SINdicate: A BT Urruela FanFiction Novel: Cerberus MC Book 1.5

by Marie James

  I watch as he makes his way to the stove to stir the sauce that continues to taunt my empty stomach and wait for others to join us.

  “Is it just us?” I probe. He gives me a smile that says who else would be here? “I heard you talking to someone before you opened the door.” I hook my finger over my shoulder indicating where we’d just come from.

  “I was talking to her,” he says pointing at the dog hanging out peacefully in my arms. “I was making sure she knew to mind her manners when the pretty girl came in the house.” He looks down lovingly at the almost weightless dog. “Scout doesn’t listen very well.”

  I look down at Scout and smile, hoping he thinks it has more to do with the dog than him calling me pretty. She’s licking my hands and progressing her way to my wrist.

  “I think she likes the lotion I put on,” I say.

  He clears his throat causing me to look back up at him. “Well if you taste as good as you smell, I can see why she won’t stop licking you.”

  He winks at me and turns back to the stove just as I feel my cheeks flush at his words; the double meaning doesn’t go unnoticed, and now I’m ecstatic that we’re the only ones here.

  Yep, I think to myself, definitely not gay.

  I gently place the dog on the floor and look around his almost obsessively clean kitchen as he begins to plate food.

  “Parmesan?” He asks and holds up a hand crank cheese grater just like they have in the restaurants. Who even has stuff like that?

  “Just a little, please.”

  “Garlic bread?” He asks pointing to a plate of the most delicious bread I’ve ever seen, adding a slice to his plate.

  I look from the bread to his mouth and shake my head no. I watch as he licks his lips and then smiles.

  “Yeah, me either,” he says pulling the slice off his plate and putting it back with the other pieces.

  I’m pretty sure we just confirmed that we’ll be making out later, and I almost want to ask if he’d like to skip the meal, but my stomach takes this time to remind me that I skipped lunch as it grumbles loudly. My eyes widen, and I clutch my hands to my stomach.

  “I’m glad you’re hungry; I’ve made enough to feed an entire platoon.” He hands me a plate before grabbing his own and nodding toward a doorway.

  I step into the dining room and look in awe at the beautifully made table. A bottle of wine chills on ice and an amazing array of flowers adorn the center. I wait for him to set his plate down before doing the same at the remaining place setting. Salads are already on the table, and the dressing is in a glass container, and I’m certain I’ve never had dressing out of anything but the plastic bottle from the store.

  I begin to sit down and expectantly, BT is behind me helping me to push my chair to the table. I raise an eyebrow at him as he sits down.

  “What?” He asks with a smile wide enough to draw both dimples in his cheeks.

  “This may be the most romantic Netflix and Chill I’ve ever been to.”

  His smile falls slightly, but he catches himself and reaches to pull the bottle of wine from the ice bucket. “You do this a lot?” I can tell he’s trying to act nonchalant about it, but I can hear the concern in his voice.

  This is the reason I turned him down as many times as I did. He’s a commitment type of guy, and I’m as anti-commitment as they come.

  “No, BT,” I answer him honestly. “I don’t.” It’s the truth. I’ve never gone to a man’s house under the pretense of “just watching” a movie. The guys who usually come up to me lay their expectations right at my feet. I knew he was different when his initial approach didn’t include the words, “hey, wanna fuck?”

  I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into as I watch him pour the wine into both of our glasses, and I want to kick myself for not wanting to get up and leave.

  Chapter 3

  BT

  She was late getting here, and I’d just about convinced myself that her reluctance to say yes to coming over had turned into standing me up. Like a teenage boy, my heart was racing when I heard the doorbell, and it continued to race when she reached down and picked Scout up like it was the most natural thing to do.

  I had to restrain myself from acting natural when she walked past me, and I got a whiff of her. She is absolutely decadent, but not in an overpowering way. It’s almost as if she’s covered in oranges and honey, making my mouth water at the urge to lick her and see if she tastes the same.

  We make small talk through dinner, and she seems to shut me down each time I ask a question where the answer is more than skin deep. She may not want to talk about her family and such, but her face lights up when I ask about her future. She seems to have things in order as far as which direction she wants her life to go.

  “You want to do what?” I ask with eyes widened in shock.

  “I want to be a showgirl in Atlantic City,” she deadpans.

  When I asked what her ultimate goal was after finishing classes, this was not the answer I would’ve ever guessed.

  I run a rough hand over my beard in an attempt to hide my surprise. How she will ever go from the incredibly shy person I met weeks ago to someone who dances all but naked on a huge stage I’ll never know.

  I see her lip twitch, and I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re fucking with me.” I smile wide when she grins and begins to laugh.

  She wipes her mouth with her napkins and looks back at me. “Could you even picture me dancing on a stage?”

  I clear my throat because honestly if I close my eyes I could imagine her doing just about anything. It may not fit her personality, but I have an incredible imagination that could easily formulate a scenario where she’s dancing on a stage. I mean it would be a private show just for me, but yeah, I can picture it.

  “You had me,” I say standing and grabbing our plates. I walk them back to the sink before heading back to the dining room.

  “Movie?” I ask as she stands from the table.

