Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)

by Charlotte Stein

His voice seemed to have dipped lower.

  “So that’s just it, huh? You’re going in. Goodbye.”

  “Well, yeah, you just…said…You have to go.”

  “Man, I can see I’m gonna have to give you as much of an education in how to be in a relationship as I am in all the crazy sex stuff. But that’s cool. That’s okay. We can start here.”

  “Start where?”

  She looked up at him as she asked, expecting to see that laughter in his eyes. The faint smile on his lips.

  And that was when he kissed her. Right in the middle of those lingering memories and still-present doubts, right when she was at her most vulnerable. He just leaned right down and took her face in his two hands, lips pressing so sweetly to hers you would never know what they’d just done. It was almost chaste, that kiss. It was the kind of thing two teenage sweethearts might try at first.

  But that made the loveliest sense to her.

  They were teenage sweethearts.

  They just hadn’t known it at the time.

  They hadn’t understood what this would be like: all bright and burning and brilliant. He barely did anything beyond that one tender push of his mouth against hers, yet somehow it set her heart pounding in her teeth. Her lips were tingling in all the places where he made contact, and they continued to long after he had pulled away. As though he had tattooed her there with his feelings, she thought, then had to fight to stop herself saying something stupid and gushing and amazed.

  Not that it would have mattered if she had. His first word was not a word at all.

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you…feel that?”

  “I felt that.”

  He seemed to sag when she admitted it.

  With relief, she thought, then wanted to cry.

  Doubly so, when he spoke again.

  “I think maybe I changed my mind about coming in.”

  “That’s probably for the best. I need you to carry me the three feet to my bed.”

  “Well I’m screwed then, because I was going to ask you to carry me. You might have to carry me. Feels like my knees just dissolved and ran right down my legs.”

  “I want to mock you for being a romantic cliché, but I can’t because the butterflies in my stomach are trying to eat me alive and my heart is about five seconds away from exploding. Seriously, I might need a paramedic. You should call 911. Tell them I’m dying of feelings for someone.”

  “Oh, say that again. Say it again only slower, way slower, super, super slow.”

  He leaned as he said this, but that only made it harder to do.

  Impossible, in fact. All she could do was blush and give excuses.

  “I can’t. I’m embarrassed now.”

  “That just makes it better. That means you mean it, right? You mean that you have feelings for me.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that that is the case. You’ll have to speak to my attorney.”

  “Should I tell him or her that I have feelings for you, or will that come out later in court?”

  “I guess…I guess it depends how guilty you are.”

  “Oh, very guilty. Really, massively, stupidly, endlessly guilty,” he said, and she knew he was moving in as he did. She charted his syrup-slow progress between each word, that mouth getting closer and closer to hers until it was undeniable. He was obviously about to kiss her again.

  Yet somehow it still took the wind out of her when he did it. In part, she thought, because it was still such a new thing. But more probably it was the way he went about it. There was nothing chaste about his mouth on hers this time. His lips were parted, and they urged hers to do the same. To open beneath his rolling, pulling kiss; to let him feel the flicker of his teasing tongue.

  And to taste.

  He definitely wanted her to taste him, and after a second of this feverish dance she understood why. That was the tart sweet hint of her, behind the fresh hit of double mint. There was the evidence of what they’d done in the library, unmistakable and awful and awesome all at the same time. It made her want to hide her face or turn away, but the urge to pull him closer was just as strong.

  Her hands fisting his T-shirt were testament to that.

  As was her response when he suggested she open the door. She had never moved so fast in her life. The key was in the lock before he’d finished talking, everything so heated and frantic it seemed obvious where this was going to go. He even made it clearer the second they were inside, mouth dropping to kiss at her jaw and throat and breasts. Lord, when he got to her breasts. He only touched through her T-shirt, but touching through her tee was enough when he did it like this. When he made a wicked point of his tongue and worked it back and forth over the very tip of one pointed nipple, lips parted so she could see, breath coming so heavy and hot it went right through the material.

  By the time he moved to suck and lick at the other nipple, everything was wet there—wet and aching and oh so good. She was shivering before he started using his hands as well as his mouth, and afterward all kinds of things happened. A gasp came out of her; the shivering turned into shaking. And for some reason, her hands were hovering over his head. Like maybe she wanted to hold him there or run her fingers through his hair, but couldn’t quite work up the courage to do it.

  What if he hated it?

  He knew what she liked, but she had no idea what he did. Nor did she have any idea if he would enjoy the way she wanted to go about it. Maybe he preferred softer, more tentative caresses, instead of the desperate, clumsy grab she knew she was going to do. She could feel it building, until her hands were trembling with the effort of holding off.

  And then he slipped a hand between her legs, and she forgot why she was. She just plunged her fingers into that hair right up to the hilt, barely caring if she fucked it up. Let him look like her, all tangled and sloppy and stunned. Let him be a mess because she had made him one—with the fists she clenched in that hair and all the clawing at his back that she didn’t quite intend.

  She only meant to pull him closer.

