If I Love You

by Tmonique Stephens

  She didn’t disagree. The house did have a lot of history. Not all of it pleasant. Her mother had overdosed in the garage. Not a good memory.

  “The cabin you bought has as much history, though much more colorful.” She looked over at him. Though relaxed, he reminded her of an animal, all coiled muscles and tension. His brown hair seemed burnish in the firelight, tempting her to touch it. Half of his face was bathed in the glow from the fireplace. The other half was washed in the light from the kitchen. The duality intrigued her, made him even more appealing, which she ignored. “The cabin was owned by Alfredo Morretti, the Italian mobster who died in Federal prison last week.”

  “Mobster, huh? I’d heard that. Good thing he’s dead. Now, I don’t have to worry about him showing up demanding I move.”

  He leaned closer, invaded her personal space. The woodsy, pine forest scent clinging to him enveloped her, filled her lungs, made her nipples pucker, and heat not caused by the flames in the fireplace to lick her insides. She shouldn’t want him, not again, and not at all.

  A one-night thing, remember.

  His knuckle traced up her jaw to sweep her hair behind her ear. His fingers threaded through the strands, down to her nape in a loose grip.

  “I’m gonna kiss you.” His rough voice sent a tingle down her spine straight to her wet, achy core. He gave her an out. A quick shift, and they could pretend this moment never happened. They could go back to a nurse and a patient relationship. Back to casual acquaintances. Pretend they didn’t have hot monkey sex on the sofa, and he hadn’t fucked her into a sated coma.

  “You always announce what you’re gonna do?” she challenged.

  With his other hand, he scraped his knuckles down the side of her cheek and captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth twisted in a lopsided grin. “Not always. This time, no heat of the moment. We’re not getting caught up. You and I are fucking because we want to.”

  God, that was a good answer.

  Kensley eased into his lap, and careful of his injury, straddled his hips. No use denying it. She wanted this, was surprised how badly the need gripped her. His lips were warm and firm, as he sucked on her lower lip, then worked his tongue into her mouth. His big body surrounded her with its heat.

  Good God, the man was a furnace, or was that her roasting. She wanted her shirt off. His shirt off. Them, naked and rolling on the floor in front of the fire. Cliché, yeah, but that’s what she wanted, to be taken, hard, on the floor in front of the fire like two animals in heat. And she wanted it now.

  She fisted his sweater, yanked it up, and slipped her hand beneath, reacquainting her with his warm flesh and brick abs. He grunted something that got lost between thrusts of his tongue, probably at her cold fingers.

  “Sorry,” she managed between licks and pulled away.

  He melded to her, trapping her hand between them. One hand landed on her ass and squeezed; he palmed the entire cheek. His other hand slipped between the hem of her shirt and stroked from her hip to the middle of her back, leaving aching awareness of his callused palm gliding across her ribs to the front of her body, poised to cover her breast. A bit further, and he’d feel her hard nipple through her cotton bra. Just a little bit more.

  He teased the underwire while his free hand left her ass and cupped her head. He fisted her hair, trapping her as he deepened the kiss. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t need air. Just needed him. He palmed her breast and gently squeezed. The moan easing between her lips morphed into a whimper until his hand slipped into her scrubs, into her panties to her soaked pussy. Thighs splayed, hands behind her on his knees, she leaned back and rocked against his trapped cock showing him just how much she needed him.

  A grimace tightened his features as he stretched out his leg and shifted. His hand went to his thigh.

  She stilled. “Are you in pain?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t but as long as he didn’t have a fever. She reached over and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was cool and dry.

  His wound. He’d probably overdone it. Immediately, she flipped into RN mode. “I need to check your wound. Drop your pants.” She went for her Sterilite container in her hallway closet. Filled with everything she needed for a minor emergency: gauze, suture kits, paper tape.

  She expected to find him half-dressed, sitting in his underwear when she returned, not still fully dressed. Stubborn patients annoyed her. “Didn’t I tell you to strip?”

  “I’m fine. I swear I’ve had worse.”

  She open the container and started laying out her supplies. “I don’t care. You’re my patient, and I’m checking that wound. Now strip, or I’ll do it for you.”

