Like You (Perfectly Flawed #1)

by Dunning, Rachel

  "Gen, would a friend want to rip your dress off right now and put his hot body against yours?"

  I swallow hard. His gaze is sharp. His voice is soft and it rolls like deep waves on a frantic ocean. I don't so much speak as squeak. "No," I say.

  "Would a friend want to take you, right now, put you on this table, spread your—? Sorry."

  "No, don't stop," I whisper. He's leaned closer. I smell his Pepsi and burger and French fries breath. Our mouths are inches away from each other. My breasts tighten, my nipples harden. I swallow a lump.

  He continues. "Would a friend want to put you on this granite table, spread your legs open and be with you because he can't stop thinking about you?"

  I don't speak for a while. I just hear my breathing as if it were a gale-force wind.

  "Gen?"

  I shoot forward to press my lips to his, reaching for his head to pull him into me—

  But he moves away!

  He looks around. "Gen..."

  "What the—?" I'm a little stunned, and a little embarrassed. Do the other tables know he just rejected me? "What's going on here, Axle?"

  "Promise you won't kiss me sneakily?"

  I cock an eyebrow. He leans forward. "Gen, what if I have HIV?"

  "Then you can still kiss me. HIV is not transmitted via saliva!"

  "But via blood."

  "Axle, how many girls do you sleep with, generally?"

  "As I said, Novembers are a bad month. I start boozing a bit and..."

  "Only Novembers?"

  "Yeah. I'm not celibate in the other months, but around November it's...more regular."

  "How regular?"

  "Very regular..."

  Good enough. I decide not to push it.

  "And you think you might have gotten it?"

  "No. The girl who screwed me for— Let's call this girl Blondie, OK?"

  "OK."

  "Well, she said she gets tested every month. But I can see she doesn't give a shit about infecting others. I mean, I think she wanted to infect me! And, Gen, I never used a rubber with her." He's whispering.

  "And she got tested recently?"

  "That's what she says."

  "So what are you afraid of?"

  "Gen, why are you grilling me about it?"

  Because right now, I want to make love to you even though I know I can't and it pisses me off. "Just asking. Sorry."

  "Look, a man and a woman can't be 'friends' if there's chemistry between them. And even if there isn't, there are always complications."

  "What are you saying, Axle?"

  He grabs my arms. "I'm saying that I haven't felt what I'm feeling for you since Zoey. And I'm saying that if I knew I wouldn't hurt you, I'd fuck you right now, right here."

  My skin heats up. "And how could you hurt me?"

  "I won't risk infecting you with something."

  "Hypothetically. Because all indications are that you're clean."

  "I won't be hypothetical when you're involved. I need to know."

  I lean closer. His lips are calling to me. His sky-blue eyes blaze across my skin. "Do you have any open sores in your mouth?"

  "No."

  "Any blisters?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Then kiss me."

  "I won't risk it."

  "The risk of spreading HIV through kissing is so minimal that the point is moot! Kiss me."

  "Sometimes my gums bleed."

  "So do mine, they say vitamin C helps."

  "Vitamin C ain't gonna help you if I'm HIV positive, babe."

  "Are they bleeding now?"

  "Actually, yes."

  "I see."

  "You really want me to kiss you, don't you?"

  "Don't you?"

  "I wanna kiss you so badly my lips hurt."

  He licks his lips. His eyes show real worry, real pain.

  "You're really freaked out about this, aren't you?" I ask.

  He nods tightly. His chin lowers a bit.

  "And is it really just because you're afraid of hurting me?"

  "Yes." His hands are clenched into hard fists on the table. "I can't risk losing someone that I...care for so much...again. Gen, when I'm with you, I open up. I talk. That's not like me. It's like you're changing the person I thought I was."

  "And what person was that?"

  His eyes quiver. "A person who thought he had nothing left to live for."

  -2-

  "Sleep with me tonight," I say.

  "Are you fucking deaf?"

