by Emme Rollins
“Martin Luther King Day,” I said. “They plan midwinter break around it. We get Friday and Monday off.”
“I remember those days. I worked in a shoe store and lived for paid holidays.”
“You worked in a shoe store?” I looked over my shoulder at him, incredulous.
“It’s true,” he replied. “I was a normal person once. But it was a long time ago.”
That made me laugh.
“So what do normal people do on nights like this?” Rob rocked in his stocking feet, back and forth. The motion was soothing.
“Are you asking what the peasants do?” I laughed.
“Yes, what do the simple folk do.” He snorted. “I mean… if you were home alone right now, what would you do?”
“I’m not home alone.” I turned in his arms, putting my hands behind his neck, my fingers playing in his hair. “I’m home with you.”
“I want to spend a normal, everyday night at Sabrina’s house.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “What does that entail?”
“Well…” I wrinkled my nose at him. “I’d put on a comfy pair of jammies…”
“I’m liking this already.” He grinned.
“Probably make a big bowl of popcorn and find a good movie on Netflix.”
“Now we’re talking.” He brightened. “You go get changed. I’ll make the popcorn.”
I groaned, hand over my stomach. “I can’t eat any more!”
“Sure you can,” he scoffed, already heading for my kitchen, calling back over his shoulder, “It’s popcorn!”
So I went to my room and changed into a nightgown. If Rob Burns wasn’t in my house, I would have probably opted for flannel pajama pants and one of my old, mismatched, Haagen Dazs stained pajama shirts and a pair of fuzzy socks, but a girl had to retain a little bit of an air of mystery, didn’t she? Lingerie was out, of course—he’d know I didn’t go walking around like a Victoria’s Secret model all the time—but a pretty black nightgown with creamy lace around the v-neck and along the mid-thigh hem seemed just about right. Sexy but not too.
I was rewarded when I wandered back into the kitchen to find Rob popping popcorn on the stove in a big pan with a lid. I thought I was smelling the hot oil from fondue but it was the oil in the pan for the popcorn.
“I have microwave popcorn.” I opened the cupboard next to the fridge to show him.
“Stuff’s poison. Do you have any idea what they put in that?” He made a face, shaking the pan over the burner. “Besides, this is way more fun.”
“Really?” I took down the microwave popcorn box, staring at the ingredients.
“Might as well just go under the sink and mix a cocktail of cleaning supplies.” He lifted the pan away from the flame, putting it on the adjacent burner to let it cool, glancing at me for the first time. His gaze started at my toes—bare, painted pink—and traveled slowly up, pausing at the hem of my nightgown, mid-thigh, before moving upward, stopping again at the lacey v-neck, finally meeting my eyes.
“What’s so bad about microwave popcorn?” I shook the box at him, trying to break through that dazed expression on his face.
“Those are comfortable jammies?” His voice cracked and then he cleared his throat, blinking at me, gaze moving down again, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Sure.” I shrugged, secretly enjoying the way he couldn’t keep his eyes off me. “What do you wear to bed?”
“Nothing.” A slow grin spread over his face.
I lifted the lid off the pan. “That smells good.”
“I told you.” He reached around me, opening the fridge and finding a stick of butter. His body pressed mine against the counter and I felt the denim crotch of his jeans rubbing against my behind. I smiled, wiggling back against his erection and he groaned.
“Be careful or I’m not going to use this butter on the popcorn.”
“Oh?” I ground my hips fully against his, grinning over my shoulder.
He reached down, lifted my nightgown and swatted me.
“Ow!” I was wearing panties but it still stung enough to bring tears to my eyes. “That hurt!”
“Tease.” His hand moved under my nightgown, caressing the same place he’d spanked me. The sensation was incredible, his rough, calloused hand moving over that hot spot. I moaned, bending forward over the counter and going up on my tiptoes.
