After sending the email this morning, I’d promised myself to go unabashedly for what I want. Come hell or high water. It’s time to put my money where my mouth is since he clearly isn’t going to let this go. And he’s right, this is exactly what I’d asked for, I just hadn’t known it.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
The corners of his mouth soften. “If you’re not sure, then you haven’t.”
I square my shoulders, tilting my chin. I know, I know, it’s pathetic I’ve never technically had an orgasm, but at least I’m taking action. And the last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me.
He leans in close and flicks his tongue along my bottom lip. “Trust me, Abby. I find everything about you sexy as hell.”
All I want is to throw my arms around him in gratitude.
The waiter chooses that moment to take our dinner orders, but Lukas sends him away since our menus lay unopened on the table. When we’re once again alone, he picks up the cream-colored menu and hands it to me.
I swallow, trying to work some moisture into my dry throat. “I don’t think I can eat.”
“You’d better. You’re going to need your strength.”
The wicked smile he bestows on me makes my blood race.
“Oh.” Thankful for the distraction over my humiliating admission, I bend my head to study the entrée selections with elaborate concentration but little interest. I decide on the first pasta dish I see that doesn’t have long noodles I’d be forced to slurp into my mouth.
The server returns, and after we place our dinner orders, Lukas shifts his attention back to me. “Have you ever tried to get yourself off?”
Oh my god, haven’t I admitted enough? I shrug.
“That’s not an answer.”
I blow out a hard breath. “Fine! I’ve tried, but it never works.”
His hand slips onto my bare knee and I jump in surprise. With his thumb stroking the inside of my leg, he asks, “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” His hand moves higher and I press my thighs together.
He nips my earlobe. “Did you rub your clit?”
“I think so.” Between the heat of his palm and the slow stroke of his fingers, my eyelids droop.
“Hmmm…” He sounds thoughtful, reflective almost. “That doesn’t sound very sure.”
I can’t think straight with his hand moving. “I don’t know why it doesn’t work.”
“Tell me what you think about?”
I frown. “I don’t want to.”
He laughs, and his fingers climb higher. “Too bad.”
I bite my lower lip. “I think. That’s the problem.”
“Ah, I see.” His hand moves higher, skimming along my sensitive skin. Palm gripping the curve of my thigh, I clench my muscles tighter, but he’s too strong. “Your brain gets in the way.”
“Yes.” My voice is a barely audible whisper.
He squeezes my leg. “Open.”
It’s not a request, but his touch feels so good, this time I don’t resist. I open, and he lifts my leg, sliding it onto his lap. The position leaves me spread wide and vulnerable.
I’m hot all over. Shallow breaths are all I can manage as his fingers come to rest so high on my inner thigh he’s touching the seam of my underwear.
His breath is warm on my skin. “Get up, go the bathroom and take off your panties.”
The words shake me from my daze and my lids fly open. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, and when you get back to the table, hand them over.”
A rush of heat, panic and anticipation race through me. I stare up at him with incredulity.
He chuckles. “I think it’s time we got started on that orgasm.”
5
Lukas
Gaze trained on the bathroom door, I drink my wine and contemplate my ability to make it through dinner. Somehow I don’t quite think getting fucked on the table in full view is what Abby meant when she’d put public sex on her list, but damned if I don’t have the desire to do just that.
I’m not sure when I last wanted someone this badly. I’m not going to lie; I’m surprised it’s Abby. Sure, I’ve always found her funny and smart, but she’s not someone I ever thought I’d have sex with. And never in a million years would I have guessed she hid such a wild streak. Maybe I should have, considering the theory that it’s always the quiet ones, but I don’t know, I just hadn’t because I’d placed her in the nice-girl box and kept her there. But her mixture of innocence, curiosity and sex appeal make my normal rules impossible to abide by, so here I am.
Waiting for her to come out of the bathroom without her panties on.
It no longer matters that she’s my neighbor. Or that, despite her claims to the contrary, she’s a forever type of girl. None of my reservations matter, because, selfishly, I want her. I can give her what she craves. I’m good at it. And if I don’t take her up on this outlandish offer, she’ll find some other guy. A safer guy—one who’d never understand what she really needs.
It has to be me. I’ll worry about the future, the impending end, later.
The bathroom door opens and she emerges and walks down the narrow hallway to the dining room. Not looking right or left, she zeros in on our table, and weaves a path through the restaurant. Her right hand is clenched in a fist, and I stifle a groan at what she holds in her grasp.
While she strolls toward me, male patrons shoot covert glances in her direction, their appreciation clear. I don’t blame them one bit, but it’s her reaction that surprises me.
Abby pays no attention, and not the feigned, eyes forward, secret smile on her face, pretending not to notice people watching her, type of deal either. I mean she literally doesn’t comprehend her appeal.
She slides into the booth, keeping a good foot and a half between us. I hide my smile. The contradiction between the advance and retreat of her sexuality makes me want to rip her clothes off and put an end to the argument about which side of her should win.
