Austin undressing me from behind, as if he’s an extension of myself, is incredibly sensual. I’m ashamed to think he’s going to find out how wet I already am for him, but I’m not capable of stopping him at this point. I’m not capable of remembering my own name right now.
Yep, must have been a stroke.
He slides off my jeans and panties at the same time. When he reaches my ankles, I pick up each foot for him to peel off the last strip of clothing and toss it aside. His touch keeps us connected as he stands back up, trailing his fingers along either side of me. When he reaches my hips, he pulls my ass against his erection and I let out a whimper. He massages my breast with one hand and glides the other between my thighs.
“Did you miss me, Goose?” he coos into my ear. I can’t formulate words, but I manage to nod. He sucks on my neck and I bite my lip. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” I moan as I lean back into him.
“Yes what?” he demands.
“Yes, I missed you.”
“Good.” He lets me go with a quick slap on the ass and struts back into the kitchen. Yes, struts. Austin does a naked strut into my kitchen like he just won the Nobel Prize for sexiness. In his defense, if that were a thing, he’d certainly be a contender.
I cover my girly bits and look around for my clothes on the floor.
“Don’t you dare.” My eyes snap up to him at the sound of his firm voice. “You heard me. Don’t you dare cover up. You’ve got no secrets. I’ve already seen all there is to see. Plus, I deserve a nice view while I make us dinner.” I don’t put my arms down. Instead, I meet his challenging glare with a mischievous grin.
I stumble backward into the living room until I’m standing in the pile of his discarded clothes. Holding his undivided attention, I bend down gingerly, trying to avoid giving him too much of a show, and pick up his shirt off the floor. Before I can get it over my head, Austin is out of the kitchen and tackling me onto the couch. I know he’s an athlete and all, but damn he’s fast.
He’s lying on top of me, chest to chest, a smolder in his eyes. We’re both naked. For a moment I think he’s going to claim me right here on the couch. Then his face lights up with wicked delight and the tickling begins. I’m not just ticklish. I’m I-might-actually-die-if-you-don’t-stop ticklish. My hysterical laughter fills the entire apartment and I start begging.
“Austin, stop. I can’t breathe!” I frantically plead in between uncontrollable laughing bouts.
“You gonna stop hiding that killer body from me?” He pauses long enough for me to answer.
“Just the shirt?” I try to bargain even though I have zero leverage.
“No deal.” He grabs his shirt out of my hands and throws it across the room before resuming my torture.
“Please! Stop!”
“Not until you’re begging for mercy!”
I try to worm out from underneath him, working every angle, but his solid body is everywhere. There’s no escape except to give him what he wants.
“Fine. Mercy, Austin! Mercy.”
Austin sits back, making a point of admiring every inch of my exposed body. It takes all the willpower I have not to cover myself under his intimate examination.
“Good,” he declares with a sexy smile before strutting back into the kitchen.
Thing number five I love about Austin—that damn naked strut.
Chapter Eleven
Austin
Cooking naked has its challenges, especially with the raging hard-on I’m sporting after having Elizabeth writhing naked under me. That’s not the way I’d prefer to make her scream my name, but it’ll do for now. At least I get to watch her sexy naked ass all night.
She hasn’t moved off the couch. She’s doing some sort of breathing exercises. Either she’s quietly repeating “Loosey-goosey” to herself or I’m going crazy. It’s cute she uses the little catchphrase I taught her, but I don’t dare let on I can hear her. Something tells me my Goose would rather die than admit I was right. She’s a willful little thing. I thought she might actually pass out from being tickled before she finally caved.
“What’s for dinner?” she asks from across the kitchen island, having finally walked over while my back was turned.
She isn’t covering herself per se, but she’s sitting down and leaning forward with hunched shoulders, clinging to as much modesty as she can. I’ll let her get away with it.
For now.
“My favorite thing to put my mouth on, tacos,” I answer, earning me an eye-roll. I can’t help but laugh. That saucy eye-roll is even cuter when she’s naked.
“Can I ask you something…personal?” She fidgets with a dish towel on the counter, folding and unfolding it repeatedly. My shoulders tense immediately, but I don’t answer. “It’s just that I’m feeling kind of vulnerable here. You know, all exposed. So I thought it might help if you felt a little exposed too.”
“I’m as naked as the day I was born. How much more exposed do you need me to be, Goose?”
“That’s different. You’re comfortable with your body.” Her hungry eyes eat me up and I have to smile.
“Let me get this straight. You want to ask me questions to make me uncomfortable emotionally? Because you’re uncomfortable physically?”
“Yeah, basically.”
“And you expect me to say yes to that?”
“Yeah, basically. Please?”
I’d rather pull my fingernails out with rusty pliers than stand here answering Elizabeth’s personal questions, but how big of a pussy would that make me? She’s sitting across from me butt-ass naked. It scares the shit out of her, but she’s facing her fears. I owe her at least the same in return.
Fuck it. Let’s do this.
I know I’m going to regret the shit out of this, before I even say, “Fine. Ask away.”
She studies me with those chocolate eyes, scrutinizing my body. “Why don’t you have any tattoos?”
