His Plus One by Kate Aster

Chapter 11

~ HAILEY ~

Son of a bitch.

“You deserve better than a hook-up after just one date, Hailey.”His words echo in my skull, because that’s just what happens when I’m lying here sleepless at one a.m. and I’m not getting any.

The nerve of him. It’s like he held out a piece of bread to a starving woman and then snatched it away, telling her that she deserves a feast instead. But where’s my feast?

Who does he think he is, anyway? My keeper? My conscience? My freaking warden, maybe? Because after kissing me like he did last night, getting sent to bed alone feels a little like a jail sentence.

A peck on the forehead?

What am I? His little sister?

Of course, it’s my own damn fault.

I can’t believe I let it slip that I’ve only been with Stephen. I’m not entirely an idiot. I know that telling a guy you’ve only had one sole sex partner I suppose isn’t really something you say if you’re trying to lure him into the sack.

He probably thinks I’d fall victim to those pesky post-sex nesting hormones and be picking out engagement rings by the end of the cruise. Which, I recall from our conversation at the lunch table a couple weeks ago, is exactly what he didn’t want to deal with by inviting any other woman on this cruise.

Stupid, stupid me.

I generally don’t discuss my lack of sexual conquests with people. Frankly, I don’t think that only having one sex partner should make a woman a social pariah.

But the fact is, I actually hate admitting that I saved myself—albeit unintentionally—for a guy who ended up using me for six years and then tossing me out on the curb the minute he hit the big-time.

It was the wine, I suppose, that made it slip. Or maybe the fact that I’ve always felt so comfortable around Graydon.

Comfortable enough to essentially dry hump him on a public beach only minutes after declaring we were on an official date.

Ugh… How could I? Fury swirls with mortification, recalling that thirty seconds—and I’d swear it wasn’t longer than that—in which I used his ragingly hard erection like it was the best sex toy money could buy.

What’s the matter with me?

“You deserve better...”His words won’t stop thrumming in my head, like it’s data hard-coded into my brain.

I’m a grown woman who knows exactly what I deserve, and it sure as hell isn’t some man who thinks he knows better than me about what I need right now.

I reach for my phone, hoping to distract myself by swiping through some of the photos I put on Facebook or watching my snorkeling video again.

Thatis how I want to remember this day, doing things that were quintessentially fun, not getting rejected by yet another asshole.

Damn right, I deserve better!

Frowning, I see a string of text alerts from Stephen that came in around the time I should have been falling asleep.

My face morphs into a sneer. Just what I didn’t need right now. I was kind of enjoying how unreachable we were when we were at sea, because the ship’s crummy wi-fi doesn’t allow for much contact with the outside world.

“I need to talk to you,” Stephen’s first text reads.

“Call me.”

“Are you there?”

“Call me,” his final one reads yet again—redundant as though he couldn’t quite come up with another way of putting it. Stephen never was much of a wordsmith.

Call him? He actually expects me to drop everything and call him, after six months of hearing him whine, “Can’t talk now—too busy zipping down the road in my new Porsche, and by the way, can you take the dog this weekend? Because I’ve got a date I want to impress with my really big… boat.”

Sure, I’ll call him… when hell freezes over.

But, out of obligation to the dog I love, I text back, “Is Peanut all right?” and am surprised when I get a reply within a minute this late at night.

“Yes.”

I text back just as quickly. “Then nothing you have to say is going to disturb my vacation.” I hit send. And frown when I get another in response.

“But you need to talk to me.”

Really? My eyes widen.

I need to talk to him? Is he serious?

I need?

I’m nearly baited into replying, my fingers primed to tell him that he couldn’t possibly know what I need.

But I stop myself, tap on his contact icon, and touch the almighty “Hide Alerts” toggle.

Perfect.

I don’t think I’ve snoozed one of his conversations in my life. It’s empowering as hell. I should have done this a long time ago.

I’ll check his messages when I go to meet him at Target for our usual dog hand-off. And not an instant before. I’m sure as hell not giving him one more minute of my vacation time, especially when he’s probably just going to bitch about all the no-holds-barred fun I’ve been posting on Facebook while he’s stuck dog sitting.

I tap on my texting icon again, happy to see that all his texts diverted to another folder as if they never even happened.

God, I love technology. It’s no wonder I went into digital forensics.

I find myself briefly smiling, until I feel my lip curl. You need to talk to me.

Funny how all the men I surround myself with always seem to think they know what I deserve or what I need.

