by Selena Kitt
“More of this!” He pointed to the soup. “Two more bowls. And I will pay you a thousand dollars for the recipe.”
“I bring two more.” She picked up his empty bowl. “But sorry, no recipe.”
Of course I knew that was coming. I’d asked and been turned down before too.
“Two thousand?” Rob wasn’t kidding.
“No.” She smiled, shaking her head. “No recipe.”
“Ten thousand?” He reached for his wallet and I saw that dark look in his eyes.
“No, sorry.” She blinked in surprise. “We don’t give out any recipe.”
“Man, she’s tough!” Rob said as she took his bowl back to the kitchen. I was still savoring mine.
“Wait until you taste the pad thai.”
He groaned in anticipation, watching me eat my soup until his arrived—two more bowls. By then I’d moved on to my fresh roll.
“So you didn’t have practical parents?” I asked, picking up the subject we’d been on at the museum.
“Hardly.” His mouth was full of soup.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
He nodded. “Somewhere.”
“You don’t know where?” I questioned, curious.
The waitress arrived with our pad thai, setting the plates in front of us. Rob was already done with his second and third bowls of soup.
He waited for her to go before he said, “They were all sent to different foster homes.”
“Oh.” I knew enough about foster homes from my classroom kids. You didn’t teach in Detroit without becoming very familiar with the foster care system. “So you grew up in foster care?”
“Oh my God, this is…” Rob looked up at me with noodles hanging half out of his mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my God!”
I grinned. “Squeeze the lemon over it and then mix in the bean sprouts. That’s what I do.”
He did, groaning as he put forkfuls of noodles into his mouth. “This is fucking better than sex!”
I raised my eyebrows, smirking at him.
“Well…” He swallowed, grinning. “Not quite… but you know what I mean.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” he replied through a mouthful of pad thai. “I had a foster mom who took in kids for the money. She knew how to work the system.”
I was very familiar. “What about your parents?”
“My mother was a crack head.” He slowed, frowning, taking a long drink of water. “Damnit Sabrina, how do you get me to talk about this stuff? I haven’t told anyone that. Except Tyler.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, that’s not it.” He shook his head, smiling, bemused. “It’s you. I don’t know. Anyway, they took us from her when I was twelve. My brother was ten and my sister was six.”
“Oh God.” I winced, thinking of his brother and sister out there somewhere. Rob was twenty-six. That meant his brother was twenty-four and his sister twenty. They’d grown up without each other. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” he replied, shoveling more noodles in, muffling his words. “I’m over it.”
“Was it your mother who told you about your grandfather being Native?”
“Yeah.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking thoughtful. “But hell, who knows, maybe it was all a lie. She liked to make up stories.”
“I don’t know. I can kind of see it in you.”
“Yeah?” He cocked his head, making him look so sexy I wanted to jump him right there.
“Yeah, a little,” I replied. “Around the eyes. And your complexion.”
“Maybe.” He scraped the last bit of sauce from his plate with a fork.
“So when did you inherit your uncle’s guitar?”
Rob stopped and looked at me with those dark eyes.
“I read about it…” I explained.
“Right. That story.” He laughed. “Yeah it was my ‘uncle’s.’ We called all my mother’s boyfriends ‘uncle.’ He overdosed and no one ever came for his stuff. My mom sold most of it but I kept the guitar.”
What a horribly sad story. No wonder he never told it.
“I’m glad you did,” I said softly.
He smiled. “So am I.”
We were both done and I sat back, groaning, so over-full, but I couldn’t help myself with Thai food. It was just too good to stop at “full.”
“Did you ever notice how much of life revolves around food?” I asked as the waitress cleared our plates, leaving the bill. Rob took cash out of his wallet, leaving her quite a generous tip.
“And sex.” He put his cap and sunglasses back on.
“Sex?” Just the word in such close proximity to him made my body thrum like a livewire.
“Yeah,” he said lowly, standing and holding his hand out to me. “Let’s go back to your place.”
He didn’t have to say it twice.
8
We barely made it into the house even though it was just a few blocks away. We raced back to my Kia and I drove like a madwoman, gunning it to run a yellow out of the lot. Rob’s hand moved up my jeans to the apex of my thighs, rocking his hand up and down, back and forth, teasing the hell out of me as he whispered into my ear all of the things he was going to do to me when we got back to the house.
Two can play that game, I thought, keeping one hand on the wheel and reaching out with the other for the bulge in his jeans. Rob’s dirty talk litany in my ear skipped a beat. He paused to groan and shift his hips toward my groping hand. His tongue slipped into my ear, his teeth raking my earlobe, making my skin pull taut as if it couldn’t contain my emotion any longer, rising all over in goose flesh.
