I visibly recoil at the mention of Larry and a bed in the same sentence. "I can't imagine what would have happened to me if Dane wouldn't have stepped in."
"You would have kicked Larry in the groin and shown him why he can't mess with you."
She's absolutely right. If Dane Beckett wouldn’t have thrown himself into the skirmish between me and my date from hell, I would have taken matters into my own hands, or I would have put my knee into action. I can protect myself. I always have but having a man defend my honor was something I wasn't going to turn down.
"I'm going to steer clear of Zoe's matchmaking services from now on." I run the tip of my finger over the seam on the leg of my jeans. "She thinks she knows what's best for me but she doesn't always."
"Is that why you haven't shown her your drawings?" She leans her head into the soft leather of the couch. "I thought you were going to tell her about them so she could show them to Brighton."
Showing my pencil drawings to one of the world's most respected artists, Brighton Beck, may seem logical to Vanessa, but it's a terrifying proposition to me. I've shared my sketchbook with a handful of people, Vanessa included. Each of them has told me that they see lifelike emotion and beauty within the portraits that I sketch. I see my own vulnerability and weakness. I'm not at a point emotionally where I can hand them over to Zoe or Beck. It would mean exposing my inner self in a way that I'm not ready for yet because of the risk that's involved.
"I'll show her one day."
"They're going to be blown away when they see them, Bridget." She quiets for no more than a few seconds. "I'm in awe of your talent. Those drawings are breathtaking."
I came to her apartment with the intention of learning more about Dane, but talking about him involves a risk too. If she reaches out to him and says anything about me, it will spoil the uncomplicated attraction that is brewing between us. I'm not willing to mess with that so I change the subject to something I know she'll jump all over.
"How are you making out with your wedding plans? Do you need my help?"
Her eyebrows pop to life as her entire expression shifts. "Now that you mention it, there are a few things I could use help with."
***
"You're saying that a stranger is going to come over to your apartment tonight to fuck you?"
It sounds even hotter hearing it out loud.
"He's not a stranger." I place a glass of white wine on the small, circular table in front of Zoe. "Vanessa knows him."
"How well?" She takes a small sip of the wine before she pulls her face into a tight scowl. "This tastes strong."
"It's white wine." I slide my index finger and thumb along the stem of the glass. "I think you can handle it."
"I can," she says defiantly. Zoe Beck has been on a personal crusade the past few months to prove to no one but herself, that she's still capable of being a bad ass. It all started when she had her son, Vane. She felt herself losing touch with her friends, so she's made an extra strong effort to keep those connections alive. That's the only reason why she comes down here to Easton Pub every Tuesday, while I'm working, and orders a white wine.
We were roommates and co-workers before she met her husband, Brighton Beck. Once she moved in with him, everything changed. It's been inspiring watching her dreams coming true and it's been comforting having her friendship to rely on.
"He's a fireman, Zoe." I perch myself on the stool next to her. "He saved me from that lunatic Larry that you set me up with. That guy has serious issues."
"The fireman has serious issues?"
I throw my head back in feigned frustration. "Larry has issues. Why the hell did you set me up with him, Zoe? We have nothing in common and I'm pretty sure he is old enough to be my dad."
"He's not old enough to be your dad." She takes another sip of the wine. "You're twenty-three. He'd have to be at least in his early forties to be your dad, so I don't…wait…how old do you think he is?"
"Too old for me." My gaze moves to where my boss Elliott is standing by the bar. "He talked about buying condoms when I was trying to eat my salad."
"Elliott is looking over here." Zoe raises her hand to point in his direction unnecessarily. "Have you ever thought about giving it another try with him?"
I have. It's always when I'm feeling lost and alone or when I'm craving the touch of a man who knows what he's doing in bed. Elliott and I dated briefly right after I landed my job at the pub as a server. He was sweet, intense and went out of his way to make certain I was always satisfied sexually. He should be perfect for me but the pull towards him has never been strong enough to warrant cutting off the potential that exists out there. We've somehow managed to navigate the murky waters of our mutual break up to remain good friends and co-workers.
"Elliott and I are over." I slide off the stool. "I have to get back to work. I'll stop by in fifteen minutes to see if you want a refill."
She bows her head as a wide smile takes over her mouth. "You know I won't even finish this glass. Who am I kidding?"
"No one, Zoe." I wrap my arm around her shoulder to give her a half hug. "I won't tell anyone though. You're still a party girl to me."
"I'm not a party girl." She pauses, lifting her chin up. "You're the party girl. You're going to fuck a man you barely know. I've never done that in my life. You need to be careful."
I smile softly as I listen to her. I know I'm his rebound. I know how emotionally dangerous it is to crawl into bed with someone you barely know. I get all that but I'm aware enough to see this for what it is. He's hurting, I'm available and some really mind blowing sex can't hurt if I keep everything in perspective.
Chapter 4
Dane's lips are soft, supple and as soon as he walks into my apartment and shuts the door behind him, they're on mine. His tongue slides out of his mouth and pulls at my lips, coaxing me to open my mouth to let him in. I do, just as his hands wrap around my waist before he pushes my back into the door.
