Stud by Siskind, Kelly (8)

Eight

Owen

Visions of my brother sharing humiliating childhood stories with Ainsley flooded my mind. I plunked my glass down harder than intended. “What do you mean, you know Emmett?”

“I saw him a few weeks back, when he stopped by the build. I kind of hid my face, so I don’t think he recognized me. I was embarrassed.” Even now, she twirled a lock of blond hair around her finger, avoiding eye contact.

“How exactly do you know him?”

She crossed her legs and bounced her foot. I could feel her movements more than see much under the white tablecloth, but our calves brushed. Even through our jeans, a spark of awareness snapped up my thighs. Like it had when she’d plastered herself to my back earlier. I’d nearly growled when she’d pressed her cheek to my thigh in my car. If I didn’t get us naked soon, that spark would ignite and burn me whole. Tamping down the urge to drag her onto my lap, I waited her out.

She wasn’t quick to answer. She flipped her fork in circles. She rolled her eyes as though annoyed with herself. “Thing is, I had a crush on him.”

“On Emmett?” She nodded, a sweet blush dusting her cheeks. I’d have laughed, but she looked ready to crawl under the table. “How’d you even meet him?”

“At the gym. I work out with a couple friends there, and I’d seen him around. I mean, he’s easy on the eyes, but he wasn’t interested, obviously.”

I didn’t question that. Hearing she’d been into him irked me a bit, but it explained her mixed signals. Must be awkward to be interested in my brother, find out he’s gay, then meet me. “You’re not the first woman to fall for him, if it makes you feel better. I bet he got a kick out of it.”

“Something like that. Anyway, I thought you should know. I enjoy spending time with you, and I didn’t want it to make things weird with us.”

Did that mean there was an us? I really hoped it meant there was an us. Either way, as new as I was to dating, talking about her feelings for my brother probably wasn’t high on any win-the-girl checklist. “Thanks for telling me, but it’s no big deal. And I like spending time with you, too.”

“Yeah?” she asked, almost skeptical.

I stared into her blue eyes, losing a bit of myself each time they beamed me in. “Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. The moment lingered. Something lingered. Until she looked down sharply, breaking the intensity.

I scanned the menu. “You want to share stuff or order on our own?”

“Share,” she said, without looking up.

Sharing it was.

Two drinks and a stomach full of Indian food later, we both leaned forward, elbows on the table. Nana would flick my ear if she saw my poor table manners, but the spices and conversation had me warm and hazy. Ainsley had me hazy.

“What would be your worst way to die?” she asked between sips of water. “Like, your most terrifying option.”

“Zombie bite to the nuts.”

She snorted out a stream of liquid, then slapped a hand over her face. It only made her cuter. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Too bad I didn’t have my phone out. I could have videoed it.” Come to think of it, she hadn’t touched her phone, either. Our conversation had been effortless, jokes and silly topics thrown between us. And there had been touching. Subtle brushes of her fingers on my wrist as she talked. My blood vessels swelled with each connection, her bright mood making my blood sing. Whatever barrier she’d thrust between us had toppled.

“Seriously though,” she said. “Zombie bite to the nuts? Why?”

“If you’d ever been kicked in the nuts, you’d understand.” I reached down and shifted my jeans at the agonizing thought. Ainsley’s gaze followed my movements. The heat in her eyes had me adjusting for other reasons.

“Men have low pain thresholds. It can’t hurt that badly.”

“You have no idea.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d probably skip a week of work for period cramps.”

The one and only time I’d had a solid shot to the nuts had involved a soccer cleat, a missed kick, and me rolling on the ground. “If period cramps feel like being punched in the gut with Thor’s hammer, followed by simultaneously wanting to puke and shit yourself, then yeah, you’re probably right. I’d take a sick day.”

“Baby,” she mumbled.

“What about you? Worst way to die.”

She tore off a piece of naan bread, scooped the last of our chana masala, and hummed as she swallowed. “If we’re talking fictional, then molten gold poured over my head.”

I froze mid-sip of my beer. “As in Game of Thrones?”

“Obviously.”

“I didn’t peg you for a fantasy lover.”

“I have eclectic taste in music and TV. My dad got me into fantasy stuff, and Khal Drogo boiling Viserys Targaryen’s brain to give him his ‘gold crown’ was gruesomely awesome. Bad way to go.”

