Dolce (Love at Center Court #2)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  When “The Freaks Come out at Night” rocked the speakers, Blane grabbed my hips and jostled me around playfully. Then he snatched my Diet Coke and tossed it in the garbage before dragging me out to the makeshift dance floor.

  As he slowly ground against me, I squeezed my legs together, trying to dispel the tingles forming at the juncture of my thighs. Seriously, I was going to get pregnant from him this close to me, shaking his hips. When he lifted his arms, his shirt rose enough to expose the V formed by perfectly toned stomach muscles.

  I ducked my head and stared at my boots, hiding my smile, and checked to make sure there were no wet spots on my pants—and not from peeing.

  Blane lifted my chin with his finger, and I had to tilt my head all the way for my gaze to meet with his eyes. At best, the top of my head was even with his chest.

  Let’s dance, he mouthed.

  “Now you ask? After you already pulled me out here?” I stood on my tiptoes so I could reach his ear.

  He snatched me up close and lifted me even with his face.

  “Put me down!”

  “Admit you can dance. You’re part Cuban, right? So, show me some moves,” he said as he slid me down his body, back to the floor.

  Looking up at him, I knew I had to keep my feet on the floor, my heart in check, and my head in the real world, not in this fantasy I was building. But I could do that in a few minutes.

  For now, I pushed my hands into my hair and lifted it off my neck, trying to flip it seductively like I saw once on TV. Then I shook my ass and let it all go, closing my eyes and pretending I was standing on my bed, all by myself with no one watching.

  The freaks do come out at night.

  After a few more songs, Blane led me back to his apartment. It was only a few doors down the hall, but it wasn’t close enough. My heart beat a rapid pace, and the very tips of my fingers and toes tingled. I was a lovesick schoolgirl when it came to the Stealer, and at the moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  He’d stolen me.

  “It will be quiet in here,” he mumbled as he squeezed my hand.

  That’s what I’m scared of.

  I didn’t mention that, though.

  When we entered the darkened hallway of his apartment, he flicked on the light near the kitchen. Soft light flooded the common area, and I made out an obscenely large television and a bunch of gaming consoles and controllers.

  “Do you want something?”

  I shook my head, my feet practically planted in the cheap linoleum.

  “Come here.” He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. “You good? I don’t want you to second-guess this.” He ran his hand up and down my back, his palm so warm it almost singed my skin through my shirt and camisole.

  “I’m okay.” The words floated from my lips on a whisper.

  He leaned down and brushed his lips across mine, his hardness pressing into my abdomen. I opened my mouth to protest—my abs weren’t firm and I didn’t want him to notice—but I couldn’t get a word out. When my lips parted, Blane took that as an invitation for his tongue to enter my mouth. He swept along my lower lip and sought the roof of my mouth, enticing my tongue to come out and play.

  The smallest moan started in my chest and rose all the way up to mingle with our kiss. Blane tightened the hand on my back in response, bringing me closer as his other hand pushed into my hair, gathering it and pulling it behind my neck.

  “Oh God, Cate, I’ve been wanting to do that for a long fucking time.” He released his hold on my mouth to let his words out on a hurried breath.

  He didn’t let go of my hair, and kept his gaze focused on mine as he spoke. Then he tilted my head back and grazed my neck with his teeth. My skin prickled under his touch, an intoxicating mixture of gentle and rough, and I ground myself against his leg, no longer caring about my too-soft abs. I wanted this man—somehow, some way, any way.

  The way I’d felt hot and bothered during the porno was a faint memory, and nothing compared to this. At the moment, I felt sexy in my own right. Here I was, a sensuous woman with desires and needs and wants, turned on by a man.

  “You make me so hot, Cate.” He took my hand and grazed it over his crotch. “Feel that? I’ve been like that since I saw you in that coffee shop. Fucking weeks aching for you.”

  Gazing up at him, I whispered, “You don’t have to say anything swoony, or whatever you usually say with all the girls.”

