“Not the case, sweetheart. Bring it on. The badder, the better.”
“Is badder even a word?”
“It is tonight, baby.”
I tried to hold in my laugh but failed. “Alright. I dare you to teach me your most effective self-defense move.”
He scowled, “That’s it?”
“Yeah. Why?” I said, suddenly insecure. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know…something a little less technical and a little more crazy, I guess.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” I raised a hopeful brow, “We could just make out again if you want.”
He let out a loud laugh. “You’re relentless, Pink.”
I shrugged.
“Tell you what,” he continued. “We’ll pause the game, and I’ll teach you the move because it’ll be good for you to know, but you have to think of another dare for after. Something more…daring.”
“Okay, but just remember when you’re begging for mercy that you asked for it.”
“If you say so, Boss.”
I stiffened, “Are you ever going to stop calling me things other than my name?”
He thought for a moment, then gave me a deal-with-it grin, answering, “Probably not.”
After explaining the basics of self-defense—always have pepper spray ready and when in doubt, attack the eyes, throat, and groin—he went into how to escape a bear hug. The move included him wrapping his arms around me from behind and then walking me through each step to take to try to get free. Drop down with all of my body weight. Stomp on his foot. Kick. Pull on his ear. We practiced the move several times with a few different variations, and each time I grew less and less interested in breaking away from him. Until finally, I didn’t.
“This is your cue to drop down, Pink,” Matt said when I hesitated.
His arms had a tight hold on me, and the heat radiating off his body left me wanting nothing more than to stay put. So, instead of performing the self-defense move, I smoothly backed-up into him and pulled his forearms against my chest, deepening our embrace.
“What are you doing, Chloe?” he asked in a deep, throaty voice.
I sighed, leaning my head back, resting it on his chest while my hands traveled up his arms. “Do you have any idea how sexy it is when you say my name like that?”
He released me and backed away, my heart dropping from the letdown. Disappointment quickly morphed to irritation as I turned to face him. I had to admit, he was right that this game of Dare added to thrill and enjoyment of our time together, and I hadn’t had this much fun in God knows when. But my impatience was rearing its ugly face now. I fiercely longed for him to touch me the way he did the other night, and I didn’t know how much longer I could wait.
I remembered what he said earlier about getting exactly what I wanted with this game, and my eyes lit up when an idea that he wouldn’t be able to resist came to me.
“It’s time for your dare,” I said bluntly.
“Alright,” he said, eyeing me suspiciously.
He didn’t want to touch me? Fine. I wouldn’t let him. “I dare you to turn me on…and I mean turned-on, stimulated to the point of no return…without touching me.”
“Hmm,” he squinted his eyes in thought as a spark flared behind them. “No touching at all?”
“No touching me,” I clarified.
He chuckled, “Are you telling me you want to watch me touch myself, Pink?”
Heat rose in my cheeks. Why the hell was heat rising to my cheeks? I usually didn’t get embarrassed like this. “Ugh, you’re such a damn tease! I’m not going to tell you what to do. You’ll have to come up with the details on your own.”
He rubbed his index finger slowly back and forth across his chin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about we start with a reminder…”
“What kind of reminder?”
An expression of introspection crossed his face just before he asked, “How much of the other night do you remember?”
“You mean the night when we…were together?”
“Yeah, Pink,” he took a step closer and lowered his voice, “in your apartment. The night I made you scream.”
Shit. That comment alone sent a shot of electricity through me. This would be the easiest dare ever…for him.
“All of it,” I gulped. It was true. I’ve replayed that night in my mind a million times already, my desire for him growing stronger with each provocative flashback.
“Yeah,” he agreed, all traces of mischief gone and replaced by an intoxicating fascination. “Me too. Tell me, though, what do you remember the most?” He took another step closer. So close that I could feel his minty breath on my lips. “Was it the beginning, when you undressed in front of me? Because I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty…that almost killed me…before we even got started.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” I whispered, exhilarated by his confession.
He thought for a moment, allowing the memories to come back, before his gaze returned to me, and with it came a charge in the air, full of the same insatiable energy from that night. “Or was it the first time my chest pressed against yours, skin on skin, because I’m telling you, Chloe, the combination of your soft skin and hard nipples against me?” He breathed in a hiss through his teeth, “Fuck. I almost lost it right then and there.”
Fuck is right. Dear God, I didn’t realize how good he’d be at this dare.
His chest began to rise and fall, his eyes charged with resolve…passion…lust. His words, the memories, mixed with the raw, unfulfilled desires between us tonight, were affecting him just as much as they were me.
He stood behind me and brought his lips to my ear, careful not to touch, his voice deepening to a rough, deliberate rumble, “Maybe it was the first time my fingers touched the most intimate part of you. Because I’d be lying if I said the slick, wet warmth of that part of your body didn’t drive me absolutely fucking mad.”
I nodded as he circled to the front of me, scrutinizing my reaction to his words.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely audible. I cleared my throat. “That was incredible.”
“But that’s not it, is it? That’s not what you remember most.”
