by Dizzy Hooper
This is going to be such a disaster, but whatever. I'm having fun for the first time in I can't even remember how long. First Jaquan and Sal. Now this.
Devilish plans make my lips curl into a secretive smile.
Corey seems clean cut as can be. Innocent. But he likes me, when all I project is damaged, stone-cold bitch.
Well, fine. I'm going to test him and see exactly how much he can take.
I just admitted to myself that if I met him in a seedy enough bar, I'd do him.
So that's exactly where I'm going to take him.
23
"So, uh." A bead of sweat forms on Corey's temple and runs down the line of his cheek. "This isn't exactly what I expected."
"Huh?" I lean in closer, turning my ear to him. "I can't hear you."
His throat bobs.
God, I'm being such a dick.
Just as planned, I got off shift this morning and went home to crash for a few hours. Then I sat around my sad, boring apartment, surfing the internet and looking up places to volunteer or something in my free time.
I ate a frozen dinner, then got in the shower. Clean and shaved, I squeezed myself into tight black leather pants, a bright pink T-shirt that shows off my tits and a denim jacket, then topped it all off with a killer lipstick and steel-toed boots and went off to pick up my date.
Corey answered the door in khakis and a button down shirt.
Jesus.
He sticks out like the sorest thumb imaginable in this dive bar I took him to, too. It's on the sketchy side of town, and while Corey doesn't make any more money than I do, it's clear that he's not broke. His clothes are nice and new, and his hair shines in just that certain way.
I'd feel bad about making him uncomfortable, only I'm really enjoying the show.
A big guy in a leather vest and no shirt shoves past Corey to get to the bar. Corey gives him a dirty look, but doesn't start any shit.
Instead, he puts his lips right by my ear. "I said, this isn't what I was expecting."
Yeah, I heard that the last time. I just wanted to get him closer.
He smells good, is the thing. Clean and warm. I breath him in, and heat blooms in the pit of my belly and in the tender place between my legs.
I may have gone a year without getting fucked, but Jaquan and Sal broke that dry spell with gusto. I'm hungry for it all over again, and ever since I decided Corey was fair game, I've been wet, just thinking about getting my hands on him.
For now, though, I'm still testing him.
"What did you have in mind, then?" I ask.
"I don't know. Someplace…" His gaze follows two women who are clearly a couple as they head to the bathroom together. "…Quieter, I guess."
"Not really my speed." In quiet places, you have to talk. Get to know each other.
"And this is?"
"Would I have brought you here if it weren't?"
He leans back a fraction, eying me up and down. "Yeah. I think you just might."
I swallow hard. He really sees way too much. He says too much, too.
Fortunately, a decent song comes on the jukebox in the corner. Cheers go up, and a bunch of people move toward the center of the room.
"Come on," I say, happy for the distraction. "Let's dance."
"Seriously?"
By way of answer, I take him by the hand and lead him into the crowd.
We're each still holding onto our drinks. I drove here, so I can't have more than a couple, but I'm enjoying the one I have. Not more than I'll enjoy getting my hands on this boy, though.
I shoot the liquor back, feeling the burn, then I toss the glass onto a tray as a server walks by. I take Corey's, too—it's almost empty, anyway.
"Hey—"
I ditch his glass, then pull him in.
The song is a fast one, but it's got a good, sexy grind. I hook a hand around the back of his neck and the other on his hip. His whole body radiates uncertainty, but he goes where I put him, letting me tug him close.
Fuck, he smells even better like this. We move to the music while the song plays. His hands are hot on my exposed skin, his breath hotter. I'm pretty sure he's hard inside those khakis, too, the long line of him brushing against my hip every time we sway close.
Then the song changes, and oh wow, was this a bad idea.
I dig my nails into the nape of his neck. The tempo slows way down, the bass going hot and heavy.
This isn't just a kinda-sexy song. This is dirty, nasty fucking song, and if the fresh bloom of sweat on Corey's temple is any indication, he knows it.
