“Yeah?” Dean asked.
“Oh, yes.”
His eyebrow lifted, and when he shoved his knee between my legs, I made a scene of purposely wriggling against it, feeling the seed of longing that started in my clit and spread out through my pelvis. Dean bit his bottom lip, and then I pitched toward his neck, kissing his damp skin up along his jaw and savoring the salty taste on my tongue.
“Your dancing...you know what it’s making me think of?”
“Tell me.” He was working his knee, trying to entice me with the lodge of his leg. But I felt his shaft growing, too. He clawed his fingertips up the bare skin above the back of my dress, and I panted in his ear.
“How long it’s been since we’ve fucked in public,” I said, making “fucked” a rough sound in his ear. One occasion slipped into my mind—the night Dean had fingered me on a bar patio, making me come with another man watching not all that far away. The memory swirled around, sending heat through my body and riling me up even more. “Not only that, but how much I’d love for you to fuck me here, right in the middle of all these people.”
Dean spun us around, our cheeks clamped together, his chest swelling with breath. The music vibrated my heart and heightened how hot I felt inside. The tiny strip of thong I’d chosen was doing nothing to shield the wetness of my cunt, and Dean lowered one hand down, skimming his fingertips under the hem of my dress before resting them on the outside of my upper thigh. Fuck, I wanted him so badly right then.
“You’re taunting me, aren’t you?” he growled into my ear.
I tucked a hand behind me to nudge the fingers he’d spread out over the small of my back. “Can you imagine? Pushing me to the ground right here. Pinning me down.” I tucked my fingers under his, urging him to hold my hand and in turn trap my arm behind me. “Using me, Dean, here. Fucking me like only you can. Making me yours for everyone to see.”
His cock lurched against my thigh, and I craved him inside. “Maya,” he warned. But I ground my hips up and sucked his earlobe between my teeth. I wanted to provoke him, ached for him to play along, but to push it further, too. The desire filling my core wouldn’t let up, and though Dean didn’t hesitate to stroke my back, ass or shoulders, it was me who brought my mouth to his to slip my tongue inside. I lapped his up in a greedy kiss with another rock of my hips, bidding him to make a move. When Dean laced his fingers into my hair, he tugged, gently. “I thought you wanted to dance...”
“I have danced. Now I want my fill.”
He groaned before I shimmied back, clasping his hand in mine to lead him through the crowd. I glanced back at him on our way down to coat check. Dean’s face remained serious, his jaw tight, but I hoped he was catching on, breaking through this worry nonsense so he could take over the second we got outside and give me what I wanted.
What I needed.
He helped me with my coat before putting his on, and after we stepped into the biting cold air, I kept leading us toward an alley I remembered lined the side of the building. A stream of people still waited to get inside even though it had to be past one, but out here, past the horde of smokers tainting the air in puffy clouds and the clubbers bemoaning the cold, the volume of the music shook the walls in a gritty pound that spurred me on. Dean met my side though he wasn’t taking the bait yet, instead eyeing me while I dragged us around the corner of the building and then threw myself back against the brick siding. I grabbed the folds of his coat and tugged him into me.
“Take me. Here, please.” I kissed his neck, sucking on his skin and trailing kisses over his lips until he clutched my sides. He kissed me back, but when I broke our kiss and lifted my hands over my head to clasp them together, he narrowed his eyes. “Right here, Dean. Fuck me right here. Hold me down.”
He pressed his mouth to mine. His hands met my wrists, but he didn’t hold them in place. He lowered my arms to my sides and guided them against my thighs. I whimpered and rocked my hips against him, trying to entice him through our layers of coats and clothes.
“You’ve had a lot to drink—”
“Come on. I haven’t. I know what I want,” I said. He held onto my wrists so tight that I couldn’t move them, but his kisses on my mouth stayed tender. Sweet. “I want you. Here. Now.”
“We’re in an alley.”