“Damnit, girl,” he murmured, fingers edging under my panties, seeking heat. “I just wanted to watch a movie with you and now all I can think about is using this butter to…”
I squealed in surprise when his finger located my rectum, circling. I froze for a moment, too surprised to move.
“Hey!” I finally protested, flushing and turning to him with wide, shocked eyed.
“Go on.” He chuckled, reaching around and squeezing my bottom with the hand not holding the butter. “Find a good movie. I’ll be in with the popcorn in a minute.”
“Okay.” I edged past him. “But it won’t be Last Tango in Paris!”
He laughed.
When he joined me, carrying popcorn and two cold cans of Diet Coke from the fridge, I still hadn’t found a movie. I’d passed by all my usual choices—anything based on a book by Nicholas Sparks or Jane Austen, for example—but didn’t want to consider movies with an aging Bruce Willis or Steven Seagal either. It was a conundrum.
“What did you decide on?” Rob put the popcorn and Cokes on the end table, glancing at the TV at the red Netflix on the screen.
“Nothing yet,” I admitted, tossing the remote aside as I watched him unbutton his shirt. He pulled it out of the waistband of his khakis to unbutton the last few and I licked my lips, remembering the feel of him pressed up against me. All of a sudden I was actually considering letting him have his way with me—whatever way he wanted, even if it included butter and naughty scenes from a certain old Marlon Brando movie.
“You had one job!” he teased, looking down at me with a smile. He caught the expression on my face and his smile widened. “What? You got more comfortable. Can’t I?”
“Be my guest,” I encouraged, reaching for his belt. “Want some help?”
He looked down at me with a soft smile as I unbuckled his belt, my fingers itching to trace those fascinating ridges and valleys that made up his abdomen. But another part of me was far more interested in what was underneath his zipper, something I couldn’t wait to get my hands—not to mention my mouth—on.
He let me go so far as unbuttoning him, but then he stopped me, grabbing the remote and sitting next to me on the couch.
“Come on,” I snuggled up close, sliding my hand down his deliciously bare chest. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Popcorn, movie,” he reminded me, waving the remote at the television. “What do you want to watch?”
“Now I’m thinking something along the lines of Emmanuelle.”
“Softcore porn?” He laughed. “No sense watching it when you can go into the bedroom and make it. And I can guarantee you, it would be nothing less than hardcore.”
“That’s what I was hoping.” I grinned, following that dark line of hair down from his navel toward that first askew button of his pants.
“Hey, look, Cabin in the Woods.” He pressed the button on the remote. “I haven’t seen it yet. You?”
“Cabin in the Woods?” I perked up. “I wanted to see that when it was out but Katie won’t go to any horror movies with me.”
“You like horror movies?” He raised his eyebrows. “What’s the scariest horror movie ever made?”
“The Exorcist, hands down,” I scoffed. “Especially if you see it unrated and uncut. I have the DVD.”
I pointed to my shelf where there were hundreds—literally—of horror titles.
“Damn.” Rob leaned back, putting his arm around my shoulder. “She’s a little wildcat in bed, plus she likes my music, Thai food and horror movies? I could have made-to-order you. Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”
“No.” I snuggled up to him as the movie
started, pulling a blanket over us from the back of the couch. I didn’t want to think about dreams—or reality. I just wanted to listen to his heart beating against my ear and feel his hand moving in my hair. I just wanted to breathe and be with him.
By the time the movie was over, the popcorn was gone and we were both stretched out on the couch, me twisted between Rob’s thighs, my head resting on his belly, his hand tangled in my hair. The sound of the television being turned off woke me. I blinked sleepily up at him, wiping spittle off the side of my mouth and seeing I’d been filling his navel with saliva for quite some time.
“Sorry,” I apologized, flushing and trying to clean up the mess with just my hand.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered in the sudden quiet. “I watched you sleeping and wished I knew how to draw. If I was an artist, I would paint you.”
“You watched me sleeping?” I blushed. “Because that’s not creepy.”
