Undecided, page 14
I had a couple of orgasms with my partners last year, nothing mind-blowing or exceptional, just perfunctory, okay-we’re-on-the-right-track orgasms, but they never felt half as good as Crosbie Lucas’s fingers and the promises they’re making right now.
“Crosbie—” I gasp as he rubs the heel of his hand over my clit.
“Say whatever you want,” he says when I forget the rest of the sentence. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I think I might—” I don’t know if I should be embarrassed that I’m going to come this easily, but Crosbie’s cocky grin and intensified fingering tells me he’s not bothered by it at all. He kisses me rough and wet, his hand rubbing in all the right ways, and before I’m fully ready I come, deep waves of desire radiating from my center, through my legs, curling my toes.
I moan into his mouth and he strokes my cheek as though he’s encouraging me, egging me on. And I don’t care anymore about anything, only how good this feels. How if every name on that stupid bathroom wall was practice that led to this moment, I’m absolutely okay with it.
I turn my face away and struggle to control my breathing as Crosbie slowly eases his hand from between my legs. He gives me a minute, busying himself with my breasts, his tongue circling my tight nipples, mouth sucking lightly. I feel his knuckles bump against my inner thigh and lift my head to see him slowly jacking himself with the hand that was just inside me, using my juices as lubrication.
“Crosbie,” I whisper, reaching for the condom.
“You need a sec?” He searches my face as he uses his teeth to open the packet. I shake my head and he rests back on his heels as he rolls on the condom, propping my legs wide apart and gazing intently at my pussy.
Okay, that’s embarrassing. I’m wet and exposed and he—
“Hey,” he says.
I realize I’m staring determinedly at the wall. “What?”
“What are you thinking about?” Despite the fact that he’s got a raging hard-on and a willing vagina ten inches away, he’s not making any move to put it in.
“It’s just a little embarrassing,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
I wave a hand toward my vagina. “Having someone stare at it!”
He wrinkles his nose and laughs. “Nora, you’re hilarious.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
“You want to look at mine?”
“I did look.”
“You want to look closer?” He’s stroking the insides of my calves, his fingers tickling the soft skin behind my knees.
“Are you asking me to blow you?”
He smiles. “No. Not this time.” He hooks his hands under my legs and lifts them high and wide, but before I can be mortified he comes down over me, one arm on the pillow beside my head, the other guiding his cock between my legs. “Can I?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I just want to be sure.”
I look into his eyes, molten brown I now know darkens to nearly black when he’s turned on, the flush in his cheeks belying the utter control in his voice. I think he’d stop if I asked him to. I think he’d put on that Superman costume and do a jig if I requested it. I think Crosbie Lucas is not quite the cocky, smug ass hat he pretends to be.
“I’m positive,” I say.
Something soft passes across his features and he smiles as he kisses me, sweet and sure, then he presses inside slowly, carefully, and very welcome. His cock is as big as his build would suggest, but after the initial pang of discomfort it only feels good, and he groans into my neck, his damp breath making me shudder. It takes him a minute, then he lifts his head and watches my face as he slowly starts to fuck me, taking his time, focused and intent.
I like it, but I don’t think I’m going to come again so soon. And I don’t really care—I just had the best orgasm I’ve ever had with a partner, I’m not complaining. After a while I wrap my legs around his hips, my fingers seeking purchase in that beautiful ass, feeling it shift and bunch as he moves.
“Can you come like this?” he whispers, trailing his fingers over my damp temples.
“I don’t think so,” I reply, feeling strangely comfortable with this kind of honesty. “But it doesn’t matter. I just did. You come.”
He arches a brow. “Oh, I’m going to. No question. But not without you.” He stops thrusting and reaches back, fingers encircling my ankle. I prepare myself for some sort of inane sex contortion showcase, but he merely bends my left leg up against my chest and shifts his body to the side a little more. This time he hits my clit when he thrusts, and a few moments later, I’m forced to reconsider my stance on a second orgasm.
“How about this?” he murmurs. He nips my earlobe and I focus on the newly building sensation between my legs.
“I think I might…”
“Tell me what’ll get you there.”
“Let’s try this for a minute.”
“Got it.” He grinds his forehead into the pillow beside me, his damp hair brushing my cheek, showing me just how difficult this is for him. How hard he’s working to make it good for me. His faint dusting of chest hair rasps over my nipples, and when I urge him to move faster he does, and I know I’m going to come again.
“I’m close,” I whisper.
“Nora.” He groans and threads his fingers through mine on either side of my head, holding me down and holding on, all at once.
“Just a little…”
“I’m—I’m—ohhhh….” I come and Crosbie’s right behind me. I feel him pump into me harder, a few rough thrusts, a litany of mumbled curse words in my ear, the almost painfully tight squeeze of his fingers on mine. But I couldn’t possibly care less about any of that, because my pussy is spasming so tightly, so good, just endless waves of pleasure I never knew I could feel.
