The Idea of You

by Darcy Burke

  “Are you at least going to tell me why you left? Was it something I did?”

  He glanced at her again but couldn’t remotely read her expression. Frustration bunched the muscles in his shoulders. “I, uh, it’s private.”

  “Oh.” She maybe sounded disappointed again.

  “Like the stuff you don’t like talking about,” he said.

  “I see. Well, I’ll leave you alone, then.” She walked forward, and her shoulder caught his bicep. The touch was like a shock of electricity. And it reminded him of the incredible lust he’d felt yesterday afternoon. Why, exactly, had he decided writing Alex’s book was a better idea than doing the dessert date thing with Alaina?

  He pivoted toward her. “Don’t go. Can I show you something?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  He liked her. He felt bad that she was disappointed. He had a yearning in this moment for human connection—both physically and emotionally. And the secret he’d been keeping here was burning a hole in his mind. He suddenly couldn’t contain it anymore, nor did he want to.

  He pulled his keys from his coat pocket and unlocked the door to the cabin. “Come in.”

  She walked past him as he held the door, shooting him an uncertain glance as she went.

  He closed the door behind him and, out of habit, flicked on the space heater in the corner. “This is my office.”

  “Your office. Way out here. I don’t understand.”

  “What’s to understand? I work here.”

  “But you live in a huge house with actual heating.” She looked at the space heater. “Why do you work way out here?”

  “Because I want privacy.”

  “Should I sit down so you can explain this properly, or do you not intend to do that?”

  “See how terrible I am at communicating?” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I work here because I have a secret job. I’m working for my family’s company, only they have no idea it’s me. I used a fake company and a fake name. They never would’ve let me do the job. No one knows I can be creative or artistic. No one but Alex. That’s why I left last night. I’m writing his book. I had an idea, and I just had to work on it. I wasn’t thinking about you or any plans we’d made. I—”

  She held up her hand and shook her head. “Whoa. Stop. I don’t understand. You have a secret job? You’re writing a book? Is that the same thing? Maybe we should sit down together, and you can explain this a little better.” She smiled that famous smile, and it did crazy, ridiculous things to his insides. Things that should set him off, make him uncomfortable. But it made him feel . . . happy.

  He took two steps until he stood directly before her, then he cupped her face and kissed her. Intimate contact was always such a crapshoot if he didn’t explicitly discuss it with the woman he was with. He took a risk picking up on the cues—did she even want him to kiss her? God, he hoped so.

  Her hands gripped his sides through his leather jacket, and he assumed that meant she liked what he was doing. Then her mouth opened beneath his, and he knew she liked it. Because if he were misreading that, he would just have to fucking give up on ever being able to understand.

  He slid his hands back to her nape, cradling her head as they deepened the kiss. Their tongues met, sending sparks sizzling throughout his body. She tightened her hold, her fingers digging into the leather but barely making an impression on him through the layers of clothing.

  His coat wasn’t zipped. He let go of her so he could shrug out of it. The garment fell to the floor, and he put his hands on her again, touching her shoulders, pulling her against him.

  She came eagerly, her chest bumping his and her hands curling around his neck. The kiss, briefly broken by their movements, reignited. Kissing wasn’t something he’d enjoyed the first time he’d tried it, or even the second, but he’d realized he’d had to find the right person. Touching lips and tongues, inviting another person into an intimate space, had been hard for him to get his head around.

  She pulled back and stripped her coat, a puffy down jacket, away.

  “I didn’t used to like kissing,” he said.

  “Really? Why?”

  “It felt . . . gross.”

  She lifted her hand to her mouth. “Oh no, I’m not gross, am I?”

  He shook his head, smiling. “It was the wrong person, I guess.”

  “And I’m the right one? Wait, tell me you’ve kissed more than one other person.”

  “Of course I have.”

  She exhaled. “Good. Not that it matters.” She shook her head. “Why do I think I’m way more experienced than you?”

