Stone Cold, page 17
Stone takes a sip of his beer, and he hasn’t looked away from me yet.
“Sorry, I’m rambling and this is probably boring for you,” I say.
“Not at all.”
There used to be a time when Jude would occasionally ask what I was reading, and the second I tried to go into any amount of detail, he’d pick up his phone and get distracted, tuning me out.
But Stone is listening, and the captivated expression on his face is almost asking for more.
“Have you ever felt that way?” I turn the tables on him. “Have you ever wanted someone so badly you could rip their clothes off? Have you ever wanted to make someone yours? Truly yours? In the most animalistic way?”
He swallows, rubbing his lips together and looking away before finally nodding.
“Yeah, actually. I have.”
“And did you do it?”
He pauses, peeling the label off his bottle. “I never had the chance, no.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“The woman I wanted in that way … she was taken by someone else.”
“Now that’s a tragedy.”
“To put it lightly.”
I rest my elbow on the back of the sofa, and place my cheek against my hand. Studying Stone through a different lens, I try to imagine him pining for someone. The slightest twinge of jealousy scalds my middle when I think of this faceless woman.
“For years, I stood back while another man kissed her. Another man told her all the things I wanted to say to her. Another man held her in his arms,” Stone says. “Only to throw her away when he was done with her.”
My breath hitches.
“It doesn’t get more tragic than that.” His voice is hushed and low, and suddenly the distance between us is narrowing faster than I have time to process any of it.
In a red-hot instant, his mouth claims mine.
His kiss is soft at first, and his hands cradle my face while his fingers slip gently into my hair. But the sweetness doesn’t last long before it’s replaced with a kiss so punishing, so greedy, I lose my breath.
His tongue pierces between my lips, dancing against my own. He tastes like beer and peppermint and the bittersweetness of the deepest longing.
Years of hatred and confusion fade into the background. All of this feels as wrong as it feels right. By the time we come up for air, our story is a tender tragedy written in the brightest of stars.
Everything we could have had …
Everything we could have been …
I lie back on the couch and Stone glides his body over mine, trailing kisses along my neck as his fists grip my t-shirt—and in an unprecedented and unexpected move … he rips it straight down the middle.
His hot mouth presses into the valley between my breasts, and then he shoves the lace fabric of the cups down. Taking a nipple in his mouth, his teeth graze my delicate flesh. My stomach caves and my hips buck beneath him. His hardness presses against me with each grind. He steals another punishing kiss, and I rake my fingers through his sandy hair—something I’ve wanted to do since forever ago.
I can’t believe this is happening, but I know if I question it too much, I’ll lose out on the moment—and I want to be here for this moment because this moment is everything.
His hardness rubs against the outside of my leggings in slow, rhythmic movements as he exhales hot, wanton breaths against the bend of my neck. He trails another path of kisses down my collarbone, along my chest, near the center of my stomach, and finally he stops above my waistband. With an unremitting jerk, he tugs my leggings off and throws them aside.
Lowering himself between my thighs, he presses them apart before kissing the damp mound of my lace panties, sucking my clit through the sheer fabric. My body trembles, surrendering as he teases me. With every soft stroke, I sink deeper into the sofa cushions and further from reality.
Sliding his fingertips beneath the sheer material, he rips the gusset. The sensation of cool air drapes across my sex only to be replaced by the hot heat of his mouth as he devours me harder, faster, greedier than ever. His tongue slides in and out, followed by his fingers. First one, then two. My stomach caves and my mind runs in circles, unable to wrap itself around what’s happening because it’s all happening so fast.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he says. The scent of my arousal lingers between us as he works biting kisses into my soft flesh, inching closer to my breasts, my neck, and finally my mouth.
“Really? I never knew …”
He stops consuming me for a moment, tipping his head up until our eyes lock.
“I never wanted you to know,” he says. “I never wanted anyone to know.”
I try to speak but he silences me with a kiss, driving his hips and his hardness harder against me. The swell of his cock sends me reeling, and my entire body aches with anticipation.
“You should’ve been mine,” he whispers against my ear, sending a spray of goose bumps down my arm.
“I … I wanted you too …” I manage, breathless and hot. “I just … I was afraid to admit it—and I thought you hated me.”
He stops cold, his body freezing against mine as our eyes hold again.
“I never hated you, Jovie,” he says. “I was in love with you.”
Cupping his face, I press my mouth against his, letting his words play on a loop in my head.
Deep down, in the unexcavated depths of my soul, I always felt drawn toward this man in a way I could never fully articulate to myself. It was always a feeling. Irrational and inexplicable. A niggling sensation in the pit of my stomach, a silent “what if” question creeping into the folds of my mind here and there.
His fingers drag the length of my inner thighs before exploring me all over again.
“Put me out of my misery.” His voice is low, his tone demanding. “And I’ll put you out of yours.”
