by Tasha Fawkes
“I can't quite get it up,” I explain, making sure my head is the only thing visible to him. “The zipper,” I add when he raises his eyebrows and smirks at me.
I open the door and let him in. He stares at me and raises his eyebrows, not saying anything other than turn around. I do as he asks, slipping my hair over my shoulder to give him clear access to the offending zip. I hold my breath as his fingers grasp the zipper, and he slowly slides it up my back. Once or twice, his fingers brush past my skin, making me shiver. I’m sure it’s accidental, but it feels incredible all the same.
“Thank you,” I say, shyly. I hold my hands together in front of me, not sure what to say next.
“You look simply stunning,” he says. “I think salsa suits you.”
“You don't look too bad yourself,” I say when I finally recover from his compliment.
I grab my heels, not trusting myself to walk in them just yet.
“Let's go,” I say to him, taking his hand.
“Okay, but I just want to say this in advance,” he says. “If I make a fool of myself, I'm sorry. If I make a fool of you, I’m even sorrier.”
“I'm sure you're not that bad,” I say with a laugh, unable to keep the warmth out of my voice.
“Oh, trust me. I'm worse.”
He was right.
He was pretty terrible, but as we moved through the lesson, he did show improvement.
“I see potential,” I offer him, as we leave the studio.
He turns to me so we’re facing each other, his eyes sparkling as he looks at me.
“You see potential in what? Me getting worse?” he jokes.
I grin. “No, I see potential in you improving. By the way,” I add casually. “I don't believe for a second that you’re even the slightest bit interested in dance lessons, but I appreciate what you're trying to do.”
“And what is that?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
“Trying to put me at ease? Make me feel comfortable?” I guess. “Either way, thank you.”
“Wow, I didn't realize I was so transparent,” he says with a grin. “How do you feel about getting a drink?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, glancing down at my salsa dress. “I wish I’d brought a change of clothes, though.”
“Why? You look incredible. The way that fabric clings to your body…”
His voice trails off. I shiver at his words, a familiar feeling stirring in my stomach. The same feeling I got during those first few meetings with him, before everything changed.
“We should move, before the rain starts again,” he murmurs, looking up at the sky. He’s the first to break eye contact. I smile and accept his hand when he holds it out for me.
We walk across the road to a small bar. It’s nearly empty when we wander inside. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, considering the way I’m feeling right now. An empty bar, and God knows what I’ll be doing to him. Speaking of bad ideas…I glance up at him and smile. I definitely shouldn’t be drinking.
Even without the influence of alcohol, I could easily let my guard down and kiss him, right here and now. In fact, there’s nothing that I want to do more right at this moment than that. Imagine if I had a few drinks under my belt. I’d be giving him a lap dance.
I force myself to look away. Any kind of physical interaction, no matter how pleasurable it might be, is not going to help the situation. I do not need to bring emotion or feeling into this arrangement, because it will just make the whole thing even more complicated.
After a few drinks, we head home.
Matt is insistent that he doesn't want to keep me out too late. He’s been a perfect gentleman all night. It's me who's fighting the urge to throw myself at him. But even after a few drinks, I’ve managed to control myself.
After an awkward goodbye in the living room, I walk into my room and close the door. I’m thankful to be away from him. Until I realize how much I don’t want to be away from him. It’s been two weeks and I’m ready to cave. How the fuck am I going to last an entire year? I thought I could do it, but tonight just proves that I can't.
Why do I even care if I sleep with him or not? So I don’t feel like a whore? He’s not coming onto me. He’s not making me do anything. I want this.
God, I probably want it more than he does.
I pace my room, not sure what to do. I know he feels the same way, because I’ve seen the way he looks at me. The fact that he hasn't made a move on me makes me want him even more. Damn him for being such a gentleman.
My heart races as I make a decision. I can't believe what I am about to do. But if I don't do it now, I'm going to lose my nerve—though admittedly, that probably wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe it's the three cosmos he fed me after dancing, or maybe it’s just the build-up of sexual tension that has become too much. Whatever it is, I can't ignore the way I feel anymore.
I creak open my door and walk down the hallway toward his room. I can barely stay upright, I'm so nervous. My heart races, and I feel sick. I can’t even think about what I’m doing. The moment I knock on his door, I know I can't take it back. Taking a deep breath, I knock and wait for panic to set in.
He opens his door. His shirt is half undone, which makes my stomach squirm even more. I try not to focus on his muscular chest peeking out from beneath his crisp white shirt, but god, it’s hard. My eyes widen. Is he hard too?
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brow creasing.
I nod, swallow, and then I laugh.
“God, I don't even know what I'm doing here,” I mutter.
“Really?” He opens the door, amusement in his eyes. “Then why don’t you come inside?”
I shake my head, but then nod. He chuckles at my indecisiveness, pulling me into the room. I jump as he closes the door behind me.
“Why are you here, Charlene?” he asks. “Why are you standing in my room, just as I'm about to get undressed? Is there something you want? Something I can help you with?” He glances at me. “You don't mind if I continue to get changed, do you?”