I shook my head no.
“Hmm,” he contemplated. “Maybe it was the first time you came.” His voice now a raspy hum, “I can’t get the picture of you on that bed with my fist in your hair and your ass in the air out of my mind. God, I was so fucking deep into you. And when you clenched all around me that first time,” he moaned, “it felt so damn good, I honestly thought that would be the end of it.”
My eyes impulsively closed at the thought, waves of heat flowing through me. When I opened them, he was staring at me, looking the same way I felt. Entirely captivated. Hopelessly seduced.
“But it wasn’t,” I found my voice. “You lasted for hours.”
“I had to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t want you to forget,” he reached for me, about to take my cheek in his hand before he remembered the dare included no touching. He huffed out a humorless laugh and dropped his hand to his side. “Just like tonight. I’m taking it slow to savor it. To savor you. So that you’ll want more. I want you to want more of me, Chloe. Because I knew before I even fucked you that night that I would want more of you.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. That alone may have been the single hottest thing he said all night.
“Tell me your most memorable moment from that night.”
“Everything. All of it, together.”
“I see. Well, Chloe McCarthy, let me tell you what I remember most about that night.”
“Okay,” I whispered in anticipation.
“I agree with you. Everything about that night was fucking phenomenal. But the morning is what I’ll never forget. When I woke up next to you—that was the most memorable moment.”
“Are you kidding me?” my brows pulled together in disappointment. Wasn’t the s
ex as good for him as it was for me?
“Nope, not kidding at all. But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out why. Right now, let me ask you this… How badly do you want me to touch you?”
I couldn’t stop my smile, “So bad. Mission accomplished on that dare, soldier.”
“Good.” His eyes gleamed. “Now it’s time for your next dare.”
Another stupid dare? My face squished up in defeat. “Matt, can’t we—”
Before I could say another word, he cupped my cheeks and drew me toward him, crashing his lips vigorously against mine, the contact sending a rush through me. As our lips parted, my hands grasped his shirt, stretching the fabric as I fiercely pulled him in, our bodies impatiently coming together. The kiss quickly escalated, our thirst for each other intensifying with every passing second.
“Come home with me,” he moaned, kissing and nipping his way up my neck. “Spend the night. Let me touch you the way you deserve to be touched.” With hesitancy, he withdrew his lips and intensely gazed into my eyes instead, provoking a whole new level of desire to take over my body and mind. It was a kind of desire that compelled me to want all of him, not just the physical, though that was a damn huge part of it.
“This place is alright,” he continued, breathing heavily, with a vigilant restraint in his eyes. “But we’ll need a bed for the things I want to do with you tonight. I promise, no more dares after this.”
“Yes,” I said immediately, wondering why he thought he needed to dare me to go home with him when I wanted nothing more than to do just that. I threw myself back into him, arms embracing, mouths interlocking, as I breathed in his captivating scent. “Yes,” I repeated. “Take me home.”
Chapter Eight
~Chloe~
Present (Christmas Night)
Our hands remained linked together, our fingers interlaced, as he drove his truck through the snow-covered roads to his home. The stinging winter air had sobered us to some degree, our impassioned urgency dying down ever so slightly since we left the club. Yet a quiet appreciation for each other had taken us over as we anticipated the night ahead.
The roads remained lifeless, quiet, and dark except for the streetlights, and headlights of Matt’s truck. The snow had stopped falling, but the plows hadn’t come through yet, leaving the streets deeply covered in a white powdery blanket. The heater vents blew, full blast, and had finally warmed the cab of the truck enough that my body had begun to defrost, and I no longer shivered.
As Matt turned the vents down a notch, a country ballad emerged from the speakers—a song that spoke of desire, need, love—and all I could think of was how much the song related to me—to us—and how perfect this moment actually was. I turned to Matt, intrigued not only by his masculine allure, but also by the way he made me feel:
Important.
Respected.
Worthy.
All qualities I thought I had lost forever.
With my eyes on him, I brought his fingers to my mouth and subtly kissed each one. He removed his attention from the road and briefly glanced at me, a sly smile forming at the corners of his mouth before he returned his focus to the road.
We pulled into a residential neighborhood and Matt withdrew his hand from mine, placing it on the steering wheel to make a ninety degree turn.
“A house?” I said, shocked, as we pulled up the driveway to a humble bungalow. “You live in a house?”
“It’s not that big of a deal, Pink,” he said as he parked his truck in the detached, one-car garage. “Lots of people live in houses.”
“Not many people our age,” I said, wondering why I felt the need to make small talk when all I wanted to do was touch him, and let him do whatever it is he wanted to do with me. “Do you rent it?”
“No.”
“You own it? You pay a mortgage on it? Wait. How old are you, anyway?”
He laughed, “Twenty-three.”
“Ah. I see now. How long have you lived here, old man?” I asked, inwardly cringing at my horrid success of thoroughly ruining the moment. My stupid nerves had clearly taken over.
He ignored the old-man comment. Maybe because he was only two years older than me.
