He set my water in front of me, but didn’t try to sit down. I brought the glass to my lips, eager for something to occupy my thoughts and distract me from his body, which was a little too close at that moment.
I heard Tilly’s voice coming from behind him, loud and lovely.
“All right, kids. I’m going to take off. All you have to do is turn off the radio and make sure the door latches behind you.”
“Wait, Tilly, we can leave.” I moved to grab my purse and started scooting out of the booth.
“Don’t be silly, it’s early yet. Use the pool table, drink some more water, have fun,” she said, smiling.
“Um, all right. If you’re sure?” It was a little strange that Tilly was going to leave us in her restaurant after closing, but she was too convincing to give a good argument. She winked and then walked out the door.
“See, we were able to salvage the evening just fine,” Riot said, laugher in his voice.
“I suppose you could say that, although, I think I know more about the inner workings of your demented mind than I’d like to.” I took another sip from my glass and then looked up at him, his caramel colored eyes twinkling back at me, the low flood lights making his already dark skin look even darker.
“Can I ask you a serious question?”
His voice was suddenly not full of laughter as it had been just seconds before, and I swallowed hard, my body reacting to the new way his eyes were looking at me.
“Sure.”
Chapter Thirteen
Simply Together
“Wanna dance?” he asked, holding his hand out to me, palm up.
“Here?” I asked, looking around. “No one else is dancing.”
“That’s because no one else is here,” he said, laughing again. “Come on, Kal. Dance with me.”
His eyes were sparkling, even in the dim lighting of the bar. I couldn’t say no to him, but his gaze left me speechless so I was unable to say yes either. I answered by placing my hand in his. He led me to the middle of the restaurant, which wasn’t exactly a dance floor, but I wasn’t complaining because he was holding my hand. He placed my hand on his shoulder and one of his hands landed on the curve of my waist; his other hand clutched my free one, lightly holding it against his chest. I swallowed, trying not to think about the firmness of his chest beneath his t-shirt.
A slow piano started a new song; a sleepy rhythm and a soulful voice filled the empty bar. We started swaying back and forth to the beat of the music.
“You’re a good dancer,” Riot spoke softly as I tried to avoid his gaze.
“This isn’t dancing, really. This is rhythmically stepping side to side,” I answered, smiling a little. His response was to pull me a little closer and pull my hand into his body, curling his fingers around mine as far as they would go. Then he started to add a little spin in our steps, leading me in gentle, tiny circles.
A percussion dropped in with the piano, adding dimension and a heartbeat to the song. I listened for a moment to a man singing about tomorrow bringing better days, about letting go of yesterday. I felt the words deep down inside of me, but was more aware of Riot’s hands sliding from my waist and flattening against the small of my back, pulling me closer into him. My hand automatically freed itself from his grasp and moved up his chest, joining my other hand at the nape of his neck. His free hand moved down my side, caressing me as it traveled over my body. I was alight with the electricity he moved through me. His hands were like lightning rods; a storm was brewing in that bar and his hands were going to be the end of me.
Every part of me was buzzing with his energy and I was pressed up against him, soaking it up, relishing it.
When we stepped to the beat of the music, our hips punctuated the syncopation. His leg wound up between my knees as we continued in our electric circle.
“Are we dancing yet?” he whispered in my ear.
“Yes,” I stammered, dropping my cheek against his chest. The song grew louder, the singing fuller, more soulful. I felt the music in my bones, but couldn’t tell if it was the song that had my heart thundering in my chest or the way Riot’s hips pressed into mine as our dance continued, or the way his hands were no longer staying still, but wandering across my back. One hand traveled dangerously close to the curve of my bottom, the other tangled in the hair that fell down my back.
I gasped at the feeling of his hand owning me. He knew he was breaking me down, cracking away the glass walls I’d put up around me. With every sway of our hips, with every breath I felt feather across the skin of my neck, I was sure he could feel me crumbling. I knew that after this I wouldn’t be able to push him away again. I knew he wouldn’t let that happen. I was never going back to that place. Not after I knew, for sure, what it felt like to be pressed against him like this.
I gripped his shoulders hard when his hands pulled my hips into him, pulled me closer to him. His thigh between my legs, my heat burning up against him, was overwhelming.
“Riot,” I gasped, wanting to bite into his shoulder to keep myself level, but resisting.
“Kalli,” was all he said in response. I’d heard him say my name a thousand times. That time, that moment with his hands on me and every part of me throbbing for him, my name falling from his mouth was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
His hands slid up my back, over my shoulders, up my neck to cradle my face. My eyes stayed closed. I was afraid to open them and see him, worried he wasn’t as affected by this as I was.
“Look at me, Kal,” he demanded and I couldn’t refuse. My eyes opened slowly, and I was met with eyes that looked just as electrified as I felt. “Stand still with me,” he said just before his mouth came softly to press against mine. I couldn’t help but cry into him for everything I felt with just one touch of his lips on mine. His hands were grasping at me, pulling on any part of me he felt, and I just let myself go with him.
“Do you feel that, Kalli? That rope between us?” He pressed those words into my neck, saying them between kisses laid on my skin there, my head tilting back to let him have his way. “I’ll tie you up so tight, baby.”