  "No, I mean, sleep with me. In my bed, in my arms. Snoring. Sleep."

  "That's like sleeping with a venomous snake. I don't know if I'll be able to control myself around you."

  "Then don't control yourself. I'll ride you like I did yesterday. I'll kiss your chest, your arms, your neck. Your lips."

  "You have a death wish."

  "No, I don't."

  "When exactly did we pass the friends line?"

  "I think when you told me you wanted to spread my legs open on this granite table."

  -3-

  We catch a taxi to the gallery. Before I know it, Axle has me upstairs in Brooke's room, against a wall.

  He's kissing my neck, devouring it. His hard-on rubs up against my clit. Clothed. He lifts my dress. I try and kiss his mouth but he won't let me.

  I wrap my arms around his huge back. I rip off his shirt. I move down to kiss his tattoo. He holds me by my traps against the wall and kisses my shoulder, twirls his tongue around my collarbone, licks gently down my neckline.

  I'm hot.

  I'm wet.

  I'm so ready for him.

  I don't know how I'll be able to go through this without taking it all the way.

  He lifts my dress further, up to above my waist. He slips his hands into the seam of my leggings and panties and starts easing them down.

  I shuck out of them. I have an undershirt on so I let him take my dress off.

  My chest is pumping. My heart is thundering. All I hear are my gasps and struggles for breath.

  He touches me like I'm everything in the world, all woman. He inspects every part of me, lingers at every kiss, tastes me, smells me. His hands scrape my thighs and I shiver despite the heat.

  "I need to put the heater down," I say.

  "It ain't the heater, baby." The rolling drum of his voice tumbles down my insides, down my esophagus and into my stomach, and directly into my nether regions. I feel like a violin, and he's playing.

  Then his hand is on my bare, wet crotch.

  He thrusts a finger into me. Then two.

  I yelp. I tense up. My left leg rises and I slam the back of my head against the wall. He thrusts again.

  "We are so far beyond friends," I say.

  "You think?"

  I start laughing for a second but the next thrust is so deep, so smooth, so hard and magnificent that the laugh changes to a gurgling groan of sweet, shining ecstasy.

  He growls in his bass voice, in my ear. "I can't wait to put my tongue where my finger is."

  And that throws me over the edge.

  He clasps my crotch as it convulses and pulses and slams against his hand.

  All the pressure in me blasts away like a torrent of water bursting from a dam wall which was blocking the very Nile itself.

  And then, I exhale, sweating and dripping in all sorts of places.

  He keeps digging slowly into me.

  "It's different for me with you," he says. "I need you to know that." He's still massaging me. I'm out of breath. He eases his fingers away and a brief wind brushes against my wetness.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Do I really need to explain that?"

  "Yes." I'm still struggling for breath.

  "I'm no good with words."

  "Try."

  He kisses my neck passionately, slowly. He opens his mouth around my trap muscle and bites down so that the twang fires down my back and butt and hamstrings.

  I quiver.

  He's getti
ng me hot again.

  I push him away. "Try!" I insist, feeling weak and ready again for him.

  He looks to the side, doesn't face me. "It's...different. I just need you to know that." He looks back at me.

  I wait.

  "You're... You're different...to me. You're not just..." He huffs out, exasperated. "You're not just some freaking lay! Christ, I suck at this stuff."

  "Sounded pretty good to me."

  I want to kiss him deeply. I know it will be fine. I'm certain of it. But he inches away as I try.

  He's afraid. I can respect that.

  I kiss his nipple, kiss the long hairs around it.

  I rub above his jeans. I bite that same nipple and he roars.

  I rub him harder so that my palm starts to chafe from the friction. His breathing deepens. His chest heaves powerfully.

  And then I hear him growl, low and deep.

  He grabs my shoulders on the sides and shakes me as he comes. It's violent, strong and manly. He moans and roars and then...one more jerk forward.

  And the final one.

  "Was it good for you?" I say.

  "It'll have to do." He smirks at his joke.

