Crashing into Love: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  “Yeah, Mom. We’re just going to park and then head upstairs to Conrad’s apartment.”

  “Okay, that sounds nice. Thank you for this, Conrad.”

  Conrad looks into the rearview mirror. I’m not sure he’s capable of fully smiling, but he offers her a smirk, and his eyes gleam with genuine kindness. “It’s not a problem at all. I can’t stand the idea of Callie staying in that place. And you.”

  And you, tacked onto the end like he thinks I’m his main priority. Sizzling silly heat moves over my skin at the thought, but I have to be careful – have to stop dissecting his every word, every gesture as if it all has some hidden meaning.

  We climb from the car and Conrad walks around the back, opening the trunk and grabbing our suitcases. We were able to pack pretty much everything we own into those suitcases, which is a sad but true fact.

  He hefts them, his muscles barely straining, handling them like they weigh nothing. Nodding toward the elevator at the end, he leads the way, striding ahead as I study the way his shirt pulls tautly from shoulder to shoulder, his back thick with muscle, throbbing he’s ready to turn feral at any moment.

  I walk behind him, fighting all the fantasies which flood into my mind. But it’s difficult not to imagine that I’m a piece of luggage and he’s carrying me just as easily, handling me like I weigh nothing like he can do anything he wants with me.

  The memory of the kiss is burned into my lips, my soul, my everything.

  The elevator is spacious and clean, well-lit.

  But despite the space, I can’t stop from inhaling the scent of Conrad, his musky manliness, and glancing in the mirror so I can keep eye-fucking his thick arms, his bulging shoulders, his handsome face, and his azure penetrating eyes.

  Up and up we go, and then the doors open onto a short hallway that ends in a single door.

  “No neighbors?” I murmur, walking into the hallway and looking around at the clean walls and the pristine carpet.

  It’s crazy how magical these simple things seem to me now, but it feels like forever since I’ve lived somewhere that didn’t stink and wasn’t covered in graffiti and grime.

  “Not in the penthouse suite,” he says. “Come on.”

  He walks up to the door and then quickly drops the suitcases, so suddenly I think something is wrong. I glance at him sharply.

  He moves forward and grabs something from the door handle, almost too quickly for me to see. But I can make out a flash of pink material, lacy frill…

  Panties? Were they pink panties?

  My heart starts slamming in my chest like I’m going to be sick, like the whole world is going to crash down and squash me into a cruel mess. I look at him and he stares down at me, his eyes glimmering with something, something dark.

  I scream at myself to ask him what the heck that was, but then the moment seems to pass. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his key, unlocking the door.

  His apartment is a huge open-plan modern penthouse, with a wide entrance leading to a beautiful kitchen. The counter is marble with flashes of obsidian through it – lights switching on automatically as we walk in, allowing me to see.

  Calling the space to the right the living room would be the biggest understatement of the century.

  It’s massive, with four cream couches arranged around a giant seventy-inch TV, and past that is a workout area, a punching bag hanging from the wall, a bench and some dumbbells, a rowing machine.

  Hallways lead off from the wide open space, presumably to the bathrooms and the bedrooms.

  But one thing strikes me as I gaze around the massive modern penthouse.

  It seems cold. There are no pictures on the walls, no flurries of personality.

  Conrad stands at my side, looking down at me with that same unreadable expression. Every time I look at him, I think about that flash of pink, the frilly fabric.

  Was I wrong?

  Maybe it was something else completely, a note left by the building’s manager or something, on pink paper. And then my overactive mind dreamed up the frilly material and the lace of the panties.

  “I spend most of my time at the hospital,” Conrad says, as though reading my mind.

  Mom takes a few steps into the room, gazing up at the exposed rafters in the ceiling, the industrial-style lights which hang down and light everything with a bright white glow.

  “This is a lifeless place,” she murmurs.

  “Mom,” I hiss, as embarrassment shoots through me. “Don’t be so rude.”

  “It’s fine,” Conrad says, chuckling. “I can’t say I disagree. Come on. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  He turns and strides down one of the hallways. I can’t stop studying the muscles which tighten across his back, pushing through his shirt. It’s like a compulsion.

  Mom and I trail after him, our footsteps making click-click noises on the hardwood flooring. I can tell Mom is getting tired, agitated by this new environment, and all she wants to do is go back to sleep.

  I fight down the rage which courses through me – rage that I always have to be the grownup now, rage that she doesn’t even seem here, really, more like she’s a ghost floating next to me. I can’t remember the last time I felt like mom was, well, mom.

  It’s not her fault. I have to remind myself of that, but it’s so hard some days.

  Conrad stops outside a finely-carved oak door, sort of in a cabin style, which doesn’t really match the modern surroundings. My mind brims with all the ways this place could be made homelier, all the ways little touches could bring life and personality, and love.

  It could become the sort of place to raise a child, at least the first one or two before we moved out to the suburbs and…

  I slam down on those thoughts, cursing myself.

  He’s clearly got another woman if those pink panties are any indication, probably a string of billboard-model type women who leave him little gifts outside his door, reminding him of them.

