Blind Date (Dating Series Book 7)

by Monica Murphy

  “If you want me to leave, I will.” He drops a kiss on my forehead and slowly starts to pull away.

  I clutch at him, keeping him in place. “No! I don’t want you to leave.”

  Isaac chuckles, the confidence in his tone making my toes curl. For being so much younger than me, he’s taken command of the evening effortlessly. And I’m letting him.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs just as he kisses me. Before I can get too into it, he pulls away. “Open the door. Show me your place.”

  With a smile, I turn away from him and unlock the door, a thrill racing through me when he reaches above me to push the door open wider. We hurry in, Isaac closing and locking the door behind him, and I turn on the closest lamp before offering him a quick tour.

  “This is really nice,” he says as he follows me around my small one-bedroom apartment. I show him the kitchen and small dining area. The spacious living room. The short hall and the small half-bathroom.

  “Thank you. I really like it too. I feel safe here. I love that it’s a gated community and it has such high security,” I tell him. I’ve never lived alone before so those things were really important to me.

  He frowns. “That ex of yours—he’s not some kind of crazed stalker, is he? Is he still giving you a hard time?”

  A nervous laugh escapes me and I shake my head. “No, no. He’s nothing like that. We haven’t spoken since the day I moved out of his place. He’s definitely not stalking me. I’ve just never lived alone before and this apartment gives me a sense of security that I really like.”

  “That’s good.” He rests his hands on his hips, scanning the living room and kitchen. “I’m glad to hear he’s not giving you any trouble.”

  “Nope. No trouble at all.” I approach Isaac slowly, unsure of what to do or say next. Again, I’m not used to this sort of thing, and I don’t want to look like an amateur, even though I totally am. “You want something to drink?”

  “No thanks.” The moment I’m in reachable distance, he’s grabbing my hand and pulling me to him, his strong arms wrapping around my waist. “You didn’t show me your bedroom.”

  I rest my hands on his chest once again, marveling at all the strength I can feel beneath my fingertips. He’s so broad and firm beneath my hands. And warm. Incredibly warm. “You want to see my bedroom?”

  “Only if you want to show me,” he says, giving me all the power.

  Before I can answer, his mouth is on mine, delivering a drugging kiss. I fall into it, a sigh escaping me right as our tongues tangle. We kiss like this for long, tongue filled minutes, standing in the muted light of my living room. I slowly slide my hands up, winding my arms around his neck as we press close. Closer.

  Until we’re as close as we can get save for the barriers of our clothes.

  Yeah. Things are moving fast between us, and normally I’d be pressing the brakes and asking for him to slow down.

  But right now, I don’t want to slow down. I just want more.

  More, more, more.

  Pretty confident Isaac feels the same way too.

  Fifteen

  Isaac

  This woman is soft and yielding in my arms. I think I’m addicted to her lips. Her taste. To the way she feels and smells and sounds. I like the way she sighs right before I kiss her deeply. I also like how she shifts closer and closer to me, as if she wants me to absorb her completely.

  Amelia’s still a little reluctant, though. I can see it. How she looks at me, the things she admits. She wants more, but she’s not used to asking for it. She’s attracted to me, but she’s nervous. I can’t blame her. After getting out of a long-term relationship not so long ago, anyone would be cautious.

  Does this mean I’m the rebound man? Maybe. I’m not looking for a serious relationship out of this. That’s what I told myself from the beginning.

  But now…

  Now, I feel so connected to this woman. I want to learn more about her. I want to learn everything. It’s mind blowing, how fast this has escalated. She went from being the woman who accidentally ran into me to the woman who I’m going to take to bed in a matter of days. It’s wild. I don’t want it to stop either.

  I can only hope she feels the same way about me.

  “Come with me,” she says after she ends yet another kiss and moves out of my arms. She takes my hand and leads me down the short hall to her bedroom, turning on a small lamp that sits on the nearby dresser. It illuminates the room in a soft, white glow.