He licks those pretty pink lips of his and finally puts his hands on my hips.
All around us, people are basically having sex through their clothes. I press myself against his body, and yeah, he's definitely packing some heat. The long, hard line of his cock rubs against my abdomen. I pull him down by the scruff of his neck, and he consents to crouch a little lower, slotting his leg between mine, and yeah—that's what I wanted. Friction against my mound and the heat of his chest against my full, aching breasts. His Adam's apple jumps, his fingers squeezing my hips. Our mouths are right next to each other. One move from either of us, and we'd be kissing.
But we don't. We stand there instead, dancing and grinding, and the crowd around us fades away. I'm sure as hell not drunk, but I'm just that little bit louder and less inhibited, and he smells so good.
This young, clean-cut kid…I want to wreck him. I want to break him in and fuck myself on his dick. I want to watch his face as I ride him hard.
The insistent need between my thighs grows and grows until I can hardly see. All I can do is feel, and Corey's body feels amazing.
I throw all caution to the wind, fitting my mouth to the smooth column of his throat. He groans, curling around me. I sink in my teeth.
And then with a ragged breath, he shoves me away.
I reel, air whooshing in to fill the sudden space he's created between our bodies. My pussy throbs at the deprivation. My mouth gapes, and the emptiness inside me yawns.
He's feeling it, too. His Bambi eyes are practically black with arousal, a sex flush rising up over his collar and spilling onto his cheeks.
But his hands are also clenched into fists at his sides. He opens one, only to dart forward, grasping my wrist in a punishing grip.
He drags me along in his wake, charging toward the door. Part of me wants to resist. No one shoves me around without my consent. Worse, I can't tell if he's hauling me out of there to fuck me against a wall in the alley or to bitch me out.
Shoving his way past the bodies blocking our exit, he clears a path for us. We emerge out into the cold night air. It's a stinging slap after the heat inside.
But the way he rounds on me is even more of one.
"What the fuck, Chapman?"
Jesus, we just dry-humped each other on a dance floor, and he's still calling me by my last name. The accusation in his eyes burns through me, and maybe I've earned it.
Then again, I've gone farther with guys without them even knowing my name at all.
I'm pretty sure I'm not helping my case. I stand up straighter, blocking out the throbbing ache in my cunt. "Excuse me?"
"What is this? I—I asked you out on a date, not a hook up."
I hug myself against the chill—both in the air and in his eyes. At the same time, I lash out. "Seriously? I told you I was already involved."
"So?"
"So what the fuck do you expect from a girl who, by your own words, tolerates you, and who's clearly fucking other people? What did you want? Flowers? Candles?"
"I wanted you. Or a shot at you."
I fling my hand toward the door of the bar. "You were pretty fucking close to having me, right out on that floor."
"Not like that, dammit."
"Then how?"
I'm panting, my breath white on the air. His flush remains, half angry and half aroused, and it's really, really bad that my first thought is that I could go for a hate-fuck right now. That's clearly
not what he wants. I don't know what he wants from me at all.
Resolution passes across his gaze. "Like this."
Then he's on me.
And at first glance, I'm not sure how the hell this is really different from what we were doing inside, but deep down, I know it is. He takes my face in his hands and crushes his mouth to mine, and I can't help myself. His kiss tastes so fucking good, his mouth hot. The chill is driven from my skin by the wet press of his tongue past my teeth.
But he's not the one in charge.
I take command of the kiss, changing the pace but keeping the intensity. And it's a push and a pull, his desire and mine, evenly matched.
Our bodies are hardly even touching. It's just mouths and his hands, but somehow, it's more intimate than in was with us mashing our personal parts together.
It's more.
It scares the fucking shit out of me.
He pulls away after a breathless minute. He leans his brow against mine. "I want you," he insists. "Don't push me away by fucking me. Let me in—just a little bit."
I feel pierced, like his gaze is slicing clear through me.