  Instead she wound up dragging him down on top of her, already bucking against that hand between her legs. Then when that wasn’t quite enough, she went one further. She dragged his face up to hers—by his hair, no less—so she could kiss that mouth, that filthy mouth. So she could taste him again and again without thought or feeling toward the consequences.

  But thankfully, it turned out okay.

  He wanted to kiss her right back.

  More than that, in truth.

  She pushed her mouth against his just like he’d done to her, and the second she did he groaned. He said her name into her mouth, in the exact tone she would have used to say his. Desperately, she thought—though the rest of his words were worse. “I knew you’d be like this. I fucking knew when someone got you going you’d be horny as fuck—moaning for me and grabbing at me, goddamn,” he said, so hoarse and breathless she could hardly stand to hear him. She could hardly stand to look at him when those eyes laid on her. They were too heavy with lust for any reasonable person to take.

  Though it didn’t seem like she was a reasonable person.

  “It’s your fault, it’s all your fault you’ve turned me into a sex maniac,” she moaned in response.

  And didn’t regret it for one single, solitary second.

  “If I have, then lemme know how I did it so you never have to go back to the way you were.”

  “Touching my tits like that is a really good start.”

  “Like this? You like my hands on you like this.”

  Who wouldn’t like his hands on them like this? she wondered. Every time she bucked, he smoothed his palms over them. Up, up, up, and then a sort of rolling squeeze on the way back down. It was heavenly. Unbelievable.

  “Fuck, yes,” she said.

  “Tell me why. Tell me why, baby.”

  “Your hands look so big. So greedy for me.”

>   “They are. I am.”

  “And you…and you brush my nipples every time you do it.”

  “Feels sweet, huh? They all sensitive from that licking and sucking I gave them?”

  “Ohhhhh yeah. Yeah, oh my god, yeah. I had no idea, I had no idea you could make something so simple feel so good. Your tongue on my nipples, on my clit, your hand between my legs…I just can’t get enough. I came about an hour ago, but it feels like a thousand years when you last touched me like this.”

  His eyes stuttered closed before she got to that last this—though it was what he did in the aftermath that really made her ache. He just kind of rubbed his face into her belly, as if the idea was so sexy to him, so good, that he didn’t know how to process it. He just needed to be closer for a second.

  To bury himself in her, and never come back out.

  And when he finally spoke, it backed up that idea.

  “Oh, Christ. Oh, honey. You’ve no idea what those words do to me.”

  He didn’t even sound like himself anymore.

  Lust had stolen his voice, and turned it into a constant low growl.

  “Show me, then. Show me what they do to you.”

  She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she said the words. He’d already admitted how deep his desire went, and revealed what it did to him with actions. But then he sat back on his heels, hands already going to his zipper, and suddenly she understood.

  This was what she’d been hoping for.

  Him kneeling between her legs, popping that top button for her all quick and frantic. Eyes roaming all over her body as he did it, like it pained him to stop for even this small amount of time. It barely took him thirty seconds to shove those jeans down to midthigh and set that gloriously hard cock free. And it took him even less time than that to show her the best evidence.

  He just rubbed over the glistening slit at the tip of his cock.

  Then brushed those now-slick fingers over her parted lips.

  At which point, nothing more needed to be said or done. It hit her so hard her head just automatically went back, body shuddering under its impact. That was his pre-come she could now taste on her lips. That was what she did to him—she made him leak streamers of that salt-sweet liquid all over himself.

  It didn’t surprise her when she pushed a hand under the waistband of her skirt at the thought.

  It did, however, surprise her when she added words, as she strummed her swollen clit.

  “Jerk off for me. Take that big dick in your hand and make it come for me.”

  “Ohhhh fuck me, are you serious? You’re telling me to do it…to do it for you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Quickly, I’m really close.”

  “You’re so close that you need me to rub one out fast.”

  “That a problem?” she asked, voice so brisk it startled her.

  It startled him, too, though in a slightly different way.

  “Only if you stop there. If you stop telling me what you want.”

  “You want more things?”

  “I want everything.”

  “Lift your shirt, then.”

  “Jesus, oh Jesus.”

  “Let me see you.”

  “Like this?”

  He tugged up the material and exposed his hard abs, his taut stomach—though really it was the way he did it that got her. Like a first-time stripper, awkwardly trying to show off. Still unsure of how his body looked to his audience, but going for it anyway.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “You like that?”

  “I love that.”

  “What else? What else do you love?”

  “This. Your voice. You asking. You telling me.”

  “You want me to tell you?”

  “God yeah, tell me. Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to lift your shirt. Show me those beautiful tits.”

  It was the word beautiful that almost made her do it. Well, that and almost everything else. Her excitement had reached some kind of fever pitch, and it robbed her of every rational thought. Suddenly it didn’t seem like a big deal to show him her body, because really, who cared anymore? What did it matter, as long as he kept jerking that slick, gorgeous cock and her fingers kept rubbing her clit and the pleasure kept coming and coming and coming?

  In truth, nothing should have mattered in the face of that.

