Trouble: Rob & Sabrina: Boxed Set

by Selena Kitt

  “Including the attic and the basement?” I laughed.

  “Kitchen’s next.” He grinned and before I knew what was happening, he was carrying me like that—arms around his neck, legs around his waist—through the living room and into the kitchen. There were no soft surfaces in the kitchen, but Rob remedied that by grabbing a cushion from one of the chairs. He put it on the kitchen table and then sat me on it.

  “Sturdy table,” he noted, putting his palms on either side of me and testing it with his weight.

  “My dad made it.” So, of course, it was solid, the chairs too. He and my mom had practically furnished my whole place when I got my teaching job and moved out.

  “Your dad?” Rob raised his eyebrows, but he was still looking at me, palms flat on the table behind me to keep my balance, heels up on the edge of the table, showing him everything he wanted to see. And he was taking advantage. “Not an appropriate time to be thinking about parents.”

  “Agreed.” I trailed one hand down my body, down, down, stopping between my thighs and spreading my labia. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “That did it.”

  He was inside me before I could take another breath and I sighed in relief. Finally, finally! He groaned, eyes closing for just a moment, steadying himself against the edge of the table. When he opened his eyes, he met mine. His were so dark I could barely discern pupil from iris. He groaned again when he looked down at me, at the place where he had me impaled on the kitchen table, the place where we were joined.

  “Touch yourself,” he demanded, pulling back and then thrusting forward, moaning again. “Do it, Sabrina. Touch yourself.”

  I whimpered but followed his order, first tracing circles around, honing in on the throbbing center. Then I rubbed it, back and forth, faster, faster. My breath matched my motion, my gaze moving over the man buried between my legs. Every part of him was hard—the firm planes of his chest, the ridges of his belly, the tense press of his thighs, the swollen pulse of his cock. I wanted to feel him against me, thrusting, taking exactly what he wanted.

  “Don’t stop,” he insisted, wrapping his arms around me. “I’ll hold you. Just let go.”

  I clung to him, one arm still around his neck, the other working between my legs, taking me higher, higher.

  “Tell me when you’re close,” he whispered, breath hot. “Don’t come… just tell me when you’re close.”

  I shivered, rubbing faster, my nipples hard as they pressed against his chest. He held me up, balancing me on the cushion, his cock throbbing deep inside of me. He thrust a few times, groaning, stopping, waiting for me.

  “Close!” I gasped, eyes closing, breath hitching. So very, awfully close.

  “Good girl,” he praised, grabbing the full globes of my bottom in his hands and driving deep inside me, in and out, a teeth-jarring sensation. He slammed into me again, making me wrap both my arms around his neck just to hang on. My clit responded to his thrusts, which was more of a rut now, deep and getting deeper, using all the leverage he could to grind himself into me.

  “Oh, God, Rob!” I cried, my hands in his hair, face against his chest, both of us already full of sweat. “You’re gonna make me come!”

  He just grunted and thrust again, hips moving in delicious circles until I burst like an overripe berry, spilling sweetness all over his cock. I thought for sure my climax would send him over—the soft rhythmic clamping of my muscles around him, the way I cried his name and bucked up to meet him—but he held out, just barely, I think.

  “Put your legs around me.” His voice was hoarse.

  I did, hooking my feet at the ankles, gasping when he lifted me, carried me like that.

  “Where are we going?” I panted.

  Rob stopped halfway down the hall, pressing me to the wall, still buried deep inside me as we kissed. He was still rock hard and ready to go, and I was a limp noodle in his arms, so spent I thought I might just pass out. He was on the move again, turning right at the end of the hall, toward my bedroom, instead of left, which would have put us in the bathroom.

  “We already did it in here,” I reminded him as he eased me down to the bed with hard, bruising kisses. “What about the bathroom?”

  “When we’re finished,” he replied, rolling off me onto the bed. “Come here. I want you to taste yourself on my cock.”

