“Sweet, yes. Innocent, no way in hell.”
“Figured as much.” Natalie points over to Jason and asks, “Do you have moves like him? Look at his pelvis go. That’s really impressive.”
“You like a fast pelvis?” I ask before I can stop myself, realizing how odd a question it is.
But it doesn’t seem to affect Natalie, because she gives me a smooth once-over and then says, “Pelvis action matters. It’s not always about the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean.” She elbows me playfully and asks, “What do you side more on? Size or motion.”
I’m in the midst of taking a drink of beer when she asks, causing me to snort, which sends beer up the back of my throat and straight to my nose.
I cough.
I hack.
She pats me on the back and asks if I’m okay.
Jesus fuck, where did that come from?
Her voice full of humor, she says, “From your reaction, I’m going to say neither.”
That makes me cough even more.
“Excuse me?”
She shrugs casually and places one of her chips on N-56 once it’s called. “You seem so straight-laced.”
“So?” I wipe my mouth with a napkin, tempted to blow my nose to get any beer remnants out of it.
“So . . .” she drawls, “straight-laced makes me believe you’re . . . you know . . . missionary all the time, like Ansel. Nothing wrong with that. But just from your reaction, you know—”
I hold my hand up, stopping her. She can’t be fucking serious. I am anything but straight-laced. Yeah, she might have caught me off guard with her question, because I honestly wasn’t expecting that, but that doesn’t mean I’m a vanilla fuck.
I lean forward so she can hear me over the music. Talking directly into her ear, I say, “Firstly, you caught me off guard by your question, and that’s why I choked on my beer. Secondly, I’m nothing like Ansel, in many ways, including only fucking missionary.” From the corner of my eye, I see her chest rise and fall more rapidly. “And lastly, with me, the size of the boat is extraordinary, and the motion is mind-blowing. Don’t underestimate the nice guy because this ‘nice guy’ could toss you around the bedroom easily.”
I pull away and watch as her eyes fall quickly to my mouth.
Her lips part.
Her hand falls to her chest.
I bet if I glanced down, her nipples would be hard.
Fuck yes, this girl’s responsive.
“One key lime pie and one molten chocolate lava cake,” the waitress says as she sets the desserts in front of us. We lean back suddenly.
Natalie swallows hard and points at our desserts. “Uh, she gave you my pie.”
Keeping my eyes trained on her, I move the pie in front of her, accidentally knocking her board so the chips shift, and then take my cake.
She doesn’t look away, but instead holds my gaze while the music changes to “Rock the Boat.” How fucking fitting. She must hear the song the same time I do because her face reddens and she turns away, a smirk playing at her lips.
Picking up her fork, she takes a bite of her pie, and I watch as she closes her eyes and savors the flavors on her tongue. Her head tilts back slightly as she makes the softest moaning sound. It’s almost inaudible over the loud music, but I hear it from how close I’m sitting.
I watch closely as her lips move along the tines of the fork slowly, as she pulls it out of her mouth, as her mouth works back and forth, chewing, and then how her neck moves with her swallow. It’s erotic and sexy, and I want to lean over and lick the column of her neck to her jaw and then to her lips where I can taste the tart lime flavor on her lips.
“You should try this,” she says, pulling me out of my trance and catching me staring. Her cheeks blush. “Is there something on my face?”
I shake my head slowly, still staring at her. My eyes falling to her lips again.
“Do you want to try some?” she asks, her voice changing to something less nervous and more . . . seductive.
From the drop in her tone, the rest of the restaurant fades away, the music and bingo caller become muffled background noise while my heart thrums in my ears.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
It’s a steady staccato filling my brain with need, as if each beat is urging me to move closer and closer to her.
She leans in and her words fall past her lips like sweet molasses. “Do you?”
I lick my lips, feeling the heat build between us, heat that sparks and lights the air around us. There’s no doubt in my mind if someone from the outside was watching us right now, they’d see chemistry, they’d see the restraint to hold myself back from taking her in my arms.
