Only Rivals, page 15
Our tongues meet, and I cup my hands around his face to hold him there as I kiss him with everything that I have. He spreads the fingers of his hand between my legs, nudging my thighs back open, and plunges a finger inside me … maybe two because there’s more pressure.
My head spins, and I’m nearly panting when I break away from him. “Do you have a condom this time?”
He nods, and I’m shocked at the seriousness on his face. “I put them in the bedroom before you got here.”
I touch my lips, still feeling him, while grinning. “To the bedroom we go.”
His fingers leave me as we rise from the couch. He doesn’t try to hide his cock standing at full attention under his shorts as I hold out my hand to him—a silent confirmation that this is what I want.
His eyes shoot from his cock to me. “Are you sure?”
I rub my thighs together in anticipation, already missing his fingers there. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”
It’s almost like a dream as we walk down the hall to the guest bedroom. My heart heaves in my chest, excitement crawling through every inch of my skin. As soon as we hit the doorway, his mouth is back on mine, and he slams the door shut behind us. Pushing me against the door, he grips the hem of my dress and hastily drags it up my body before tossing it on the floor.
The ease and slowness in his movements have dissipated. His want and need for me take over. He unhooks my bra without any hassle and drops to his knees to drag my panties down my legs. I step out of them, and he backtracks a step. His eyes are trained on me, dark and intense, as I stand before him. Feeling insecure for the first time tonight, I hug my arms to my body, but I stop when he tells me to.
“I could look at you all day, Amelia,” he says, running his finger along his bottom lip. “You standing in front of me, naked, will forever be burned into my brain.”
We step forward at the same time, kissing again, and he guides me to the bed. I realize how soaked I am as I sit down, and I’m worried it’ll get on the comforter. He stands before me, and I can’t tear my eyes away as he pulls off his shirt. When his hand goes to his shorts, I stop him.
“Let me.” I lick my lips, and I swear my mouth is as wet as the slit between my legs.
I yank down his shorts and boxer briefs, and his cock springs forth in front of my face. The light was limited the night at the beach, so I didn’t get a good look at his cock then. I take it in, admiring the size, the swollen pink tip, and the veins on the side. Just like Jax said he’d kiss me between my legs, when I get bolder, more experienced, I want my mouth on him there.
His six-pack is no surprise to me since we’ve gone swimming together countless times, and the older we grow, the more his muscles become defined.
I drag myself backward onto the bed until my head is only inches from the black headboard, and Jax crawls over me, his cock rubbing against my thigh.
“Do you want to get under the covers?” he asks, his breathing sounding almost out of control.
I keep my head flat against the bed as I shake it from side to side. “This is fine.”
His hands shake as he stretches over me to open the nightstand drawer. He’s holding a condom when he returns, and I train my eyes on his every move as he rips it open and carefully slides it onto his cock, checking that it’s secure when he’s finished.
My breathing grows as erratic as his when he grips his cock, and I spread my legs wide, giving him room to make himself comfortable between them.
He stares at me, unblinking, like if he closes them, then this might not be real. He tilts his head forward, kisses my lips, then my forehead, then the tip of my nose.
“Are you okay?” He presses his lips to my forehead again to nudge loose strands of my hair away from my face. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I want this,” I say with such certainty that you’d think I was reciting my birthday.
He presses his hand flat to my chest, somewhat cupping my boob, over my heart. “Your heart is racing.”
“I’m just nervous …” I avert my gaze to the wall. “I’ve heard it hurts.”
“If it does and you want me to stop, tell me. We don’t have to do this.”
I nod.
“Look at me and promise you’ll tell me.”
I meet his eyes. “I promise.”
“Relax, babe. It’s just me. Remember that.” He keeps his hand over my heart, and there’s a tenderness in his voice I’ve never heard before. “Open wider for me.”
I do as I was told, and his hand leaves my chest to slowly stroke his cock a few times.
There’s something about this moment with Jax.
My nerves aren’t skyrocketing, like my friends have told me theirs were.
Mia said it was a terrible experience for her.
Ava said it was awkward.
But here with Jax, I feel content.
Comfortable.
Like my body knows it’s in good hands with him.
“I’m going to slide in now,” he says with so much patience in his voice.
He raises my legs so my knees are on each side of his body and guides his erection inside me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as pain rips through my entire body. I tense, my back going straight, and Jax doesn’t move. He keeps his cock right there inside of me and gives my body time to adjust to his size.
He places a hand to each side of my face and bows his head to stare deeply at me. “Tell me when it’s okay to move.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper while breathing heavily. “Keep going.”
He nods, tenderly sliding out of me and pushing himself back in.
Then, he does it again three more times.
With each stroke, my body relaxes more.
“Can I go faster?” he asks, the words coming out between huffs, and he stares at me with intense desire.
“Yes.”
I’m positive I hear him say, “Thank fuck,” under his breath before he increases his speed.
He trails a hand up the back of my thigh before jerking it up around his waist and angles himself to hit a different spot inside me. It’s the right spot because my back arches, and he halts. A cocky smile spreads along his lips before he continues fucking me.