I shake my head slowly before I even realize that I’m shaking my head. My eyes widen as he continues to undo the buttons on his shirt, one at a time, his eyes not leaving mine.
“Tell me to stop if this makes you feel uncomfortable, and I will,” he murmurs.
I shake my head again, because the last thing I want him to do is stop. He takes a step toward me and I stiffen, but I keep my ground. I stare at his face as he slides the shirt from over his chest and places it neatly on the edge of his dresser.
I have to force myself to breathe, because the sight of him with no shirt on is incredible. As hard as I’m trying to not look at his tanned, muscular chest, I’m losing a battle I know I’m never going to win.
“So why are you here, Charlene?” he murmurs again.
He stands in front of me and puts out his hand, stroking me softly along my neck. I shiver, my heart pounding as I struggle to find the words to answer him.
As much as I want to just kiss him, I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m terrified of messing this up. What if he’s not interested? It’s a stupid thought, because he’s all but stripping for me, but I can’t shake it.
He leans closer, until our lips are almost touching. That is all I need to push me into doing this. I place my hand on his face and brush my lips past his, then I pull back, embarrassed that I just did that.
I gasp as he takes me in his arms and presses his mouth against mine, his kiss much more urgent and passionate than mine. He lets out a growl as his lips search mine. I lose myself in him. It’s every bit as amazing as I thought it would be, and when his fingers fumble to lower the zip on the back of my dress, I don’t fight him.
“Are you sure?” he whispers in my ear, kissing my neck.
I nod, tugging the dress down over my hips until I’m standing there in front of him, wearing only a pair of panties. He stares at me and shakes his head.
“Fucking beautiful.”
He wraps his arms aro
und me and lifts me onto his waist. I groan as he kisses my neck while walking over to his bed. He throws me down, then climbs on top of me, until his face is level with mine. We kiss again, only this time his fingers are trailing down over my stomach, resting on top of my panties.
My heart races as he teases me, drawing circles through my scant panties. I gasp, parting my legs a little more, which makes him chuckle. I open my eyes to glare at him, just as he flicks my panties aside and thrusts a finger inside of me. I jump, arching my back as our eyes connect.
“You’re so wet,” he mutters, his steel blue eyes clouded with determination. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I met you,” he adds. “Seeing you in that dress tonight, the way it clung to your body…” He shakes his head and groans. “I was pretty much dancing with a permanent erection.” I giggle at the thought.
“Maybe that accounts for your lack of coordination?” I tease.
“Trust me.” He grins. “It doesn’t. But maybe this will make up for it.”
My eyes widen as he lowers himself down the bed until he’s between my legs, his face at my pussy. I know what’s coming, but I still jump when he peels my panties down my legs. He spreads my legs a little wider and then buries his face between my thighs.
I gasp and lay back, my back arching as he licks me. I try to clench my thighs as he slides his tongue inside me, but his grip on me is too strong. I glance down, feeling his eyes on me. He’s watching me as he thrusts his tongue deep inside me, while I struggle to comprehend that this is really happening.
“Oh god,” I gasp as he circles my clit with his tongue.
I place my hands against the wall behind me and brace myself. I’m so close, and his tongue is relentless. I wrap my legs around his shoulders, desperately trying to resist the urge to grab his head and force him deeper inside me, until I can’t fight it anymore. I run my fingers through his hair, gripping hold of him as he sucks me. I gasp as my body begins to convulse, my grip on him tightening as I come.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
I lift myself off the bed, burying his face against my pussy as I climax. My heart races, and I groan as I come, barely able to handle his touch. I’m a mess, and as I come down from my high and force him away from me, I roll onto my side, my body trembling. He smirks as he resumes his position next to me, his face next to mine.
“How was that?” he asks.
I smile, because it’s all I can manage to do. He leans in and kisses me, the taste of me still fresh on his tongue. I moan as his lips explore mine, his gentle touch almost pushing me over the edge again.
He drags his fingernails over my stomach, then my breasts, and then circles my nipples. I squirm, both loving the feel of him touching me, but also too sensitive to handle it. He leans over and closes his mouth over my nipple, sucking it until it stiffens against his tongue. I stroke his head, wondering how we got to this point.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs.
He shifts over me so he’s lying on top of me and kisses my mouth. I groan, loving the feel of his erection pressing against my thigh. I reach down and undo the button on his pants, then with shaking hands, I dip my fingers into his boxer shorts and wrap them around his shaft, a little nervous at how big he feels. He groans as I stroke him, kissing me, touching me.
As exhausted and as wound up as I am, I want nothing more than to feel him inside me. He stares into my eyes as he reaches over onto his nightstand for a condom. He places the packet between his teeth and rips it open, handing me the contents. I gently roll it over his length, then run my fist up and down his shaft.
I brace myself as he places his tip at my entrance and then slowly slides himself inside me. I gasp, tilting my neck as he kisses me. He finds his rhythm, thrusting deeper inside me with each motion. I groan, rocking gently against him.
He groans, holding my head as he kisses me. I wrap my legs around him, clenching my thighs, locking him inside me. He closes his eyes and gasps, his thrusts becoming harder until he growls, throwing his head back as he releases.