  “Choices,” he murmured, his voice husky. He rose and unbuckled his jeans.

  Annoyed, she snapped, “I stitched you up in the clinic and sent you on your way. That makes you my patient. Now you’re in pain and trying to hide it, poorly.”

  He toed off his boots, stripped off his pants, and tossed them on the sofa. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough. His form-fitting boxers covered the wound. She waited, her arms folded, an eyebrow raised. Was he really gonna make her ask?

  His boxers went the way of his pants, and there he was. She forced a slow breath from her lungs. Remain professional, she thought, staring at his impressive semi-hard length. His sweater remained, but nothing diluted the obscene masculinity displayed. Kensley took a moment to appreciate the sexiest man she’d ever seen in her entire life. Her gaze locked onto his cock and stayed.

  Half the women in this town want a piece of him, and I’m the one who fucked Noah Kirby. It was utterly wrong to get a blow horn and stand on the corner of Main Street an make the announcement.

  “Where do you want me?”

  That was a loaded question proven by the heavy pulse in her core. “Back on the sofa, please.” He made himself comfortable like a king on a throne, and the horny porn star she kept chained in the metal locker deep within her subconscious woke and rattled her cage. She wanted out, and she wanted her turn at him. Right damn now.

  Nipples hard and pussy slick, Kensley sank to her knees beside Noah and propped the kit open next to her.

  Focus on the injury, not the man, not the semi-hard cock inches from her face. Easy Peasy.

  For the first time, she got a good look at his entire leg. He had a black 3D rendering of a bald eagle—wings spread; claws extended—tattooed a few inches below the wound. Tattoos weren’t her thing, but damn, it was gorgeous. She touched it, ran her fingers over one of the wings and body. His leg was a stone pillar, sculpted by defined muscles and smooth skin. How many hours does one have to spend honing their body to achieve this? A ton. Part of her was envious. Even though in recent months she’d lost the equivalent of a four-year-old child, she needed to hit the gym the same way she used to hit up Gristels.

  The bandage is bloody, but the skin around the dressing is healthy. Good sign.

  Carefully, she peeled the gauze off, revealing the sutures. The wound itself was a little red, but that was expected. She palpated the area, checking for any pus, and found none. The wound was cool and dry. “No surprise. You overdid it, but it’s not a disaster.

  She cleaned the area with alcohol and tapped a fresh bandage over the area. Satisfied, she sat back on her haunches.

  “Alright. I’m all don—” His cock was hard, weeping at the tip. That fast! Up close, it was a thing of beauty, long and thick. Damn, she wasn’t an authority, but it was pretty, as far as cocks go. Her mouth dried, and lust coiled through her. Her horny, porn star alter ego wanted a taste. “Don’t tell me you get off at the sight of blood and pain.” Tasty, rock hard cock or not, that was a definite turn off.

  “I get off on you,” his voice a harsh hungry rasp.

  Her gaze traveled higher to collide with the heat swimming in the chestnut depths of his gaze. Passion tightened his harsh features. “Umm… It’s a normal response to stimuli. No need to be embarrassed.” She grinned inst
ead of licking her lips. Rough fingers caressed her face. She leaned forward for more, an automatic response she seemed to have no control over.

  “I’m anything but embarrassed,” he growled. “Come here.”

  She shook her head but didn’t mean it. “You’re gonna open your wound again.”

  “Then be gentle with me. I’m so fragile.” His sultry grin was full of anticipation.

  Her body hummed. The bars caging her alter ego snapped, freeing the little slut. “I can be gentle.”

  Slowly, she scooted between his knees, her hands stroking from his muscular calves, over his knees, then traveling higher to his inner thighs. His nostrils flared, and he tensed. The sharp edge of lust arched between them. His cock waited, pre-cum glistening on the tip. Gently, she ran her fingers along the velvety column earning a sharp hiss and a slow pant. She gripped the base, parted her lips, and leaned forward to run the tip of her tongue across the head of his shaft. Slightly salty and oh so good, a taste turned into a lick. A lick turned into her deep throating him. He moaned, arched his back, and rocked his hips, pumping carefully into her mouth.

