Erin McCarthy - Sweet

“I would like to, eventually, but Tyler has this fear that I’ll become a doctor and ditch him. He needs to see that I’m going to stick around.”

“The Mann brothers have a lot of pride,” I said. “It’s got them through some nasty shit. But it also makes them loyal.”

“Totally. So we’re like sisters-in-law in a way.” She tossed back her auburn hair and gave me a grin. “I feel like such a girl saying this, but I love that we’re besties and dating brothers.”

Laughing, I said, “I know. It totally rocks.” It was petty to admit it, but when she and Kylie had been going on and on about how much they loved their boyfriends, I had felt left out of their friendship. Like I couldn’t share in their giddy secret. But now I got it.

“I can’t believe you did a Warrior Dash. I could never do that.”

“Tyler would go in front of you, clearing your path of everything. He likes that he’s the tough guy to your girly girl.”

“That’s true. Maybe that’s why our educational imbalance works out, because he likes to take care of me.”

“Riley likes me to tell people off. I think it turns him on.” I laughed.

“Then I guess despite the sheer number of human beings on the planet, we both found our perfect mate.”

“I love it when you sound like a scientist.”

“That isn’t science. Though arguably, we were following evolution and both sought out a partner we perceived was a strong candidate, who could protect us.”

Evolution had nothing to do with the gushy-gush I felt when I looked at Riley. “Whatever. Let’s paint our toenails.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe it either,” she said with a laugh.

“Hey, I was thinking of getting a tattoo. What should I get?”

“A portrait of Riley’s penis,” she deadpanned.

Seriously, sometimes Rory killed me. “I haven’t even seen it,” I told her.

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’ve touched it, but I haven’t seen it, seen it, and it hasn’t been really all that close to my body. Yet.”

“Wow,” was her opinion. I knew what she was thinking, but she didn’t say anything, and I loved her for it.

“Pink or purple?” I asked her, pulling open the drawer to the nightstand. I held up the polish bottles.

“Purple. You must match your purpleicious bedroom.”

“One night when Riley is sleeping I’m going to paint his nails.”

I thought about Riley waking up with hot pink fingernails as I curled up next to him in bed that night and I couldn’t prevent a giggle.

“What?” he asked. “Are you plotting something with Rory? You two looked damn pleased with yourselves.”

“We were just catching up. It’s good to see her and today is an awesome day. I just feel happy for you, for Easton.” That was definitely true.

“I’m pretty damn happy, too. Even if I’m living in a teenage girl’s dream bedroom.”

I laughed, sliding my leg over his. I liked the scratchy feeling of his leg hairs over my smooth skin. “It’s not that bad.”

“Oh, yes, it is. But I don’t give a shit. I’d sleep in an igloo with you.”

For some reason, my laughter evaporated. I told him sincerely, tilting his heads toward me, “Riley, I love you. You do know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” He kissed me softly, then studied me. “I love you, too.”

The soft glow of our new nightlight gave a warm tone to his skin. Riley had decided we needed a nightlight because he wanted to see me in our bed but didn’t want to keep the overhead light on because of his brothers. I liked it like this because there was nothing anonymous about what we did, what we shared. It wasn’t bodies moving in the dark, it was eyes locked together.

So when he slid his hands down my back and over my ass, the soft touch already raising goose bumps on my flesh, I fought the temptation to close my eyes, wanting that connection. He rolled me gently on to my back and brushed his lips over my collarbone, burrowing into the neckline of my tank top, tongue flickering over the swell of my breast. Our breath mingled, my sighs unguarded, every reaction natural and intimate.

When he kissed me again and again, my lips swollen and damp, my body tightening everywhere, fingers tracing the muscles in my back, I could feel his heart beating in his chest, pressed against me, an anxious staccato that matched mine. Riley sat back and lifted off my shirt, tossing it on the floor. The way he looked down at me, as if I were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, had my lips parting on a sigh, nipples tight. He bent over and took one into his mouth and I arched up with a cry. He licked and tugged until I dug my nails into his hot skin, heels moving restlessly on our bed.

