Sucker Punched (30 page)

I move in front of her, blocking her path. “I
never
stopped wanting you. My problem was thinking that I would.”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out how to walk her through my thought process, but it’s not going very well. As stupid as it sounds, I don’t know how to put feelings into words.

“I thought we could be friends. I thought whatever this is would eventually go away, but it hasn’t, and now every time you go out with Hayden it
kills
me. It feels like I’m letting him borrow you, and it’s the worst fucking feeling in the world.” My jaw tenses as I struggle to keep my emotions in check. I swallow, watching her anger melt away, and all my self-control goes with it. “It’s not fair.” My voice cracks as I reach up and brush her trembling lip. “You were mine first.”

Shaking her head, she looks away as a lone tear falls down her cheek. “You’re too late.”

She doesn’t fucking get it, does she? “It’ll never be too late for us. As long as I have air in my lungs, then I’ll use every last breath to convince you that we belong together. I’m just sorry I fought it for as long as I did.”

“Blake—”

Taking her face in my hands, I kiss her. If I could just show her how much I want her, how serious I am about this—about her—then she’ll change her mind. 

I know she will.

Macy lets out a surprised breath, but when my tongue slips in her mouth a second later, she groans and kisses me back. I cup her ass and lift her off the ground, her legs wrapping around my waist like they’ve done it a million times before. 

I carry her over to the bed and lay her down, tugging her robe open as my mouth trails a kiss down her neck. My head rests on her collarbone as I shove her panties aside and slip my fingers through her wet and ready folds. 

“We shouldn’t,” she says between fast breaths. 

Her hips are rocking under me, moving with my fingers as I circle her clit. “It’d sound more believable if you weren’t rubbing your pussy all over me.”

Macy’s breath catches as she clutches me tighter. 

I pull back long enough to undo my fly, and that’s when she seems to snap out of it.

“Blake, no.”

She can’t be fucking serious.

I groan, dropping my head to her chest as my dick riots in my jeans. “Duchess—”

“No,” she says, pushing me away. I roll onto my back as she pulls her robe closed and stands. “I waited for you to change your mind once. I don’t want to be there when you change it again.”

I won’t. I’ve been with enough girls to know that by now. I also know that nothing I say is going to change her mind tonight.

Maybe ever.

I tug my hair, hitting my breaking point. “Well, I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t crawl into your bed at night and pretend like you weren’t just in someone else’s.”

“I never asked you to!”

No, she didn’t. 

She
let
me, which is a huge fucking difference. It’s the difference between wanting something and tolerating it. If she wanted me, she wouldn’t be pushing me away for the second fucking time.

I don’t get it. She told me she was falling in love with me and now all of a sudden she’s not? How can she change her mind that quickly?

Sitting up, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’ve reached the end of my rope. Might as well fucking hang myself with it. “Maybe you should move out.”

“Seriously? It’s ‘put out or get out’?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, well that’s what it fucking sounds like.” Macy snatches her clothes up from the bed and disappears into her bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

“You okay?”

Hayden’s voice cuts into my train of thought and I turn to look at him. “Yeah, why?”

He shrugs. “Well, you haven’t laughed a single time. So you either don’t like Monty Python, or something’s bothering you.” His lips curve into a half-smile as he talks, because he knows that first part’s not true. I love Monty Python. I just haven’t been able to get what happened with Blake out of my mind.

Was it a fight?

I was angry like we were in a fight. I threw jabs like we were in a fight. But I’m
pretty sure
fights don’t end with the other person’s hand inside your underwear.

. . .Like 95% sure. I don’t know, I haven’t been in that many fights.

Jesus, it’s been three hours and I can still feel him between my legs. I can still feel the pressure of his fingers on my clit and my panties are still wet and clingy. I fucking
hurt
. Everything south of my navel is a slippery, aching throb of desire and frustration.

I wonder if this is what blue balls feel like.

“Sorry.” I relax into his side as we watch the movie on his couch. “It’s been a weird day, that’s all.”

Hayden’s hand runs up and down my arm. “Would making out with me make your day better or worse?”

Oh. Em. Gee. 

He smiles down at me as I laugh. Thank God for Hayden and his adorkable sense of humor, because I really needed that today. “Worse, definitely.”

“Then you’ll have to give me pointers for next time, okay?” His smile never falters as he leans in and brushes his lips to mine.

Hayden’s a nice kisser. Not too pushy. Not too much tongue. His saliva’s in check and he always tastes minty fresh. But he doesn’t take my breath away like Blake does.

God,
stop
thinking about him. It’s not fair to Hayden.

My conscience, however, is a giant fucking asshole. It chooses that moment to rear its ugly head and point out the obvious: I’ve never had to tell myself to stop thinking about Hayden when I’m with Blake.

Damn it. . .

I groan against Hayden’s mouth, realizing I need to have a serious conversation with Blake before anything happens with Hayden. I owe it to the both of them.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, pulling away from him. “But I need to leave.”

He frowns, like he didn’t hear me right. “Was my kissing really that bad?”

“No, of course not.” He might not give me
all
the feels like Blake does, but that doesn’t mean he gives me none. Hayden’s a good-looking guy, after all, and I’m not immune to kissing him. “Look, I know what’s going to happen if I stay, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

He exhales a long breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.”