  She groaned, stuck out her tongue, and tilted her head back. That’s how she liked it, him riding her tongue all the way to the back of her throat.

  He grunted something low and snatched her hair into a tight ponytail.

  That was a no-no. She moved his cock away from her mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to the veined column, then locked eyes with him. “Want me to continue, let go.” Her lips grazed his skin until her mouth hovered over the wet head. “I suck cock the way I want to, not the other way around.” All he had to do was lay there and take it. Submit to her mouth and tongue, that’s how she gave a blow job. The only way she liked to do it.

  Eyes half-lidded and smoldering. “I don’t think I’ve heard anything sexier.” He released her hair and draped the length over her shoulders. His fingers lingered on her skin as if he had to touch her.

  Eyes locked on him, she glided her tongue up one side of his cock, tracing a thick vein as she traveled to swirl her tongue over the top, lapping at the pre-cum greeting her, and gliding down the other side. Groaning, his head dropped to the back of the sofa, and a throaty sound that went straight to her core eased out of his open mouth.

  She took him to the back of her throat again and kept him there until his eyes rolled, and he slumped further into the cushion. “Kensley.” Her name was a harsh whisper.

  “Hmm?” She hummed on the mic and released him from her mouth with a wet slurp. “Yes?” Her tongue toyed with his slit.

  “Killin’ me.” His hooded eyes tracked her every movement. Good. She wanted him to watch. Stacking her hands, she corkscrewed them around his length, twisting her hands as she jacked him off and bobbed her head on his cock. His hips flexed. She let him fuck her mouth, his abs clenching with each thrust.

  “Don’t stop.”

  So, what did she do? She popped his cock out of her mouth and lollipoped the veined shaft, once, twice, then gave special attention to the bulbous head.

  “Fuuuck,” he panted.

  “You better have another condom.” She licked under the cap, and the man growled a desperate sound that made her throb in all the right places.

  “In my wallet,” he barked.

  She didn’t want to let him go, he tasted that good, but she needed him inside her. It only took a second for her to crawl over to his wallet discarded on the floor, her ass in the air. She knew he watched, felt his eyes on her ass, and liked it there. She’d never been a temptress, never tried to be one, until now.

  Kensley returned with the square foil packet like it was a trophy. Using her teeth, she ripped it open and rolled the condom over his cock. She stood long enough to shove her sweats and panties down her legs, kick them off, and climbed onto his lap.

  His hands settled on her hips as she gripped him, rubbed him between her wet folds and against her clit. Her head fell back at the exquisite slip and slide until she couldn’t take it anymore and had to position his blunt tip at her entrance.

  The abrasive tone of a ringing phone snapped the lust-filled haze they’d sunken into. They jerked apart. Slightly dazed, she scooted back and climbed off his lap. She snagged her clothes and retreated to the kitchen.

  Noah fished his phone out of his back pocket. Her hands trembled, along with the rest of her as she dragged on her panties and sweats. Unspent lust did that to the body. She concentrated on her breathing—inhale, exhale—and not on the phantom hand kneading her breast, squeezing her diamond hard nipples or the imaginary cock sliding into her core.

  “Shit,” he mumbled and swiped his finger over the screen. “Yeah?” He paused, listening intently to the feminine voice on the other end of the call. The woman wasn’t quiet. Kensley couldn’t hear the words, but she caught the crying, the borderline hysteria. She folded her arms both to hold herself together as her mind raced. Who was this female?

  “All right. It’ll take me a bit to get there, but I will be there.” He headed for the front door. With the phone braced between his shoulder and ear, he managed to pull on his shearling. “Just… Wait for me, and don’t do anything stupid.” He shoved his phone into his jacket and turned to Kensley. The lust she’d seen on his face was gone. “I gotta go.” His gruff voice was all business. Whatever passion they’d shared had vanished.

  He had a girlfriend, and Kensley had just made a fool of herself, not only tonight but also last night. “Everything all right?” she asked as if she cared about the answer and didn’t want to stab him. She had no right to feel that way, yet did. Nothing was promised, and she’d said it herself. Last night was a one night happening, not to be repeated. So why was she so damn furious?

