by Brynley Bush
He doesn’t let me go immediately. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed and his cock still buried inside me, for several long minutes as his breathing slowly evens. Finally, he opens his eyes and smiles.
“I think I owe you dinner.”
An hour later, we’re in a booth at Cozzola’s Pizza devouring a pepperoni pizza washed down with cold mugs of draft beer, both of us still smelling vaguely of sex.
He regales me with stories about growing up with his cousins, and I haven’t laughed so much in ages. In addition to Knox and his older brother, Ty, his grandmother Rosie has three more grandsons, and from the sound of it, when the five of them got together, Fort Collins wasn’t safe. I’m surprised to find out that Faith, who owns Achilles HeAl, is the girlfriend of Knox’s older brother Ty, and the story of how they got together is the stuff of romance books.
There’s a lull in the conversation as he downs the last of his beer, and I get caught up in the sheer beauty of watching his throat work. I belatedly remember I should look away, but it’s too late. He’s staring at me with a smug look on his face.
“See anything you want?” His voice is teasing, but there’s that ever-present hint of knowing sensuality in his expressive brown eyes and I realize I need to regain the upper hand. I seem to turn into a nymphomaniac when I’m around him, and he knows it. I’m sure he’s used to it, but I don’t like the idea of being just another one of the girls who throws themselves at him. Even if I am.
“Been there, done that,” I say nonchalantly. “You’ve already hit ten percent of my list of thirty sex moves to make before you’re thirty. I don’t want to be greedy. Besides, I’ve got to save something for the next guy.”
“You have a list?” He looks positively gleeful at my admission, and I realize I’ve made a fatal error. But there’s no backtracking now.
“Every girl has one,” I say lightly. “We just don’t want to tell you guys about it.” I lower my voice conspiratorially. “Performance anxiety.” I waggle my eyebrows knowingly at him and he grins.
“And to think when I first met you, I didn’t think you had a sense of humor.” He shakes his head, still smiling.
Now I’m indignant. “Why did you think that?”
“I know your type.”
“Oh really? What’s my type?” My eyes narrow. “Be careful how you answer here, Knox.” I echo his warning from earlier, hoping I sound half as dangerous. Apparently I don’t, because his lips are twitching and it looks suspiciously like he’s trying to suppress a smile as he leans forward to wipe pizza sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
“Smart. Serious. Focused.”
I sigh. “No fun. Go ahead and say it.”
“I thought that at first, yes. But I was wrong,” he says softly. “You’re a lot of fun, Leila. Almost more fun than I can handle.” He pauses for a beat, looks me straight in the eye, winks, and says, “Nah. I can handle you just fine.”
Damn. Why does Knox winking at me make me want to take my clothes off? I blush furiously. Time to change the subject; I have no intention of discussing exactly how good he is at handling me.
“You aren’t the only one who jumped to conclusions. I thought you were a typical dumb jock with an ego bigger than his dick. But I was wrong, too.”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise.
Giving him a mischievous smile, I go in for the kill. “Your dick is actually just as big as your ego.”
He busts out laughing, and the sound does funny things to my insides “Why thank you. That’s one of the nicest things a girl has ever said to me. And coming from you, it’s quite a compliment.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, patting him on the arm. But there’s a faint hint of hurt in his eyes, and it suddenly seems imperative that I tell him the truth. “Seriously, I really was wrong about you,” I add softly. “You’re a nice guy. There’s more to you than that ridiculously pretty face.”
He reaches across the table and grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. “You weren’t all wrong,” he says wryly. “I am a dumb jock.”
I look at him in surprise. It seems there’s a tiny chink in Knox’s armor of supreme self-confidence after all.
“I’m dyslexic, although it took years of me practically failing every subject in school before I was diagnosed.”
I stare at him, shocked by this rare glimpse behind Knox’s always joking façade. “Being dyslexic doesn’t make you dumb,” I say softly.
