by K. Bromberg
Decent walks away and doesn’t care. Decent gets themselves off without thinking of the other person’s needs. Fucking decent, my ass.
She bites her bottom lip deliberately and flutters her lashes like she’s innocent. Damn tease. “Hmm, a smidgen above average, I’d say.”
I step into her, my mouth close, our chests touching, and just stay there. Taunting her with anticipation until I hear her exhale the breath she’s holding. “Maybe I need to show you again. I assure you that decent is not an accurate assessment.”
She pushes against my chest again because it appears she can’t handle the heat. She can talk the talk but she sure as fuck can’t walk the walk. Then again, the way she’s strutting her ass toward the door right now makes me take the statement back.
Fuck. I know how those curves feel beneath my hands, riding my cock, milking my orgasm. We were so fucking far from decent it’s not even funny.
“I need to go stretch. Are you gonna come?”
Sweet Jesus. Seriously? “If you keep moving your ass like that, I am,” I mutter under my breath, feet following without a second thought.
I follow her into the house, eyes scanning the interior. Clean, classic, just like I’d expect from her. I sit on the couch wondering where our little charade is going to lead us now. I spot a few possible surfaces that I can more than prove my point on.
But my attention and thoughts are pulled to Ry as she settles on the floor in front of me and proceeds to spread her legs as wide as they go before leaning forward and pressing her chest to the floor. My dick hardens immediately at the sight of her, her impressive flexibility, and the memory of the tight, wet pussy sitting within that V of her thighs.
Shit, she’s fighting dirty trying to jog my memory of how she fucks like a sinner and feels like Heaven, as if it wasn’t permanently scored into me.
So why am I looking at her eyes and not her tits? Why am I anticipating the next round of verbal sparring when I should be using smooth lines to lure her back so I can prove her wrong?
“So, Colton,” she says, breaking through my civil war of thoughts and my absolute focus on her proffered tits and stupendous ass. “What can I do for you?”
Shit, we can start with you on your knees, me on the couch, and your mouth on my cock. The immediate image makes my head spin with need.
“Christ, Rylee!” I bark the words out, trying to stop her stretching, stop my thinking, when I’m the one that’s supposed to be taking control of this conversation so I can prove my point in more ways than one. And hell if every ounce of testosterone in my body says “please don’t stop.” Fuck getting the upper hand in the argument because when all is said and done, all that matters is that I get to bury myself in her regardless of how the point is made.
“What?” She bats her eyelashes again. Innocent façade front and center.
“We need to talk about last night.” I change the subject. Need to think of rainbows and unicorns and shit to calm my dick the fuck down. Allow me to give my apology for last night. Set one wrong to right before diving right into the next with her because deep down I know we are one of those disasters waiting to happen. Beautiful and devastating all at the same time.
The quick fuck I wanted to ease the ache for her turned out to be so much more than that. It’s moved into uncharted territory for me, and no matter which way I look at this, she’s added a complication to my simple, fuck-more-care-less lifestyle. She’s made me want her more than once, made me pursue when I don’t chase, and has me here apologizing when I’m a take-me-as-I-am-or-get-the-hell-out kind of guy.
But fuckin’ A, if complicated is flexible like that, I’ll take it.
And there she goes again. Making me lose my train of fucking thought as she lies on her back, pulls one leg up, and lifts her head to look at me over the mound of her pussy.
She thinks she can just sit and stretch and she’s going to win this little unspoken war we have going? That I’m just going to kowtow because it looks like she can wrap her feet behind her head and makes me think of the positions I can put that body in? That I’d give up the battle of wills here over something that clearly was mind-blowing?
It’s time I get some answers myself because if we’re both warming up on the same field, then fuck if I’m not ready to go one-on-one with her. I admit that I’m an asshole for treating her like shit last night because I couldn’t handle that weird fucking pressure in my chest, but what does that make her? Leave with tears but now flirt with me like she’s up for another go?
Goddamn women.
Too compli-fucking-cated is what they are. But if I’m going to test the waters again, I need to get my head wrapped around what’s in hers so I can get us back on the sex-without-a-future plan, then I need to know what she’s thinking. “Why’d you leave? Why’d you run away? Again.”
She switches legs and moans in pleasure, followed by my name. “Colton—”
Just like she fucking did last night.
“Can you please stop?” I can’t help it but if she keeps this shit up I’m gonna come in my pants like a goddamn teenager. And there she goes again, rolling over so her ass is in my face. Thoughts of taking her from behind fill my head: hands gripping her hips, dick bottoming out as my pelvis slaps against her ass. “Christ! You in those yoga pants all limber and bending in half—you’re making me lose my concentration here.”
And something else if you keep it up.
Those violet eyes taunt me as they look over her shoulder. “Hmm?”
Oh, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing. And so do I. You can’t beat this player at his own game.
“You’re gonna make me forget my apologies and take you right here on the floor. Hard and fast, Rylee.”
“Oh!” It’s all she can say, and I feel a slight thrill of victory for knocking her off stride. But fuck if her lips formed in that little O shape don’t have my thoughts drifting back to my couch blowjob fantasy from moments before. “Although I’m sure it’s me who should be apologizing, Colton.”