“I got the place right after I was officially discharged from the military,” he said. “Been here about a year. Figured it would be a good investment.”
“Discharged? That sounds harsh. What did you do to get discharged?”
“Nothing,” he said, confused by the question. “My term of service expired, and I decided not to re-enlist.”
We stepped out of the truck and walked through the snow, entering the house through the side door. Straight ahead, looking down the basement stairs, I could faintly see part of a weight bench in the darkness.
We took our shoes off, and I followed Matt to the right. He flicked on a light before we entered a small eat-in kitchen, then hung his coat on a chair. I removed mine and did the same.
“For a guy’s place, it sure is clean in here,” I thought out loud as I looked around. The countertops were empty. No dishes in the sink. No spots on the stove or the floor. No dust in the corners. Looked like Matt Langston hadn’t lost any of the self-discipline he’d, no-doubt, learned from his days in the service.
“It’s habit,” he replied, leaning back against the countertop, his hands resting behind him. I leaned back against a chair on the opposite side of the room, mirroring his move, wondering who would initiate what we came here to do. I hoped I hadn’t obliterated our chances with my awkward small-talk.
The truth was, his “reminders” from the club still weighed heavily on my mind. I could still feel his lips. I still tasted his skin. I still yearned for his touch. Ached for his embrace. I hungrily craved the merger of our bodies.
He wanted me, too. I could see it in the way his eyes darkened. The way his chest heaved. The way he clenched his jaw in restraint.
Yet, we remained still, absorbing the moment and each other in this quiet calm before the storm. Only, it wasn’t really that calm. Not for me anyway. The longer we stared at each other, the more intense the pull to him became until it developed to a point where my heart raced in deafening thumps throughout the silent air in the room.
“So, how’s this gonna go?” I blurted impatiently. “Do you start? Or do I?”
His eyes gleamed, a slow smile forming from his lips, “It starts itself, Pink. Patience.”
Then it occurred to me that he was denying me on purpose. By allowing the charge between us to slowly build stronger, it would eventually come to a point where no matter how hard we tried, we would no longer be able to resist each other. Not even a little bit.
My nerves calmed as I studied him the same way he studied me. He had an intense hunger in his eyes. One that equally matched mine. Seeing him look at me that way, his body leaning back in that damn black t-shirt that fit him just the right way, his eyes exploring every part of me—admiring, craving, plotting—sent a shiver through my warm veins. Knowing that he wanted me only made me want him more.
“You want a drink?” he asked, watching me, not moving an inch.
“Maybe just some water.”
He nodded, and as he casually pushed himself off the counter and reached for a glass in the cupboard, I became entirely oblivious to anything other than the immaculate contour of his sculpted body and the tattoos on his arms, and I wondered if any of those tattoos had special meaning.
“What do your tattoos mean?” I said to fill the quiet before realizing how utterly groupie-ish that sounded. This damn anticipation was turning me into a babbling idiot. Tattoos on a guy had never been some kind of rebel-loving aphrodisiac to me like they were to other girls I rolled with. A tattoo does not a rebel make. A tattoo just makes a person with ink on their skin. Besides, I’ve never been picky…about rebels or inked-up guys or anyone else. I liked them all.
Why was I suddenly obsessing about tattoos?
Oh yeah. They were on him.
“Which one?” he cocked a b
row at me.
I pointed to the first one that caught my eye, “That one.”
He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a smile. “It’s a star, Pink. No special meaning.”
I bit my cheek in frustration and decided to stop talking. It seemed that no matter how much I tried to remain in control, around him, it was impossible.
God, I wanted him. Wanted that solid body pressed firmly against mine. Instead of granting that wish, however, he took the glass to the sink, his back facing me as he filled it with tap water.
Water. Had I just asked him for water? Not whisky or even wine? This was not my typical MO. My normal method of operation was to get drunk. Screw. Then move on. All while being in complete and total control of the situation. Getting drunk and being in control may seem like a contradiction, but I never got wasted enough to lose my grasp on reality or black out.
With Matt, nothing was typical. My senses didn’t need to be diluted in liquor to get through it with him. I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to be acutely aware of each and every moment I spent with him. Each touch. Each embrace. Each promising word that fell through his beautiful lips.
His words from earlier replayed in my mind: It is different with us.
He was right. I wasn’t using him to forget my life like I had the used others. I wasn’t using him at all. Was I?
Shit. I didn’t really know what the hell was happening between us, and it hurt my brain to try to define it. I did know this, though:
He made me remember who I used to be.
His friendship made me feel like I had more to offer than just my body.
His touch made me feel cherished and relevant.
All those things put together had already left a mark on my heart. And the sex. The sex was phenomenal.
I took the water from him and chugged it down, the heat of his stare penetrating my skin. When I finished, I handed him the glass, his distance a mere few inches from me, and he set it on the table, not taking his eyes off me once.
Then, he started it.
His hands rested on my waist, and it felt better than anything. He pulled me against him and when his breath tickled my neck, I let out a soft sigh.
The Fragile Line: Part Two (The Fine Line #3) Page 6