My body was moist, aching, when he flicked his tongue lower and lower, carefully peeling down my sport shorts and panties, studying me as he exposed inch by inch. Then he took off his own boxer briefs and I sucked in a breath. He rested his hands on either side of me and asked a very poignant, “Can we?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

But he didn’t press inside me. Instead, he covered himself with a condom from his nightstand, then rolled onto his back and pulled me over him. “I just want to feel you for a minute,” he murmured.

We kissed and rocked together, our bodies pressed in all the most intimate ways but one. He entwined our fingers together so we were clasping hands above our heads, tongues tangling, my legs open on either side of his, moist inner thighs pressed against the thickness of him.

It was enough stimulation, hips rocking my clitoris onto him, breasts brushing, his mouth taking mine, that I shuddered in a slow and emotional orgasm. “Oh!” I said. “Riley . . .”

“Baby,” he breathed, gripping my ass and rolling us both over so that he was astride me.

Then with his eyes fixed on mine, my body open entirely to him, he pushed inside. We both groaned and I swallowed hard, the sensation overwhelming as he rested there, throbbing. It was like . . . everything. Like there was just him and I and this moment.

“Jessica,” he breathed. “God, I love you.”

Then he started to move and something inside me shattered. I started to cry, tears rushing down my cheeks as I clasped his hands, waves of ecstasy lapping over me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, nuzzling my cheek with his. “What’s wrong, am I hurting you?”

“No, God no.” I tried to explain. “I just . . . it just . . . it’s so . . .” I didn’t have the words for it.

But he understood. “I know, babe, I know.” He moved faster, his grip on my hand tightening, his jaw tense. “Oh, God, you feel perfect. Perfect.”

Our bodies moved together, our hands clasped, and I didn’t know where he began and where I ended.

When he came, I came with him.

Sitting on the top of the picnic table afterward, so Riley could have a cigarette, a cliché that made me smile in secret amusement, I put my bare feet on the bench and looked up at the dark sky.

Everything had changed. But then, no, it hadn’t. It was just fuller, more.

His arm came around my back.

“There are no stars,” he murmured. “Light pollution.”

“Make a wish anyway.”

“There’s nothing to wish for. I already have everything I want.”

God. The tears rolled down my cheek, two damp rivers, as I sniffled.

“I’ve never seen you cry,” he said, puzzled. “Not even at your parents’ house. And now you cry twice in twenty minutes.”

“It’s because I finally let you in.” I wasn’t talking about sex.

And he knew it.

“I do have a wish,” he said softly. “That you’ll look at me like that every night for forever. It’s the sweetest expression I’ve ever seen. Almost as sweet as you.”

“Believe me, I will.” There was nothing I wanted more.

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up.

I nudged his knee with mine, staring to smile myself. “You’d better.”

“I said I believe you. Pita.”

And we both laughed.

BELIEVE

Available from InterMix January 2014

I spent my sophomore year in college partying. I wasn’t even original about it. Just the totally typical pattern of skipping class and going out every single night. If there was a keg party I went, if there was a shot I drank it, if there was a guy I made out with him. I wore short skirts, showed as much cleavage as I could, and I felt sexy and confident while having the time of my life. I threw up in more than one toilet, made out with a taxidermied deer on a dare, and came home without my shoes, dorm key, or phone on a regular basis.

Later, I tried to look back and figure out why I had slid so easily into party girl, but all I could come up with was maybe I just wanted a louder voice, and drinking gave me that. I wanted some attention, I guess, or maybe just to have a good time where there were no rules. Or maybe there was just no reason at all.

It all seemed normal. What you do in college, right? You party. You make superficial friends. You drink. Do stupid things that you laugh about the next day and take pictures that will prevent you from ever being a senator.

It wasn’t anything I felt bad about. I mean, sure, I could have done without some of those hangovers, and I did end up dodging a few guys who wanted to date after I spent a drunken night telling them they were awesome, but nothing to make me feel ashamed.