“I know that now. But I didn’t when I was kid. Before I found sports, I was just the stupid kid who couldn’t read. And when I first met you, I assumed you were like all the girls I knew back then, the smart ones who got good grades and looked at me like I wasn’t worth the space I was taking up.”
“I can’t imagine any female looking at you like that,” I say dryly.
“Not now,” he concedes. “Now women can’t get enough of me.” He smiles ruefully, and for the first time I wonder if maybe he’s not a Casanova by choice. But that’s ridiculous. He clearly embraces his gorgeousness, and he uses it to his advantage every chance he gets. “But you’re not like them. Actually, you’re not like any woman I’ve ever met before. Intelligent and focused, to be sure, but also funny and spontaneous and not afraid to call me out on my bullshit. I like that.” He rubs his thumb across my palm, and somehow it’s as seductive as if he were touching me somewhere intimately. “There’s a bad girl hidden inside you, Leila. And that is hot as hell.”
“Why do you think there’s a bad girl hidden inside me?” I stammer. His thumb continues its unhurried exploration of my palm and my stomach tightens.
“Because you have a list. And I want to know what’s on it.”
“Oh.” I swallow hard. “It’s an article, really. And I wasn’t really trying to follow it until we were driving home from the brewery and I realized I’d wasted so much time on Henry. You and I have already hit three without even trying: giving or receiving a blow job while driving, having sex standing up, and having a one-night stand.” I frown. I’ve seen Knox twice now. And had sex with him twice. Surely a two-night stand counts.
The flare of heat in Knox’s eyes has me squirming slightly on the banquet seat. He rests his hand on my thigh under the booth, and I press my legs together.
“Open your thighs. And tell me what else is on that list.” His voice is soft but commanding, and my knees seem to part of their own volition, a little thrill running through me at his words as much as from his fingers that are traveling higher up my thigh. I try to think of what else I wrote in the article.
“Um, sexting. Sex outside. Role play. Bondage.”
“Go on.” His voice is silky. His fingers skim my mound, and my heart starts to thump as his finger traces the slit of my sex over the thin shorts I’m wearing.
“I, uh…” I can’t focus with him stroking me so intimately. It’s even more thrilling given that he’s doing it in a brightly-lit pizza place packed with laughing and talking customers who have no idea what’s going on.
He smiles wickedly, fully aware of the effect he’s having on me.
“I’m pretty sure this might be one.” My voice is strangled.
“Indeed.” My shorts are short and give him easy access. He slips his hand up one open leg of the material and moves the silk of my panties aside. I moan softy.
“Shh,” he chides with a grin, slowly easing his finger into me. “We’re in public.”
I sit there frozen, my hand clutching his like it’s a lifeline as he works his finger in and out of me under the table. He holds my gaze as he toys with my clit, manipulating and squeezing it, fingering me faster and faster until I think I’m going to explode. This may be the hottest thing I’ve ever done. The need coils tighter and tighter inside of me, and finally I hurtle over the edge. I squeeze his hand, my nails digging into him as I come hard and quick, and thankfully…oh god, hopefully…silent, my sex rippling around his finger.
He slips his hand out of my shorts and licks
his fingers slowly.
“Knox, stop it!” I hiss.
“No way, sweetheart. I earned every taste of you.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, looking around the restaurant self-consciously. “What happened to one night?”
He grins at me. “This is no longer a one-night stand, Leila. This is a mission.”
Chapter Five
LEILA
Three days later, I’m wondering if I’d misunderstood him. We’d walked home from Cozzola’s with our hands linked, but back at my apartment, he’d kissed me chastely at the door and said goodnight. Well, chastely for Knox, I think with a jolt of awareness at the memory. And I haven’t heard from him since.
“Of course not,” I mutter to myself as I check to see if the order’s ready for my table of young moms. Even though I keep trying to trick myself into thinking Knox is different, in my heart I know he’s exactly what he appears to be—a cocky, gorgeous hunk who, when it comes to girls, loves ‘em and leaves ‘em. Which is exactly what had made him appealing. So why am I so miserable?