She played word games, loved to hike, watched violent fantasy shows, her raspy voice exuded sex, and she looked like she walked off the set of Some Like it Hot. I couldn’t have dreamed up this woman. “And if we’re talking real life?”

She shuddered. “Death by submarine.”

“Meaning a submarine falling on you, or dying in a submarine?”

She glowered at my teasing. “Dying in a submarine, smartass. Walking into one would give me an instant heart attack.”

“You have issues with confined spaces?”

“I’m a tad claustrophobic. Tend to hyperventilate and thrash wildly when boxed in. It isn’t pretty.”

Even now, her cheeks paled. The notion of her stressed and anxious did strange things to my chest. It had me wanting to run my thumb between her eyes, erase the crease settling there. “Do subways bother you?”

“I avoid them.”

“Elevators?”

“I get sweaty.”

Images of a flushed and dewy Ainsley flipped through my mind. Her curvy body under me. Over me. Locked in my arms. “Must make getting around tough.”

“I deal with it. It just gets uncomfortable at times.”

Like sitting across from her and not leaning over to taste her pulse point. A crumb from the naan clung to the edge of her mouth. Needing to touch her, I reached to brush it off. The tip of my finger dragged by her lips. Those plump, bee-stung lips. Her breasts rose on an inhalation, my nearness affecting her as much as it was me. My cock grew heavy, my body buzzing with desire. The urge to get our check and get gone was potent, but chatting with her was fun, too. Slowly, I sat back.

She seemed to bite the inside of her cheek, then she sent me a wicked grin. “Can I ask you a…” She chewed her cheek some more. “A personal question?”

I leaned into my chair, tipping onto its back legs. “Anything.”

“What’s sex really like for a guy?”

I dropped forward, and my chair thunked on the tile floor. That question was unexpected. Unexpected but intriguing. I liked it. Liked that Ainsley wanted to up the flirting a notch. “I need more specifics before I answer.”

“Just…” Lilting Indian music drifted through the half-filled room. Ainsley swayed to the beat. “Is every orgasm the same? I mean, for girls it’s different. Oral versus sex sex. Mood. Attraction. All those things affect how it feels. But guys, you know, just come. So, does it feel the same each time, or does it change?”

Jesus H. Christ. If I was hard before, I was iron now, thankfully covered by the tablecloth. She must have realized what she was doing to me. Must have been intent on killing me one sex-fuelled, husky word at a time. Delaying this gratification would make touching her that much sweeter. “It’s always good.” My voice was scratchy, and I cleared my throat. “Always blinds me. But some orgasms last longer, rock you harder, and with the right person, it’s more intense.” I held her gaze until she looked away. Her pale cheeks burned pink.

I had no doubt sex with Ainsley would blow my mind.

She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and lowered her voice. “What about head? What’s, like, really hot? What takes a blowjob from good to oh-my-fucking-God?”

My blood wasn’t just singing now. It was roaring. It was demanding me to grab Ainsley, flip her over my shoulder, and carry her home to show her exactly what I liked, then spend the rest of the evening worshipping her curves. Every glorious dip and swell. I tugged at my shirt’s neckline and sipped my water, never breaking eye contact.

“You want to know what I like?”

“I want to know what men like.”

So this was a game. A hypothetical way to make me crazy. Getting her home tonight was going to be some kind of fun. “I can’t speak for all men, but I love a nice, long lick. Teasing. Having my shaft and balls played with.”

Her eyelids drooped and her lips parted. She made a breathy grunt, a sound she often released around me. Apparently Ainsley liked a dirty talker, and this extended foreplay was doing it for me. Getting me hotter than I ever remembered being. As soon as I told her all the ways I’d “theoretically” love her to suck me off, we’d be flipping this conversation onto her.

She nodded, expectant, waiting for me to go on. Practically panting for it.

Leaning closer, I obliged. “I like attention on the tip. A bit of teeth is nice, but not too much.”

She whimpered.

“Also hands,” I said, deepening my voice. “I like a firm grip. Lots of suction makes everything nice and tight. Wet and warm. Really love when I can watch, too.”

Her reply: “I think I just came.”

I barked out a laugh, unsure how I found this girl, but thanked my lucky stars her killer heels had sent her flying into my arms. I’d never had this much fun flirting and hanging out. Never experienced arousal so thick my skin itched. “You worried about your skills? Is that what this is about?”

