by Dakota Gray
Except Nate's fingers dig into my hips. Goose bumps ride up my arms as the weight of him shifts into me when he sits up. Time stops as I close my eyes in hopes I can catch my breath and remember I'm alive. I'm more than a fact. I'm tendons that stretch and flex and give when he holds me. I'm soft, wet and tight as his breath brushes along me since he's so close. I'm not grief but flesh and bone and alive.
His fingertips rasp against my stomach as his hold tightens again on my waist. “Look at me,” he murmurs.
I can't. I need to be cold to get through to the next moment. I can't be here with him while thinking about her.
It's me and him.
Him and me.
Just us.
Air rushes in at the soft caress along my mouth. It's his cheek. He's so close.
I open my eyes. Worry paints Nathan's face pale. It's drawn stark lines in his forehead. I don't think he's breathing either until I hold his gaze a second longer.
My phone buzzes, and the unexpected jolt is what I needed to snap the fuck out of it.
“My ride's here.”
He continues to hold fast to me.
I almost crumbled in front of him. I need to go. I should make my escape before the next question breaks me. I push his hands away and damn near run for the door. He catches me at the threshold. His arms feel like a vice as he turns me around to face him.
The next second feels like the longest of my life before he asks, “Am I going to have to hunt you down to see you again?”
Relief whooshes through my head like a high. I laugh, dizzy at the bullet I just dodged. “Stalking isn't healthy.”
“You went to a club for how many days until I showed up?”
“I'm clearly speaking from experience.”
He glares down at me. Nate's smart. He has to be able to see how broken I am. He has to know. Maybe that's why the pissed off stare shifts to something much more tender. Tears prick at my eyes and I pray for a stiff wind to dry them before they can fall.
“Robyn,” he says, and sighs.
I bow my head when he says my name again, so softly if we weren't inches apart I would have missed it. “Don't. Don't be soft with me because you think...whatever it is you're thinking.”
He steps forward though he drops his hands from my arms. I try to shrug off the tension buzzing between us. “You know where to find me, at least on a Monday.”
I hesitate, but then rise to the tips of my toes and kiss him. His hands remain at his sides like he's telling himself not to touch me back. This kiss is more for me than him. He's letting me have it and still my stomach tilts at his taste filling my mouth. Seconds later, I stop hurting myself with it.
His jaw flexes, and even his gaze goes flat. “I'll see you, Sugar.”
Raw pain slams into me and I want to push back. I want to make him pay for that. I lean back to give him my best fuck-you glare and then his mouth is on mine again. Hungry. So damn hungry for me. His fingernails scrape at the back of my neck he's holding me so tight.
This isn't healthy, whatever we are, but I fall into the kiss as my heart races. I can feel it. Every beat.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROBYN
It's Monday. It's Starbucks. I don't relax until Nate walks in. I do my best to pretend like I don't see him, but how can I miss him? He's sporting khakis and another polo shirt—blue like his eyes. If I didn't know what the man could do in bed, I'd be fooled into thinking he's respectable.
“Earth to Robyn.”
“Sorry.” I finish my chai latte and focus on Samantha. It's been a few days since we updated each other on our lives. There are pressing questions a friend must ask. “So how was Elton?”
“Don't try and change the subject.” Said as my friend turns cherry red.
I gasp. I'd been poking fun at her. “You had sex with him?”
“Maybe.”
I've known her long enough. I waggle my brows. “How was it?”
“Pretty decent.”
That means it was fantastic. “Are you going to see him again?”
The flush deepens. “Maybe.”
“You are.” I do a little bow-chica-wow-wow dance in the chair. “Get you some.”
She presses a hand to her face. “If you don't stop, I'm leaving.”
“Fine,” I say in airy tone. “Be that way.”
She laughs, and I love the way her hazel eyes light up. “Are we still on for Friday?”