“I don’t care!” Was he objecting for real? I fought his hold in a blatant show, hoping I’d inspire him to pin me like I desired, but he kept kissing me softly. When I broke away with a feisty growl, Dean’s wary expression rubbed me wrong. Sure, I was tipsy, but it wasn’t like fucking here would be any stretch of the imagination for us. How long was he going to be this soft with me?
“Hey.” Dean slid his palms up and onto my shoulders, and though my pussy clenched with need, he pulled away. “Let’s go home. I’ll fuck you all you want there, Maya. I don’t think an alley is a good place at the moment.”
My jaw dropped. Admittedly, half of it was fueled by the alcohol in my body before he led me away from the wall and back to the car, but his words surprised me. So did the wobbly steps I took in my heels while he clutched me against his side.
“But I do want to feel you, to taste you, the second we get home,” he said, his voice low. “My God. You’re...” He swayed his head. “Incredible. You know that?”
Sure.
I heard him. I got it—but I felt like I was sulking the whole way back to the car and half the ride home. It was a good thirty-five minutes from San Francisco to Half Moon Bay and, tipsy or not, it was a lot of time to process in our quiet cruise down the coastal highway. Dean concentrated on the road, and I occupied myself with staring out over the guardrail at the darkened sky against black, low ocean waves for the portion of the drive directly along the water. I knew he was still worried over Charlie coming to my work earlier, could feel it in the boom of silence permeating the air in the car, and it wrenched up my frustration. When we headed inland close to home, I’d grown tired, but I had to say something.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I be honest?”
“Please.”
I rubbed my hands over my thighs. “I need you to stop babying me.”
He shot me a comical look, as if what I’d said was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Except it’s not. “I’m not babying you.”
I propped my tired head on my hand, then rested the other one on his leg. “I feel like you are. I know you’re worried, but I’m okay. I swear.”
“I’m—”
“Looking out for me?” When he nodded, I faced the road we traveled upon. “I don’t need you to. At least, not like this.”
“It’s my job. I’m your boyfriend, and I want you safe.”
“Dean, I love you, your sweetness, all of it. I love us. Us. Wild, sexy us. You, roughing me up.” I giggled and jostled his leg, but he wore such an intense look on his face. “It makes me happy. It makes me feel good.”
“But I’m worried.” His firm voice drew my gaze to him before he resumed staring at the road and steered us the last chunk of the drive. “How can I not when he came back? He...” Dean grunted. “I hate that you went through that years ago. It was bad enough. But he showed up and scared the shit out of you. Twice! I don’t like seeing you scared like that. Or him thinking he can try to win you back. What if he comes back again?”
“What am I supposed to do? I told him to go away. He listened. He went away!” I threw my hands out before they came down in a loud clap over my thighs. “I can’t live in terror anticipating something that may never happen!”
“I know that.” Dean clasped my hand. “But how can me putting you in precarious situations be good for you?”
I clutched my leg with my free hand, exhausted as we pulled into the driveway and Dean parked his car next to mine. How could I explain this to him, tired as I was? What we share
d didn’t feel precarious to me. It felt good. No, it felt amazing. It was a choice I made with him, a negotiation between us, not some crazy messed-up situation he’d pushed me into that I wanted no part of. Dean shut off the engine and opened the door before I managed the words, the overhead lamp clicking on to light both of our faces. Dean’s was shadowed with more worry than I could handle, and after he stepped outside, I collected my heels and climbed out after him, tiptoeing barefoot up the driveway and to the front door. I pressed myself against his arm while he unlocked it.
“You’re worrying way too much. I promise. I chose this with you. I want this dynamic. I like it, how it makes me feel. I’m not the delicate flower you’re making me out to be.”
He didn’t speak when he swung the door open, waiting for me to walk inside. I sighed and went straight for the couch, where I massaged the balls of my feet as he flicked on the side table light and came to sit with me. He folded his hands in his lap, silent.
