by Lily Zante
He called her but her cell phone went to voicemail, and he didn’t bother leaving a message. Maybe he would turn up on her doorstep. He needed an excuse and this was as good an excuse as any.
When she opened the door, her look of happy surprise told him that he’d done the right thing.
“Did we have a meeting arranged?”
“No,” he replied, giving her a quick once over, and trying not to hyperventilate. “I was passing through.” She was wearing some kind of ripped t-shirt and tight, tight, tight leggings.
He tried to not let her body detract from his thoughts. He’d come here for a reason, dammit. What was the reason? “I had dinner with my lovely mother.”
“Why are you saying it like that?” she asked, motioning for him to come inside.
“I’m just glad it was over. I should have called. Sorry. I was in a hurry to escape.” He felt as if he needed to explain his sudden appearance.
“In a hurry to escape from your mom?”
“Yes. She’d asked Tobias, and he hadn’t come, and she wanted to know why we had fallen out, and I wasn’t in the mood to explain.” It was awkward, explaining all of this without looking at her, and he was conscious of the fact that he was staring at the floor. Because staring at her in that skimpy outfit was doing things to him.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess,” she said, moving some books off the ottoman. He ventured a glance at her as she lifted the books and it looked as if her clothes were painted on. No doubt it was going to give him a sleepless night getting that image out of his head.
“You don’t need to tidy up,” he said, folding his arms, as he watched. She was wearing what looked like a baggy tee but with two slits at the side, and joined up at the bottom. When she turned, he could see her bra top underneath, soft and seamless.
“What…” he cleared his throat again, as blood rushed straight to his manhood. He felt his breath hitch in his throat. “What are you wearing?”
“I was supposed to go to a yoga class,” she explained. “But I ended up vegging in front of the TV instead.”
He felt his balls tighten.
“You go to yoga dressed like that?”
“Yes, the gear has to be like a second skin so that it doesn’t get in the way of the yoga poses.”
Jeez. He’d get a hard-on just being in a yoga class like that.
She walked over to a door. “Could you?” she asked, turning to him.
He walked over and opened the door, staring into her bedroom. Purple bedspread, gray curtains. Books on a white wooden desk adjacent to it. She placed the books on the desk and turned around, slapping her hands together, as if getting rid of the dust.
He raised a palm to his face, heard his heartbeat thundering beneath his ribcage. He’d wanted to see her, had been wanting to see her ever since the other day when she had come over to show him how to do the 3D bar charts. He knew how to do them, more or less. Yes, they were fiddly, yes, they were a pain in the butt, and yes, he didn’t include them in his reports precisely because they were fiddly and a pain in the butt.
But he’d been lying letting her think he had no clue. And now, it didn’t seem right to continue the lie just because he needed to get close.
He’d jerked off to her plenty of times, because, well, he’d had to. But now, with her like this, he wasn’t prepared for it. His throat dried up, and he didn’t know how to start. How to begin to come clean.
“You have a great figure, Laronde.” He wiped his hand over his face again, felt as if he was going to start sweating buckets if he had to stand here and stare at her any longer.
“You can come in,” she said, folding her arms, and leaning against the desk. He obeyed, and stepped inside. “This is a big room,” he said, scrutinizing everything slowly.
“We got lucky with this apartment, and the rent is affordable-ish, even if the neighborhood isn’t that great.”
His eyes met hers, in understanding.
Fuck.
She had toned triceps. He could tell by the outline of those delicate muscles. Bare arms. Like back in Fiji when he’d seen her in the pool. Shorts, and that Lime Green Bikini.
“What?” she asked, when she caught him looking.
“Nothing,” he replied, looking away, wondering how he was going to begin setting the record straight.
“No,” she said. “What? What was that look for?”
He took a step towards owning up. “I was thinking of you that time on the island. I had a name for you back then.”
She stood up, a curious smile on her lips. “A name for me?”
“Lime Green Bikini.”
“Lime Green Bikini?” she said, her hands resting on her slender hips. But she didn’t sound angry. She sounded appropriately indignant, but with a smile.
“I had a name for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Now it was his turn to step nearer, put on a faux indignant tone.
“Asshole.”
“Asshole,” he said slowly, taking another step forward.
“Jerk,” she replied, giving him an inviting smile.
“Jerk, too?”
She nodded. “And douchebag.”
“And douchbag.” He nodded, as if agreeing with her choice of words, and couldn’t stop himself reaching out to touch her arm. When she didn’t flinch, or say anything, his fingers slid down, tracing along the length. “And now?”
“Now you’re just Stone.”
It was an adequate description for the state of his manhood right now. She licked her lips, her eyes fixing on his lips, her head moving forward a miniscule fraction.
He was usually so confident in all the moves he made.
Usually.
But not with her.
“I have a stupid confession to make,” he said, staring at her as she stared straight back, defiant, and sexy, and driving him wild.
“A confession?” She shifted on the desk, dropping her arms down, making him even more aware of her body, that neck, those shoulders. The second skin.
A hunger burned deep within him. His need for her like nothing he had known before. “I want to kiss you, Laronde.”
