Adonis Line: Filth series

by Dakota Gray

  I told Tarek I want to have sex in so many words. If I change my mind, I don’t deserve him stomping over my consent to take what I had initially offered.

  So I lean against the door, knowing this is just another test I’ve put in his path. I hold my breath to see how he reacts.

  “Dibs on the shower?” he says.

  I blow out the pent-up air. “We can arm-wrestle for it, but I’m pretty sure I know the outcome.”

  His smile is soft, but no less crooked. “Then I’ll go first.”

  I melt onto the bed closest to the door. When the shower kicks on, I dig into my purse for my phone and call my sister.

  “So,” Layla says, “I’ve been doing research on anal. Your best bet is to take a laxative and fast a few hours before the deed is done. Otherwise you’ll have to leave the maid a hefty tip for what happens after that.”

  The preamble is so unexpected I can’t do anything other than laugh. “It’s only been two days and you’re looking up shitting in the bed after backdoor play. Layla, for the love of God, please find a hobby. And does your husband know you’re like this?”

  “That’s why he married me. Anyway, you really need to check out Tarek’s Insta. He’s so into anal. You can tell with a look.”

  “He’s too big to even consider it.”

  My sister sucks in air. “What happened?”

  I can’t be irritated—this reaction is why I called her. “A kiss and a little handsy flirtation.”

  “But no…”

  “No. We were in a hotel for one night and then in the woods. Not only did I not feel sexy, but every now and again I kept thinking this is how people get ticks in their genitals.”

  “So?”

  I snort. “How are the twins?”

  “Running me ragged as usual. I’ve found a pre-school program that runs in the summer, and I’m sending them off the first moment I can. They’ve been doing that weird twin thing where they finish each other’s sentences. They need to socialize with other kids before they turn into those twins from the Shining.”

  “I love you, Layla,” I say then fall into a laugh.

  “I’m just saying. I’m never putting them into blue dresses.”

  “The next time I babysit, I’m going to teach them how to stand side-by-side in the hallway.”

  “I would disown you.”

  The bathroom door opens and Tarek strolls into the main room with only a towel. Apparently, I make a noise because my sister asks, “What is he doing?”

  “Partially air-drying,” I whisper.

  In slow degrees, every inch of me gets hot. I just saw him in the pool. All those weeks ago I had a front row seat to the sight of his bare skin. All of it seems to fade and narrow to now.

  Hell, it’s hard to think through the russet shade of his skin highlighted by the black ink painting one side of his body. The very sight of his taut muscular frame steals all speech. I want to trail my tongue over him to catch the seeds of water. Run my hands over every tattoo and ask the story behind each. I don’t care if his answers are they looked cool in the moment.

  I. Ache. I need to know what his cock feels like nudging the back of my throat. My imagination can only throw at me he’ll be hot, thick and salty—my favorite flavor of a man.

  “Gotta go,” I say into my phone.

  My sister puts up no protest, and that’s a ringing endorsement. I wasn’t kidding about feeling dirty so I’m going to take a ho bath then jump his bones.

  “Tarek,” I say.

  He leans closer to the mirror that takes up the back wall of the room. He’s frowning at the beard he’s grown over the last few days. “Yeah?”

  I’m 99% sure I’m going to fuck him, but that 1% has a burning question that needs an answer. “How did you get those scars on your legs?”

  Scars can tell one hell of a story. His brow goes up, and he straightens. Then he narrows his gaze. “A car accident. Take your turn in the shower.”

  That’s not the full story. I can tell from the way his tone goes cold. Maybe he reads the wariness on my face because he cracks a smile.

  “I know the way you’re looking at me. We’re going to talk and fuck. I’ll give you the full story when we do.”

  “So sure of yourself.”

  “You didn’t see the way you just looked at me.”

  I’d probably looked at him like I was at a buffet and it was a cheat diet day. I gather up the essentials to take with me to the shower. I have to pass him as he’s wiping himself down with lotion. The sweet, musky scent of shea butter fills the air. I force myself into the bathroom then lock the door.