I let her off the hook. Relationships are still a touch-and-go kind of subject for her. I'm not going to push this. “Yeah. Mom finalized all the plans on Dad's retirement party. She calls me at least once a day complaining about him calling her all the time now.”
“She loves him.”
“Don't say that in front of her. She might give him the look and I still like to believe they found me in a cabbage patch.”
“Now I'm going to have to. Anyway, I'll bring the wine and my sunny disposition.”
“Appreciated. Mostly because wine.”
Samantha plays with the straw in her half-empty Frappuccino. “Are you bringing a date to your dad's retirement party?”
I deserve that for teasing her. My gaze tracks to Nate. His brows are furrowed as he works on his computer. For all I know he's playing the stock market. Or contacting his investment banker. It's not porn. I've seen that furrow before, when he worked on my computer. Nate is a man of many faces, many different talents and personas. “I thought you were the one to say don't fall for the fuckboy. Bringing him as a date is kind of fell-for-him nonsense.”
“I also didn't expect him to show up on our Mondays either, but look at where he is. Just waiting for you. That's cute.”
I can't think like that. “He wants to fuck me again.”
“And vice versa.”
“Yes,” I snap back and then sigh. “Sorry.”
Samantha purses her lips. “I think it's interesting. That's all I'm observing.”
Interesting is one word for us. “The last time I saw him he gave me the brush off.”
I leave out how much it gut-punched me. Or that he appeared as confused and conflicted as I was. Calling me Sugar was an effort to end whatever the hell we are. Those are things I barely want to think about myself, let alone tell someone. That would make it too real and inescapable.
I sigh. “I don't know why he's here.”
“Back up.” She holds up her hand to stop me. “He gave you a brush off?”
“He called me Sugar.”
Samantha's face blanks. “I don't get it.”
“It's his thing to distance himself.”
“And yet here he is.” Samantha dramatically puts her mouth to the straw and sips. She smacks her lips. “Like I said, interesting.”
“We're a train wreck.”
“And I can't stop watching.”
I mull over the situation from every angle. A part of me had been relieved when I thought Nate and I were over. I wouldn't have to confront the unease, the questions cropping up in the back of my mind.
I wouldn't have to pretend Loraine's death didn't steal a part of me. I could crawl back into that protective shell. I can't do that when I'm around Nate, and he's so not safe. Why the fuck did I ever think he was?
“With that said...” Samantha stands. “...I have to go make cake.”
“Oh, can you make the red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing for Friday?”
“I can squeeze them in.”
“Bless you.”
She pauses. “Don't beat yourself up, Robyn.” Another pause, this one longer. “I like you. That's why we're friends. I like this version of you even more. You...when you laugh now, it's in your eyes too.”
She doesn't offer another goodbye. She lays waste to me with a simple observation and walks out. Goddamn friends.
Once she's gone, it doesn't take long for Nate to close his laptop and get me another drink. He slides into the chair Samantha vacated. He holds my gaze and takes a long, long drink from my tea before he gives i
t to me.
This is why I haven't been able to walk away. He wrests control, and I have to get it back.
“Where do you plan to fuck me today?” I take the cup and put my mouth exactly where he had his.
He tilts his head up, his gaze darkening and his jaw tightening. It's not anger. I know because I've seen him look at me like this before too. It's lust. If we were at his place he'd throw me on the nearest flat surface and pound into me.
Instead of replying, he shifts to the side and drops an envelope on the table between us. I don't know what it could be so I take a cautious peek. Inside is a stack of twenties. I don't have to count the bills to know it's the two thousand dollars I paid him for my computer.
I take the money and swallow every question I have. Did he save all his money from his stripping days? Is that why he can be unemployed and live comfortably, almost recklessly?
But Nate is my fuckboy and those questions don't matter. He gives me a slight nod as though to say “good girl.” It shouldn't turn me on. My nipples don't agree.
“There's a movie theater around the corner,” he says. “We'll do foreplay.”