  “Here you go, Callie.” He waves a hand at the door, laying down the suitcase with his other hand. “Let me show you to your room, Mrs. Simpkins.”

  “Please, call me Janet,” Mom says, almost sounding like her old self for a moment.

  “Okay, Janet it is.” Conrad nods. “Follow me.”

  I watch them go, smoothing my hands over my belly, as my womb sends impossible messages to my heart.

  Go to him tonight, mount him, writhe atop him until he explodes inside of you and you can start your life together.

  Sighing, I grab my suitcase and push the door open.

  Chapter Seven

  Conrad

  I sit on the balcony, the night sky above me, clouds shielding the stars, and the city dark beneath me. It’s never completely dark, with lights glimmering into the night, but it’s almost three AM.

  Staring down at the pink bundle on the table in front of me, my heart picks up speed, every part of me fraught with tension.

  Why the fuck did this have to happen now?

  It makes me sick as I stare at it, my mind flitting to Callie in her room, praying she didn’t see me grab them and shove them into my pocket. She was gazing around at the light fixtures and the wallpaper and the carpet, her interior-designer mind whirring, so maybe she didn’t catch it.

  But what if she did?

  I could ask her, but I don’t want to upset her for no reason if it turns out she didn’t see it. There’s no reason for her to learn about that mess, for our first night together to be poisoned by the past.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, warning myself that I’m going to need to grab some shuteye soon. I’m not at the hospital again until tomorrow – well, today. But I still need my rest.

  The problem is, it’s impossible to think about sleep when I know Callie is in my apartment, a one-minute walk away. I can’t stop thinking about stalking through the night and lurking outside her room, pressing my ear against her door and listening to the sounds of her breathing.

  Standing over her bed, ev
erything inside of me heaving and taunt, ready to take what’s rightfully mine.

  “What are you doing?” she’d whimper.

  I’d lean down and grab her by the hips, spinning her over to get a look at that delicious round ass. Pulling down her shorts would be like entering a dream, drinking in the sight of those luscious juicy ass cheeks. And then falling to my knees and running my hands over them, kissing up the inside of her thigh, toward her hole, and…

  I grip the edge of the table and let out a shaky breath, warning myself to calm down before I snap and charge in there. I feel my control slipping just at the thought of her, but something feels off.

  Maybe it’s this offensive pink bundle in front of me. The only reason I’m keeping it is so I can hand it to my private investigator, just one more piece of evidence in the never-ending stream. I should’ve taken a photograph of it on the door handle – that’s what I’d normally do – but I couldn’t risk my Callie seeing it.

  My cell phone vibrates from the table, distracting me from my thoughts. It’s Tommy, my best friend and a man I’ve known since we were in medical school together. He must just be finishing his shift. He knows I’ll sleep through his calls when my phone’s on vibrate mode – but that I’ll pick up if I happen to be awake.

  “What’s up?” I say, answering.

  “Hey, man,” he says. “Just thought I’d see if you want to come down to the Hound.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re going for a drink now?”

  “Hey, the night’s young in my part of town, Conrad. So what do you say?”

  “I can’t,” I murmur, unable to hide the emotion in my voice. “I’ve got… visitors.”

  It seems strange to describe Callie as merely a visitor when in reality she’s so much more. She’s the woman I’ve been waiting my whole life for, the woman I’ve been dreaming of, but never truly believed I’d meet.

  “You’ve got visitors?” Tommy says, laughing. “That’s a new one. Who?”

  I think about telling him to mind his own business, but Tommy and I are close. We came up together and though we work in different hospitals, we talk a lot and I share most things with him.

  So I tell him about the crazy night I’ve had, about Callie crashing into me and going to her apartment, about the kiss, the standoff with those pricks, and how now she and her mother are staying with me.

  Tommy is silent for a moment when I’m done, and then he lets out a long breath. “Jesus Christ, Conrad, that sounds insane. Why did you invite them to stay? I’ve never known you to play the Good Samaritan. I mean, I know you give way too damn much money to charity and you’re always generous with your time, but this? What’s next, you going to open your doors to any homeless person off the street?”

  “I need her, Tommy,” I growl, realizing how insane it sounds when I say it aloud.

  “Huh?”

  “You know how I sometimes talk about settling down one day, but I’ve never found the right woman?”

  “Yeah, and I tell you to be more like me and find the right women, plural.”

  I shake my head, even if he can’t see me. That’s not the life for me and it never has been, but Tommy’s only joking. He knows that I’ve never been much of a play-the-field type of guy.

  “Do you think this Callie, is the one?”

  I swallow as a dark fire rushes through me, and possessiveness grips me. I know it’ll seem completely bat-shit to Tommy, but it’s real.

  I can’t deny it.

  “Yes,” I growl. “I can’t explain it, but the second I saw her, everything fell into place. It’s like I didn’t have to wonder about the future anymore. It’s all laid out for me, carved into damn stone. Is any of this making sense to you?”

  Tommy chuckles. “No, Conrad, no it isn’t. But I know you. Once you set your mind on something – like becoming the best damn surgeon in the country – you don’t stop until you get it. What are you going to do?

