I took my sweet-ass time following him the half-dozen steps. If his nipples are showing through, you’re a dead man walking, Thompson.
As I faced him, I was surprised to see his slack expression had turned turbulent. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, nostrils flaring. He unclenched his jaw to speak, but no sound emerged. And damn, that goozle in his throat decided to do an alluring, little dance, rippling with unspoken words. His body told me he was angry and agitated, but his eyes, they were…beseeching? Tormented? I couldn’t say.
“Ken, I,” I began, but he closed the distance between us quickly, and brought his chest flush with mine. When the soft warmth of his hand and slow advancing of his face registered, a new frisson of awareness suffused my body. But for the millisecond between our chests touching and his hand cradling my jaw, I thought this was aggression and I jerked back instinctively.
Ken noticed my jerk and seemed to quickly change tactics. He pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “Kiss me.”
Without a thought, I closed the small space between our mouths and placed my lips on his. It was the permission he needed, and he tightened his hand on my head, pulling me deeper into the kiss, which turned hot and forceful.
And praise be Thor and his giant tool—it was delicious. We ate ravenously at each other’s mouths for a moment before my brain came back online.
How is this happening!? My hands, which had found their way to his hips, floated up and hovered in indecision near his biceps.
Ken slowed the kiss, pulled back slightly and grasped my wrists. He guided my hands to his chest—I knew those nipples were poking out!—and took the kiss deeper. His tongue slid against the seam of my lips, demanding entry. When I relented, he groaned, wrapped both arms around me, and pulled our bodies together.
The slide of his wet mouth on mine, the invasion of his hot tongue, the insistent prodding of his rapidly thickening cock against my own, spurred me into action. My blood pumped fast and my breathing became shallow. I gave a sinuous grind of my hips to feel the friction—to show him I was as hard and eager as he was.
Ken’s mouth separated from mine to let out a deep groan of anguish and delight. Gratified, I gave another slide of my groin and was rewarded again with a low moan. He attempted to bring his mouth back to mine, but I grabbed a fist full of his hair, and pulled his head back gently. Staring into his desire-hooded eyes, I kept up my grinding, driving us both crazy with the motion that was nearly too much pleasure, but not coming close to enough.
In the quiet dimness of my apartment, the rhythmic swishing of track pants pumping against trousers and our labored, choppy breath, created an erotic soundtrack. The sensations and the sounds must have been swamping him because he groaned again and slid his eyes shut. I didn’t want him to break the contact, so I tugged harder on his hair and demanded, “Look at me, Ken.”
When he did, I asked, “What the hell are we doing here, huh? This is insane.” My words might have seemed like I was second-guessing, like I wanted to stop and parse this all out, but my tone was rough and raw, and my hips were grinding our cocks together harder. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want Ken to stop either. I wanted words, though. Any words. Dirty words, sweet words—even angry words would have been fine. I needed to hear how affected he was by me, to have spoken evidence of how much he liked what we were doing. I wanted to know he was engaged in this act with me.
His lip curled in a sneer as his hands found their way to my ass. He squeezed and said, “What’s insane is that you’re so clueless.”
My hand loosened from his hair and he took that opportunity to reconnect our mouths in a blistering, carnal kiss. Without breaking contact, he walked me backward to the nearest wall. When my back touched the solid surface, he pulled away, reached an arm behind his head, and stripped off the T-shirt in one fluid motion.
I marveled at the smooth expanse of his torso. His erect nipples and flexing pectorals were as dangerous as I suspected. You’re dead, Thompson. His nipples killed you and now you’re in heaven.
He set to work rapidly undoing the buttons of my shirt. When he opened it, he grasped my undershirt roughly, “This goes too, damn it, I need your skin.”
I quickly divested myself of the shirts, eager to press our hot skin together. When we did, we moaned in unison.
