Chapter 10
STILL IN MY PUDDLE-LIKE STATE, I LET TANK DRIVE ME HOME. He walked me up to my small apartment. Outside the door, he turned me to face him. My nervousness about letting the forum Tank see me was nothing to my nervousness about letting the Olympic medalist Tank look at me, judge me. Here I was, not only not a supermodel—I withered inside as the realization flashed that he had been with supermodels—but also not waxed, polished, or painted like he was used to.
Fuck that insecurity, though. I liked this guy. I wanted him to kiss me.
I tilted my face up. He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully, frowning, his hands tightening on my shoulders, his eyes wandering across my features.
"Or not," he said.
I stiffened. Was he rejecting me?
He was no dummy. He read my expression. "Will you chill? I was just wondering whether to push my luck." He glanced over my head at the door. "I want to come in. I want to take your hair down. But if I do…shit, I didn’t think you’d be so..." He raised his hand and boldly traced my lips with his thumb. I jerked. My body went into instant heat.
And then, while I held my breath, waiting...waiting...he bent and kissed...my forehead.
My stupid forehead.
"Don’t look at me like that," he said huskily. "Or I will kiss you and fuck my control."
"Oh, gee, how terrible that would be." I started to wiggle away. "The great Slutsky, kissing plain old Cecily Spangler. What will people ever—"
He shut me up with his mouth.
His kiss was angry and fierce. His lips slanted over mine like he'd swallow me if he could. He pressed me against the door. God, it felt good. I gave a shuddering little sigh.
As soon as I did, one of Tank’s hands grasped my head while the other drew me against him. He’d held me earlier, but this time there was a sense of leashed tension about him.
Afraid he’d pull away, I grabbed his arms and curled my fingers as far as I could reach around his huge biceps. He reacted by practically inhaling my lower lip. I’d been kissed before. This wasn’t like the kisses I knew. Tank’s soft-firm mouth was passionate, desperate. It made me dizzy and flooded my brain with excitement.
"You don’t know how many nights I’ve wanted this…" He broke off and nipped at my pointed chin. "Shit, Ponytail, you smell so right." His hands swept over my hips. "You feel so right. I should have PM’d you months ago. I had this feeling…but I knew it was a bad idea..."
I felt myself lifted, pressed even harder against the door. Suddenly my hair was spilling down my shoulders. His hands were winding through it, tugging at the sensitive flesh of my scalp. He made a pleased grunt. I felt his lips at the base of my throat.
Open the door. The words nagged me, but I didn’t want to stop him. I’d been made burningly aware of the hard bar of his erection, and my drawing brain translated what I felt into spatial dimensions. And oh, hell, my imagination hadn’t even done the man justice. I’d underestimated him...that made me snort.
He chuckled, a pained sound. "What is it?"
"I thought I was exaggerating your size when I drew you," I sniggered, sliding my hand down and squeezing between our bodies to cup him. He jerked and groaned deeply.
And then his knee was pushing up, splitting my thighs, and I felt my dress ride up and his hand was scooping the crotch of my tights, lifting me higher yet again.
"Fuck, you’re beyond wet...I knew it...shit, we have to get inside or I’ll end up nailing you right against this door."
The next couple of minutes were a whirlwind of crazed motion. We stumbled inside my apartment. He tore at my clothes and I tore at his. He was faster. He had my dress off, my bra unclasped, and my tights and panties down at my ankles before I could do more than lower his jeans past his thighs.
He yanked off my lower garments the rest of the way and right there on the floor, he mounted me, kneeling between my legs, staring into my eyes as if he were trying to read my mind for the answer to some question. He was still wearing his briefs, so I don’t know what he planned to do.
Whatever it was, though, I wanted it. Not because he was Rafail Slutsky, swimmer, either. It was the way he smelled like heaven. He just felt perfect. And I trusted that he’d never do anything I didn’t want.
Finally, as if he’d seen the answer he was looking for, his gaze lowered. He took in my bra, parted to reveal my small breasts, as well as the swell of my tummy, the curves of my hips, and my shamelessly bare pussy.
He sucked in a breath. "My imagination didn’t do you justice. You’re incredible. All those freckles...I'm going to taste each and every one. Damn, if I didn’t know better I’d say you are what I’ve been missing."
"Missing?" I remembered him telling me earlier he was looking for a new challenge and finding it in sports medicine.
"Don’t laugh...I’m superstitious. Most swimmers are. Did you know you’re the reason I joined BodyDraw?" His finger probed into the slick seam between my thighs. "A friend learned I had a superfan and gave me the link to one of your sketches. We had a few laughs over it. Then I got hooked. On the forum...and against my will, on you...oh, yeah, you like that?"
He was stroking me, circling my clit. I couldn’t think. I moaned.
"You drove me crazy. You annoyed the shit out of me talking about me like I was a shell instead of a person. But you made me laugh...and then you had the balls to PM me. I thought if I met you, I’d fuck you out of my system, maybe teach you a lesson about making assumptions...but I knew it was more than that. God, you are so wet...I’m going to bang you with my hand, all right, Ponytail?"
I screamed a little as his blunt finger probed. At the same time, he swooped down and took one of my nipples between his teeth. The electric jolt that gave me was almost too much. His finger drove inside me as his thumb frisked my clit. I arched my body, almost hysterical, utterly unable to control anything, only the ache in my fingers making me aware I had his arms in a death grip.
"You gonna come for me, Cec? I wanted to see you...last night when you told me you were wet and wanted to end the convo, I would have killed to have you with me, to watch you play with yourself."
I thought I knew Slutsky’s voice, but I had never heard it rough and harsh like this. I panted, "Tank, you’re ridiculous!" trying to make light of what he was telling me. He gave a laughing groan and then his palm rubbed me hard as he thrust two fingers into me, and I lost it.
I exploded. As I clenched out of control, and writhed, and basically became a hedonistic wanton right before Tank’s eyes, I heard him say, "You’re so damn pretty." My body flushed all over. I felt him move and fabric slide against my naked skin. He was stripping off his clothes.
I glimpsed a long, sculpted torso and powerful limbs, but there was no time to savor the sight. The floor fell away; I was floating in his arms. He was carrying me across the room, through a doorway, to the bedroom. I landed on the bed and he followed. Before I knew it, I heard the rip of a condom wrapper, and then he was over me, steel-hard against my hip.
He fitted himself to me, set the wonderful, bold head of his cock against me right where I needed him. But just as my eyes fluttered shut, he hesitated. "Do you see me?" he said sharply.
"What?" I was still dazed from my orgasm, and not really thinking too well.
He was tense as he held himself over me. "Do you see me, Tank...or a celebrity? There’s only one right answer here," he warned me.