His mouth is a phantom along my skin. I squeeze my thighs at the sudden ache throbbing in my clit. There's no way I can win today's battle of wills if he keeps this up. He gives me a smirk, likely plucking the thought right out of my head.
I hate him.
I hate myself for wanting him.
I can't let him touch me without taking my own pound of flesh first. How, though, when Nate seems to have absolutely no guile? There's no ulterior motive behind any of his actions. He's here because he wants me spread eagle on his bed.
I tilt my head and let my gaze rove over every line on his face. His scar stares back at me. I doubt the army promised him a limitless supply of pussy. He went because going mattered.
No. I can't poke at that again. I swallow the sigh. The art of winning any war is to know more about your opponent. The obvious is his fetish. In this case, how can Nate turn any woman inside out with just his mouth?
I shake my head at the foreplay offer and say, “I'm curious.”
“And?”
“How did you know you were different?”
The way he leans back in the chair makes me think the question has caught him off guard.
“You know that child's game of one of these things is not like the other? That's how. Boys talk. They brag. Under eighteen about ninety percent of the stories are lies, but by twenty, I was still a virgin, and I started to understand myself better.”
Nate was a virgin at twenty? I almost don't believe him, but why would he lie about that? “You weren't looking forward to the deed?”
He rests his forearms on the table. “I was looking forward to it, but I got off more at the thought of licking a woman.”
“And then?”
“I got to.”
I shake my head as I laugh. “You're such a simple man.” He's pulled me in as usual. I edge forward, bracing my forearms on the table. “Your cravings seem insistent. How did you navigate that?”
A big laugh bursts out of him, and the sound is so warm it feels like sunlight. “I was seventeen, in the Bible belt.”
My mouth betrays me with a smile. “This is not going to end well, is it?”
“My girlfriend at the time let me get to third base. She comes, we stop. She's getting dressed. The bra and shirt goes on first.”
I put my hands to my forehead cringing for him. “This so does not end well.”
“She's looking for her panties, and I pretend I haven't seen them. I'm a shit liar. Fast forward a week, she's not my girlfriend, and there's a rumor running around that I'm a panty thief. To be fair, I was.”
There's enough somberness in his tone that I drop my hands. He's playing the story for laughs, but having a kink at a young age couldn't have been easy. Much harder when living in a small town.
“I'm sure my mother heard something, and by then I'm sure it's the cross-dressing rumor, because after school one day my father comes into my room. He's not a heart-to-heart guy. He served in Vietnam and called it a hard-to-win disagreement.”
Nate went to war just like his father had. “He sounds solid.”
He pushes his shoulders back at the compliment, sitting a little straighter like I've reminded him of something.
And this is the first time you've spoken about him.
I think back to the pictures in his living room. There could have been two or three pictures of a man who resembled Nate that my gaze skipped over. I should have paid closer attention.
Nate spreads his hands out. “He lays things out for me. No matter where I go, my life is going to be tough. If I'm lucky, I'll find people like me who won't treat me like a pariah. He unrolls these articles and pamphlets about living as queer, trans or cross-dressing. I know he's had to drive to Atlanta to get some of these.”
That's the kind of man who raised Nate? I swallow, too scared to ask for more. This is not the story I expected when I asked him about his love of eating pussy.
And yet I have to know how it ends. “What were you thinking?”
“I'm thinking, will I die or just break a bone if I jump out the window? Pops is about to talk about sex, in detail.”
My laugh escapes and it’s loud. “What did you decide to do?”
“As calm as I could, while screaming on the inside, I tell him I just wanted some real life aroma when I jacked off.”
I laugh again, and he smiles back at me.
“I admitted to swiping panties to sniff to avoid a long talk about how to make anal sex safe. I don't care how much you're into it, no one is ready for that conversation with their father.”
“I don't know,” I say. “I think you had a fair chance with the window.”