I appraise her, letting my stare linger on her face, letting her wonder what I’ll do next. I didn’t have Abby take off her underwear for sport, or for my own amusement, although that’s an added benefit. I did it because she has an overactive brain and her stress at being naked under her skimpy dress will distract her from the business of how I might give her an orgasm. I suspect her inability to climax is a mixture of too much thinking and a failure to understand how she’s wired.
Lucky for her, I understand enough for both of us.
She’s gonna come, she’s too greedy not to. I just have to shut off her thoughts first.
I crook a finger. “Come here.”
She shoots me a wary glance but moves a fraction of an inch in my direction.
I repress my amusement and keep the edge of my voice hard. “Closer.”
Again she moves, but not anywhere near where I want her.
I’ll admit I like a girl that has some spirit in her, but I can’t let her get away with it or it will ruin the whole point. I decide to shock her. I raise a brow. “You looking to get that spanking crossed off your list the first night?”
Eyes going wide as saucers, she sidles right up next to me.
“Good girl.”
I chuckle when she gives me a fierce scowl before lifting her wineglass to her lips with the slightest of tremors. She takes a huge gulp of the Chianti, her throat working as she tries to swallow her nerves along with her wine. When she puts the goblet back on the table, her little chin tilts up. I can’t help admire her determination, despite her obvious unease.
Soon enough she’ll learn her discomfort, along with anticipation, only heighten her arousal.
I pray I’ll survive.
The heat of her body warms my skin through my clothes. The scent of her swirls around me, the mixture of sweet spice and sex makes me dizzy. But I’m not the point here, she is, and I put my baser desires aside and focus on her.
I hold out my palm. “Hand them over.”
“
Fine, here.” She raises her eyes to the ceiling and shakes her head. Despite the fact she clearly finds me unreasonable, she presses black silk panties into my waiting palm.
I rub the fabric between my thumb and forefinger, not surprised at the already damp cloth. I smirk at her. “For a girl who’s so annoyed, you certainly are wet, aren’t you?”
She gasps, her breasts overflowing the top of her dress as she sucks in a huge breath. “I am annoyed!”
“I know you are,” I say agreeably, knowing it will only increase her agitation. “Funny how it only makes you more aroused.”
“It does not.” In a major huff, she crosses her arms over her chest.
I continue to run my thumb over the wet fabric in slow circles, the scent of her arousal filling my nose and rushing to my painfully hard cock. Abby watches my movements in wide-eyed horror.
Excellent. My suspicions about her are proving right the farther we get into the night.
“Another time,” I tuck the panties into my pocket for safekeeping before crooking a finger under her chin and forcing her to meet my eyes, “I’ll put them on the table so even the waiter can see what kind of girl you’re hiding under that prim exterior.”
Cheeks flushing ten shades of red, she jerks away. “I’m not hiding.”
I disagree. I’d say she’s hiding quite a lot and it’s definitely time for it to end. My job is to help her accomplish the task she’s set out for herself.
I slide my arm around her shoulders and toy with her hair. “Aren’t you?”
“No.” She picks up her napkin and twists it in her lap.
Before I can comment, the waiter delivers salads I don’t want. When we are once again alone, I return to the subject at hand. “Is your dress new?”
She rolls her eyes, that smartass nature of hers peeking through her discomfort. “Of course, you know this isn’t my standard attire.”
I contemplate the dress, assessing her under the strictness of scrutiny. Pleased when she squirms under my watchful gaze. It’s amazing on her. But that isn’t the point as far as I’m concerned. I want to know how it makes her feel. Most women fiddle with a dress that short, tight and revealing, even when they know it looks good—but not Abby. She doesn’t fidget or fuss with the hem, or make any adjustments. Almost like she put the dress on and decided to tolerate it by forgetting its existence. “Do you like it?”
She looks down at her cleavage before shrugging. “It’s fine.”
I’m not letting her off the hook that easy. I twine a lock of hair around my finger and let the silky strands slip through before falling to rest on her shoulders. “That’s not really an answer.”
“Why does it matter?” She picks up her fork but makes no move to eat her salad.
She’s avoiding the question, so it stands to reason there’s something lurking there. I could be gentle, but that doesn’t seem to have an effect on her, so I say simply, “Because I say it does.”
She glares at me, annoyance tightening the curve of her lips.
I raise a brow and wait.
Finally, she sighs. “I’m not sure how I feel, awkward, I guess. I put it on and refused to think about it again. It’s just clothes and it covers all the vital parts.”
Another confirmation. My time as her neighbor is paying off because I’ve interacted with her enough to understand at least a little of how she views herself. Abby is a functional, practical person, but she’s also hiding from something. If she wasn’t, there wouldn’t be such a disparity between her inner and outer life.
I run a finger along the curve between her neck and shoulder. “You look very fuckable. Every man in the room has his eyes on you.”
“You don’t have to say that.” With her big brown eyes, she glances up at me and gives me a sweet, tentative little smile. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a sure thing.”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s so adorable and funny. That dry, self-effacing wit is as charming as ever, but it doesn’t sit well with me that she thinks so little of herself.
I decide it’s time to start correcting that. “I think it’s time for another experiment.”