Keeping my eyes on hers, I nod.
She scoops up some pie on her fork and brings it to my mouth. “Open,” she whispers and I oblige, this entire moment feeling so goddamn surreal that I need to remind myself our friends are only a few feet away.
She slides the fork into my mouth and I close my lips around it while she pulls out, leaving the tart pie on my tongue and fuck, it is good.
I chew and swallow before licking my lips for any remnants.
“Good, right?” she asks, our faces only a foot away from each other.
“Really fucking good.”
She looks down at my plate and then back at me. “Are you going to offer me some of yours? Or are you going to be rude?”
I smile as my heart hammers away, filling my body with excitement and nerves.
“If you wanted the chocolate,” I say slowly, “you should have asked for it.” And then I lean back, take my fork, and dig in, leaving her gobsmacked and humored at the same time.
* * *
“I can’t believe you didn’t share any of your dessert with me,” Natalie calls out from the bathroom, where she’s getting ready for the night.
LIVING THE BOBBIE LIFE - Potter spotted in St. Croix on a boat with Knox Gentry and Carson Stone. Clinking beers, laughing, and having the time of his life. Fans are wondering, why is he vacationing with the enemy when he could have been getting to know his teammates the other night at Maddox Paige’s charity event? Missed opportunity in our minds . . . or was it a deliberate act of disrespecting the Rebel’s brotherhood?
I set my phone on the table next to the bed and take a deep breath.
I can’t go to an event I don’t fucking know about.
And why the fuck is Jason not in any of these pictures? Not that I want him dragged under the bus, but the media is making it seem like I’m the only new Rebel hanging out with Knox and Carson.
Grateful I’ve already brushed my teeth, gone to the bathroom, and changed into a pair of shorts, I try to take calming breaths. I didn’t bother with a shirt tonight because frankly, it’s been annoying to sleep with.
After our brief, intimate exchange in the restaurant, Natalie and I have been pretty distant. Mildly joking and teasing each other, but we’ve kept our distance. I don’t even know what came over me. Maybe it was the size of the boat taunt, or the disco lights that made me feel like I was high, but either way, I got one look at Natalie eating pie and I was a fucking goner. I couldn’t control myself. I needed to be closer, I needed to prove to her that I wasn’t like Ansel, that I wasn’t vanilla, and if she ever did give me a chance, I would blow her goddamn mind.
But all that did was make me want her more. It’s why I went for another run when we got back. I blamed it on the calorie intake when Natalie looked at me weirdly, but I had to run off the pent-up energy within me. The gym was empty at nine o’clock at night—imagine that—so I made quick work of the treadmill and then came back to the room where I showered and got ready for bed, but not before Natalie pinned me with a stare and told me we were watching a few episodes of The Office tonight.
That’s why I’m sitting on the couch bed, stretched out with two stacked pillows behind me, waiting for Natalie to appear from the bathroom. The TV is ready, the sheets are pulled back for her to slip under, and I’m comfortable . .
. until she walks into the room.
Motherfuck.
What. Is. That?
Okay, remember how I said her shirt and short pajamas were sexy?
I was misinformed.
Natalie’s walking toward me, wearing a thin, pink satin nightgown that hits her just above her knees. The thin strips show off her delicate shoulders and collarbone, while the neckline dips just above her ample cleavage. And from the way her breasts are shaped under the fabric, she’s not wearing a bra.
Where the hell has that been all vacation?
I’ve seen her in revealing bathing suits, but those suits have nothing on this nightgown, because even though it covers her, it creates a yearning I feel deep in my groin.
“Are you going to say sorry?” she asks, crawling into the bed.
“Err, what?” I ask, blinking a few times.
“Apologize, for hogging all the chocolate. That was rather rude of you, Cory Potter.”