“I want you inside of me,” I whisper, wrapping my hands around his neck and breathing him in.
Sitting up, Stone tugs his shirt over his head before pulling his wallet from his back pocket. With his eyes never leaving mine, he produces a gold foil packet, which he rips between his teeth. His hair is messy, his chest rises and falls with hard, steady breaths, and his animalistic eyes glint in the dusky room.
This man wants me.
He wants me so badly he ripped my clothes off and devoured me like I was made solely for him.
My heart hammers in my chest. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, savoring the carnal scents mingling in the air—my arousal, his spicy aftershave.
The sound of his zipper follows next.
I open my eyes as he slides the rubber down his generous, veined cock. Shoving my thighs wide, he positions himself at my entrance, teasing my clit before sliding it in, inch by inch, until he’s all the way inside of me, filling me to the hilt.
I remind myself to breathe, to relax, but this isn’t about that. This is about pure carnal desire. His. Mine. Ours.
My fingertips dig into his arms as he drives himself inside of me again and again.
Deeper.
Harder.
Faster.
All of him.
All of me.
Nearly a lifetime of wanting, a lifetime of going without … has led us to this moment.
I don’t know where we go from here—I only know that Stone Atwood is not like the rest, and while it’s always been the worst thing about him … it’s also the best thing.
Chapter Forty-Four
Stone
* * *
We collapse in a heap, gasping, our skin sticky sweet and the electric buzz of satisfaction racing through our veins. I taste her mouth one more time before peeling myself off of her breathless body and making my way to the hall bath to clean up. When I come back, I find her in the same position I left her in … utterly spent.
“Here.” I lower myself to my knees, running a warm washcloth along her inner thighs before finishing at her tender sex.
A long white scar down her left leg catches my eye. It must be eight, ten inches at least. A quarter of an inch wide. Thick and raised. Slightly jagged.
“What happened?” I ask.
She bites her lip, propping herself up, hesitating.
“I had an accident … many years ago …” she finally answers.
“What kind of accident?”
“I fell asleep behind the wheel of my car,” she says. “The night Jude broke up with me … it was late, and I was already tired. I’d been crying. My eyes were … swollen shut I guess … they think I passed out for a minute and drifted over the center line and hit a median. Rolled my car. Ended up with a concussion. Fractured wrist. Thirty-five stitches in my scalp … Broke my femur in two places.”
She traces the scar before dragging her knees to her chest as if this, of all things, is what awakens her vulnerable side.
“Why didn’t you stay at our place that night?” I ask.
“I asked … Jude said no.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Heat creeps through my veins, replacing the satisfaction that lived there only moments ago.
That bastard didn’t just leave her with emotional scars, he left her with physical ones too.
A daily reminder.
I slip my hands around her left leg, gently coaxing it flat, and then I lower my lips, grazing the jagged white line with a kiss.
“You deserved better than him,” I say.
“I know that now.”
“I’m sorry you have to live with this reminder every day the rest of your life.”
Her eyes turn glassy, and she lifts a shoulder. “It’s just scar tissue … it’s harder, thicker, more protective. I like to think of it as my body’s way of saying no one will ever hurt me like that again.”
God, I love this woman. Her strength, her beauty, her way with words. The way she doesn’t let anyone dim her light, yet at the same time, she’s not afraid to be vulnerable.
Jovie Vincent is the real thing in every sense of the phrase.
I sit in my car for a bit before heading inside where Jude and his dad are waiting. An hour ago, I was surfing the highest of highs, so caught up in everything with Jovie, I didn’t think about coming home and looking Jude in the eyes. I didn’t think about what I was—or wasn’t going to say to him.
Killing my engine, I step outside and make my way up the front walk.
The house is dark and quiet when I step in.
“Paul?” I call out. “Jude?”
No one answers, and for that I’m admittedly relieved.
I need a moment to be alone—to process the surreal events of this afternoon.
I kick off my shoes, drop my keys and wallet in the kitchen, and make my way to my study. Collapsing in my favorite chair, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I could have stayed all night if she let me, living between her thighs, tasting her lips a million times again … but alas, she had long-standing dinner plans with a friend.
It’s impossible to know where we go from here—where we should go from here.
All I know is that I want to go with her.
Wherever that may be.
Chapter Forty-Five
Jovie
* * *
“I slept with Stone,” I blurt the second Monica walks into my apartment Monday afternoon. She’s bringing by a handful of dress options I might borrow to wear on for an upcoming interview for a local news station.
She drops her bag on the floor and drapes the clothes over the nearest chair, her mouth agape. “You what, now?”
“I slept with Stone,” I say, clearer this time.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She waves her hands frantically in the air. “Okay, back up. How? When? Tell me everything.”
I give her the rundown, going into detail only where it counts, and when I’m done she’s practically bursting with excitement. Her tanned cheeks are cherry red and her fingertips flitter and she bounces in my kitchen chair like a child on Christmas morning.