She was glowing and nothing short of beautiful, her sultry smile sending an arrow through my heart. “I love sex.” There was no hint of apology or embarrassment in her tone. “I love being with men and knowing what I like. I also love giving head. Some women find it degrading or, I don’t know, dirty…but it makes me feel powerful. In control. I love watching a man’s legs shake as he unravels, because of me. So, since we’re friends, I figured this was a great opportunity. Like one of those ‘The More You Know’ public-service announcements. You’re helping me do better.” She shrugged a shoulder, like it was nothing.

Like she wasn’t torturing me.

Forget getting her home. I was a second from fucking her perfect mouth right here and now. My dick pulsed, the room suddenly stifling. Soon I’d be jacking off under the table. “What do you say we get out of here?”

But she frowned. “You okay? You look flushed. Was it the food?”

Ainsley was playing with fire now. Toying with me. I’d bought condoms this morning, my first time in years. I’d felt like a teenager again, nervous and excited to ask her out, hoping I’d be making love to her soon. The nerves were gone. All that was left was raging desire. It was time to share how I planned to ravage her in the near future. Get her wet and ready for me. “Since you want to talk about oral sex—”

“Can I offer you any dessert?” our waiter asked.

Great fucking timing, dude. “Just the check.”

Ainsley was all the dessert I needed, and she was eyeing me like she wanted a bite. Until her attention flicked to our audience.

She licked lips and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I could be tempted.”

Excuse me? Was that a seductive note purring in her voice? She was considering him now, her gaze taking in the man’s physique. My confusion grew by the second. My fingers flexed, a second from locking around the asshole’s neck.

Our waiter snuck a glance at me, then focused on Ainsley. “We pride ourselves on our variety here. Lots to offer.” He winked.

Ainsley pushed out her breasts. “I like the sound of that.”

What in the ever loving fuck? The asshole was flirting with her, and she was playing along. No. Not playing along. She was instigating. Could be she was into kinky sex. Maybe she wanted a threesome with this joker. She knew Emmett was gay, probably figured I leaned that way, too. Maybe she’d hoped I was bi. As a teen, I’d debated the idea of being with men. Contemplated my brother’s sexuality and wondered what it would be like. I even kissed a guy once. It never did anything for me, and threesomes weren’t my bag. I liked being with a woman, and I didn’t like to share.

Seeing this side of Ainsley was a bucket of ice water on my nuts.

Our server left to get dessert menus, and Ainsley bounced on her seat. “He’s cute, don’t you think?”

I guess things could get worse. “Not my type.”

She swatted the air, unconcerned by my irate sarcasm. “Obviously. What about for me? I mean, his beard is hot and he has a bit of an accent. English, maybe? Should I ask him out?”

I crossed my arms, part fuming and all sexually frustrated. If she wasn’t after a threesome, then what? More games? More hot and cold? Or maybe I’d been right from the start—she wasn’t into me. She seriously just wanted to be friends. If that was the case, then fine. I liked her. She was fun to be with and easy to talk to, but right now I was riled up and needed space. If I confronted her and asked her outright, I’d wind up saying something rude for leading me on. Better to end this night without putting my bruised ego on display.

“You were right before,” I said, forcing my voice steady, my face placid. “I’m not feeling great. Best if we go.”

She fussed over me for a beat, then proceeded to give our waiter her number as we paid. I sat there like a schmuck, swallowing my anger. Still burning with desire for a woman who wasn’t interested in me. She was the first person I’d connected with since leaving Tessa, and my chest felt like it had been steamrolled. Disappointment sat heavy in my gut.

I drove her to her car, barely a word spoken between us; my frustration didn’t leave much room for conversation. She snuck furtive glances my way, but I couldn’t speak. Wouldn’t. I’d fallen for Ainsley. Beyond the attraction, I’d started imagining us eating breakfast in bed and swimming in the ocean. Doing dishes. Some people found day-to-day life mundane. I reveled in the idea of walking down a grocery aisle, teasing my girl, stealing kisses. I’d actually wondered if Ainsley was my missing piece of glass.

That dream would be a tough bubble to break.

Once I accepted she wasn’t interested in me, I’d apologize. When I was sure I wouldn’t say something hurtful, I’d explain. For now I needed to lick my wounds.