And there she goes, fucking up my thoughts of how I don’t want to feel anything for her by taking the blame for last night. The selfless saint martyring for the selfish sinner.
I’m starting to get irritated. Don’t make me feel. Don’t make me think of things outside what I can give you. I’m here trying to be bigger than the man I usually am by making sure she’s all right. That’s it. Simple and uncomplicated. And she says something like that and knocks me back. Makes me feel like she did last night when I shoved up out of the bed and left her naked body I would have rather lost myself in, long into the early hours of the morning. But no, I can’t allow anyone to get close to me and fuck if she’s not bringing us right back there with her attempt to apologize.
“Why’d you leave, Rylee?”
The harshness in my tone causes her to stare at me a moment before she answers. “A number of reasons, Colton. I told you, I’m just not that kind of girl. I don’t do one-night stands.”
“Who said it was a one-night stand?” I throw her own excuse for leaving back at her and immediately question myself and the implication I’ve now left open for interpretation. That’s exactly what I need with her to avoid the shit she unknowingly brought to life last night. What the fuck am I doing here besides muddying up the fucking complicated water even more?
“What?” Confusion flickers over her face. “You lost me. I thought commitment wasn’t your thing.”
I lost me too, sweetheart.
“It isn’t.” I shrug. Time to turn the subject back to you. Make you explain because fuck if I’m going to delve into my closet of nightmares to explain myself. “I don’t believe you.”
“What?” She’s confused. Good, because that makes two of us. Thank fuck, though, I’m the one with the reins now.
“Your excuse for running last night. I don’t buy it. Why’d you leave, Rylee?” Give me a real reason. Tell me you got spooked the fuck out too. That it just wasn’t me. Tell me you hate me.
That you want me. Tell me anything to ease the fucking schizophrenic thoughts owning my head right now because you’ve turned this man who never needs anything to one who needed to see you. And fuck if I can figure out why.
I need to get this—us—back to where I’m comfortable. A good time with no future.
“I just—” She sighs, fiddling with her ponytail thing, and I can now see her nerves. Can sense her unease. And when she meets my eyes again, she knocks the gas from my tank because they are so full of conflicting emotion. “You made it clear that you were done with me. With us, cursing adamantly to demonstrate why my presence was no longer needed.”
No longer needed? That’s what she thought? “Sweet Jesus, Rylee!” Why is it with any other woman I’d be ecstatic that she thought that. Would make it easier to have the talk with her that I need to have and lay down the law about the only things I can give her, but hearing the words from Rylee causes a tightness in my chest.
She thought I was done with her. Leave it be, Donavan. Shut your fucking mouth and leave. Apologize for being an ass and walk away.
“Do you have any idea … you made me … I just want to protect you from—” I can’t even finish my thought my head’s such a mess. Yeah, the get up and leave idea worked real well there. Fuck me. I shove up out of the chair and head toward the window, toward an escape.
How do I explain that the way she made me feel caused the demons I’d buried deep down to start to whisper that I don’t deserve anything from her? That I saw myself using her—hurting her—like those before her and for the first time ever, I couldn’t do it. Knew she didn’t deserve it.
Shit just got real—fast. Real when all I want is to go back to our bantering foreplay. I need to get this back on ground I can walk on because right now I’m starting to freak the fuck out.
“I asked you to stay. That’s all I can give you right now, Rylee. All I’m good for.” I know I sound like an asshole, know that she just said I hurt her and my response was anything but an apology, but at the same time she doesn’t have a fucking clue how normally I’d say “my way or the highway” and instead I’m trying to explain a bit of myself when I never have before.
“C’mon, Colton, we both know you didn’t mean it. Let’s just say I left last night for reasons you don’t want to know about,” she finally says, eyes lifting to meet mine, and fuck if I can tell what they are trying to say to me that her words aren’t. I wonder if these reasons are the cause of her sudden change in demeanor from last night to this morning. “I’ve got lots of excess baggage, Ace.”
A part of me sighs in relief at the out she’s giving me without another word. The funny thing is that even though my feet itch to walk, I can’t bring myself to move because my head has other thoughts.
“Oh, Rylee, I know all about baggage, sweetheart. I have enough of it to fill up a 747 and then some.” I say the words without thinking. My immediate instinct is to jump back when I realize the little bit of myself I just gave her. That I’m the pilot of a plane so weighed down with fucking baggage that I might crash at any time. It’s not fucking much, but it’s a shitload of a confession for me.
I see the shock flicker through her eyes followed by the curiosity. How that comment doesn’t scare the hell out of her, I have no clue. She’s fearless and I love it. Love that we’re standing here in this goddamn minefield of shit and yet she continues to hold my gaze and tempt me, dare me, when the minute the words clear my mouth most would run the other way without so much as a see-ya.
Of course with the exception of those that want something out of being with me. And the way she keeps fighting me, I sure as fuck know she falls into the one percent that doesn’t.
