Something’s happening.
Pleasure jostles this way and that inside of me like a wild amusement park ride gone off the tracks. It’s dizzying, all consuming, a bit frightening. It takes me up so high and I completely lose control, screaming his name, on the way down.
Reuben moves onto the bed next to me, holding me to him as the sensations screaming in my blood subside. He kisses me, long and slow, easing me into a gentle landing.
I pull away, still breathless. “Reuben…”
He smiles. It’s a happy smile. Not smug or conceited. Just happy. Like my pleasure satisfies him in some primal way. “I want to fuck you now, Isla.”
Swallowing hard, I nod as he pulls a condom out of the bedside drawer and rolls over to pull it down his length. I move up to the center of the bed and he crawls over me. He stares down into my face, brushing hair away from my brow before guiding himself into me.
I close my eyes against the onslaught of pleasure. He begins to move inside of me. Deep, tender thrusts. He pushes in so far that his pelvis presses into mine. I love his girth, his hardness, his length pushing all the way to the limit. I love the stretch, the burn. And now, he’s gaining speed and force. Fucking me hard. He still wants to please me the way he did when he ate my pussy, but now, some of this is for him, too. I see it in the lines on his forehead, I hear it in his grunts. “So. Good. Isla.” He says between blunt thrusts. “So. Fucking. Good.”
I grip his forearms and my fingers dig into his skin. Words come out of my mouth. Begging words. Pleading words. He pulls my legs up around his neck and he bears down, pumping me so hard. I lean up, curving my neck and bite his perfect nipple.
A deep moan spills from his mouth and he jerks roughly inside of me. I gasp sharply as an unexpected orgasm begins to unravel inside of me.
“I’m coming!” I yelp in surprise.
He fists the sheets, fucking me hard enough to push my skull into the headboard. My arms loop around the back of his head, my legs clench around his neck. My whole body shivers as I succumb to a pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. And right then, he comes too, his body going rigid over mine as his release pulses into me.
He finally collapses next to me, landing atop the sheets. His breath is still coming in heavy spurts. “That was – you’re one hell of a woman, Cinnamon.” He pulls me closer, his fingers curling in my hair as he presses his lips to my scalp.
I smile to myself. I’ve never felt so satisfied. Every part of me feels soft and relaxed and feminine. Every part of me is sensitive to the touch.
I should probably get up. Slide back into my jeans and my coat and go home. But I tuck myself deeper into his embrace, rocking against his semi-hard length. This feels so damn good.
Chapter 6
Reuben
A loud bang jolts me awake.
I blink a few times, trying to situate myself. Through my blurred vision, I spy the gorgeous redhead frozen mid-tiptoe in front of the door with her jacket slung over one arm, boots tucked under the other. That’s when last night comes flooding back to me.
The hot yoga chick. I saw her at the Opal Lounge with her friends while I was tending the bar. I sent a bottle of champagne over to their table. She came to the bar and next thing I know, we were dancing and kissing, then she was leaving with me. I fucked her until we both collapsed in exhausted bliss and then she fell asleep in my arms.
Now, the little minx is trying to sneak out.
“Isla?” I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I can’t see her face in the dark room, the purple-gray hue of dawn still coloring the sky. I flick on the lamp.
She cringes visibly, shoulders hunched, still frozen, still facing the door.
" Isla. Look at me."
On a heavy sigh, she pivots slowly on her heel. “Sorry,” she mumbles apologetically. “Dropped my phone.” That explains the loud bang.
I try not to chuckle. “Glad you did or you would have run out on me.” Which is pointless since you work next door to the damn coffee shop.
She sighs. “I’ve gotta go,” she says curtly. “I teach a seniors’ yoga class in two hours and I need to go deal with some administrative stuff and –”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“Six-thirty.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pad toward her, naked as the day I was born. "You don't have to leave yet." Fully disheveled and smelling like sex, she's even more beautiful than she was last night. My eyes register her every twitch, her every movement, every freckle on her skin because something tells me she’s going to resist the idea of seeing me again. “Sure you can’t stay for breakfast? I’ll order room service.” I waggle my eyebrows.
But she doesn’t notice because her crystalline eyes are glued to my morning wood.
“Isla!”
Her eyes snap to mine. One corner of my mouth tips up smugly. I totally don’t mind being objectified right now.
“Breakfast?”
She shakes her head vigorously, taking a step back. “No. I’m sorry.” She reaches for the door handle.
“Dinner, then? There’s this little place at Kennedy Square –”
She cuts me off. “Reuben! No!” Her eyes dart away and she releases a heavy breath. “Look, last night was…it was…it was everything. And I really don’t mean to be rude because you seem like a great guy –”
I lift a lock of her silky hair off of her shoulder. “But?”
“But, but... I'm paying alimony to my idiot ex-husband, my business hardly makes enough to keep the lights on and I'm literally holding my car together with duct tape. Scratch that, I’m holding my life together with duct tape.”
