Stud by Siskind, Kelly (14)

Fourteen

 

Ainsley

Apparently Owen lived in a garage. At least, that’s where my GPS led me. A large steel door was open, light streaming out, along with old jazz tunes. Tools and a few pieces of furniture filled the stain-splattered space. The corrugated walls were rusted in spots, the concrete floors cracked. It had a vintage vibe to it. Classic, like something you’d see in a greaser movie.

It also housed a brawny man who was bending over a plank of wood, teasing me with his taut derrière.

“Did you pay extra for the view?”

He stood and twisted toward me, eyebrows pinched. “View?”

I gave him my best sleazy-stalker eyes as I focused on his lower half. “It’s definitely nicer than at my place.” This I could do. Flirt and joke as usual. Find our familiar rhythm and forget the conflict on his face at my car, the unease still gnawing at my gut.

Smirking, he dropped the sandpaper on his work-in-progress and smacked his dusty hands on his jeans, a stupid sexy move. He took long strides to reach me. “The view just got a hell of a lot better. Not sure they could put a price on it.”

This man was some kind of dangerous. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

“I’m honest.” He proved his point with his lips on mine, his hot breath filling my chest. The kiss was slow and deep, more intimate than our desperate necking in the Evil Bathroom. Our tongues pirouetted in a perfect ballet duet.

Hopefully we weren’t performing Romeo and Juliet.

His huge hands caressed my back as he rolled his hips into me, showing me how turned on he was. The Hugo Boss Package was indeed large. A solid line of granite jutting into my belly. “You make it hard to breathe,” he murmured.

My purple satin panties were dampening by the second, my apprehension increasing, too. “Since I almost suffocated tonight, that would make us even.”

He nosed my ear, the underside of my jaw. “Being even would mean forcing you to listen to all the ways I’m going to eat your pussy, then making you watch me flirt with another woman.”

“Touché.” His gentle explorations had me shivering, his dirty words firing the ache between my thighs. But it was all too much. A tug of war waged between my body and my mind, fear of getting hurt versus pent-up desire pulling at me.

I ducked around him and headed for the large table against the wall. “Is that the piece you finished? The maple table?” I sucked in a lungful of air, urging my pulse to slow.

“Yeah.” His voice grew quiet, and I glanced back. He dashed his hand through his sandy hair, a sweet blush dotting his cheeks. Was he nervous? Shy?

His humble uncertainty was endearing, and I gave myself a mental slap. I should be claiming him right now. Dragging him to a tattoo shop to have my name stamped on his other butt cheek. We could be making wild, passionate love.

Instead I walked the perimeter of his creation. I dragged my fingertips along the smooth wood, tracing the shimmering lines and colors tumbling through the grain, searching for my Zen.

During a few of our lunch confessionals, Owen had talked about this project. His eyes would go soft, his voice dreamy as he’d describe what working with wood meant to him. Working with his wood would likely plaster an equally blissful expression on my face, if I could get over myself. “It’s spectacular,” I said.

“Really?”

I wasn’t expecting his voice to be so close, or to be so timid. Need for approval rang clear in his one hesitant word.

I spun around and had to look up to meet his bashful eyes. It hit home then, how much making furniture meant to him. How touching it was like touching his soul. “Better than stunning. It’s real. It’s what a table is supposed to be—strong, built with integrity and heart.”

It was also the embodiment of this man.

“Thank you,” he said softly. A beat later, a lecherous grin lit his face. “We should move this conversation and talk about my wood upstairs.”

We should. We so should. So why was I still freaking out?

In seconds, he had the garage door closed and was pushing me up a narrow staircase. Each step toward our impending sexy time had my heart thrashing in my chest. I was horny as anything, wanting this sensitive yet powerful man moving inside me, but I still couldn’t calm down. My adrenaline rush from the Evil Bathroom was surely messing with my mojo. It couldn’t just be fear.

Before I could gather myself, we were in his apartment, his strong arms latched around me from behind. “You seem off. You still shaken from earlier?”

“Yeah, I think so.” At least I hoped that was part of it. Stepping to the side, I twisted from his grasp. “I also didn’t tell you, but I found out Anton will be at the build every Friday. I thought about confronting him, but I’m not sure if I’ll yell at him or grovel for his forgiveness.”

Owen scratched his jaw. “Considering what went down between you, I’d say that’s a normal reaction, but this is eating you up. You’ll regret letting it go.”

He was right. I’d have to sort through my emotions and face my past. Just another dilemma to an increasingly melodramatic life. Theatrics that were wearing me down. But the larger concern, the more pressing issue, was the hunky man who wanted to discuss his wood.