I know exactly what I deserve.

I know exactly what I need.

And right now, the two of them are overlapping like a Venn diagram with Graydon’s red-carpet-worthy face and chiseled bod at the center of it.

Suffocating in darkness, I flick on the light as my blood pressure spikes. Things always seem worse at night. It’s a fact; I know.

When I wake up in the morning, I might even see the logic in taking my time with Graydon. We work together. We’re friends.

In the morning, it will all make sense.

But I came on this ship to have fun. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him get away with using the excuse that I’m just too innocent to handle him.

I lurch upwards out of bed and fling open the door between us.

There he is, sleeping like a baby.

I hate that men can do that.

Frustration builds, watching him, probably dreaming of protein shakes and weight rooms or whatever the hell SEALs dream about at night.

I flick on the light and his eyes snap open as he sits up, a quick response I’d expect from a Special Ops guy. “Hailey? You all right?”

I hate that he’s so nice. I hate that instead of being annoyed that I woke him, the first words out of his mouth are concern for me.

“No. No I’m not all right. I’m mad.”

His face screws up. “At me?”

“Yes. Yes, at you,” I seethe. “You’ve got a lot of nerve just sending me to bed like I’m—your little sister or something.”

Cringing, he stands. “Um, I definitely don’t feel like you’re my little sister. In fact, that thought right now is pretty damn disturbing actually.”

“Okay, okay. Not sister. But like I’m some little innocent…” I struggle for the right word but give up. “It’s—it’s—condescending crap.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending.”

“It took a lot of nerve for me to invite you into my bed. And it’d be fine if you just rejected me. I could live with that. But you act like I’m not smart or savvy or experienced enough to make my own decision about where this—” I wave my hand at the air between us. “—thing between us goes.”

“I never meant to come across that way.”

I take a step closer to him and find myself poking him in his rock-hard chest. “For your information, I’ve been on four different continents doing things that—that…” God, I stink at this. “…require a lot more guts than any of those girls you’ve dated, I’ll bet. And I know things that would keep any of them up at night—things that require more clearance than even you’ve got.”

“I’m well aware.”

“I don’t need to be coddled or protected or—or—anything. And if you don’t want to have sex with me because I don’t have a ton of experience, well, then fine, and…fuck off.”

His eyes widen, as I spit out those last two words. I suppose because I don’t drop F-bombs very often. He almost looks like he’s holding back a laugh, which makes me want to punch him.

I glare. “But don’t you dare turn me down for sex giving the lame excuse that I deserve better than a hook-up after one date. I’m a grown-ass woman, Graydon. I know what I want. I know what I deserve. And I sure don’t need you or any man acting like you know what’s best for me.”

“I was only trying to be… considerate.”

My face screws up. “Considerate? You think it’s considerate to deprive a woman when you know damn well she wants—”

I feel his hands grasp my upper arms as he tugs me flush against him and cuts me off, slamming his lips against mine.

My knees buckle as heat overtakes me, but his hold on me prevents me from falling to the ground in a heap.

Lips yielding, I taste him like I had dared to earlier tonight. I feel his body harden against me, filling me with a kind of stupor as I realize that he wants me as badly as I want him right now.

His breath enters me as I gasp, and his tongue toys with mine. It’s so slick and warm and I can’t help wondering what it would feel like on other parts of my body.

I want so desperately to find out.

Breathless, he pulls his lips from mine and whispers, “Is that what you wanted?”

“That’s a start.”

All my most sensual wishes are granted when he bends to lift me off the floor like I’m a feather, so easily, so gently that it makes my heart ache with need. I’ve seen the strength in his body before on this trip—ripples of muscles that greet me from time to time when I step out of my room and catch him without a shirt or when we were at the beach. I’ve practically memorized how those muscles look. So it shouldn’t surprise me how they feel when his arms are beneath me, carrying me into the bed.

But it does surprise me. And even more, I’m shocked by my reaction to it. I’ve always liked the feeling of empowerment—being able to take care of myself, have a steady and reliable job where I’m respected. I pay the bills, I save for my future, and I am in charge of my own destiny.

Yet in his arms, I feel deliciously helpless, as though I want to hand over the reins to him now, and let someone else take control for once. It’s as though I’m only now realizing how weary I am of holding up my own world on my shoulders.

Oh, to have a man like Graydon.To have him… in every aspect of the word, I ponder as he lowers me onto the bed and I feel the sheets at my back, still warm from earlier.

