Cade plants himself directly in front of the door, a human barricade between me and the rest of the world. Music filters through the cracks around the doorframe, the bass in sync with my heartbeat. The vodka cranberries have left a pleasant warmth spreading through my limbs, but not enough to soften my edges where he's concerned. Despite the alcohol's gentle haze, my disdain for him remains crystal clear.
"For one, you're right. I don't like how arrogant you are," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Have you ever heard of being humble?"
He watches me, silent and still. Something about his quiet intensity makes me want to squirm, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. His amber eyes remain fixed on mine, waiting for me to continue, to fill the silence between us. It's unnerving how he can just stand there, reply nothing, and wait for me to tell him all my secrets.
"Being smart and knowing it…is ridiculous," I continue, crossing my arms over my chest again. "I think everyone should be humble."
A flicker of something — amusement, maybe — crosses his face. "That's one of the problems, right there." He nods. "Okay."
"What?" The question bursts from me.
"Keep talking," he says, ignoring my confusion.
My irritation rises. "Two. You think you're a good person, but I've seen how you handled this Hannah situation, and I think you need to reevaluate what good means because this is not screaming good person behavior."
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. The alcohol makes them slip and slide like fish in a stream, but I grasp at them desperately. I need him to understand why he's not the good guy in this story, no matter what he tells himself.
"And three. You may feel better about the cheating, but it's still wrong."
"What if I was drunk and taken advantage of?" His question hangs in the air between us, a sudden weight dropping into the conversation.
Laughter bubbles up unexpectedly, tumbling from my lips before I can stop it. I study his face, searching for any sign that he's joking. "I highly doubt you were taken advantage of."
"Just because I'm a guy doesn't mean it can't happen." There's an edge to his voice now, something harder beneath the casual tone.
I roll my eyes, pushing away the twinge of guilt his words trigger. "What did she do? Slip off her clothes and say oopsies?"
He nods. His face impossibly serious.
"Are you saying you were raped?" The word feels too harsh in my mouth, too real for this strange standoff in a stranger's bedroom.
His eyelids flutter, a brief break in his composure. "Why is everything so drastic with you? I'll let you in on some intel on life, Saylor. Not everything is black and white. Haven't you heard of fifty shades of grey?"
He smiles as if he's made some clever joke, but I refuse to reward him with laughter. "Yeah, and he's a fucking psychopath."
Something shifts in his expression. "What is it gonna take, huh? You are so fucking stubborn."
"I'm not." The denial springs to my lips automatically.
He exhales sharply through his nose, lips pressing together in obvious frustration. "Fine, deny it." He pauses for a moment and then says, "What are some things that you like?"
The abrupt change in direction throws me. "What?"
"Tell me something that you like," he demands, his tone brooking no argument.
I shrug, suddenly at a loss. "I don't know."
Sex .
The thought rises, startling me. I freeze, heat crawling up my neck. Why am I thinking that? The vodka cranberries, of course. Alcohol always awakens that particular hunger, leaves me wanting hands on my skin, a warm mouth on my body. Now there's an insistent pulse between my legs, a hollow ache. I shift, pressing my thighs together as if I could squeeze the feeling away. Cade's eyes remain fixed on me, waiting for an answer.
"I can tell you what I don't like," I offer, trying to regain control of the conversation and my body's responses.
"Cheaters," he supplies with perfect timing, and despite myself, I laugh. The fact that he is owning this side of him is funny. I suddenly feel lighter. It's a real laugh, too, not the mocking one from earlier.
"Why're you laughing?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Because I can't believe how proud you are for cheating. It makes you…absolutely insane." The honest assessment slips out, unfiltered.
"How drunk are you?" he asks, studying me with renewed interest.
I roll my eyes, annoyed that he's attributing my honesty to alcohol. "I'm so glad that you can live with yourself after being such an asshole. I just don't see how me telling you what I like solves anything."
His eyes brighten suddenly, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. The expression transforms his face, and something inside me stills, caught like a deer in headlights. A nervous flutter replaces the steady thrum of irritation in my chest.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. Did I say something funny without realizing it?
"You are finally using a regular tone with me."
The observation irks me, and before I can think better of it, I lunge forward, trying to push him. He dodges, sidestepping my hand with ease. His evasion only fuels my irritation, so I try again. Once more, he jumps back. The lack of contact is deeply unsatisfying, so I stalk after him, determined to make him hold still.