  We’re going to talk and fuck.

  What does that even mean? Why is my heart tripping over itself at the threat of it? I wish I could call my sister back to work through the nerves and doubts. Or let her chatter keep me occupied as I do my quick shower routine.

  The thing is, I haven’t had this much trepidation in a long while. I fucked my way through a lot of grief and shame after Thomas. I don’t recommend it. After the high of good sex there’s just you and the regrets you tried to forget in the heady moment. The only thing that actually helped was the passage of time. And countless interactions with men who didn’t have mommy issues or blame women in any way for their lot in life.

  I brace my hands against the bathroom tile then my forehead, letting the water sluice down my back. I want Tarek, and he wants me. It is that simple.

  I’m not a novice, so I’m aware things can get ugly complicated. But Tarek no longer feels bigger than I can handle. He’s the unquenched thirst between my legs. He’ll be the guy I randomly took photos of when I tried to make luck meet preparation. When I look back on my life, Tarek Hunter won’t be a scar that haunts me.

  I quickly put my braids under the water to give the strands enough moisture to keep them from screaming for attention while I’m outbacking in California’s backwoods. It’s enough of an excuse to push at my eyes and stave off any tears burning just behind my lids. That takes some time. Eventually I’m out of the shower, partially towel-dried and ready to hump Tarek until his eyes cross. Screwing your way through shame and grief gives a girl enough practice to know her strengths.

  With a phone in his hand, he’s thumb-texting on his bed. He glances my way and smiles. I’m in a towel and nothing else—of course, he’d have a smile for me.

  “Should I get my hopes up?”

  I poke at my feelings, my doubts, to see what oozes out, and there’s only desire. My limbs thump with every beat of my heart. There’s nothing else. “You should.”

  He drops the phone onto the nightstand between the two beds. “Ask me anything.”

  The hard line of his jaw lets me know he’s serious. I…hesitate. “Is sex with you safe?”

  “I get tested every six months. Clean bills of health every time. You?”

  “My annual pap smear was about three months ago. I was good, and that two months after my last…itch-scratch.” Then I remember what else I’m supposed to tell him, and I drop my gaze. “No fear of pregnancy on my end.”

  “What else do you want to know?”

  I have to swallow down my past even though I want to know everything about his. I meet his gaze. “The obvious.”

  “Feels like ten inches in the right position.”

  I move over to my bed, pick up a pillow and throw it at him. He catches it, a bigger smile creasing his laugh lines. “Then ask me what seems obvious.”

  He rises from his bed. The towel doesn’t move an inch. I meet his gaze. It’s open, inviting, no shadows. Tarek is serious, serious. He wants me to ask him questions that poke and prod and expose him.

  My heart will never slow now. “How did you get the scars on your shins?”

  He draws closer, crowding my space and everything in me grows tight from anticipation. He cups my cheek. The rough pads of his palms graze my skin. I shiver.

  He murmurs, “Car accident. I had a Honda Accord. He had a Tahoe. My legs were pinned under th
e steering wheel. Lucky to be alive and luckier to walk again.”

  His answer throws a single thought into my mind. “Your physical therapist inspired you to become a personal trainer?”

  “My PT was an unfeeling dick. I had an appointment around the same time as this vet, Marco. He’d talk mad shit to me. He’d lost a leg and an arm and was learning to use prosthetics. I wanted him to shut the fuck up. He did, when I finally walked again. He now runs a PT business for vets. I volunteer every once in a while, when he needs me.”

  Would the Tarek I know pay it forward? Yes. There were so many women on his Insta, and a good portion of them were older black women who could be his grandma.

  I notch my chin lower. “Is this your new sex pitch?”

  He snorts, dropping his hand to his towel. “No.”

  The towel hits the floor. Tarek Hunter stands before me naked. My focus drops down to the space between his thighs.

  Please.

  Yes.

  Fuck me blind.