And just like that, I’ve given the guy I thought I hated my virginity.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jax
When I say it’s been a day, it’s been a motherfucking day.
The weather chose to give the truck a car wash for the remainder of the drive.
Then, there was the nightmare of picking up the heat exchanger. The seller ignored our calls, so we sat in front of his shop, where a Closed sign was taped to the door.
“He literally said I had to pick up the exchanger today or he was selling it to the next person in line,” Amelia said, chewing on her nails as we contemplated on whether to leave.
We’d come this far, so turning around without giving the guy a minute sounded like a bad idea. An hour later, the shop owner’s brother called Amelia, telling her that the owner’s wife had gone into early labor so he rushed her to the hospital. The brother agreed to meet us within the hour, so Amelia and I rolled through the drive-through for a quick bite while waiting for him.
Just like on the ride here, we had limited conversation. I’d never had such an uncomfortable ride before. Eventually, we started talking about the brewery, and Amelia blurted out question after question. I answered them nicely, not putting any sarcasm or animosity in my replies.
When the brother arrived, we inspected the heat exchanger, I told Amelia good job on her find, and we paid him. The brother opened the shop doors, allowing us to load it into the back of the truck, where there was thankfully a cover, and we were on our way.
It’s overcast, the rain not letting up, and Mother Nature adds rushing winds that rock the truck. I lower my speed at the sight of standing water and hardly blink as lightning crackles around us.
Amelia’s eyes are glued to the road, too, as our hazard lights flash. The same as the car in front of us because, otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to make them out. I’m following them, not sure if I’m even driving in a straight line. It doesn’t help that the truck is old and its headlights are junk.
I’m gripping the steering wheel when the yawns come and my eyes grow heavy.
“Amelia,” I say without looking at her, “I think we need to stop.”
“What do you mean, stop?”
“We either have to stop somewhere and sleep or sleep in the truck.”
“We don’t have to stop. I’ll drive.”
“You’re not getting behind this wheel. With this weather and how long we’ve been on the road, neither of us should be driving. The last thing we need is one of us falling asleep.”
I know my body and when it’s on the brink of exhaustion, and all I’ve heard for the past thirty minutes is downpour and Amelia yawning.
“I know it’s hard to see and all, but we’re in the middle of nowhere,” she points out.
“I’m aware of that. Why don’t you check your phone and see if anything is around us?”
I don’t see her, but I hear her grabbing her phone, and I assume she’s looking.
“There’s one place. Pink Elephant Motel.” She blows out a stressed breath. “Just the name scares me.”
I’m gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles are turning white. “How far away?”
“It says the next exit.”
“We’re stopping.”
I’ve witnessed Amelia be dramatic on numerous occasions—when I dunked her into the pool and got her hair wet, when her dad took her car keys away after she snuck out of the house with Ava and they drove around all night, and when she was bitten by a crab on the beach trip.
None of those were as dramatic as when we pull up to the Pink Elephant Motel. For someone who sleeps on her floor, you’d think she’d be fine with sleeping here for a night.
“Oh, hell no,” she blurts. “I’d rather sleep in the truck.”
I don’t exactly blame her as we stare at the run-down pink motel. The place looks like it’s been around since my great-great-great grandparents were alive. If it wasn’t for the few beater cars in the lot and two guys rolling a shopping cart out of their room, I’d think they were closed.
“In the truck, huh?” I scratch my head, exhaustion hitting me, and motion toward the parking lot. “Out here?”
That shuts her mouth for a moment, and she does a scan of the dimly lit parking lot as the windshield wipers squeak with each movement.
“This was probably your plan all along. Take me to some haunted motel, so I’d die, and you wouldn’t have to deal with me at the brewery any longer.”
I unbuckle my seat belt. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” I turn to look at her, hoping she can read the truth in my tired eyes. “I’m sure they have vacancies, but let me check.”
She unsnaps her seat belt and snatches her purse. “I’ll be going with you, sir. No way are you leaving me out here alone.”
Amelia hops out of the car, and we sprint through the pouring rain into the motel’s office. The only plus side of this musty-ass motel is that it’s far enough that no one knows who Amelia and I are to each other. The only judgmental looks we’ll receive are from those wondering why we’re crazy enough to stay here.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amelia
The motel is creepy.
Like Rob Zombie creepy.
Like I will be skinned alive, and some guy will create a mask from my face creepy.
Jax was right though. It was either we stop for the night, sleep in the truck, or attempt to drive, which would have been dangerous, given our exhaustion and the weather.
As we enter the office, I get a strong whiff of body odor and mold.
The frizzy-haired, middle-aged man behind the counter pauses his video game and sets the controller down. His name tag reads Harry.
“How many rooms do you need? The rate is sixty-five a night. If you want a week, we’ll do one fifty.”
Sixty-five a night? They should be paying us to stay here.
“Two,” Jax says at the same time I say, “One.”
No way am I sleeping in this serial-killer lair alone.