I chuckle. “Is any of that supposed to scare me off?” I lean over her, resting one forearm on the door above her head and looking down at her. My other hand is still in her hair.
I’m obsessed with that cinnamon-red hair. And those ocean blue eyes. And those cotton-soft lips.
She spits out a humorless laugh. “I don’t have time to date. I’m in survival mode. My focus is on just making it till next week.”
I look her straight in the face, determined as fuck. “I don’t care. I want to see you again.” It’s as simple as that.
She closes her eyes for a moment. I witness the battle between resisting and giving in as it's being waged in that pretty, little head of hers. “You’ve probably got tons of college girls lining up for breakfast or dinner or brunch or whatever.”
“Where do you get the idea that I’m in college?” She's alluded to this before. It's time to set this straight.
She eyes me closely. “You aren’t in college?”
“No, I’m not in college.”
She ducks under my arm and leans her weight on the edge of the table by the door to slide her boots on, one after the other. “Well regardless. There’s no room for ‘breakfast’ or ‘dinner’ or whatever in my life. I’m busy. And overwhelmed. I need to focus on me right now. Sorry.”
“Isla…”
She pulls the door open as she slides into her coat. “I’m sorry, Reuben. I can't.”
"Wait!" I grab the stationary on the table and scribble down my number again. I fold the paper in my palm and get closer to her. She doesn't back away. She actually purrs and curves her spine, her breasts skimming my chest. I smooth my hands over the curve of her hip, down her ass until both hands slide into the back pockets of her jeans. I leave my number there.
"Reuben. Please," she says weakly.
I pinch her ass softly, lowering my face to hers. "Just in case you change your mind."
She glares at me for an instant but I don’t even flinch. A smile finally manages to split those lips. Eventually, she climbs onto her toes and presses her mouth to my cheek. "Alphahole." She doesn't see my smirk. She lingers there for a while and when she finally pulls away, our eyes hold for a long moment.
Then, she turns and walks out the door.
I let her go. For now. Because she doesn't know I've already made u
p my mind. I’ve got to have her.
She's already mine.
Chapter 7
Isla
"Now feel awareness slowly returning to your body. Feel it moving in your toes, your feet, your ankles...Feel it in your calves, your knees, your thighs...Feel it swirling in the hollow of your belly, your chest, your throat...In your shoulders, your arms, your hands, your face...Now slowly open your eyes."
I gaze out into the candlelit room. Six pairs of groggy eyelids lift to greet me. Each of my students looks perfectly relaxed and satiated. Damn, I wish I could feel like that. All I feel is anxiety.
These six-person yoga classes aren’t going to solve my financial woes. I need to figure out how to draw bigger crowds and fill up the empty space around the room.
And I have bigger problems, still. The weather forecast is calling for rain in a few hours which means that the roof will probably start leaking. Of course, when the roof leaks, I have to cancel my classes because no one wants dirty rainwater dripping onto their ass while they're bent in downward dog.
I briefly consider calling the landlord again but he's been grumpy and petulant because I'm late on my rent. Besides, the last time I mentioned the hole in the roof, he had cut the conversation short, telling me that he’s planning to sell the building and that the new guy would deal with it.
Basically, a not-so-polite fuck-off.
I'm stuck in a self-perpetuating cycle because if I keep having to cancel classes, I'll never catch up on my rent. And if I don’t catch up on rent, that asshole will never fix the roof. My impending bankruptcy is so close I can almost taste it.
Now is not the time to worry about that, Isla. You have a class in session.
I rein in my thoughts and address my students. "Clasp your hands at heart center and breathe out in one long exhale." I press my palms together, pointing my thumbs against my sternum and exhaling long and loud. My students follow my lead just as the last notes of the harmonic instrumental filling the room play out. "May you find peace in your mind...peace in your heart...peace in the world. Namaste. Thank you, everyone." I bow reverently, signaling the end of the class.
Moments later, everyone has folded their mats and gathered their belongings. They shuffle toward the exit.
My eyes catch on Fiona's and she grins widely. She obviously hasn’t forgotten what she witnessed last night. Heat prickles my slutty, little cheeks. "We'll talk," she says with a conspiratorial wink on her way to the door.
Uh - no we won't.
Before I can protest, she dips into the hallway, catching up with her girlfriends. They all flash me smiles that mirror Fiona's.
The whole town is talking about my sexual exploits. Great!
And on top of that, I had to avoid Herbivore this morning. Yes – my coffee tank is running on empty. Because Reuben's not satisfied with the one night we spent together. No, he wants to date me. Is he crazy?
Yes, last night was good. Amazing, actually. The best damn sex I've ever had. (There, I said it. Happy now?) But it was a fluke, right? Last night was a booze-fuelled, get-it-out-of-our-systems, one-time-only, sex-a-thon fluke. Being with him doesn't always feel that good? It can't. It's impossible.