“Steven,” Ken whispered as his mouth met mine. We kissed for minutes? Hours? Days? I had no idea. I was swept up in the need for more. More heat, more friction, more Ken. His smell was enveloping me, his taste was infusing me, the radiating passion was making me lose touch with time and space. We were hovering, suspended in sensation.
Eventually, he pulled himself away slightly and said breathlessly, “Take your cock out for me.”
I felt my shaft get impossibly harder with the demand. I couldn’t move fast enough to get my belt and pants undone. Just the thought of his big hands on me had more excitement escaping from my tip. I shoved my pants and underwear down just low enough to expose me.
Ken groaned again, his eyes transfixed on my jutting dick. He rubbed himself through the material of his pants as he reached for me with his other hand. I hissed at the contact, my eyes shutting of their own volition. Again, it was too much and not enough.
“You’re so hot, so smooth and hard.” With a squeeze and a pull, he marveled, “You’re long.” He twisted his grip as he reached my head, smearing the precum partway down my shaft. I let out a curse, pumping my hips for more.
“Show me yours,” I ordered, chokingly. I could hardly speak through the pleasure that was consuming me. Any other time I would have cringed at the lame words. Show me yours. But in that moment, it was what I wanted, plain and simple. I needed him to let me have him as he was having me.
Without breaking his hold on me, he pushed the front of his waistband down under his balls, causing them to jut upward. I reached out and smoothed my palm up and down the underside of him before squeezing the shaft tightly.
Ken moaned and watched my hand for a moment before repeating in a raspy tone, “I need your skin.” He adjusted so that our cocks touched. He pulled mine down, rubbing our heads together, blending our silky fluid.
“Look at us, Steven,” he said. “Nothing has ever looked so fucking hot as my cock rubbing on yours.”
I silently agreed. I was on the brink of coming from the combination of sensual assaults. It was incredible. He was incredible.
He shifted again to line up our undersides and gripped our cocks in his right hand. We pumped our hips in earnest then, both of us chasing our orgasm. With my hand, I explored our heads and parts of the shafts he wasn’t touching.
I glanced up to see his face screwed into a grimace, signaling he was close. I was close too and wanted us to come together.
“Fuck, Ken, come,” I spurred, reaching lower to tug on his sac. “I want to see you shoot all over me.” He grunted, my words clearly having the right effect. “Yeah,” I encouraged. “Make a mess of me, of both of us.” That did it. With a shout and firm jerky motions, he was letting loose. The sight and the sound sparked my own, and I spent myself.
I was glad the wall was to my back because I would have lost my balance. I was wrung dry.
Ken released his hold and panted out, “Are you up to speed now? Because if not, I’ve got more where that came from.”
Chapter Twenty
*DKM*
Huh, I’d rendered Steven Thompson speechless. Well done.
He was leaning against the wall, his mouth agape and his softening cock still hanging out of his pants. His glasses were slightly askew, his hair messier than normal.
He looked beautiful. I wanted to burn this memory into my brain and never forget that I’d had this effect on him.
I tucked myself back into my pants and said, “Let’s get cleaned up a little. Then I want to talk to you.”
He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, let’s, uh, do that.” He raised his arm and flicked his thumb toward the hall. “The bathroom is back there on the
left.”
Once we had tidied, I made myself at home on the couch, slouching and spreading, conveying an unapologetic confidence I didn’t feel. It was important to me that Steven understood what my motives had been from the start—that I had no regrets and hadn’t blown my load all over him on a whim. How he felt about all of this was a mystery, therefore my confidence was pretty shaky.
When he joined me, he had two opened beer bottles in his hands. He’d put his undershirt back on and buckled his belt. He still had a slightly dazed afterglow. Again, well done, Ken.
“Here,” he handed me the beer and sat. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink, McPretty.” He sighed.
“What happened to the ‘MD?’” I asked, infusing my voice with humor. “I didn’t spend thirteen years of my life to be just a regular McPretty.”
Without looking at me, he smiled. “Yikes, sorry. Let’s blame it on the hand-job, okay? My thought processes have been temporarily compromised.”