“This could be interesting,” I say, taking a step toward her, my eyes scraping over her curves and my mind trying to find my footing in this foreign fucking territory. How is it I want to keep this on my terms—keep her at arms’ length—and yet at the same time want to figure out why I felt how I felt last night, how I feel right now?
Want my cake and eat her too.
The thought staggers me, fucks with my head, because I don’t know how that’s going to be possible when all I’ve thought about since she left the hotel last night was seeing her again. So I do what I came here for, the one thing I know that will settle the war of shit inside of me, quiet my head for just a second, so I can think this through. I reach out to touch her.
I tug her hair out of the bun and fist my hands in the curls as they fall. Her eyes shock open as I pull her head back and parted lips distract my thoughts as I’d hoped.
And just when I’m about to break our stare because she’s looking at me again in that way that says she sees more than I intend to give her, she throws out a challenge to my comment.
“How so?” Her voice may be soft, might even reflect a hint of nerves, but she’s still asking.
“Well, it seems that your baggage makes you so scared to feel you constantly pull away. Run from me.” I trace my finger down her bare arm, the need to touch her consuming me like an addiction. “Whereas mine? My baggage? It makes me crave the sensory overload of physicality—the stimulating indulgence of skin on skin. Of you beneath me.”
I mean it as a kind of warning, a simple you’re going to fall for me while I just want to fuck you. What a woman wants versus what a man wants. Simple, uncomplicated, right up until she sighs that soft sigh she did last night when I pushed into her for the first time and fuck if I can hold back any longer. I lean in and kiss her, tell myself to slow the fuck down when all I want to do is own her lips.
Her lips, Donavan, not her heart, because I’m trying to keep this on my simple terms.
Because that’s all I want.
And fuck if I’ve not kissed a woman like this before—slow and relentless—but something happens with Rylee. Each taste, every sound I coax that hums in her throat begins to seep into parts of me that have been dead for so long. I deepen the kiss. I have no intention of doing this, feeling this way, and I’m sure if my lips weren’t drugged by her taste, I’d be pulling away, wanting the end game and not enjoy the fucking journey to get there.
But when she slides her hands up my torso, skin to skin, something happens. It’s like the whip of desire snaps and imprints everything about her inside of me.
Fuckin’ A was I wrong. Touch her, kiss her to quiet my head? More like set it on fucking fire with thoughts of possibilities I don’t want and lust I need to sate. That flutter of panic I had last night flashes through me as I pull back from her lips, needing a minute to settle the shit I don’t want to feel but is back with a fucking vengeance.
I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her so she can’t look into my eyes and see the shit I don’t even understand. And I’m trying to process it all, trying to tell myself it’s a fucking fluke that it happened again, just the need to fuck her again, that’s all. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts the words are out of my mouth before I can filter them. “It’s unfathomable how much I want you, Rylee. How much I’m drawn to you.”
An unexpected confession for both her and for me.
“Rylee …” I’m flustered and I never get flustered. Fuck! I need some time to figure this all out. My reaction to last night, to right now, to how she fits so fucking perfect in my arms. Man, I’m all for turning over a new leaf, trying new shit out, but this is more like shaking the goddamn tree bare.
Breathe, Donavan. Fucking Breathe.
I close my eyes and then she makes a hmm sound as she nuzzles under my neck and I say, “Go out with me—on a real date. Go out with me, not because I paid for a date with you but because you want to. Say yes, Ryles. It’s unimaginable how much I want you to say yes.”
Where the fuck did that come from, Donavan? I’m freaking the fuck out and want to put it back where I’m comfortable, have a talk to mitigate her expectations of where this can and can’t go, but I go and say something like that? How am I ever going be able to fix this now, rein it in before she starts gettin
g too close and I start doing what I do best—shove her away?
She leans back, like she’s as shocked as I am from my words, and looks at me. And for some reason I don’t break our gaze and let her see just a glimpse of the riot inside of me before I glance away. But she pulls me back to her when she runs a hand against my cheek and then steps on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I nod my head at her and pull her back into my chest. “Tonight?”
Rylee, what the fuck are you doing to me?
She falls silent and a part of me freezes while the other part hopes she says yes. I can’t give her too much time to think about the shit she’s seen in my eyes and the baggage I told her about. She’s a smart girl, she’ll figure out I’m bad fucking news, a heartbreak waiting to happen, and head for the fucking hills.
And the thought scares the shit out of me. I keep telling myself once I talk with her, I’ll set things straight and she’ll fall in line like all of the other arrangements I’ve had. There will be nothing more between us but great sex, a date for an event, and a kick-ass charity partnership. But if that’s all I want, why am I here? Why do I care if she says yes or no to another date?
Why do I want her like no fucking tomorrow?
“I’ll be here at six to pick you up, Rylee.” Time to find out. Test the waters and then jump ship.
Or walk the plank.
She looks back up at me, her bottom lip between her teeth, and hell if I know what I’m doing but fuck if I’m not going to have a good time trying to figure it out.
I lift my thumb and rub it over her bottom lip. “See you then, sweetheart.” I walk to the front door as she says goodbye, my dick begging for those lips and my head hoping to make sense of the door I just turned the key in that I have no business unlocking.
