by Rebel Farris
“You have no reason to, Rosie. I get that.”
I peeked up at him through my lashes, and his body lurched toward me, but he stopped himself. Dropping his free hand, he looked down at the turkey and the mess of himself. He took a step back.
“I should finish this, so you can put it on to cook. He was bigger than I remembered—it will probably take long.”
I nodded.
“Xander, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, taking another step back and off the porch without looking. If I tried that move, I would’ve landed on my ass. But he was all grace and strength.
“It will make for a good story, no?” A smile lit up his face. “One day, we will laugh at this.”
Perhaps we would, one day, but shame settled over me like a wet blanket as I watched him walk away.
Turkey
After he finished prepping the turkey, he brought it in and left me to season it. After a few minutes of rubbing it down with butter and herbs I found in the pantry, I got it in the oven. No sooner was it cooking than I heard a strange voice. I leaned around the corner to find Xander had moved the TV out of his bedroom. The signal from the local channel was clear and broadcasting the famous New York parade. I listened to Willard Scott, in his brown hat and tan leather coat, talk about the floats and marching bands; then Alf appeared as tears welled into my eyes.
Xander did that for me. No one ever did stuff for me. Well, at least not without expecting something in return, and I didn’t get the vibe that Xander expected reciprocation. A giant Big Bird floated across the screen, wearing a blue-and-orange-striped sweater. I turned around before I lost it and made a fool of myself even further. Blinking several times, I cleared the haze from my eyes.
“Thank you,” I called out, without looking.
“It is not a problem, Rosie.”
I smirked at his failed attempt at a common phrase. It was sort of adorable. I felt his nearness and turned to find him towering over me in that way he couldn’t seem to control. It was just his presence that filled the room. An ingrained quality that drew the eye and made him seem larger than everything around him. He smiled as he backed out the door.
“I will go back to work and leave you to the cooking and parade.” He nodded toward the TV and then disappeared through the door.
After the parade was finished and the traditional Texas rivalry game was over, the timer dinged from the kitchen. I made my way over and opened the oven. The smell of the herbs and turkey were mouth-watering. I turned to grab the pot holders, but they weren’t on the counter where I’d left them. But I did catch the large form from the corner of my eye. I turned to find Xander standing there with the oven mitts on his hands. He shrugged.
“Allow me?” he asked softly.
I nodded and stepped out of the way.
He inhaled deeply with an appreciative grunt as he set it on the top of the stove. A variety of delicious smells from my work permeated the house, and thankfully, our standoff that morning hadn’t led to any burning or neglected ingredients. I was still embarrassed to look at him after the way I’d acted.
“Did you want to carve it?” I asked in a whisper.
He froze, not looking at me, for which I was thankful, but nodded once.
“It needs to rest for a bit, but you’re welcome to do it. I’m sorry for this morning.”
“It is okay, Rosie. I do know how it looked. And with what you are going through…” He shook his head. “I understand.”
He still held the handles of the roasting pan through the oven mitts, but I could see his grip tighten in the way it pulled at the cloth. I busied myself with setting the table. He could say that he forgave me all he wanted, but it was obviously bothering him. I felt bad to be the cause of his distress; he’d been nothing but kind and welcoming to me. And that was why I stayed away from people. I wasn’t a particularly adept person with social interactions. I fucked up more often than not.
An hour later, we found ourselves in sated silence, the food mostly eaten. I probably went overboard, but we could reheat the leftovers, and turkey sandwiches were always a great after-Thanksgiving treat.
“This was the best meal I have had since leaving home. Thank you, Rosie.” He leaned back in his seat across the table, kicking his legs out and relaxing.
My face heated as I looked down at my empty plate. “You’re welcome,” I muttered. “It’s actually the first Thanksgiving I’ve had in years. I’m usually working.”
He nodded but didn’t comment. I was grateful.
