Chapter Two

 

Charlie

“Stay,” he says.

The word stops me in my tracks, breath caught in my throat. His grip on my arm is like steel, and when I turn, the look in his blue eyes is hot and angry, but also pleading.

He was angry when he opened the door. And he’s aroused. I’ve noticed the tent under the towel he’s got slung around his narrow hips. I’d have to be blind not to. Plus, that thing is so big it could take out an eye.

And the guy’s handsome. Sexy in a California surfer sort of way, with pale hair and sun-kissed skin, and an athlete’s body. That towel leaves little to the imagination, displaying his chiseled chest and muscular arms, his thick thighs and toned calves.

God, I can’t help staring, and when I manage to look up at his face, something has changed in his gaze.

There’s a flicker of amusement.

So he’s not made of stone after all.

Except for his cock. That one is rock-hard.

Okay, focus, Charlie.

“You want me to stay,” I repeat unnecessarily.

I’m as deaf as I am blind, obviously, and above all I’m human, which means that standing so close to this super-hot specimen of manhood is setting my blood on fire.

So. Hot.

Darned Malcom didn’t mention how sexy his roommate is. Doesn’t he know I have a weakness for blond hunks?

“Yeah, stay,” the specimen of manhood rumbles, his voice low and deep, and I shiver. He steps closer, and my throat goes dry when I catch a whiff of his scent, leather and pine and something citrusy. “Isn’t that what you want?”

What I want is to kiss him. The sudden need hits me like a punch. What I want is for him to dip his head and kiss me. Put his arms around me.

“I could stay.” I have to clear my throat since my voice has gone all breathy, and I struggle for composure. “I suppose.”

“You suppose. You’re not sure? Okay, why…?” He frowns, looking down at me, his grip gentling on my arm. “Why are you even here?”

“It’s, um, complicated.” The question lands me back on earth with a crash. I move a step back, and he lets go of my arm. The spot where his fingers were touching me now feels freezing cold. “Let’s just say I needed a place for the night, and Malcom, well, he offered.”

God, how expressive his eyes are. Anger wars there with concern and curiosity, and so many emotions I’m dizzy just trying to follow them. They’re such a clear mirror of his thoughts, of the emotions rolling through him like storm clouds.

This guy doesn’t have a poker face, I think. He can’t lie. He wears his heart on his sleeve.

And I like that. So frigging much.

“Okay. Wanna eat something?” He gestures in the direction of what has to be the kitchen. “Or sleep?”

“I’m not all that sleepy yet, to be honest.”

He nods, head tilted to the side as if listening to the spaces between my words, looking for their real meaning, and I find I like this too. His intensity. His attention.

He gestures for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Come on, then.”

It has to be around one in the morning. In fact, Malcom had warned me that Dante wouldn’t be home before two or three, so he gave me a key. I only rang the bell just in case.

Totally didn’t expect the half-naked hottie who greeted me at the door. All Malcom said was that his roommate is a nice guy, a bit intense, but nice.

Nice ass, definitely, I think as he walks into the small, cozy kitchen and opens the fridge. His back is broad and strong, with a thin scar across his back and line of text inked on his side. I can’t make out the words, and besides, the muscles rippling in his upper back when he bends to grab something from inside the fridge, the way his strong calves bunch up…

Woo. Is it too hot in here? Jesus.

“What about a glass of water?” I mumble.

After the break up, I didn’t really look at other guys.

Boy am I looking now. Staring my eyes out.

“There’s no water today. What about juice?” He places a jug on the counter. “And… I could make you a sandwich. Ham and cheese okay?”

“Actually, I’m not all that hungry.”

Not anymore.

Not for food, anyway. God he must think I’m a lunatic. Not so sleepy, not so hungry… Staring at him like I’ve never seen a man before in my life.

Never seen one like him, that’s for sure. Guy should be modeling for men’s health magazines.

And I’ve also never felt so horny about a man I’ve just met before. Horny, and aching deep inside for him.

Ridiculous.

He frowns as he steps aside. “Why don’t you take a look? Maybe there’s something you’d like.”

Like you?

Stop it, Charlie.

“Sure.” I step closer, trying hard not to look at him. “I’ll take a look, thanks.”

I reach past him for the bread and he puts a hand on my arm. He’s looking down at me, his gaze zeroing in on my mouth.

God, I love his eyes. A warm blue, with thick lashes. His lips look soft and kissable, the golden stubble on his jaw begging for my fingers to touch it. I want to run my hands over his pecs and those small, tight nipples, over his hard abs, and lower….

