by MV Ellis
“Whatever. By the way, Arlo?”
“Yeah?”
“You can put me down now, I’m pretty sure I’m no longer in danger of falling.” I beg to differ, but not in the way she means.
“I can, but I don’t want to. I like having you right here.” I really like it.
“Arlo!” There’s a warning note in her voice.
“Okay, Miss Killjoy, if you insist.”
“I do.”
I lower her to the ground slowly, relishing the feel of her body brushing against mine, especially when she grazes against my hard-on. Her eyes widen in surprise. Yeah, baby, that’s all for you. I turn us, trapping her between my body and the edge of the countertop. She says nothing, but the tension in the air between us ratchets to supercharged. Her pupils are dilated, consuming the amber of her irises. I’m sure my gaze, fixed steadfastly on hers, is the same. We both want this, but I resist the urge to lower my lips to hers, or to grind my erection against her like I want to.
Instead, I wait a beat… two… three. The ball is firmly in her court. I want the next move to be hers. She hesitates, and I can almost see her brain ticking over, weighing up her options. I hold my breath… four… five… six…. I see the shutters come down in her mind, and I know it’s over. Damn. Maybe I played my hand wrong and I should have just impaled her on my aching dick like I wanted. Not being an asshole is harder than it looks.
“Umm… I’d better get on with what I was doing. I didn’t find the pan I was looking for, so I guess there will be no banana bread, but I can make pancakes, or anything, really. Bacon? What do you want?”
I want you.
She slides under my caged arms and begins picking up the cupboard detritus strewn around the floor. I deliberately continue facing the countertop, not daring to watch her as she moves around clanging the fallen pots and pans as she goes. I managed not to overstep when she brushed up against my erect dick before, but I can’t vouch for my actions if I turn around right now and watch her bending over in those shorts.
I’m not a patient man at the best of times, and while tantalizing and exciting in some senses, this extended game of cat and mouse we have going on is solely a means to an end for me. It had better end soon, or it means I may not be responsible for my actions.
Chapter Ten
A few days, and way too many vodka-fueled nights later, and my patience is shot to pieces. I have to do something about the situation with London or I’m in danger of losing my fucking mind. Or my liver, whichever comes first. I don’t relish the thought of either option, so it’s time to work on part three of Operation: Hostile Takeover.
I walk into the kitchen, finding London with her back to me, doing dishes. I wonder why she doesn’t just use the top-of-the-line dishwasher but surmise she must have a good reason. One I don’t give a fuck about. What I do care about is the fact that having her at the sink like this gives me access to her back. She has the sexiest fucking back and ass on the planet. I can’t get enough of looking at them. I can tell by the way her body has stiffened slightly, as though electrified by my presence, that she knows I’m here. Good.
I push up against her back, caging her body with my arms on either side of her, gripping the edge of the countertop. Her breath catches, mirroring mine. I want her so fucking bad. I lower my mouth to just above her earlobe, about to speak, but the words freeze in my mind. She’s got me so fucking sideways, I can’t even think straight. I inhale heavily a few times, getting high on the scent of her. Fuck, I’m in deep with this chick.
“What do you want, Arlo?” It’s barely a whisper. I can tell she’s also hanging on by a thread.
“To talk.” I’ve got to do what I came here for, or we’ll be in limbo forever.
“What?” Her voice is sharper now, the irritation clearly evident in her tone.
“You heard me. I want to talk. About the elephant in the room.”
“I don’t know what you mean. And why are you pressed up against me like this to ‘talk’?”
I need to turn this around quick, or I’ll lose her before we even start.
“I need to be this close to you. I’ve been so desperate to touch you since you’ve been back here. I just wanted to feel you and have you feel me. I can barely stand to look at you every day, you turn me on so fucking much. Whenever we’re together, I’m trying to keep it under wraps and just be with you without trying to get with you. It’s not something that comes naturally, and I’m not gonna lie—it’s driving me out of my mind. I have to do this.”
