Page 29 of Not on the Same Page

“I’m going to need you to come again.” He reaches around and rolls one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

My hips jerk erratically as he pinches my nipple harder, the pain blossoming into pressure. It feels so good but…

“I don’t know,” I whine. “It’s hard for me to come a second time.”

He straightens off my back enough to grip my hip with his other hand. His fingers press hard into my side as he pumps in and out. “I want to feel your pussy choke my dick,” he grinds out. “I know you can give me another one.”

The hand he had on my hip snakes over my lower abdomen and reaches between my legs. His finger meets my clit, and I cry out, falling onto my elbows again. “That’s it,” he encourages. “You can do it. I know you can.” He goes to work on my other nipple now, pinching and rolling as his other hand makes similar motions on my clit. His pace becomes uneven and quick, and I know he’s on the edge too. But it doesn’t take long for my orgasm to build once more. It comes barreling toward me and unexpectedly takes me under. I’m still trembling and crying out as I try to stay upright when Casey shudders and buries himself deep inside of me, grunting as he finds his release.

“Good girl.” He runs a soft hand down my spine. I practically purr at both his praise and the contact, arching into his touch. He pulls out of me, and the sudden emptiness is a shock. And when he goes to the bathroom to clean up, I have to brace myself with reminders that our agreement has always been for sex only. He’ll be on his way shortly, and I’ll be back to wondering what to do about my mom. Alone.

When he comes out of the bathroom, I’m lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling, almost boneless and unable to move. The mattress dips as he sits on the edge of it, effectively rolling me into him. Looking down at me, he chuckles.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Really good. You?”

“Amazing.” He pauses as if deciding whether or not he wants to say something else. “And hungry,” he finally adds. “I was lured down here with the promise of food.”

“Oh my god,” I groan. Fisting one of the pillows, I whack him with it. He laughs heartily, and I can’t help but giggle with him. My stomach chooses then to rumble, which sends us into even more laughter.

“Why don’t you clean yourself up and I’ll order room service,” he suggests.

I narrow my eyes at him, the mirth vanishing. “We said casual,” I remind him.

“Room service is casual,” he insists. When I give him an incredulous look, he rolls his eyes. “It’s either that or we are both going to have to go down to happy hour and brave the crowd to raid the hors d’oeuvres.”

“You could go back to your room and order your own room service.” That’s what he should do. The longer he stays, the more dangerous he becomes for me. And he absolutely cannot sleep here. Not with the nightmares I’ve been having the past few weeks.

“Is that what you want?” he asks for the second time tonight.

I know, without a doubt, he will do whatever I want him to. And I should tell him to go. Blurring lines is never a good idea. Better to set firm boundaries and stick to them.

But I also don’t particularly want to be alone right now. Isn’t that why I texted him in the first place? For food and company? So what if we also had sex. That’s just a bonus.

“I want a grilled cheese and fries,” I tell him as I haul myself off the bed. “And a Diet Coke.”

He grins as he pulls his boxers on. “You got it.”

His eyes are averted when I close the door to the bathroom, but he’s still smiling. And when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I’m smiling too.

10

CASEY

“So, you’re a big-time hotshot now.” Ashton smirks into his beer.

“Bullshit,” I protest, but I can’t help smiling back. “It’s all the same shit I had been doing for Anastasios, and I’m not even fully on my own.”

“Eh.” He tilts his head back and forth. “Your name is the one in lights. You can downplay it all you want, but this is a big fucking deal.”

As I take another sip of my drink, I try to suppress the pride blooming in my chest. He’s right—this is a big fucking deal. Not only am I going to be in charge of a new imprint, but I’m a Black man chosen for the job. All night, once I returned to my room after sharing grilled cheese and fries with Trina, I thought over what Imani had said to me earlier in the day. I’m not trying to make a huge statement, but I want to be sure my list of authors is diverse. So today, during my pitch session, I made sure to flag a number of diverse authors who showed promise. And I still have Imani’s folder to comb through, which I had been hoping to do between the pitch sessions and keynote speaker, but Ashton cornered me and asked if I wanted to get a drink.

“You know,” he starts slowly, and I have a feeling I’m about to find out his invitation wasn’t only about catching up with an old friend. “I’ve been thinking of making some moves myself.”

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” I set my beer down on the table and clasp my hands together.

“Not sure exactly,” he says, though from his tone, I can tell he’s collecting the right words. “Lit fic is kind of dead, you know what I mean?”