Love Locked Read online

  He holds both hands up. “No. It’s not that.”

  “Oh. OK. What, then?”

  He clears his throat. “I was wondering if I could get your number.”

  “My number?” For a few seconds her head swims. What number? Their table number? He should know that, shouldn’t he?

  “Your phone number?” Now the waiter’s blushing. His cheeks have two bright spots right in the middle. He’s cute. There’s no denying it. He could be a great distraction. Maybe he could be a distraction right now. Maybe he could ease her through the coming–down–off–a–two–pitcher–high crash with some highly athletic sex.

  Probably.

  But she’s not interested.

  Don’t be rash, Joss. Just because you’re not in the mood now, doesn’t mean you’ll never be.

  “I, uh … sure.” She smiles. “Of course. That would be nice.”

  Now that she’s said yes, he meets her eyes, and his lashes are long and up–curling. Sweetly sexy. “OK … um, how …?”

  Either he doesn’t ask diners for their phone numbers every day, or he has a great routine in place for covering it up. “Here.” Jocelyn holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.” She keys in her number and hands it back — “Jocelyn,” she says, pointing to her name on his screen. “That’s me.”

  “Great! So, I can call you?”

  She pushes the door open, smiles over her shoulder. “That would be the idea.” Behind him she catches Lucas’s eye. Just for a second. She can’t tell what he’s thinking. Oh well, who cares? He’s with his girlfriend, so she can give her phone number to whomever she likes. “Bye!” She doesn’t know if it’s for the waiter, or for Lucas, or just to symbolically bring the evening to an end.

  She steps out into the spring air and unlocks her bike and cycles home.

  ***

  Hot and bothered.

  How is it possible to be lying in bed hot and bothered on what’s really quite a cool early May night, with her window wide open, and a chilly breeze blowing across her skin?

  But she is.

  She can’t stop thinking about the stories Lucas told her. The way he answered her questions. Short and terse at first, but getting longer after more drinks. After — she likes to think — they started knowing each other better.

  Tiny details set her off. She’s making more of them than she should, but that’s half the fun, right?

  Like when he let slip that he failed a core university course because of a consuming crush he had on one of his university roommates.

  How he used to lie in bed, in the room next to the girl, hyper–aware of her presence on the other side of the wall. Unable to sleep so that he dozed off in class; had no notes and, even if he had, would have had no focus to study them with.

  “Did you at least get together with her?” Jocelyn had asked.

  “Nah. I don’t think she was into me.”

  How could she not be? The more Jocelyn thought about it, the harder she found it to believe that girl wouldn’t have made the late–night, barefoot trip a few steps down the hall. How could she have resisted?

  Joss knew she wouldn’t have been able to. Wouldn’t have been able to sleep, thinking of him next door with a whole bed to himself. She might have worried for a minute about the cotton underwear and stretchy tanks she wears to bed. Would he be the kind of guy who preferred black lace? She wouldn’t have thought about it for too long, reasoning if he was interested he wouldn’t kick her out of bed over her sleepwear.

  She would have made sure the tank top clung, just so, to her breasts. Would have let a bit of cheek show out the bottom of her bikini underwear, and would have gone for it. Letting herself into his room, asking to be invited between the sheets.

  After she’s worked that story through in her head, her underwear is soaking wet.

  She checks the clock. 1:11 a.m. She’s not tired at all. She stares at the ceiling and waits to fall asleep.

  How can she, though, when she has alternate images of their initial locked–bike meeting in her mind? Of how she should have grabbed him — no words — just pulled him off the path, into the trees. Pushed him against a trunk and started kissing him; light and teasing at first, building to something frantic and urgent, leading to the need to find somewhere more private than a few feet from a footpath?

  She lays her hand across her breastbone and slides it onto her breast. Her nipple’s upright and begging for attention, but that’s not her goal, so she circles it a couple of times with her fingers then continues; smoothing her hand flat across her skin, finding her bellybutton, but not pausing there.