“I think you were right,” I say.
She cups her ear, “Let me hear that one more time. A little louder for those in the back.”
She points to the row of house plants in front of my window.
“Look at you, all giddy and whatnot. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile that big since … well, I won’t go there. But you’re glowing and I love that for you.”
“He said he was in love with me back in college …”
Monica jumps up and down, nearly knocking over her chair. “I told you! Did I not?!”
I laugh, her exhilaration nothing short of contagious.
“Omg, so what’s next? What happens now? Does Jude know?”
“He left yesterday … I haven’t talked to him since … and I don’t know … we didn’t talk about Jude,” I say. “And quite frankly, I couldn’t care less what he thinks.”
Monica takes a seat, worry lines spreading across her forehead.
“Stone’s always been too loyal for his own good. He better not try and pull some bro code card shit after this,” she says.
“You think he would?”
“I don’t know. How’d you leave off yesterday?”
“I had dinner plans with Ida and he said he had to go home because Paul and Jude are staying at his place,” I say. “It wasn’t weird or awkward or anything, it was just a casual goodbye.”
Her mouth curves at the side.
“Hm. Okay. And you haven’t heard from him since?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Text him.” She points to my phone.
“And say what?”
“Thanks for the lay? Can we do it again sometime?” She laughs. “I don’t know. Just cast your reel out and test those waters …”
I grab my phone, hands shaking, feeling every bit a rookie as I tap out a message.
ME: Just realized you forgot to take your neon beer cup home with you yesterday …
I cringe when I show her. “It’s lame, but it’s all I’ve got right now.”
She throws her hands up. “Whatever works.”
A second later, the message shows as ‘read’ and three dots appear.
STONE: Thanks for the reminder. I’ll have to stop over and grab that soon.
I show Monica my phone. “This is good, right?”
“I’d say so.”
STONE: Maybe tonight? 7 o’clock?
My stomach somersaults and my jaw drops. I show her his message.
“I told you,” she smacks the table in celebration. “I told you, I told you, I told you.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Stone
* * *
Jude’s camped out at my kitchen island when I get home from work Monday, his nose buried in his laptop. Outside, Paul smokes a cigar on my patio, chatting it up with the blonde fifty-year-old widow next door.
“What’s up,” Jude says without looking my way.
“When you didn’t come home last night, I thought maybe you’d patched things up with Stassi,” I say.
He squints at his screen, shaking his head. “Nah. We talked and she let me stay last night.”
“That’s good.”
He tilts his head to the side, like he disagrees. “I’m still on her shit list.”
“Really?”
“I told her I wished it could be like it was in the beginning.”
“The beginning … as in Tulum?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“You were strangers then. Horny college students. You realize it’s impossible to go back to that … nostalgia’s a beautiful liar, you know.” I use Jovie’s line because it’s brilliant and it’s fitting and it’s true and he needs to hear it.
His gaze hardens, like the words are registering in real time.
“It just feels like I’m making the wrong decision here,” he says a moment later.
My body turns tense at his statement. If he’s referring to choosing the wrong woman, that could mean he’s still hung up on Jovie …
“Five years is a record for you,” I say. “And sure, you’ve had some ups and downs. No such thing as a perfect relationship. You really want to throw in the towel now? At zero hour? Your wedding’s in three weeks …”
“Maybe I’m not meant to be married.”
I hunch over the kitchen island, blowing a hard breath through pursed lips, gathering the strength to deal with this beloved idiot.
“Cold feet, Jude,” I say, clapping my hands together. “That’s all it is. Cold feet. Both of you. Suck it up. You’ve got a two-hundred-thousand dollar wedding just around the corner. Guests flying in from all over the world. You’ve got your bachelor party in a couple of weeks. You’ve had your wedding showers. You’ve got a cushy job at your future father in law’s company. You’re set for life. All you have to do is walk down the aisle with Stassi and say I do.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is. This is what you wanted, remember? She is who you wanted,” I say. “I don’t understand how you suddenly don’t want any of it. What changed?”
“You act like I’m the only person in the world to second guess themselves. Unlike you, not all of us are immune to self-doubt.”
“I’m not immune to self-doubt.” I stand up straight.
“Everything you’ve ever wanted—you’ve gone for it.”
That isn’t true.
Not everything …
“Stassi … she’s a good girl,” Jude says, though I keep my opposing opinion to myself. It’s not my circus nor my monkey. “But sometimes I feel like I’m never going to live up to her expectations. Hell, she dresses me like I’m some kind of project. She has to approve every piece of clothing that touches my body before I walk out the door. And the Range Rover? I’m not a Range Rover guy—you know that. She picked that car out. And the color too. What the hell even is Amalfi Blue? And sometimes I just want to go to a sports bar and have wings, but getting her to go anywhere that doesn’t require reservations months in advance is like pulling teeth.”
