Chapter Four
Dax
Lisa returns to the living room with two lemon-sliced glasses of ice water on a sterling silver tray, and as I watch her hips sway, I replay her last question in my mind.
Is this the lamest entrée to casual sex you’ve ever had in your life?
“For the record, you’re not lame,” I tell her as she sits down beside me and hands me a glass of water. “You’re actually pretty cute.”
“Cute,” she repeats, spitting out the word like a piece of gristle. “I’m not trying to be cute. I’m aiming for sexy, wild, and sophisticated.”
I grin and take a sip of water. “And you’re nailing two out of three.”
She doesn’t ask which one she’s missing. I’m guessing she knows, but I’m also guessing there’s something she doesn’t.
It wouldn’t take much to bring out Lisa Michaels’s wild side.
I can see it in her eyes. There’s a lust-fueled superheroine behind that pearl choker and silk blouse. The thought of uncovering her sends my dick throbbing.
But first things first.
“So, your sister said you’re going through a tough time,” I begin. “And you mentioned a grudge fuck,” I add. “Tell me more.”
She stares at me for a moment, then folds her hands primly on her lap. “Gary and I dated for four years, got engaged at the three-year mark, and had planned a perfect June wedding.”
“I take it that didn’t happen?”
She shakes her head, and I watch her eyes for signs that she’s not over the guy. I’m not seeing them, but it isn’t like I know her that well.
“He pulled a no-show at the wedding,” she says, pressing her lips together in a thin line before continuing. “On the bright side, it left me with six cases of Dom Pérignon to enjoy by myself.”
“Not all in one sitting, I hope?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, of course not. And I really am over him. I promise. It’s just—”
Her brow furrows as she searches for the right conclusion to that sentence. I find I really want to know, really want to hear what she’s thinking. It’s been a long time since I hung on a woman’s words like this.
“Any guy who’d pull a stunt like that is a loser,” I tell her. “You deserve better.”
“I suppose so,” she says, scratching at a nonexistent spot on her skirt with one perfectly manicured nail. “But then again, I’m the loser who thought I wanted to marry him.”
I start to say something comforting, but Lisa stops scratching and looks up at me. “You know what Gary said to me after his friend, Preston, caught his girlfriend cheating with the woman she and Preston had a threesome with?”
It takes me a moment to digest that, both the logistics of what she’s saying and the fact that Lisa just uttered the word “threesome.”
“What did Gary say?” I ask.
“He said, ‘I’m glad I never have to worry about craziness like that with you, Lisa.’”
I nod, though I’m not entirely sure what the correct response is here. “I’m sure he meant it as a compliment.” I’m not actually trying to defend the guy, just trying to make Lisa feel less shitty. “He knew you were loyal and trustworthy.”
She gives me a withering look and picks up her own glass of water. “That’s also how you’d describe a Labrador retriever.”
I start to argue, but she waves a hand.
“It’s not that I’m mad about that. I mean, he probably had a point.” She doesn’t break eye contact, but seems to hesitate. I wait for her to finish, to form whatever thought is on her mind.
“Have you ever woken up one day and realized that maybe your gut has been steering you wrong all along?” she asks. “Like you thought you wanted one thing, and you made all these decisions to get there, but it turns out that’s not what you wanted at all?”
A big ball of iron coils up in the pit of my stomach, but I push it aside and nod. “Yeah. I think I know what you’re saying.”
“I want something different. Something that’s the total opposite of what I’m used to.”
“And that’s me?”
“Maybe. For tonight anyway.” She gives a nervous little laugh and tosses her hair. “I guess I just feel like maybe I’ve missed out on doing a few things. And maybe guys like you are one of them.”
“Guys like me,” I repeat, forcing myself to keep an even voice. “How do you mean that?”
I watch her face, braced for the words.
Dumb. Low-class. Unsophisticated.
“Hot.” She blinks like she’s surprised herself with the word, then grins. “Big. Strong. A little rough around the edges, but in a sexy way.”
It’s my turn to be surprised, and I buy myself a few seconds by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I let my hand linger by her ear, admiring the perfect shell of it. Pearl studs glisten on her lobes, and I wonder what it would feel like to run my tongue from there to the base of her throat.
“For what it’s worth,” I murmur. “Gary doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.”
“Oh?”
“You’re smokin’ hot.”
She smiles, but it’s a little uncertain. “Thank you.”
“Like, seriously hot. Hotter than a non-consumable tungsten electrode used in gas-tungsten arc welding.”
“What?” She bursts out laughing, throwing her whole body forward and bumping my forearm with her breast. Every nerve in my body flickers to life.