I want to unknot that towel and let it fall, see what’s hiding underneath.

But I’m only supposed to spend the night here, and if Malcom is right, this guy is serious and doesn’t hook up with random girls. Not often, Malcom said, and I wonder why he told me so much about his roommate.

About the scar on his hip, for instance. The inked text on his back. No explanations, no interpretations, just telling me about these things, about Dante’s shifts in mood, the hints that his past wasn’t all roses.

It made me want to meet him face to face, see if his gaze really hid as many demons as I imagined.

As many as my own.

And here we are.

With a grunt, he lets his hand drop and steps away. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“What for?” I can’t catch my breath, my senses still full of his scent, the visual of his hard body so close I could see every ridge and plane.

He shoves a hand through his blond hair. “Getting inside your space.” He huffs. “It’s been a rough day.”

“Why?”

He shoots me a surprised look. “Just… some family stuff.”

His broad shoulders are hunched with tension, his jaw clenched. Whatever happened got him so wound up he looks like he’s about to snap.

“You look like you could use a drink,” I say.

He shakes his head and steps closer again. “I don’t drink. Or I try not to.”

Oh. Oops. Now I feel like I’m stepping through a minefield.

“Then what do you need?” My voice is hushed, because he’s closer than ever, towering over me, all those miles of golden skin and firm flesh right in my face, and his scent…

God, I should bottle it and carry it with me everywhere. It honest to God makes my mouth water.

“Charlie.” He presses me back against the kitchen counter, his eyes slivers of blue, his mouth hovering inches from mine.

Just that, just my name.

I can’t … can’t think, can’t speak. I want him to touch me, to put his mouth on me, I want those big hands to hold me in place as he kisses me.

Is this so bad?

For heaven’s sake. We’re both adults, and I’m single. I’m done. I’m free. Free to kiss this handsome stranger, touch his dreamy chest.

I can do this. Indulge. Do things I want. Have new experiences.

New men.

He leans in and I put my hands on his arms, feeling the hard, sculpted muscle of his biceps. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, half growl half groan, and then he’s kissing me, hands coming up to cup my head.

Oh God, yes.

He tastes like liquor, which is odd since he hasn’t been drinking. Maybe he drank back at the bar? But he doesn’t taste like cheap booze, rather smoky and heady, like aged brandy.

Like man.

Dear God, have I forgotten what a man’s mouth tastes like?

Or maybe it’s just this man, maybe this is his unique flavor distilled from the gold of his skin and the blue of his eyes, of the heat in his flesh and the anger he radiates at the world.

He presses me harder against his mouth, against his body, and I melt against his hard angles and planes. That’s what they mean by I’m putty in his hands, I think randomly, and feel the urge to laugh or cry, wondering why I’ve never felt this way before.

With the man I lived with for years.

The man who kept cheating on me and lying to me.

The man I walked out on six months ago but whose ghost I keep dragging behind me, slowing my steps and darkening my world.

I lift my arms to wind them around his neck, sinking into the kiss, letting it wipe my mind clean of everything but Dante’s taste and the feel of his strong body and his hard arousal pressing into me.

This is the now. This is my choice. I want to feel his sharpness, his angles, his fire, his anger, rather than remember the apathy I lived with for so long or the events that led me here tonight.

My fault.

But then so is freedom, too: mine.

And then he’s turning me, pushing me against the kitchen table, dropping one hand to my thigh, running it under my skirt.

Goosebumps race over my skin, and a wave of heat seeps into my belly, burning me up from the inside out.

Yes, I chant inside my head, yes. Please.

As if hearing me, he pushes my skirt up and his hand slips under my panties. Cotton, no-nonsense panties, since I didn’t come here expecting this, any of this, but he doesn’t even glance down, his mouth still on me, his tongue tangled with mine as his fingers stroke me in long, confident swipes.

He presses himself between my legs, until my ass is parked on the table and my legs fall open. He grins against my lips, and his fingers push into me.

“Oh God,” I try to whisper, my words swallowed into the kiss, as the fire spreads, and my mind goes blank. I writhe against the table as he fucks me with his fingers, slowly and surely, his tongue doing wicked things to my mouth, to my senses.

I’m about to come on his fingers, the fingers of a virtual stranger, and it feels good.

But then he pulls back, breaking the kiss, withdrawing his fingers, and a whine of frustration leaves my throat before I can stop it.