  “Because you probably are. I didn’t even have my first kiss until I was eighteen and out of high school.”

  “That’s . . . insane. Compared to you, I’m a bit of a tramp!” She laughed, and he realized she was kidding.

  “I wasn’t interested before that. I liked girls, but . . . The whole relationship thing was more than I could handle. It probably still is.”

  She touched his hand, her fingers twining with his. It was a simple gesture, but it was erotic at the same time. He looked down at their hands together, imagined holding her like that as he drove between her legs. A white burst of lust clouded his vision momentarily.

  “Do you want to go?” she asked softly.

  He squeezed her fingers. “No. Do you?” He forced himself to look at her, to see inside of her and allow her to do the same to him.

  She shook her head. “I hear what you’re saying about relationships being hard. They’re hard for me, too. Complicated. I haven’t been with anyone in a couple of years, and I wasn’t looking to change that. But you . . . You’re different. I can’t make promises—”

  “I can’t either.”

  “Then this is damn near perfect, isn’t it?” She wore a plaid button-down shirt and began to undo the buttons. One by one, they opened, and the shirt fell apart, exposing a white camisole. Her breasts pushed up against the top.

  “You’re damn near perfect.”

  She dropped her shirt to the floor and kissed him again, her hands on either side of his head, holding him as she plundered his mouth. He loved the pressure of her touch, the feeling of being wanted as much as he wanted her.

  He pressed his hands against her back, his fingers digging into the skin above her camisole. He moved one down until he felt the swell of her ass through her jeans. He stroked her, then cupped the curve, almost lifting her against him.

  Her pelvis thrust into his, her heat rubbing his erection through their clothing. It was too much. He wanted to feel her bare flesh next to his. He moved his hands back up to her shoulders and pushed her away, breaking the kiss. “Is this what you want?”

  She pulled at the back of his neck. “Yes.” Her mouth found his again, and he curled his hands into her flesh.

  She backed up toward the couch he had against the far wall. “There’s a couch behind me, right?” she asked between kisses.

  “Mmm-hmmm.” He pulled up her camisole and yanked it over her head before tossing it behind him.

  She released his neck and sank down on the couch. “My boots.” She unzipped one and worked it off.

  He watched, unable for a moment to get his brain to work. She was already on the second boot before he knelt to help her take it off. She wore polka-dotted fuzzy socks pulled up over her skinny jeans. But she quickly stripped them from her feet and threw them aside. She wiggled her toes, and he snapped his head up to see her grinning at him.

  She reached for his shirt. “You have too many clothes on.”

  Before she could grasp the hem, he pulled it up over his head and threw it away. Then he kicked his shoes off and brought his knees up, one at a time, so he could dispose of his socks.

  He unbuttoned his jeans, but her voice stopped him. “Uh-uh. Let me.”

  Her hands came around his thighs, and she tugged him toward the couch. She pushed his hands aside and finished what he’d started, pulling his zipper down, then dragging
the jeans over his hips. He arced toward her, his hips moving almost of their own volition.

  She cupped him through his underwear, her warm palm cradling his stiff shaft. He closed his eyes, almost unable to bear the sensation. It wasn’t new, and yet it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  Then he was aware of her slipping his underwear down, her fingers grazing his ass and then skimming along his thighs as she stripped them away. When they hit his ankles, he kicked them free.

  Her breath gusted over his cock as her hand closed around his balls, lightly squeezing. Then her lips caressed the tip, and he thought he was going to explode.

  “Alaina.” He gritted the word between his teeth. It was all he could manage. Words—coherent thought—escaped him as she slid her tongue along his length and drew him into her mouth. Her jaw dropped, and she swallowed, allowing him deeper than he’d ever thought it was possible to go. He’d had blow jobs from Michelle and honestly hadn’t enjoyed them all that much. The feeling was too intense, the orgasm hard but fleeting.