“Are you sure about this, Hailey?”

I use my hands as much as my words, reaching down to him and tracing along the heat of his erection beneath his boxers as I say, “Very sure.”

He lowers his body on top of mine, and he kisses me—my mouth, the curve of my jaw, my neck. I feel his hands sliding beneath my nightshirt as his eyes lock onto mine. His hand brushes against my breast, then squeezes ever so gently as his thumb rubs against my nipple.

Oh my God. I want more of this. And when I pull my nightshirt off quickly, I’m hoping to send the right message. His mouth moves to my nipple, his tongue tracing along its circumference as his hand strokes my other breast.

Heat pools between my legs, desperate for his touch there. His touch—and so much more.

“You are so beautiful, Hailey. How did I see you every day at lunch and not really see you?” His tone is almost repentant. As though he’s wanting to turn back the dial of time and enjoy these recent months that he’s been stationed at my workplace in an entirely different way.

And as though he wants to share a lot more than lunch when we return.

I hope for that too—but right now is what I’m focused on. Right now, as his kisses migrate from my breasts to my belly…and downward still.

Yes. That’s where I need you now.

He kisses the outside of my panties and I feel the heat of his mouth through the thin fabric. Then he eases them down and the chill of the air strikes my core.

He’s going to go down on me.

Oh God…

I don’t have a ton of experience with this. There were only a few times when my ex did this, usually his way of saying he wanted the same from me. But I never quite enjoyed it—always feeling like I should draw up a cheat sheet for him of where exactly I needed his touch, because when I pointed it out during the event, he wasn’t much of a listener.

I don’t want that right now.

“You don’t have to—” I say quickly, but I stop myself when his tongue presses against the pearl of my desire just as he slides a single finger into me.

Oh… ooooh…

No cheat sheet is needed for Graydon, apparently.

“Don’t stop,” I blurt instead, because if he did, I might cry. His tongue encircles my need, and he moans slightly, the vibration of it ratcheting up my desire.

Holy mother of…

He slides his finger out and I whimper. But then both his hands touch the backs of my knees, easing me upward to bend. He opens me completely and I’m about to come undone just from the feeling of being utterly exposed to his perusal like this.

Again, his mouth finds the tender nub of my clit, and he nibbles and licks and coaxes until I feel the moisture spilling from between my legs.

I’ve never needed a man quite like this. Never so wantonly and it feels almost otherworldly. I need his penetration. He seems to read my mind, slipping a finger in me again. My breath catches as the full length of his finger is inside me and I still need more.

My body arches instinctively, and I press my core harder against his mouth as he moans. The feverish need builds as I pant to near exhaustion, until he slides a second finger inside me and I explode, bucking and crying out in a slow, yet maddeningly fierce climax… until my breath eventually calms.

His kisses migrate upward on my body, reversing the path he took earlier until I can feel the ridge of him just where I want him desperately.

Somehow, I muster the strength to slide my hand beneath his boxers. He’s hard for me, and huge with an erection that seems fitting considering the size of everything else on his body.

“I need you inside of me right now, Graydon.”

“That, I can oblige.” He tugs off his boxers and blankets me with his body and I feel the tip of him at my slit when he suddenly freezes. “Shit. Condoms. I don’t know if I have condoms.”

My eyes bulge. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that. “You didn’t pack any?”

He cocks his head. “It would look really bad if I had, considering the circumstances I brought you on this trip, wouldn’t it?” he laughs.

How can he laugh when I’m about to expire with need right now?

“Let me check my wallet,” he adds, before kissing my lips and then lifting his body from mine. “I might have a couple stashed in there.”

As he leaves the room, I can’t help noting his perfect naked form.

Looking at him, I feel my eyes widen. If any Ocean City boardwalk fortune teller had told me on my last trip there that I’d get to have sex with a man who looked like that, I’d have asked for my five dollars back, thinking… impossible.

He disappears for barely a minute and I pray to the patron saint of desperate women that he’ll find at least one in his wallet.

“We’re in luck,” he says triumphantly, filling up my doorway with his impressive form as he holds up what looks like two precious condoms.

He tears one of the wrappers open with his teeth, looking almost as desperate as I feel. Then, after he sheaths himself, he covers me with his firm body. I feel the pressure of him at my entry and watch his eyes flicker shut as he slowly slides into me, barely an inch at first. He looks like he’s memorizing the feel of this, and I like the idea that he even feels the need to do that.