“Are you asking for permission?”
“I’m asking what you would do if I did.”
She licked her lips again. “Why don’t you try it, and see?”
And that did it. He stepped forward, and her arms went around his neck, like in a reflex action, taking him by surprise.
His hands skirted around her slim waist and their mouths smacked together, hard and wet and desperate, tongues joined together like Sumo wrestlers in a ring. He couldn’t help but slide his hands along her sides, feeling, touching, exploring, blood pumping through his body like a raging river. His hands skimmed over that second-skin-gym-gear she had on. She was hard, and slim, with not a roll of fat on her body, and he’d hardened further. It would be a killer to keep that under control because he hadn’t had sex in months.
The drought was real.
She moaned, soft and low, her moan caressing every muscle inside him, touching his body like a lightning rod, igniting sparks all along the length where they were joined. She walked, backwards, their lips still sealed together like hot molten candle wax as they stumbled and staggered towards the bed.
~ ~ ~
Jeez.
She could only think of his favorite word when he had turned up at her door; she’d only been thinking of him for the entire week.
And now he lay on top of her, on her bed, giving her long, sensual kisses, partly satisfying the need that had been tunneling through her for the past few weeks.
They pulled apart, and stared at one another. It was a strange sensation to be in this position, doing this, instead of having one of their usual verbal sparring sessions.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to make a move,” she said, and watched the surprise flicker from his eyes to his lips.
“You were waiting?”
She gave a nod.
“Why did
n’t you say so, Laronde? If I’d known, I’d have jumped you sooner.”
She rolled her head back and laughed, and felt his lips on her neck, felt his soft kisses all over.
“You didn’t live up to your reputation.”
He lifted his head. “And you can be scary sometimes.”
“Scary? Me?”
“Daunting would be a better word.”
He’d found her daunting? This sex-god, this walking, talking hard-on on legs, had found her daunting?
Incredible.
“It was after you went on the Women’s March, and what you said about it, the reason you had gone. After that I was scared to open my mouth around you in case I said the wrong thing.”
She was taken aback that he had actually listened to what she said and taken heed. That he’d actually had to think before he opened his mouth. “Then my work is done.”
“And my work is just beginning,” he rasped, and before she had a chance to work out what he meant, his mouth dipped to her shoulder and he planted a kiss there before he trailed his lips slowly up her neck, and along her jaw, a flurry of tiny kisses before his mouth settled over hers and he gave her a slow and sexy French kiss. Her toes curled, and a fire spread from her stomach downwards. She arched her back in appreciation, heat rushing through her body as she shivered at his touch. They kissed for the longest time, driven by lust and want, eager, and hungry. It reminded her of the first time she had discovered how to kiss, when the newness of it had made her want to do it over and over again.
Only, Xavier’s kissing was nothing like her barely 13-year old boyfriend’s fumbling attempts. Xavier’s lips bruised, and brushed, and sucked, they teased, and ignited, and his fingers took her to blissful heights. She wanted him with a desperation that surprised her.
He paused at one point, then stood up and took his jacket off, and then smiled at her as he removed his thin fleece to reveal a t-shirt. She waited for that to come off, too, and the disappointment when he didn’t, coupled with the ache between her legs, made her kiss him all the harder when he lay back down on top of her.
He ground his hips into her, and she opened her legs wider, willing for him to touch her there, with his fingers, his lips, his mouth.
But it wasn’t happening.
The more he didn’t stray from her face and neck, the more she felt him up, cupping his toned buttocks in her hands, brushing her fingers over his soft jeans, and hard leather belt.
He looked down at her again his lips wet, and swollen, his expression teasing. She panted, and smiled, feeling loose and giddy all over, wanting more of him. As if he sensed her longing, his hand slipped under her yoga t-shirt, to the soft bandeau top and then to her nipple. His fingers teased there, rubbed, and twisted, and tweaked, but it was his mouth she ached for, his mouth and tongue, there, in place of his hands.
When he kissed her, his hand still playing and teasing her breast, she arched her back, and pressed her hands down harder, squeezing his butt, trying to get him closer to her. His tongue was so far down her mouth, she felt as if she was part of him, felt connected, the way two people were mid-orgasm, coming together in a sea of liquid arousal.
She heard the door burst open first, before Cara’s voice as she charged in. “Guess what Shelly did!” Followed by “Oh shit.”
Damn you, Cara.
Xavier stilled, then moved his head, his face an inch or so away from hers, their eyes locked together in disappointment. They didn’t move, didn’t answer her, didn’t acknowledge her.
“Sorry,” and then the door closed.
But the bubble had been broken. They stared at one another, and she became aware of her panting, and the weight of his hips and hardness pressing into hers. He shifted his body, adjusting himself, his elbows propped up on either side of her.
He made to move off, but she caged him in with her legs wrapped around him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, not willing to let him loose yet. He felt so good down there. If it was the closest she could get, of him, she was going to hold onto him a little longer.
“Izzy,” he groaned, into her mouth.
