Breaking Even (20 page)

Things picked up so well that I created an entire franchise, but talking about it sounds like I’m bragging. So I end the explanation there.

Her grin returns, and she moves her plate as she stands. I can’t fight the stupid smile on my face when she comes to sit beside me again, and I wrap my arm around the back of her chair, letting my hand start playing with the soft strands of her hair.

“You said you bought this house as an ‘adult’ purchase. What did that mean?”

I still can’t believe I even said that in front of her. But the damage is already done, and this isn’t exactly the darkest part of my past.

“My dad said I didn’t know how to invest, and that I was a kid on a mission to blow through my inheritance. Especially when the garage didn’t look to be promising. He was taking me to court to try and have my trust frozen until a later age due to a ‘childish’ mentality. My beach house was a good investment, but it didn’t make anyone think I wasn’t spending frivolously because of the partying neighbors that surrounded me. So I bought this place to prove I was spending wisely.

“It’s a great investment, considering the location, neighborhood, and property value. Dad lost his case very quickly. This house might have saved me from losing it all. I didn’t ever picture myself living here, but I like it.”

She grins again, and then she leans in and awards me for the admission by kissing my cheek. I don’t know if anyone has ever kissed me on the cheek like that. And I know I’ve never enjoyed such a chaste show of affection.

“What about your mom? Did she agree with your dad or you?”

Not ready for this discussion. Never will be.

“She didn’t have any say,” I murmur vaguely, not elaborating, and she fortunately doesn’t press for more.

“How’d you end up at Maggie’s?” I ask, needing off the subject of me.

Ah, hell. She got divorced. That’s how.

She just shrugs instead of acting affected. I was worried this was about to take a cold nosedive.

“My parents expect too much out of me, but I moved in with them, thinking they’d leave me alone since I’m adult. They didn’t. Maggie had been begging me to come live with her since I had gotten divorced. We’ve been friends since we were little, even though she’s a little older. Our dads worked together for a while. My dad was Maggie’s dad’s boss.”

So she comes from money?

“Maggie comes from a lot of money because of her dad’s job,” I say, frowning.

“Yep. And my dad has more of it. But I got married at eighteen against my parents’ wishes, got a job they didn’t approve of, and lived my life the way I wanted to. I didn’t want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or anything else they wanted me to be. They still haven’t forgiven me.”

I wasn’t going to bring up the whole marriage thing, but she mentioned it, so I assume it’s allowed to be talked about. It’s driving me fucking crazy.

“Why’d you get married and divorced?” I ask in a rush, tensing when she does.

After a long period of silence that seems to cloak the air in regret, she finally blows out a breath.

“Because I was young and dumb,” she says through a sad laugh. “I was sheltered and treated like a porcelain doll with a mapped-out life. He was fun and free-spirited. I went to an all-girls private school; he went to public school. I was from a rich family; he lived on the worst side of town.”

She pauses briefly while shaking her head.

“It only made sense to get married,” she says dryly. “He stupidly thought my father would cover all of our expenses and his life would change for the better once he married me. He kept holding out that hope. Year after year, John thought he had a brilliant idea, and he’d try to get my father to invest. I’m sure he cared about me. You don’t stay married to someone for six years if you don’t care about them on some level, but I don’t think either of us actually really loved each other.”

She clears her throat while staring at her plate.

I’ve had girls confess their love after knowing me for seconds. I’ve had girls throw themselves at me for all the wrong reasons. But I’ve never had any sort of relationship that held meaning of any kind. So I can’t relate.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, wishing I knew what else to say.

She smiles weakly. “Because I didn’t cry.”

That... confuses the hell out of me.

“Umm...”

She laughs while shaking her head. “He represented freedom to me. I represented fortune to him. Neither of us got what we wanted. I was content with my crappy job, the small apartment we had, and our meager life. But I didn’t have freedom, because I still felt like a constant source of disappointment—just like I did at home. When he told me he wanted a divorce, I felt as though I could breathe for the first time in years. I was pissed that I had wasted my time, and I was pissed that he said I was holding him back, but I wasn’t the least bit sad that our marriage was over. The day I wrecked your car, I was pissed over the fact that I ever gave him any part of me, and that day represented all that bottled up anger. But I didn’t cry.”