I let out a nervous laugh. To be honest, I’m relieved. That kind of personal question I can handle.
“Why don’t you?” I shoot back at her.
“I hate needles.”
“You’re going to make a hell of a doctor one day,” I chide.
“Shut up. I’m afraid to get poked with them. I’ll be fine doing the poking.”
“I know what you mean,” I deadpan.
She throws the dish towel at me with an exasperated, “Ass. Can you ever be serious? It won’t kill you, you know!”
“Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t. Why risk it?” I love riling her up. I can tell exactly how much of her blushes when she’s naked.
“Just answer the question, Maverick,” she demands with a cross of her arms and a shake of her head. Maybe it makes me an idiot, but I enjoy that stupid nickname, even when I know she’s using it to be patronizing.
“Sure, Goose. I don’t have tattoos because I don’t give a shit enough about something to have it stare me in the face every day. Don’t do forevers, remember?”
“Not even family?” She waits for a reaction. I don’t give her one. “Your mom?”
“We weren’t close.” My tone is clipped, but Elizabeth keeps going anyway.
“What was she like?” Her voice is gentle and caring, but I don’t give a fuck. I don’t want to play this fucked-up game anymore.
“What the fuck do you care?” I snap at her.
I shove aside the pan of ground beef I’m browning. It hits the stove’s backsplash with a clang.
It’s been over a decade since my mom died and even longer since the last time I actually saw her. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to forget her. Forget her face, her voice, her smell. Forget all the broken promises. Forget all the nights going to sleep cold, alone and hungry. Forget that she never gave a fuck about me, just her next high. I can’t. That’s the most fucked-up part of all.
I will never forget the woman who never remembered me.
“I care.”
I feel the conviction i
n Elizabeth’s voice deep in my chest.
“About you.”
My chest tightens at her words. I tell myself she doesn’t mean them. It’s pity, not love. Funny how often the two get confused.
“I’m not a fucking charity case, Elizabeth. Keep your pity to yourself.” I slam my fist down on the counter, seething.
“Are you serious?” She laughs at me, a sickening cackle. Every muscle in my body goes tense. My hands ball into fists. I’m so angry I can’t see straight. How dare she laugh at me? Who the hell does she think she is? I’m two seconds from tearing the entire apartment to pieces when her words shatter me.
“I’m the charity case! I’m fucking paying you to take my virginity. How pathetic is that?”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her really swear. I turn around in time to see the first tear stream down her cheek. She brushes it away quickly, as if ashamed. Her bottom lip is quivering with the struggle to hold back her emotions. She’s as broken as I am. I’m too shocked to respond, so she continues, her voice choked with dejection.
“I don’t have friends. You’re the closest I have to…” She trails off for a minute and I can see her brain revving into overdrive. “I’m not delusional. I know you’re only here because I’m paying you to be. But we could be more. Friends, I mean. I want us to be friends.”
I want to believe her. Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, I almost do. I turn away again before I lose myself in them. Lose myself to her.
I’m quiet for a long time. We both are. I can’t even admit to myself what I want to be to Elizabeth, but being her friend is at least the beginning of something real. I’m talking before I’m even really sure what I want to say.
“She was young. Beautiful. Fun. And a drug addict. And a shitty mother. Sometimes a shitty human being. I hope to hell I’m not anything like her.”
“What was it like growing up in foster care?” Her voice is calm and even now. If she has a reaction to my confession, she doesn’t show it.
“Shitty. And lonely.” I grab the discarded meat pan and salvage what I can of our dinner. I’m desperate to have something to do with my hands, to have a goal to distract myself with.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No. It wasn’t a joy ride, but I never had anyone put out lit cigarettes on my arms, if that’s what you’re asking.” I think about the years I spent bouncing between the houses of strangers, some well-intentioned, some not. “I was luckier than some kids, I guess. Most of the people I stayed with were decent enough. They just didn’t love me. In their defense, I was kind of a little prick. If my own mother couldn’t love me, why should some foster mom?” There’s too much pain in my voice to pull off my sarcastic joke.
Sack up, Jacobs! You’re whining about ancient fucking history.
“I think my parents loved me. I just don’t think they liked me. I was a mistake.” Her voice is soft behind me. She’s talking to herself more than anything.
“You mean an accident?”
“No, I mean a mistake. I don’t think people as controlled as my parents ever do anything by accident. They had a kid because that’s what people do, but I think they regretted it. I was more a life accessory than their child.”
Her confession seems as painful as mine. She’s hunched forward, her shoulders slouched as she curls into herself. My fingers itch to touch her. Shoving down the urge to wrap her in my arms and hold her until that tension releases from her body, I take a deep breath and focus on our food.
I finish putting together all the toppings of our tacos and spread them out in a mini assembly line on the kitchen island. I don’t go to sit next to her. I stand in the kitchen, needing the distance. We eat in companionable silence, each lost in our own memories. We clean up the kitchen, working together without words. She doesn’t even bother hiding her body as we do. Being naked together doesn’t seem as big a deal anymore.