I hope he’s not mad. “Sorry.” 

Geez, I sound like a broken record tonight.

“Don’t be.” He kisses me on the forehead. “You have every right to slow down if you want to. Now if you’ll excuse me, I just have to take a very long, very cold shower.”

Grinning, I stand. “I’ll text you tomorrow?”

“You better.”

Blake just about gives me a heart attack when I get home. I thought he was already asleep since the house is quiet and mostly dark, but when I walk into the living room and flip on the light, I realize that’s not the case.

He’s sitting on the couch, staring off into space, with an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table in front of him. There’s no cup, no shot glass. Just his phone and a bottle of Jack. 

Is he still upset?

After my heart jumpstarts itself, I walk over to him cautiously. He hasn’t moved since I turned on the light. Not to look at me, or acknowledge my presence. 

Nothing. 

My stomach sinks with each step I take. His eyes are bleary and red, like he’s been crying for a while. 

Something’s wrong. Something much worse than a stupid fight. 

I sit on the couch, folding my leg in front of me so I can face him. “What happened?” I ask quietly, my mind racing with the possibilities.

He looks over at me, like he’s just now noticing I’m here. A tear slips down his face as he frowns. “My dad died.”

“Oh my god.” My hand flies to my mouth. “Blake, I’m so sorry.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tight. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and loosely embraces me, like he’s just going through the motions.

I think he’s in shock.

But soon his arms tighten around me, hugging me with such desperation that it breaks my fucking heart. If grief were a sea, then he’s adrift. This hug feels like his attempt to anchor himself.

So I hold him close and stroke his hair, my eyes burning as I tell him, “I’ve got you.”

We stay wrapped up in each others arms for what feels like forever. The only sound in the quiet house is an occasional sniffle or his hiccupped breathing. 

Wetness dots my neck from his tears. Each drop that hits my skin feels like it’ll leave a scar on my heart. I hate that he’s in so much pain right now, and I hate how helpless I am to make it better. 

I just want to make it better. 

“I’m an orphan,” he mumbles into my hair. “It doesn’t hurt any less now than it did ten years ago.”

My throat burns as the knot tightens. “I know, sweetie.”

When he pulls back a second later, his eyes search mine before dropping to my mouth. I hadn’t realized how close our lips are until he breathes in the air I exhale. Time seems to stand still as his gaze lingers on my lips. Is he going to kiss me? 

Do I want him to?

My heartbeat thunders with each second we remain in this weird limbo. Then all at once, everything speeds up as Blake leans in and closes the gap between us. 

As soon as I taste the tears on his lips and the bite of whiskey on his tongue, I know it’s game over. I want this. I want
him
. 

Blake’s kiss is a language I need to learn. I can’t stop until I’m fluent.

I melt into him as he tangles his fingers in my hair, getting his lips reacquainted with mine. He studies every curve of my mouth, every swirl of my tongue, every brush of my lips. He’s very thorough.

It’s a bit disorienting, a bit hazy. But in that haziness there’s a certain clarity that was missing when I kissed Hayden.

It’s not his fault, or even something he could’ve fixed. It’s just the difference between kissing someone with your mouth and kissing someone with your heart. I like Hayden, but I love Blake. 

How I ever thought I’d get over him is actually kind of funny now.

I pull back, resting my forehead to his. “Blake. . .” He’s not in any kind of state to be doing this. I should take him upstairs and let him sleep it off. But my breathing is ragged and his name is all I can get out.

His eyes squeeze shut as he grips the back of my neck. “Please.” The pain bleeding through that one word cuts me to the quick.

Blake’s not the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s the kind of guy who likes to pretend he doesn’t have a heart by burying it deep and pouring enough alcohol on it to drown the damn thing. But tonight he ripped it out and gave it to me, and what did I do?

I told him no.

God, what’s wrong with me? I’ve wanted someone to make me feel like this forever. It’s every girl’s dream to find someone who gives you all the feels—all the heart-fluttering, weak-in-the-knees, set-your-body-on-fire combination of friendship, love, and lust.

I was actually lucky enough to find that and what did I do? I ran away like a scared little girl.

Blake
scares me. What I feel for him is downright terrifying. He holds my fragile heart in his increasingly unstable hands. If he stumbles and drops it, I’m not sure I’d ever recover.

But I wanted to help. If getting lost in me for a few hours will help take his mind off things, then so be it. I’ll just have to take a leap of faith and trust that Blake will keep my heart safe.

Lifting my sweater, I pull it over my head and toss it onto the floor. My heart is hammering as I reach behind me and unhook my bra, the straps falling down my shoulders. I let it drop to the ground, feeling my nipples harden as the air hits them.

The rise and fall of Blake’s chest quickens as his eyes zero in on my breasts. If it weren’t for the way his expression is darkening with desire, I’d be a little self-conscious. Nobody’s ever studied me so intently before.

His eyes are glued to me as he runs a hand up my side, over my ribs, and cups my breast. His thumb brushes the peak of my nipple, lighting fireworks across my skin as the bud tightens into a hard knot. I feel it all the way down between my legs, and my breathing reflects it.