  The room is simple, with not much furniture beyond the dresser and a single bedside table. It’s also very clean, not an ounce of clutter in sight. The bed is large, and covered with a thick, cream-colored comforter. There’s a mess of pillows propped against the fabric headboard that almost makes me want to laugh. Women and pillows. My mother is the same way.

  I sober up immediately. That is the last person I want to think about in this moment.

  “I like your room,” I tell her as I pull out of her grip and check out the photo on top of her dresser. I pick up the picture frame, studying the image. She’s standing in the middle of the group, with six women surrounding her. They have giant smiles on their faces and they all look really happy. Candice is in the photo as well.

  “My friends,” she says as she comes to stand beside me, her gaze also on the photo. “I’m lucky they didn’t abandon me.”

  I turn to her. “Why would they have done that?”

  “Because I abandoned them,” she says, lifting her head so her gaze meets mine. “My ex demanded all of my time, and I gave it to him. They’d ask me to do stuff—go to dinner, brunch, whatever—and I always begged off and said I couldn’t make it. I ditched them constantly because he wanted all of my attention, all of the time.”

  Anger fills me and I tamp it down. No need to get worked up over an asshole who’s not in her life anymore. “I don’t even know him, but I hate this guy.”

  Couldn’t help but say something, though.

  She laughs. “He’s the worst.”

  “We shouldn’t talk about him anymore.” I set the picture frame back on her dresser before I pull her into my arms. “He’s not worth our breath.”

  “He definitely isn’t,” she agrees, tilting her head back to accept my kiss.

  I try not to take it too far, too soon, but this woman awakens something in me that I’ve never felt before. The moment our mouths connect, I want to consume her. The second I settle my hands on her body, I want to explore every inch of it. I want to slowly remove her clothing and touch her everywhere with my hands. My mouth.

  Does she feel the same way? Is she experiencing this too?

  Cupping her face, I devour her eager mouth, thrusting my tongue against hers, my erection swelling beneath the fly of my jeans. She returns the kiss eagerly, her hands sliding up and down my back, pulling me in toward her.

  It feels like we’re moving fast, but then again, it also feels natural, being with her like this. Having her tug on the back of my shirt so she can slip her hands beneath it, her cool fingertips touching my hot skin. I’m tempted to pick her up and take her over to the bed. She’s not that big and I lift shit all day long for a living. I’m sure I could haul her over to that bed real easy.

  But I’m not about to push. Not yet. I need to feel this woman out first.

  Maybe even feel her up too. Ha.

  I start walking her toward the bed. Slowly at first. Never taking my mouth off of hers. She moves her hands to the front of my shirt, her fingers slipping over the buttons and undoing them with ease. She spreads my shirt open, her hands finding my chest, a sigh leaving her when her fingers trace over my pecs.

  “You’re muscular,” she murmurs against my lips.

  “I work hard every day,” I tell her, nipping at her lower lip.

  She laughs. Kisses me some more as her hands continue their exploration. She trails her fingers along my rib cage. They dance across my stomach.

  Before they settle just above the waistband of my je
ans.

  Well, damn. I guess I’m not the only one who’s moving fast.

  Deciding to go along with her plan, I reach for the front of her shirt as well, my fingers messing with the tiny buttons. But my fingers are big and I’m already fumbling like a virgin with his first girl. She pulls out of my arms, away from my seeking fingers, and whisks the shirt up and over her head, so she’s standing in front of me in just a smooth black bra and her black pants.

  “You didn’t even need to unbutton it,” she says, her expression smug. “The shirt’s oversized.”

  I could give two shits about the shirt. All I can do is stare at her chest. The gentle swell of her breasts straining against the smooth fabric of her bra. Her skin glows, I swear to God. She’s pale and unblemished, with a slender waist and long torso. Not overly curvy, but just enough for me to settle my hands on her hips as I contemplate her.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper in admiration.