  “No, don’t ruin this moment with that bullshit. I like the way you challenge me, take me on. Don’t waste any breath on bullshit.”

  I leaned back up on tiptoes and kissed Blane. It was the first time I’d initiated any kind of kiss. In all my life, I’d been reactive rather than proactive when it came to intimacy. My fiery temperament only came to life when I was verbally warring with someone.

  With my hand lingering on his hip, I gave it permission to roam over his ass. He groaned when I squeezed.

  “Take what you want,” he said into my mouth.

  I climbed his leg and locked my hands around his neck, but the height difference didn’t give me enough leverage.

  Leave it to Blane; he scooped me up. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his middle, and he set me on the counter behind me. With my butt on the very edge, Blane was able to fit between my legs, rubbing his crotch against mine to apply just the right amount of pressure to elicit another moan from me.

  A wave of vertigo washed over me as his erection made contact with my leggings. His button fly rubbed against the spot—the one my own finger found from time to time. Except when I touched it skin to skin, I didn’t get anywhere close to the sensation I was reeling with right now, even through denim and cotton.

  We were still kissing, Blane breathing out and me breathing in. He pulled away and sucked on my lower lip before moving to my neck and planting those little bites, like the other night on the court. My head lolled left and his mouth made contact with my right clavicle, devouring it with kisses and nips. With no thought from me, my hips surged forward and moved from side to side, grinding my clitoris into oblivion.

  Whoever said sex is like riding a bike was wrong. I rode a bike, and when I got on, I always had to reacquaint myself with the whole process. But this, this precursor to what I hoped would be sex, this I’d never done. It made no difference; I knew what I was doing right away.

  My pelvis surged forward and sought what it wanted. Blane’s penis. His very hard and what I presumed to be big dick.

  “I want to spread you out on this counter, but let’s save that for another time,” Blake whispered into my ear.

  He could have said, “I like peas and carrots,” for all it mattered. The mere sound of his voice automatically kicked up my libido.

  Blane picked me up again and my legs went around his waist again, keeping the contact as he carried me straight to his bed. I didn’t even have time to protest.

  Once he’d spread me out before him, Blane caressed me with his eyes. I’d never felt more exposed, and I was still fully dressed. Like some sort of tiger, he pounced next to me and pulled me against him, and our mouths met again. This time, I attacked his lips and tongue like a tigress, and growls came from my male counterpart. I slipped my hand inside his T-shirt to his shoulder and hoisted myself a little higher.

  “Shhh, slow it down, Cate. I can’t go as far as I would like tonight.”

  “Why?” I whimpered like Jenna Jameson in one of her original bad pornos.

  “Haven’t you heard me? I like you. You do it for me.” His hair flopped into his face and he shoved it back behind his ear. He stayed leaning over me, propped on his elbow to hold his weight.

  I turned and tried to hide.

  “No hiding, Cate.”

  He leaned over and gave me a closed-mouth kiss, taking his time, allowing his palm to trace its way up my skin. He broke free again and took off my shirt, and nerves shot through me. I tried to roll and twist, to cover myself. In my mind, I wanted sex—but with clothes on.

&nb
sp; “Huh-uh, none of that either,” Blane said softly.

  He reached back and pulled his shirt off and was back on me in a second. Skin to skin, he tugged on my ear with his teeth and ran his palm over my bra and sides, down to my waist and back.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and I blushed. “Sorry about the calluses; occupational hazard for me.”

  “Feels good,” I mumbled back.

  “Let go of those negative thoughts I feel tumbling through you,” he said, lifting up and looking deep into my eyes. “Seriously, Cate, your heart is banging too hard and your pulse is racing with negativity. This isn’t stressful; it’s all good. Me, you, and no shirts.”

  I felt my grin grow wide, and I didn’t even turn my face.

  “I’ve wanted this for a while, a long while,” he said, and began kissing me again.

  My hand trembled as it finally landed on his bare back. It roamed all over his hard muscles, my nails lightly scratching his smooth skin.

  “Harder,” he said on a moan, and I obliged.