He leaps onto the bed, and the absurdity of the moment strikes me. Here we are, two grown adults playing an impromptu game of tag in the middle of a party.
I laugh, surprising myself. "What're you doing?"
"Getting away," he replies.
"Just let me hit you," I demand, reaching for him.
He jumps off the far side of the bed, landing lightly on his feet. "Girl, you got some issues."
That does it. Something about his mocking tone breaks through the last of my restraint. I surge forward, catching his shoulder with my palm. He grabs my wrist, steadying himself without applying pressure.
"Are you smiling?" he asks. "Is Saylor, my number one hater, actually smiling in the presence of me?"
I roll my eyes, but the smile remains, stubborn and unexpected.
"Don't stop, hater. It's actually a sight to see."
I try to hide my expression, turning away slightly.
He smiles. "Don't hide it. Come on, you can do it."
Despite my best efforts, the smile refuses to fade. Something in his voice, in his expression, makes resistance impossible. But I swear it's the vodka. Normal Saylor would be livid right now.
"There it is," he says, his own smile widening in response.
For a breathless moment, we just stare at each other's smiles. I've never really looked at him before, not properly. He has a strong jaw, full lips, straight white teeth. Something shifts in the air between us, an electric charge gathering like a storm. I wonder what he's thinking, what he sees when he looks at me. The intensity of his gaze becomes too much, so I place my palm against his cheek, forcing his eyes away gently.
He captures my wrist, gently pulling my hand from his face. "You can't keep your hands off me, can you?"
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I roll my eyes and turn to leave, but his fingers wrap around my arm, tugging me back. The movement is more forceful than he intended, and I collide with his chest, my body pressed against the solid warmth of him.
"Are we good?" he asks, his voice low and close. The scent of mint on his breath mingles with the clean smell of his laundry detergent, an unexpectedly good combination.
I straighten, pulling away from his hold, and nod. "I guess."
"Saylor," he says my name with a weight I've never heard before. "What will it take for us to be good?"
My gaze drops to his lips, and I have to force it back up to his eyes — those golden eyes. Something about him seems different right now, or maybe I'm seeing him clearly for the first time. Or maybe I'm seeing him fuzzy for the first time. Vodka makes him look good.
"What?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Stop playing—" he laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Come on."
A wild curiosity seizes me, a reckless wondering about what would happen if I kissed him. His lips curve into that ridiculous smile, and I'm suddenly, painfully aware of how handsome he is. Not just physically attractive — I've always known that — but something about the way he's looking at me now, the way he says my name, makes him beautiful in a way I hadn't anticipated.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, and I realize I've been staring too long.
"How much I don't like you," I answer automatically, the lie falling from my lips with practiced ease.
"Still?" Disappointment flashes across his face, followed by determination. "Okay, uh." He claps his hands once, as if summoning his resolve. Before I can react, his hands are on my shoulders, guiding me to sit on the edge of the bed.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach, their wings beating against my ribs as I look up at him. His hands feel impossibly large on my shoulders. He sits beside me, close enough that our thighs almost touch.
"I excel in school, and I'm an asshole about it because it was the only thing I was better at than my brother," he begins, words flowing out in a rush. "I used to play hockey but then I got injured pretty badly. It persisted, so I stopped playing."
I watch his profile, the way his jaw works as he speaks, the subtle shifts in his expression as memories surface.
"My dad used to cheat on my mom all the fucking time, and I guess a part of me thought it was okay because my mom always just took him back. Sandy hated it, but I wanted her to take him back because I didn't want my parents to divorce."
Something painful twists in my chest as I recognize the echoes of my own broken family in his words.
"My dad resented Sanderson, and then I became his pride and joy, which I didn't have before. I took pride in that because my mom favored Sandy. But my dad still favored him somehow because of hockey. Being smart was all I had."
He pauses, and I find myself hanging on his every word, desperate to understand this version of him I've never seen before.
"But outside of that, I like to go hiking. I like to travel. I'm a nerd when it comes to business. I love knowing the ins and outs of all the numbers like business expenses, the income, net profits, gross, you name it. Uh, what else? I can speak Spanish, some German, and some Mandarin."
"Wow," I interrupt, overwhelmed by the realization that I've misjudged him entirely. Beneath the cocky exterior is someone much more complex, someone with wounds and dreams I had no idea existed. And he is actually smart. I thought it was just a facade. "I'm sorry. Continue."