Crosbie may be exactly the type of guy to boast about knowing how to do this, and I’m the type of girl who would roll my eyes and blow him off. Until now. This is no laughing matter. This is incredible.
Eventually he lifts his head and I turn so we’re eye to eye, and it’s a tiny relief to see the same stunned and satiated expression on his face that I know is on mine. “Wow,” I mumble.
He laughs, a tired sound, and wipes his hand over his forehead. “Jesus, Nora. You’re so fucking beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever come like that.”
“Is it the blue eye shadow?” I ask, belatedly remembering that not only did I wear Thelma’s hair and clothing, I wore the makeup, too.
“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth as he slowly pulls out. “It’s you.”
He gets up and pads out of the room, bare-assed, to dispose of the condom and clean up, and I slide under the comforter and stretch out like a very satisfied cat. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to feel like tomorrow, but right now I feel amazing, all the stress and tension of the past couple of months forgotten.
Crosbie comes back in with two glasses of water, then sets them on the milk crate and flicks on the lamp before turning off the ceiling light. “So,” he says, crawling under the covers before passing me a glass.
“So,” I say.
We drink in silence and stare at the ceiling. I’m aware of every inch of his body that’s touching mine, the sound of his throat working as he swallows, the hum of his breath when he puts the empty glasses on the floor and turns out the light. And then I’m not aware of anything else, because somehow, impossibly, I fall asleep next to Crosbie Lucas.
I wake up alone. It’s just before eight the next morning, the bright November sun spilling in through curtains I forgot to close during last night’s activities.
Speaking of which. I arch my back and flex my fingers and gently feel between my legs—a little sore, but in a good way. Hell, in an am
I yawn and climb out of bed, buck naked, smiling foolishly as I fish out a pair of panties, shorts, and a sweatshirt, then head into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Jeez. I’m glad Crosbie’s gone. Thelma’s blue shadow and extra thick mascara now ring my eyes, making me look like a crazed nineties raccoon.
I spit toothpaste into the sink, rinse my mouth, and tell myself not to be a Crosbabe. I’d seen plenty of girls trailing after him last year, girls who wanted to be with him or who had already been and wanted another round. I won’t be one of those girls, though I now understand where they’re coming from.
Tidied up and half-awake—there’s not much I can do about my hair except tie it back—I shuffle into the kitchen, squawking in terror when Kellan rises up from the far side of the kitchen island.
He jumps when I screech, a spoon flying out of his hand to crash into the cupboard behind him. “Nora!” he exclaims. “Shit!”
I cover my face with my hands and try not to have a heart attack. “What are you doing here?” I mumble through my fingers.
“I live here.”
“This early! This quiet!”
“I was being quiet because you were sleeping,” he says. “And then I thought you heard me.” He tosses the spoon in the sink and gets a new one from the drawer, then indicates the bowl of cereal on the counter. “I made breakfast while you were in the bathroom.”
I shake my head, guilt making me antsy. “Sorry.” I squeeze past him to grab a carton of orange juice from the fridge. “I was just surprised.” I pour a glass and join him at the island, my forgotten cell phone sitting on the counter. I check my missed messages and find five from Marcela, each more self-pitying than the last, promising to bequeath me all her belongings if she should die, and asking me to come find her corpse the next day so she’s not already half-decomposed at her funeral.
I smile and put down the phone, and it’s only when I notice Kellan’s smirk that I realize I’m still smiling, more than a few morbid texts can justify. I try my best to act casual. “What?”
“What’d you get up to last night?” He shoots a deliberate glance toward my half-open bedroom door. “You disappeared fast.”
Now he notices what I do? “I got tired.”
“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” he says. “I just hope you had fun.”
“I did,” I assure him, desperate to change the subject. “Did you?”
“Actually, no.” He’s spooning cereal into his mouth with his right hand and checking his phone with his left. “I’m a little worried.”
I think about Miss Maryland and Miss Louisiana—is he worried about which beauty queen’s name to add to his list first? North-south or south-north? Alphabetical or chronological?
“What about?” I ask politely.
“Crosbie,” he says, thumb flicking over the keys. “He’s been acting weird lately, and last night I brought him two girls to choose from and he just took off. Said he’d be right back, then disappeared.”
Kellan looks at me seriously. “I think he might be having problems at the frat house. He’s been spending a lot time here. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
I stare into my glass and shake my head. “No. He’s okay.”
Kellan sighs and hits send. “I hope so.”
A muffled beep has us both twisting in our seats to locate the sound. A quick glance at our phones shows the screens are dark.
“Did you hear that?” Kellan asks, frowning and peering around the apartment.
I try not to let my mouth fall open as my gaze lands on the closet next to the dining table. Oh fuck.
“It’s another text from Marcela,” I say, snatching up my phone and pretending to read. “She’s very sick.”