“Also,” I said, the stalling champion, “this is my first time in your place. I need to do a full recon mission. Make sure it’s safe.” Buy myself some time.

He cocked his head, amusement returning to his handsome face. “Did you bring a search warrant?”

“Matter of fact, I did.” I lifted my top and flashed my double Ds.

Owen assaulted me with his sunburst smile. “I fucking love that purple lace. You have five minutes. Then we can talk about my wood, or, if you’re not feeling up to it, we can watch a movie.”

I wanted to be up to it. I wanted to be all over his Hugo Boss-clad wood. Our phone sex had heightened his hot factor, ratcheting up my fascination with his magnetising self. Maybe snooping in his place could help tame my crazy. I could confirm he wasn’t hiding a second or third divorce, or a harem of exotic women.

I scanned the room, trying to decide where to begin. The space was small but neat. A leather couch and flat screen TV flanked a wood coffee table, a shelving unit made of something similar on the opposite wall. Likely built by his stalwart hands. The shelves were lined with books. Smarty-pants books. My English teacher, Mr. Lawrence, would have probably traded his first born for those well-worn volumes.

Shakespeare. Voltaire. Other long names I didn’t recognize.

“Were you one of those kid geniuses? Like your grandmother skipped your grades and you wound up at college at fifteen and couldn’t figure out why your facial hair was patchy?”

His rolling laugh filled the room. “Man, I don’t know where you come up with this stuff. But yeah, I worked hard in school. I got a scholarship, but didn’t fast track. I watch some TV—mainly HBO shows and movies. Otherwise, I built a deck off the back. I sit out there some nights to read.” His attention flicked toward his stove. “Four minutes left.”

Shoot. I hit his open kitchen next, studying the beer, deli meats, and condiments in his fridge. No girly vegetables or tofu or yogurt to be found. I kept up my peanut-gallery commentary, though, tallying up the items filling his apartment as if taking inventory. I then invaded his bathroom, scoping the space for fancy face creams and nail polish remover. His shower soap gave me pause. It smelled like him, like apple crumble steaming from the oven. I dragged my nail over the green bar, stealing a sniff.

Basically, I was acting like a lunatic.

“Ainsley.”

Heart pound, pound, pounding in my ears, I plastered on my most innocent face and turned. “Yeah?”

“Is this because of what I told you earlier? My divorce?” Owen scrutinized my fidgetiness. He was on point. We both knew it. Once I slept with him, this connection we shared would go from intense to transcendental. There was something bigger here than I’d ever shared with Brandon, and my ex’s betrayal had rocked me to my core.

If Owen hurt me—

I guillotined that thought. Owen was watching me, uncertain yet steadfast. A strapping man with a tender side who wanted me in all the ways a man could want a woman. It was time to start living and stop worrying. It was also time to get sexed up. “The fact that you never mentioned your divorce has thrown me for a loop, but I get that it might be hard to talk about. I’ll get past it. It’s just my issues rising to the surface.”

He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. “Come here.”

He wasn’t giving me bedroom eyes. He was laying down serious eyes.

Warily, I approached. When I was within reach, he ran both his hands through my hair, skimming my scalp until his palms rested on my cheeks. “I care about you a lot, and I’m sorry I didn’t mention my divorce. If you just want to hang out tonight, count me in. I’m dying to be with you, but there’s no rush. I also love the idea of squishing with you on my couch. We don’t do anything more until you’re sure.”

His understanding loosened the knots inside me, reminding me how different Owen was from men I’d known. No matter his needs, he was putting me first. Only a good man would do that, and I was tired of letting Brandon infect my life. “My nerves are because of my past. Not my present. I trust you.”

He kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips. “That means more than you know, but it doesn’t have to happen tonight. When you’re ready, just say the word.”

My remaining reservation vanished. Everything disappeared but this beautiful man. “Word.”

He pulled back, appraising me intently. “You’re sure?”

“Positively.” To prove my point, I took control of my life and chasséd my way into his bedroom. Owen followed closely behind. I pirouetted in the simple space, taking it in.

A photograph of a beach hung on one wall, a large window occupying the other. There was a simple closet and nightstands. Dark gray walls, lighter gray bedding. Large, cushy king bed. A cowboy hat on his dresser. Aside from a lamp and smarty-pants book on his bedside table, the only other item of note was a mason jar filled with what looked like shards of glass.

I picked it up and shook it. “Do you collect bottle caps, too?”

My immature humor usually tickled Owen’s funny bone, but something in my comment hit a nerve. Darkness stirred under his sharp cheekbones. Closing the gap between us, he pulled the jar from my hands and set it back carefully. “We’ve done enough talking.”