He clasps his hands together, staring down at them. "I don't know what else to say. I guess I can add that I know what I'm like and how it comes off. I know I'm being a turd by joining the hockey team, but I think there's a side of things you don't understand. I am actually good at hockey," he laughs softly. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to be on the team so quickly."
"Tell me that again," I say as I lean in, "You know you're a condescending ass?"
He nods, unsurprised by my bluntness. "Oh, I know." He runs a hand through his hair. "I guess it comes from when my parents split. I would hear my dad yell certain things and then take it back, and my mom would always say that he didn't take responsibility for any of his actions, and I didn't want to be like that. I knew that if I did something, it didn't matter how fucking stupid or reckless it was, I would hold myself accountable. That's why I was so open about Hannah and my brother, and how I cheated on her. Look, I know it's fucked up. I do. We all make mistakes, don't we? I can't be perfect."
He appears stressed after that last sentence. He inhales deeply, and without conscious thought, I reach for his hands and intertwine my fingers with his. The contact sends a shiver through me, an electric current that makes my skin tingle. I'm seeing him, really seeing him, perhaps for the first time.
"What's this?" he asks, his fingers playing with mine. Each light touch sends sparks racing up my arm.
"I see you," I whisper, offering a tentative smile.
"It's your turn," he says, gently pulling his hands away and rubbing his palms together.
My heart races at the thought of him pulling away from me, at the prospect of opening myself up to him, of showing him the parts of myself I normally keep hidden. I rub my hands together too.
"I… I haven't sat with myself long enough to understand myself like you have. But if I had to start somewhere, it would be the fact that my dad left when I was very little."
The words come slowly at first, then faster as I find my rhythm. "My mom had a gaping hole where he once was, but he went on to have another family with a few different women."
I swallow hard, pushing past the lump forming in my throat. "He used to cheat on all of them, and it made me so mad because he left me and my mom, and then to find out he was just cheating over and over again was so…"
To my horror, a tear slips out and slides down my cheek. Cade's fingers brush against my skin, gentle as he wipes it away. I stare into his eyes, shocked by his touch. Why am I telling him, of all people, things I've never even fully admitted to myself?
I take a deep breath, steadying myself as he tends to the other two tears that fall out. My fingers wrap around his wrist, drawing strength from the solid feel of him as I continue. "I knew it bothered me, but I'm not like you, Cade. I don't face my problems. I bottle it up, and I guess it comes out in all the wrong ways because I know I've been really mean to you."
He wipes the next tear, his touch surprisingly tender. He whispers, "It's a defense mechanism to protect yourself."
I laugh through my tears, grateful for the moment of lightness. "Look at you using your smart brain to figure me out."
He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. "It's pretty simple actually, and it makes sense."
"Are you always this kind?" I ask, suddenly realizing that he's not annoying me or being condescending.
His eyes stare into mine as he says, "Would you hate me more if I told you that I am?"
I can't help but grin at him. "Why am I even crying? It must be the alcohol. This is so embarrassing." I chuckle, wiping my tears.
"Mm," he hums, studying me. "You're one of those." He pulls his hands back, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch. "One of those people that continue to brush things under the rug. Maybe you should write a letter to your dad and burn it."
I roll my eyes, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact. "Okay, are you a therapist now?"
He shakes his head. "Tell me more."
I sigh, wiping at my eyes. I pull out my phone to check my makeup in the camera, a habit whenever I cry. The screen shows no texts from Byron, and the reality of our breakup hits me anew, a fresh wound layered over old scars.
"I broke up with Byron because…" I start, then trail off, uncertain whether I should share this part of myself with him.
"Because?" he prompts gently.
Tears threaten again, and I struggle to hold them back, embarrassed by my own emotional fragility. "He…" The words stick in my throat. "He…"
"He?" Cade's voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.
"I went to his place…" I force the words out, "and I was wearing this really cute red lingerie set for him… and he wouldn't get off his video game. He didn't care…so I left and broke up with him the next day."
Cade lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a huff. "Does he know this?"
I shrug, trying to appear more nonchalant than I feel. "It doesn't matter. Things haven't been the same for weeks. He barely touches me."
His expression remains carefully neutral, making it impossible to read his thoughts. The silence stretches between us, growing heavy.
"Say something," I plead, needing reassurance that I'm not crazy for feeling hurt, for needing to be wanted.