I rolled onto my side to rest my head on the throw pillows. I needed to figure out how to explain what’d made perfect sense in my head, but with the late hour, the long drive and the tipsiness catching up to me fast, I wasn’t that sure I’d make myself clear. We’d been up since Dean’s alarm had sounded at five-thirty for work, and with it past two, I was struggling to keep my eyes open.
Great. We were playing gentle in bed and I was acting twice my age, drifting off on the couch after a night of fun?
When Dean rubbed my leg, I gave a start, but the warmth of his fingers around my calf softened me on the couch. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted—him pinning me down, being firm with me, everything I’d missed and craved—but which currently, I may have been getting too sleepy for anyhow. The next graze of Dean’s fingers tickled my skin and I jerked my leg away, then shoved my toes under his thigh.
“Don’t.”
He stared at me.
“Why are you being so gentle with me?” It came out whinier than I’d intended, but I didn’t take it back.
“You want me to stop being gentle?” He lifted his hands in the air and his nostrils flared. “Not to touch you? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No!” I snapped. I’d pushed into sullen tired mode for sure, but Dean was misinterpreting. “Yes, I want you to touch me. But I hate kid gloves. You’re treating me like some fragile, breakable thing, and it makes me feel weaker. Don’t.”
“You’re tired.”
“I am, but...fucking Christ!” I rolled back onto my side and tugged my feet away from him to tuck my knees into my chest. Then I closed my eyes. I was frustrated but too tired to do this. “I shouldn’t have brought it up this late. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I tongued my lips. “I should get a glass of water.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“You don’t have to do everything for me—”
“I’ve got it.”
The couch shifted, Dean standing and heading into the kitchen. I sort of made out his words as he walked away, something about how we should go up to bed, which I agreed with before the distant sound of water running from the kitchen faucet relaxed me. I nestled deeper into the couch, recalling that when I was in my twenties, I could stay up all night with little problem. Now, my feet throbbed and my eyelids refused to open. My thighs burned from the nonstop dancing, and the curtains of my conscious head were drawing closed. The last thought that crossed my mind while Dean said who knew what from the kitchen was that my all-nighters were over.
Then I dozed off.
Chapter Thirteen
I woke to the smell of eggs, toast and coffee a short distance from my face. This scent was followed by a shift beneath me, then Dean’s hands grabbing my feet and resting them in his lap. I heard the sound of newspaper flipping before I opened my eyes.
I hadn’t left the couch. Evidently, I’d passed out in my dance attire, and when I craned my head to peer at Dean, I learned I’d also formed a hell of a crick in my neck.
“Ow,” I grumbled.
I rubbed my neck, and he glanced at me. His hair was damp, and the smell of fresh soap combined with his natural, masculine scent wafted over almost as powerfully as that of the breakfast he’d set on the coffee table in line with my head. He’d gotten up and changed into the white T-shirt and jeans he wore, and he’d grabbed the paper, too. He went back to reading it while I eased up off the couch and reached for the breakfast plate.
“Thank you,” I said. I rested the plate in my lap and lifted the fork. My head felt groggy, my body stiff, and him all cleaned up beside me made me feel more out of sorts.
“You’re welcome.” Dean kept right on reading his paper, and I chewed a few bites before I said any more.
“Did you sleep on the couch, too?”
“Nope.”
I frowned. The conversation we’d been having before bed rose up in my head. Our night out hadn’t ended as I’d expected, filled with kinky, rough sex that would wear us both down for sleep—and the irony of this contrast to reality elicited a shake of my head. I paused my breakfast to grab the coffee Dean had blended with cream to reach the precise shade of brown I liked, and I sipped at it with a tiny smile for his thoughtfulness.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep in the middle of the conversation,” I murmured.
“Oh, we’re going to talk about that.” Dean’s jaw was taut, but his focus remained on his paper. “And a couple other things after you’ve finished your breakfast.”
Was he pissed or playing with me? My stomach clenched at the thought that he might be mad, but the idea that he could just as easily be playing with me sent a tingly thread up my neck. I stretched my hand out to fondle Dean’s leg, and he gave me five seconds of focus with a heavy dose of tension in his jaw.