  Like I needed to be asked? I pounced on him like a cat, loving the sounds he made as I began to suck him. His cock was gorgeous, just like the rest of him, and I’d been dying to get my hands and mouth on it since the night before, when things had been so fuzzy and distorted from copious amounts of alcohol—at least, for me. Now I had time to really play, and I did, exploring every inch of him with my tongue and mouth until he protested. And even then, I didn’t stop. He had to grab a handful of my hair and pull me off.

  “Hungry girl.” He was panting, all his muscles taut, and I knew I’d gotten him close to climax. I was determined to finish the job.

  I crawled up to kiss him, straddling his hips, feeling his erection, hot and hard and throbbing, pressed between us, belly to belly. I reached down to guide him, aiming him, and Rob moaned softly, his eyes closing completely when I slid down onto him. It was a moment I knew I’d never forget as long as I lived, looking down and seeing him open his eyes and reach for me. There was lust there, but it was more than that. He wanted me—me.

  “Sabrina,” he murmured as I began to rock. He reached for me, pulling me gently toward him, but I resisted. Then he moaned, “Oh God, Sabrina, you feel so good.”

  So did he, buried to the hilt, filling me completely. I gave in and melted into him, my thighs spread wide, breasts pressed against his chest. He cradled me, wrapping his arms around my arms and shoulders, trapping me in his embrace. I moaned when he took over, driving up into me.

  Then he rolled me to my back in one fluid motion. I gasped, looking up at him propped over me, my hands running up and down the thick, taut muscles of his arms. That hot, dark look was back in his eyes as he glanced down to where we were joined, his cock moving slowly in and out of my wetness.

  “Touch yourself,” he insisted, eyes brightening as my hand moved down between my legs, fingers brushing his cock. “Good girl. Do it for me. I want to come with you.”

  I wasn’t sure I could, again, but seeing him poised above me like that, hips rocking and rolling, the way he bit his lip when he slowed the tempo a little, letting me catch up, I knew I had to try.

  “Oh God, yes,” I murmured, feeling that first sweet swell in my belly. I rode the wave a little higher, rocking my hips up to meet him. “Fuck me, Rob—harder!”

  He groaned, his head dropping to rest against my shoulder, but he gave me what I wanted, thrusting harder and faster. His breath was hot against my neck, his whispered words making me shiver.

  “Oh fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good… I don’t… I can’t… ahhh…”

  “Please!” I begged him, my other hand in his thick, dark hair, pressing him to me. “Oh, so close. Oh God, so close…”

  He gave a low, rumbling groan and I knew I didn’t have long, but it didn’t matter because I was just moments away from bliss. I wrapped both arms around him, letting his cock do the rest of the work, letting Rob take me there with each grinding thrust.

  “Come on, baby!” He thrust again, again, arching now, his eyes on mine. “Come for me. Come with me!”

  “Yes!” I cried, feeling a huge wave cresting, hovering, and then crashing over me. I shuddered and bucked under him, my nails digging hard into his upper arms.

  “Oh fuck! Now!” Rob spread my thighs wide with his, almost sitting up. He looked down to see himself going into me, thrusting one last time and crying out, biting his lip as he climaxed. I felt every single throb of his cock as he came inside of me and I used all my muscles to milk him, every bit, loving the way he moaned and bit his lip again when I did that.

  He collapsed beside me, rolling us both up in the comforter, making a sweet little cocoon. I snuggled
with him, stroking the stubble on his cheek. His eyes were closed so I could take the time to really look at him, the long dark lashes, full lips and dimpled chin. I just wanted to capture this moment in my mind forever. I didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or the next day, or the months and years that would stretch into the future without this amazing man in my life. If I could have stopped time, I would have. To hell with the rest of the world.

  “What are you thinking about?” He opened one eye to peer at me.

  “I was thinking… we haven’t had sex in the bathroom yet.”

  “Nap first.” He groaned, arms tightening around me. “Shower later.”

  I didn’t argue.

  That suited me just fine.