  This is the only way she’s ever going to fall asleep tonight.

  She slips her hand down farther until it hits the elastic of her underwear. She makes one pass over the top of the fabric, dipping her hand to the warmth between her legs, but then she returns it to the top again, to the waistband, and she wiggles the tips of her fingers underneath …

  The anticipation’s more than half the fun, so she holds off. Lets thoughts drift in and out of her head. What would he think if he could see her doing this? If he knew it was all caused by fantasies of him?

  She inches her fingers down and lets her legs fall open from her hips. The opening of her pelvis sends messages fizzing through her body, shivering through her. You’re ready. It’ll be soon.

  She can picture him. The face she studied across the table for nearly two hours. The body she had no access to. She wonders about it. Dips, rises, scars — he’s bound to have them. She wants to touch them. Kiss them. Know them, so they’re always in her memory to work into this part of her routine.

  She slides her hand right down, brushing past her hyper–receptive clit, gasping as she goes. She uses her natural lubrication, to return to her clit and the area surrounding it. To explore it with ease; her fingers sliding easily, applying light touches here, deeper pressure there.

  Her breath is coming quick and shallow now, and she thinks of him again. Simple things like imagining him grasping the hem of her shirt and lifting it up and away; her doing the same to him. Of how it would feel to press her bare chest against his. She thinks of the frantic grasping and groping that accompany a first time — a good first time, anyway — and she’s positive this one would be sensational. She hasn’t had a first time for so, so long, but her body remembers the wash of lust that comes with it.

  It’s time now. She’s just about there. She uses two fingers to isolate her clit; it’s so engorged and sensitive that she can hardly bear to touch it, and, at the same time, the ache inside her won’t let her leave it alone.

  Then it’s coming. She usually thinks of it as a train, or it could be a waterfall — it’s something rushing, hard and fast, through her. Building momentum as it moves. The trick here is not to fight it. If she can remember to go with it, to ride it out, her reward will be a quivering, full–body orgasm.

  At the last minute she slips one, then two, fingers down and into herself. Spreads them against her hot, wet walls.

  Her other arm flies above her head to grip the headboard and, like that, the waves of bliss shudder through her. She arches off the mattress, once, then again, and holds onto the last ebbing moments, before warm, relaxed, and satisfied, she rolls to the side and drifts off to sleep; tiny aftershocks hitting her every now and then, twitching her thighs and her insides.

  Good. Very good. But she can think of something better …

  Chapter Three

  (4:44)

  NOW SHE’S THE ONE losing focus. Glad she’s not in university anymore, or she’d probably fail a core course. At work she does an entire fact check with the main subject of a story and forgets to confirm the proper spelling of his name. “I’m so sorry,” she says when she calls him back. “I don’t know where my mind is.”

  He laughs — an older man — “It’s spring. I hope your mind is on love.”

  Love, or something like it. A four–letter word that starts with “L” anyway, combined with a five–lette
r “L” name …

  She thinks of Lucas all the time. Looks for him everywhere. At bike racks. At the pub they went to. She peers at clusters of workers wearing office–appropriate attire.

  Sam flies into town, as he does now and then, to visit his parents; much older than hers, and quite frail these days.

  She takes the bus to the airport to meet him; they’ll share a taxi back.

  The board tells her his flight is on time. Landed at 4:44. She peers at the screen, which tells her it’s 4:44 right now. Since she met Lucas, it feels like every time she looks at a clock, all the numbers line up.

  Lucas. Desire forks through her, and she jumps when a deep voice asks, “To what do I owe the honour?”

  She has to tiptoe to hug Sam, as always. His multi–Ironman body is hard and lean under her arms, wherever parts of her brush parts of him. His carefully curated half–stubble–half–beard scratches her cheek, as always. He smells like he usually does — not exactly perfumey, but not totally natural, either. There’s a product Sam uses he’ll never admit to, but she associates its scent inseparably with him.