Deeper he enters me, stretching me out. My body almost struggles to accommodate his size, even as wet and slick as I am right now. He’s so thick and long, and he fills me completely.

And when I feel the pressure of him at my womb, I shudder.

“You okay, baby?”

The care of his words, the concern on his face, only seem to cultivate this need that is building inside me.

“Never been better,” I breathe out. And couldn’t possibly get better, the little voice in my head seems to add. And when he slides outward, and then in again, I feel another climax already within my reach. His movements are slow, achingly patient as though he doesn’t want this to go too quickly.

And I then realize, it is about to get even better.

How does he do this? As soon as I feel like my desire can’t get any stronger, he ratchets up my need to new heights.

He reaches my womb again, and then shifts his angle slightly, the tip of him touching me… someplace even deeper inside of me. The pressure of him just there makes my hips thrust upward suddenly, gasp, and then cry out when an unexpected climax overtakes me. It’s almost painful—and yet glorious—as though my body wanted to be better prepared, but the suddenness of it only increases its power.

I gave up believing I had a G-spot the same way I gave up believing there was a Santa, the Easter Bunny, or honest politicians. But apparently, one of them really does exist.

Thrusting my pelvis in a rhythm that is driven by instinct, I gasp and moan, and his name escapes my lips in a scream that he muffles with his kiss.

Then he lifts his face from mine and watches me as I come so hard as he stills his cock deep inside of me and lets me savor the pressure of him against my core. Then, just when I feel the grip of the climax loosen, he thrusts in me again, prolonging the sensation.

Never has anything felt quite so exquisite—wanton and yet tender at the same time. How is it even possible to feel this? And how could I bear life without being able to feel this again?

My body seizes up around him, the channel of me tightening as though to pull him in even harder, until finally, I feel as though I’m in a freefall, and I melt into the sheets, gasping for air.

He eases my leg up against his hip and moves me to my side, his thrusts now gentle and slow as though he knows I need to recover.

And I do need to recover—my mind is swirling, desperate to try to reconcile all these new emotions and sensations with reality. Because none of this even seems of this world right now.

He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut.

“What?” I dare to ask, almost hoping that his words might bring me back to earth.

“Nothing. Just—you’re really beautiful, Hailey.”

The words are so simple, yet so sincere they make my heart ache.

Because with his eyes on me, so appreciative, I feel beautiful in this moment.

Don’t do it, Hailey.

Don’t fall for him too quickly, too hard, too completely.I can’t help reminding myself this because it’s just one night after a magical day of sun and sand and absolute perfection.

And while the look in his eyes right now tells me he has every interest in continuing this, I know that when we return to reality, everything will be different. I won’t be dancing with abandon or swimming in turquoise waters or sipping fine wine in front of a tropical sunset.

But right now is all I need. And I’ll savor it.

He eases me onto my back again, and I feel him slide into me hard, and then harder. The rhythm he sets is one of need rather than patience now—and I love it. I love the idea that I can make him feel so much desire. Beneath my fingertips, I feel every muscle inside him tense, and I luxuriate in this power I seem to have over him.

Sensation radiates from my core out to my very fingertips and I memorize the feel of it, the heat and the spark and the fury building like a wave with a crest that seems to get higher and higher.

I pant and moan when I feel another apex drawing near. His cock, already rock hard inside me, seems to become even harder, pulsating with a need to explode. The friction of our joined bodies elevates me, and I gasp.

His jaw is clenched, his eyes slam shut, and I know he can hold back no longer. He drives into me again, so powerfully that I shatter just as he does. The cry I emit is from sheer ecstasy, feeling as though my soul escaped my body, soaring upward until again it comes crashing down into my core.

Panting, my body shudders as he stays inside me until the last aftershock of my climax has melted away. Then, with both of us fully satiated, he moves to my side, still inside me as he brushes his fingertips from my mouth, down my neck, and then presses his hand against my heart.

I feel my rapid heartbeat vibrate against his palm.

“Just wanted to make sure,” he says, his grin sweet and devilish at the same time.

“That you hadn’t given me a heart attack?” I ask, my tone joking.

“No. That you were feeling the same thing I was.” He says the words with such weight, such tenderness, that my heart expands inside my chest.

I don’t know about tomorrow. I don’t know how he’ll feel when he wakes up in this bed with me at his side. I don’t know how things will change when we step back onto American soil.

But I do know this: One time tonight won’t be enough.