Since she hasn’t slapped me or hightailed it out of there, or both, I decide to take the plunge. I spin her around to face me, and noting the shock on her face, I lean in quickly and press my lips to hers.
Nothing.
Shit. I guess I misjudged the situation. Just as I’m about to pull back and apologize for overstepping—again—she yields to me, allowing me to kiss her harder and kissing me back in return. I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of blocking out everything around me and just concentrating on her. She’s fucking divine. If there’s anything on the planet that tastes better and sweeter than her mouth, I’ve never had it.
I bring my hand up to stroke her nipple and feel it pebble to my touch. She wants me. She leans against me, rising on tiptoes to allow better access. I slip my hand into her hair, cradling her head to help steady her. It takes all my willpower not to wind her hair around my fingers and yank her head back as far as it will go, affording me access to her neck. I also resist the urge to suck her skin hard, branding her. Mine. As much as I’m staving off these desires, with every passing second, a little more of my willpower evaporates. There’s so much dirty, dirty shit I want to do to her, but right now, I can’t risk stepping out of line. My muscles flex and coil tightly with the effort of resisting. So. Fucking. Horny.
She grabs me by the waist, pulling me closer. I push my erection up against her, desperate for release. I catch a whiff of her arousal, and it just about finishes me off. Fuck. Me. Dead. I want her with every fiber of my being. Her tongue explores my mouth, probing, pushing, tasting. I stroke her nipple again. This time she moans aloud, and it’s the sexiest, most intensely female thing I’ve ever heard. I pull her closer still.
If I could fuse our cells right now, I would, but I “settle” for the most sensual kiss I’ve ever shared with anyone. This woman is a fucking goddess. Just standing here fully clothed in the kitchen making out like teenagers has surpassed my expectations, but also increased my desire to a point I never knew was possible.
Seemingly from nowhere, London starts pushing me away, even while still kissing me back wildly. What now? Unless she can read my incredibly X-rated thoughts, I can’t have done anything wrong. Can I? It doesn’t matter either way, I have to stop. Right now. Fuck.
I release her from my grasp and take a step backward away from her, immediately mourning the loss. Motherfucker. I drop my hands to my sides and allow them to hang limply there.
“What now? I didn’t say anything.” I sigh, looking into her face for some idea of what’s going through her mind.
“That’s exactly it.” What? I just can’t fucking keep up with what she’s thinking half the time. She’s like a riddle without a sphinx.
“You said you wanted to talk. Just say whatever you came to say, or let me get on with my work.”
We’re standing practically nose-to-nose, our mouths so close they’re almost touching. Almost, but not quite. She’s staring at my lips, and I know she wants to kiss me as badly as I want her to, yet something’s stopping her.
“Yeah.” I rake my hands through my hair, pulling hard. If I sigh any more, I’m in danger of fucking deflating. “It was about what happened when we met.” I crack my neck, but it doesn’t ease the tension.
“I don’t really see what’s to talk about. We both apologized for our behavior weeks ago, and we’ve moved on. Case closed.” Her tone is flat and emotionless, like she’s checked out.
“Despite how it ended between
us that first time, you can’t deny that we had mad chemistry from the get-go, and it’s been hanging between us ever since. We need to talk about it. That’s the elephant in the room.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
I don’t know who she’s trying to convince more, me or herself.
“Oh come on, babe, who do you think you’re fooling? Definitely not me, and probably not even yourself. Do you think I don’t see how you react to me whenever we’re together? How you responded to me when I kissed you just now? You’re as into me as I am into you. Why fight it? We’re grown-ups, we should just go to bed and get it out of our systems.”
That moment when you realize you’ve said the wrong thing, but it’s too late to take it back? Yeah. Me. Now. I see something snap inside London. This exchange isn’t going to end well.