We’d left the TV on with the volume low. It didn’t stop me from noticing that the nightly news was on. But what really caught my eye was the headline below the guy who was speaking: Czechoslovakia Minister of Defense. I hopped up and turned up the volume. The guy was speaking, but the sound was overpowered by a translator narrating his speech.
“…the army would never undertake action against the people. I call for an end to demonstrations,” the translator intoned in a style that lacked the conviction written all over the man’s face.
My eyes darted back to Xander. “That’s your country.”
“It is.” He nodded, his attention fixed on the television.
The screen switched to an American commentator, who talked about what this could mean for the people of Xander’s home country. The end of communist reign, they speculated, but under possible peaceful conditions—certainly a first for a world that had seen many violent transitions of power over the last few decades.
I looked back to Xander and studied him. His reaction was quiet, guarded. But he looked sort of peaceful, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a tinge of hope in his eyes. This news meant a lot to him.
“I know just what we need.” He jumped from his seat and went for the cabinet that I knew held his liquor.
Pulling out a bottle and a couple of glasses, he stopped next to me, kicking out the other chair on my side of the table. He sat facing me and placed the short glasses between us, pouring two fingers in each. I raised my brows as I connected to his gaze. He nudged a glass in my direction and picked up the other.
His lips quirked up on one side. “Last week was a holiday for my country. I never got to celebrate.”
“Oh?”
“International Students Day.” His smile grew.
I didn’t know what was amusing him, but I’m sure it was at my expense. “What exactly does International Students Day celebrate?”
His smile dropped. “It commemorates the Nazi storming of the University of Prague to break up a protest. They killed a student and a worker, which started the protest. The student leaders of the protests and some teachers were executed, and over one thousand were sent to concentration camps.” He paused, looking at the floor. “My country hasn’t known true peace in quite a long time.”
Well, that sounded like a fun holiday. “No wonder you drink to celebrate. Though, I guess I did just force you into celebrating a holiday that initially celebrated the slaughter of indigenous people, after they invited a bunch of pilgrims over for a meal.”
He laughed. It started as more of a snort and quickly turned into a chuckle, which then led to a full belly laugh. I really had no idea I was that funny, but it was infectious, and I found myself laughing too. Downing the rest of his glass in one swallow, he stood. He marched over to the couch and pushed it across the room until all the furniture was against one wall, leaving an open space in the middle of his living room.
He walked over to the stack radio and put a record on, turned off the television, then turned to me with his hand out. My jaw dropped.
“You want me to dance with you?” My brows raised in question.
A smirk grew on his face, and it was as if a thousand dirty thoughts sprung into my head in response to that look. It was dark and mischievous but still felt like more of a question.
“It is one thing I want.” His voice dropped to something deep and soothing, unfurling the strangest sensation in my belly.
I dow
ned the rest of my drink in one gulp. It burned, and I cringed. He laughed at that as I rose from the kitchen chair and placed my hand in his. He tugged me to him with a fluid grace and spun us around the room, making my feet move where he wanted them. He made it seem like I could actually dance. I was so stunned, it took a moment for the sensation of being pressed against him to fully sink in.
His arm wrapped around my waist, and the stubble on his cheek grazed mine as he leaned in and sang along with the country crooner. His voice was amazing, and his feet moved with expert precision. When his fresh cedar and soap smell invaded my senses, my head spun. I felt drunk, but I knew my tolerance was high enough that it wasn’t the whiskey that warmed my insides. It was him.
“You always good at everything you do?”
“No. You might be surprised at how bad I am at some things.”
“I can’t imagine what that is.”
He let out a breath, like he was considering whether or not to talk about it. When he spoke, it wasn’t what I was expecting.
“People… you make that easier.” He stopped speaking, while his feet kept perfect rhythm. And I wished I could see his face and guess at what his thoughts were. “I think it is because you fascinate me. You make yourself vulnerable, but you carry that vulnerability as a source of strength. I don’t know how to do that. To allow another in.”