  I felt him slide my bra strap down, and his hand caressed my tattoo. It made me glance at his chest, and when I saw my name, nerves sprouted like weeds all over again.

  My name is on his chest.

  I couldn’t think on it for long because suddenly my bra was off and my nipple was in Blane’s mouth, and my pelvis was rocketing off the bed.

  “Oh my God,” I think I said. I couldn’t be totally sure, but it sounded something like that.

  As he sucked and licked and nipped, I moaned, loud moans I didn’t think I was capable of making. Porno-worthy moans. I rolled my eyes at myself, but I couldn’t stop the moans if I tried.

  His fingers wrapped behind my head and tangled in my curls. He held me close, his thumb leisurely grazing the nape of my neck. I didn’t think this was an erogenous zone, but let me tell you—it is.

  Blane’s lips left mine, but they didn’t leave my skin as he slid down my body. He nipped at my collar while he plucked at my nipple with his finger. Then he blew warm breath on the spot, causing my nipple to pucker even harder. He sucked on one and then the other before traveling farther down.

  I wasn’t sure he should be going down there like that on me, and I shrieked out his name on a moan.

  He stopped tracing my belly button with his tongue and looked up. “You know I’m a Southern boy?”

  “Blane, seriously, I’ve never done that.”

  “Even better. I’ll be a perfect Southern gentleman.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt him sliding my pants down my thighs and pulling off my boots so he could finish the job.

  He crawled back up my body, planting a gentle kiss on my mouth, but his lips didn’t stay there long. They trailed over my stomach, latching onto my hips, and caressing my sensitive skin while holding me steady with his hand. I was hot and cold, my skin on fire from his touch yet chilled where he abandoned. His tongue continued to swirl over one hip while he lightly squeezed the other, although my hip bones weren’t prominent like other girls’. I had hips, soft ones, and Blane’s lips and fingers were worshiping them.

  Pushing aside my own insecurities, I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended I was the supermodel he made me feel like I was.

  I blew out a long breath as the tip of his tongue neared the juncture of my thighs, spreading warmth to where I was already blazing. His breath followed the wetness of his tongue, coming out in pants along my prickled skin. I tried to still myself, but my hips rose and reached for his mouth.

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that,” I whispered, ashamed and more than a little embarrassed.

  “I liked that a whole hell of a lot, Cate,” he said just before his tongue landed on my hot spot.

  He swiped over my clit, and I’d never felt such sensation in my life. My spine tingled and my toes curled with tension. His finger entered me, hitting another spot, this one inside me, and when he flicked it, every last inch of me shot off the bed. The G-spot.

  My legs went rigid as his tongue made love to my clitoris—teasing, tormenting, and testing my patience. I wanted it harder and rougher. I needed it slower, to last longer. I craved it all.

  I turned my head toward the pillow as my knees began to shake, and my hair fell over my face. A blast of exhilaration hit me, and I screamed Blane’s name as my orgasm ran wild through my body.

  His tongue rode out the waves rippling through me, caressing each one out of me, and lapping up my orgasm until I finally lay spent and happy on the bed. He crawled back up, keeping his weight on his forearm, and lifted his finger to his mouth. He licked it partially clean and then brought it to my lips.

  “Open,” he said, and I did. Wanton and desperate, I opened wide and licked his finger clean of my own juices.

  And I loved every fucking second. Like a whore in a movie.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Too embarrassed to share my thoughts, I shook my head. Turning my face away, I sought refuge in the pillow again, thankful my hair provided cover.

  “Huh-uh.” Blane gently turned me to face him. “What’s wrong? Did I do something you didn’t like? Did I hurt you?”

  He frowned at me, making little crinkles form beside his eyes. Using his free hand, he shoved his hair behind his ear, and since it was damp with sweat, it stuck.

  I shook my head again.

  “Cate, talk to me. Please.”

  “It’s just . . . that was so dirty.”

  “What?” He rolled off me and tucked me into his side, pulling me close, my boobs smashing into his rib cage.