  Chapter Nine

  We went to dinner at La Fondue in Royal Oak. If I had rented my house in Royal Oak instead of Ferndale, I would have paid double. Their downtown was bigger and fancier than ours, even though they were just one city over on the map. There was a big Barnes & Noble, Coldstone Creamery and a Panera Bread and lots of other little local shops selling soaps or baked goods or advertising tattoos in the window. During the summer, Sunday was biker night, but February was quiet. Few people would brave the cold to window shop.

  Everyone in Michigan had a destination in mind if they left home in February.

  “Is this as good as the Thai food place?” Rob asked as the waiter seated us.

  I was glad it was a guy and not a woman, just because I didn’t want to deal with the inevitable flirting and asking for autographs. I wanted Rob to myself. That’s why I picked fondue—it took three to four hours for one meal, from appetizer to dessert. It would be a perfect end to our perfect day.

  Our waiter—Brian—wore wire-rimmed glasses and had short-cropped hair and a crooked smile. He didn’t seem to recognize Rob, even though he’d left his sunglasses and ball cap at home, on my request. He wore a black button-down shirt and khaki’s—both picked up at the thrift store. I’d dressed up for the occasion with a little black dress and strappy black heels.

  The other reason I’d picked La Fondue was the dark atmosphere. The booths were black and the lighting dim, and their patrons were mostly couples on a date or celebrating an anniversary or birthday, people looking to be alone for a long time together.

  “It’s good,” I replied, smiling at Brian as he brought my girly fuzzy navel and Rob’s German beer. “But in a different sort of way.”

  “I haven’t been disappointed with your choices yet.” He took a sip of his beer.

  “Me either.” I smiled to myself, stirring my fuzzy navel, seeing Rob tilt his head at my remark and then laugh.

  Brian came back over and gave us the spiel about how fondue worked. I’d been before, and Rob said he’d done fondue a lot in L.A., so we really didn’t need to hear it. But clearly Brian needed to say it, so we let him go through it all. But we were flirting the whole time with our eyes. Rob’s gaze kept dipping to my cleavage and I wiggled in my seat, remembering his mouth there. I couldn’t stop looking at his lips, the memory of his kiss like a brand. I could feel the pressing heat of it and we weren’t even touching.

  All the while, Brian was acting like a stewardess, telling us all the horrible things that could happen to us. He told us how hot the pot was and how we shouldn’t touch the metal part of the skewers if we’d left them in the pot or we might burn ourselves. He even warned us how hot the cheese would be—the first course—and especially how hot the oil we would cook our main course in was.

  When he left to get our first course ready, Rob and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “If you touch hot metal, you’ll get burned,” Rob said with wide eyes. “You don’t say!”

  That made me laugh even harder. When Brian came back, I straightened up and wiped my eyes and tried to look serious, but Rob kept mouthing, “You don’t say?” every time Brian looked at me and I had to disguise my laugh as a cough or sneeze as best I could.

  It was so bad, Brian finally asked if I had a cold as he stood there stirring, adding a little wine and melting our cheese in the pot between us.

  “No, no,” I replied, wiping my eyes again. “It’s just… uh… allergies.”

  That broke Rob up and he covered it with a cough that turned into a coughing fit. He hid it in his elbow, tears streaming down his face.

  “Wow, are you guys both allergic to cheese?”

  “No!” I protested, kicking Rob’s shin with my high heel under the table.

  He winced, gritting his teeth and glaring at me, but I glared right back.

  “No, I think we’re just hungry. I love cheese!”

  Brian left the cut-up bread cubes on the table between us, along with the skewers.

  “Well…” Brian said, doubtfully. “Enjoy.”

  “We will!” I smiled brightly, waggling my fingers at him, trying to encourage him on his way and he took the hint.

  “Owwww!” Rob leaned down and rubbed his shin, a delayed reaction. “What was that for?”

  “You are a very bad man!”

  “You knew I was trouble when you met me.” He laughed, crossing his eyes, mocking me, “I love cheese!”

  “Shut up!” I couldn’t help laughing but I shushed him, glancing around at all the other quiet couples around us. “I do love cheese.”

  “Prove it.” He picked up his skewer, eyes dancing. “Race you.”

  We’d burned so many calories at my place between the sofa and the kitchen table and the bed, we were both starving—again.

