Intimate Fear

by D. C. Stone

  First, they would play. Then, he would feed her. After that—sleep. He decided he needed to show her he could be her friend, but on the same token, he didn’t really want to hold his attraction back. He would show her both sides and allow her to make the decision on where they headed. Keep the ball in her court, so to speak. But she would know exactly where he stood, and exactly what he wanted to pursue.

  “Well then, it seems, Ms. Mason, you’re in for a lesson.” He flexed his fingers over hers, guided her hand to the plunger and held it there. “The goal of the game is to score points, and to keep the ball from going down the drain. This,” he said and squeezed his hand around hers, “is what we use to push the ball forward.”

  “Where’s the ball?” Breathless. That’s the word he’d use to describe her voice. His lips curved.

  “We haven’t put in a quarter yet. Patience, Brooke.” He shifted, moving his head to the other side of hers, while keeping their bodies in close contact. He readjusted their hands until they lay over the silver buttons again. “These are flippers. When the ball gets too close to the hole, you use them to keep it from falling into that deep, dark hole.”

  From the way her breath hitched, she caught his double meaning. He fought a grin and lost. He loved this, their play, a time to focus on just living and not stressing over what was to come. Hailey’s danger and the threat to her life still hovered in the back of his mind, but he’d do anything to give Brooke a few minutes of peace.

  “You want to score as many points as possible, keeping the ball bouncing around, until you hit the jackpot, perhaps even find the Powerball.”

  “Powerball?”

  “Yup, extra points for being so good. If you guide it into certain places, it moves faster, and you’ll have to move quicker to keep up. If your ball goes down the drain, then the game is over. You only get three chances. Do you understand?” Nodding, she shifted her ass against his hips, and he sucked in a hiss.

  “Good,” he grumbled. “Sometimes you will need to bump the machine, not too much, just a bit in order to get the ball unstuck. When that happens, simply nudge…” He shifted his hips into hers until they hit the machine. The contact almost had his eyes rolling in the back of his head. “Just like that.” He readjusted until they were back where they began.

  “Do you feel up to a game, Brooke?”

  She hesitated so long he didn’t think she would answer. Tension ran through her body, each muscle locked against him.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Doubt, suspicion, and vulnerability crept into her tone. You’re an ass, Gonzalez. He was pushing her, but the time had come and he was done holding back. He wanted her to experience this, something so simple and fun. More, he wanted her to play with him. In more than one way…but for now, this would do.

  “Scoring is a mystery to most. The basic goal for some is to keep the ball from going down the drain. Others, however, are after so much more. Do you understand?”

  She tilted her head to the side and her cheek brushed against his nose. He closed his eyes, tensed, and waited.

  Hours or maybe seconds passed while he waited for her answer.

  “You really want to play a game of pinball with me?” she asked.

  God, did he ever. He nodded. “Yeah, I really do.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot. Will you help me?”

  His chest constricted, tightening until it was almost painful. It was a question he wanted her to ask but for entirely different reasons.

  “I’ll be right here, sweetheart.”

  She nodded and he released her long enough to insert a quarter. They both reached for the plunger as the game’s lights started blinking. His hand over hers, they pulled the nozzle back and released. He guided her through the game. His attention faltered and instead focused on her, the sounds of her pealing laughter, the fluid way her body moved with his, her sweet scent surrounding him until all he could think of, every bit of his essence and focus, was wrapped in Brooke.

  Behind his fly, he grew hard as stone, and he would not be surprised if the rigid member permanently tattooed with the impression of his zipper. By the end of the game, he was so wound up, tight, and hot, he was about to explode. She clapped, giggled and spun in his arms, then froze. She must have read his face, saw the strain there, and he let it out in all of its glory. He wanted to play all right, and he wanted her to know the rules.

  He leaned forward, bending her back over the display. His hands, still on the flippers, boxed her into his body. So petite, she fit inside the makeshift shelter as if made for it. Her bright blue eyes watched him with unspeakable trepidation.

  Her face was flushed from the excitement of the game and he vaguely wondered if she looked the same way after sex.

  “Dwayne?” His name a question broke him from the moment. He wanted to kiss her, had been about to.

  In a bar for Christ’s sake!

  He pivoted, wrapped his palm around her wrist at the same time and grabbed his jacket. Ignoring the lewd calls behind them, he pushed out the door and urged her across the street. He didn’t speak until they were back inside the hotel room.

  He dropped his jacket, kicked off his boots, and faced her. Like a skittish animal, she backed up until she hit the wall.

  He took in air, then forced it out of his lungs with a slow and controlled breath.

  “I’m not going to attack you, Brooke, so you can stop looking at me like that.”

  She studied him as if measuring the weight of his words. He stayed rooted to the spot, allowing her to gather her courage again. He wanted her so fucking bad he was in literal pain, but he wouldn’t force himself on her. He needed to wait until she came to him, until she begged. And she would, he was almost certain.

  They stared at each other for minutes. The ticking of his watch and an occasional car passing outside filled the silence. Her shoulders relaxed slowly, and her body sagged with relief until she was only blinking at him instead of cowering.