Gasping, he falls onto the bed next to me, rolling me into his embrace. We lay there, not saying a word as I enjoy the feel of his warm, strong arms around me. He kisses the back of my neck as he struggles to catch his breath.
“That was amazing,” he finally mutters.
My heart pounds. It was amazing. It was incredible. It was also the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do. I ease myself out of his arms and sit on the edge of the bed. I force myself to turn back and smile at him. He looks at me quizzically, but I pretend not to notice. I grab my clothes and then pad across the floor to the door.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, concerned.
“Fine,” I lie, smiling again. “I just want to have a shower, and I have work tomorrow,” I explain.
He nods, but I can see he’s not buying what I’m saying.
I walk out of his room, closing the door behind me before all but running for the safety of my room. Closing my door, I lean against it, still clutching my clothes against me. I close my eyes and relive the feel of him against me, and the moment he entered me. I should regret it. I should hate myself for going there.
Instead I hate myself even more for wanting it to happen again.
Fourteen
Matt
Saturday morning when I wake up, Charlene isn’t in her room. I’m concerned, because I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me. It began just after we slept together, three days ago. In fact, I haven’t seen her at all since that night. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but now I know I'm not. The early starts, the late returns back to the condo…It all adds up to the fact that for some reason, she doesn’t want to face me, and it’s most likely she regrets sleeping with me.
She’s facing me today, whether she likes it or not.
I don’t care if I sit here all day and wait, she’s going to talk to me, or at the very least, acknowledge my existence. Morning turns into afternoon, and pretty soon, I’ve been pacing the living room for hours. I’m growing more frustrated and annoyed by the second. She eventually sneaks through the door at just after six. I stiffen when I hear the door open.
She flushes when she sees me sitting on the couch. I wanted to make it obvious that I’d been waiting for her, and I think I’ve achieved that. I raise my eyebrows at her, but don’t move.
“You're hard to get a hold of,” I say, finally sitting forward.
“Sorry, I got caught up after my hair appointment,” she mumbles, not meeting my eyes.
I frown, noticing her hair does look brighter and more vibrant than usual. I resist the urge to walk over to her and touch it, forcing myself to look her in the eye. She flushes and drops her gaze.
“And then I promised to meet Margie for a coffee. One in the afternoon kind of turned into three, and before I knew it, it’s after six,” she mumbles. “Is that a problem?” she adds. “I didn't think I had to ask for your permission to go out with my friend.”
“Of course you don't,” I say with a frown. Is that what she really thinks? “I was just worried after what happened the other day, that you were avoiding me.”
Maybe I’m imagining this whole thing. Maybe it was just a hair appointment and a coffee where she lost track of time, but then I see a flicker of something pass through her eyes, and I know that I’m right.
She shakes her head. “I haven’t…” her voice trails off, and she sighs. She walks over and sits down on the arm of the chair next to me. For the first time since she walked in, she holds my gaze. “Okay, so I guess I have been avoiding you. Because I didn’t know how to say this. I got caught up in the moment the other night, and I shouldn't have.”
“So you regret sleeping with me?” I frown.
While I expected that’s what it was, I didn’t like hearing it. She flushes and looks away. I smirk, because I can tell that she's thinking about that night. At least she doesn’t regret it because it wasn’t enjoyable.
“I just think that once
we get feelings involved in this … arrangement, things will become complicated,” she tries to explain. “It’s not that I didn’t want to be with you, or that I didn’t enjoy it, because trust me, I did. I’m just worried that it will make everything else harder.”
She’s right. Feelings will complicate things. They’re complicating things already.
What I’m feeling for her is clouding my judgement and stopping me from achieving tasks that usually wouldn’t bother me. Like getting her pregnant.
“I see what you’re saying,” I murmur, my voice low. I don’t agree, but I can’t force her to be with me, so I just have to trust that if I give her space, she will come around eventually. “And if that’s how you truly feel, then I’ll back off.”
“Thanks,” she says, looking a little surprised that I’ve taken it so well. “I hope this doesn’t affect things. Well, anymore that it already has,” she laughs, attempting to lighten the mood. “I really do appreciate how good you’re being about all of this.”
“How about we go out for dinner?” I suggest. “Just as friends. Or a fake married couple. However you want to look at it,” I joke.
She smiles hesitantly and then nods. “That sounds good. I might go and have a shower first, if that's okay?” she asks.
I nod and watch her scurry off to her room. Sighing, I get to my feet and walk over to the bar. I pour myself a scotch, even though it’s just after six in the evening.
I carry my drink into my office—the fourth spare bedroom, with the intention of occupying myself with work for the half an hour it takes for her to get ready. Anything not to spend the time thinking about her in the shower, because once that visual is in my head, I’m never going to get it out. Even now, all I can think about is how good it felt the other night to be with her and how much I want to be inside her again.
I stand up, stepping away from my desk, and walk over to the window. I stare outside, trying to ease the tension working its way through my body. I’m not fine about this. I’m not fine about any of it. Everything just feels like a big, tangled mess.