The smile dies on her lips and her expression turns wary. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“It will be easy, I promise.” I give her a slow once-over, deciding my course of action, before nodding. “I want you to get up and go to the bathroom again, but this time you are to pay attention to the men in the room.”
She shakes her head. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“I want you to see what I did, that’s why.”
She shakes her head. “First, you’re crazy, I can assure you there’s nothing to see. And, second, I don’t need validation from men.”
She has a point, and I don’t shy away from it. “Of course you don’t. But you seem to think I’m placating you, or being nice, and proof to the contrary seems in order.”
Her brow furrows.
It’s not that I don’t understand her confusion, because I do. Until yesterday, I’d never paid much attention to her appearance. She’s always seemed so conservative and reserved, as if she wanted to melt into the background. I’ve always liked her, thought she was intelligent and entertaining, but I’d never considered her as someone I’d take to bed. So I do understand why she doesn’t buy my attraction toward her, but I can’t sleep with her if she believes I’m doing it out of politeness, because I’m not. This is pure selfishness on my part.
So, I have to convince her of her appeal and my genuine desire to do despicable things to her body. “Abby, when it comes to sex, I am never nice.”
She attempts to look away and I grip her jaw. She averts her gaze, and I issue a command, “Look at me.”
She obeys, although the corners of her lips tilt down in a frown. Her previous sass is gone, letting me know a real, sensitive issue is under the surface.
“I’m not doing you a favor.” My voice is soft, my fingers light on her skin. “Believe it or not you’re doing me the favor.”
She shakes her head from my grasp. “Lukas, I appreciate this, but you don’t need to bolster my self-esteem, I’m comfortable with who I am.”
That’s a lie and I call her on it.
“No you’re not. If you were, there wouldn’t be such a contrast to how you portray yourself and the items on your list.” Before she can speak, I flick my tongue along the seam of her lips, then dip to her neck to skim my mouth along the hollow. Her breath hitches and I lick the rapid pulse beating as fast as my own. “Here’s the truth. You walking in on me last night and your email this morning are the hottest, most exciting things I’ve experienced in a long time. I’ve been with you less than two hours and I’ve already enjoyed myself more than I have in my last six months of dates combined.”
Her frown deepens. “They must have been pretty boring dates.”
I smile. “They were. Next to you.”
“I’m sure you’re being nice.” Voice soft and unsure, she pulls back and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But it’s still working.”
She’s an accountant, she likes things in black-and-white, and I intend to give her proof. I grab her hand and press her open palm to my hard, aching cock. “Does this feel like I’m being nice?”
A startled gaze flies up to mine.
“I’ve been like this since you opened your front door.” I move her hand up and down the length.
“Oh!” She yanks away as though she’s burned.
I laugh before tilting my head toward the dining room. “Stop distracting me, let’s get back to the experiment. You are to get up, walk across the restaurant, paying attention to the men.” I study her, then make my decision. “In the bathroom, slip your fingers under that killer dress, I want you to know how wet you are.”
Cheeks turning pink, she coughs. “But why?”
“Because you’re an accountant and we all know the proof is in the numbers, don’t we, Abby?”
Abby
&nb
sp; Proof is in the numbers.
The walk through the restaurant is an eye-opening experience, and I’m not quite sure what to do with the information. Lukas has made his point. Men, both young and old keep looking in my direction, their eyes traveling the length of me.
I sag against the bathroom door, my heart pounding in my chest for some strange reason. This night isn’t going as I’d anticipated. I’d thought we’d go grab a quick bite, have a normal, cordial date, and then he’d take me home, to bed, and that’d be the end of it. I did not expect this probing.
It’s confusing me.
Is it possible I’m not invisible?
All my life I’ve never tried much with my appearance because I hadn’t seen the point. Trying to look good would just highlight how I pale in comparison to Eden. Instead, I’d focused on being smart. I don’t even feel competitive about it. I accepted a long time ago that I’d never win, so I didn’t make the effort. Why waste the energy when I could spend my time on my strengths?
Maybe that’s messed up, but it’s hard to explain to other people what it’s like living in the shadow of someone else all the time, someone who takes up all the space and refuses to let me have even a little light. Unless you’ve lived it, it’s hard to understand. It’s why I never talk about it. Whenever I’ve tried, people just assume I’m sad because I’m not as pretty as she is. Trying to explain, gets tangled up and distorted, and I don’t want to deal with their pity.
I don’t want to be Eden. I don’t even like her. Despite all her beauty, she’s not a happy person. She’s troubled, narcissistic, and a practicing alcoholic. My parents spend the bulk of their time dealing with her, fretting over her, worrying about her, seeking answers on how to save her. And anytime I get the slightest bit of attention or acknowledgment, she steals it away from me. I can’t remember a single event in my life that didn’t turn out to be all about Eden.
Maybe I’ve been wrong to deal with it as I have, I don’t know. All I know is I have dealt with it the only way I know how. Being invisible keeps her viciousness away from me. It allows me a small piece of something that isn’t about her.
The Burn List Page 5