"It sounds like we have something in common," he says finally.
I stare at him, trying to decipher his meaning. What could we possibly have in common?
"You're funny," he says, watching my confusion with amusement. "We both wanted love, but our significant others didn't give it to us."
"What does that say about us?" I ask.
He shrugs, his eyes never leaving mine. "What does it say?"
I meet his gaze, emotions swirling inside me like a kaleidoscope — anger, attraction, curiosity, caution — all shifting and changing with each breath. If we have something like this in common, could I have completely misjudged him? As I stare at him, I know I've completely misjudged him. I think about all the times I scoffed or had a smart-ass remark to what he said. A lot of the times I would walk away when he came around. Did I hate him so much because we're so similar? My heartbeat echoes in my ears, loud enough that I wonder if he can hear it too. His eyes stay on mine, and the air between us isn't awkward anymore.
He admits he wants love and attention, and a part of me wonders if that's my problem too. Have I never met someone who could give me the love and attention I need? And God, the way his gaze softens at our silence.
He glances at my lips, and suddenly I'm only in this moment. Only he exists. Only his attention matters.
On impulse, I lean in.
To my surprise, he doesn’t pull away. If he pulls away, I will fucking die. I will leave this room, go into my bed, and never see the light of day ever again. I’m inching near his face, not thinking about anything but him.
"What does it say about us, Cade?" I whisper, my mouth nearly touching his.
Even this close, I feel the intensity of his gaze, see the gold in his irises, the slight dilation of his pupils.
My lips gently brush his. So smooth and new. His lips part as our faces make room for each other’s.
“Saylor,” he murmurs my name seductively. And I can’t help but to close the thread of a distance.
I kiss him, the smoothness of his lips causing tingles across my mouth. This kiss is cautionary, a question. I don’t even know how we got here but it feels too damn good to back out now. My pelvis is throbbing strongly, urging me to press further.
He doesn't respond at first, but I give it my best shot. Then his hand cups my face as he kisses me back. I exhale, not knowing that I've been drowning until he gave me air. Now, I need more.
I climb onto his lap and press my body against his as he breathes in my mouth. His other hand presses against my waist, and I moan slightly under his touch. I know I hate this man, but I've never been kissed like this. Never been accepted like this.
He stands, holding me strongly. I love that he can hold me like I weigh nothing. He places my back on the bed, and my pussy starts pulsing deeply, aching to feel his dick through his pants. He keeps his hips away from mine, so I focus on the sensation of kissing him. He has to be hard, right? I wrap my legs around his waist and try to pull him down.
"Is this considered taking advantage of you?" I ask, suddenly remembering his words earlier.
He breaks the kiss, raising himself to look down at me. His pupils are blown wide.
"Saylor," he says my name like a prayer, like a warning, like a question he's afraid to answer. "What are we doing?"
I push up onto my elbows, bringing myself closer to his face, to those lips I now know the taste of. "To be curt, I want you on me."
His eyes darken at my words, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of amber remains. I watch his throat work as he swallows, his breath coming faster now. The power I feel in this moment is intoxicating — me, affecting him this way when moments ago we were arguing.
"Saylor," he says again, my name like velvet in his mouth. "We—"
"Do you know what I'm wearing under this?" I interrupt, the vodka courage speaking for my thick desire. My pussy is throbbing at the sight of him now, begging and aching.
He shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
"I bought it yesterday." I sit up fully, bringing our faces level. "After the breakup. It made me feel better."
"You don't need—" he starts, but I press a finger to his lips.
"Do you want to see?" The question hangs between us.
He doesn't answer, just stares at me with an intensity that makes my skin flush. I don't wait for him to find his voice. Before I can second-guess myself, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in one fluid motion.
The cool air of the bedroom raises goosebumps across my exposed skin. I toss the top aside, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am — sitting here in just my bra that exposes my nipples with the man I hate the most. With Byron's best friend. A wild thought races through my mind: What if I've misread everything? What if he's not interested? What if I just put myself out there and he denies me?
The doubt evaporates when I see his expression. He looks at me like I'm water in a desert, like I'm something precious and rare. His eyes travel slowly over my chest, taking in every curve, every inch of my body.
"Tell me what you're thinking," I whisper, my fingers moving to the button of my jeans. "Before I take these off, tell me what's in your head right now."
