The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle
twenty-seven
Dillon
“Honey, I’m home.” He’s all freshly showered after coming back from training.
My eyes flick to the clock on West’s laptop. It’s after four p.m. Bloody hell, I’ve been writing pretty much all day without a break.
That’s never happened to me before.
I notice that my hands are aching. But it’s a good kind of ache. The I achieved something today ache.
Feeling happy to see him, I pop out of my seat, run over to him, and jump into his arms. He catches me with an oomph, my legs going around his waist, his hands cupping my butt. My fingers thread into his hair, and I plant a kiss on his lips. He moans and dives into the kiss without hesitation.
When our mouths break apart, we’re both breathing heavier.
“Hey.” I smile at him.
“Hey yourself.” He gives my butt a squeeze.
“I wrote today,” I tell him, unable to contain my excitement.
“That’s great.”
“Like, I wrote all day! I was struggling at first, but then I got this idea, and bam! I couldn’t stop writing.”
While I’ve been saying all of this, West has carried me into the kitchen. He sets me down on the countertop, goes to the fridge, and gets a bottle of water.
“Want anything?” he asks me.
“No, I’m good.”
I watch him twist the cap off the bottle and then take a drink. Is it weird that I’m getting turned on from watching the way his throat works when he swallows?
“How was training?” I ask when he lowers the bottle from his mouth.
“Brutal. Coach had us running drills for hours. I’m tired. Even my ass muscles ache.”
“Aw, poor baby.” I pout. “No sex for you tonight then.”
His eyes snap up to mine. “I said I was tired, Double D. Not dead.”
I laugh softly. “I can give you a massage if you want?”
“I want.”
“But before the massage, I need to ask you something. Well, run something by you.”
“How about massage while you run something by me?”
“Deal.”
I hop off the counter and follow West to the sofa. He sits down, and I move to sit next to him. He’s obviously not happy with this seating arrangement because he picks me up and moves me to sit in his lap, facing him. Then, he takes hold of my hands and places them on his shoulders. He’s tired, yet he still has the strength and energy to pick me up and move me around. I wish I had that kind of energy left when I was tired. When I’m tired, I struggle to pick up the remote control to turn the television on.
I start to massage his shoulders, and he groans, laying his head back against the sofa and closing his eyes.
“This pressure okay?” I ask as I knead his muscles with my fingers.
“Perfect.”
I run my fingers up his neck, pull the tie from his hair, and then slide my fingers into the dirty-blond strands, massaging his scalp.
“That feels good,” he groans.
“So, this thing I need to ask you …”
“Uh-huh?”
“Well, my book idea, the one I’ve spent all day plotting out and writing?” I feel a frisson of excitement inside me at the mere thought. “It’s kind of about me and you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, as in a questioning okay? Or okay as in, yes, that’s okay?”
“Okay, as in a questioning okay.”
“Don’t you think it’s crazy that there are variations of meanings for the same word in the English language? I honestly love it though. Words, I mean. I just love words and writing and—”
“Dillon.”
“Oh. Right. So, yeah, the book is like fiction based on fact. I was thinking about us—you know, how we met—and then I thought, Why don’t I write a story about us? Well, not about us. Write the story of how we met. You know, what took me to the island, how we agreed to start hooking up, and my coming here for an extended holiday. But not use our names or any details about you and me, or my mum and Tim, just use the basis of our meeting for the story. I started the first chapter from when I found out that Tim and my mum were having an affair and how I went on my honeymoon, alone. But instead of it being me, my character will have another name—one I haven’t decided on. And so will Tim and Mum, but actually, in the story, she won’t be the heroine’s mum; she’ll be her sister. So, like, changing it up, you know.” I move my hands from his hair, tracing patterns over his cheekbones and jaw, giving his face a little mini massage, like I’ve had in the past when I had a facial. Then, I move my hands down to his chest and start massaging his pectoral muscles.
His eyes are still closed, and he’s quiet. I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
“West, are you still with me?”
“I’m here.”
“Okay, so of course, you’ll be in the book but not as you. You’ll be the hot guy who my heroine meets on holiday, and I’ll write about her coming to America with him. All of our stuff, but I won’t write the actual intimate things that have happened between us.”
“You mean, the sex we’ve had.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t mind you writing about that.” He pops open an eye and grins.
“I’m sure you don’t. And of course, the characters will have sex, just not exactly like we’ve had.”
“And continue to have.” He closes his eyes but slides his hands up my thighs, his fingers going dangerously close to deterring my thoughts toward actual sex instead of talking to him about writing the fictional sex.
“So, basically, I want to check that it’s okay with you that I loosely use our time together for the basis of my book?”
“What, will my fictional name be in the book?”
“Oh. Huh. Well, I don’t know yet. I haven’t gotten around to choosing names for any of the characters yet.”
“Just putting it out there, but I think King is a great name.”
“King?”
“Of sex.”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll take it into consideration.” I move my hands up to his biceps, working the muscles there. “So, does that mean you’re okay with me writing the book?”
“Sure. You’re not using my name, so it’s fine with me. In truth, I wouldn’t care if you did use my real name.” He lifts that big shoulder of his. “It’s my team that would take issue with it. And my father.”
“I get that. And like I said, it’s fiction loosely based on reality.” I move my hands lower to his abs and start rubbing them. “Thanks for being cool about this. Gah! It’s so exciting. Also, I think I have the title for the book, but I wanted to check with you. I’m thinking of calling it The Two-Week Stand. You know, what we initially called our fling.”