"You live here alone don't you?"
They're words that should scare a single woman living in a less-than-secure building in New York City, but he's not asking so he can murder me in some ceremonial ritual. I know that. I sense it in his kiss and in the way his hands are sliding down my back towards my jean covered ass.
"I live alone," I whisper against his lips. "There's no one here but us."
His hands move to the bottom of the black tank top I'm wearing that is emblazoned with the Easton Pub logo. He pulls it over my head with ease and confidence before his gaze falls to my bra.
"I knew your body would be beautiful." He traces his index finger over the edge of the lace of my bra. "I could tell when you walked into the restaurant last night."
I part my lips to say something but my voice is stolen by the touch of his lips against my nipple. He tugs at the swollen bud through the black sheer lace. I cup my hand around the back of his head, guiding him closer to me, wanting him to pull it between his teeth so he can gift me with the rough burst of pleasure that comes from a touch of pain.
"I wanted to fuck you the minute I saw you."
My breath catches at the raw intensity of his words. I let him in to my apartment because I wanted this. My better judgment had pulled at the corner of my good sense when I was riding the subway home from the pub. I've slept with men I've just met in the past. It happened twice and both times it was because I was feeling a desperate need to indulge in the kind of dangerous pleasure that comes from knowing you're taking something that you'll never have again.
This time is different. Just the taste of his lips has created a craving within me that I know will be insatiable. The fact that I only know spotted details about who he is adds to the allure. I want him in a way that transcends logic and reason. My body is dictating every move I make and I have no intention of getting in its way.
I whimper softly when he reaches behind me and unclasps my bra with just two fingers. He pulls it free. The cool air in the room races over my bare flesh and I instinctively pul
l my hands up to cover myself. He catches them mid-air and holds them in his.
"Take me to your bed." His deep voice is edged with something. Lust, want, or it might be desperation. I can't tell and I don’t care. Tonight this is purely about the pleasure we can take from each other. Nothing else matters.
***
"You're so wet and swollen, Bridget." His long fingers slowly run over my folds. "I can't wait to be inside of you."
I lean my hands back on the bed. He'd set me on the edge after pulling off my jeans and panties. He'd rid himself of his own clothes and as he did, I'd unabashedly stared at his body. It's rock hard. I've seen men who work out before, but Dane's body is a testament to strong will and commitment. He's as beautiful naked as anyone I've ever seen and right now, he's kneeling in front of me, his lips just mere inches away from my core.
"There are condoms in my nightstand." I jerk my chin towards the head of the bed to where the weathered wooden nightstand sits. "Put one on."
"You're in such a hurry." His lips curve around my left nipple before he sucks it into his mouth briefly to pull it between his teeth. "I'm not."
I sense the calmness in his voice that my entire body is lacking right now. Each time his fingers lightly graze my clit, my ass shifts slightly. I'm close to coming already and I know it's not just from the touch of his hand. I seriously want this man.
His hand leaves my core and I feel so bereft from the loss of his touch that I whimper aloud. His eyes dart up to my face. "I've never been with a woman with such a beautiful body."
They may be empty words of desire but that's not how I absorb them. I want him to view me as special. I want him to take something more than a fleeting post-orgasm high when he walks out of my apartment tonight. "You're beautiful too."
"I've never been called that before." He lowers his head briefly to glide his tongue over my smooth cleft.
I moan because trying to hold in the basic want I feel to have him can't be quelled. "That feels so good."
"I'm going to lick and suck you, Bridget." He licks me again, this time stopping to tongue my clit for no more than two beats of my racing heart. "You're going to suck my cock and then we're going to fuck."
It's all right there. His bluntness only makes me that much more aroused. I inch my ass forward on the bed, wanting him to claim my clit again. I'm shaking from the torture of being this close to an orgasm. My labored breathing is a plea for him to get me off.
He settles himself on his knees, pulls my legs over his shoulders and finally gives me everything I want and need.
Chapter 5
"Sit on my lap."
I turn towards where he's sitting in a beige armchair in the corner of my bedroom. It's been hours since he ate me to two exquisite orgasms. I'd reached forward once he stood to take him into my mouth, but he'd pushed me onto my back, sheathed his thick cock in a condom and took me without any hesitation. I'd cried out when he fucked me hard. He didn't stop when I came. He didn't slow until he threw his head back, called out my name and came with a series of deep plunges.
His large hand is stroking his cock. He'd pulled on another condom when I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and to catch my breath.
I walk across the room before I reach forward to grab his shoulders so I can lower myself onto his thighs. My hand skims over the cursive tattoo that covers the right side of his chest. I study the lettering but it's a language that is foreign and unfamiliar to me. "What does this say?"
His eyes dart down to where my hand covers his skin. "It's something my mother used to say to me."
The offer ends there. I don't push for more because this isn't about shared experiences or thoughtful memories of the people we care about. This is about sex. It's about escape, want and the need to feel something temporarily.
I slide my hand lower, circling it around the hard root. I want to feel him inside of me again. Soon dawn will break and he'll pull his jeans and sweater back on and disappear through my apartment door into the churning crowds that border the streets on any given morning. I'll never see him again and this night will be the only remembrance I have of this man's unforgettable touch.