  I grabbed my skewer and shoved it into a piece of bread, dipping it quickly into the cheese. It was so thick, I had to turn it around and around to try to break the gooey, long thread of cheese attached at the bottom.

  “Oh no you don’t.” He skewered a piece of bread, shoving it into the pot. He didn’t bother breaking the thread of cheese—it stretched from the edge of the fondue pot to his mouth as he shoved the bread in.

  Then his eyes widened, and he grabbed his beer, taking two long gulps.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Hot!” he gasped, eyes watering, taking two more gulps of beer. “Damn, that’s hot!”

  “You don’t say?” I pursed my lips, trying not to laugh.

  Beer spewed everywhere. Luckily, he had the good sense to turn his head, so he didn’t get it in the cheese. I handed him one of the cloth napkins, still laughing.

  “You’ll be sorry later,” he choked out, still snorting laughter. “Remember, this is my tongue we’re talking about.”

  I stuck mine out at him. “You have other valuable parts.”

  “Glad you think so.”

  We were more careful, heeding Brian’s warning and letting the cheese cool a little first before chancing a bite, but our first course was gone far too fast. We shared the last bite and instead of breaking a long string of cheese between us, Rob just leaned over and kissed me.

  “Careful,” I whispered, meeting him halfway. “That pot is hot.”

  “You don’t say?” He licked my lower lip. “So am I. What are we gonna do about that?”

  I smiled. “Let’s get through dinner first.”

  “Waiter!” Rob sat back, waving wildly, making me laugh. “Next course!”

  Brian came to take our cheese and replaced it with a pot of hot oil. He turned up the heat, went through the warnings again, but we didn’t laugh this time. Then he left a plate with small chunks of meat, another with vegetables, a bowl of batter and a variety of dipping sauces. He gave us instructions on how long to cook everything and I tried to remember it all.

  Rob ordered another beer, but I was still nursing my fuzzy navel. Last night felt like a dream in part because I’d had so much alcohol. As much as I still felt as if I was dreaming, I didn’t want to accentuate that feeling with too much to drink. I wanted to experience this man as completely and fully as I possibly could in the fleeting time we had.

  “What are you thinking about?” Rob asked, dropping a batter-coated bit of beef
into the hot oil.

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” The question just popped out as I skewered a piece of cauliflower.

  “I don’t know if I believe in anything.” He eyed me over his beer. “Belief has too much doubt and thought for me. You either do or you don’t, right? I guess what I have is… faith.”

  “Faith?” I dropped my battered cauliflower in next to his beef.

  “Yeah.” He smiled, putting down his beer and skewering a mushroom. “I have a basic sort of faith in the universe, in… this.”

  He waved his hand in the air and then reached for a butter knife, so he could stuff his mushroom with the cream cheese and chives mixture Brian had left on the table.

  “You have faith in fondue restaurants?” I smirked as Brian returned, leaving Rob another beer on the table.

  “Smart ass.” He rolled his eyes as Brian left, pulling his beef skewer part way out to check on it. “I just mean, you know, all of this. The world. Everything beyond it. Whatever that might be. I don’t pretend to know what that is. I think religion gets it wrong because they’re too literal. And I think science gets it wrong for the same reason. I think there’s a natural order to things but most of the time I think what we’re trying to do with both religion or scientific explanation is to mitigate our own fear of the unknown.”

  “That’s very profound.” I pulled my cauliflower out of the pot, putting it on my plate.

  “I just accept what is. Right here. Right now. And I trust what I feel. So, I don’t really believe in anything. But I have faith in all of it.”

  I nodded, skewering and battering my own piece of steak before dropping it into the hot oil.

  “How about you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Me?” I dipped my cauliflower into a sweet dipping sauce, taking a bite. I loved fondue—little fried bits with all sorts of sauces—it was the perfect grazer’s meal. “I was raised Methodist. My dad’s mom went to church every week and took me. My mother was Christian Scientist.”

  “Now that’s interesting.” Rob dipped his beef and took a bite. “But I meant, do you believe in love at first sight?”