He distracted me so much I nearly clipped the bumper of a huge Ford F-150 turning the corner onto my street. The guy driving the big truck gave me the finger, shouting profanities I couldn’t hear—but I was sure they couldn’t be anything compared to the string of obscene words Rob was whispering in my ear. And I was far more interested in the latter than I was worried about the former.
“You’re gonna get us into an accident!” I gasped, slowing down as I neared the house.
“Hurry, baby,” Rob whispered, his fingers dancing over the seam of my jeans. “I want you so bad I can almost taste you.”
I groaned, my hand closing over the hard proof of his words through his jeans, rubbing the denim, a friction heat that made him suck harder at the nape of my neck.
“Home,” I whispered, pulling into the driveway and cutting the engine.
Rob grabbed me, pulling me to him and kissing me across the console with such force I gasped. Then his tongue was in my mouth, plunging deep and hard. His erection strained against the zipper of his jeans and I ran my fingernail over the alternating teeth, tick-tick-tick-tick, wanting desperately to yank it down and set him free, but I knew better. If we started here, we’d finish here, and that wasn’t a good idea considering it was broad daylight and my next-door neighbor, an elderly recently widowed gentleman, was out checking his mail and eyeing us with a disapproving frown.
“Rob, no,” I protested, pulling away, breaking the kiss. “Let’s go inside.”
I opened my door and Rob clambered after me, over the console, shutting the driver’s side door behind him and grabbing me around the waist. I yelped in protest but he wasn’t listening, already kissing my neck as I tried to make my way up the steps toward the door.
“Wait, wait!” I insisted, pulling open the screen and trying to get the right key into the lock. The metaphor didn’t escape me as Rob pressed me up against it, hand snaking down from my waist to settle between my thighs, his mouth distracting me at the base of my neck, my hair pulled aside so he had full access.
“I can’t wait,” he growled, lifting me from my crotch as I got the door unlocked. I caught a glimpse of old Mr. Fisher as the door was forced open by our weight, his eyes wide, mouth agape, and wondered what he must be thinking. Then I couldn’t think of an
ything else because Rob kicked the front door shut and pushed me over to the couch. My keys were still dangling in the door but neither of us cared.
I welcomed the weight of him as we kissed and groped each other, finding far too much material between us for our liking. That was remedied quickly by Rob, who undressed us both in record time between short, hard, desperate kisses, as if he thought breaking contact for too long might just put out the spark between us. I could have told him, if he’d asked, that wasn’t possible. I burned for him. My body turned into a nuclear reactor when he was around, radiating the kind of heat that could warm nations—or annihilate them.
And Rob seemed to know all the right buttons to push.
I desperately wanted him inside of me but he lingered once we were undressed, his gaze moving over me in the afternoon sunshine coming in through the blinds, leaving shadow slats on my belly, my thighs. He started tracing those lines with his tongue, climbing to my breasts and lashing each of my nipples, sending a sweet pulse of pleasure directly to my sex. His hands stayed there, cupping my breasts, but his tongue headed south. I moaned in anticipation, spreading my thighs, remembering the skilled press of his tongue, aching for it.
Rob settled between my legs, rolling my nipples between thumb and forefinger as he began to explore my sex with his tongue, as if tracing a labyrinth, up and down through the soft, pink folds, working his way to the center. I shivered whenever his tongue brushed over that spot but he teased me, ignoring it. He spent all his time and attention around it, kissing my labia, splitting that swollen seam with his tongue and tracing it downward, tasting me fully.
“Oh God, please,” I begged, thrusting my hips up off the sofa. I knew I was probably staining it with my juices as they ran down but I didn’t care. Besides, my father had it Scotch Guarded at Art Van before he bought it for me, ever practical. We could have covered it in secretions and it would have still washed right out. Of course, I’d never tested it. Until today.
“Please what?” His hands moved slowly down my body, outlining my ribcage, the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, his eyes never leaving mine. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” I reached for him, my hands covering his on my hips. “Please?”
“Not yet.” He spread my thighs further with callused palms, marveling out loud at their softness, really looking at me, studying the aching, swollen flesh between my legs. He’d made it even redder rubbing his cheek and chin against it, the prickly sensation of his razor stubble driving me mad.
“I’m going to make you come for me.” Two fingers parted my labia, going around the sensitive bud of my clit to find the source of all that wetness. He slid them inside of me, two fingers, pumping slowly in and out, but it was nowhere near enough to satisfy me.
When he met my eyes and I saw that dark, lustful look in them, I was lost. I was done making demands or even asking or begging—Rob wanted what he wanted, and he was going to take it. I cried out when he finally dove into my sex, his tongue wild, fingers thrusting. He knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed, how close I was already to spilling everything, right there on the sofa.