  I cock a worried eyebrow at him.

  "I'm kidding! It was definitely good. I'd hate to have to do it myself in the bathroom later after being so turned on by your own orgasm."

  I bite my lip thinking back to it, only moments ago.

  It's been too long already.

  "Do it again," I ask.

  "Huh?"

  "Put your fingers in me. Again."

  He does.

  It's better the second time.

  And also the third.

  CHAPTER 28

  -1-

  G.

  Nov. 15, 2013 — Friday Morning

  Again, Axle isn't next to me when I wake up.

  But the smell of bacon is.

  I pull the sheet over the bottom half of my body and get up to look suspiciously down the staircase and say, hesitantly, "Axle?"

  "I hope you like eggs and bacon for breakfast," he hollers up. "Oh, and there's something else."

  "Is that coffee I smell? I mean, real coffee?"

  "It is."

  "Did you get it at the bakery?"

  "Hurry up and get down here. But please put some clothes on. You get me horny when you're naked from the waist down. Very horny!"

  I wash my face and see that I have quite a stubble rash on my shoulder and neck. When I was fleeing for my life and packing my bag I didn't think it was that important to grab more than a little lipstick and a bit of eyeshadow. So I slap some Vaseline on and make a note that I need to get at least some basics for the bathroom.

  After Sunday.

  Then again, The Hunter will probably judge this book by its cover, so... Saturday night?

  "Are you coming or what?" I hear Axle say.

  I try fix up my hair and my red skin, but it's just not working. "Ah, fuck it."

  Maybe I could get Karolin to pick me up some stuff...

  I throw on some sweatpants and then take them off because that's just god-awful ugly.

  "Food's getting cooooooold."

  I ruffle through my stuff, then I ruffle through Brooke's stuff. I find a skimpy little red skirt that's not too obviously slutty, some tights and a blouse. I'm not going out today because it's unlikely I'll have time to take more shots, so I won't be cold wearing it.

  "Hell, what the—?" Axle's walking up the stairs.

  I finish dressing before he gets up here, spatula in hand.

  "On second thought," he says, looking at my legs, "maybe we should just skip breakfast." The action of his eyes raking my body makes me horny all over again.

  And I feel it down there especially.

  "I suppose you're gonna tell me that's 'just something you slapped on,' right?"

  "Will it work?"

  "Nah. But I think you look hot in sweatpants as well."

  "Ah, so that's what got you hooked, huh? The sweatpants."

  He winks and fires an imaginary gun at me.

  "You look good carrying a spatula."

  "I looked for a chef's hat, but this isn't a real art gallery so I didn't find one."

  "Cooking is art for you?"

  "No, cooking is a basic necessity for me. Look, in case I didn't mention it: The food is getting cold!"

  I wink and fire an imaginary gun at him now.

  "Yeah, mock me, very funny." He makes way for me to pass, and when I do, he slaps me on the ass with the spatula.

  "Hey!"

  "Now there's an idea."

  "Not in your wildest dreams, bud. I got enough of the S&M stuff at that brothel."

  When we get downstairs I see the coffee plunger.

  "Oh, my goodness. It's coffee. Real coffee!"

  He saunters past me.

  "Where did you get this from?" I ask.

  "I bought it."

  "When?"

  "This morning. Store opens at six."

  I pour myself a cup.

  "Careful, it's hot."

  I burn my lips trying to take a sip of it. So I just hold it in my hands and sniff it, trying to inhale the caffeine. Real caffeine!

  I sip it again and burn my tongue.

  "Stubborn, aren't you?"

  "You try going almost a week without real coffee and then talk to me about stubborn!"

  "That instant stuff ain't so bad."

  "That instant stuff is horrible!"

  "So, seeing as there is no table in this kitchen—why would there be, it's actually a store, not an apartment—I improvised."

  He turns and shows me the wooden crates behind him. They're set up like a dining room set just beyond the kitchen door.

  "You got those from the store as well?"

  "No, I got those from near a trash can by a veggie store."