  The veins in his cock crisscross the shaft. The girth of bulbous tip makes me bite my lip from how bad I want to taste it. I’ve never thought dicks could be beautiful. They can be enticing. I can look at one and practically feel them inside me, stretching me already. I just want the pleasure to lick his. It looks so much better out of water. I can only say, “Better pitch.”

  He lifts my chin so I’m meeting his eyes. “Any other questions?”

  I want to ask about his ex. One can never fully know the damage love has left behind. When people meet me, they never think I’m a survivor of domestic violence. I don’t check off whatever stereotypical checklist they have in their head. Outside of the two small scars I have on my pelvis, my body is not a map of the abuse I’ve incurred.

  But if we’re talking and fucking, asking that question opens the door for Tarek to ask about my ex. I do the smart thing. “How did you meet Nate and Duke?”

  “We were failing math in college our first semester. I was there on an academic scholarship. Nate and Duke just couldn’t take the hit to their egos. We assembled like Avengers.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Friendships have been built on less. Over the years, we’ve been there for each other. They my boys. My ride-or-dies.”

  He slides his hand to my nape, leans in until he’s a breath away. He waits for my permission. I nod. He swipes his tongue along my parted mouth. I suck in a breath then his tongue is inside me. Heat engulfs me from my lips to my clit. He softly sucks on the tip of my tongue then delves deeper.

  I can die at how drugging it feels to be invaded like this. I clasp my hands on the sides of his face to keep him right there. I don’t want to talk about his past, much less mine. All I want is for him to slip inside me, deep enough I can feel his cock pulse as my pussy surrounds him.

  He pulls back. “Why photography?”

  “That’s a helluva a question.” Tarek takes a step back and a huff falls out of my lips. “Are you for real?”

  “Talk and fuck, or nothing.”

  Here I thought he was a beta with alpha tendencies. Testing his resolve, I lift onto the balls of my feet to nip his bottom lip. He only raises a brow, looking down on me with a haughty expression. It shouldn’t make me want to fuck him more, but I’m past the point of lying to myself. I want him. I want him in every way.

  I back up. He follows me. I climb onto the bed and he does the same, his gaze never wavering from my face, even when my towel slips.

  I give him a taste of what he wants. “Like I told you. I found a camera. Fell in love.”

  “Not good enough.”

  I lay back and he finds a home between my legs. The hair peppering his legs prickles against my inner thighs. That small friction sets a fire along my skin. He settles his hand above my shoulder. “Tell me.”

  “Or what?” My question is a tease…and maybe a little of a test.

  He closes the space between our mouths. The kiss lies somewhere between gentle and rough. His tongue moves along mine to make my every exhale just shy of a moan. The longer, deeper the kiss gets, the harder his cock gets, and it’s right there, so thick and long, resting against my left thigh. We kiss long enough I forget everything but his mouth on mine. I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t.

  Eventually, we break apart for air.

  “Are you into pain?” he asks, softly rubbing his scruff against my neck.

  My head’s fuzzy. I’ve got scruff brain because every rasp curls my toes. I want more. All of everything he can do to me. “What?”

  “You asked ‘or what?’ And I’m asking are you into pain?”

  I don’t realize I’ve gone tense until he straightens above me to meet my eyes. My voice is lower than I want it to be when I say, “I’m not really into that—into pain or a man punishing me.”

  “Then nothing,” he says softly. “I won’t do anything if you don’t want to tell me.”

  Why do his whispered words drop on me like they weigh a ton? I sit up and try to read the emotions flickering in his gaze, but I can’t. “What do you mean by you won’t do anything?”

  “This is a talk and fuck. We don’t talk, I put my dick away and we go back to suffering in our sexual tension.”

  “Why is this even a demand?”

  “Because you’ve wanted to fuck me since you laid eyes on me in the gym—”

  “Someone has a healthy ego,” I mutter.

  “And you wouldn’t, and haven’t, because you felt like you didn’t know me well-enough. And…” He smiles. “At some point our talk and fuck will have dirty words. I’m up for that.”

  So am I. I reach up then cup the back of his head to pull his mouth to mine. He obliges for a minute, pushing his hips closer until the tip of his cock lay just left of my pussy.