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and seemed hesitant to say anything else. “Sorry to bail like this—”

  She waved him away. Keep it light. Don’t let him see you’re dying. “You gotta go, you gotta go.” That should’ve been the end of the conversation. It wasn’t. “We’re not on a date.” She tossed out.

  His eyes narrowed, assessing her. She didn’t get the sense he was angry, that didn’t make her less nervous. She sidestepped him and headed for the front door. When she turned, he was right behind her and way too close. Please, just leave, she thought as she returned his stare.

  “Do you want to be on a date?” His voice, low and husky, scraped her nerve endings.

  Her mouth opened, prepared to give a witty, non-answer, and came up with nada. Noah nodded. He’d come to some conclusion, though she couldn’t guess what that could be.

  “Of course not,” she snapped, but her reply was too late to be convincing. He knew it, and she knew it.

  “Thanks for the pizza and beer.”

  “Thank you for the window and fixing the lock.” They were even-steven.

  A grimace twisted his mouth. He was about to say something. She waited, sick at herself for hoping he’d say that whoever was on the other end of that phone call was from his first cousin who he considered a sister, anything but a girlfriend he had to run back to. In fact, he didn’t have to leave. He was gonna spend the night, making love to her all night.

  “Nite, Nurse Jacobs.”

  And didn’t that put everything back into perspective. “Nite.”

  A second later, the door closed behind him. In one long swallow, Kensley finished her beer, tossed her pizza into the trash, and went to bed.

  Nine

  The phone rang as Noah merged onto the highway. Yvette’s name and number, along with the option to accept or decline, appeared on his dashboard. He swiped his thumb across the screen before the next ring.

  “Noah.” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

  “Yvette! What did you take?”

  He got nothing except the clatter of the phone dropping on a hard surface. Then a long anxious pause where he prayed she hadn’t fallen and split her head open. “Nothing. I swear I didn’t take nothing but a few drinks,” she slurred.

  That gave him
a modicum of relief. “Listen. I’m thirty minutes out.” If he added twenty miles to the speed limit. “Don’t you dare do anything but sit your ass on the sofa. I’m on my way, and you better be alive when I get there.” She didn’t answer.

  “Yvette,” he shouted.

  “Yeah, all right,” her listless voice came through the phone. Then nothing. Either she’d hung up or passed out. Shit!

  Twenty-five minutes later, the headlights of his truck illuminated the brick two-story house as Noah pulled into Yvette’s driveway. He cut the engine, and the next instant, he banged on her front door. He’d managed to keep her on the phone for the rest of the drive. Keep her talking, her therapist instructed whenever she sunk so far into the hole she couldn’t pull herself out. Usually, that was enough. Hearing another voice, sharing the pain, usually, that got her over to the other side of the agony. The moment he heard the tone of her voice, he knew she was rooted in the well. He had to get to her, or he’d lose her like he’d lost Jim—aka—Fresno.

  “Yvette! Open up, it’s Noah.” He pounded on the wood to no answer. “Come on, Yvette. Don’t make me break-in. I don’t feel like being arrested tonight. I didn’t drive down here to spend the night in jail.”

  Still no answer.

  He turned the knob, hoping maybe she’d forgotten to lock up. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  No luck.

  He’d try one more thing before calling the cops, and then breaking the door down. The property sat on a corner lot with only the backyard fenced. He circled around to the gate. One swift kick broke the flimsy lock, and he had access to her patio. The faint light from the flat screen gave the family room an acid wash appearance and gave him enough light to see Yvette sprawled on the sectional, vodka, whiskey, and beer bottles created an obstacle course.

  He tried the screen door, and thankfully it wasn’t locked; otherwise, the dead cactus perched at a corner of the patio would’ve been repurposed as a projectile. He stormed into the room and dropped to a knee by her side. The smell. Was it her or the house? Probably both. Dried vomit clung to her chin, neck, pooled onto the cushion, and covered the front of her tee. He brushed her dirty blonde hair away from her pale, sweaty cheeks. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.