While his gaze is intent, his expression is unreadable. “Since you’re so interested in honest, let me spell it out for you.”
Oh, I think I’ve heard more than enough, but like a masochist, I nod. “Please do.”
“I pick the women I do because they like to have fun and aren’t looking for commitment any more than I am. I don’t pick them for their personality, and I’m never going to bring them home to my mom.”
“I understand.”
“No you don’t.” Expression hard, he runs his hands through his hair before blowing out a hard breath. “I want to bring you home.”
Wait…what did he say? I blink. “What?”
He shakes his head. “The truth is I can’t get you out of my mind. I want you constantly. Hell, I can’t wait to see you. And I don’t mean the sex, which is unbelievable, I mean you. All of you. I keep thinking about how my family will love you and how I want you to meet them. I never think that. Not since I was in high school. I don’t even know what to make of it. In fact, you scare the shit out of me, but I keep coming back for more. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
My jaw falls open. “Are you serious?”
Anger flashes in his dark eyes. “I am dead fucking serious, Abby.”
He is serious. “Oh!”
“That’s it? Oh?”
“Um…” I have no idea what to say. I’m speechless. I spit out the first thing that comes to mind. “Thank you.”
He gives me a hard, long stare then barks with laughter. “What? No questions about my intentions? Don’t you want to probe into my every thought and analyze my feelings?”
I cannot wrap my head around what he’s just said or how it’s even possible. I offer a tentative smile. “If you want me to, I’m sure I can muster up a few questions.”
The chair scrapes along the planks of the hardwood as he pushes away from the table and stretches out his legs. His strong, capable hands slide into the pocket of his jeans. “What about you, Abby? Are you using me to cross the things off your list?”
How could he even think that? I shake my head vehemently. “No! Of course not. Why would you even say such a thing?”
A brow rises and he scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I thought we were being honest. When you showed up at my door, were you thinking about me as a person? Or as someone to fulfill your fantasies?”
His point is a direct bull’s eye. That’s exactly what I’d done. I’d come to use him. Because he was hot and uncomplicated. That doesn’t exactly make me a good person.
I look down at my half-eaten grilled cheese and shrug.
“So, am I just a good time?”
My head shoots up. “No, of course not. That’s insane.”
“Why?”
My head is spinning and I’m at a loss for words. I gesture at his bare chest. “Because, I’m me…and you’re you.”
The muscles in his biceps bunch, and, if possible, his jaw takes on a more stubborn line. “I don’t know what that means.”
“We hardly match.” I’m back to stating the obvious. At least that I have a handle on.
His arms cross. “Why do you think that?”
“Please, the women you date are practically supermodels.” I shake my head. “I’m…well…I’m an accountant. The last guy I dated thought going to a Star Trek convention constituted a good time.”
“What do our past dates have to do with us?”
Why is he pushing on this? I’m so confused and he’s not giving me any processing time. I blow out a breath that sends a lock of hair flying. “Why are you doing this? You know what I mean. When people see us together, they’re not going to believe I’m taking pity on you.”
His frown turns positively fierce. “Why do you underestimate yourself like that?”
Frustration is a rapid beat against my ribs. See, this is why I never talk about this, because people don’t understand. “I’m not underestimating myself. I’m a realist.”
“That’s bullshit.” His harsh tone makes my shoulders straighten. He points at me. “You’re convinced you’re ordinary because that’s what your family wanted you to be. But trust me, Abby, ordinary is not who you are.”
I admit that being compared to Eden warped my self-perception, I can accept responsibility for that, but it doesn’t change who I am. Why can’t he just accept that I’m okay with it? I bite my lower lip before appealing to his common sense. “I’m quiet and bookish.”
He has the gall to laugh. “Please. You may be smart as hell, but you’re not bookish. Oh sure, you wore all those drab clothes—which, by the way, don’t look so bad to me in light of your current wardrobe choices—but you couldn’t ever hide your smart-ass nature. The only thing that’s changed is your exterior now matches who you are on the inside. And for the record, you’re not quiet. Hell, half the time I’m worried someone’s going to send the cops after me because they think I’m beating you, you scream so loud.”
A hot flush spreads over my chest. Okay, maybe sometimes I do get a little loud. But still, I have a point. Stubborn, I tilt my chin. “There may be a kernel of truth in what you’re saying, but don’t pretend we’re in the same league.”
“You’re crazy.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “This is what I get for getting involved with a pragmatic accountant.”
The statement seems to be to himself so I don’t comment, choosing instead to pick at the corner of my sandwich.
With a long, put-upon sigh, he scoots his chair back under the table and places his elbows on the wood surface. “Okay, you need some sort of proof since my word isn’t good enough.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up his hand to silence me.
“We’ll deal with your lack of trust. For now, let’s stick to the point at hand. When I took you to the party last week, no one questioned why I was with you.”
“I’m sure they were being polite.” My tone is prim and my stomach flips over. I’m ready for this conversation to end.
He scoffs. “You don’t know firefighters. We practically live together, and they’re never polite. If they wondered what I was doing with you, they would have asked me why I needed to take my charity fuck out in public.”
That stops me cold and I raise a brow.