Sorry, Jax, but you’re stuck with me tonight.
If Jax is shocked by my response, he doesn’t show it.
Harry sneaks a grin at Jax. “Should I listen to the lady?”
Jax’s gaze flicks to me, and I hope he sees the desperation on my face. “I guess one room then.”
Relief hits me when Harry turns and grabs a rusty key. “That’ll be sixty-five bucks.”
I open my purse to pay, but Jax already has his wallet out, handing Harry the cash.
Harry drops the key in his hand. “Room twelve. It’s to your right when you walk out. Checkout time is eleven. Drink machines are around the back corner.”
“Thanks, man,” Jax says with a nod.
As we walk out of the office, Jax’s palm finds the base of my back. He rests it there, and my muscles loosen, as if there’s a sense of safety with his touch.
We walk below the awning, checking room numbers, and stop at twelve. Paint is peeling from the door, and Jax wiggles the knob a few times to get the door to open.
The smell of harsh chemicals greets us when we walk in.
Hopefully, that means it was sanitized thoroughly.
“What was that about?” Jax asks, flipping a light on. “One room?”
“I’m not dying alone in here.”
“No one is dying, Amelia.”
“But if I do, then you do.”
The door slams behind me, and as I do a once-over of the no-frills room, realization smacks me in the face. Harry didn’t ask how many beds we wanted.
I take in the ancient TV, the half-peeled wallpaper, and carpet stains. “Uh … should we tell Harry that we need another room with two beds?”
“We can,” Jax says, yawning and fighting exhaustion. “Or we can each take a side of the bed and crash.” He tugs his shirt over his head, drops it on the end of the bed, and pushes his shorts off.
“Whoa.” I hold a hand up. “What are you doing?”
Jax places the shorts on top of his shirt and stands in front of me, only wearing thin boxer briefs that show his well-endowed package. He towers over the bed, his body all defined muscle. His six-pack is there, but his body is different than when we were teens.
I take in all that’s matured about Jax Bridges. The stronger jawline, the broader shoulders, the way he gives off so much more self-confidence. This is a man who knows he’s attractive, who knows women drool over him, but that confidence doesn’t come with arrogance. Jax doesn’t need to prove he’s hot, doesn’t need to show he is, because he doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him.
He clears his throat, breaking me away from admiring his body, and his eyebrow is raised as I slowly drag my eyes to meet his. I wait for the smart-ass comment, but it doesn’t come. As if he doesn’t have the energy to give me shit, he slides off his watch, sets it on the nightstand, followed by his phone and wallet, and slides into bed.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I rush out, dashing in that direction.
“I took the side closer to the door, so I get murdered first,” he faintly calls out as I flick the bathroom light on.
My body has been pleading for a shower for hours, but that turns into a quick no when I rip the shower curtain back. I can sleep in my grossness for a night. I use the bathroom, wash my hands, and trudge back into the bedroom.
Jax turned the bedside lamp on, and his back is rested against the headboard as he scrolls through his phone.
“Will you hit that light?” he asks when he sees me.
I nod and flip off the light. Even though I’m spent, sleeping in the same bed as Jax has me keyed up.
“I’m debating on sleeping with my shoes on,” I tell him when I notice his are placed to the side of the bed.
He shrugs, not taking his eyes off his phone. “Suit yourself, but I promise, you’ve slept in worse. Remember that time we went on spring break and everyone chipped in on that place? It was worse than this.”
“I forgot about that.” I shake my head at the memory. “I was a stupid teenager who cared about having a good time with her friends, not worrying about hepatitis.”
He sets his phone in his lap. “Sometimes, I miss being a stupid teenager.”
“Same.” I sit on the edge of the bed to slide my sandals off, not allowing my bare feet to touch the dirty carpet, and lower myself underneath the blanket. The sheets are cold, and I shiver while making sure I’m fully covered before awkwardly wiggling out of my shorts.
I shift to look at Jax, and his eyes penetrate mine. Even though I’m still wearing a tee and panties and I’m covered from him, I feel more exposed than ever. Jax’s face hardens before he grimaces and looks away from me. He snatches the remote and turns the TV on.
The picture is staticky, and as he flips through channels, he discovers our options are limited. He settles on an old episode of Cheers and tosses the remote on the nightstand.
I make myself as comfortable as I can, pulling the blanket up my chest, and despise this weirdness between us. Since Christopher left me the brewery, all we’ve done with each other is give the silent treatment, throw out our resentment, or spill our secrets.
The pillow is uncomfortable as I lie back and stare at the ceiling. My breathing is shallow, and Jax keeps his gaze in the direction of the TV. But I can tell he’s not watching.
My chest and limbs feel heavy, my body sore, and I blow out a breath before starting a conversation I shouldn’t.
“What’s your favorite memory with him?”
I’ve never seen Jax’s entire body tense like it does now. He’s silent, and I wonder if he’ll answer me or act like he didn’t hear my question.
He breathes through his nose, but I don’t have the guts to peek at his face. I can tell by the change in his breathing that he’d rather talk about anything other than this.