  But Alaina did it differently. She sucked him slowly, deeply, her tongue working a magic he’d never dreamed existed, her hand working his balls and the base of his cock in a way Michelle had never done.

  His muscles tightened as the pleasure built. All of his nerves thrummed, and his senses were laid almost painfully bare. Almost was the key—it felt amazing. Everything was heightened, but not so that he was overwhelmed.

  Then again, he hadn’t orgasmed yet.

  Damn, he wanted to. Blood rushed to his cock, and he tensed. “Alaina, stop.”

  He’d wound his hands into her hair at some point and now pulled her away from him. He looked down at her dark blonde head, wishing that he’d watched her suck him. Next time . . . if he was that lucky.

  She tipped her head up, and her eyes were dark—more brown than green. “Too much?” Her voice had dropped to a sultry tone. And her lips were dark pink and moist. It took a monumental effort not to slide himself back into her mouth and fuck her.

  Instead, he pushed her back onto the couch and went to kneel between her legs.

  “Wait.” She tugged her camisole over her head, revealing a white lacy bra that pushed her breasts up and created a snug cleavage he could easily slip his cock into. Michelle liked when he did that. Would Alaina?

  He had a hard time keeping up with her—she was already shimmying out of her jeans. He rushed to help, pulling at the legs until the garment slid free. He dropped them to the floor with the growing pile and then stared at her white lacy underwear. She was perfectly formed, her hip bones jutting at a sexy angle and her smooth thighs curving just the right amount. An image of thrusting into her seared into his brain. And stopped him cold.

  He stood next to the couch and stared at her concave stomach. “I don’t have any condoms. At least, not here.”

  “We should use one,” she said.

  He turned, intending to find his underwear. “I can be back in about twenty minutes.”

  She stroked his hip and pressed into his flesh until he swung back around. “Or, I could finish what I started.”

  Without giving him a chance to answer, she braced one hand on his thigh and wrapped the other around his cock. Her lips opened over him, and this time he watched as she sucked him into her mouth.

  She held his shaft tight as her tongue slid over and around him. The pressure of her hand on his thigh increased, and she shifted it back so that she grasped his hip and urged him to thrust into her mouth. The sound of her lips and tongue working combined with the moans originating in his throat created an erotic concert that intensified his pleasure.

  Again, she cupped his balls, massaging them and squeezing just the right amount to amplify every sensation. He typically felt when his orgasm was building, but it was suddenly upon him. He gripped her head, unsure if he should pull out but ultimately unable to do anything but pulse into her hot, wet mouth.

  He let out a low, guttural cry as he pumped into her. She didn’t release him. In fact, she only clasped him tighter, her hand slipping around to his ass and keeping him from withdrawing too far. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

  When he was finished, her touch gentled, and she let him go. He opened his eyes and looked down to see her wiping the edge of her lips and sitting back on the couch. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated. His gaze dipped to her breasts.

  He knelt before the couch, pushing her legs open wider so he could position himself between them. He put his hands on her breasts, stroking them through her bra. She leaned her head back against the couch and exhaled a sexy sigh. He slipped his hands into the cups and rubbed his thumbs over the hardened peaks of her nipples. With a deft skill he was surprised he possessed, he edged the cups down, freeing her breasts over the top of the bra.

  The globes filled his hands, their smooth, pale gold silk a balm to his shuddering nerves. That had been one hell of an orgasm. But instead of languid, he felt energized and was eager to see if she would respond the same way if he gave her what she’d given him.

  He leaned forward and drew her nipple into his mouth. It was pebbled and stiff where the rest of her was soft and smooth. He squeezed her flesh and suckled her harder. She gasped as her fingers wove into his hair.

  “Oh my God. Evan.”

  He pulled on her other nipple while he used his mouth on the first one. She rose against him, her breasts pushing into his fingers and tongue as he worked. Good, she liked it.

  He moved his hand down over her rib cage, skimming her heated flesh with his palm. He felt her warmth through the thin fabric of her underwear and pressed against her. She came off the couch, her hips thrusting up into his touch.