“Let’s get something straight, Arlo. I’m your housekeeper, not your ‘babe,’ and I’m definitely not one of the scores of women you can pick up just by shooting them a look. I don’t care how famous or how rich you are, or even how attracted I am to you, I’m not about to just climb onto your dick. I wasn’t going to when we first met, and you’re totally deluded if you think I’m about to now.”
Damn. She may look delicate, but she sure knows how to slay. Her words hit like a blow to the solar plexus. More than anyone, this tiny beauty can really pack a punch, and it doesn’t feel good. In fact, I feel like fucking shit. Being on the receiving end of London’s wrath makes dealing with even the worst hangover seem like a walk in the park.
“It’s not like that. I’ve been with a fuck load of women, and not one of them has made me feel the way you do. Made me want them the way I want you. I can see that I have the same effect on you.” She looks like she wants to punch me, but I don’t let that deter me. After all, I’m already fucking down, though not yet out. What’s one more virtual punch or kick going to do?
“I guess it makes sense that you’d fight what’s going on between us. I’m sure you’ve read all sorts of shit about me. I won’t lie, some of it’s true. Quite a lot of it, actually. But this is different. You’re different. I’m different with you. I don’t get how you can’t see that after getting to know me.” And the Douche of the Decade award goes to….
“That’s just it. I don’t know you at all, and I’m sure this will come as a huge surprise, Arlo, but this is not about you, it’s about me. Right now, I’m just not interested in you or anyone. No dating, no fucking, no nothing. I just can’t….” She started out so strong, but now she looks like she’s fighting back tears. What am I missing here?
“I’m focusing on work. Photography, that is, not cleaning. I’m all about achieving my goals and not letting anything or anyone distract me or keep me from getting where I want to go. Especially not someone like you.”
Someone like me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not down for becoming another notch on your overworked bedpost, only to be discarded moments later like a used condom.” Ouch.
“You make me sound like some kind of monster.” Is that really how she sees me? And here I was thinking she couldn’t make me feel any worse.
“If the cap fits.” She’s back to being cold and detached. I guess she can switch her attraction on and off like a faucet. Well, two can play at that game. I turn to leave. Clearly this conversation is going nowhere. Nowhere good, at least.
“Oh, and you needn’t go resigning, or worrying about me hanging around, making you feel awkward or anything,” I throw out as an afterthought. “I’ll make myself scarce from now on. You won’t know I’m here.” I saunter out of the room, not looking back, even as I hear her continuing.
“It’s your house, Arlo. You don’t need to feel inhibited on my account. If anyone needs to not be here, it’s me.”
Whatever. I’m done.
Chapter Eleven
Marnie: I’m back. You wanna scratch that itch?
Me: Tonight.
Marnie: Sure thing. Can’t wait.
She’s so not what I need right now, but I’ve never been one to shy away from doing the wrong thing in any given situation. Why should now be any different?
When she arrives that evening, Marnie looks as hot as ever, but I take that as a given. She’s one of the most effortlessly stunning women I’ve ever met. That being the case, I’ve wondered so many times why I don’t feel more for her than I do. I’ve got eyes and a working cock, I can appreciate her aesthetically, but I’ve never been drawn to her like I am to London. That’s next-level bee to honeypot shit. With Marnie, the attraction is much more functional. We both have needs we know the other can fulfill. It’s almost a transaction. At the least, it’s a mutually beneficial exchange between friends, and it works for us. At least it did.
As I greet her at the door, Marnie slithers toward me, dropping her purse to the floor and wrapping her arms around my neck. Her lips are on mine, kissing me firmly, smooth and dry as always, before my brain even registers what she’s doing. I kiss her back, but my heart’s not in it. Moments later she pulls back, eyeing me curiously.
“Is something wrong, babe?”
That obvious, huh? I shake my head. Nothing I can share with her. Not in so many words anyway.