He shakes his head, not in refusal but in disbelief. "You're the sexiest woman I've ever seen," he breathes, the words rough with want. "I can't believe this is happening."
That makes two of us, I think, but no agreement comes out. Instead, I unbutton my jeans and slowly slide the zipper down, holding his gaze as I do. The sound seems unnaturally loud in the quiet room, a counterpoint to our rapid breathing.
I rise to my knees, hooking my thumbs into the waistband, and slide my jeans down my hips, over my thighs. The denim catches on my ankles, and I kick it away, revealing myself in full — the matching set of navy lace that covers just enough to tease, to make him want more.
His eyes rake over me, taking in the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts above the lace, the smooth expanse of my thighs. There's hunger in his gaze, raw and undisguised, and it feeds something in me that's been starving for too long.
"Your turn," I say, finding my voice again.
He doesn't hesitate. With one fluid motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a chest that makes my mouth go dry. He's lean, but defined, muscle moving beneath smooth skin as he tosses his shirt aside. A trail of dark hair disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans, drawing my eye downward.
I've seen attractive men before — dated one for over a year — but something about Cade's body makes my pulse race faster. Maybe it's the unexpectedness of it all, or maybe it's the way he's looking at me, like he'd die if he couldn't touch me soon.
A small scar traces across his left side, just below his ribs — a pale, thin line I want to trace with my fingertips, my tongue. His shoulders are broader than they appear in his usual button-downs, and his arms… God, his arms. Strong without being bulky, the kind of arms that could hold me against a wall with ease.
The thought sends a rush of heat between my legs, and I press my thighs together unconsciously. His eyes catch the movement, his lips curving into a knowing smile that should irritate me but instead makes me want to kiss him again.
"Come here," I whisper, holding out my hand to him.
He moves closer, until his knees touch the edge of the bed. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, but not close enough to satisfy the growing ache inside me. I rise to my knees again, bringing myself level with his chest. I place my palms flat against him, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my right hand.
"Cade," I breathe his name, testing the feel of it on my lips in this new context. Not as Byron's best friend. Not as the arrogant ass I hate. Just Cade, the man looking at me like I'm the answer to a question he didn't know he had.
His hands come to rest on my waist, warm and large against my skin. His thumbs trace small circles just above the lace of my panties, each movement sending shivers up my spine. His touch is careful, controlled, but I can feel the restraint in his fingers, the tension in his arms.
"What are you thinking now?" I ask, needing to hear his voice, to know I'm not alone in this madness.
"That I must be dreaming," he says, his voice husky. "That I'm going to wake up any second."
I lean forward, my breasts pressing against his chest as I bring my lips to his ear. "Not a dream," I whisper, letting my teeth graze his earlobe. "This is very, very real."
His hands tighten on my waist, and a small sound escapes him — half groan, half sigh. I pull back just enough to see his face, to watch his expression as I run my nails lightly down his chest, over his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch.
"I want you," I tell him, holding his gaze. "I've never wanted anyone like this."
The admission startles me with its honesty. It's true — even with Byron, even in the beginning when everything was new and exciting, I never felt this desperate need, this all-consuming hunger. Maybe it's the forbidden nature of it all. Maybe it's the fact that hours ago, I thought I hated him. Or maybe it's simply Cade himself, telling me dark secrets of his life to get me to understand him. I don't know this much about anyone else.
Whatever the reason is, I need him. Now.
His hands slide up my back, one cupping the nape of my neck, the other tracing the line of my spine. He pulls me closer, and his lips find mine again — not gentle this time, but hungry, demanding. I open to him, my arms winding around his neck as he deepens the kiss.
When we break apart, both gasping for breath, he presses his forehead to mine. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice strained. "Because if we go any further…"
I know what he's asking. If we cross this line, there's no going back. Everything will change — between us, between him and Byron, between me and my own understanding of myself. It should give me pause, make me reconsider.
But all I can think about is the feel of his skin against mine, the taste of his mouth, the promise of what's to come. I've spent so long doing what I should, being who I should, feeling what I should. For once, I want to follow this reckless impulse wherever it leads.
"I'm sure," I tell him, and I mean it.
The words have barely left my lips before his mouth is on mine again, his arms lifting me as if I weigh nothing. He lays me back on the bed, his body finally, finally covering mine, and the weight of him excites me. I finally feel his hard dick pressing against me, so I let out a relieved whimper. I reach for his cock unable to stop myself.
