Stir Me (4 page)

I slide inside her. Yes. Hell yes. She's so warm and wet, and it feels so right, like I'm home.

Her eyes go wide, then flutter closed. She arches into me, tugging harder at the sheets. I wrap my hands against her ankles and hold them to my chest. She's all mine now, and she's entirely at my mercy.

And she feels so damn good.

I thrust into her, keeping her pinned. Her body is shaking. Her lips part and a tiny groan escapes. I need more of that noise. I need her screaming.

I thrust into her with long, slow strokes. I can feel every inch of her around me. Pleasure pools inside me. Nothing matters but this, but us.

Her breath is heavy. Another low groan escapes her lips. I dig my nails into her ankles and thrust. Harder and deeper, until her groan is louder, lower. Until she's panting.

Alyssa's face is contorted in pleasure. Her eyelids are heavy. Her lips are pressed together. She digs her hands into the sheets again. Moans again.

It's the best thing I've ever seen.

I thrust into her again and again and again. She arches into my movements, throwing her head back like it feels so good she can't take it for another second.

My pleasure grows. My body is tingling. It's desperate to fill her, to mark her as mine. But not yet. Not until she comes.

I slide my hands down her calves and thighs, all the way to her hips. I move her back and climb onto the bed. She shudders as I lower my body onto hers.

Her legs are pressed against my chest, her ankles around my shoulders. And she's closer now. Close enough I can look into her eyes. They're wide with desire.

"Luke..." she groans.

It's all the encouragement I need. I plant my hands next to her and I thrust into her. Again and again and again. I'm deep inside her, and she feels so good around me.

Again and again and again.

She arches into me. She throws her head back. She reaches for me, scraping her nails against my back.

I move deeper, slower, feeling every inch of her around me. She's still so wet and she feels so damn good.

Alyssa groans. She digs her nails into my back. Hard enough to draw blood. I shudder. Her nails are the sign she's close.

Everything else fades away. It's only Alyssa. Only her lips, her teeth, her nails, her lush tits, her curvy legs.

And her groans. Her groans build and build, louder and louder. The only thing I know is that I need more of them. I need her coming around me.

I thrust into her again and again and again. She groans and I move faster. Harder. Deeper.

Her eyes burst open. She screams. "Don't stop."

Like hell.

I thrust into her. Again. Again. Again. Her nails scrap against my back. She's panting, screaming, shaking.

Then her eyes flutter closed. Her moans reach a crescendo and she comes, convulsing around me.

Her breath steadies. Her eyes find mine. "Don't stop."

She unhooks her ankles and wraps her legs around my waist. Her hands press into my back and she pulls me closer.

Her lips find mine. She kisses me hard, her tongue sliding over mine. And she rocks her hips into me.

I thrust into her, hard and deep. Her lips stay on mine, her tongue still probing my mouth, her nails still sharp on my back.

The ache inside me grows. I'm tingling everywhere and she feels so damn good around me. I thrust again. Again. Again. A chill passes through me. The ache is too much.

I groan into Alyssa's mouth. She pulls me closer, rocks harder. Her nails sink into my back again. She moans.

The ache builds until it's too much to take. An orgasm rocks through me and I release everything in me inside of her.

Her lips stay on mine, but her kiss is softer, sweeter.

We untangle our bodies and I collapse next to her. Her eyes find mine and she smiles. I bring my hands to her back and hold her as closely as I can.

This night is perfect.

***

After, Alyssa and I lie in bed, not really watching sitcom reruns on TV. I lie behind her, tracing the soft curves of her chest and waist and hips. She shifts constantly in a hopeless attempt to pretend as if she's not tired.

I whisper in her ear. "Go to sleep."

But she shakes her head and presses her body against mine. "If I'm asleep, I won't feel you holding me."

"I'll hold you anytime you want." I consider pushing it--reminding her how much easier it would be to hold her if she moved in--but I don't.