“Oh Rob, oh God, yes, more!” I don’t even know if he heard me—if he even could, he was so buried in my sex, my trembling thighs closing involuntarily around his head as my body twisted and bucked, as if chasing my own orgasm. I was right on the verge when his fingers turned inside of me, rhythmically petting me, deep inside. The sensation sent me over the edge, sent me flying, soaring somewhere above us as I came. My muscles tightened and released, clamping his fingers hard, then letting go again, like a hot pulsing vise.
“Mmm.” He lifted his face, covered with my juices, grinning. “Thai food is almost as good… but not quite.”
That made me blush and laugh as he crawled up to kiss me, forcing my mouth open with his tongue so I could taste myself. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, begging him to take me, now, now, but it was no use. Rob wasn’t going to move or do anything unless he wanted it—and he wasn’t ready yet.
“I’m going to make you come in every room of this house,” he whispered in my ear. “So every time you walk into a room, you’ll remember… me. This. Us.”
“Including the attic and the basement?” I laughed.
“Kitchen’s next.” He grinned and before I knew what was happening, he was carrying me like that—arms around his neck, legs around his waist—through the living room and into the kitchen. There were no really soft surfaces in the kitchen, but Rob remedied that by grabbing a cushion from one of the chairs. He put it on the kitchen table and then sat me on it.
“Sturdy table,” he noted, putting his palms on either side of me and testing it with his weight.
“My dad made it.” So of course it was solid, the chairs too. He and my mom had practically furnished my whole place when I got my teaching job and moved out.
“Your dad?” Rob raised his eyebrows, but he was still looking at me, palms flat on the table behind me to keep my balance, heels up on the edge of the table, showing him everything he wanted to see. And he was definitely taking advantage. “Not a good time to be thinking about parents.”
“Agreed.” I trailed one hand down my body, down, down, stopping between my thighs and spreading my labia. “Let’s change the subject.”
“That did it.”
He was inside me before I could take another breath and I sighed in relief. Finally, finally! He groaned, eyes closing for just a moment, steadying himself against the edge of the table. When he opened his eyes, he met mine. His were so dark I could barely discern pupil from iris. He groaned again when he looked down at me, at the place where he had me impaled on the kitchen table, the place where we were joined.
“Touch yourself,” he demanded, pulling back and then thrusting forward, moaning again. “Do it, Sabrina. Touch yourself.”
I whimpered but followed his order, first tracing circles around, honing in on the throbbing center. Then I rubbed it, back and forth, faster, faster. My breath matched my motion, my gaze moving over the man buried between my legs. Every part of him was hard—the firm planes of his chest, the ridges of his belly, the tense press of his thighs, the swollen pulse of his cock. I wanted to feel him against me, thrusting, taking exactly what he wanted.
“Don’t stop,” he insisted, wrapping his arms around me. “I’ll hold you. Just let go.”
I clung to him, one arm still around his neck, the other working between my legs, taking me higher, higher.
“Tell me when you’re close,” he whispered, breath hot. “Don’t come… just tell me when you’re close.”
I shivered, rubbing faster, my nipples hard as they pressed against his chest. He held me up, balancing me on the cushion, his cock throbbing deep inside of me. He thrust a few times, groaning, stopping, waiting for me.
“Close!” I gasped, eyes closing, breath hitching. So very, very close.
“Good girl,” he praised, grabbing the full globes of my bottom in his hands and driving deep inside me, in and out, a teeth-jarring sensation. He slammed into me again, making me wrap both my arms around his neck just to hang on. My clit responded to his thrusts, which was more of a rut now, deep and getting deeper, using all the leverage he could to grind himself into me.
“Oh, God, Rob!” I cried, my hands in his hair, face against his chest, both of us already full of sweat. “You’re gonna make me come!”
He just grunted and thrust again, hips moving in delicious circles until I burst like an overripe berry, spilling sweetness all over his cock. I thought for sure my climax would send him over—the soft rhythmic clamping of my muscles around him, the way I cried his name and bucked up to meet him—but he held out, just barely, I think.
“Put your legs around me.” His voice was hoarse.
I did, hooking my feet at the ankles, gasping when he lifted me, carried me like that.
“Where are we going?” I panted.
Rob stopped halfway down the hall, pressing
me to the wall, still buried deep inside me as we kissed. He was still rock hard and ready to go, and I was a limp noodle in his arms, so spent I thought I might just pass out. He was on the move again, turning right at the end of the hall, toward my bedroom, instead of left, which would have put us in the bathroom.
“We already did it in here,” I reminded him as he eased me down to the bed with hard, bruising kisses. “What about the bathroom?”
“When we’re finished,” he replied, rolling off me onto the bed. “Come here. I want you to taste yourself on my cock.”