He laughed. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Mmmm okay.” I agreed, putting my cheek back against his sleep-warmed stomach. It was rock hard and made an unlikely pillow, yet it was strangely quite comfortable. “Carry me.”
I didn’t think for a moment he would do it, but before I knew it, he was up, putting one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, lifting me off the couch. I squealed in protest, laughing, but he kissed me quiet, carrying me back to the bedroom.
It was dark but he didn’t turn on the light as he felt his way to the bed, setting me down there. I snuggled under the comforter, listening to him unzipping his khakis and sliding them down his slim hips before slipping under the covers with me.
I put my arms around his neck, feeling his lips press to my forehead, hearing him take a long, deep breath.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered. I couldn’t help thinking about it. I’d been dreaming about it—a real horror story.
“Shh.” He kissed me quiet again, arms tightening around me in the darkness. “I want to sleep with you. I want to listen to you breathe and feel you against me and just… sleep.”
“Nope, not creepy at all,” I said again, grinning, but I planted a soft kiss on his chest and snuggled my head under his chin before I drifted off again, hoping tomorrow would never come.
* * * *
I was in bed with the most beautiful man in the world.
Now I was the creepy stalker, watching the rock star sleeping in my bed. He was on his back, one arm thrown off the side of the bed, the other in the middle of his chest, fingers splayed, palm down. I watched that hand rise and fall with his breath, the first bit of sun kissing his skin, giving it a bronze glow. He was like a god wrapped up in my sheets.
How had I managed to catch this man—even briefly?
I didn’t understand it but I wasn’t going to quibble. He was here, now, and I didn’t want to waste one moment of the short time we had. I didn’t want to think about him leaving, but I couldn’t come up with a way around it. He had a tour to finish. I had classes to teach. We led such different lives, I couldn’t imagine carrying this dream-weekend forward. Could I have a long-distance relationship with a rock star?
Maybe.
But I didn’t know what he wanted.
We had created a cocoon this weekend, just like Rob had wrapped me up the night before in my comforter. Just us against the world. But the world was about to come crashing back in. What then? I didn’t know.
“Stop thinking.” Rob’s words were slurred with sleep.
“Hm?” I leaned in, propped on my elbow, getting closer. “What?”
“Stop. Thinking.” He opened one eye. “You’re thinking so hard I can hear it.”
“Am not.” I laughed.
“Liar.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, kissing the top of my head. “So what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking we haven’t christened the bathroom yet.” I traced one fingernail around his nipple, watching the skin purse, hearing his sharp intake of breath.
“You’re lying again.” He reached down to grab my bare behind, squeezing hard. “And distracting me. Not fair.”
“I’m not lying,” I protested. “I was thinking about that… too…”
“What else were you thinking?”
“I don’t want you to go,” I admitted.
“I know.” He sighed. “I don’t want to go.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” His brow knitted when he frowned. “You think I haven’t considered ditching this whole tour to stay here with you? I’m this close, I swear it. This close.”
He showed me how close with thumb and forefinger, a sliver of space between them.
“You know how crazy that is, right?” I asked.
“Yes.” He shrugged. “You make me crazy, what can I say?”
“You asked me what I wanted last night,” I reminded him, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “But Rob… what do you want?”
“Are you kidding me?” He blinked in surprise at my question. “My God, Sabrina… if you don’t know by now…”
“I guess…” I swallowed at the way he was looking at me. I’d seen him angry, but never at me. I dropped my gaze, struggling with the words. “I just want to be sure. Lay all the cards on the table.”
“Look at me.” He lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. He was mad all right, but there was something else there, something deeper and more compelling. “I’m falling for you so hard I can’t see straight. The answer to whatever question you’ve got rolling around in your head is yes. Yes. I’m so yours it hurts. And it happened so fast I’m still trying to get my wind back.”