“Dante—”

“Shh.” A crease forms between his brows. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“But—”

“You will come, and then come again. I promise you that. But not before I put my cock inside you.”

I sigh, disappointed. I can’t come during sex.

So why do I find his words so arousing, even if I don’t believe them? It’s as if they’re stroking me deep inside, where his fingers were seconds ago.

The memory of the last weeks slams back into me and I shiver. This is too soon, this is a mistake, I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t—

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern in his blue eyes.

“Yeah… yeah fine.” I blink up at him, and realize I am fine. Better than I have been in years, in fact. Partly is being out of that house, and partly… it’s this guy.

Maybe.

Possibly.

He pulls my panties down my legs, slipping them off, letting them drop to the floor, and then strips off his sweatpants, stepping out of them. Easily. Unselfconsciously. Unceremoniously.

So unlike my ex who only did it under the sheets, in half-darkness, a quick tumble to get off, and…

My eyes zero in between Dante’s legs and all thoughts of my ex flee my mind. Like, gone. Poof. Vanished.

Dear God. Dante is nothing like my ex. Rather, my ex is nothing like Dante. Not even close.

This guy’s hung. Like, Jesus. How will that thing fit inside me?

I must have made a small sound of distress without realizing, because he raises a hand to my chin, gripping it, lifting my face until our gazes meet.

“Are you okay?”

I clear my throat. “That…” I wave a hand vaguely in the direction of his hard dick, “is big.”

His mouth quirks. “Thanks.”

“I mean… it’s very big. Like, huge.”

“Glad you think so.” There’s a gleam in his eye now. “Concerned it won’t fit?”

I look away.

“Really?” He chuckles, and I press my mouth into a line. “Listen Charlie… If you don’t like it… if you don’t come, you’ve a right to say I told you so, and I’ll get you off in other ways. I swear. But I’d never hurt you. Okay?”

I nod.

“Good.” He releases my chin, reaches down and grabs his cock, giving it long strokes that have my pussy throbbing with need. His breath hisses out, and his hard-on grows larger still, darker, until I’m trembling just from watching, an ache forming deep inside me.

An ache of need. I need his huge cock inside me.

How is this possible?

What is happening to me?

Then he’s back between my legs, right before I freak out, his thumb pressing into me, opening me up. I moan, and shudder, the pressure inside me starting to mount instantly once again. His beautiful mouth tips up on one side in a dark smile.

Then he puts his other hand on my throat and massages.

How can this be so erotic? I swallow, barely able to do so under his fingers, while his thumb fucks me ruthlessly, until I’m on the brink, hovering, poised over a chasm of pleasure.

“Not yet,” he says. How can he know to stop every time right when I’m about to come apart?

Damn him.

“Told you. You come on my cock,” he whispers, grabbing my leg, lifting it over his shoulder, then trails his hand down from my throat to the middle of my chest and pushes. He pushes until I’m laid out on the table, my leg thrown over his shoulder, and then he reaches down between us.

I expect his fingers again, his thumbs, but what nudges at my entrance is so much bigger.

As I tense up, he strokes my leg where it’s draped over his powerful shoulder, a light caress, a distraction.

His cock pushes into me, and I gasp, not sure I can do this, not sure…

His hand travels down my leg, over my knee to my thigh, and then dips between my legs to play with my clit as he shoves his cock a little deeper.

It never feels that way when I touch myself, I think. How can that light touch there, combined with the pressure of his dick inside me seem to merge into something bigger?

Something about to swallow me whole.

His thumb circles my clit more firmly, pressing, and he rolls his hips, pulling out an inch or two just to slam back inside.

It startles a cry from me.

His eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches me, his thumb never stopping its circling motion. He rocks again and again into me, and I cry out as the wave crashes inside me and I come, my whole body spasming at the intensity of it.

Oh God. Oh shit.

I’m struggling to catch my breath, blinking black spots from my eyes, when he leans over me, a smirk on his face. “That’s number one,” he says smugly.

And I don’t even have the energy to snark at him.

Snark about what? No idea. He was right. He is right. My body is humming like a plucked chord that’s still vibrating, and holy crap, he’s still inside me, fully hard.

I can feel him pulsing lightly, like a power source, buried deep inside me, a live grenade, an unexploded rocket.

Then he says, “Ready or not, here you come.”

And I laugh.

Which shakes me, and makes him moan.

I love the sound. I want him to come, too, I want him to lose control and just be with me.

“I’m ready,” I tell him.

For whatever is about to come.