“Leila, can you take the counter?” Bethany, a girl in her late-twenties who I’d hired to help out in the bakery, pops into the kitchen. “Please. It’s getting crazy out there. I’ll take care of your tables.”
I sigh, wiping my hands on my apron as I head toward the bakery. I’d hoped she’d be able to take my place and help Nana when I returned to New York, but now I’m starting to wonder. She’s seemed competent enough, but if she can’t handle the lunch rush, I may have misjudged her.
But instead of finding a long line of customers at the bakery counter, I find Knox, who undoubtedly flashed his mega-watt smile at Bethany and convinced her to lie in order to get me come to the bakery. He’d probably sweet-talked her into giving him a dozen free muffins in the process. He’s leaning casually against the counter, looking sexy as sin in athletic shorts and a tank top that reveals his carved biceps. I wonder idly if he’s been next door at physical therapy. He’s still glistening with perspiration, which does absolutely nothing to quell the lust that stabs through me at the sight of him. I fight the urge to lick him.
But the last few days have given me some much needed perspective. I do not need to get further involved with Knox Beckinsale, even if that involvement is nothing but sex. I try to cling to my resolve as I frown at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I forgot to get your number.”
“You don’t need my number.”
“Yes, I do. I wanted to ask you out. On a date.”
Maybe if I close my eyes while I talk to him, this will be easier… “I’m busy tonight.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“I’ve got Zumba.”
“Can I come?”
I give him a skeptical look and with that mischievous grin of his that defies you not to smile back, he executes a dance move that would do Jason deRulo proud. Although he’s egotistical, stubborn and infuriating, Knox can always make me laugh. “Impressive, but no. Look, it’s been great, Knox, but I don’t want to be your mission. Or your sex toy.”
“You’re not either of those things,” he protests. “I like hanging out with you.”
I look at him dubiously.
“I’ll prove it to you. Go out with me and we’ll have a perfectly normal date. No sex.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not sure that’s in your DNA.”
He gives me a hurt look. “C’mon. Give me a chance. How about Friday?”
I waver.
“Please?” He turns the full force of his smile on me and I capitulate. Why not? We’re both only here for a couple more weeks. Why shouldn’t I have a little fun?
“Fine.”
He beams at me, and every nerve ending responds. My body is a fucking traitor.
“Awesome. And I promise, no sex at all. Scout’s honor.” He shoots me a roguish grin as he opens the door. “Not even if you beg.”
“I won’t beg!” I call after him, but he’s gone, the tinkling bell on the glass door mocking me.
The next three days pass slowly. I work at the bakery, go to Zumba, and continue to send out my resume. By the time Friday arrives, I’m practically giddy at the thought of seeing Knox again. He picks me up at seven, looking mouth-watering in his trademark tight jeans and a white polo that accentuates his bronzed skin. He eyes me appreciatively, his gaze lingering on the expanse of tanned legs exposed by the short summer dress I’m wearing. I can’t help but preen a little when he whistles. “Damn, you look good.” He pauses to kiss me slowly and thoroughly, and my knees feel wobbly when he lets go.
“Are you ready?”
I nod. Best to get out of here before I lose all of my resolve. I grab my purse and close the door behind us, locking it.
“I know what you’re doing.”
His comment catches me off guard, and I turn to look at him questioningly. “Oh? What’s that?”
“Tempting me.” He cups my face in his hands and his lips graze lightly over mine. Every fiber of my being surges toward his, but he reluctantly pulls away, grabbing my hand instead. “But it’s not going to work.” He grins. “Mostly because I’m going to make sure you don’t get me alone. I might not be able to resist your charms.”
“My charms?” I laugh. “You’re the ladies man.”
His hand at the small of my back sends little shivers of desire shuddering through me. “Tonight, I’m your man,” he clarifies. The thought makes me long for things I have no business longing for. “Your well-behaved, not-even-thinking-about-getting-you-out-of-that-dress man,” he adds with a droll wink.
“My lying man,” I add with a laugh.