I sit silently, feeling like an ass for having nothing to say. But she finally looks up and smiles at me. When she does, I forget anything else exists, and that fear in the back of my mind tries to rise to the surface.

“Why are you grinning?” I ask, feeling confused.

“No reason,” she says, shrugging. “Why didn’t you call the cops?”

Huh?

“The day I slammed into your car,” she clarifies as she slides over to be in my lap, stealing any thoughts I can have as her body straddles mine in the chair, and she leans down to my neck.

I swallow hard when her lips start making small, moan-worthy trails. It really doesn’t take much at all for her to turn me on.

“Well?” she prompts, but it’s damn near impossible to talk as her hands slide up my bare shoulders, and then move back down as she continues the kissing torture on my neck.

“I didn’t want to send you to jail.”

She leans back, smiling, and my eyes go down to where her shirt has risen up. I’m getting a view of the part of her body I plan to have again. Very soon. Very, very soon.

I love the fact that she doesn’t cover up or even try to. She just lets me look as she runs her hands down my chest. When she bends over and takes my pierced nipple into her mouth, tugging at the metal in a way that has my cock twitching, I bite back a growl.

“Why all the tattoos and piercings?” she asks, dropping my nipple ring from her mouth, but her legs tighten as she squirms in my lap.

I have a feeling I know which piercing is on her mind right now, and I can’t fight the smug grin on my face.

“It started as a phase. But tattoos are addictive, and I love getting something new every once and a while. The nipple piercing was on impulse, and it really did hurt like a bitch.”

She squirms on my lap once more, and I swallow a groan as her hand travels down to the top of my boxers—the only clothing I would put on. With her on my lap like this, I regret that decision. If my cock strains any harder to get at her uncovered, perfect—

“And this piercing?” she asks, sliding her hand down the front of my boxers and freeing my erect cock.

She teasingly runs a finger over the tip, and then she plays with the piercing, forcing a jolt of desire through me. You’d think I’d be too sated to keep fucking. This is the most I’ve ever had sex with one girl, let alone one day.

“Another impulse.”

“Did it hurt?” she asks, sliding her hand down the shaft of my dick and then back up.

I can’t hold back my groan this time. “Yes,” I say between harsh breaths.

“Does it hurt now?” she asks, keeping her ministrations slow and steady as she bends back down to kiss my neck some more.

“Very much,” I say, feeling her grin against my neck. “I’m pretty sure you could help with that, though.”

“Oh?” she asks sweetly, playing along.

I’m not sure what she’s doing to me. It’s like a fog has invaded my mind, and the only thing visible inside my head is her. It’s exciting me as much as it’s leaving me terrified.

I don’t speak as I try to make sense of all of this. Any minute she’s going to ask what we’re doing, and I’ll have to answer. I don’t have an answer. I don’t want this to end right now, but I want it to stop immediately. It’s so fucking confusing.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, noting my facial expression as she leans back.

I force a convincing smile and lie. “Counting condoms in my head. By my calculations, we have two left.”

Her grin returns, and she slides herself onto me without warning, taking me deep inside her, and moaning as I fill up every centimeter of her hot, wet heat. I’m not sure who gasps louder when our bases meet, and her head falls back as she rocks her hips, moaning again.

She’s squeezing me to damn death with her tight grip on my painfully hard cock. I’ve never been inside a girl without a condom, and right now, I’m not sure that I ever want to wear that thin layer of latex again.

“I wanted to feel it,” she says in a shallow breath, rocking again and crying out.

I can’t breathe, think, speak, or even move. I didn’t know such a small barrier was interrupting such... Fuck, this feels good.

“Feel what?” I ask in a rasp, hoarse whisper that betrays my every fear.

“It. The piercing. It’s... It feels so—
Ah!
” she cries out, gyrating her hips once again as she starts a steady rhythm.