A cocky smile splays over his face. “Do you want to know what they did say?”
The mature, sensible part of me wants to say no, but another part of me can’t help but wonder. In an attempt to be casual, I shrug.
“You don’t fool me.” He slides his fingers around my wrist, his thumb stroking the pulse point. “Let’s see, Trevor would have stolen you right out from under me if given half a chance. Then there was Bobby, who couldn’t stop talking about your killer body. Oh, and Danny asked me if I’d be interested in a threesome.”
“Oh!” A smile quivers on my lips, and I straighten all proper like in my chair.
“Now I’ve got your attention.” He chuckles, his grasp turning into a vise grip. “For the record, Trevor wouldn’t have gotten two steps with you, I told Bobby to shut the fuck up, and I will never share you, so get that idea right out of your wild little mind.”
The grin grows until my cheeks hurt. Is it possible we might match after all? I press my lips together before offering demurely, “I wouldn’t do that.”
I mean, sure I might think about it for a half second, but I wouldn’t do it.
Like a bolt of lightning, he shoots out from the chair, causing it to skid across the floor. He hauls me up, and my heart pounds at the expression on his face. With a sweep of his arm, he pushes the plates to the floor. Dishes crash and clatter around us as he puts me on the table.
That intense, territorial gleam is back in his dark brown eyes. “Damn straight you won’t.”
I can live with that.
9
Lukas
“Look, he’s pussy whipped.” Trevor’s amused voice startles me from my Abby-centric thoughts.
> I shift in my chair and try to work up some interest in the conversation around the station’s kitchen table. I think Trevor, Danny and Cody are talking about some bar they’d gone to the other night, but I’m not sure. “What?”
“You’re pussy whipped.” Trevor repeats in a slow voice, as though I might be dull-witted.
“No, I’m not.” The rejection is an automatic guy response, but I find the idea doesn’t appall me. Truth is, the statement holds merit. I’ve been with Abby for six weeks now and there’s no sign of our relationship letting up.
We’d progressed to the next level. Tomorrow we’re going to brunch with Abby’s family, and then heading to dinner at my parents’ on Sunday, figuring it’s best to get the stress of meeting the families over in one weekend. My mom, who’s been waiting for this day since I was born, is beyond excited.
To my surprise, I don’t have even a lick of panic about it.
Maybe because my mind isn’t on tomorrow, or the guys’ exploits. No, I’m preoccupied by the phone sex I’d talked Abby into earlier. A horrible idea. I hadn’t meant to, I’d only meant to call and hear her voice. But then one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was sitting in the office, staring through the big, clear window overlooking the main floor, while I talked so dirty I’d surprised even myself.
Of course, because it’s Abby, she ate it up, and my cock had ached listening to her breathy moans and pants as she rubbed her responsive little clit until she came.
I, on the other hand, was left frustrated and had been unable to concentrate on much else since.
“I don’t know.” Cody rubs the dark scruff on his chin and jaw. “How long’s it been since you’ve been out with us?”
I don’t have the heart to tell them I have no desire to go on the prowl with the three musketeers.
“Is Trevor talking about that chick you brought to Bobby’s birthday?” Danny asks.
“That’s right, sweet Abby,” Trevor says, with a grin.
Danny nods his appreciation. “Hmmm…she was sweet. Great tits.”
I tilt my chair back and rock before shooting Danny a warning look. “Not another word.”
“Oh really.” Danny’s tone rings with amusement. “So that’s how it is?”
“Yes, that’s how it is.” Standard station rules, casual lays are open to detailed discussion, wives and girlfriends are not.
To his left, Cody reaches back and dings the gold bell hanging on the wall. “And he’s down for the count.”
Danny laughs. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Does this mean Saturday is off?” Trevor smirks. “Now that you’re officially declaring her girlfriend material.”
I frown. I’ve avoided thinking about the exclusive sex club where Trevor is a member because it’s the last place I want to take Abby. I have no intention of sharing her. I sure as hell don’t want anyone watching us. But it’s on her list, and I want to make her happy.
I’d first told Trevor I wanted to take Abby there when I’d checked three-fourths of the stuff off her list, and I’d been unable to avoid it any longer. Luck smiled on me and our weekends off had conflicted, but the stars had aligned, and now I’m stuck.
I run a hand through my hair. “No, we’re still on.”
“You sure?” Trevor asks. “You don’t look happy about it.”
Because I’m not, but that’s beside the point. I need to take care of her list. I turn my attention to Trevor. Considering the things we’d done together at that club, I don’t want him getting any ideas. I set my jaw. “Don’t think you’re going to touch her.”
Trevor chuckles. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear on that subject.”
Good. That’s one problem down. The trick is to figure out how to fulfill the fantasy while making sure she doesn’t actually participate in anything. I’m still scratching my head, trying to figure that one out.
I’m running out of time, and tomorrow is half filled with meeting her family, but I’ll have to come up with something soon.
The door to the station opens and the conversation stops. As if I’d conjured her, Abby walks in. Surprised as hell to see her, I blink, before concern rears up and has my heart beating too fast. “Abby, is everything okay?”
