My head falls to the mattress as his name leaves my lips again, my body shaking, quivering with the type of orgasm you only read about in books, the kind I didn’t think were real. And Garrett just buries himself between my thighs, drinking up every ounce like he’ll die without it.
He withdraws his fingers and gives me three languid, reverent passes with his tongue, licking me clean as I collapse, arms over my head. The light scruff on his jaw tickles my inner thigh when he wipes his face off there, and I shudder, trying to breathe again.
Garrett falls beside me, the mattress bouncing beneath his weight. “Fuck, you taste amazing,” he croaks out, all gravel. Our eyes meet, and when his drift down my body, I heat with sudden nerves under the intensity of his stare.
I scramble off the bed, reaching for my shirt, clutching it to my chest. I toss Garrett’s to him. He takes it for the sign it is, though I see the confusion coasting through his eyes, marring his forehead.
It’s less confusion, more curiosity, if I’m being honest. He doesn’t know what this means, and neither do I. That felt good. Amazing. But it can’t happen again.
Can it?
I slip my shirt on, sink to the bed, and pull my knees to my chest as Garrett stands and covers his ridiculous abs.
“You should go,” I say. There’s no force behind the words. I’d like him to stay, and I’d like to ride his face until I pass out from too many orgasms. Is that a thing? It should be. Anyway, if he gave me any pushback about leaving, I’d fold in a heartbeat, despite the confusion.
Unfortunately for me, he nods. Five times.
“I should go.” He adjusts the giant lump in his pants, and though he’s not asking, I wish I could return the favor. But it’s been a while, and I’m kind of…unsure. He’s probably had the Holy Grail of blow jobs. I’m competitive as hell and hate being bad at anything. Finding out I’m bad at blow jobs is not something I’m prepared to handle tonight. “But was that…？”
“Great,” I answer breathlessly, swiping my damp hair from my forehead. “Yeah, super great.”
“Oh good. Great. I’m glad. And you feel…？”
With trembling hands, I gesture at my sweaty face, then at my legs, still shaking with the aftershock of my orgasms. “Amazing.”
His head bobs as he claps his fist into his opposite hand. “Amazing. Good.” He backs toward the door, pointing at me with two finger guns. “We should do that again sometime.”
“Uh, absolutely.”
His face lights up. “Cool.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. “No, we shouldn’t.”
He frowns. “No, we shouldn’t.”
“Carter.”
He nods, solemn. “Carter.”
“So…good night?”
He waves. “Night.”
Instead of leaving, Garrett continues to stand there, the two of us staring at each other. I’m still naked from the waist down, and I’m sitting in an explosion of my own fluids. It’s uncomfortable, but more than that, staring at him right now, his hair a mess, cheeks flushed, it’s making my lady bits all tingly again.
“So, uh…good night.” His eyes widen like he’s forgotten something, and he darts back over.
My heart hums as he looms over me, warm hand sliding along my jaw, fingers tangling in my hair as he cups my face and tips it up. His lips cover mine in a slow, heated kiss that lights a fire deep in my belly, and I fist the collar of his shirt, wanting to keep him close.
“Good night,” Garrett says again when he pulls away, then drops his lips to mine once more. “Night.” He jogs back to the door, waving at me over his shoulder. “Bye.” He pulls the door open and looks back at me, eyes sweeping over me, bright like the smile he hits me with when our gazes finally lock.
“Have a good sleep, Jennie,” he whispers, and then, for real this time, he leaves, footsteps thudding down the stairs, the front door closing behind him, the beep that tells me he’s locked up for the night.
I fall back against the mountain of pillows behind me, clapping a hand to my sweaty forehead.
Fuck me. Indiana Bones is going to have to step it up.
CHAPTER 10
USAIN BOLT
GARRETT
Jennie’s been ignoring me all week.
Four days ago, I called after her in the lobby. When she saw me, she bolted. Literally ran, across the lobby, out the door, throwing herself in the backseat of the taxi waiting out front, fucky ankle and all.
Two days ago, I knocked on her door. Without opening it, she shouted back in—I think—a horrendous mix of Spanish and English, claiming to be someone named Gloria, because Jennie didn’t live there anymore. I said I knew it was her because I’d seen her get into the elevator. She was silent for an entire thirty seconds before replying, “Me no hablo English.”
I’m frustrated as fuck. Despite the mind-blowing orgasms, I’d thought there’d been a shift in our dynamic, like we were finally becoming friends. She’d stopped being so utterly terrifying to the point that I could speak full sentences to her. If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is.
Plus, we left on good terms—I kissed her good night—so why is she avoiding me? She’s normally good at talking and yelling and all that; I’m the one who can’t string words together.
Should we repeat the orgasms? Probably not. Would I like to? Abso-fucking-lutely yes. But if she can’t look me in the eye, how will we ever be in the same room together? We need to talk this thing out before it blows up in our faces.
The door next to me opens. I straighten off the wall as Jennie strolls out of her apartment, singing what I’m pretty sure is the soundtrack to Frozen.
She’s wearing skintight plum leggings, highlighting her out-of-this-world ass, a pair of those comfy, warm boots my sisters love, and a baggy hoodie. A toque dangles from the tips of her fingers, headphones slung around her wrist. Casual has never looked better than it does on her.
“Morning, sunshine. Your ankle looks better.”
I wonder if she’ll ever not shriek at me, but know today isn’t the day.
She leaps into the air, dropping her shit to the ground, screaming out a string of curses. “Mother…fucker.” She scoops up her stuff before whacking me in the shoulder. “Was that necessary?”
“Based on the way you’ve been ignoring me for the last week? Absolutely.”
“I’ve been…” She looks around for the rest of her sentence. “Busy.”
Shit, she’s as bad at lying as I am.
“Thought you moved out. What happened to Gloria?”
She folds her guilty smile into her mouth. “Oh, she…just a…friend…sleepover…girl’s night.” She waves a flappy hand through the air. “Pillow fights in our panties and all that.”
“Uh-huh. Listen.” I take a step forward and she plasters herself against the door, terrified. I’m pretty sure I’m the least terrifying person ever, based on the amount of blushing and stuttering like a jackass that occurs when she’s around. But I stop anyway, because we aren’t in the bedroom, which happens to be the only place I like being a little terrifying. “We should talk about what happened last weekend.”