  Apparently satisfied with his answer, she pushed her shoes off, drew off her pants, and slid under the covers of the bed.

  He sighed and turned away, clicking off the lights and removing his jeans in the darkness. No need to get her even more scared of him than she already was. Soft moonlight filtered through the white sheer curtain and danced shadows across the room. He double-checked the lock on the door before securing the chain and pulling out a chair. He was about to sit when she spoke.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep before we head out again. You should do the same.”

  The sound of rustling covers followed. “No, I mean, why aren’t you coming to bed?”

  He groaned. Christ, again! “Fucking hell, I am not a saint. I don’t know if I can keep my hands off you right now. I’m sorry, I realize that is the last thing you want to hear, but I have a need for you. Do you understand?”

  “I trust you.” Her voice shook and her words, while he knew she tried to be strong, sounded weak. He closed his eyes and called for patience.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “Please,” she pleaded. “Come to bed. You’ve been running haggard for several days now. I trust you won’t force yourself on me. And I think you know I’m not quite sure I would be ready to do anything other than sleep tonight.”

  “Brooke, I’m not sure this is a good—”

  She cut him off. “Please, don’t make me beg. We’ve been friends too long. I’m not only worried about my daughter, I’m worried about you, too. Please, come to bed and get some sleep. I don’t want us walking into something tomorrow and you being tired. I don’t want to beg, but I will if you don’t get over here and sleep.”

  He opened his eyes. Her words made sense, and while he could catch some z’s anywhere, she was right, it wouldn’t be that good sitting in a chair all night. With heavy feet, he crossed the room to sit on the cool sheets as she drew back the covers. He lay back, and she pulled the blanket over hi
m, her body brushing against his like a whisper.

  He stared at the dark ceiling and wondered how in the hell he would get any sleep with her so close.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brooke was having the most delicious dream. Despite her fear of falling into bed with Dwayne, inside her dreams she gave in to her urges and did things she would not dare when awake.

  His skin was warm and hard, like heated velvet over steel. She roamed her hands over his body, taking in each minute detail. He placed his palms over the top of her hands and guided her along, unhindered and unrestrained in their pursuit. Somehow, with him following along on the map of discovery, it was more erotic, intimate, and powerful.

  Broad shoulders filled out to muscular arms as thick as her thighs. A light dusting of hair played across his chest. Her hand smoothed down the front of his body, fingers jumping over the rigid six-pack of his abdominal muscles. She shouldn’t be surprised. He ran rain or shine and ate nothing but protein and steamed veggies. Always had, most likely always would. Now, she traced along the treasure trail that led beneath the waist of his boxer briefs, glorying in her very own Adonis lying in her bed. He should totally become one of those human models in some university anatomy class. He was perfection.

  In her dream, the setting was wrong, though, because the covers were not hers, and the room was unfamiliar. Some nagging thought pressed through¸ but she batted it down. She wanted to taste, had a hankering for chocolate and Dwayne’s skin.

  Warm musk, a combination of evergreen and masculinity, filled her nostrils as she dipped her head. She brushed her lips over the swell of his chest, lapped against his tan-colored nipples and allowed him to guide her leg across his thighs. His erection was a hot brand through the cloth. He rolled his hips, driving the length on the inside of her thigh.

  They both groaned.

  Emboldened, she allowed him to pull her atop until her thighs straddled his waist. He crushed a fist in her hair and, blessedly, brought her mouth on top of his. The kiss did not start gentle. It wasn’t even a tease. Instead, he ravished and conquered. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, biting, and soothing licks. His arm wrapped around her and yanked her body to his. The insistent length of him pulsed between her legs and she answered with a roll of her hips, verbalizing her bliss into his mouth.

  Pleasure licked at her, warmth moving from her stomach on out to her limbs. Goosebumps spread across her flesh with each touch of his hand. He held her to him, ravished her mouth, and wrecked her senses. This is what she wanted, to be taken, showed how good it could be between two people. Never had she felt such bone-crushing need.

  His mouth broke away and a large palm urged her hips into a steady rhythm.

  “God, I need to see you,” he panted. “Brooke. Sweetheart, take off your shirt.”

  “Yes.” The cloth restrained her movements, preventing precious skin-on-skin contact. She shed the material with pleasure, ripped it over her head until she sat on top of him wearing only her simple white lace panties.

  “Christ, you’re beautiful,” he hissed.

  Growing bolder at his response, she smiled and arched her back. He shifted and his bare chest came against her stomach just before one of her nipples was wrenched into moist heat. She cried out as he sucked and nipped at the tightened bud. Nails digging into his shoulders, she rose and fell in an erotic dance against his body.

  The ardor disappeared, but he lapped at the sensitive peak. “Look at me,” he growled.

  She did not want him to stop. Inside, a coiled spring tightened with each swipe of his tongue.

  “Look at me,” he repeated, this time a command.

  She couldn’t think. The pressure with each pass of her core against his straining erection was almost too much. She tossed her head back and rode him with wild abandon, the thin cloth of their underwear an annoying barrier. One she wanted to strip away.