She saunters toward me, hips swaying in a black-belted coat. “Sorry to drop in on you, but I was watching Rescue Me on Netflix and saw girls do that sometimes.”
Every guy around the table smiles because it’s not the first time we’ve heard that.
A small hesitant quiver touches her lips and her head tilts. “I really need to talk to you.”
A tickle of alarm creeps up my neck. Abby is not given to impulsive drop bys, so it must be important. “Okay.”
She glances around at the men littered around the table and lowers her voice. “In private?”
Trevor grins at her. “Hey, Abby, how are you?”
Abby’s gaze darts furtively at me before waving at Trevor. “Good, thank you, and yourself?”
“Are you looking forward to tomorrow night?” Trevor asks, amusement clear in his tone.
A faint blush stains her cheeks and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, her brow furrowing. She clears her throat. “Yeah, um, sure.”
That doesn’t sound sure, and worry burrows in my stomach.
“I think Cody’s the only one you haven’t met,” Trevor says, gesturing at the man in question.
Abby nods at the dark-haired firefighter and clutches her coat. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“We were just talking about you.” Cody gives her a long, slow once-over before meeting her eyes.
“Good things, I hope.” As Cody stares at her, her flush deepens and she instinctively lowers her gaze. The guy has some sort of a sixth sense when it comes to submissive females, and while Abby and I mainly skirt around the edges of domination, she has definite tendencies.
Cody chuckles. “Only the best, little Abby.”
“That’s enough.” I’m impatient and my voice is laced with a distinct undercurrent of menace. I rise from the chair, walk over to her and grip her arm. “Come with me.”
“Yes.” Her lashes flutter up at me.
My heart is still pounding away at an unreasonable rate, like I’m on the threshold of danger, but I calmly walk her down a small corridor. When we reach the tool room, I swing open the door and pull her inside. Not wanting to risk interruption, I click the lock shut and turn to face her.
She blinks as though in a daze. “What were they talking about?”
“Forget them.” I wave a dismissive hand at the door. A million bad reasons for her visit come to mind and I ask, “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Her expression gives nothing away.
My body goes cold, alert and ready for disaster. “What is it?”
“I think you should sit down.” She glances at the work stool. “Please?”
What the fuck is going on? I’m not going to lose her, am I? Not now when things are going so well. Stomach tense, I sit and cross my arms over my chest.
Gaze locked on mine, she begins to untie the knot at her waist. “The thing is, Lukas…”
Blood racing, I nod, urging her to continue before I break out in full-blown panic.
The coat drops in a puddle at her feet and my jaw goes slack.
Oh.
She squares her shoulders and puts her hands on her hips before giving me a sinful smile. “I’ve been a very bad girl.”
Fuck.
I can’t form a sentence.
Relief, followed by lust, rolls through me, and my cock springs to attention. She’s wearing a very skimpy Catholic schoolgirl outfit. Her white shirt is unbuttoned and tied under her breasts to reveal her smooth, flat stomach. The tiny blue-and-gray-plaid skirt is so short, if she turned around, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the curve of her ass. White thigh-high tights and black Mary Janes complete the ensemble.
I might die of desire just looking at her. I want to fall to my knees
and worship her.
She licks her lips, tilts her head. “Very bad.”
Somewhere in the back of my scrambled brain I comprehend she’s looking for a response. I have to fight to get my bearings, but I take a deep breath to keep from lunging and steady myself. What she needs isn’t a drooling schoolboy. I raise a brow. “Does someone need a good spanking?”
Before I react, she turns around and bends over the tool bench, flipping up the back of her skirt.
I break out in a sweat, gulping.
She’s naked. Her pussy peeks out from between her legs and perfectly round butt.
I’m not sure I can handle this. My head might explode.
She wiggles her hips a bit. “What are you going to do about it?”
The statement manages to break my trance. I hop from the stool and place an open palm on her bare lower back. “Does someone need to be taught a lesson?”
She sways invitingly. “Yes.”
I run my hands up her thighs. “Open your legs wider.”
Glancing back over her shoulder, she gives me the most carnal smile I’ve ever seen. “Make me.”
Holy mother of god, I’ve died and gone to heaven. I smack her hard on the ass. “So, we’re going to play it that way?”
She tips her ass higher in the air. “Oh yeah.”
The impulse to drive into her eats at me, but I grit my teeth and resist. I send up a silent prayer that no calls come in and slap one smooth cheek before soothing the rapidly heating flesh. She arches higher into my touch.
I kick her legs apart with my foot until she’s open and vulnerable. Fingers playing over her slick, swollen flesh, I ask, “Has someone been having impure thoughts?”
“Yes, I have.” She moans.
I tease over her clit, barely skimming the surface. She arches to deepen the contact.
I don’t deliver. “And what would those be, little girl?”
Shaking her head, she pushes her hips back.
It’s an effort, but I stop. Wait.
Her head whips around and her big brown eyes narrow in a hard glare.
I want to grin, but instead fix a stern expression on my face, haul back and smack her ass hard enough she jerks in pain. I’d be worried about hurting her, but this last six weeks has taught me my little Abby likes it with a bit of a bite. “Tell me.”
The Burn List Page 10