His chin goes up when he laughs really hard. The small move exposes his Adam's apple, makes his blue eyes seem brighter, his scar deeper. And the sound? His laugh is as rich as the most decadent dessert. It's so fucking unfair.
“I played sports,” he says, the laugh fading. Though a warm smile remains to punch me in the heart. “Couldn't take the chance.”
And that's the end of his origin story. He stole panties. His mama heard about it, and like a teammate calling on her MVP, wrangles his father to have The Talk. His father stepped up.
Nate made the sad, poignant story fun, but still... Had he loved licking the backs of knees with the same intensity he has for fellatio, he'd be an outcast. Everyone, I don't care how confident, has to worry about being accepted at some point in their lives.
“Did you, though?” I ask.
“Did I what?”
“Find people who didn't make you feel like a pariah?”
His gaze is somber when he meets my eyes. “Sometimes.”
Now what did you learn about your opponent, Robyn?
Everything and nothing.
“Any more curious questions?” he asks me.
Do I need to know just how fucked I am when it comes to him? “No, Nate.”
He brushes his fingertip over my knuckles. “Who made it hard for you to trust?”
Blindsided, I straighten, but it's a fair question. Hell, I opened the door for him to ask it. “My first.”
This time when his jaw pulls taut, there's no mistaking it for anything but anger. “What did he do?”
My stomach clenches and I try to push the story out of my too tight throat. I can't get it out. I swallow and try again. “He was a bad Dom.”
Nate, army Nathan notches his head back. “How bad?”
“He didn't listen when I said my safeword.” I drop my gaze. “Humiliation was his kink, not mine.”
The way Nate's demeanor softens makes me think he can read the story without me saying a word. I'm sure of it when his blue irises darken. But the story is a cliché. Young woman falls in love and man breaks her heart. She's never the same.
Lawrence and I had met at a BDSM mixer. The kind that's detailed in my favorite romance novels.
I was dressed up for the part of submissive, nervous but eager. He was tall, rangy and seemed to exude a quiet power that would make any woman want to test. I did. Again and again and again. Every time he dragged me to the very edge of who I thought I was and showed me who I could be if I let go. Each time he dominated me, my thoughts, and my actions.
After a year of playing that push and pull game with him there wasn't a part of me that didn't trust him. Trust that had been earned. So when Lawrence and I made plans to have an exhibitionism scene, I was ecstatic. The idea of being watched had turned me on and I had thought I was safe with him. Had. The problem began when the two men we had agreed to be there invited friends. Lawrence encouraged them all to openly comment on my body.
In the heat of the moment, I don't mind a ‘dirty slut’ or even a ‘cunt’ every now and again. But it wasn't. And it wasn't being said by a man I loved or cared for. People who didn't know stuff like ‘black whore’ wasn't okay with me. I said my safeword, and he egged them on to spank me for giving up.
The man I thought I could trust had let other people demean me and encouraged the byplay to get his rocks off. The man I let myself be open with had disregarded my only safeguard when a line was crossed. Worse, Lawrence hadn't just been perfect on paper. Yes, he loved humiliation and I wanted very little to do with it, but what couples line up with every fantasy? We meshed, he pushed me and I pushed him. We were good together. How could I not see that he could do something like that to me?
But what do they say? You can't ever really know a person and I learned about Lawrence the hard way. It could have been worse and still it should have never happened. I left Lawrence and the lifestyle that night. It's why I prefer control because giving it up requires trust.
The point of my woe-is-me rambling is that I know the big difference between sex and sex that tears you apart and your partner helps put you together again.
Nate makes me miss the latter. He's reminded me of the hazy murk of subspace. The nerves settling in my stomach at the thought of another fantasy being planned and played out. Shit he's pushed me to that edge more than once. He could if I let him.
I hold his gaze for a second and I know he wants to send me over that edge. My scalp tightens, the silence stretches another moment then finally Nate pushes out a breath, his hands balled. “Pain?”