She’s acting so casually, as if she’s not short-circuiting my mind right now. Does she know what she’s doing to me? Can she see the tension she put in my shoulders, the way my fists are gripping the sheets, or the firm clench of my jaw? Does she not realize her slipping into this bed, wearing that nightgown, smelling like flowers, is making me so goddamn hard that I’m having a hard time finding my breath? Does she really have no fucking clue how unbelievably sexy she is? Is this another remnant of her dick of an ex? That she doesn’t know she’s sexy?
“Uh . . . yeah, I ate it all,” I say awkwardly.
She laughs and picks up the remote. “I know, I watched you in horror.” She positions herself closer to my body but doesn’t quite make it all the way to touch me. I can feel the heat of her skin on mine. “And what’s with the no shirt? Don’t you usually have a T-shirt on when we go to bed?”
Don’t you usually have cute pajamas on rather than a sexy-as-hell nightgown?
“Hot.” I clear my throat, my eyes focused forward. “It’s been hot lately.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to get you some water?”
“Nope. Good.” When did I start sounding like a goddamn caveman?
Probably the minute Natalie walked into the living room wearing nothing but silk over her delicious body. Does she even have underwear on underneath?
Shit, I never should have thought about that because now my fingers are aching to find out. Her thigh is so close, that all I’d have to do is run my hand up her silky skin to her hipbone. That’s all it would take. What would she do if I touched her? If I held my breath, turned toward her, and lowered her fully on the mattress? Would she welcome it? Push me away? Wrap her legs around my waist and start grinding into my painfully hard cock? Stroke my blue balls, take them into her mouth, soothe them?
“Are you sure you don’t want some water?” she asks, looking at me from the side. “You look . . . different.”
“Good. I’m good,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Okay.” She starts the show and shifts on the bed so her foot grazes my leg. The smallest touch sends fire through my veins and pools at the base of my cock. “Oh, sorry about that. You’re so big and this couch bed is smaller than I thought.”
You don’t have to fucking tell me twice. It feels like I’m sharing a twin bed again.
“I’m going to apologize in advance if I fall asleep again. Just keep watching.”
“We don’t have to—”
Her hand falls to my thigh and I swear to Christ himself, I can feel precum at the tip of my dick. From the simple touch of her hand to my thigh. I’m a fucking pathetic mess. “No, I want to.”
Want to what?
My brain is so muddled, so fuzzy, I can’t concentrate on a damn thing that’s happening other than the fact that Natalie’s hand is on my thigh and she’s sitting an inch away from me, her body heat causing me to break out in a sweat.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Okay.”
And then the show starts playing, but the hell if I know what’s going on. Nope, my concentration is shot as my cock throbs beneath the blankets of the bed. I glance down at my crotch, praying the blankets are covering me up and they are. I’m tempted to get up, to run to the bathroom and quickly rub one out, because I know all it will take is a few pumps with the image of Natalie’s hard nipples in my mind. But I’d have to walk around the bed, in front of the TV to get to the bathroom, meaning . . . she would see everything.
I’m so hard, so fucking ready, that I’m pretty sure my dick is pushing past the waistline of my shorts.
And the pain gets worse with every shift she makes on the bed. The sheets rub against me, the mattress dips. It’s the smallest of movements, but they’re lighting me up, bunching my nerves together, making me almost feel weightless as I try to control my breathing, making it sound normal, not like I’m about to come in my goddamn shorts with little to no friction.
Can you tell it’s been a long time since I’ve had sex? I’m not celibate by any means, but I’m also very careful and selective given my profession, so I end up home alone with my hand more than I care to admit.
Having Natalie here, sharing a bed, wearing that nightgown, smelling like a goddess, it’s firing off all the synapses in my head, shooting all rational thoughts straight to my cock—who is terrible at making decisions. My brain is in an epic battle with my cock. He wants nothing more than to spread Natalie’s legs and run his smooth head along her clit, just something, anything to relieve the pain billowing at the base, while my head is reminding me over and over again that I don’t want to be a rebound. That I don’t want to be a fling.
Not with this girl.
