“Uh,” Brad’s voice startles me. He sounds awake. I cringe and close my eyes in fear. I’m mortified. No matter my mental state, my body is still yearning for him. “Colleen?” His voice breaks off in a breathless squeak at the end. He’s panting. Wanting. Needy.
“Yeah?” I croak nervously. My eyes are shut as tightly as they can get. I can’t even. I can’t even. I don’t even know what I can’t even, but I damn sure can’t. Can’t focus. Can’t explain. Can’t excuse. Just can’t. All that I can comprehend is that I need him to squash this ache in the pit of my belly.
His hands are still on my breasts. I feel him shift behind me, though he doesn’t remove his hands and he doesn’t move away. It’s just that now… now Mac is exactly where I need him. I gasp. At least I think it’s a gasp. It felt like a moan. But I hope it’s a gasp. God I hope that was a gasp.
“What are we doing, pretty girl?” Brad leans down and runs his nose over the shell of my ear. My breathing is strained.
“I don’t know,” I admit. But I need this. I need him to not stop. I need this to continue.
“Brad?” I press myself even harder against his erection and I feel it twitch. We moan together, sliding against one another in urgent need. “Please don’t stop.” The words fall from my mouth and I can barely believe I’ve said it. Brad thrusts up against me roughly.
“Finally,” he mutters, turning me on my back and crawling over me. My legs part, on either side of his thighs, as he slides himself to right where I need him. Most of his weight is supported by his forearms, only his lower half presses against me, lined up against me.
Need takes over and I reached out and grab his neck, pulling him to me. I capture his lips with my own and we move together fluidly. Tongues meet and slide together. I’ve kissed Brad before. Probably a lot, but then we’ve known one another since birth. Kissing Brad has always been nice—great even. But this feels like more. This is more than a couple of drunken friends. This is more than two teenagers fumbling through the motions after prom. This is more than a dare. This is plain, unfiltered need.
Our bodies bump and grind against one another, one of his hands dipping underneath the cotton shirt and traveling up my naked skin where he kneads my bare breast. I can barely contain myself. His hands, rough against my skin, are nothing like the hands of the men I am used to dating. They’re the hands of a man who works hard for what he has. They’re the hands of a man who takes pride in what he does. The rough, calloused skin flicks my nipple causing me to buck against him.
Feeling emboldened, I reach down for his boxers to yank them off when Brad’s house phone rings. We ignore it but our movements falter as we try to keep the rhythm going. The ringing is distracting but we do our best to block it out. The portable is across the room, sitting in its dock. It’s too far. I might combust if he moves to answer it. The ringing persists and the answering machine picks up. My mother’s voice stops us dead in our tracks.
“Colleen, Bradley… kids… I’m so sorry to distract you,” she sounds sweet as she leaves the message. Too sweet. “Especially if you’re….” and she whispers, “Having marital relations,” and I swear I hear Emily giggle in the background. “But Colleen, darling, that Michael Nate from your work. He called your father and I. He said you were supposed to be in court this morning. He’s worried about you.” I don’t hear the rest of her message.
I push Brad off me and fly out of the bed, damp with need, panting, and in search of the clock. I find it. On the nightstand on the other side of the bed, the alarm clock reads 11:57 A.M. I don’t remember having to be in court this morning, but I did have to be in the office. How in the hell did I sleep in? Why in the hell didn’t my Blackberry wake me up? What the hell is Thomas doing calling my parents? All these thoughts are combating with the one clouding my every thought. What the hell was I about to do with Brad?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
(Colleen)
I’m going to try.
IT TAKES ME approximately eleven minutes to clean up and get changed into something more acceptable than damp boxers and a wrinkled Red Sox t-shirt. All of the clothes I have with me are pretty casual, but I don’t have time to make it to my condo before going to the office.
I’m in so much trouble. So, so screwed, and not the kind I wanted to be.
I put on my white sundress that I wore the other day and rush around looking for my mobile phone. Brad comes down after using the bathroom. We haven’t spoken since my mother’s phone call. He watches me as I sift through the sofas for my mobile. I divert my attention, uneasy under his gaze. I don’t want him to tell me that being intimate is a mistake. I don’t want to be rejected. But above that, the most pressing issue is that I don’t want to be fired. Finally, I crack.