I expect her to pull back, but instead, she leans into me. Her thigh moves against mine, and my breath catches in my throat as her skirt hikes up three inches.
“Welding,” I say, almost forgetting what we were talking about. “That’s a type of high temperature welding used for things like motorcycle or bike repair.”
“You’re a welder?”
I can’t tell if there’s judgment or intrigue in the question, so I decide not to answer for now. I like having her this close, feeling the weight of her thigh on mine. Her breast still brushes my bicep, and I resist the urge to press against it.
“You’re also hotter than a molten weld puddle shielded by an argon/carbon dioxide mix in flux-cored arc welding,” I murmur.
“Molten weld puddle and—what?”
The question comes out a little breathless, and I notice the flutter of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. She’s staring at me like she can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.
Neither can I.
“It’s another type of welding used for thicker materials or steel erections,” I say and watch her lips part. “Also, very hot,” I add.
“I—oh.” She shifts on the sofa, a funny little squirm that brings her even closer. Her thigh rests on top of mine now, and I wonder if she’s noticed. I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose, or just pulling toward me like a magnet to steel.
My water glass is sweating in my palm, and I set it on a coaster, not trusting myself to hold it steady anymore. Is this dorky talk about welding actually turning her on?
Is it turning me on?
You’re an idiot. A babbling, worthless, grease-monkey idiot.
True, but I keep going. “Did you know that when you weld two dissimilar metals together, you have to be careful about coefficient thermal expansion at the joint of the two?”
I’m reciting from memory from the first welding guidebook I ever got my hands on. I was ten, and someone had left it behind in a junk car at my dad’s scrapyard. For years, I lugged that thing with me everywhere, thumbing the rust-spotted pages with a flashlight under the covers, committing the words to memory until I no longer needed to crack that duct-taped spine to remember the precise steps for welding nickel-based alloys to steel.
It’s how I got where I am today, in a way.
I swallow hard and focus on Lisa. Her face is flushed, and she looks like she just bit into a juicy, ripe strawberry. Those green eyes flash with heat, and she lifts her fingers and touches the pearl necklace at her throat.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “That does sound very hot.”
I swear to God I didn’t set out to turn her on with this. I was just trying to make her laugh, maybe build up her confidence a bit by telling her how hot she is.
I don’t know if it’s the multi-syllable words or the grease monkey thing that’s getting to her. Does it matter?
Her bare knee rests on my leg, and I swear her skirt has hitched another three inches up that glorious, creamy thigh. I ache to touch it. It’s like she reads my thoughts, shifting so her leg brushes the tips of my fingers.
I hesitate, then lift my hand. Her knee fits perfectly in my cupped palm, and I hold my breath, waiting for a reaction.
“More,” Lisa whispers.
“More what?” I’m honestly not sure.
She licks her lips and darts a glance at my hand. When her eyes lift to mine again, I feel my cock throb.
“Tell me more about what’s hot,” she says. “The welding, I mean.”
Good God, I can’t believe my luck. Of all the dumbass lines I’ve used to seduce women, welding terminology never made the list. My heart hammers like a goddamn piston, and I scroll through my brain for more lingo. I lean closer, almost close enough to brush my lips against her ear.
“You want to hear about stick-shielded metal arc welding?” I murmur. “That’s when you touch the electrode tip to the workpiece, then withdraw it really, really slowly.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, not quite a gasp and not quite a groan. “That sounds really hot.”
“It is,” I tell her. “Usually about sixty-five-hundred degrees Fahrenheit.”
Jesus. I’ve been welding my whole adult life, and I never knew it could sound sexy. Lisa shifts again, and I don’t know how it happens. One second she’s squirming beside me, and the next second she’s on my lap, lips parted, legs parted, her whole body pressed against mine.
Did I do that, or did she?
We’re face-to-face now with Lisa on my lap, and she peers at me with uncertainty in her expression.
“Hello,” I murmur.
It’s a dumb thing to say with her lips scant inches from mine, begging to be kissed, but she smiles anyway. “Hello.”
Her brow furrows with self-consciousness, but I don’t give her time to go there. I close the distance between us, brushing my lips to hers as I slide my hands to her hips.
Then I’m kissing her hard and deep, groaning as she moves against me. Her body is like a coiled wire, tense with energy. I skim my hands up her sides, brushing the edges of her breasts to hear her whimper, then back down, curving over her hips and around. I clutch her ass and give a gentle squeeze.
“God, Dax.” She breaks the kiss to groan, then arches against me. The movement hitches her skirt up around her hips, and I can feel the heat at her core pressing against the fly of my jeans.
