by V. Theia
It was only cemented when I paused in the pub doorway and saw her sitting there and I got my first good look at the woman in over a year.
Both my cock and heart agreed I was incredibly glad I’d answered and not dumped the message to the delete bin as most guys would have done with a failed hook up.
I mean, she’d burned my ego in not calling when we’d connected so instantly over coffee.
Or so I thought.
She’d flirted, I’d flirted, and I could tell she was feeling me.
After five days and no phone call from India I’d even lowered my pride to ask Sena, India’s friend and my employee who introduced us, how to get in touch with her.
Seeing her perched like a small pixie on the bar stool was an epiphany of sorts. Not only because was I the only fucking one in the entire pub to see how that beautiful creature was completely crushed?
Surely, I wasn’t the only man there to see the sadness swirling in her smile as she chatted to the guy serving drinks. That same smile fell the moment the guy stepped away. Her unhappiness dug into my chest and almost made me sprint across the floor to sweep her up and make it all better.
That was punch-me-in-the-balls surprising.
But teamed with the overwhelming sense of There She Is became a thunder between my ears.
There she is.
The One. My fucking one.
Holy fuck, there she is.
Don’t ask me how I knew that.
Could you spend an hour with someone more than 365 days ago and know they’re the person you’ll spend your life with? Who the hell knows, but there it was. I was neither stoned or drunk. My clarity was 100%. It was a real feeling pounding through my blood, making my veins swell with heat and lust and the need to be capable enough to make that woman smile again.
The thought was sobering because in that moment of watching her flip her chin length hair and shuffle on her seat and the consequent minutes following I knew I’d do anything to take the look of despair out of her eyes.
Anything.
Now standing in my kitchen after an hour’s work-out just to stop me from prowling back down the hallway and watching her sleep, I made coffee.
The same thoughts from last night hadn’t changed at all.
If anything, it worsened because I’d carried her into my apartment from the car with her curled so tiny into my chest making my heart beat like I’d run the New York marathon twice over, her hands around my neck and her face at my throat, it was like a dream I never knew I wanted was right there in my arms. And when I’d put her to bed and pulled off her shoes just seeing her in my house felt … right.
I dealt in numbers and facts. Business school taught me how to look at a situation from all angles and determine which way was the best route for greater profit. I could take a grand and make it into a million within a month without it being shady, so I’d always considered myself to be an analytical thinker, planner and doer.
Nowhere in that assessment was I driven by my emotions.
If I had been, the multi-million deal last year with the bankrupt Chinese corporation would have probably changed my opinion on how I went about acquiring their failing factory for a knockdown price. Since it was a century old family run business. I’m not cutthroat, but I know good business when I see it and emotions played no part in me growing my empire to where it is today.
India though? I’m all emotion.
I don’t think my fucking brain has weighed in once with what I want to do with her and how to win her for myself.
The creak of a door and the soft pad of feet on the thick carpeted hallway alerted me to my overnight guest. A kick of heat throbbed through my chest wall. Another door opened, and then water. Ah, she’d found the bathroom. I’d laid out fresh towels and hygiene products in there for her and realized it had been too long since I’d had a woman staying over even for a night.
If I ever hooked up it was usually at the woman’s place, so I could leave when I wanted to. My one failed long-term relationship gave me lessons I’d adhered to for years since.
Not that I was celibate in the interim, but neither was I a playboy.
I’d just had the feeling I wasn’t meant for marriage and long-standing love.
And then a saucy girl with flirtatious hazel eyes sat across from me in a café and changed my mind.
Until she crushed my ego.
I should have made more of an effort to pursue her.
Seeing her so upset last night I wished I had.
Knowing India was only in the next bedroom to mine had given me some lucid dreams where I made her scream and then held her on my lap while she curled around me and batted her lashes with that minxy little smile and I gave her anything she wanted.
I’d woken hard as a bat and now it made a fast return raging like a hurting heartbeat knowing she was awake and I was about to see her again.
The organ in my chest picked up speed.
What I didn’t expect was. “Did we fuck?”
I almost choked on my coffee. Damn, she was better than any hit of caffeine. Her husky voice curled its talons around my—who was I kidding? Her voice had a strangle hold on my dick stroking it with every syllable coming from her naked lips.
Awareness sizzled beneath my skin like it did when she was near.
Did I mention small women didn’t usually interest me? I was always afraid of hurting them. And yet I was almost swallowing my tongue watching her hovering in the doorway wearing last night’s clothes, her face porcelain clear and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She couldn’t be more than 5’3” no taller than my breast bone, but her personality packed a punch and I had a boner the size of a skyscraper just looking at her.
Moving out from behind the kitchen island in my open plan apartment giving a birds-eye view from one end to the other from living area, to kitchen, and dining—the hallway led to bathrooms, bedrooms, closets and a media/music room.
I was a guy, I needed a fucking mancave.
With my coffee mug to my mouth, lips twitched amusement at her scowl. She had morphed from the vulnerable woman of last night into this feisty creature and my body was on board getting to know her twin.