  “Sure,” she says, and I catch a more sultry tone to her voice. I ignore it because if I let myself for a split second think that sex is where tonight is heading, I’ll fixate on it and won’t be able to carry on a conversation.

  “Follow me,” I say and head down the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” She asks as we bypass the living room and head deeper into the house.

  I stop walking and turn back to her. “I don’t have a TV in the living room.” I shrug. “I don’t get the opportunity to watch much because I’m never home, so the only TV I have is in the bedroom.”

  “Is that right?” I grin at her and nod.

  I nod, “I only get to watch a little right before bedtime. Most days there’s not even time for that.”

  She doesn’t respond but eventually moves her feet and begins to follow me to the bedroom.

  I busy myself with grabbing the remotes from the bedside table and watch her from the corner of my eye as she takes in my inner sanctuary. It’s neat but lived in. I make my bed every morning, but it’s no longer done with the military precision I was accustomed to while in the service.

  I settle on the bed against the headboard and point the remote at the screen. My eyes never leave her as she walks around the end of the bed and climbs on the other side. Even though I know it’s awkward to climb in someone else’s bed, especially having never even been here before, she takes it in stride and settles again the headboard as well.

  I want to shift my body so we’re closer together, but I don’t. I let her decide if she wants to keep the distance between us. The sight of her legs wrapped in skin tight leggings nearly make me groan. I direct my eyes back to the TV before I make a fool of myself.

  “So. The Office?” I ask while Netflix loads on the TV.

  I catch her watching my face and have to nudge her with my hand to get her attention. “I’m sorry. What?” She asks a little flustered.

  I smile big, putting my dimples on full display, well aware of what I’m doing. “Is The Office okay?” I ask again.


  She shakes her head no, and her gaze leaves mine and refocuses on my lips. My cock jumps in my pants at the thought of her mouth on mine. “I don’t want to watch The Office,” she finally mumbles.

  I clear my throat to hide the inevitable huskiness in my voice. It doesn’t help one bit. “What do you want to watch?” I ask her mouth because I can’t manage to pull my eyes away from it.

  “Homework,” she pants softly.

  That answer makes absolutely no sense. “I don’t think that’s on Netflix,” I answer, distracted.

  She briefly cuts her eyes back up to mine and shifts her weight so she’s lying back against the pillow. “Let’s work on homework.”

  I stare at her as she makes herself comfortable. All kinds of salacious thoughts are running rampant in my head right now. This beautiful woman is practically lying in my bed; there’s no way to keep those kinds of thoughts from happening.

  “Homework for tomorrow’s class,” she says her voice turning as husky as mine is.

  I shake my head in an attempt to clear the fog and lust that seems to be swirling around in it. We’re working on proper on-screen kissing techniques tomorrow. My eyes widen at her suggestion once my brain finally catches up with her words.

  “You want to make out?” I ask stupidly just for clarification.

  She bites her lips and dips her head in a quick nod.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” I admit and turn my body so it’s facing her more.

  I lift my hand up and sweep a strand of hair from the side of her face, but leave my hand in contact with her perfect skin. I groan when she tilts her head slightly, leaning into my touch.

  I lean my head closer and whisper, “Want to just go with it or was there a technique you wanted to work on first?”

  She licks her lips, and I almost lose all control.

  “Camera technique or closed mouth kiss first?” I ask again when she doesn’t immediately respond.

  I lick my lips in preparation for immediate action once she decides.

  “I think the open-mouth kiss is going to be the one we should practice tonight.” This woman is my dream come true, and I’m certain each and every one of her rejections up until today was just a way to build the suspense for this exact moment in time.

  I groan when she runs her pink tongue over her bottom lip, and my restraint snaps. I place my hands on either side of her legs and bring my mouth to hers. I’m met with the softness of her delicate lips and her quick, soughing breaths.

  Call me a wimp if you want to, but I found heaven during Netflix and Chill.

  Chapter 4

  Aviana

  Where the bravery came to ask BT if he wanted to make out came from, I’ll never know. He’s all for it, of course, and I didn’t expect a different response. I also didn’t expect his mouth to mold perfectly to mine or how much I enjoyed the soft scratch of his beard against my sensitive skin. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before, and after tonight, I don’t know that I’d ever want to go back again.

  I slant my head slightly to allow him to deepen the kiss. His tongue stroked over mine slowly, but when I placed my hands on his chest, the tremble of his muscles betrayed his barely leashed restraint. Frustratingly, he kept both of his hands flat on the bed by my hips, maintaining his balance when l wanted nothing more than his body weight against mine.

  I groan when my slight tug on his shirt doesn’t budge him an inch. His smile against my mouth tells me he’s well aware of what I want and amused at the frustration I feel with his refusal. I’m seconds away from verbalizing my complaints when I feel the soft stroke of his thumbs against the thin cotton of my leggings.

  He pulls his head back a fraction to look at me. I see lust and some other unnamed emotion swim through his eyes as he tries to read my reaction as well.

  “You’re a very good actor,” I admit. My lips are still tingling from the kiss, and my skin hums from the manly roughness where his beard scratched it.