“Kiss me again,” she implored, and he did, brushing his lips gently over her neck and the sides of her face before bringing his lips close to hers. Close enough but not yet touching, he paused for a moment, and she inhaled his breath, the sensation making her dizzy. And then he kissed her, bruising her lips as he kissed her hard. He had surprised her, because the reputation that proceeded him didn’t seem to be anything like the man who seemed to take everything so slowly.
With a loud sigh, he moved off her, and lay on his side, propping his head up on his hand while his free hand skated under the t-shirt top and moved over her mid-riff. She was proud of her figure. Knew instinctively that he liked the feel of her tight stomach and her well-honed body. Yoga and not always having lots to eat, did that.
“I should go.”
“Already?” she said, using her best seductive voice. His hand moved from her mid-riff to her breast, and lay flat over it. She felt his heated touch, felt the throbbing reaction of her body, and the pulsating below.
“Unless you want me to stay?”
He was asking her?
“What do you think?”
His hand moved down, down, down, down, then rested just below the elastic waistband of her leggings. He was oblivious to the inferno raging a few inches below and she prayed that he would slide his hand lower, that he would slip his fingers inside her flimsy lace panties, and she held her breath, waiting.
But he did none of those things, and looked at her, instead. A look that was sad, and quiet, devoid of all the passion and longing they had just shared.
“What?” she asked, touching his cheek. “Why do you look so somber?”
He moved his hand away, then dropped a dry kiss on her lips.
A goddamn dry kiss.
“I should go.”
“With that tent pole in your jeans?” She propped herself up on her elbows, and stared at the large bulge in his jeans.
He stood between her legs, looking down at her. “That’s your fault, Laronde. Almost four months,” he said, letting out a breath.
“You’ve been counting?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “No, I was just thinking out aloud. It’s taken me four months to get to kiss you.”
“I’m not an easy catch, Stone,” she said, slowing rising, their hands entwining automatically. “And you’re not my type.”
Or hadn’t been.
He kissed her again, unexpectedly. “Don’t keep on reminding me.” Smiling, because he had lifted her mood, she kissed him back, because she liked the feel of his lips on hers, liked to feel the hardness of his muscles, liked that all of a sudden, they could.
“I’m sorry.” Another kiss, his hands around her waist, her arms around his neck, tongues exploring and mating. A drawn-out kiss that had her wanting much more. She forced herself to stop, when she heard a deep guttural moan come from inside her. At this rate, she’d want him to stay the night.
“You’re hot stuff, Laronde.” His gaze swept over her, energizing every cell in her body.
“You’re a bundle of surprises, Stone.”
“You’re making my balls blue.”
She reached below, touching his hardness, eliciting a gasp from him. “You’re right.” She stroked him over the soft fabric, saw the glint in his eye, the strangled breath he pushed out of his mouth, and then his hand reached over and moved her hand away.
“I should go,” he said, his eyes moist, his breath ragged.
“Why?” She couldn’t understand why he was leaving. “For someone who has a reputation as a player, you’re disappointing me.” She grinned as she said it, but she caught something in his expression she couldn’t decipher. As if he didn’t like that she was calling him out on it. It surprised her because she’d assumed he’d always played that careless womanizer part so well. For a long time she had wondered why gi
rls were stupid enough, crazy enough, desperate enough to fall for him, and here she was, doing the exact same thing herself.
“Sorry to disappoint you on this occasion, but we can continue at another time.” He adjusted her yoga tee, which had slipped off one shoulder.
“Are you sure you don’t want a helping hand?” she asked mischievously.
“You’re killing me, Laronde.”
She wasn’t ready for him to go. Her evening had been gloomy, but now, after this, it wasn’t just the throbbing between her legs, it was having him around. She could restrain herself but she didn’t want to be alone. “We can talk, we don’t have to make out.”
He bent over and placed his hand around the back of her neck, tilting her head upwards. “Believe me, I want to do much more than make out with you.” He dropped another kiss on her lips, leaving her breathless, and speechless, and wondering why he hadn’t. “But I also don’t want to rush anything.”
She pressed her lips together, understanding, even though her body was a jungle of nerves, wild and unrestrained.
“I’m glad I came,” he said.
“Maybe next time you actually will,” she murmured, licking her lips provocatively, and surprised by her sense of letting go. It was as unnerving as it was exhilarating, the effect that Stone had on her, the way he made her throw logic out of the window, and succumb to her desire.
Chapter 36
It had been her outfit that had done it. Seeing her in those figure-hugging second skin yoga clothes had pushed him over the edge.
And it had been the right thing, to leave. This was Izzy, after all, and he couldn’t do with her what he would usually have done with other girls by now. It didn’t seem right.
He’d tried to tell her. At least, he’d thought about telling her, maybe not about the bet straight away. He’d have to lead into that, test the waters gently, but at least about the bar charts.
But with her dressed like that, it had been impossible. Testosterone didn’t allow him to think clearly.
What was he supposed to do?
But she wasn’t someone he could fuck and discard. She had more depth than the Giseles and Petras of his world. And he liked her. He liked her a lot.