“Sadly, I can confirm we did not.”
She sighed. Relief? Disappointed? I was going with the latter in hopes the way her eyes skimmed over me as I approached that she liked what she saw. I was wearing regular black adidas pants and a white shirt and I considered combing my hair by shoving fingers through it a few times.
I pulled out an island stool for her then went back to the coffee station. “How do you like your coffee?” My brow puckered, it was important I knew what she liked. I wanted to know everything about India Rivera. Just gulp in the details and make them fit into my life.
“Lots of creamer, same amount of sugar.”
A groan crawled up my throat I quickly swallowed when she slid onto the stool and in turn gave me her scent from her hair. She smelled incredible and the urge to bury my face in the side of her neck was about the hardest damn thing to ignore.
That and my twitching cock.
Fuck. I’m in trouble with this girl.
“So, a splash of coffee with your sweet cream?” I sent her a half smile over my shoulder and found her eyeing my ass. Bad girl. In the light of day and not under the moody lights of a pub she was stunning in the painted-on skirt and blouse and her bare toes tinted a red tucked neatly under her.
She didn’t appear repentant in the slightest for being caught perving on me. That was the India I met. The one with the attitude and ballsy, unfiltered mouth. The one I was instantly attracted to.
And there was something she didn’t know about that day in the café.
I’d keep that to myself a while longer.
Transferring the cup in front of her hands she gripped it quickly in both.
“How did you sleep?”
“Like I passed out in your car and woke in a strange bed, in a strange apartment with a guy I barely know standing
in sexy as fuck sweatpants making me coffee.”
I smirked amused. “So…good then?”
She raised her extremely hazel eyes dominated by green depending on where the light hit her face and held my stare, sure she could see the arousal staining my skin. I felt like I was seeing attraction for the first time and my inner fourteen-year self couldn’t fucking cope with how gorgeous she was with her attitude laced brow arched in that way that made it uncomfortable to breathe.
“You’re pretty smug, Gray Ellison for a man who probably had to cart my deadwood body up how many flights?”
“Seven. I took the elevator and you were light as a feather. Cuddly too.”
She gasped and plonked the cup down. Cheeks staining instantly. “Take that back!” She squealed throatily.
Interesting, I thought. She didn’t mind waking up in my bed, nor letting me grind her into an orgasm so hard she’d bitten into my shoulder. But mention how she’d cuddled me and she looked completely horrified.
“I wouldn’t even if I could.” I winked. I had a weakness for a blush. “You wrapped your arms around me like a clutching sloth and wouldn’t let go even when I put you into bed,” she sniffed and stuck her pert nose in the cup again. “Well. Thanks for not leaving me on the street or serial killing me. I appreciate it.” She mumbled. Hooded eyes on me.
“It was a feat, not gonna lie, but I managed to withhold my serial killer tendencies for one night.” Her little snort was music and I felt like a giant making her laugh.
When she started to moan around every sip I had to lean against the counter or showcase my heavy and uncomfortable cock throbbing against my leg. I regretted not changing into jeans and it was more than evident if she got a look how I wanted to fuck her over the island like an animal. Bracing my arms, she looked over but went on devouring the coffee like it was a lover she couldn’t get enough of.
Holy fuck. Jealous of a cup.
There’s nothing I wanted more than to introduce her to my immortal erection and have her squeeze it the same way she held the white porcelain mug.
Squeeze and have me begging.
Still as an effigy with my groin pressed into the island willing the eager bastard to stand down, I was complete bedlam inside and I hadn’t broached what I wanted to say to her yet.
Was I taking advantage of her situation? I’d given it two minutes to wander around my mind. To have divine intervention land in my lap and ignore it, that was something else. As my mother would preach; everything happened for a reason. Though, she was always extremely sauced on her expensive chardonnay when she said it, so I couldn’t hold much truth in it.
Until now. When I was squeezing the fuck out of believing India messaged me for a reason. Out of everyone she must know it was my number she pulled up on her phone. Taking advantage? She could take full advantage of me as payback.
“I should get going.”
“I have a proposition for you.”
We spoke over each other.
The air crackled.
India blinked.
I knew when I was sixteen what I wanted to do with my life. At the time I hadn’t know it was to distribute women’s shoes and accessories, just that I wanted to be successful in whatever I chose. Only I didn’t want the career my father wanted for me. Getting my Bar degree and then spending the next fifty years of my life working my way up to partner in his law firm defending the guilty and the lowlife who had enough money to enlist my father’s services didn’t interest me. I went the opposite way, first with engineering and then business school.
Being focused also meant the minute I decided something it was as if the sun was cleared from the clouds and I wanted that one thing.
I strived for it, worked my ass off for it. It became my sole focus until it was in my hands.
I’d come to a clear solution for India and I hope she felt the same way because her turning me down … impossible to think about.
One hour spent with her. And the next twelve knowing she was right next door tucked into my sheets. And I was hooked.
“This sounds a lot like that sugar daddy proposal you made me, Gray.” Beautiful lips quirked, and she had me thinking not so nice things because, fuck … why did it appeal to my basic level of masculinity?