I lift her hips and slam her down onto me, and we both make some hellacious sounds that mingle and form an animalistic melody. I do it again, and again, and again, until she suddenly rips away, robbing me of her heat, her tight sheathe, and the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life.

“We need a condom,” she says through a shaky breath, and I almost roar in frustration.

She’s right. Fuck, I know she’s right, but now I feel spoiled and I want more.

“Yeah,” I say tightly, wishing she hadn’t just given me nirvana and stolen it right back. “Are you on birth control?”

I have no idea why I’m asking. It’s still stupid, but as I stand, she nods, swallowing hard as she stares at my cock that is still glistening from her.

Pushing my boxers to the ground, I pick her up and set her on the table, angling myself against her entrance as her eyes widen.

“I’m clean,” I tell her, gauging her expression and waiting for her to stop me.

She’s not stopping me or asking questions. I’d tell her if there was anything she should worry about, and I believe she’d tell me. But her eyes just stare expectantly, and I stop thinking.

I push back into her, and her eyes roll back in her head until she cries out again. This is so fucking stupid, but no thought makes sense when I’m with her. I’m not me. I’m some idiot who thinks it is okay to do this thing I can’t define. I’m some moron who is picturing things that contradict the reality I have. I know what happens when fuck-ups like me find girls like her.

They leave them broken.

“Harder,” she whispers, and I lose it. All restraint is gone, and I pound into her with everything I have, biting my lip when I start getting too loud. It’s a moment of pure abandon, and nothing outside of our bubble gets in. I’ve never made any fucking noise during sex until today, but this girl is driving me bat-shit crazy, and I’ll be damned if I don’t love it.

My hand slides up her stomach, pushing the shirt with it as I grab one of her perfect tits and squeeze. She moans, proving she enjoys my touch, but I have to let go and return my hold to her hips to drive in as hard as she wants me to.

When my name tears through her lips and echoes through my bones, I explode inside of her, groaning as her muscles clench and milk me. Nothing has ever felt so good, and I’m pretty fucking ruined in this moment.

I drop my head to her chest, refusing to disjoin our bodies just yet, and her hands go to my hair. She runs her fingers through the strands affectionately, and I kiss her skin that is showing, nudging her shirt up farther so I can taste as much as I want to.

“Mmm,” she finally says. “I really love that piercing.”

I chuckle against her while nipping at her skin, and I pull out while helping her sit up. My table has now been christened just like so many things in my room.

“I’ve never done that,” I admit, enjoying the way her smile crawls up.

“It was stupid,” she says, grinning bigger.

“It was. But I want to be stupid again some time.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them, because I see hope form in her eyes. I shouldn’t be making future promises, because I don’t know what’s going to happen. This isn’t me.

But her grin turns mischievous as quickly as her eyes shed the hopeful glisten, and she hops off the table, letting my shirt slide back down and cover her body.

“You might have to beg next time. My body is a little overwhelmed by all the stimulation. I’m not sure it can handle much more, and right now, I’m pretty exhausted.”

She walks back to my room, and a sick knot forms. She’s going to sleep in my bed? Fuck. What have I done? I can’t just ask her to leave. It’s Brin. I’ve never had a girl in here. I’ve never fucked anyone in this house... until her. What the hell am I supposed to do about this?

When I make it to the bedroom, she’s pulling her cotton panties back on, my shirt is across the bed, and she’s leaning down to pick up her own clothes.

She’s leaving?

“Are you packing?” she asks, motioning toward the three boxes I’ve yet to go through. I had put them in the corner, and now Brin is staring at pieces of my past that I don’t want to remember but can’t seem to let go.

“It’s just some old stuff,” I say dismissively.

She starts working with her shirt, trying to untangle it. She
is
leaving.

This is exactly what I wanted, but as she slides her arms through her shirt, I feel myself moving toward her. I tackle her on the bed in no time, and I’m kissing her as she giggles against me.

“I need to go. I have to be at work early.”

Go. She wants to go. She’s not planning to stay, and I should be relieved. But it actually pisses me off. Fucking confusing bullshit.