I’m able to admire all of her in a new light. Don’t get me wrong, in both my shirt and her red lingerie, she’s dead sexy. But simply naked, she’s something different. Something more. Her luscious curves are sensuous rather than sexual. She has an intangible quality to her, something natural and pure that’s captivating. We finish cleaning and she catches me staring at her. I don’t look away or try to hide it.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, because she needs to hear it. And she is, inside and out.
She blushes from head to toe, flustered.
“Movie?” she asks.
“Movie,” I answer.
She fusses with the TV and I get comfortable lying across the entire couch. When she turns around and sees me, she crosses her arms and taps her foot like an impatient child.
“And where exactly am I supposed to sit?”
I tap the sliver of couch next to me and tell her, “Right here.”
She huffs but obeys. She sits on the edge of the couch cushion, reminding me of our first night together. That was a lifetime ago. It’s like I’ve known Elizabeth most of my life. How did she do that? I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her down to the couch, nestling her against me snugly.
My behavior earns me a squealing reprimand. “Austin!”
“Cozy?” I ask.
“Not really,” she answers with a smile in her voice.
“Good,” I reply with a laugh.
Both of us lying on the couch is a tight fit, but we manage. She’s short and fits perfectly against me, head tucked under my chin so I can see. I grab the blanket she keeps on the back of the couch and drape it over both of us as I wrap my arms around her. “What are we watching?”
“You’ll see, Maverick.” She presses Play and I know almost immediately what movie she chose.
Top-motherfucking-Gun!
The source of our stupid nicknames.
My Goose is a clever little thing.
The movie is playing in the background, but I’m not paying attention. I’ve seen it a dozen times. Who hasn’t? That’s not why I’m distracted. I can’t stop thinking about the woman pressed against me.
This is easy, even though it’s one of the most foreign things I’ve ever done. I’ve never cuddled on a couch and watched a movie with a chick. It’s so weirdly domestic. Most of what we do feels this way. Weirdly unweird. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with Elizabeth. Not having sex. Well, I fantasize about that too. But right now, I want to know how it’d feel to call her mine.
“Why didn’t you just ask me out?” I spit, not caring that I’m interrupting the movie.
“Ha ha. Very funny,” she scoffs.
I give her a squeeze to let her know I’m waiting for an actual answer.
“Wait? You’re serious?”
“Yeah. It couldn’t have been any riskier than propositioning me.”
She gives me a sharp elbow in the ribs, a friendly reminder that she doesn’t agree with my characterization.
“Seriously, why didn’t you just ask me out?”
“Easy. Because you would’ve said no.”
“You don’t know that.” I can’t see her face, but I’d bet my left nut she’s rolling her eyes.
“Yes. I do.” Her body tenses against me and I wait to see if she keeps going. “What the hell do I have to offer a guy like you?”
A guy like me? What does that mean? I’m the one who has nothing to offer.
She’s quiet again for a minute before finally adding, “Other than money.”
“You have no idea, do you?” How can she not know how amazing she is? I hold her close, afraid she’ll slip away.
“About what, Austin?” The bleakness in her voice is a knife to my stomach. I want to tell her, but I won’t say the words out loud. If she hasn’t realized she’s too good for me yet, I’m not going to be the one to mention it.
“Elizabeth, you’re hot,” I tell her instead.
She laughs awkwardly, not believing me.
“I’m serious. I mean, in a nerdy, naughty librarian sort of way, but yeah. You’re p
retty hot.”
“Seriously?” she questions and I can’t help but laugh. She’s so much more than just hot. She’s a weird little goddess I can’t get out of my head. She doesn’t have any idea of the power she wields.
“Yes. Seriously.” There’s zero doubt in my voice.
“So, if I’d asked you out, you would’ve said yes?” she challenges.
In all honesty, probably not. I don’t date. And if I did, Elizabeth isn’t my type. She’s too…everything.
“I guess we’ll never know.”
I think back to the first time I saw her, sitting across from me at that table in the library, nervous enough to faint and not able to control that smart mouth of hers. I’d be lying if I said she took my breath away. But if I’m honest, there was something about her even in that first meeting that made me curious about her. Hell, I’m not even sure what I would’ve said if she’d asked me out. Maybe it’s a good thing she didn’t.
We’re both quiet again, happy to pretend to watch the movie.
“Okay, fine. I might as well just say it,” she blurts out as if she was in the middle of a conversation with herself that she just decided to include me in. “I need a favor.”
She’s fidgeting with the blanket, twisting it in her fingers over and over again. She has the worst poker face.
“Oh yeah? Another proposition?”
She takes a deep breath and all at once rambles, “Is there any way you’d think about coming to a dinner party at my father’s house this Sunday? He’s insisting you come, which is entirely your fault.”
“Because I’m too charming for my own good?”
Cue another eye-roll.
“No. Because you barged in last weekend. Then pretended to be this sweet and loving boyfriend,” she admonishes me. “Anyway, my father wants you to come. Seems he approves of us. I think he sees me differently with you around. He’s realizing I’ve grown up.” She’s fidgeting again. “But whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure I can tell him you were killed in a freak weightlifting accident or drank a tainted protein shake or something.” She crosses her arms and tries to pull away, almost falling onto the floor in the process. I pull her back into me to keep her from running away.
So, That Got Weird Page 16