I snorted. “I don’t normally do that. It just seems to happen with you.”
“Then maybe this is where you belong.” He squeezed me tighter, our bodies sealed together as he swept me around the room in time to the music.
I felt lost, tumbling into a deep abyss. I didn’t think—I just went on autopilot and followed what felt natural. Turning my head, I pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth. His feet finally faltered. He stopped moving as his head turned in to my kiss. His tongue trailed along the seam of my lips, and I opened with a sigh. He tasted like whiskey and pumpkin pie.
My mind fizzled out to nothing more than base instinct and sensations. I could feel him everywhere, even in the parts he wasn’t touching. He was consuming me. I slid my hands up the back of his shirt, his work-hardened muscles a stark contrast to the silky smooth of his skin. There were small bumps and odd raised strips around his torso, but my mind refused to consider what they could be. I just reveled in the feel of him.
His hand skimmed up one side of my body, coming to a stop just below my breast, his thumb brushing back and forth. It was so close but not enough. I whimpered as my knees went weak. I broke the kiss and stared at his swollen lips as I fought to catch my breath.
“Xander, I’m going to need you to fuck me now.”
His chest rumbled with a masculine growl, and he hoisted me up in his arms with ease. My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me back to the bedroom. Holy fuck! There wasn’t an inch of this guy I wasn’t attracted to. It should’ve scared me, my reaction to him, but my brain had shut off with the first taste.
Once in his room, he set me on the ground and stepped back. The low light from his bedside lamp cast shadows around the room, but my focus was on him. His eyes remained fixed on me as he pulled his shirt over his head.
Now I could see what my fingers had explored before. He had a multitude of scars across his body; they were faint, just a shade lighter than his fair skin. Which was probably why I never noticed, the few times I’d seen him shirtless in the garage. All were in various shapes and sizes, no pattern or obvious cause. It didn’t detract from his beauty. He was beyond perfectly constructed, a work of masculine art. The scars only added to his story.
I watched, fascinated, as he folded the shirt and set it on top of his dresser. Biting my lip, I clenched my fist to stop from reaching for him. I wanted to have my hands all over him, but he was watching me with a look that said he was waiting for me to make the next move. I popped the button on my shorts and let them fall to the ground, then pulled the borrowed T-shirt over my head.
A dark shadow passed through his eyes. “It has been a long time since I have lain with a woman. I’m not sure I can… please you.”
His honesty shot through me like a bolt of lightning and cracked something inside of me. I breathed in deeply and blinked a few times. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, making me want to lick it.
“You really can’t do it wrong. I just want you.”
“I want to see the rest of you.” His voice was gruff and commanding.
I felt the wetness pool between my legs in response. Unhooking my bra, I let it slide down my arms to the floor. His gaze never strayed from his slow perusal of my body. My panties hit the floor next, and he watched. The feral hunger and undisguised lust, the erection straining against his pants—I was too distracted to even bother with being self-conscious. It was obvious he liked what he was seeing.
“Lay back on the bed and spread your legs for me.”
I backed up until I felt the edge of the bed and let myself free-fall into the mattress. I wanted to be touched so bad, I couldn’t help toying with my nipples and running my hands down my stomach before using my hands to spread my thighs apart. I squirmed a bit at his rapt attention to the apex of my legs. He hadn’t moved an inch.
“Touch me,” I whispered.
His hand went to his belt but paused as my hands strayed. I spread the lips of my pussy open for him and let the other hand circle my clit. My eyes closed of their own accord as a moan broke from my lips. I dipped a finger inside myself.
I’d never been this brazen before in my life, but the alcohol, him, the look on his face was a heady mix that had me acting out my wildest fantasy, for him. When I opened my eyes, his pants and boxers were neatly folded on the dresser with his shirt. He was closer, stroking his cock. My mouth watered at the sight of it. Even his dick was beautiful.