  Sometimes he was clumsy, awkward. He didn’t want that to happen now. He looked down at her thighs and tugged at the underwear. She shimmied her hips until he pulled them far enough down her legs. Then he stripped them away and really looked at her. She was almost completely bare. It was . . . odd. He’d seen that before, just not in person.

  “What?”

  Her question broke into his thoughts.

  “Just looking. You’re different.” He grazed his fingertip over the smooth skin. She jerked at his touch and let out a soft moan. He stroked the other side, learning the feel of her. “I like it. Feels like velvet.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “This seems like it ought to be the strangest conversation ever, but you’re actually turning me on even more.”

  It was turning him on, too. His cock was hardening again already. He pushed her thighs further apart, exposing her, and ran his thumbs down her cleft. Her fingertips dug into his flesh as she moaned again.

  He slowly slid his finger into her wet sheath.

  She thrust up from the couch. “Evan.”

  He held one of her hips while he worked his finger in and out of her with long, deliberate strokes. He was fascinated watching her and listening to the noises she made. Her grip on his shoulder tightened as he stroked into her.

  “More. Please.”

  More . . . More fingers? Something else? He wasn’t sure what she wanted, but he knew what he wanted. “You’ll have to tell me if this isn’t what you mean. I respond best to explicit instructions.”

  He lowered his mouth to her and replaced his finger with his tongue. Her answering cry sounded like a good thing. He clasped her hip and licked her flesh, his senses overwhelmed with her taste and scent and that damn smooth skin.

  Her hips began to move in a distinct rhythm, and her other hand tangled in his hair. “Yes.”

  Definitely good, then.

  He went deeper with his tongue and used his lips to suckle her. She moved faster, her muscles tightening. “Your finger . . . again.” Her voice was high, breathless almost.

  He slid his finger into her and pumped, giving her what she’d asked for. There was just the tiniest patch of light brown hair at the top. Just beneath it was her clitoris. He used his other hand to press on the nub. Her muscles clenched
around him, and she gripped him even more frantically, her fingers scoring into his shoulder and the back of his neck. He felt a rush of wetness and put his mouth on her to lap up the sweetness. She was delicious.

  She fucked his mouth and hand with a wild frenzy. He worked to keep up, stroking her with hard, fast thrusts and suckling her clit until he felt her orgasm begin to subside.

  When she settled back against the couch, he relented. Her thighs quivered on either side of him as he lifted his head. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slack.

  He skidded his fingertips along her thigh as he stood and began to dress. When he was pulling his jeans on, he noticed her eyes had opened and she was watching him.

  He found her underwear and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She sat up and pulled them on. “That was . . . fantastic.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “Any chance we can try that again with a condom?”

  He pulled his shirt over his head. “Sounds fun.”

  She touched his hand, and he glanced down at her. She’d readjusted her bra to cover her breasts and was wearing underwear again. “I can’t tell if you really enjoyed that. I get that you’re . . . different, that showing your emotions doesn’t always come naturally. And you said I should be explicit. So can you tell me how that made you feel?”

  He looked away from her. “It was incredible. I’d like to do it again.”

  She stood up from the couch and grinned at him. “Good. Me, too.” She retrieved her clothing and began to dress. “I’m not sure I understand your secret job. This is your office . . . where you write?”

  “No. I mostly write back at the house. I do design work here.” His gaze flicked to the three large computer monitors set up on the desk. “I don’t want anyone to walk in on me working on that back at the house, so I set this office up out here. Plus, I like to have visual inspiration.” He gestured to the large cork bulletin boards on two of the walls. They were filled with logos, drawings, words, and some of his favorite Star Trek memes.

  “I get it.” She was now fully dressed, save her socks and boots. She sat back down on the couch to pull them on. “I love the memes, by the way. Is Star Trek: The Next Generation your favorite? Since your cat is named after the captain.”