knowledge does something to me.
“Hey, gorgeous.” His arms are filled with grocery bags, and I’m immediately suspicious.
“Hey. What’s all this?” I open the door wider and he steps inside.
“Just a few things I picked up.” He carries the bags into the kitchen where he begins unloading their contents onto the counters. It’s then that I notice a duffel bag is strapped around his chest.
I chuckle at the thought of him packing an overnight bag. Surely he didn’t bring pajamas, did he?
Across my counters are various items, bottles of champagne and red wine, a carton of chocolate covered strawberries and two dozen of the biggest pale pink roses I’ve ever seen.
“What in the world?” I ask, grinning.
“I didn’t know if you liked champagne. I couldn’t remember. So I got your favorite red too.”
The label indicates it’s a bottle of red wine that I rarely splurge on—generally only when Owen is buying because it’s forty-five dollars a bottle. And while it tastes so much better than the ten dollar bottles I usually buy, it’s a bit outside of my preschool teacher’s salary.
“I like champagne. For special occasions.” My voice has gone soft, and apparently Justin notices. Is this a special occasion? I wonder.
His smile fades away into a more predatory look and he moves across the kitchen until we’re standing face-to-face. He places one hand on my waist, lightly squeezing.
Oh. Am I the special occasion?
“But the roses, the chocolate?” I ask, tilting my head in confusion. We’ve already had a re-do on our first time. Haven’t we? Although it wasn’t exactly like careful planning went into it—we just kind of fell in to bed together, our bodies desperate for contact.
He’s quiet for a moment as he takes me in. There’s a look of silent admiration in his eyes. “I wanted to make up for my behavior our first time together. I, um,” He rubs one hand over the back of his neck, looking unsure for just a moment. “I didn’t know for certain it was your first time until after, and I think your first time should be special, right?”
“What are you saying?” I cock my head, studying him.
“I want to make tonight special. For you.”
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. He wants to completely re-do our first time together. It’s the sweetest, kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me, but I can’t let myself read too much into it.
He fucked up—he’s trying to fix that—end of story.
This isn’t some grand, romantic gesture, and I can’t make it out to be.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” I say, though my smiles conveys how much I appreciate it.
There’s also a bag of nacho flavored chips and a bottle of blue Gatorade. “And this?” I ask with a chuckle.
He grins, removing the duffle bag from over his head and setting it on a nearby dining chair. “Post-sex snack,” he says like that makes perfect sense. “A man needs his replenishment, Elise.”
“Right.” I nod, feigning a serious expression. “Of course.”
“Let’s have a glass of champagne,” he suggests. “It’s already chilled.”
“Perfect.”
He gets to work on the cork while I locate two suitable glasses in the cabinet. I don’t have champagne flutes, so my stemless wineglasses will have to do.
While he fills each one with the bubbly golden liquid, I place the roses in a vase of water and sample one of the strawberries.
“Oh my God, so good,” I say, bringing one to his lips so he can taste a bite.
He makes a small, pleased sound as he chews. Then we carry our glasses to the couch and settle in side by side.
“This is so nice. We have all night,” he says, bringing his glass to mine before taking a sip.
I do the same and the bubbles dance across my tongue as I swallow.
It’s crisp and refreshing and delicious. I don’t even want to think about how much this bottle cost. It feels so decadent to me, but maybe this isn’t that big of a splurge to him at all. I often forget that Justin is a millionaire. Mostly because he doesn’t act like it.
I take another sip and try to relax.
“What else did you bring?” I recall that he hadn’t unpacked the last bag of groceries—or the duffel bag.
“I brought pancake mix for the morning, maple syrup, a skillet and a ladle. I wasn’t sure if you had those.”
I grin at him. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
I wonder if he’s also so thoughtful with all his dates, and suddenly I feel a hot pang of envy at all the women who’ve come before me.
I take another sip of my champagne while Justin watches me. I feel so warm and excited already, but clearly I suck at making the first move, because rather than do anything about it, I sit here, drinking my champagne while my heart flutters wildly and I grow more and more impatient.
Finally, he moves closer on the couch, setting his glass down on the table, and then removing mine from my hands to place it beside his.
He offers me his hand and when I accept, he pulls me up and into his lap so I’m straddling him.