Like he really, honestly wants to know me.
Like he likes me.
And it hits me—this is the closest I've been to another person in more than a year. Yeah, I got naked with Sal and Jaquan. I let them shove their bare cocks inside and fill me with their come. I acknowledged the idea that there might be more to what we were doing than sex, but I refused to really accept it.
Corey isn't going to let me get away with that so easily.
He's right. I was absolutely ready to fuck him.
But it was the kind of sex that only would have objectified him; I would have objectified myself. Getting inside each other would have pushed us farther away.
An uncomfortable pit opens up inside my abdomen. I could literally shove him away right now. Leave him and his goddam khakis on this sidewalk in this shitty part of town.
Or I could do exactly what he's asking me for.
I could let him in.
24
This is completely fucking insane.
Alarm bells are ringing in my head louder than they ever do at the station as I fit my key to the lock. I turn the knob, my stomach roiling, then I push open the door.
Holding it wide, I look up at Corey.
And he smiles. This beautiful, beaming smile that lights me up inside, and when did I ever turn into such a softie?
All that time I spent on my own, fending for myself, pretending I didn't get betrayed by everyone I've ever trusted in my life…it really messed me up, huh? I'm a freaking emotional slut, turning to mush at the softest look from my new team.
I'm letting this guy, this kid into my home. I never do that. I never have.
Okay, fine, maybe I've brought a guy or two back to my apartment before, but only as a convenient place to fuck.
This?
This is completely different. We're not here to fuck.
Or who knows, maybe we are, but that's sure as hell not the only thing we're here to do. He called me on my overly aggressive, distancing, femme fatale bullshit on the sidewalk outside that terrible bar. He challenged me to give him more, and I never have been able to back away from a challenge.
Sliding his gaze from mine, he steps past me, over the threshold. I look around, trying to see the place through his eyes, and it's not exactly pretty.
"I, uh. Haven't finished moving in yet." Bullshit, I want to mutter under my breath. I've been here for weeks. I have curtains, for fuck's sake. Everything has been unpacked. I was just raised by wolves and I have no taste.
"It's nice," Corey says.
That bullshit rises to my throat even more powerfully, but I swallow it back.
"Sure," I say instead, closing the door behind him. As it latches, a shiver moves through me, and it's not about the receding chill.
The apartment suddenly feels even smaller than it is. Corey's not a huge guy—tall, but lanky. He doesn't take up that much room.
And yet, he sucks up all the space, all the air.
Chucking my jacket, I stride toward the tiny kitchen off to the side. I tug open the fridge and reach for a beer. "You want something to drink?"
"Just water, thanks."
Fuck.
I put the beer back and pull out my water pitcher instead. I fill two glasses, then turn.
He's standing there, idly staring at my bookshelf, his hands in his pockets, looking so fucking pretty I can hardly stand it. My hands start to shake.
Is this what normal is? A guy and a girl, hanging out in her shabby, bare apartment, drinking water of all things?
As if he can sense my increasingly hysterical gaze on him, he turns. I grip the glasses harder to try to stop the shaking, and it mostly works. He shines a soft smile at me and moves to take one of the glasses. I hand it to him, then hold onto my own with both hands.
"So…" I start.
"So this is you, huh?" He gestures around at the room with his free hand.
"Yup."
"Can I…?"
Oh, right. For the first time, I really regret not owning a proper couch, but with just me here, there's never been any need. I glance from the comfy papasan chair in the corner to the unmade mattress on the floor.
"Sure. Wherever."
He considers his options for a second, then crouches down and sits crosse-legged on the bed.
And that's fine. Totally fine.
Taking the chair all the way across the room seems too far away, but sharing the bed with him seems even more intimate. I drop to sit there anyway, putting as much of the mattress between us as I reasonably can.
"So how do you like Evansburg so far?" he asks.
The eerie, banal, normality of it all hits me again. I shrug, feeling like I'm walking through an unlit tunnel, blind. "It's fine."