She continues to weigh me up suspiciously. I don’t think she’s buying it. If there’s one thing Marnie’s always been, it’s sharp, just like her haircut. I look at her again. As immaculate as ever, her jet-black bob in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, her lush cupid’s bow mouth is so perfectly offset by her wide, dark eyes. Those doll-like features have been earning her hundreds of thousands of dollars on runways and magazine covers around the world for all these years. I’m awed, as I often am, by just how perfect she is, but today, more than anything I’m struck by how she’s so… not London.
I walk further into the house, heading toward the kitchen, deciding to just get this over and done with. The sooner this gets said, the sooner we can all move on with our lives. It’s cleaner and better for everyone. Behind me, Marnie stops walking.
“Hey AJ, are you hungry or something? ’Cause last time I knew, the bedroom was that way.” She points in the direction of the elevator. “Or are you so sideways, you can’t even remember the layout of your own pad?”
I spin to face her then and realize that the whole time we’ve been walking through the house, she’s been undressing. She’s topless and is undoing her supertight jeans. I stop in my tracks. The line of possessions behind her—sweater, purse, bra—reminds me of the first time I met London, following the Hansel and Gretel trail into the bathroom and finding my beautiful Not Goldilocks buck naked in the shower. This situation with Marnie couldn’t be further from that.
“Put your clothes on, Marns, it’s not happening tonight.”
“What’s not happening?”
“You know what I mean. You and me. We’re not doing this right now. Or ever again.”
“Arlo, are you high? I was joking before when I asked if you were too far gone to find your own room, but now I’m asking you for real. I mean, you don’t look or sound it, but you have to be. What did you take? Damn, it must be good if you look okay but are clearly tripping hard. Maybe I need some of that too. It would be perfect for surviving boring shoots. Nobody would even need to know.” She laughs a little uncertainly, but the sound is over almost before it began.
“No, I’m not high. Far from it. I just need to talk to you, is all.”
“Riiiight…?” A tight frown slides across her face, but is gone again so quickly, you’d be forgiven for thinking you imagined it. That ability to school her features so effectively is one of the secrets of her success. She’s the perfect blank slate onto which designers can project their visions. I know her better than that though, after all these years. I’m sure her brain is currently working overtime to assess the situation and work out what the hell is going on. She’s nothing if not sharp as a tack.
“Let’s go in here. And… maybe put your shirt back on.
” I nod toward the article in question and head into the formal sitting room I indicated. Marnie grabs her shirt and hurriedly follows me.
“What are we doing in here? Did somebody die?” It’s a legitimate question. I can’t ever remember using this room before, and even with the fresh-cut flowers London has put in here, the atmosphere is somber, almost funereal.
“No. Everyone’s alive and well, and doing just fine.”
“Even Gramps?”
“Especially Gramps. He sends his love, by the way.” It’s only a little stretch of the truth.
I sit on the largest couch in the room and tap the cushion, indicating that Marnie should join me. She does, folding her tall, willowy frame like a human pretzel. She hugs her knees to her chest, rocking herself backward, angling her body slightly to look up at me.
“So, tell me…?” There’s not a hint of emotion in her voice.
“I’ve met someone.” Another flicker. It’s her eyes this time that give her away, but again, it’s gone almost before it’s there.
“Yeah, you meet people all the time. It’s an occupational hazard. So what?”
I’m pretty sure she knows exactly what I mean.
“I mean someone special. A woman. I think it’s serious.”
“So you’re telling me you’re in love with someone?”
“That’s not what I said, Marns.”
“You didn’t need to, Arlo, I’ve known you a long time. I can read you like a book.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on right now, if I’m honest. I just know that I want it to be something more than it currently is, so I think it’s best we stop whatever this”—I motion between us—“is. We always said we’d carry on while it was still fun—”
“So it’s not fun for you anymore? Certainly seemed fun a few weeks ago when you fucked me raw on the hood of Hunter’s car in the parking lot of the club. It definitely felt like fun while I sucked you off and we screwed again later that night. You came three fucking times. Clearly you were having fun then. How much can things have changed in a few weeks?”