  “More, God, please, I don’t want to wake,” she moaned.

  Dwayne cursed and she went falling through the air. She landed on her back in one smooth motion. Her eyes jolted open and stared up into a pair of flashing green ones. “I said look at me.”

  Brooke gasped, and a cold douse of water pushed through her. It wasn’t a dream. “What?” she asked, confused. Dread climbed its way over the warmth in her stomach until it froze, locking every one of her muscles. “Wait,” she gasped. “This was really happening?”

  * * * *

  Dwayne recognized the shock in her expression before she went stiff. He groaned, dropped his head into the crook of her neck and willed his overheated body to calm. She lay so still beneath him, her racing heart the only indication she was alive. Her skin against his, her nipples puckered to his chest, was the most extraordinary thing he had ever experienced.

  And that was saying a lot.

  He had been with women of all shapes and sizes, colors, and ages. None of them had invoked this response in him. He felt as if he were walking along a tightrope, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated, his mind fogged in a haze. Brooke was his finish line, and it was one he tried so hard to get to as she waited for him with open arms.

  At least that was what it seemed like in his mind. Instead, reality crashed its course and dimmed the fantasy, leaving him more than aware of the “back-off” vibes she emitted.

  He concentrated on their pulses, somehow coordinated and running as if they had just finished a marathon. His cock pulsed in the same beat, straining behind the tight confines of his briefs. Each jump of his erection had her tensing more, a reaction he could not ignore, and he rolled off her body to lay on his back, an arm over his eyes.

  “Yes, Brooke, it was really happening.” He sighed.

  He was on edge, strung so high he couldn’t say anything else. When he had woken to her hands roaming over him, it had been his biggest wish granted, his best fantasy come true. He praised the big man above, thanked his lucky stars, and dove into the moment with her. Never once had he considered her in the haze of a dream, unaware of her actions.

  Had affairs continued on the path they had been going, how far would things have progressed? “Fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath as the realization hit. It would have equated to rape. Maybe not in a legal sense, but yes, in both their minds. Sitting up, he leaned forward on his knees, dropped his head between his shoulders, and held it in his palms. A shaky breath sounded behind him, and the bed shook as a soft, restrained sob broke through the air. He looked over his shoulder, alarmed. His heart seized.

  Brooke lay on her side, curled in a fetal position, her hands holding her head, her sweet face breaking under the onslaught of emotions.

  “Brooke…hell…” He didn’t know what to say, fought to find words. His chest split open as she set her emotions free and poured herself out from her eyes. Deep, sorrow-filled cries pierced the air.

  He was such an asshole!

  “Sweetheart, please, you’re breaking my heart here.” Dwayne curled up behind her and spooned her as she let it all out. You’re such a fucking prick, dude. Yes, Christ, yes he was.

  She wiggled in an attempt to escape from his hold, and reluctantly he opened his arms. But rather than moving away, she rotated and pressed up against him, one bare leg thrust between his thighs. He sucked in a breath. Brooke clutched at his back, looking for purchase and he understood. She wanted, needed, to be comforted…by him.

  The realization shook him, giving back some of the hope that had kindled upon waking under her touch. He palmed the back of her head, wrapped his other arm around her waist and held her. He hated seeing her cry and fought to keep from shaking as the sound of her heart breaking filled the air.

  A long time later, she stilled and sucked in deep breaths.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled against his chest.

  He squeezed her but refused to release her. This felt too right, too damn good.

  “There’s nothing to say. While it’s a new experience for me, I don’t think it’s anything either of us should be embarr
assed about. I’m more concerned about how you’re doing. What’s going through your mind. You okay?”

  She traced a finger over his pectoral and he closed his eyes against the touch. Small, light, like a butterfly’s wings, but it went all the way down to his soul. Their bodies were still skin to skin, and the silence intimate, but her mind was a million miles away. He didn’t have to see her to know this; he just knew. They needed to get on the road. He was well aware of the sun rising in the sky, but he wanted to make sure she was okay, that they were okay.

  “I’m real sorry, Dwayne. I thought it was a dream. I didn’t realize…”

  He grinned above her head. “So you were comfortable enough in your dream to touch me, huh? Took advantage of that, did you?”

  Her fingers stilled for a beat, and she snickered. “It’s no secret that you’re very attractive. What woman wouldn’t take advantage of that? I’m sure you’d probably find a few men who’d jump at the chance, too,” she added wryly.

  He made a face, opened his eyes and released her head to tilt her chin back. Studying her, he searched for what was going through her mind. Instead of finding anything, she met his gaze, eyes still watery.

  “While I respect different sexualities, I don’t think I’d take any of the guys up on an offer. You, however, can feel free to touch me any time you like.” Her cheeks grew pink and he smiled, brushing a thumb across the wet skin. “It does make me curious, though,” he continued. “Why you felt as if you could do that in your dream, but not now, when we’re both conscious of our actions. I think I’ve made myself more than clear I’d be willing to reciprocate.”