I wasn’t sure how to segue into conversation, so I opted for bluntness. “So much is making sense now,” he nodded slowly in agreement, still looking forward. “I guess my dating attempts were too subtle, huh?”
Steven huffed out a rueful laugh and shook his head. “It’s pretty damn obvious now.” He was pensive for a moment, then whipped his head to look at me, his eyes wide. “Hey! You were so totally coming on to me with that breathing shit, weren’t you?!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “If Ernesto could have waited five more seconds, I would have had my tongue in your mouth.”
He muttered softly, “What a cockblocker.”
“And you thought what? We’d just be friends?”
“Well, yeah. I thought you were straight.” He laid all his splayed fingers on his chest and said, “I’m clearly awesome—”
“A delight,” I interjected.
“And I thought you could use a friend—that you needed some help socializing.”
I felt my face bunch up. I didn’t bother smoothing it over or keeping the rancor from my voice when I said, “I have friends, you know. I’m not completely pitiful.” I was stung by the thought that I’d been a pity project for him. I might not have had a lot of close friends in Chicago, but I had casual friends I met up with when I could. For instance, there was Jeremiah and Mike. I met up with them occasionally, mostly for racquetball. Of course, they’d been residents at Chicago General and I hadn’t played with either of them in months. Alright, so I didn’t surround myself, every spare minute, with people. So what? I was busy.
I was also lonely. And Steven, with his stupid x-ray vision, saw all of that. Of course, he had.
“Whoa, hold up,” Steven said, raising one hand. “Don’t take that the wrong way. You called me. Romance didn’t occur to me as one of your motives. What else was I supposed to think?”
I didn’t want to fight, I just wanted to know we could move forward. “Alright, fine. But you don’t want to be only friends, right? That’s what you meant in your message?”
He shook his head, his gray eyes sparking with feeling. “I can’t be just friends with you. It’s not possible.”
Relieved, I set my beer on the table and twisted to kiss him. It was intended to be quick, but as soon as our lips met, the kiss turned hot. Steven fumbled to set his beer on the table without breaking contact. When he did, both of his hands found their way to my hair, gently tugging with every swipe of tongue.
I pulled back after a moment, intent on finishing our conversation. “Wait, wait, we need to settle some things.”
Breathing hard, he said, “If you want me to focus on conversation, you need to scoot back.” He turned his head away from me and held his palm out. “Your face in mine short-circuits my brain.”
I smiled. And rather than scooting back, I raised my hand to interlace our fingers. “I’m not moving, and you’re going to jazz with me tomorrow night,” I declared. “It will be a date, I will pay.” At this he snorted. “Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get a good night kiss.”
Still facing away, he muttered. “You’ll get a kiss all right…”
I hated to turn the conversation, but we had to talk about the other thing.
I brought our laced hands down to rest on his leg and rubbed my thumb on his. “Tell me about this stalker.”
Chapter Twenty-One
*DKM*
When I arrived at Steven’s apartment on Saturday, I felt nervous in a way I hadn’t before. For one thing, I had a fantasy build-up of this jazz night, to the point where I almost wished we’d scrap it and do something else. For nearly two weeks, the imaginings of it had been playing on a loop in my head—soft lights, entwined fingers, the air charged and swirling with heady promises fueled by music and alcohol and physical awareness. I was afraid I had too much invested in this night playing out exactly that way.
That Steven opened the door and surveyed me with an open appreciation and hunger he’d never shown before, helped to strengthen those expectations and fantasies. His bold assessment of me and languid movements were seductive. It drove home just how off-key we’d been before now. He’d never communicated attraction so blatantly, so invitingly to me. Seeing what I’d been missing, what he was like when everything was open and possible, cemented to me that I’d been too guarded in my communications as well.
No wonder he hadn’t a clue I was into him. Had I ever looked at him and said what was passing through my mind? You look sexy. I want to kiss you. Or, Let’s hold hands for the movie. Had I ever given him brazen, lustful looks of appreciation all the times I noticed how well his clothes fit or at how disarrayed his hair was, or even how his sarcastic quips fired me up? No. I’d stupidly been too guarded and worried about being judged.