“It beeped right after I sent Crosbie a text.” Kellan looks unconvinced as he punches in another message. This one’s short: Where r u?
I hold my breath, but there’s no telltale notification. Crosbie must have turned off his phone.
Kellan exhales heavily. “Maybe I’m losing it,” he admits. “I had my pick of two very beautiful state representatives last night, and all I could think about was Crosbie.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
“I spent the night in his room, waiting for him to show up.”
“Maybe he met somebody,” I offer. Then clarify: “A stranger.”
Kellan gives me a dry look. “I know everybody,” he says. “And everybody knows Crosbie. I asked if anyone had seen Superman and they hadn’t. The guy’s not easy to miss.”
“Do you think he’s depressed?”
“Depressed? I—no. I don’t think so, Kellan.”
“We talk about everything,” he frets, squeezing his hands together. “And I know I haven’t been very encouraging about his magic tricks, but if that’s getting him down—”
I’m going to die. “That’s probably it,” I say, barely succeeding at keeping a straight face. “Just support his magic a bit more.”
Kellan nods sagely. “You’re right. I will. I’ve been an ass.”
The two most sensitive boys on the planet, right here in this apartment.
“I’m sure he’ll text you in a few minutes,” I say a little too loudly, making Kellan flinch. “He’s probably back on the Frat Farm, ready to tell you about the hot girl he hooked up with.”
“God.” Kellan runs his hands through his hair. “I hope so.”
We stare at his empty cereal bowl for an increasingly awkward moment. “You know,” I say, “why don’t you take a shower and try to get some sleep? It’ll make you feel better.”
Kellan sniffs his armpit. “Do I smell?”
“I— ” He doesn’t, but if it gets him out of the room so Crosbie can come out of the closet, I’m willing to fib. “A little.”
“Dammit. That suit was wool. I always sweat when I wear wool.”
I nod sympathetically as he rinses his bowl and puts it in the dishwasher, then glances hopefully at his dark phone display.
“It’ll be okay,” I say. “Just give him some time to wake up. It’s only eight o’clock.”
“You’re right.” Kellan pats my hand. “I’m not going to worry anymore until lunch.”
The awkwardness is killing me.
“Actually,” he says, pausing en route to the bathroom. “That’s a lie. I’m not going to worry about Crosbie until lunch. You’re another story.”
“There’s a condom wrapper on your floor, Nora Kincaid. And we had a deal about not bringing people back here.”
“We—I—” Oh my God.
“And I know Crosbie comes over a lot, but he doesn’t count.”
I shake my head fervently. “I’m so sor—”
Kellan grins and laughs uproariously. “Are you kidding? Don’t apologize, Nora! You finally got some and I’m happy for you. And a little jealous of the lucky bastard. Did you have a good time?”
I don’t need to see Crosbie to know he’s got his ear pressed to the closet door. “Yes,” I mutter.
“Did he make you scream?”
“Kellan, go take a shower.”
He laughs some more and extends his hand for a fist bump I reluctantly return. He’s chuckling as he disappears into the bathroom, and I sit very still on the stool, listening to the water turn on, then the muffled sound of his singing.
“Crosbie!” I hiss, leaping to my feet.
The closet doors bang open and he topples out, hair tousled, wearing a pair of Kellan’s running shorts and a T-shirt that’s two sizes too small and clings to every one of his thousand muscles. He’s got his jacket in one hand and his costume a
“He sent me forty-one texts last night!”
“He thinks you’re depressed!”
He covers his face when he laughs. “You really want me to tell him about the hot chick I hooked up with?”
“Make something up,” I say, herding him toward the stairs.
“Maybe I’ll say I got with Miss Washington,” he says, pulling on his coat. “Not quite a lie.”
“As long as Miss Washington remains nameless, I really don’t care.”
“Hey.” Crosbie catches my arm before I can yank open the front door.
“You really think he’s going to be more supportive of my magic?” He manages to keep a straight face for three whole seconds.
“Text him to say you’re alive,” I order, twisting the deadbolt.
“I will.” He catches my hand and backs me into the wall, holding my gaze as he lowers his head to kiss me, a couple soft swipes and the briefest touch of his tongue. And just like that, all my responsible composure threatens to crumble, ready to beg him to fuck me again, right here.
The shower shutting off puts an abrupt end to those thoughts, for both of us.
“I had a good time, Nora,” Crosbie says, opening the door.
“And I want to do it again.”
If his reputation is true, Crosbie Lucas never wants to do anyone again.
“Yeah. Soon. After I have a fucking heart-to-heart with Mr. Sensitive up there.”
“Just text him.”
“I already did.”
I can hear Kellan moving around in the bathroom. “Crosbie, you have to go.”
“Give me your number.”
I rattle it off quickly, knowing he won’t remember.
“Got it,” he says. “Now c’mere. One more.” He taps his lips.
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