I knew what he was asking, what he wanted from me, and in the back of my mind I was in agreement. I wanted so badly to let go of all my fears and let him keep me safe. But the most prominent thought, the one I could grasp firmly a hold of, was that I wanted him to take me. I wanted him naked and I wanted him over me.
He must have sensed the urgency in my kiss because the next thing I knew, Riot had lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he was walking through the bar. My hands were on the back of his neck, and his were both planted firmly on my ass. I kissed him with all the reckless abandon four beers allowed me, biting down gently on his bottom lip.
He growled through the kiss, attacking me back with his own teeth. The kiss was wet and sloppy, but it was also hot and unrestrained. It was everything I needed in a kiss at that moment and then some.
I felt him lean over and then I was on a hard surface. My hands went down and my fingertips rubbed against the unmistakable felt of the pool table. Once I was safely atop, his hands roamed free, moving anywhere and everywhere they wanted: around my waist, to my thighs, up my belly, under my shirt, over my bra. They were everywhere and nowhere, weightless and heavy, feather-soft and rough.
He climbed up and over me, forcing me to lie back, and my hands naturally found their way under his shirt to grip the hard muscle there. My legs instinctually found their way around his waist. As my legs captured him, he lowered his hips and our centers were deliciously pressed together, the friction there maddeningly and intensely arousing.
“You’re lying to yourself if you can’t admit you want me,” Riot whispered against my skin as he ran his mouth over me. “Everything about your body right now gives you away. The way your breath is panting,” he said, pressing a kiss just above my collarbone. “The way your fingers are digging into my skin.” His mouth moved up and he nibbled on my earlobe as I tried to stifle a moan. �
�Even the way you smell right now tells me you want me,” he said right against the shell of my ear.
I swallowed hard and tried to keep an even keel, tried not to give in to him so easily, tried not to forget the reasons we could never be, even if he was right and we was all I really wanted.
“Do you want me?” he asked, his hand skimming over my breast. All I wanted was for the layers of fabric between us to disappear. I wanted him inside me, all over me, around me—any way I could get him. And I didn’t have the self-control to lie out of self-preservation anymore.
“Yes,” I rasped.
“Yes?” he asked, running his nose up from the hollow of my neck all the way up my chin.
“Yes. But not here.” I looked in his eyes and silently pleaded with him to get me back to the house, take me in a bed, and make me forget I had a million reasons to send him away.
“Let’s go,” he said, swiftly lifting off me and grabbing both my hands, pulling me off the table and to a standing position in one strong jerk. He held one of my hands, and strode toward our table, pulling me along behind him. He walked past the table, swooping in to grab my purse and jacket, but never stopping, and continuing toward the door.
He continued right out the door, and I had the presence of mind to grab the handle and make sure it shut tight behind us.
“Riot, the radio. Tilly asked us to turn it off.”
“She’ll understand,” he responded curtly. He walked hurriedly through the mostly empty parking lot, finally stopping next to the passenger door of my Rover. “Keys,” he barked at me.
“Are you angry?” I asked, digging in my purse for my keys.
“No, I’m not angry. I’m in a hurry and I’m worried if I take too long you’ll change your mind and I’ll miss my one chance to be with you.”
I looked up at him and saw the fear in his eyes, the worry. He wanted this, me, and felt like perhaps I might slip right through his fingers again. My hand reached out and gripped the front of his t-shirt, pulling him toward me. I fixed my eyes on the wrinkles in his shirt, trying to have the courage to tell him how I was feeling.
“I think, for one night, I’m going to give up on pushing you away. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t fight it.”
“Can’t fight what, exactly?” he asked, running his hand down the back of my hair, gripping it at the end, and pulling it gently, urging me to look him in the eye again.
“Can’t fight the feeling that my body was made to fit yours, fight the urge to let you do things to me that will push me further than anyone ever has, or fight the way my body reacts to your touch. And I want to feel you touch me everywhere.”
His grip on my hair tightened, and my head leaned back even farther as I watched his face dip down to the crook of my neck.
“And you’re saying I can only have you for one night?” His voice was low and had tiny explosions prickling over every inch of my skin.
“It’s all I can promise,” I gasped as his lips made contact, then his teeth, nipping at me.
“God, I want so much more, Kalli, but I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”
He took the keys from my hand and I heard the horn beep and the locks click. He opened the door and motioned for me to get in.
“You’re not driving my Range Rover,” I said, laughing at his ridiculous notion.
“Babe, you’ve had four beers.”
“You’ve had four beers.”
“I’ve also got eighty pounds on you.”
“But—”
“Kalli, get in the car. Four beers over four hours isn’t enough to impair my driving.”
I narrowed my eyes at him but relented. “Fine. But you should know, I don’t let anyone drive my car,” I huffed as I hauled myself into the passenger seat.
“I bet I can convince you to do a lot of things you’ve never done before,” he said, winking, then closed the door. I watched him as he walked around the front of the car with a cocky smirk on his face.