  “It’s just I’ve spent the last few years all determined to be some champion of women’s issues, and here I am, no better than some ball baby, coming on your hand and licking it off. I should be disgusted with myself. I’m no better than a two-bit actress who takes her clothes off for one of those porn flicks.” Ashamed, I buried my face in his chest, not wanting him to see my tears.

  “Hey.” He lifted my chin with his finger and swiped over the tears with his thumb.

  “You’re not some two-bit actress, Cate. You’re an adult, a woman who likes a man, and I like you back. And we’re being intimate with each other. The door is locked and we’re enjoying each other’s bodies in the privacy of my room. That’s healthy, normal, and right.”

  He kissed my forehead.

  “I think I should go.”

  “Listen, I don’t want you to go. We can put our clothes back on and hang out. We don’t have to go any further; I respect what you want.”

  “I’m so confused,” I said with more conviction. “I should go.”

  “I’m not gonna force you to stay, but I want you to—”

  I stood and snatched up my clothes, yanking them on as I averted my face.

  “I have to go,” I said again, wallowing in my own self-recrimination.

  “Cate, wait. Please?”

  Blane rolled off the bed and threw on a pair of sweats he grabbed from the floor. “I understand you’re working through a lot, but don’t leave like this.” He cupped my cheeks and pressed a kiss to my lips. “I like you, so leave like that. Take your time and think about what I said. But—”

  “No buts,” I blurted.

  “Oh yes, buts.” He lightly tapped my ass. “I’m driving your butt home,” he said, snagging a T-shirt and his keys.

  Catie

  On Monday, I mentally chastised myself through all my morning classes.

  Stupid, fucking girl. How could you fall for the boy, the class man-whore of all the men out there? You’re no better than the same girls you sit in class and despise.

  The very class I was sitting in, the one where Professor Stanwick stared me down from behind her readers.

  To make matters worse, some other part of my psyche decided to take issue with the browbeating.

  But he’s a good guy, gentle and caring. Blane is the first person to see me, touch me, make me feel like a woman.

  I dropped my head into my hand and trie
d to put all my bullshit thoughts out of my mind. Stanwick was going on about something in the news. Today’s lesson was on the guy who started Girls Gone Wild.

  “He took advantage of young women,” she said, “some inebriated or under the influence, who wanted to be celebrities. He claims he had their permission, but he’s no better than the guy who hosts the Casting Couch series. In fact, our very own Catie is doing a paper defending the likes of this man. Isn’t that right?”

  I lifted my head and shot up in my seat. In an instant, my inner guilt shifted from bemoaning my love life to second-guessing my pig-headed ideas.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, “but to defend him or people like him wasn’t my intention. The paper is exploring the women who get involved and why.”

  And I still have to go to my internship. What a shit day.

  Stanwick narrowed her eyes on me. “There are so many other avenues for women to make a living for themselves, I can’t for the life of me understand why you would subscribe to defending those women.”

  “Those women don’t have the same choices we have. Many of them can’t afford higher education,” I shot back.

  “Stand up, Ms. Presto,” Stanwick ordered. “Listen here, missy. This is a top-ten women’s studies program. We don’t support pornography and we certainly don’t defend it. We also don’t stand by our students giving dating advice on the air, or canoodling in the corners with student athletes who do nothing but sexualize women. We especially do not support these antics being splattered all over Twitter.”

  Not done tearing me to shreds yet, Stanwick gave me the deathblow. “You are dismissed from this class for the rest of the trimester. You were not as mature as I believed you to be when I allowed you to take this class. You may see the counselor to look into other courses or majors. Perhaps cinematography, with your strong interest in pornography?”

  “What? You can’t do that!”

  My cheeks burned as my classmates stared at me, enjoying the showdown. Heat seeped to my scalp as a combination of Italian and Cuban anger licked at my belly, but I shoved it down. This was not the time for a temper tantrum. God, Stanwick was being flat-out unreasonable standing there with her arms crossed in front of her chest.