Well, that was over. Starting now, I was going to make my intentions crystal clear.
“Damn, you look so hot, I can’t wait to peel you out of those pants.”
Or I could be a creepy perv. Nice move, asshat.
Without missing a beat or acting at all shocked, he chided, “Now, now, you promised you’d buy me dinner first.”
I felt a blush heat my cheeks and he laughed. “You’re too fun.” He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me in for a quick kiss. As he retreated, he said, “You look nice, too.”
Steven was wearing snug, dark-wash jeans, a belt, and a gray, fitted button-up. The color highlighted his eyes, and his long, lean frame was accentuated by the cut and fit of the outfit. It was an understated pairing that did its job to perfection.
Seeing how simple and effortless his attire was, I rethought my choice of tie and blazer. I was trying too hard and it showed. The tie had to go.
“I’m going to take this off,” I announced. I shoved the tie in my jacket pocket and undid the first two buttons of my shirt.
“Either way, you look gorgeous,” he said with a wink. “Should we go?”
* * *
Though Club Tremolo didn’t require reservations for dinner, I hadn’t wanted to risk loitering in the bar for an hour waiting to be seated. So, after I left Steven’s the night before, I called to request a table away from the stage. I wanted to make sure we could converse and enjoy our company without too much interference from the music.
When we arrived, the hostess led us to a small table a good distance from the stage. Ambient light shone down, and the scheduled quintet was playing an upbeat number. I watched Steven as he took in the atmosphere of the club.
I wondered if his scanning of the room was purely out of appreciation for the club, or if he were trying to spot this ‘King’ douchebag in the crowd. I hoped it was the former, because I wanted him to enjoy himself tonight and, if just for a few hours, leave his enormous stress load behind. But there was a part of me that wanted to know he was concerned and using some vigilance. The conversation we’d had the night before about it had been him warning me of dangers, while simultaneously trying to convince me there was no threat.
He’d shown me texts from three different numbers
—one of which was a picture of a dick—and some out-of-focus pictures of Steven when we’d gone to dinner together.
So, see, it’s just been some texts and pictures. No threats.
I didn’t feel nearly as calm or optimistic about this as he appeared to be. I was scared for him, honestly. Someone in their right mind, and with good intentions didn’t change their number or switch out phones to keep contact with someone who blocked them. Sending pictures to prove he was following, wasn’t benign. These were fear tactics. Fixation and intimidation.
When I asked what had happened when they went out, he told me that when he’d brought him to his apartment, the man wasted no time in being rough and impatient. Steven tried to slow him down, get him to ease up, but that only resulted in going from rough to violent. Apparently, his building’s conspicuous security gave the man pause and was enough to deter him from taking his plans further.
Steven’s building was obviously secure, even to someone who wasn’t paying much attention. The doorman allowed entry via thumbprint, the lobby had several guards stationed at various points, and the concierge was anything but lax in his own duties. Upon leaving last night, I’d made it a point to scan for cameras. There’d been dozens of domed fixtures that could have been concealing cameras. Knowing that Steven was falling asleep in such a well-protected place, made it easier for me to leave him.
I just wished I’d been able to convince him to alert his boss about it or go to the police. But he’d adamantly refused, saying there was nothing anyone could or would do at this point, so there was no reason he needed to spill his private business to anyone, least of all, his employer.
He’ll murder me and toss me in the lake himself! No thanks.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t agree that there was no danger. I’d seen firsthand what could happen when fixation turned violent—how someone could shut out the entire world and just give over to a focused, intense rage. I’d yelled, I’d fired—neither of those had penetrated her mind. She wanted to hurt, she wanted to kill, she wanted to release all her psychosis and hurt and jealousy and hatred right on to Elizabeth. And nothing was going to stop her.
Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2 Page 14