And he didn’t want to discuss the glass. Not that I could blame him. His girlfriend of five days just tore through his apartment, cataloguing every inch of it. “I like your place.”

“I like you.” His chocolate eyes had reached ninety-five percent. Perfectly sinful.

I was horny and ready to indulge. “Then kiss me already.”

I didn’t have to ask twice.

He gripped my hips in a punishing hold, his fingers branding me with points of fire, and our lips fused. Our kiss rocketed to frenzied, both of us pushing against each other, deeper, harder, until my lips felt bruised. I was wet already, my panties likely soaked. I wanted his fingers there, his mouth, his cock. I needed him to alleviate this desperate tingling that threatened to burn my skin.

Pulling at his shirt, I shoved it up and almost wriggled my head into his black crew neck with him, stretching the cotton to get my greedy tongue closer to his abtastic body.

“You’re ridiculous.” He pulled me away and ravaged my mouth with his. The backs of my knees hit his bed, and I landed on my butt. I wore a cute pair of Juicy jeans and an animal print flutter top. The way Owen looked at me, I’d have guessed I was naked.

Chocolate eyes at ninety-eight percent.

Gripping my waist, he shifted me into the middle of the bed.

He knelt over me.

He pushed up my shirt.

He drew torturous circles on my belly, then lifted my top farther, over my bra, but not off. The cold air and his rapt attention sent goose bumps trembling over my skin. He traced my breasts, dragged his thumbs over my lace-encased nipples. His erection stretched his jeans.

“You’re beautiful, Ainsley. Steals my breath.”

He was stealing my heart, and my words. All my jokes and banter vanished, a swirl of emotion blooming in their place. I was going to fall hard for this man. I could sense the emotion refracting through me, the fragile beauty of a rainbow following rain.

Part of me still worried he wasn’t as good as he seemed, but I was past the point of no return. “Owen…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t hurt me, okay?”

Protectiveness surged in his fierce gaze. “You’re about to become mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”

God, this man. Coiled tight as a spring, I pushed up and undid his belt buckle, tugging at it and shoving his jeans down. He stood and toed off his boots. His Levi’s hit the floor next. Racing him, I lost my sandals, tossed my jeans beside his. His shirt joined the pile, mine following. We were both in our underwear, him in socks too, the sight almost funny if his body wasn’t sapping my IQ. Every chiseled inch of him fogged my brain with lust.

“You’re even hot in your socks,” I said. Okay, it was funny.

“I could leave them on.”

I shook my head. “Off.”

He removed them deftly.

He stood at the side of the bed, eyes hooded as he stared down at me. He gripped himself over his briefs and dragged his palm along his erection, legs wide, body strung taut. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Steamed up, I flicked my bra clasp and tossed the purple lace at his head. He batted it away with his large paw, his eyelids sinking heavier. I slipped off my panties, twirled them in the air, and launched them at his lampshade. His answering groan was beyond erotic, deep and rugged and all kinds of wicked.

I’d never felt so exposed, or desired.

He shucked his Hugo Boss briefs, joining my birthday-suit party, and his erection sprang free. Whoa. That was a lot of man.

His cock was thick and hard, the head engorged. All for me.

He skulked closer, hunger burning bright. But he didn’t ravage me. As though I might break, he caged me, lowering himself down in a tortuous descent. The edges of our bodies brushed—knees, thighs, hips, the flats of our stomachs, our chests. Miles of bare skin connecting. We both exhaled for an eternity.

Nothing had ever felt this sensuous. This right.

We lay still for a beat, then our pace surged. We couldn’t explore enough, fast enough, rough enough. He rocked his length against my thigh as he squeezed one breast, sucking my nipple into his hot mouth and palming my ass. I writhed. One second I was tugging his thick hair, then I was pulling at his neck, his shoulders, his tattooed behind. Greedily fusing us closer.

It wasn’t close enough. “I might die. I need you inside me.”

“God, Ainsley. I’ve never wanted a woman this much.”

Pausing, he pushed onto his forearms. The distance allowed me to trail my fingers through his scratch-soft chest hairs. I loved the feel of it against my palm, the hard lines of his pecs and corrugated abs. His cock stirred and slipped off my thigh, lining up with my entrance.

Hypnotized, I swayed my hips, not allowing him access, just loving the tease of all that power and rigid heat, knowing what was to come. Mainly us. “You’re so hot.”

My vocabulary had lost its mental thesaurus.