He managed to drive back to the house with no help from me. At the beginning of the drive his hand found its way to my knee. His hand was hot and I could feel its warmth all the way through the denim of my jeans. Slowly, as we made our way through the mostly empty streets of Lincoln City, his hand migrated north, and so did the heat.
By the time we made it back to the house, his hot hand was practically between my legs and I was mere seconds from shamelessly rubbing myself against it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I stowed away the fact that Riot was a master of anticipation. It had started months ago, and now we were erupting with all the sexual frustration we’d hidden away. I hadn’t readied myself for the storm that seemed to be Riot, but he was coming for me whether I was prepared or not.
He put the Rover in park in front of the beach house, then got out and came around to my side, and opened my door. He reached in, wrapped his arms around me, and picked me up. I shrieked, then clasped my hands around his neck, holding on even though I knew he had me.
“I am not nearly drunk enough to warrant you carrying me into the house,” I complained. In actuality, any buzz I’d had disappeared on the dance floor, replaced by need and want.
“I agree. I’m not carrying you because you’re drunk.”
“So, why aren’t my feet on the ground?”
“I didn’t want to give you a chance to run away from me again. I’m not letting go until I’m finished with you.”
“Oh,” I said as my breath caught in my lungs. He looked at me for just a moment more, but then his eyes moved to the door and he used the hand under my knees to unlock it. He kicked it shut behind us, then made no delay in heading for the stairs. He walked up them as if he weren’t carrying a person in his arms and I went a little more breathless for it. I couldn’t keep my eyes off his face, couldn’t stop looking at him. He was, of course, watching where he was going, but I was soaking up the opportunity to stare unabashedly at him.
He turned into the bedroom we’d originally found that afternoon, our bags still lying on the ground, kicked that door shut as well, and then walked to the bed, stopping for nothing.
He approached the bed and climbed on with his knees, making his way to the headboard, and gently placed me down so that my head landed softly on a pillow. He pulled his arms out from underneath me, but never lost contact.
He moved so his body was between my legs, one hand on my belly just slightly under the hem of my shirt, the other hand planted near my face keeping him just a few inches above me. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine, but it wasn’t needy. It wasn’t the kiss I expected after all the buildup during the drive over. It was sweet and a little innocent.
He sat up, one hand still on my skin, moving up and down my front, just teasing, while the other hand reached into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his wallet and dropped it on my stomach. With his free hand he flipped it open then reached inside and pulled out four condoms, still attached to each other. He used his mouth to rip one off the strip, tossed the remaining three on the night stand, then took the one from his mouth and left it right next to my pillow.
“You’ve come prepared,” I said, my voice raspy and a little shaky.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”
“Have you? Two months isn’t a terribly long time to wait.”
His hand moved up to the side of my neck then moved into my hair as his mouth descended on mine again. This was the kiss he’d silently promised me on the pool table and in the car; this kiss was nothing but need and want. Heat and fire. His tongue swiped through my mouth, intent on tasting every piece of me.
Both hands now gripped my shirt and he broke the kiss to pull it over my head. His kiss continued, but moved off my mouth, over my chin, and down my throat. When his mouth stopped between my breasts, his forehead rested against my chest and he uttered quietly, “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”
We were frozen, only his breath moving against my skin now ablaze with his touch.
“Riot,” I finally whispered, unsure how to proceed. His words were huge, they meant something huge, and he’d said them against me. His lips had said those words against my skin. Even the most meaningless sentence became sacred when pressed against skin. So, how could I ignore what I’d heard, what I’d felt him say into me?
“Don’t. Don’t push me away. Don’t use my words against me. Just let me love you the way I want to. You said you’d give me one night. You never said it had to mean nothing.”
He wasn’t looking at me. His face was still pressed against my chest, but I could hear the way his voice was shaking, feel the way his fingers were gripping me a little tighter. My hands went to his hair, running my fingers through it, trying to soothe him even a little.
Riot had never been anything but completely honest with me, and in that moment, I had nothing but honesty for him. He’d earned it and I deserved it. I deserved to have this moment with him where we were both fragile and vulnerable and open.
“Hey,” I said, trying to urge him to look at me by placing my hands on the side of his face. “Look at me.” It took a few seconds, but he eventually brought his eyes to meet mine. “It doesn’t mean nothing.” I whispered. “You’ve never been nothing to me, Riot. You’re so much more than what I’ve lead you to believe.”
He slowly came back to me, kissing me, laying all his weight on me. This was, possibly, our first completely honest kiss; the first time we kissed with no pretense, no bullshit, and no expectations. The first time his lips touched mine and I wasn’t worried about how I was going to forget the way they felt against mine, or how I was going to push him away when things got too deep. No, this was a kiss that communicated exactly how I felt about Riot, and I could feel all of his emotions as well.
He rolled off me, pulling me with him, until we were both lying on our sides and then he started unbuttoning my jeans. This started a sort of domino effect of clothing being removed, and clothes were shed as if a tornado had swept through the room. He was pulling off my pants while I was tugging on his shirt. I was pushing my socks off my feet with my toes while shoving his pants over his hips. With his lips still pressed against mine, I arched my back and reached behind me to unclasp my bra, removing it and tossing it on the floor next to the bed.
Never Standing Still Page 14