  She pulls back, looks him up and down. “You look great.” Sam’s clothes are expensive; he takes care of them, and their nice cuts hang well on his fit frame. She makes a point of complimenting him on them, and it’s never a stretch.

  He smiles. “You look … different. Glowy. Something …”

  “Mmmm …” She grabs his bag. “Let’s get a taxi.”

  ***

  They’re back in the pub, sitting at the next table over from where she sat with Lucas. Sam’s carry–on bag is on the floor, tucked against the wall.

  The waitress comes by — eye candy for Sam instead of for her tonight. Jocelyn looks at the waitress, looks at Sam, raises an eyebrow and asks, “Share a pitcher?”

  He straightens in his seat. “Whoa, I said I’d come for a drink. Not for the night.”

  Jocelyn tuts. “It’s not for the night. It’s two pints each.” The waitress is pretty and Sam’s checking her out. “Since when did you become such a lightweight?”

  Jocelyn knew that would work. Sam’s competitiveness is one of the things that helped get them together, when he ran a Valentine’s 10K with a broken elbow, just to show her he could. It was also one of the last straws in their breakup when she waited two hours for him to pick her up from the hospital, after a severe allergic reaction, because he wouldn’t leave a poker game he was losing.

  “Fine.” Sam nods at the waitress. “A pitcher.” Then turns back to Jocelyn. “But that’s it. I want to be home by nine.”

  At 9:15, Jocelyn has a nice buzz going. “This is where I was when you kept texting to ask if I was horny,” she says.

  “Oh yeah? I was going to ask why this place. You don’t usually come here.”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, well, I don’t usually …”

  “Usually what?”

  Good question. How best to describe this thing with Lucas? ‘Don’t usually end up with wet underwear just thinking about not–very–tall, cute–but–not–knock–em–out–handsome guys who already have girlfriends?’ ‘Don’t usually stay up half the night fantasizing about a guy she hasn’t even touched?’ ‘Don’t usually enjoy being in a position of complete frustration and almost–certain failure?’

  She leans forward so her breasts rest on the table. Waits for Sam to look at them. Once he does, she says. “I’m horny again.”

  “Come again?”

  “I’d love to.”

  He lifts his gaze to her eyes now. “Seriously, Jocelyn. I thought we didn’t do this anymore.”

  “Rules are made to be broken.”

  “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

  Without breaking his eye contact, she undoes the top button of her blouse. “How ‘kind of?’”

  He shifts in his seat. “My parents …”

  She notches her finger into the V of her shirt, adjusts it downward so the edges of her black bra peek out. “Call them. They’re probably just about to go to bed anyway. Like we should be …”

  “Jocelyn …”

  “Your mom loves me. She’d kill you if she knew you went home when you could hang out with me.”

  “And by ‘hang out’ you mean …?”

  “I mean start with sucking your cock, and let’s go from there.”

  He groans. “Jesus, Jocelyn. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  She bends for his bag.

  “Oh no.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to need to carry that in front of me to get out of here with my dignity intact.”

  She licks her lips. “I don’t give a shit about your dignity. I just want what you’re hiding behind that bag.”

  “Go!” he says. “Now!”

  ***

  It’s like coming home, being with Sam again. All this is familiar. The mounting anticipation. Throwing too much money at the cab driver. Sam sliding his hands up under her skirt, tugging at her underwear as they climb the stairs to her third–floor walk–up. Tumbling through the front door, their combined body weight slamming it closed behind them.

  There’s little time for cock–sucking. Just a bit, quickly, as she tugs his pants down, licks the glistening bead of precum from the end. “Mmmm …”

  He reaches an arm around her waist, scoops her onto the bed. “Can’t. Wait.”

  He slides in from behind, and the depth he reaches makes her whimper. She gathers folds of sheets into each hand, squeezing, her cheek pushed against the mattress. “Oh! Yeah. Deep!”

  It’s such a relief. Quick. Hard. Athletic. He flips her over and she giggles as he fumbles then sinks right back in. “Ooooh … that’s nice.”