“That’s it,” I whisper, conscious of the way she’s grinding against me. I haven’t been dry-humped since I was sixteen, and I can’t believe how fucking good this feels. I wonder if I should slow things down, maybe be more tender with her. This can’t be what she’s used to.
But her words echo in my head.
I want something different. Something that’s the total opposite of what I’m used to.
My hands move roughly up her sides, yanking her blouse from her skirt. I stifle a growl as my palms graze bare skin. I’ve never felt anything this soft in my life, and I draw in a slow breath to clear my head. I kiss her again, needing to taste her. My hands keep moving, savoring her smooth flesh until my fingertips graze the lace at the edges of her breasts.
She gasps as I flick open her bra clasp with one hand, and I worry I’ve gone too far when she draws back.
Her lashes flutter as she blinks at me and tries to focus on my eyes. “I should take off my skirt so it doesn’t wrinkle.”
I skim my palms under her bra cups and test the weight of her breasts in my hands. She gives a soft moan, and I swear we both lose our train of thought.
My thumbs skim her nipples, and her eyes go wide again. I hold her gaze with mine, willing myself to form a coherent thought.
“Do you always take off your clothes for sex?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “I guess—I never thought about it.”
“Then leave them on. Everything. Even your shoes.”
Lisa blinks then glances down at her red-soled stilettos. Her fingers trace the pearl choker at her neck, and she nods slowly. “Yes,” she whispers. “Clothes on. I want it like that.”
“You want what?”
I’m pretty sure I know, but I want to hear her say it. Want her to be clear about what she’s asking for, what she needs.
“I want you inside me.” She blinks, startled by her own words. That makes two of us.
Then a slow smile tips the edges of her mouth, like a kid with her first taste of ice cream. She grabs hold of my waistband and leans close so her lips brush my earlobe. “Dax,” she whispers like she’s not sure how to say the words out loud. “Do me with my clothes on, please.”
My dick lunges like it’s trying to ram its way through my zipper, and it takes every ounce of self-control I own to give a measured response. “Yes, ma’am.”
As Lisa plants slow kisses in a path behind my ear, I stroke my thumbs over her nipples. She shudders in my hands as I release those gorgeous tits and inch my hands down her stomach. I keep going, gliding up her skirt and dipping the tips of my fingers into her panties. They’re a lacy wisp and probably expensive. I push the fabric aside and stroke inside her, groaning when I feel how wet she is.
“Christ,” I growl against her mouth. “How did that happen?”
Her giggle turns to a groan as I graze her clit with my knuckle. “You,” she gasps. “You did it to me.”
I keep doing it, skimming the pad of my thumb over her clit while my index and middle finger move inside her. She responds by fucking my hand, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity.
Her hips move like they have a mind of their own. She tilts back, arching against me with her eyes closed. “Oh my God, that feels amazing.”
My thumb strokes her clit again, and I’m rewarded with another moan. She’s moving faster now, her body tense and coiled. We’ve hardly gotten started, and I can already tell she’s close. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, her body tight like a bow.
“That’s it,” I murmur, kissing her throat. “Ride my hand. Show me how you like it.”
She obeys, hips moving to a rhythm only she can hear. I can feel it, though, bubbling up inside her as she rocks and writhes and pants on my lap. “Oh God!”
The orgasm seems to surprise her, and her eyes snap open, blazing green and wild. I clamp one hand on her hip, driving my fingers into her as I strum her clit with my thumb. She pumps her hips, arching against me as she cries out and comes so hard that I’m trembling with it.
Then she collapses against my chest, panting like she just ran a mile. A few seconds pass before she opens her eyes and leans back to give me a sheepish look. “Sorry. Let me just grab some tissues so you can—”
“No.” I slide my hand back, fingers slippery from being inside her. As she watches, I draw one finger into my mouth. Her lips part in shock as I suck deeply, tasting her sweetness.
“You’re delicious,” I tell her. “So fucking hot.”
She stares at me like no man has ever said this to her before. How is that possible? She’s squirming against me, moving like she’s ready to go again.
“Please, Dax.” She wriggles against me, fucking me through my clothes.
“Please what?”
Her lashes flutter, and I sense she’s turning shy again. “You know what I need.”
“I have a good idea,” I murmur, nuzzling her throat so she’s not forced to make eye contact. “But I want to hear you say it.”
I catch her earlobe between my teeth and run my tongue over the pearl stud. I wonder what it would feel like to stroke her sweet little clit with my mouth, and suddenly I’m harder than I ever thought possible.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Lisa?”
She draws back, eyes wide with surprise. I sense she hasn’t had a guy talk to her like this before. I also get the feeling she likes it. She nods, biting the edge of her lip.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, please.”
“Please what?”