She turns back to me, a grin pasted on her face, and she presses her lips against mine.

"You can't see the TV like this," I say.

"I'll live."

Her lips find mine. It's soft and sweet, and there's no sense in arguing. This is exactly where we need to be. We stay like that for a while, our bodies tangled up on the bed, until her breath is heavy and slow.

"Okay," she mummers. "I'll sleep."

She shifts off the bed and stretches out. I take one last look at her--damn is she gorgeous--before hunting for the toothbrush in my overnight bag.

Then my phone rings.

I ignore it--who the hell could be calling this late?

But it keeps ringing.

I find the phone in the pocket of my slacks. It's probably a client. Or a client's angry spouse. Someone overeager, who'd think nothing of calling so late.

I don't recognize the number.

But the area code is 805.

That's a Santa Barbara area code.

Fuck. It can't be...

"Hello," I answer.

"May I speak to Luke Lawrence?" It's a male voice, and it's stupidly matter-of-fact.

I've heard that voice before. That's the
I am going to relay this bad news to you like I'm ordering a sandwich
voice.

"This is Luke."

"I'm calling from Santa Barbara Cottage Emergency Room."

No. This isn't happening. There's no way Samantha is...

The voice continues, so even and calm. "I'm sorry to call you, Mr. Lawrence, but you're Samantha Brooks's emergency contact."

My heart races. My mouth is sticky. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to discuss the specifics of the incident."

"Is she okay?"

"She's in the ER, and she's expected to be checked in for the night. Visiting hours start at nine a.m."

I can't hear anything except for the static on the phone. He won't tell me if she tried to kill herself again. He isn't at liberty to discuss it.

"You can ask for her room number at the visitor's desk." He pauses, as if to let it sink in that he's not allowed to tell me what happened to her. "Do you have any questions?"

"No," I say. I drop the phone. He's still talking, but I drop the phone.

Alyssa looks at me. I can't place the expression on her face.

I can't place anything.

She did it again.

I know she did it again.

I've been ignoring her. I've been gloating about Alyssa and me. I've been going on and on about Alyssa, about how much I love her, how much I'm moving on.

And she's stuck in her stupid parents' stupid summer home.

I've ignored her calls. Ignored her texts. I should have noticed. I should have seen something when I visited.

She did it again. And it's all my fault.

CHAPTER FOUR

The lights are off again. Everything feels so dark. This can't be possible. I was in Santa Barbara a month ago. Samantha was so happy. She seemed so okay.

We were sitting on the hardwood floor of her parents' house, playing rummy. She was sipping a glass of wine. And she looked fucking happy. She looked like she meant it. It was such a nice moment. Cool air. The clear blue of dusk. Just enough light that we could still see the cards.

"I met a guy."

"Where did you meet a guy?"

"At the store."

"You went to the store?"

"I know I'm staying with my parents, but I'm perfectly capable of driving myself to the store."

"Which store?"

"Whole Foods."

Of course she went to Whole Foods and not to any of the co-ops closer to Santa Barbara or Goleta. Of course she met some guy at Whole Foods. He's probably another rich yippie. Some business casual stockbroker who drinks green juice and drives a Tesla.

He'd be perfect for her.

And she laughed. For a minute, I saw a future for her. It was like the future I used to see for us, but it fit better. She and the stockbroker fell in love fast. He asked her fast. She said yes. The wedding was fast. And then a year later they had a kid, a dog, and a house on the beach. They had everything she pretended she wanted with me. Everything she really wanted with Edward.

She had hope again.

She stayed near her family. In Santa Barbara. Her parents were happy--they loved his clean haircut and his polite demeanor. They told her how proud they were--that she finally found a stable man, instead of some starter boyfriend.

She found a job at a law firm downtown. It was still corporate law, still boring, but it paid well and she felt important. She spent too much on designer suits.

She was happy. They were happy.

She didn't need me anymore.

"What about this guy?" I asked.