Those indigo eyes had gone black with lust as he watched me. “Add another finger.”
I did as he asked, feeling how slick I was, my fingers gliding in and out of myself proof of my overwhelming lust for him. He hooked his hands under my knees and spread me open further.
“Perfect,” he muttered, trailing his mouth from my knee, but pausing midthigh, he bit down. I cried out. “Is that okay?” he asked, smoothing over the tender spot with his tongue.
“Yes, more,” I gasped.
“Keep touching yourself. I want to watch you come for me.”
He wrapped his hand around his cock again and thrust his hips into it, like he was losing himself as he watched me. It was so honest and shameless, it had me edging closer to release.
I’d never met a man confident enough to fuck his hand while ordering me to get myself off as he watched. It was like I woke up in a sexual fantasyland, so far out of normal everyday encounters. His muscles flexed with each thrust, darkening each line that sculpted his body. It was hypnotizing.
“Now, Rosie.”
“Xander, fuck me. I want your cock,” I pleaded. “I’m coming.”
He shoved my hands aside, but I didn’t get what I asked for. Instead, his face buried between my legs—licking and sucking, biting and lapping up my release. All the while, his hips kept thrusting into his hand like he couldn’t stop himself from following me. I gripped his short hair tight and ground my hips on his face. Darkness edged in on my vision as bliss rolled over me in waves.
“Come with me, Xander. Show me how much I turn you on.”
His mouth released from me with a pop, and he rose to his knees, his free hand stimulating my bundle of nerves and drawing out my climax as he came. On my breasts, my stomach. And as I came down from the high, his hand withdrew from me. He leaned over, lapping up his own release and cleaning it off me with his tongue. His eyes watched for my reaction as he moved up my body.
When he got to my mouth, he hovered there for a bit, as if asking if I was okay with it. I gripped the back of his head, pulling him to me. The taste of both of us on his tongue had me moaning and pressing against him for more. Xander groaned, pulling away from me. He rose on t
he bed and sat back on his heels behind me.
“Come here,” he said.
He motioned for me to sit on his lap, but when I tried facing him, he spun me around facing away. He positioned me so the hard length of him pressed against me from ass to clit. The heat alone made me throb with excitement. When I was seated, he pulled my ankles so that my knees aligned with his, straddling his legs. Just when I was thinking this was the hottest thing I’d ever done, he pulled my back against his chest, capturing my chin and directing my gaze to the space in front of me.
We were positioned so that we were directly in front of the mirror attached to his dresser. We painted a stunning vision of pornographic pleasure in naked flesh. My dark skin contrasted his fair, highlighting the strong arms wrapped around me. I could see the swollen red crown of his cock, straining where it pressed against my cunt. My gaze followed the movement of his hands. The one on my chin drifted down to cup my neck, while the other cupped my breast, his fingers toying with my nipple.
My body shuddered at the contact, and my hips moved, seeking friction on his hot, hard dick. I moaned, my lips slightly parted. My eyes were half-mast, my hair a rat’s nest, but I’d never looked so wanton in my life. There was a burning need in my eyes that shocked me. And it clicked that he wanted me to see what he was seeing.
“I want you to remember this moment. To remember that I gave you a choice. Rosie, if I take you—you will be mine. You need to be sure you are okay with that before you ask too much of me. I already know that I won’t want to let you go.”
He pinched and twisted my nipple and I gasped, pressing down harder against the length of him. Rotating my hips, I tried to get the angle that would allow him to slip inside, but his hold on me was firm and my movement too limited to reach my goal.
“Do you see that, Rosie?” My eyes met his in the mirror. “No one has ever looked at me with that level of desire. No one has ever responded that strongly to my touch.”
His hand slid down and his fingers pressed against my bundled nerves. My body jerked in his hold, the small touch nearly sending me over the edge. My head fell back against his shoulder as he kissed mine, trailing bites and licks up my neck to my ear.