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “I wasn’t acting.” He leans back further looking slightly confused. “Were you?”

  I shake my head no, responding honestly. His quick grin shutters his doubt and brings him back into the moment.

  I reach my hand up and run my fingers over the scruff that I’m quickly growing a fondness to. “I like this,” I admit quietly.

  “Then I’ll never shave again,” he says simply.

  My movement stutters briefly. I’ve grown accustomed to listening and paying attention to each and every thing a man says to me, wary of any promises or misconstrued declarations of future plans. What he just said is almost enough to make me get out of this bed and refuse to speak with him again. He may not mean anything by it, but his simple words displayed more meaning than his conscious self realizes.

  BT pulls me from my waring thoughts when his lips gently press against mine. Even his gentle kiss is cause for concern. Most people, when they get together for nothing more than a fun time, go at each other like maniacs, as if they’ll never get another chance; which is exactly what my intentions are.

  Knowing this, I deepen the kiss and give it an edge of violence and aggression. I fist the front of his shirt and pull him forcefully against me. He leans in further than before but still refuses the full contact I’m seeking. His kiss turns feverish, and I take it as a good sign. I want him wild and lustful; it’s the soft and sweet that I can’t handle. Those types of kisses lead to emotions I have no desire of investigating, no matter how much I like his beard.

  “Touch me,” I beg against his lips before delving back in again tangling my tongue with his.

  He groans into my mouth and brings one hand up to cup my cheek. This man is absolutely frustrating. I’m in his bed after weeks of him relentlessly pursuing me, and he’s practically refusing to give me exactly what I know we both want.

  I literally take matters into my own hands by reaching up and palming his cock through his jeans. He’s hard and thick and obviously ready for what I have in mind. He moans, and I feel his hips shift, pressing himself tighter against my hand. My lower body tingles and my clit throbs, demanding attention. Now this is more like it.

  I release my grip on his shirt and use both hands to work the button and zipper open on his jeans. He pulls away from my mouth and looks down at me. His panting breaths are forceful enough to sway the hair at my temples. Releasing my face, he covers my hands with his.

  “Slow down,” he says gently.

  What? Slow down? Who the hell slows down at a moment like this?

  I tilt my head, realizing I’m now the one that’s confused. “You don’t want to…?” I angle my head down and wiggle my fingers under his.

  He huffs as if I’ve just said the most insane thing ever, and I grin, certain he’s going to let me continue.

  He bursts my bubble when he asks, “What’s the rush?”

  How do I tell him this is his only chance? How do I explain to him that I don’t do relationships and a second “date” with him will never happen, especially since it’s obvious he’s a relationship kind of guy?

  “I want you,” I tell him and nip at his jaw playfully.

  “And I want you, but that’s not what tonight is about, Aviana.”

  “But it could be.” I’m practically begging him, and I don’t beg. I’m not the type of girl who’s ever needed to explain why sex is the best course of action to a guy. I’ve never had to, and I wouldn’t be now if I hadn’t had the opportunity to grip what he has concealed behind the denim of his blue jeans. My mouth waters at the idea of doing more with it than gripping it through his jeans.

  “Not tonight,” he says, and I can hear a small tinge of regret in his voice.

  I nod my head in understanding and turn my eyes from his to focus on the menu screen of Netflix on the TV across the room.

  “I should go.” I pull my hands back from the erection that’s all for what I have in mind and place them on my lap.

  “We can still make out,” he
says hope apparent in his tone.

  I slide off the bed. “I have an early class tomorrow,” I explain.

  It’s only nine o’clock, but he doesn’t call me out on it. His face falls marginally, disappointment evident in his eyes.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.” He stands on the other side of the bed and gestures with his hand for me to go first. From the corner of my eye as I pass him in the hallway, I see him adjust himself in his jeans. For a split second I hope he changes his mind, but I know me leaving is the best thing. I don’t use guys any more than they use me, and I know if I stay and push the issue, the tables would no longer be balanced.

  Can I convince him to sleep with me tonight? Of course I can; he’s a man. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but my experience tells me that men have less control over their restraint than they want to believe. I’m certain if I strip out of my clothes, walk to him naked, and reach for his zipper, he’d give me free range. But then tomorrow, he would be in a different place than I will be. He’ll expect things to continue even if it were casual, and I would be done.

  Once we reach the door, he grabs my purse from the entryway closet and opens the door.

  “Hey,” he says getting my attention before I can flee down the front walkway.

  I turn to him, and he gently kisses my lips. “See you tomorrow in class,” he whispers against my lips.

  I give him a weak smile, and turn and walk toward my car.

  Tomorrow is going to be one awkward situation. I knew I should’ve listened to my gut and refused to come over. I knew he’d take the hint and give up eventually. The sincerity and promise in his eyes earlier in class got me. I have to remind myself repeatedly on the drive back to my crappy apartment that it’s always the charming devils that bring the most pain.

  I’m in my own little world as I pull up outside my dimly lit apartment. BT asked me what I wanted to do with my life in regards to the acting classes I’ve been taking. I told a joke about being a showgirl to throw him off of the conversation, and thankfully it worked.