  It is nice. For a while. For quite a while. And then it starts to get sore.

  “Sam?”

  “Uh?”

  “Sam. Tell me you didn’t do it again.”

  He meets her eyes for a second. Grins. “About four minutes ago.”

  “You asshole. We agreed you weren’t allowed to do that anymore.”

  He closes his eyes, takes a long, slow thrust. “Rules were made to be broken … am I right?”

  “It’s not fun.”

  “It is for me.”

  Her own fault for telling him, the first time he came inside her, and kept going until he came again, that she’d never been with anyone who could do that. His competitive spark was lit and it became a game. She started calling him the “stealth cummer” because he was quick and quiet so she wouldn’t catch on when he came the first time. It meant their sessions kept going for ridiculous lengths of time. Too long, as far as she was concerned.

  Too long now.

  I hope Lucas can’t come twice in a row. A ridiculous thought to have, under normal circumstances, but right now she no longer has any feeling in her vagina, and too much feeling elsewhere, with muscles starting to cramp all down her legs and into her feet.

  “Don’t wreck this for me, babe,” Sam pleads. “I love this. I could do it forever. And getting to look at your awesome tits makes it even better.”

  “Oh, come on …”

  “Listen, whoever had you so horny that night I texted you — think of him.”

  There’s a thought. “If you insist …”

  “Mmmm, see; you’re already getting more into it.”

  And she is. There’s a new tightness in her core. Butterflies in her stomach, and tingles all through her pelvis. She slips her hand between their working bodies and adds a layer of pressure; pushing into the tight space — sending a spurt of sensation through her.

  “Nice!” Sam gasps.

  Lucas, Lucas, Lucas. He’d be heavier on her; more solid. She’d wrap her legs around his waist, just to see how deep that would drop him. He’s almost her height; his face would be even with hers. They’d kiss while they rocked together and … “Oh!”

  “Yeah?” Sam asks.

  “Yeah! I’m … oh … I’m nearly … I’m there!”

  The orgasm shoots through her, curling her body up
and tight to Sam’s, as he arches his shoulders high, and back, and yells, “Yes!”

  They ride it out together. Sam’s always been good at that — at not giving up too soon — at letting the aftershocks spasm through her; clenching and releasing against his softening cock.

  Finally he dips his face, kisses her cheek. “You’re a good sport.”

  She smiles, touches his forehead. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “But what I really want to know …”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is who the hell is this guy you’ve been thinking of to make you come like that?”

  Chapter Four

  (10:10)

  SHE HAS TO SWOOP to grab her phone before it vibrates right off the end of the kitchen table. Sam’s name is at the top of the screen Run?

  I thought you said you didn’t need to work out all weekend after last night?

  Last night got me worked up. If I don’t run, we’ll need to do that again. So, run?

  She shifts in her chair, trying to ease away the soreness from last night’s marathon sex session. She can’t do that again today. Buy me brunch after?

  If you can keep up.

  Oh good, I’m hungry. Bring your credit card.

  Jocelyn’s glad Sam’s text caught her before she ate breakfast. He hasn’t planned a short run. Or an easy pace. She’ll definitely be starving when they’re done.

  It’s still early in the season, and still early in the day — so not that hot, yet — but keeping up with Sam’s blistering pace has her ribs heaving, and her skin slick with sweat by the time they slow to a walk on the path near the turn–off to her apartment. Near where she locked her bike to Lucas’s …

  Oh, God. It’s happened to her before — a couple of times — she’s had an orgasm just from sheer physical exertion. Sam’s pushed her almost that far already and now, thinking of Lucas … as she stretches her hamstrings, the movement tugs her underwear, which suddenly feels very ticklish against her swelling clit.

  “Where are you?” Sam’s snapping fingers near her face. “Earth to Jocelyn.” He leans in and takes a deep sniff around her neck — hair sticking to her wet skin. “Mmmm …”