"Did you have too much to drink?" he asks as I rub his dick with my hand.
I snicker. He's so cute. "You know, for a cheater, I thought you'd be fine with this."
He places his forehead on my cheek. "I'm not a cheater, Saylor. You're my best friend's girl. Do you know what kind of trouble I'm going to be in if we do this. I think you might have had too much to drink."
"You said we have something in common, and that one thing," I say, sticking my hand down his pants. "Is trouble itself. Do you know what would happen if we said yes?" I slide my hand further and then my fingers curl around his thick girth. When I stroke him, I feel the length, and immediately my insides are soaking wet, imagining how he would feel inside of me.
"Cade," I say, capturing his attention as I jerk him off. "I am drunk, but I really want this. I'm on birth control, so we don't need to use a condom." I stroke him faster. "Earlier when you asked me to tell you the things that I like? My first thought was sex."
He stands up and unbuttons his pants. Watching his jeans slide down is unlike anything I've ever anticipated. His black boxer briefs are snug and hot as hell with his raging boner. Jesus. I have been blessed tonight.
"Where the fuck have you been, huh, hater?"
I throw my head back and laugh, sensation crawling about my skin. He drops his boxers, and my mouth dries at the sight. "Busy hating you."
He crawls over me. "I'm going to fuck you senseless, Saylor."
"Only if you promise to not treat me like shit tomorrow."
"What kind monster do you think I am?" he asks, staring down at me. I grab his dick, and he inhales. "I promise you, Say. I'm not as bad you think."
"You swear?" I ask.
He nods. "I swear." He leans down and kisses me. "But I'm definitely going to hell for this."
He presses his dick against me, and the warmth spreads through my body. "Then take me with you."
His lips overtake mine as he works his tongue into my mouth. The softness of him makes me moan, arching into his body.
"Fuck, Say. You're beautiful." He grabs my ass and then rubs my slit. "Shit, you're fucking so hot."
I pull him closer.
"I thought you hated me…" he says as his eyes trail down my body. With the look in his eyes, my insides melt.
I glance at his body hovering over me. The flex of his muscles, the way his body is shaped like an upside-down triangle. "I do… I did…"
He kisses my neck and asks, "Did you secretly want me, Say? Is that why you hated me so much?" He nips at my shoulder, sending sparks to my groin.
"I don't know," I admit.
He sits up and says, "How do you want me, baby?"
I blush at that nickname, at the blunt honesty of his question. "What do you want?"
"Mm-mm," he shakes his head. "I asked first. Tell me how you like it."
I shrug. "I guess I don't really know."
His smile turns flirtatious. "Let me show you what you've been missing then."
Excitement rolls through me. It's odd knowing a person for some time and never thinking of them in a different context. This right here, seeing Cade naked before me, knowing what his life was like and giving reasons as to why he is the way he is, turns me on unlike anything I've ever felt. I'm aching for him, wondering what he's going to show me, wondering what I've been missing.
His lips start on my knee and then he slowly kisses up my body. I flinch at every kiss because it's beyond ticklish. He lingers at my stomach, eyeing my nipples through the sheer bra.
"Shit, Say. We haven't even started, but I'm thinking about all that I would do to you if you would let me… I'll start with this."
He leans in, kissing my cleavage. He pushes the material to the side, swirling his tongue around my nipple, sucking at them, while he presses against my pussy. First, he swirls his fingers and then when he reaches for the other boob, he pushes my thong to the side and fingers me.
My body roars alive under his touch. His tongue taking turns on my nipples as his fingers move in and out of me. Then he leans up to watch my face as he does something else with his fingers. I gasp, squeezing his arm.
"Holy fuck!" I moan. "Oh, my god! What are you doing to me?"
He smiles. "Curling my finger to hit your spot from the inside."
Shit! I nod quickly, unable to hold back the pure pleasure surging through my body. "Cade, my God!"
"Think I can fuck you with this lingerie on?" he asks, tone dripping in ecstasy.
I nod, rocking my hips on his fingers. For fuck's sake, he knows what he's doing, and it's terrifying. The material stretches as he pulls it to the side, the threads cracking.
"You're gorgeous, Say. And so tight. Do you think you can take my dick? All of it?"
I nod.
"You need to relax and not be so tense," he instructs me.
I nod again, anticipating the feel of him.
He grabs his dick, watching as he aims for me.