  "You're kidding."

  "I'm not. If it doesn't suit your tastes, we could drive to the nearest furniture store, spend all the money you have in the world on one chair, then you could sit on my lap and eat and we still wouldn't have a table."

  "Can I sit on your lap anyway?"

  "No, the crates might break. Actually, come to think of it, they might break anyway. Maybe we should stand."

  "Nah, forget it!"

  The crates are the cutest dining room set I've ever seen.

  I grab one of the plates he's holding—eggs, bacon, cheese, bread rolls—and head on over to the five-star setup.

  He sits and I get up again. "Where—?" he says.

  "Shh!" I put a finger to my lips.

  I go to the desk and get some paper. I cut it in a square and then fold it several times. I turn back to Axle and stretch my arm out at him with the creation in my hand. "Tada!"

  "It's...a hat...for a Smurf?"

  "It's an origami chef's hat!"

  "A what hat?"

  "Origami. It's paper art."

  "Please don't tell me you learned that in college."

  "I learned that in college."

  I put the hat next to him and sit back down.

  "Well, thank you." He puts the hat on his head. It falls. "I don't think it fits."

  "It's not supposed to."

  "What is it, like a memento or something?"

  "Or something."

  He looks at it from the front, then the back, the side. "I'll treasure it forever."

  "You better."

  We eat.

  "Good thing you set this up behind the partition or else someone might bid on it and try and buy it," I say.

  His fork stops midair.

  He gets up and starts moving his crate to the front of the gallery!

  "No, Axle!"

  He laughs. "I'm not that stupid."

  I sigh in relief.

  He moves again with the crate!

  "Axle!"

  "Gotcha."

  He sits back down.

  After too much silence, I finally ask the question that's not disappearing from my mind, no matter how har
d I try and make it. "So where are we at now? I mean, you and me?"

  Him: "Where do you want us to be at?"

  Me: "I'm no good at relationships."

  Him: "Neither am I."

  Me: "Is this a relationship?"

  Him: "It's such a scary word."

  Me: "So what is it, then?"

  Him: "Do we need to define it?"

  I think about it. "Probably not. But..."

  Him: "But you're scared not to."

  Me: "I think so."

  Him: "So what do you want it to be?"

  Me: "Dunno. I like you."

  Him: "And I like you."

  "So we're two people who like each other who haven't slept together because the other might have— Sorry, shouldn't go there."

  "Thank you. I'm stressed out enough about it as it is."

  "I guess what I'm...afraid of is... I mean, you're...a little different than me."

  He looks at his crotch. "Isn't that kind of the point?"

  "No, not like that! I mean, you're more experienced—"

  "I'm not going to be with anyone else while we're in"—he moves his hand back and forth between us—"this."

  I mimic him. "This?"

  Him: "Yes, whatever this is."

  Me: "Isn't that the definition of a relationship?"

  Him: "No, it's the definition of not being an asshole."

  Me: "You mean the definition of being a gentleman."

  Him: "Huh?"

  Me: "You can't have a definition of a 'not' word. You can only have a definition of the word itself. It's the definition of a gentleman."

  Him: "Trust me, I'm no gentleman."

  I look at the table setup, the food he's cooked, the coffee plunger. "OK," I say, making sure I sound as incredulous as possible.

  Him: "Besides, you can have a not-word. It's the definition of a not-asshole."

  Me: "A 'not-asshole'?"

  Him: "That's right."

  Me: "So that's what this is—you being a not-asshole."

  Him: "Pretty much. And you, too."

  Me: "A not-cow."

  Him: "You're learning already."

  "I can live with that. So, it's not, technically, a relationship. But we like each other. And we're being a not-asshole and a not-cow to each other by not seeing other people while we're, um, engaged in the activity of...liking...each other."

  Him: "Correct."

  Me: "So we've defined it."

  Him: "Or not."

  "You know, you're pretty smart for someone who didn't finish high school."

  "That's why I'm smart."