“Me too,” I whispered, blinking back tears at his words. Falling for you so hard I can’t see straight. That about covered it. I couldn’t do anything straight with him around. This weekend had been an endless spiral, all soft edges and dizzying curves. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“I don’t know yet.” He ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling.
“We’re running out of time.”
“I know.” He threw an arm over his eyes with a groan. “I’m working on it.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, nudging him.
“It means we need to go christen the shower.” He peeked out from under his arm, grinning at me.
“Now you’re just trying to distract me!”
“Me?” He protested. “Never!”
Then he was tickling me, his fingers finding all the right places, making me howl with laughter. I finally escaped, breathless and panting, running down the hall to the bathroom. I shut the door but didn’t lock it, leaning against the counter, trying to catch my breath.
I thought he was right behind me but I didn’t hear him so I took the time to pee. I finished, going to the sink to wash my hands, wondering where he’d disappeared to when he surprised the hell out of me. I screamed when the door burst open and Rob stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a great big grin.
“Heeeeere’s Robbie!” he announced, brandishing a fork, playing out a scene from one of his favorite horror movies, The Shining—we’d discussed the merits of the Kubrick version vs. the television miniseries quite seriously in bed the night before.
“Robbie?” I snorted laughter. “And a… a fork?”
“Guess it would it have been better with an axe,” he agreed, shutting the door behind him.
“Or at least a sword.”
“Ah well.” He tossed the fork into the sink. It still had bits of chocolate cake on it. He must have gotten it off my dresser, where I’d left my plate. Trevor had a birthday and came by to give me one of his birthday cupcakes on Friday. It seemed like a million years ago now. “So much for The Shining… let’s reenact something else. Last Tango in Paris maybe?”
I squealed when he reached me, his hands moving around to grab my behind, squeezing and spreading.
“No way!” I protested, laughing and twisting away from him, reaching in to start the shower. “Besides we don’t have any butt
er.”
“Oh that can be remedied.” Rob was behind me now as I adjusted the water temperature.
“How hot do you like it?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Very hot.” He grinned at me when I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Ohhh you mean the shower.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed.
“Hey!” I called, hearing him pee. “No replays of Psycho with forks, got it?”
“I think we’ve come up with the newest internet sensation. Horror movies played out with forks!” He opened the curtain, gaze raking over me.
“No forks in the shower.” I took a step back, letting him in. I was in the middle of washing my hair and when I closed my eyes, tilting my head back to rinse, I felt Rob’s hands on me. He used all the suds from the shampoo, making my body slick under his hands, but they were rinsed off too soon. He grabbed the soap instead, lathering it up and pressing me with my back against the wall.
“You’re so beautiful, Sabrina.” He soaped the rounded hills of my breasts, lingering on my nipples with his thumbs. His hands were solid and warm as he followed my curves, down my waist, over my hips, dipping one hand between my thighs to wash me there too.
Then he turned me around, taking my hands and putting them over my head, palms flat against the tile. He soaped up my back, his fingers tickling my ribcage, but I wasn’t laughing now. I moaned when his slippery hands moved over my behind, reaching between my legs to cup my sex.
“Time to christen the shower,” he murmured, adjusting behind me, trying to get the right angle, and he found it. I gasped when his cock impaled me from behind, driving me against the wet tile. The shower pounded against our skin, washing away all the soap, but we had our own natural lubrication. I was wet for him.
The heat of the shower and the hard slam of his cock made me dizzy and wobbly. I braced myself against the wall with one hand, arching, giving him better access. He slid in even deeper, groaning at the new sensation. I slipped my other hand down between my legs, feeling him sliding in and out of me, the soft slap of his testicles against my clit almost enough to send me flying.
I spread my lips with my fingers, feeling that rhythmic slap as he thrust into me, his hands gripping my hips hard. My clit ached to be touched and I complied without even thinking, rubbing it in fast little circles. It wasn’t going to take me long to catch up to him, not this morning.