Page 68 of Bloom

“Don’t stop,” I beg.

“You’re going to come like this?” he groans, as if the idea pains him.

“Yes,” I pant.

“No,” he says. He pulls away, and before I can protest his hand is sliding up my inner thigh and into my shorts. “I want to feel you when it happens,” he breathes, and then his fingers are gliding against me.

His index finger moves lightly over me, and then slides inside. That’s all it takes. I cry out and his mouth comes down on mine hard, stifling my cries, his hand holding its place while I spasm around him.

His lips move to my throat, my collarbone, his body pressed hard against mine, still tense and full of need, and then finally he rolls to the side.

“I can’t believe you came so fast,” he murmurs, his mouth at my ear.

“It’s embarrassing,” I whisper.

“No,” he sighs. “It’s amazing. God I’m going to think about that every night.” His words trigger an alarm, a small voice that wonders why he seems to think it’s a foregone conclusion that one day I’ll be something he can only remember, a part of his past.

I ignore the voice. “I think I can give you something better than that to remember,” I say, pushing him on his back and reaching into his shorts.

“Fuck,” he groans as he springs free into my hand. And something I’d guessed at, but wasn’t certain of, is affirmed: he’s huge. “No, Elle,” he whispers. I ignore him, circling him with my fingers before I shimmy lower, dragging a path down his chest on the way. I come to rest with my head between his legs, and he watches me with feverish eyes.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he pants.

“Really?” I ask, smiling up at him before I take him in my mouth, allowing one quick swipe of my tongue before I pull back. And then another. Light, inconsequential movements that have him writhing under me, grasping the sheets.

“Stop grabbing the sheets like that,” I tease, bringing my mouth back where it was.

“It’s the only thing keeping me from grabbing your hair,” he pants.

I take as much of him as I can in my mouth, once, quickly, and then grin up at him. “Maybe I want you to grab my hair.”

“Fuuuuuuuccck,” he groans, and then he gives in, his hands burying themselves in my hair as I continue, increasing the pressure, adding in all the little tricks Ryan so painstakingly taught me.

“Stop, Elle,” he begs, even as he is arching toward me, his hands tighter in my hair. “I’m gonna come.”

I increase the pace instead, and within seconds he is crying out, his hands digging into my scalp, his head thrown backward.

It takes him nearly a minute to release his death grip on my hair. He pulls me toward him so that I am lying on his chest, which rises and falls like a raft at sea.

“That was amazing,” he whispers. “Like completely fucking amazing.”

“Now are you glad I didn’t stop?” I giggle.

“Yes,” he breathes. And then he pauses. “But Elle? I’m only going to say this once: I don’t ever want you to tell me how you got to be so good at that.”

Chapter 38

“You’re off tonight, right?” Max asks James the next day. “Come hang out at the bar and we’ll head to Dewey once I’m done.”

I smile, turn my face toward the sun, breathe in the smell of pine on the breeze. Last night changed things with us. We don’t feel like something that might just fade away now. We feel like the beginning of something that can only grow.

“I can’t,” says James. “I’m meeting someone out.”

That’s all it takes for my sense of the world’s rightness to be wrenched away. I turn toward him sharply, the sun and breeze forgotten.

We are both off tonight, and we’d never discussed it but I assumed we’d spend it together. Maybe I’ve done such a good job of feigning independence that he didn’t realize it would matter to me. But either way, now I get to spend the day pretending it doesn’t hurt.

“‘Someone’, huh? Must be a girl,” says Max. And my stomach sinks even lower. He wouldn’t. We haven’t laid out any ground rules, but surely he wouldn’t take someone else out. Except James doesn’t deny it. His glance toward me is quick and anxious, and then he tells Max to mind his own business.