"Must be quite a change of pace, after Chicago."
I chuckle despite myself. "You have no idea."
"I mean, I have some clue. My folks are military. We moved around a lot." He raises his brows at me. "I have seen more than this little town."
"Oh." I hadn't realized that, actually. "Then why did you end up…here?"
I don't mean it to sound insulting, but it probably comes off that way.
He laughs it off, though. "My dad got himself stationed here when I was in high school, and we actually managed to stay put for a few years. It's the closest thing to home I know."
"Oh. Did they move on?"
"Yeah, as soon as I graduated, basically. They're in Japan right now."
"Wow." Okay, well, at least that explains him being on C-shift. As a rookie, he might not have had much choice, but with his family on the other side of the world, he also might not have really minded. "Do you see them much?"
A low glow sets itself up in the soft curve of his mouth. "Not as much as I'd like to. There's video chat and all, but it's not the same."
"That must be hard."
"It is. But we make it work."
A comfortable but loaded silence falls over us. We're in danger of heading toward the same conversational cliff I accidentally steered myself over that first morning when I followed Sal and Jaquan back to their place for our sex marathon. I've already opened myself up more than I'm comfortable with, just letting Corey into my space like this. I'm not going into the whole meth-head-parents-orphan schtick, too.
"Do you want to, like, watch a movie or something?" I ask.
Corey hesitates for just a second, then nods. "Sure."
"Cool." I down a bunch of my water, then set my glass on the floor. I rise and grab my laptop—now porn-infestation-free, thank God. I pull up Netflix, then pass the computer to Corey. I hope he understands exactly how much trust that represents. "Here. Pick something out."
He takes the laptop from me, and I straighten up. Shit, I should probably have sprung for a real TV, too, but it's too late. We're going to have to watch whatever he picks on my laptop, sprawled out on my be
d, and I'm a grown-ass woman. This is pathetic.
He doesn't seem to mind, though. He just starts scrolling, oblivious to the panic crawling around in my chest.
We're going to have to be so close to both see the screen. Shit, this was a bad idea. I squirm inside, and how fucked up is that? I was fine with the idea of fucking him in an alley behind the bar, but this? Lying together, doing something so normal—that's what freaks me out?
Worse, I'm still wearing my stupid hook up outfit. The crazy push up bra is killing me, and the skin-tight leather pants are going to start to chafe. I worry the hem of my shirt between my hands.
And then I make a decision.
Fuck it. He's seen me at the firehouse, no make-up, fresh out of the shower, even. He wants me to let him in? Fine.
I jerk my thumb toward the bathroom. "I'm just going to go change real quick."
Looking up from the screen, he smiles. "Good."
What is with this guy? He wants to talk instead of fuck. He wants me in pajamas instead of this?
A fissure cracks open behind my ribs, the thinnest ray of light bursting in.
Maybe he really does like me. Not just my boobs, but…me.
I swallow hard, blinking back the sudden blurriness at the edges of my vision. I have no doubt that Jaquan and Sal see me as more than a convenient set of holes, but I tried to turn myself into precisely that for Corey, and he refused to let me, and that just…feels…nice.
Too nice.
But I'm in it, now.
Turning away, I head to my dresser and dig around until I find a clean, decent-looking hoodie and a pair of fleece pants.
Tempting as it is to strip right there and go back to Plan A, I take the clothing with me to the bathroom, and it's just as well. No matter how good they look on, getting out of leather pants isn't sexy. I groan with relief as I undress. I forgot to grab a less torturous bra, so I go without. My nipples drag against the soft, brushed fabric of the hoodie I pull on, but they're not obvious through the thick material.
As I'm finishing getting changed, I catch a glance at myself in the mirror. My lipstick and smoky eyes still look pretty good, but they're too much, now that I've made myself soft and comfortable. Resolved, I run the tap until the hot water comes up, then I wash it all away.