“You were the one who called it that, not me.”
“Oh yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
“Yep. And I like it. I think it’s a cool name for a book. Not that I know much about romance books. So, when it’s finished, will I get to read it?”
“You’d wanna read it?” I’m genuinely surprised.
The only person in my life who has ever asked to read my books is my aunt Jenny. But he’s asking to read it when it’s done, and my heart is going all soft in his direction.
He opens his eyes, looking kind of sleepy and gorgeous. “Course I would. I need to make sure you do my dick and fucking skills justice.”
I poke him in the side, making him jump.
“I wanna read it because you’re writing it.”
“And for the sex scenes.”
“Well, obviously.”
I start massaging his shoulders again.
“So, while we’re on the subject of favors, I have one to ask myself.”
My hands pause on his shoulders. “Okay.”
“Well”—he sighs—“I have a party that I have to go to in a few weeks.”
“Okay.”
“And I was wondering if you’d come with me.”
“You’re asking me to go to a party with you?”
“Yep.”
My chest fills with happiness. “Of course I’ll go with you.” I start massaging him again.
“Cool.”
“Whose party is it?”
“Well, it’s my stepmom’s fiftieth birthday.”
“Your stepmom. As in the First Lady?”
“Yes …”
“And where is this party going to be held?”
“At their house.”
My hands freeze again. Actually, my whole body freezes, stiffening. “You mean, the White House?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re asking me to go to the fiftieth birthday party of the First Lady of the United States at the White House?”
“Your voice sounds all squeaky.”
“Of course it’s squeaky!” I squeak. “It’s the White House! The president and First Lady! It’s a lot.”
“It’s really not. They’re just people.”
“To you!”
Shit! What am I gonna wear?I’m gonna have to go shopping. And also Google what one should wear to a party at the White House.
“You can’t back out of going with me, Double D. You already said you’d go.”
I stop freaking out and look at him. Really look at him. His brow is tense.
“I’m not backing out.” I soften my voice. “Should I take it that you’re not keen on the thought of going?”
His shoulders lift under my hands. “I just know how it’ll go—that’s all.”
“How will it go?” I ask the question carefully.
Another shrug. “My dad will find some way to tell me what a disappointment I am to him, and I’ll retaliate with some shit from the past.”
“So, why go to the party?”
“Because it’s expected. And I like Catherine. She’s a decent person. She just married a dick.”
I know he has a difficult relationship with his dad. But that’s the most he’s ever opened up to me about it. He’s usually quite evasive when it comes to his father.
I’m not really sure what to say. I just know that I want to make him feel better. So, I do one thing that I know always makes him feel better. I lean in and press my lips to his, kissing him.
As I go to move back from the kiss when it comes to an end, West’s arms band around me, keeping me close.
“You know, I was just thinking that you’re probably going to need some inspiration for all those sex scenes you’re gonna be writing.”
I lift a brow. “I won’t write the actual sex we’ve had,” I remind him.
“I never said write the actual sex. I said inspiration to help you write it.”
I see the look in his eyes, which screams sex, and my lower belly coils with anticipation.
“Oh, yeah, I could definitely do with the inspiration.” I’m not gonna need to watch porn for any sex-scene inspiration while I’ve got him here to give me plenty.
“Wanna get started on that inspiration now?”
I bite my lower lip. “Uh-huh.”
West slides his hand up my back and grabs a handful of my hair. He guides my head down to his, but he doesn’t kiss me on the mouth. Instead, his lips land on my neck, and he starts to suck on that magical spot he found, which sends bolts of lust straight to my clit, making me moan.
“You like that?” he murmurs against my skin.
“So much.” I like you too. Way too much.
Fuck, where did that thought come from?
He moves me so that I’m lying on my back on the huge sofa, and he’s now lying between my legs.
We start kissing, and he’s moving his hips, rubbing his hard cock, which is encased in his sweatpants, against my clit, which is trapped beneath panties and leggings. But even through all this material, it feels good as hell.
“I need you inside me.” My chest is dancing up and down with excitement.
“I know I said inspirational fuck but quickie now. Long, inspirational fuck later.”
When West says quickie, he means no foreplay. Not that this will be quick. The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
Not that I’m complaining, of course.
He sits up, divesting himself of his clothes, while I quickly pull off my leggings, panties, T-shirt, and bra.
Then, we’re both naked, and he’s back on me. Skin to skin. And nothing has felt better in my life than being naked with this man.
He kisses my mouth while he slides inside me.
When he’s to the hilt, he pauses. Stops kissing me. Just stares into my eyes.
My heart starts to thrum in my chest.
I feel like something changes in this moment. I don’t know exactly what. But something.
He starts to move, slowly fucking me, but doesn’t take his eyes from mine.
“I like you,” he says in a rough, quiet voice.
My mouth dries. I lick my lips. “I like you too.”
Our eyes stay locked on each other’s, and with his slow thrusts and words ringing in my ears and the intensity of the moment, I start to feel a pressure on my chest.
Like the feelings that I have for him—the ones I’ve been hiding, locking away—are breaking down the door and forcing their way out.
It’s too much. I’m feeling too much for him. And if I keep looking into his eyes, he’s going to see exactly how I feel.
He’s going to know that I’m falling for him.
Fuck.
I’m falling for him.