"Oh, fuck, Say," he moans, rubbing his tip against my pussy. "I can't wait to fuck you. You're gorgeous, you know that? So fucking hot. Even when you hate me, especially when you do."
He presses into me, stretching me wide. The pleasure overtakes my entire body as I arch my back to help him in. His dick slides in slowly, inch by inch, and I wince from the pressure, so he stops.
"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned etched across his face.
I'm holding my breath as I answer, "That's a lot of dick you have."
He rocks back and forth. "Relax, Say. You're doing fucking great. Look at us."
My pussy throbs at those words. He wants me to look, so I glance between my legs where he is, noticing his dick is almost all the way in. He pulls out slowly and then presses back in. I shudder out a moan as he watches my face.
"You feel so fucking good… Watch me fuck you," he says, holding my shoulders up.
He picks up his pace, and I swear I'm getting wetter by the second. The view of him inside me is haunting and beautiful at the same time.
"And because you don’t know how you want it, lift this leg," he demands, tapping my left leg. I lift it and he slides it the right. "Fuck," he moans, pumping into me from the side. "I wish you could see it from this angle. You are so fucking sexy."
I hold my ass, trying to stay in one place as he rails into me from the side. I'm crying out, moaning from the pleasure. It feels so damn good. Then he grabs my ass and props it up in the air.
"You're unbelievable, Saylor." He pulls my thong down and moans, pumping his dick with his hand before aiming into me again. I spread my legs, ready for him. We both moan as he inches his way into me. The feel of him is too much to fucking explain, but this is the best sex of my life.
He doesn't hold back in this position. He rubs my clit just as quickly as he fucks me.
"You're taking all of me now, Say. Do you feel that?"
I nod, too busy moaning and enjoying the pleasure he's giving me.
"I'm gonna fucking come, Say. Tell me you want to do this again."
The thought of doing this again sends a jolt through my body, making me come alive. He's enjoying me enough to want my pussy again? That's…crazy.
"I do," I moan, telling the truth. I would really like to do this again.
He's fucking me so good right now. I feel the precum lubricating us even more, and it starts to feel even better. Or maybe I'm getting wetter.
He leans in and says, "Tell me you don't care that I'm Byron's best friend."
I shake my head. "I don't fucking care, Cade." With a dick like this? With his attention on my clit rather than just focusing on himself? This experience is a hundred times better than sex with Byron. I don't think Byron knows what a clitoris is.
"One more, Saylor, and I’m going to fucking fill you with my come."
I cry into the bed as my orgasm is on the brink of exploding.
"Tell me that you don't hate me anymore," he breathes heavily.
I start to cry out, my orgasm finally at its peak. His fingers continue to spiral me as I cry into the pillow. And then I turn my head as he continues to fuck me. "How could…I hate…you when you make me…feel this fucking good, Cade?"
I bounce my pussy on his dick, and he says, "Fuck, you look good on my dick, Say. I'm going to fucking come."
A warmth fills me from the inside, dripping out immediately as he pulls out and shoves himself back in. The feeling makes me moan, satisfied that I've just orgasmed and I made him come.
He places his hand on my ass cheek and says, "Don't move. I need to clean you."
There's a bathroom that he disappears into, and I stay on all fours, my ass in the air. He walks back out with wet napkins and says, "That was the best sex I've ever had. You are everything, Saylor."
"Everything?" I repeat, not knowing if he's being serious or not.
He nods. "Everything." He walks away and flushes the mess down the toilet. When he walks back, he throws his boxers on and hands me my clothes. "I think we've been with the wrong people, Say."
"I've been with the wrong friend?" I ask, the thought making me smile at his flirting.
He nods. "You need to talk to him to tell him that you're serious about the breakup, okay? He seems to think that you're going to get back with him." Cade passes me the rest of my clothes.
"Is that what he said?" I ask, confused.
"Yeah." He leans on the bed, staring at me. "You are so fucking cute, Saylor. Jesus Christ."
The look on his post sex face is not what I expected, and my heart is leaping at that expression he's wearing.
I blush. "You're cute… By the way, I’ve never hooked up at a party before."
He laughs. "There's a first time for everything. Next time, I promise it won't be at a party."
My heart sinks because he's no longer plunging into my pussy and fantasizing about next time. He actually means it. He wants there to be a next time.
And my gut twists at the idea that I no longer hate Cade Connolly.