“I really was serious about us being exclusive, Elise. For however long this lasts,” he says.
I nod and press my lips to his.
We kiss deeply, our tongues moving together in an unhurried pace as I push my hips into his lap.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, his lips moving to my throat. I move against him, loving the firm feel of his body beneath mine. “I want you.”
“So have me,” I whisper back.
Justin stands, still holding me and carries me to my bedroom. But he stops at the threshold and sets my feet on the floor. “Shit. I almost forgot. Wait here?”
I nod, unsure about what’s happening.
He grabs the duffle bag from the nearby chair and shuffles past me into my bedroom. I hear him moving around the room, but it’s dark and I don’t have a view of what’s he’s doing.
I hear him stub his toe against the bedframe—I know because I’ve done the same thing many times—and he curses loudly. I barely hold in a chuckle.
“Justin?”
“Just one second,” he calls.
What is he up to?
When Justin emerges to meet me in the hallway, I expect his face to hold a playful grin like I’ve come to expect from him. Instead his expression is serious. I’m not sure what to make of that.
He lifts my hand, presses a kiss to the backs of my knuckles, and urges me to follow him. We walk the few steps into my bedroom, and I’m taken aback by the scene before me.
There are about a dozen lit tea light candles placed on every surface—a few on my nightstand, several on my dresser. The entire room has a pretty, golden glow.
There are more pink roses than I originally saw. Their long stems decorate my bedside table and a generous heaping of soft petals are scattered in the center of my bed. Oh my God. They’re in the shape of a heart. It’s so cheesy, but so perfect, I want to laugh and melt all at the same time.
I had no idea this playboy had a romantic bone in his big, overly-muscular body.
It takes me a minute to realize soft music is playing in the background—the sound is coming from his phone. I recognize the sensual, moody playlist from our time before and grin.
“Justin,” my voice breaks. “This is…”
I don’t get to finish that sentence because his mouth is suddenly pressing into the back of my neck in a damp kiss as he lifts my hair over one shoulder.
“You in these goddamn leggings.” His firm hands skim down over my hips. “It drives me fucking crazy.”
I swallow and lean into him so my back is against the wide expanse of his solid chest.
“That night you came over and cooked for us, I couldn’t keep my eyes off your curves.”
I love hearing his words, love getting exposure to his inner thoughts like this.
“I was half-hard the entire night.” I melt back into his touch, but he’s not done. Wrapping both arms around me, he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Loved having you in my space, cooking for me, feeding me, even if I couldn’t show it.”
I grin wryly. Hockey players can eat more than anyone. Of course the way to his affections is through his stomach. Something about that amuses me.
I have so many things I want to say. I want to thank him for making tonight so special, for all the effort he’s obviously put in, but Justin turns me in his arms and leads me to the bed. I lower myself to the mattress, sitting on the edge of it. My shirt comes off and then my bra. His hands are on my breasts, already massaging and caressing as I unbutton his pants, and work my hand inside his boxer briefs. He’s already hard for me and oh my fuck, that does something for me.
He makes a low groan and then leans down to pull my leggings down my hips. I lift my behind off the bed as he tugs my pants and everything down at once until he removes them completely. I’m suddenly naked while he’s still fully clothed.
“No fair.” I pout.
He frowns. “Are you cold? I should have turned up the heat.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just think you should join me.” I work my hands under his shirt and press my hands to his firm stomach. His muscles jump under my touch.
Then he’s pulling the shirt off over his head and dropping his pants just as quickly.
Justin Brady naked is a fine work of art, but I barely get a second to appreciate the view before he’s guiding me back onto the bed. He cages me in underneath him, his forearms on either side of my shoulders as his warm body covers mine. The feeling is amazing. His hard length is pressed right over my pubic bone, and when I wrap my legs around him, it comes perfectly in line with my center.
His mouth covers mine in a hungry kiss—and we stay like that for a long time. His tongue stroking and flirting with mine while his erection grinds against me in the most maddening way possible. I’ve never been kissed like this. Open-mouthed, demanding, and insanely passionate.
Something that he said when we had our exclusivity talk has stuck with me.
I take a break from kissing him and touch the rough stubble on his cheek. “I want you to fuck me without a condom.”
He pulls back to meet my eyes and his expression is like I’ve just asked him to solve a complicated mathematical equation. “What are you … talking about?”