His cock twitched, making contact. He released a pained growl. “Fuck. Babe, I can’t take it. I wanted to lick and taste you, and I will. But I need to be inside you.”

Breathing hard, he nearly fell over as he fumbled with his end-table drawer, returning with a condom. My body turned hot and swollen as he tore the wrapper and rolled the latex down his hard length. Gripping the base of his shaft and squeezing as if to curb his arousal, he pushed one then two fingers inside me. I gasped at the sensation, clamping down on him while canting my hips up, needing him, needing more.

“You’re soaked.” His low voice sounded like it came from the abyss, a bottomless sea of lust. His gaze flickered then, as though hesitant, hinting to the sensitive boy behind the man. As though he was vulnerable, too, risking a nasty fall.

Maybe I wasn’t alone in this leap of faith.

His fingers kept exploring me, his other hand clenched around himself. I could barely handle the sting behind my eyes. I bit my lip and pulled him down, his weight on me, his thudding heart next to mine. Hands tangled in my hair, he eased his hips forward, an undulating roll as he slid inside me, slow and gentle. He stretched me wide, while our lips met and tongues danced, my world reducing to the points where our bodies met.

Hips. Fire exploded between my thighs.

Calves. Bristly hairs caressed my legs.

Foreheads. Silent promises offered.

“Ainsley.” He murmured my name, reverent, as his strokes quickened. I molded the bottoms of my feet over his calves, squeezing my knees into his sides, meeting his steady thrusts. Shuddering, he shifted his angle and lavished my breasts with attention, flicked my nipples with his tongue. His slight scruff scratched at my skin, spurring my arousal.

“I don’t want it to end,” I murmured.

I don’t want us to end. They were still there, my irrational fears. The belief that love and commitment were fleeting things destined to fall apart. That Owen was too good to be true.

“This is just the beginning.” His eyes were at a full one-hundred percent now, molten and fierce. Begging me to trust him. He planted his palm on my cheek, holding me firm, not allowing me to look away. Our connection deepened, causing a tear to leak from my eye. We were joined, our bodies moving as one, our emotions bared in this unguarded place of openness. We didn’t kiss. We rocked and moaned and whispered each other’s names as we neared the peak.

“I’m close,” I panted.

“Let go, baby. I’m gonna explode.”

He lowered his full weight on me, cradling me close as we bucked together and tensed. My orgasm hit me in a towering wave, my insides clamping on him as I shook. I dug my nails into his strong back. His release followed mine, a surge of heat pulsing between my thighs. He rolled his hips harder into me, a string of expletives growled in my ear, his legs shaking until he collapsed forward.

“Will you still want me if I’m blind?” I rasped.

He laughed, his weight dropping heavier on my chest. “Definitely. Especially since I’ve lost my sight, too.”

“Blind leading the blind.”

“As long as I’m with you, don’t really care.”

“You’re heavy, cowboy.”

“Shit.” He pushed up and pulled out. His hair was sex-strewn, mine likely as tousled. We grinned at each other. “That was insane, and I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared out his door, and I starfished on the bed, enjoying the afterglow. My body felt well-used and languid, a light tingly sensation still fluttering through my belly. My heart had also grown. It was engorged, inflated with Owen, Owen, Owen.

I imagined us cuddled on his couch while we fought over the remote, his sink crammed with my toiletries, our coats hanging side by side in his entryway.

I imagined a future with him.

I hadn’t let myself think beyond sex with a man since Brandon. That kind of hurt hadn’t been worth the risk.

Even now, the possibility of getting in deeper with Owen only to lose him to some awful deceit lingered. Time would ease this nagging doubt, the fear that he would hurt me. It also wasn’t the worst idea to lower the intensity a notch. Wait for my overthinking brain to settle. I still planned to enjoy our budding relationship, but a bit of space would do me good, calm my mind. I began gathering my clothes.

I heard Owen before I saw him. “Not sure if you like classics, but we could watch a movie. Or I could watch you while you tear apart the rest of my apartment. We could find a breakfast place tomorrow.” He walked in as I finished dressing. He frowned when I stepped into my sandals.

“Actually, I think I’ll head home. That was amazing. You’re amazing. But I need to take this slower than I realized, if that’s cool with you.”

His gaze darted to the jar of glass by his bed, tension tightening his features. “Yeah. Sure. I get it.” But he rubbed the back of his neck in agitated strokes.

He pulled on his boxers, covering up all the perfection I could have spent the evening exploring, but this was better. This was what I needed. This would allow me to get used to the idea of Boyfriend Owen, so I wouldn’t pull another stalker move and ransack his place like a complete kook. In time, I’d get over my past and trust him not to break my heart.