His right hand jumps to my breast. He kneads the flesh in his hand, pulling on my tender nipple. "Slide your soft pussy over me."
I part my lips slightly with the hope that I'll be able to draw some much needed breath into my lungs. I inch forward, positioning myself so that the tip of the wide crown parts my outer folds.
"Jesus." His hands grip tightly to my hips. "This is way too fucking good."
I stare at his face as his head falls back into the chair. I pivot my hips, lean forward and lower myself down onto his cock.
He groans loudly, the sound of it reverberating through his chest. I pull back, rest my hands on his muscular thighs and slam myself back down onto his cock over and over again while he pumps his hips up with each stroke.
I come so hard that tears sting the edge of my eyes and just as he's about to release, his fingers circle my chin, his lips touch mine and he groans into our kiss.
***
"I start work in twenty minutes. I need to go." He's pulled the wrinkled sweater he threw on the floor back over his head. He rakes his hand through his hair although it does little to soften the disheveled mess it's become from my fingers. "What are you doing today?"
I tug on the bottom hem of the t-shirt I'd found at the foot of my bed. I'd felt so exposed and vulnerable after he'd kissed me for what felt like hours after we both came. His lips had trailed over mine, before they settled on my neck. He'd stayed there, clinging tightly to my body until his breathing leveled.
"I have to go to work tonight," I offer quietly. "I work almost every night."
"What do you do during the day?" He wipes two fingers across his lips as he briefly closes his eyes. "I'm going to smell you on me all day, Bridget."
My emotions stumble briefly. "I draw mostly. I go to Central Park and draw."
"As in pictures of trees?" He adjusts the leg of his jeans before pushing his feet back into the black loafers he kicked off when he came into my bedroom.
"No." I scratch the edge of my ear. I don't tell people about my art but I'm never going to see him again so there's no harm in revealing that part of me. "I do pencil drawings. I study people and then I draw them."
"You're an artist?" His mouth curves as his gaze flicks across the room. "I don't see any of them. Why aren't they hung on the walls?"
My confidence, or maybe it's my lack of confidence, keeps them hidden in a cardboard box under my bed. I rarely look at one once it's complete. I cover them with tissue paper, place them carefully in the box and slide it into the past, under my bed. "I'm a server. I'm not an artist."
"If you spend your days in the park drawing portraits of people you're an artist, Bridget." There's a pause before he continues. "You must be really talented."
My grin is genuine. I want to say something that will impact him enough that when he thinks back on this night, he'll remember me with a fondness that is rare. I just stand there staring into his deep brown eyes, marveling at how kind he was two nights ago when he took me to the hospital and how unrestricted his passion was last night.
"I need to go." He fumbles with his smartphone. "If I don't leave right now I'll be late."
The moment to capture something within him is gone. All that is left is the motion of following him to the door; looking at his face one last time and watching him walk away.
Chapter 6
"At least that strange man you let into your apartment last night didn't kidnap you." Zoe gently places Vane down in his crib. "If your mother knew that you were having sex with a man you don't know, Bridget, she'd flip out."
I've gotten used to Zoe's new motherly take on the world. If I meet her for lunch and I order a burger and fries, I know I'm going to hear about the dangers of eating too much fast food. If I show up at her apartment without a sweater on a chilly day, I'm going to be wearing one of her
coats on my way home. It may be frustrating at times, but it's also endearing. She loves taking care of the people who matter to her and since I'm part of that cluster, I've learned to see the silver lining. I have a friend who loves me.
"I told you that Vanessa knows him." I skim my fingers over the baby's forehead. "He's Garrett's cousin."
"Wait. You didn't tell me that. I didn't know he was related to Vanessa."
I lean my hip against the side of the crib. "They're not related yet and she hasn't even met him."
"That's just semantics." She tucks her hair behind her ear. "If he's related to Garrett he has to be a good guy. Are you going to see him again?"
I want to. I've thought about him since he left my apartment early this morning. Since then I've gone to Central Park and sketched the face of a woman, who I guessed was a nanny, as she watched her young charges while they played near a fountain. The smile on her face didn't have a foundation in truth. She was sad. It was as if she was missing something that couldn’t be replaced by a secure job and a day filled with the raucous laughter of pre-schoolers. She'd left something behind when she came to this country or maybe someone left her and all she wants is to escape from that pain.
Once I finished the last stroke of her eyebrow, I'd slid my pencil into my bag, tucked my sketch book under my arm and I'd gone to sit in front of the fire station down the block from my apartment. I'd watched the men and women who work there as they milled about inside of the large space. They'd all come outside when a man in a wheelchair and his wife passed by. The greetings were friendly and as they took the couple inside, I studied each face hoping to see Dane. I knew it was a twist of fate that wouldn't happen, but I'd wished briefly that serendipity would step in.
I'd gone home then to rest and as I lay in my bed, I caught the scent of his skin on my sheets. I closed my eyes, drifting off to the tortured reminders of his tongue on my core and his hands pulling me closer to him.
Ember: Part One Page 2