“Maybe if I say it enough, we’ll both start to believe it.”
He leads me to a bright red Jeep and opens the door for me.
Surprised, I ask, “Where’s the Corvette?”
“I needed Rosie’s car for what I have planned tonight.”
“This is your grandmother’s car?” I try to reconcile the image of the elegant older woman I met with this youthful, joyride of a car.
Knox flashes me a smile. “Yeah. Rosie’s something else.”
“So what exactly do you have planned for tonight?” I ask as I buckle my seatbelt, my curiosity piqued. He refuses to tell me anything other than we’re starting with dinner and cocktails. At Jax Fish House, a popular Fort Collins restaurant, he slides into the booth next to me, and I half hope he’ll slide his hand up my thigh like he did the other night at the pizza place. But true to his word, he’s a perfect gentleman—attentive, entertaining and maddeningly well-behaved. As a result, every physical gesture, although completely innocent compared to the things we’ve already done, seems provocative. His thumb brushing over my knuckles as his hand covers mine on the table, the heat of his thigh against mine, the sheer physical pull of him next to me.
We’ve just ordered dessert—a tart key lime pie that Knox insists on feeding me, teasing me by brushing the fork across my lips and then eating the bite himself—when there’s an unexpected flash of light. I look up, startled to see a man a few tables away taking a picture of us.
“Excuse me,” Knox says, tossing his napkin on the table as his sensuous lips tighten into a hard line.
He walks over to the table, says something to the guy and the woman he’s with, and then pulls a card out of his wallet, which he hands to the guy. I watch, even more curious now, as he shakes hands with both of them and walks back to me.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice curt.
“Um, sure.” I grab my purse, following him out of the restaurant and into the warm night. “What was that about?”
“Nothing. I told you. Women adore me.” He flashes me his trademark grin, but it seems forced. “His wife wanted a picture.”
He is undeniably gorgeous and I certainly don’t blame her, but there’s something weird about the whole situation, and Knox’s response to it, and I wonder what he’s not telling me. He’s clearly finished talking about it though, and quickly changes the subjec
t to movies, and specifically the fact that he’s taking me to the drive-in. That distracts me. I’ve never been to an actual drive-in, and after he gets over his shock at my “startling lack of culture” he’s like an eager little boy—adorably pleased to be the one to introduce me to what he swears is a staple of mid-America.
“I grew up going to this drive-in with my cousins,” he says with a smile. “Rosie would buy us popcorn and we’d sit in lawn chairs, thinking we were the shit because we got to stay up until midnight, even though we almost always fell asleep before the second feature was over.”
I still have no idea why he’d needed his grandmother’s Jeep instead of his luxurious sports car, but it becomes apparent when we find a parking space in front of the big screen and he opens the tailgate, folds down the seat, and spreads a sleeping bag across the open back. He lifts me in and hops up behind me, then stretches out on the sleeping bag and pulls me down next to him so I’m nestled against his side. I feel like I’m in high school again, but this is a much better version of it—a version where I’m not the nerdy girl; I’m the one dating the hot star quarterback whose slightest touch sends my pulse racing. We watch the double-feature in the back of the Jeep, Knox’s arm protectively wrapped around me and my head on his chest as we snuggle under the blanket he brought. After the movie, he takes me home and kisses me goodnight at my door. As always, I lose myself in the taste of him, and the way his lips and tongue and teeth turn me into a puddle of molten desire. When he whispers goodnight, it’s all I can do not to beg.
I spend Saturday morning at Simple Kneads, and then come home to do some laundry and send out more resumes. I’d finally given Knox my number last night, and I can’t quell the little thrill of excitement when I see a text from him.
How are you today gorgeous?
Great. Last night was fun. Thanks for introducing me to the drive-in.
My pleasure. There’s a pause, then three dots, indicating he’s typing. I sink onto the sofa, watching the blinking three dots like my life depends on it. Speaking of my pleasure…
I can’t help but smile. Speaking of mine…I shoot back.