He said it himself; lightning rarely strikes twice. And last night was definitely lightning, it was thunder, it was a tsunami of pleasure that battered me, wave after overwhelming wave. But I've got to put it out of my mind. I'm just not in the mental space to become emotionally involved with a guy like him right now. I have to focus on myself if I'm ever going to dig myself out of the hole I'm in.
I step out into the doorway to see the last of my clients off. Blakely sits behind the reception desk assisting some women and their children who are early for my mommy and baby yoga class. Her eyes catch mine and she gestures subtly toward the waiting area. I follow her gaze and there he is, leaning against the wall, feet crossed at the ankles, eyes glued to the screen of his phone.
My throat goes dry just as each of the nerve endings in my stomach come to life.
He glances over and sees me. Purpose and determination spark in his eyes as he scans my figure from top to bottom. "Isla!" A muted smile plays on his lips.
My mind immediately travels to the way those lips felt kissing every inch of my skin last night, to the way those lips growled my name in pleasure. The tingles in my belly intensify.
"Hello Reuben." I stand immobile in the doorframe as I watch him snatch two paper cups from the small wooden table next to him.
He straightens and faces me, looking like he just finished a photo shoot for Levi's in his classic-cut dark jeans cuffed over beat-up brown oxfords, tanned leather jacket open down the front to reveal the thin V-neck jersey beneath and that casual swagger of a man who's used to getting anything he wants.
He moves toward me with panther-like grace, stretching one of the cups to me. "Medium hazelnut soy latte with two sugars on the side...and a dash of cinnamon, of course." Looking exceedingly proud of himself, he places two brown sugar packets with a stir stick on top of the plastic lid and winks.
I take the coffee, forcing back a smile. Why does he have to be so charming? "Thank you."
He walks right past me into the empty yoga studio where a couple of candles are still burning bright from the class that just ended. I watch silently as he goes to examine the Hindu deity statutes lining the windowsill. "How's your day going, Isla?" He focuses his intense, brown-eyed gaze on me and my nerve endings prickle with awareness.
Turning away to maintain my composure, I glance out at the heavy rainclouds. "I'm trying to keep an optimistic outlook. All things considered." I sit my latte on the ledge of the window and lift the lid off the cup, emptying the sugar packets inside.
"That's a good philosophy." He takes a long, purposeful sip of his own coffee.
A heavy silence fills the air and I watch the motion of his Adam's apple as he swallows. What a beautiful man. So chiselled and strong yet polished and sophisticated. And his confidence makes my heart race in a deliriously excited way. And don't get me started about his hands, those fingers that danced rhythmically inside of m—
"Aren't you going to ask how my day's going?"
I smirk, shaking my head determinedly. "Nope."
He laughs. "Well, that's just bad manners."
"Not necessarily."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm fully invested in preserving your mystique."
"My mystique?" he questions with a hitched brow, his thumbnail rubbing along his dimpled chin.
"Yes, you're the handsome, enigmatic stranger who seduced me in my moment of vulnerability and gifted me with countless orgasms from which I have yet to recover," I muse in a playful but regally dignified tone. I take a sip of my latte. "Damn, this is good." Hot and sweet with just enough foam, the addictive taste of caffeine and the heavenly fragrance of hazelnut. This coffee boy's got skills. I lift the cup in salute to him.
He laughs again. God, I love the sound. "Y'know, I wouldn't be such an enigma if you'd just go on a damn date with me."
I shake my head, lust burning a path up my chest. "I'm sorry, Reuben. I just...can't."
His face steels with determination. He's not about to give up just yet. "You said it yourself; I'm handsome as fuck and the sex blew your mind. Plus, I make your froufrou coffee just the way you like it," he says smugly, "So what's the problem?"
My attraction to him definitely isn't the problem. He's gorgeous. Plus, he's funny and being around him just generally makes me feel good on the inside. But now isn't a great time for me to be jumping into a new relationship.
I brush tendrils of hair out of my face, exhaling roughly. "My divorce is messy. And my business is in trouble," I admit. "I really just need to focus on fixing everything that's broken in my life."
He seems to interpret that as a challenge. His shoulders straighten and arrogance lights up his eyes. "Maybe I can help you, Isla." Then he lowers his voice. "...I want to be friends...with benefits that aren't purely sexual."
/> My blood heats in my veins. "What does that mean?"
"I want to fuck you some more," he says easily, "but I also enjoy your company. I want more of that, too."
My heart stampedes in my chest and I think I’m getting light-headed. "Trust me, you really don't." Poor guy has no idea what he's getting into.
"Why?" he challenges, setting his paper cup on the windowsill as he turns his full body toward me and wraps a strand of my hair around his finger.
I ignore the sensation tickling each of my vertebrae in turn. "My life is so complicated right now," I whisper as he moves even closer. “If they made a movie about my life, 99 Problems by Jay-Z would be the theme song.” The temptation to wrap my arms around him is so strong. But it wouldn't be right.
Dirty Stranger (The Dirty Suburbs Book 3) Page 5