Her cheeks go pink, and she bites her lip harder. Okay, so she’s not ready to talk dirty yet. That’s cool with me. But something tells me she likes when I do it. I can tell by the way she’s squirming against me, watching my mouth for the next filthy invitation.
“You want me to shove my cock in you?” I murmur. “Is that what you want?”
She nods so fast I think her head might fall off. “Yes. Oh God, yes.”
Okay, then. No sense wasting any time.
I fumble into my back pocket, hoping to God I remembered to shove a condom in my wallet. I find the foil packet and yank it out, not caring that I just upended the contents of my billfold onto her spotless carpet.
Lisa reaches down between us, her fingers quick and clever on the button of my jeans. The denim is damp from her, and I half expect her to say something apologetic. Instead, she grabs my dick and pulls it out.
“Holy wow.” She blinks up at me. “I—um. Wow. That’s a little…uh…large.”
I stifle the urge to snort-laugh. She did say she wanted something different from her usual fare, and apparently she’s used to guys on the smaller end of the spectrum. “We can take it as slow as you want.”
She looks down again, skimming the tip of my cock with her thumb. A bead glistens on the tip, and she uses it to glide her finger around the throbbing head “It’s so…so…”
Big? Hard? I wait for one of the expected adjectives, one of the words she’s heard in dirty movies and thinks she’s supposed to say.
“Pretty.”
Huh?
She gives an embarrassed smile. “Is that not what guys like to hear?”
“You called my dick pretty?”
“Well it is.” She grips it in one hand, making my balls clench with need. She gives me a grin that shoots straight to my cock. “It’s like the perfect color and shape and—”
“Are you planning to fuck it or decorate a room with it?”
She dissolves into giggles, making her tits jostle pleasantly beneath her silk blouse. “Oh my God! I’m an interior designer, and you just gave me the best idea for a room designed entirely in penis motif. There’d be penis-shaped throw pillows and a pink fainting couch in one corner with—”
“I’m going to come in your hand if you don’t stop stroking me like that.”
She stops moving her hand and grins. “Well. We wouldn’t want that.”
Before I can say anything, she grabs the condom and tears open the packet. She rolls it on with expert hands, and I’ll admit I’m a little relieved she knows what she’s doing.
She starts to slide off my lap. “Let me just take off these—”
“No.” I grip her hips to hold her in place. Then I let go with one hand, and reach between us to shove aside the damp scrap of lace between her legs, baring her to me. Perfect pink lips glisten with wetness, and I ache with the urge to bury myself inside her.
I look up and meet her eyes again, wanting to be sure. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”
She nods, then shifts her hips. Her hand is still on my cock, and I groan as she angles it toward her, trailing the tip through her wetness. “It’s what I want.”
Then she moves again, taking the first couple of inches inside. Her eyes widen, and I hold still. I could still stop now if I had to, and I brace for her to say it. But those aren’t the words that fall from those perfect lips.
“Oh my God, you feel unreal.”
I groan and skim my hands from her hips to her breasts. My thumbs tease her nipples, and I wait for her to make the next move. She’s in control, and I sense that’s what she needs right now.
“I want you to ride me,” I tell her. “Slow and soft or hard and fast—you call the shots.”
She nods, gaze locked with mine, almost like she’s mesmerized. Then she sinks down on me in one slick move.
“Oh my God.”
She’s the one who says that, but the words are in my head, too. Holy shit, she feels amazing.
She slides down again, breathless with pleasure as she begins to fuck me. Her hips move like there’s someone else driving them, like she’s been seized by some other force. She reaches behind me and grabs the back of the sofa, manicured claws sinking into the leather as she uses it for leverage.
“God, Dax.” My name comes out of her mouth like a moan, and I can’t believe this is the same woman I met at the bar.
She’s thrusting and grinding and growling low in her throat. I start to reach between us to tickle her clit, but there’s no need. She’s already there.
“Oh. Oh Jesus, yes—”
She throws her head back and gives a primal scream I’m sure will have the neighbors summoning the cops. But there’s no time for that now, as shapes start to shimmer behind my eyelids and I realize I’m right there with her.
“Christ,” I groan as I let go.
We both come for what feels like forever, fucking and gasping and riding each other. When it’s over, Lisa collapses against my chest again.
I stroke her back through the silk blouse. She’s missing one of the buttons on her left sleeve, and I have no idea when that happened. Is she going to come down from the clouds and survey the scene, embarrassed? She’ll take in her disheveled clothes, her mussed hair, the uneducated lug on her sofa and will devise the politest, most tasteful way to ask me to please get the hell out of her house.
I wait for the words to fall from those full lips as she leans back and looks me in the eye.
“Dax,” she says. “I want you again.”