“You’re clean. I’m definitely clean. I want to feel you—for real—without a layer of latex in between us.”
His eyebrows pinch together and his expression looks pained. “Fuck, Elise,” he curses low under his breath. “You have no idea how badly I would love to do that with you, but we can’t.”
I chew on my lower lip as I meet his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because, for one thing I could get you pregnant.”
Oh. Right. It’s weird that the possibility of that doesn’t scare the pants off of me—well, my pants are already off, but still. I shake my head. “I’m on birth control. Plus, you could pull out if you want a little back up.”
I see a moment of hesitation. He wants to give in, but he’s fighting with himself. “I’ve never done that before.”
“You’ve never slept with someone without a condom?”
He shakes his head.
I grin. “Good. That means I get to have one of your firsts too.”
At this, he chuckles, looking uncertain. “You might not realize it, but you do already own a lot of my firsts.”
I make a skeptical sound in the back of my throat.
“It’s true,” he continues, brushing a strand of hair back from my face as he gazes down at me.
It should feel weird to be having an entire lengthy discussion while we’re both naked and aroused, and yet with him, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to be hammering out these details. It must be because I’m so comfortable with him, but regardless, I like it. A lot. I like all of the communication and quiet admissions of truth. And as eager as I am for what comes next, part of me wants to keep the conversation going.
“Remember when you and Owen went to prom?” I grin at the memory of them primping themselves in front of Owen’s bedroom mirror.
“Yeah, you were in middle school, right?”
I nod. “I had such a crush on you back then. Seeing you in a tux.” I grin. “It was the first time I felt like my little heart might just explode from sheer longing.”
He chuckles softly, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “E-Class, I’m shocked.” His mouth tilts in a wry grin. “Well I have something to admit too. I’ve never packed a duffle bag full of candles, or put rose petals all over someone’s bed before.”
My heart is so full of him, and my body is so ready for more, and I know the time for talking is done. “Then give me one more first,” I whisper, bringing one hand between us. Wrapping my hand around his thick length, I guide him to my opening. Then I watch as his teeth sink into his lower lip and a sexy look of concentration flashes across his features as I start to push him inside. He tilts his hips forward, giving me what I want at an agonizingly slow pace.
A tiny pinch as I accommodate to his size and then pleasure. So. Much. Pleasure.
I groan and his eyes sink closed as he thrusts the rest of the way home.
“Oh, fuck, Elise.” His voice is broken and gruff, it’s unexpectedly sexy to hear him losing control.
The warm ambience of the candlelight is surprisingly sweet, and I love it. I love being able to see him and watch his expression change as he gazes down on me. He fights off a shiver, and makes a desperate, needy noise as his lips meet mine.
His strokes grow faster, his hips snapping into mine as my volume increases.
“Yes. Like that. Yes,” I moan.
Supporting his weight over me with one hand, he brings the other between us to apply gentle pressure.
I start to come immediately, writhing and whimpering and tightening my thighs around his trim hips as he continues to rock into me.
“Oh fuck, you’re so tight. Without the condom. Jesus, I just can’t…” he moans, his forehead dropping against mine. Our lips brush but we don’t kiss.
I know he’s close and I expect him to pull out.
But then his strong arms tighten around me as he makes a pleasure-filled sound, pumping into me in short, uncoordinated strokes as he fills me with his warmth.
He presses a long kiss to my lips, and then carefully withdraws. I curl my knees up to my chest, still panting.
“Are you okay?” He looks down at me in admiration.
I did little more than lay here, but I’m glad he looks pleased. Actually he looks more than pleased. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look this happy and tender. He touches his lips to mine again, and then runs his thumb over my core in the most distracting figure-eight.
“I got you all messy.” His tone is almost reverent.
I can’t help the giggle that bursts from my lips. “Trust me it was more than worth it.”
Justin helps clean me up and we lay together in bed for a long time, just talking. We have sex once more, and it’s slower and more drawn out, but just as hot. And then I dress in pajamas while he puts his boxers back on. We head to the kitchen, because apparently he wasn’t kidding about needing a post-sex snack. We eat nacho cheese tortilla chips and drink champagne and blue Gatorade and watch bad reality TV, and it’s one of the best nights of my entire life.