  “And you’re a flatterer,” she says, her cheeks turning pink. “I’m nothing special.”

  “Please. You’re stunning.” I don’t give compliments like this lightly. She truly is beautiful. Stunning. Maybe she doesn’t know how to take a compliment. Maybe that asshole ex of hers is still in her head, making her feel inadequate.

  I want to show her that she’s more than what that guy thinks. What anyone thinks. She’s unique. Special. The prettiest woman I’ve ever been with.

  Somehow we end up on the bed, my shirt long gone, and when I hover above her, leaning down to find her lips once more, our skin connects.

  And I swear to God it fucking sizzles.

  She pulls me into her, her hands searching. Smoothing across my shoulders, my chest. Up and down my back, like she can’t get enough of me. We kiss hungrily and I slip a hand in between us, tracing the top of one breast along the edge of her bra with a single finger, making her shiver as gooseflesh rises, pebbling her skin.

  I kiss her neck as I slide down her body, my mouth following. I kiss her collarbone, her chest. Her breasts. Her stomach. I don’t remove any clothing, I just explore what’s readily available, my cock already aching to get inside her.

  She grips my shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin as she throws her head back, her eyes closed. I stare at her, watching in fascination as the rosy flush sweeps over her chest and up her neck. After only a few seconds of my staring she cracks open her eyes to study me, a frown forming on her face.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Staring at you,” I tell her truthfully. “You want me to stop?”

  “Staring at me?”

  I chuckle. “Everything I’m doing to you—do you want me to stop? Or do you want me to keep going?”

  I don’t normally ask so many questions. But there’s something about this woman that makes me feel like I should check in with her first. She’s vulnerable A little nervous. I don’t want to push so hard she ends up running.

  Amelia nods, and when I lean in to drop a kiss in the valley in between her breasts, she sighs. “Don’t stop.”

  That’s all the permission I need.

  It’s on after that. I get the bra off of her, and when her breasts spring free, I gather them in my hands, bringing them together as I rain kisses on her abundant flesh. I circle one nipple with my tongue, then the other, moving back and forth before I draw one into my mouth and suck it.

  Hard.

  She practically bows off the bed, her hands reaching for me, her fingers sinking into my hair and holding me to her. I continue lavishing all of my attention on her breasts, taking my time, working her into a froth. I can tell she’s amped up by the ragged sound of her breathing, the rapidness of her heartbeat beneath my mouth.

  I’m a tit man. I always have been. And Amelia has a spectacular pair. Not as big as I’m normally drawn to, but I can make accommodations.

  Especially for this woman.

  Eventually I rise back up, my mouth finding hers in a sloppy kiss. She pulls me on top her, her legs spreading wide so I settle in between them, my erection pressed against her center. I start to grind against her, subtly at first, and then with more force as we continue to kiss. She moves with me, until we’re both rubbing against each other like a couple of teenagers and I’m reaching for the front of her pants, eager to feel more skin.

  “You have a condom?” she asks when I break away from her intoxicating mouth so I can concentrate on getting her damn clothes off.

  Nodding, I undo the snap and slide down the zipper. The fabric falls open, revealing pale pink cotton, and I nearly groan in agony. “One in my wallet.”

  “I have some in the bedside table,” she admits.

  I pause, glancing up at her. Her cheeks are a sweet shade of pink. “Prepared, huh?”

  “They came in the goody bag we all got at Candice’s bachelorette party,” she explains. “I just tossed them in there when I got home.”

  “Nice.” I start to pull her pants down and she lifts her butt a little so they slide off easier. “Did Candice have a stripper?”

  “Oh God, no. She would never stand for that, though she had no problem with Charlie having a stripper at his bachelor party,” Amelia says, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she watches me pull her pants completely off, revealing those long, pretty legs.

  “That stripper took a liking to me,” I say, my eyes on the prize. Meaning her panties. I want them off, but I’m enjoying looking at them too. Wondering what they’re hiding.