  So when she sat up instead and took hold of his cock, she told herself that it was just what she wanted to do. To lick him and suck him until his head went back and moaned words escaped him—oh god, Letty, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come in your mouth.

  And if he forgot what he’d asked for, well, that was just an unintended side effect. It didn’t make any difference to the pleasure she felt as his cock swelled and jerked and spilled all over her tongue. She still gasped as her own orgasm peaked, body tensing, face pressed briefly to the exposed strip of his stomach. It wasn’t even a problem afterward—they whispered and laughed, and nothing more was said about it.

  Except in her head, where all the conversations she wished she’d had played out, over and over again.

  Chapter 18

  She knew the sound was a bad one. But she didn’t fully understand why until Tate made it super clear for her. He moaned in his sleep like a small disgruntled child, one hand dragging her pillow over his face in a way that would have seemed adorable. If it were not for his words. “Tell your buddy to come back at a reasonable time, like noon,” he said, and then the full weight of the situation was on her.

  The sound was Lydia, knocking on her door.

  “Tate, you have to get up. Tate. Get up. You fell asleep.”

  “I know, and I would really love to keep making that mistake for another eight hours.”

  “You can’t, remember. You had to be up at six thirty and it’s already seven ten.”

  He turned his bleary face her way, hair all sleep mussed, eyes half open.

  Wits as sharp and annoying as ever.

  “That would be a really cool way to hide me from your friend if I seemed to care even a little tiny bit about practice this morning. But as I don’t, that just leaves us with your subterfuge.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be sub…ter…fuge-ious. I was just…”

  “Politely asking me to hide under your bed?”

  She sighed, resigned. Flopped onto her back.

  “I was thinking the bathroom.”

  “Or…we could just say we studied real late.”

  “In our underwear. In a room that smells like come.”

  “The room is gonna smell like come either way, honey.”

  “I’ll just leave her guessing as to who jizzed all over the room.”

  “So it only matters if it was me, specifically.”

  She didn’t think he intended to sound hurt. When she turned to look at him his face was all good-natured amusement. But it had been there, she was sure of it. A tiny fragment of pain at the thought of her hiding him, buried deep beneath several layers of teasing bluster and sleepy good-naturedness.

  It made her tread carefully, even if it was only her imagination.

  It made her put a hand on his arm, as reassuringly as she could.

  “It just might seem a little weird, that’s all. I haven’t told her anything, beyond the fact that you bullied me in high school. She finds you in here and she’s going to think I have Stockholm syndrome.”

  “Hey, I have never once kidnapped you. Stolen all your good sense, yes. Kidnapped, no.”

  “You haven’t stolen all my good sense. My sense is there, fully intact. I just don’t know how to prove that to her—so maybe if you could just take an extra long whiz right now…”

  “I can do one better: I can leave a stench that will never leave your bathroom.”

  “I will take that as the price I pay for sweeping you briefly under the carpet,” she said, intending something funny. And it worked, too. He snorted quietly as he ambled to the bathroom, as though the whole thing was just rolling off him.


  But this time, he couldn’t quite cover over that hint of hurt.

  She caught his wince, as slight as it was. She saw the slump of his shoulders.

  The trouble was—she just didn’t know what to do about it. When she finally opened the door Lydia just gave her such a look. Eyebrows raised, eyes dancing with delight, everything about her saying okay, dish. Tell me all about whoever you had in there. And then somehow the words just wouldn’t come. They clung to the back of her throat, in a way they definitely wouldn’t have if he had simply been some guy.

  So she turned him into one.

  “He was handing out flyers in the library,” she said, thankful for the sheepishness in her own voice. It made it sound real, instead of like some furtive little lie. Lydia even gasped with delight to hear it.

  “And yet you did not IM me the moment it finished happening.”

  “You cannot be annoyed that I didn’t IM you after.”

  “I’m kind of annoyed that you didn’t IM me during. Now I know almost nothing about the person I am desperately trying to see over your shoulder.”

  Letty glanced behind herself at that, as though an echo of Tate somehow still remained.

  But there was nothing to see. Just the scene of the crime—sheets still twisted into faintly sordid-looking shapes, the pillow he’d left curled like a recently salted slug, the hint of what could have been underwear peeping out from beneath her bed.

  “He’s in the bathroom.”

  “Tending to his wounds, huh?”

  “Men these days just don’t know how to take a finger up the butt.”

  “You did not put a finger up his butt. Are you lying? I can tell you’re lying, Letty.”

  “I have to go now. I promise I will talk about how sore his butt is at lunch.”

  “How am I supposed to wait until lunch? That is not cool, Letty, no don’t close the door on me—”

  “I have to, you’re a crazy person. And besides, I really need to sleep off all the super weird, rubber-wearing mega bondage we did.”

  Lydia’s expression was priceless as she finished closing the door—caught somewhere between glee and frustration. In fact she was still laughing about it when Tate finally emerged, fully dressed and groomed and ready to go. She turned with that wicked grin still on her face, then felt it slowly wither and die. He just looked so…down, suddenly. Not like himself at all.