"He's a guy," she smiled. "It's nothing, but we're going on a date next week. You don't mind, do you?"

"Why would I mind?"

She shrugs. "You get jealous."

"I used up all my Samantha jealousy during that whole Edward debacle," I say.

"Still... I'd understand if you weren't totally over it. I was surprised when I heard about Alyssa." She says Alyssa like it's something bitter. A bad aftertaste in her coffee. But then she looks at me and smiles. "You deserve to be happy, Luke."

"Are you jealous?"

"I left you, remember?"

And when that didn't work as well as she'd have liked, she tried to leave me permanently.

I open my eyes and Alyssa is staring at me. Her expression is soft.

Her fingers graze my cheek. "Are you okay?"

I don't move. I don't say anything. I can't even think.

"Luke..." Alyssa is so worried.

I know she's worried. She wants me to say something. She wants me to reassure her that I am not concerned with Samantha.

Alyssa is here, and she's mine.

"Luke..." She says it again. It's gentle and sweet. She sits next to me and presses her palm into mine. "Samantha?"

I nod.

"Is she going to be okay?"

That's what he said. She's expected to make a full recovery.

"Maybe," I say. My keys are on the dresser. It's past midnight. If I leave now, I'll be there by three a.m. There shouldn't be any traffic. The fucking 405 is probably closed until Wilshire, or some other annoying bullshit, but there shouldn't be any traffic.

"Luke, talk to me."

It's Alyssa, my Alyssa, but her words feel so hollow. It's not like she wants me to talk about Samantha. At best, she tolerates our friendship. And I can't bring myself to burden her with this.

It's not Alyssa's battle. It's mine.

"Are you okay?" She wraps her arms around me. Her cheek presses against mine.

It's warm, but not the way it was a few minutes ago. I can't feel her or hear her or smell her. There is nothing here, in this room, except the horrible, horrible blackness.

Samantha did it again.

"I'm fine," I say.

"And I thought it would be easy being the one on offense for once." She almost smiles, but her eyes are sad.

"I have to go. I have to help her."

"It's midnight."

"So?"

She looks away, out the window, as the blackness engulfs the front yard. It's so silent, I can hear every inhale and exhale. I can hear my heart beat. I can hear the wind rustling the rosebushes.

Alyssa bites her lip. Her eyes get so sad, but she doesn't say anything. I can't do this to her.

"Do you have to go tonight?" she asks.

She hugs herself. Her body curls inward. It's locking me out. Alyssa needs me too. I can't leave her alone. Not with her show premiering. Not even for a few days.

My chest is heavy and my throat is tight. "What if she's alone when she wakes up?"

"Please, Luke..." She looks back to me a moment. Her eyes are red already. Wet. But she chokes back a tear. "Don't pretend this is just about what she needs."

"What does that mean?"

"If you want to go to her, fine. She's your friend and you're obsessed with your weird relationship, and somehow, I'm okay with it. I trust you. But don't pretend it's about what Samantha needs. It's about what you need. You need her to need you, to be the only person who matters to her."

"It's not," I say. "It's not like that at all."

"Not at all?"

"She needs me."

A tear rolls down her cheek. "Yeah, and you fucking love that she needs you, don't you?"

How can Alyssa say that? I thought she understood. Samantha is my friend. Yeah, it feels good to be there for her. It feels good when she needs me. It feels good to be the person who brings a smile to her face. But that's normal. That's friendship. Friends help each other.

It has nothing to do with Alyssa. I still love Alyssa more than anything. I still want to hear her voice every night and see her face every morning.

"Forget it," she says. "It's not the time to talk about that."

"It's never the time to talk about anything with you."

"Then start. Tell me what you're thinking. Tell me why you need to rush to see your ex--the ex who cheated on you, who left you, who made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with you."

"She just tried to kill herself. It's not exactly the time to hold her indiscretions against her."

"Do you even want to be there?" she asks.

"It doesn't matter what I want. She's my friend. I have to help her."