Based on his expression, his mood could be either. I’d been a sassy cat, but I’d been fucking tired. Also, I’d had a good point about him babying me and making me feel more helpless, which I opened my mouth to tell Dean before he held a finger up and said, “Eat.”
I did as warmth circled my neck in a flush that seeped up to my face in seconds. I loved his instruction, but the awareness of how feisty I’d been left me a touch embarrassed. But he had been ridiculous, and I needed him to get that.
After setting my empty plate on the table and gulping down half my coffee, I lay back on the couch and returned my toes to where I’d put them last night, wiggling them against the underside of his thigh.
Dean exhaled and folded the paper, tossing it onto the coffee table. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He pivoted to me, his face serious. “I’ve been thinking on what you said last night, before you got sassy and snappy.”
“I was tired—”
He held up his hand, and I chewed my upper lip. “I want to talk about the part before, first. It’s important.” I waited, and Dean cuffed a hand around my ankle, giving my skin a rub with his thumb. “You’re my upmost priority. Your safety, your comfort, your happiness. I like being gentle with you.” He paused to slide his hand up my calf, then back down in a tender graze. “But I heard what you said, and you’re right. You don’t need to be babied.” He paused, and my heart tripped faster with how focused he was, on the fact that he’d thought over what I’d said and cared enough to do so. I stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt as he began again. “No matter how much I worry, and I’m still not thrilled on what happened, you are capable and strong, Maya. I know that. Being that soft with you all the time...it’s not what you need.”
I couldn’t help the little smile cracking over my face. “Thank you. I appreciate that. And I’m sorry I was snappy or whatever when I brought it up.”
“Ah, that. That’s a whole different conversation,” he said, his face growing more stern, “with many components. We’re living together now, so we’re going to have spats and
adjustments in dealing with each other. But you were mouthy. Grumpy mouthy.” He pinched the side of my leg. “We’ll need to figure out a way to avoid that in the future.”
I considered this. “Maybe not bringing up serious stuff before bed.”
“Maybe,” he said, thinking. “How about some ground rules?”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Like?”
“Like, that old adage of ‘don’t go to bed angry’? That’s a start.”
I liked that. I’d heard my parents say that many a time. Granted, it worked because neither of them were the type to need enormous amounts of time to process, but I wasn’t a processer as much as an avoider. Perhaps it wasn’t a terrible plan. “Okay. I can get behind that.”
“Good.” Dean curled his fingers around my ankle, stroking my skin in silence for a long stretch of time. “But also... There will be no more of this sleeping on the couch. Not okay.”
“But—”
“No.” Dean’s free hand wrapped around my other ankle, and he used his hold on both to tug me toward him. I slipped onto my back with a squeal and laughed aloud, but Dean said, “I’m not kidding, Maya.”
I clamped my lips together, though the glide of his fingers up the side of my leg wasn’t helping. With my feet on his lap and my knees bent as he pulled me close, he had a total view up the skirt of my dress, and he was taking it with a hard pinch of his lips. A whip of excitement coursed through my veins. I grabbed for Dean’s hand but he caught mine instead, covering my fingers in his.
“We’ll work through things. But you will not sullenly sleep on the couch.”
“I was tired!”
“And pissy, too.”
Okay. I had been. I humbly agreed.
Dean rested our hands on my knee before he spoke. “It seems to me there’s a way to address all of this and clear the air at the same time.”
“There is?”
“Yep.” He released my hand to grab his paper, and in spite of my scoff, he dropped his voice into that deep, gruff sound I loved while he opened to whatever page he’d been reading. “I’m going to finish this fascinating article on housing prices in Castro Valley. You’re going to go upstairs and shower. When you’re done, you’re going to come back down here to me. Naked,” he said, a hint of a smile touching the corner of his lips as my heart began to patter. “I expect a binding of your choice in hand, and then we’ll work it out.” He flashed me a sexy grin before getting back to his reading. “Good?”
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