Natalie laughs next to me and I force myself to chuckle as well, even though I have no idea what’s going on.
And that’s how it goes for the next hour, me trying to pay attention, Natalie laughing here and there, the sound so sexy and throaty it drives me even more crazy. Her laughs start to slow down and I feel her turn to the side, her back toward me, her ass lightly grazing my thigh.
I lift my fist to my mouth and bite down, counting to twenty, trying to calm my racing heart. Either she’s wearing a thong or no underwear at all. Those are the two options from the way I can easily feel the curve of one cheek brush against my outer thigh. Just one shift—that’s all I would have to do—just one shift of my body, turning her into the little spoon, my hand spreading over her stomach, slipping under her nightgown, pinching those tight nipples. I’d rock my dick against her ass, let her feel how hard she’s made me, how desperate I am for her to spread her legs for me.
I stifle a groan.
Is she asleep? Fuck, please let her be asleep. I look around her shoulder. Her eyes aren’t on the TV but closed while her face rests on the pillow.
Finally.
As stealth as I can be, I lift myself from the bed and take a quick look at my crotch. There’s a wet spot on my shorts, my cock is jutting out as if it’s ready for a duel, and my legs are weak beneath me as I shuffle like a goddamn idiot to the bathroom, trying to keep my back toward Natalie the whole time just in case.
I flip on the shower, strip down, and make my way into the stall where I quickly grip my cock. One hand to the tile, not caring that the water is still cold, I pump my hand up and down, gripping the base tightly and then dragging my hand up to the tip. The precum more than sufficient lube.
“Ah, fuck,” I mutter, breathing heavily.
I’m right there. This is so embarrassing, but I’m right fucking there, at the precipice. The muscles in my back bunch as my lungs heave. Pleasure courses through my spine, tumbling down until it hits the base, coiling deep in my balls. I swell in my hand, my balls tighten, and I turn my mouth into my bicep where I groan loudly, as I come so fucking hard it nearly knocks me to my knees.
As I watch my come get washed away by the water, my hand still lightly pumping over my cock, I think that even though my body just shook with such a powerful orgasm, I don’t feel even five percent sated.
My body knows
what it wants and my hand is not going to cut it, not if I’m going to survive this trip with a cock still attached to my body. But what’s the alternative? The sexy-as-fuck woman in the next room doesn’t want me. And there’s nothing I can do about it. But suffer.
Chapter Twelve
NATALIE
“I masturbated today.”
“Um . . . well, hello to you too,” Monica says over the phone. “That’s one way to start a conversation.”
Lying on the bed in the bedroom, I press my hand to my forehead and look toward the ceiling fan. “Monica, it’s bad. It’s really fucking bad.”
“Cory getting to you?”
“Yes. And I can’t seem to control myself. Two nights ago, I wore a nightgown in front of him, the one you packed for me. The just in case nightgown.”
“You did? Oh shit, and nothing happened?”
“No,” I groan again, closing my eyes. “I mean, granted, I’m not a seductress at all, and for all I know, Cory Potter doesn’t find me attractive in the least, but I was desperate. We had a moment.”
“You had a moment . . .” she drawls out. “Explain the moment.”
“Well, leading up to the moment, I’ve been unable to control myself. You know, the classic staring and fantasy dreaming while lying out by the pool. The fantasies are so vivid sometimes that I startle awake, thinking he’s actually touching me, only to find palm leaves grazing my arm.”
“Oh my God.” Monica snorts and then apologizes. “I’m sorry, go on.”
“Emory planned for us to go to disco bingo and of course, everyone coupled up leaving me with Cory.”
“What a hardship,” Monica says sarcastically.
“It is when you’re hard up and want nothing more than for the man to pin you against the wall and claim your mouth as his.”
“Okay, okay, so you have fantasies.”
“So many, Monica. It’s painful. Anyway, we were having fun, joking around like we have been and then our desserts came and something happened between us. I could feel his eyes on me as I took my first bite.”
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