  “Are you really telling me you hooked up with a stripper right now?” she asks incredulously.

  I start to laugh, shaking my head. “I didn’t hook up with her. I’m just saying she took a liking to me.”

  “I can see why.” Amelia sits up, her hands going to my shoulders so she can grip them firmly. “I mean…look at you.”

  “Right back at you,” I whisper before I kiss her yet again. My jaw is starting to get tired, but I’m not about to stop. I feel like we’ve barely started.

  More kissing leads to more touching and the next thing I know, my hand is nestled between her thighs, my fingers pressing against the front of her panties. There’s a hitch in her breath and her mouth becomes more frantic, her hips straining closer to my hand as I slowly start to rub. Up and down.

  Back and forth.

  Up and down.

  The cotton grows damp. Damper. She’s whimpering. I sneak a finger beneath the fabric, encountering a thin tangle of pubic hair. I slide my finger in farther, until I discover creamy wet heat.

  Found my prize. And fuck me, she’s so hot. Molten. And soft. I slide my finger through her folds as I kiss her with everything I’ve got. I stroke and rub, pressing against her clit, making her gasp. Making her reach for me, her hand settling over my erection, fingers curling around it.

  Her hand on me, even through my jeans, is enough to make my eyes cross.

  We shed our clothes quickly, until we’re both naked and tangled up in each other. She instructs me on where the condoms are and I grab one, grateful for that goody bag from the bachelorette party as I roll the condom on my cock. She watches, her gaze drinking me hungrily and she pulls me over her. I’m poised and ready to sink into her welcoming body, my hands braced on the mattress above her head, her dark hair spilling all over the pillow.

  I stare at her, my gaze roving, unsure of where to settle first as I take her all in. How beautiful she is, and how lucky I am.

  “You sure about this?” I ask, my voice gruff.

  She frowns, her delicate brows drawing together. “What do you mean?”

  “You sure about us—this—having sex?”

  What the fuck am I doing? I’m not one to have second thoughts, and I am definitely not having those, no way. But I don’t want her to regret this moment. I don’t want her thinking we moved too soon and have her end up running away from me.

  I have a feeling once we do this, I’m never going to want to stop.

  Sixteen

  Amelia

  Oh my G
od, he’s the sweetest. Is he really asking me if I want to stop? He’s suited up and ready to dive inside, so to speak. How could I tell him to stop now?

  I suppose I could. It’s my every right. I’m not obligated to let him into my body. And I’m touched he’s respecting my feelings right now. This is a momentous occasion. I haven’t had sex in a while. This is kind of…

  Weird.

  But in a good way.

  A very, very good way.

  “I just don’t want you to regret this,” he continues when I haven’t said anything.

  I glance up at him to see there’s sweat forming on his brow. He’s frowning, and the muscles are straining in his arms and shoulders. Fascinated, I reach up and trace his biceps. The curve of his shoulder. His skin is smooth. Hot. The muscles beneath firm. Joe wasn’t this muscular.

  Joe is the only guy I’ve ever been with. Isaac will only be my second.

  “I won’t regret this,” I tell him, my fingers still exploring.

  “You’re not going to bail on me afterward? Never see me again?” He sounds genuinely stressed out.

  Slowly I shake my head, reaching for him, curling my fingers around the base of his erection and giving him a firm squeeze. Swear to God, his eyes roll back in his head. “I definitely won’t bail on you after this.”

  “Thank Christ,” he says, his shoulders sagging with relief as I carefully guide him inside of my body.

  He turns his focus to the job at hand, sinking into me inch by inch until he’s filling me completely. My body stretches, there’s a slight sting because it’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I wince, shifting my hips to get more comfortable. This enables him to sink even farther inside of my body, making us both moan.

  I go completely still, concentrating on his throbbing erection filling me up. He’s big. Bigger than Joe. And here I go again, comparing when I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it. Joe is all I have to compare anyone to.