To take care of her?
To give her everything she needed financially, emotionally … sexually?
To see that her appetites and worries were tied up in red bows and presented to her so all she ever needed to think about was what she wanted next from me.
Not gonna lie. That shit fired a hole through my belly and bred like a disease.
I couldn’t claim to ever want to stamp such a privilege on a woman before.
But then no woman was like India. One hour, twelve or a life time, my opinion would remain the same.
She was one of a kind.
“I was giving your current situation some thought while you snored.”
“I do not snore!”
I suppressed my grin. Desperate suddenly to reach out across the granite top and grab her hand. “And the solution is staring us in the face.”
Hers screwed up as if to tell me silently to fucking spit it out already.
God, she was gonna bust my balls, wasn’t she? I grinned a touch.
“In fact, I breathe so quietly people have told me I resemble a corpse.” She went on, fire shooting out of her hazel eyes, if I wasn’t careful she was likely to hurl the hot cup at my head. Why did I find that sexy as fuck? “So, I just shot your snoring lie down in flames, mister Ellison.”
“I think you should move in here with me.”
That stopped her diatribe in mid-breath, slack jawed, lips open, eyes pinning me with surprise washed through her features.
She was beautiful, was my first thought last night.
Still as beautiful as my memory conjured her up from time to time.
My second right after that even before I’d taken a step toward her was; she’s mine.
It was primitive, unfiltered, organic, astonishing.
And yet it rang true in the place that counted.
India was mine.
Being distracted was a natural occurrence in my life.
I wasn’t quite the dizzy blond. But not far off at times.
I could space out in the middle of work and still produce a stellar ad campaign for a gluten free, tasteless ketchup no problem. I’ve been distracted at the gym numerous times watching fit guys curl their biceps. That one wasn’t bad though, for one, did I mention hot guys? And two, it passed the time, so I didn’t notice how I’m huffing and puffing burning 30 calories on the elliptical machine.
But as I watched the words coming out of Gray’s mouth, they formed so sexy with those lips of his I was distracted enough with his morning face scruff that for a beat of ten seconds I didn’t really hear him clearly.
Until my mind caught up, replayed and video dumped his offer.
I think you should move in here with me.
Thighs clenched.
Heart hiccupped.
My pussy wet, ready from just the way his tongue poked at the corner of his lip.
I completely ignored reason for a second to let the thought filter through my head. Living with the perfect specimen of manhood. Every day.
I’d be Willy Wonka with the chocolate. Jesus.
How dare he go around offering me things I would like? Fucking rude.
No sane man does that.
Unless he’s a weirdo and from the sexy looks he’s carrying around on his face, who could tell. Some of the worlds serial killers were good looking.
Maybe he needed a new skin suit.
I moisturized enough without him tossing lotion down to me in a well.
Handsome and crazy. Pft. Isn’t that always the way?
So that proved it unconditionally. I sighed. The man was gorgeous, seriously drop your panties around your ankles and bend over kind of sexy.
And he gave good hugs and dry humping.
; But he was crazy.
Who does that?
“Are you high?” My eyes zoned in on his face.
He chuffed a laugh sipping his own coffee. Mine abandoned on the countertop. I didn’t think I could drink another drop, what with my mouth like the Sahara Desert. Even as he laughed at me, his slate eyes like moody stones, I allowed myself a few seconds to feel what that would be like.
I mean, I’m not taking him seriously.
Who asked a total stranger to move in with them?
I know I’m great at kissing, but he couldn’t have based his whole decision on that.
Living with a man of any kind would usually put the alarm in me. I didn’t do commitment, not even roommates, it’s too much … responsibility for another person. What if they get sick? What if they died one day? No, I couldn’t be in that storm. Better to hold people at arm’s length then grow attached and fall flat on my emotions when they eventually left.
They left.
They died.
It’s all the same heartbreak for me in the end.
And the secret no one knew, besides all my other secrets … If I allowed myself to grow attached to one person, or one hundred, I would do it so fast.
Like mold on mushrooms.
And I couldn’t and wouldn’t allow that to happen even as my squirmy thought of how it would go living with the hottest guy in Manhattan turned my cheeks hot.
I’d probably eat cereal at this very island and watch him strut around in those illegal sweatpants that I’m trying hard not to look at again.
My tongue got whiplash.
I pulled myself from the warming thought.
“High on you?” He dared send a wink across his modern art kitchen with all its steel and granite. My belly flipped. What the hell? I did not get flustered. “Maybe so. What do you say, India?”
“I say I think you’re fucking insane. Have you seen a doctor? But thank you for rescuing my ass last night and—”
“You have a killer body, but that mouth needs a work out.” He half-grinned. “I don’t want thanks. Not for that anyway.” A second, his smile ended, and his eyes filled with seriousness. “Can I suggest something without you being mean? It’s okay to ask someone for help, India. Don’t wait until your head is under water. If not me then I know for sure Noah and Sena would help without question.”