  “There’s something else. She left me another gift. On my door handle this time.”

  “Fucking hell.” Tommy’s rage is palpable and alive through the phone. “How does that factor into all of this?”

  “I don’t know. Should I tell Callie before I do anything?”

  “You mean, anything more than kissing her?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tommy sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m way out of my depth here, man.”

  “I know. Me too.” I laugh drily. “Anyway, have fun at the bar.”

  “Keep me posted, Conrad.”

  “Will do. Speak later.”

  I hang up and walk into the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel and returning to the balcony. I wrap the pink underwear in the towel, doing my best not to touch it, not to be near it. I don’t want anything to do with it.

  Once I’ve placed it in a drawer in the living room – out of sight – I decide it’s probably time to get some sleep. Or at least try to get some sleep. I know it’s going to be difficult with thoughts of Callie whirring around my mind.

  I walk down the hallway toward my bedroom, passing Mrs. Simpkin’s room – even if she asked me to call her Janet, it’s difficult to let my manners go completely – which is silent.

  Then I walk by Callie’s room and something freezes inside of me.

  Is she moaning in there?

  Stalking forward, I press my ear against the door and listen intently. Through the thick wood, I can hear her voice raised in a lilting tenor, dancing in the air. It’s like she’s trying to stay quiet, but she can’t help herself.

  “Oh, oh, oh.”

  She moans, each oh sending a shot of lust right to the base of my length, my manhood pulsing and burning with the desire to charge in there.

  “Oh, oh, ah, ah.”

  Her voice raises in pitch and suddenly my hand is sliding down my body, toward my groin, my engorged head pushing against my pants like it’s trying to break the zipper.

  I swallow as I curl my hand into a fist, telling myself I can’t do this, I can’t touch myself over her without her knowing.

  But there’s no damn way I can walk away now, not after hearing her voice filled with so much lust.

  I know I should wait because I won’t be able to stop myself once I start. I won’t be able to keep from tearing off her clothes and taking her like the savage I am, and I haven’t even told her everything yet.

  I haven’t told her about the mess with the little surprise outside my door. I haven’t told her how much she means to me, what she means to me, how I’m going to claim her every day for the rest of our lives.

  But none of that matters.

  My seed is shooting through me with savage intent, commanding me to take her, take her now.

  I push the door open.

  Chapter Eight

  Callie

  I tried to fight the urge as I lay in bed, tried not to think about the way he grabbed me when he kissed me, the way his hands sunk into my hips and smoothed around to my ass. I tried to remember those possible panties on the door handle and the way he quickly shoved them into his pocket.

  But then the whirring thoughts got the better of me and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching between my legs and pressing down on my needy bud, rubbing softly at first as I imagined his rock hard body pressed against mine, as I imagined him pushing me closer and closer to the bed.

  Soft moans escape my lips despite my efforts to stop them, as I envision Conrad looming over me, his manhood in his hand, stoking glistening precome all over his massive shaft.

  I felt how big he was against my belly.

  But in my fantasies, I don’t have to stress about disappointing him, about not being able to please such an experienced and massive man. In my fantasies I climb atop him and grind my body against his, sitting down on his massive length and sassily staring down at him.

  “Ride me, Callie,” he snarls, and I start to bounce, to shift my hips up and down as—

  I stop when I hear footsteps approaching, opening my eyes
and sitting up.

  A gasp escapes me.

  Conrad stands in the center of the dark room, a hulking silhouette. The only light comes from the window, letting in a little moonlight, giving him even more of a savage wolfish look.

  He smirks as he walks right to the edge of the bed, kneeling down and staring hard at me.

  “What were you thinking about, you horny girl?” he growls, a carnal shiver in his voice.

  “I was…”

  My mouth is dry and words are difficult to access, his attention suppressing my ability to think.

  “Callie,” he snarls.

  His hand slides under the covers and he grips onto my thigh, bare in my shorts, squeezing so sizzling sensations slither up and down my leg, whispering hotly around my clit, my sex pulsing and aching as he moves higher, closer.

  “I can feel how wet you are.” He brings his face close to mine, our lips brushing. “Now, be a good girl and tell me who you were thinking about.”

  “You,” I whimper, as his hand gets closer and closer to my sex.

  “And what were we doing?”

  I whimper when he pushes down on my shorts, crushing the fabric against my sex and kissing the edge of my mouth. I turn to kiss him fully, my body urging me to throw myself at him, to fuse with him.

  He leans back slightly, a smirk on his lips, as though he’s barely holding himself back.

  “Answer my question,” he says firmly.

  I gaze up at the ceiling, finding it difficult to look at him when he’s staring with such certain resolve. I know where he wants this to lead, what he wants.

  “We were having sex,” I whisper. “I was on top and I was riding you and…”

  I trail off, glad when he crushes his lips against mine.

  It means I don’t have to go into detail about the fantasy, something I’ve never had to do before, revealing parts of myself I’ve always kept private because I can’t stand the idea of humiliating myself.

  Our tongues clash and shivers run up my spine and through my body, as he presses his hand even harder against my sex.

  I moan and buck against him, rocking my hips as instinct drives me.