  “Why…photos?”

  Maybe I don’t trust him entirely. I doubt I’ll ever will, but I know enough about Tarek to accept he’ll keep his word.

  I could tell him I’ve spent some of the biggest moments in my life behind a camera lens. Doing that was a cheat sheet to processing my emotions. Or rather I talked enough to a therapist to see that’s why I couldn’t quit photography. Telling him the last is more than I want to reveal.

  “With my camera, I get to see a person for who they really are, and I love that. For some a camera lens feels safe. They…” I chuckle as a connection clinks in my head. “They get no judgment from me.”

  He dives back into my mouth and I devour him back. My towel disappears at some point and I only kind of register that when Tarek wraps his tongue around one of my nipples. We’re both breathing heavy after a minute or two of that. I can’t help but glance down to catch glimpses of pink against the brown of my areolas. His eyes are closed as he takes his time licking both hardened tips in equal measure. In his hand I look plump and delicious. More so when I see my nipples glisten from his mouth’s work.

  I’m so wet. I need him to touch well below the belt. He won’t unless we talk.

  “Family,” I breathe. “Tell me.”

  He trades his mouth for his thumb, rolling my nipples with ease from the wet of his tongue. “Two brothers and one sister. I’m somewhere in the middle.”

  “Ah…” I moan at the long tug and release he does to the hard buds. The motion is a cycle of pressure and a relief. I didn’t know I could like the rhythm of touch. That’s new. And wonderful. I ball my fists to keep from wrestling him to his back and riding him until we’re both satisfied. Instead, I rise up enough to get his mouth near mine. “Parents?”

  “Mom and dad are living the happily ever after I want.”

  Now that shit gives me pause. I’m the one pushing his head back. “What?”

  He laughs. “I’m not asking you to marry me, so I don’t know why your eyes are saucers right now.”

  “You?” and I wish I could shut up.

  Tarek just laughs again. “What makes you think I don’t want to be married, have kids?”

  “I looked at your Instagram
. Not once did I think this guy wants to get married.”

  “Are you telling me you’re a virgin and I’m touching you like it’s the first time?”

  “Points for the Madonna reference, and no. I’m just…”

  Then two things happen. I realize why he has darkness in his gaze. I met his friends the day before. I’ve heard the rumors about them when I visited Fade. Clearly that was their hunting grounds when they were single, and women talk, especially when they are drunk and in the ladies’ room.

  Nate had a love him/hate him fan club. From Nate’s own mouth he was settled down and married. Two seconds around Duke was all I needed to know that man had dark, twisted depths. He also has a fiancée and mentioned her more than once during our exchange.

  Then there’s Tarek. On the surface, he’s nice, level-headed and the guy you so take home to mama. He’s also the literal fifth wheel. I don’t know how that truth has settled on him, but it’s probably why he’s conflicted. He’s conflicted and he hasn’t turned to violence to feel better.

  Be a therapist and point out that’s why one-night stands work for me. I skip over the hard, ugly parts of men. I turn them into one part—my favorite part. With Tarek I couldn’t. I can’t. I needed to know that if life kicked him in the balls he wouldn’t find the nearest woman to kick.

  I don’t need words anymore. I push him until he rests on his back and I’m on top. He wastes no time to run his hands from the backs of my thighs, over my butt, long enough to squeeze, and then he’s closing his arms around me so I’m flush against him. His mouth is rougher this time when it clashes with mine. I don’t mind it as I push my pelvis down, my thighs squeezing around his hips to fit us perfectly together.

  He hisses. It is the best goddamn sound I have ever heard. I want his groans. His pants. His muttered curses. He’s back at my neck with his mouth open wide then suction until his lips are pursed. Only the softest mwah sound is left behind. The gentle pecks at the end feel like he’s taken a finger to flick his thumb over my clit. I want to grind our pelvises together until a spark sets us both on fire. Or I come. Preferably that. I doubt he’d mind me using him as a way to get off.