by Adore Ian
I hold my phone in his face. He ignores it, grabbing my wrist instead and pulling me toward him so that our chests touch. “I think I know the difference between pussy sweat and glossy need, babe.”
“Hmm. Do you though?”
Mischief glints in his eyes. Before I can pull away, he opens the oven door and swings me around so that my back is to it. It’s still preheating, but blistering air pumps out.
Or maybe it’s just Damian.
He forces my legs open and backs me up so that I’m straddling the corner of the hot oven door.
“Don’t. Move,” he commands in his Sir voice. He holds me tightly to him with a hand around my waist, the other braced on the fridge.
“What are you doing?”
I get my answer when he leans forward, tilting me into the oven’s heat. I wrap my arms around his neck as I’m pushed off balance. He’s the only thing keeping me from falling and getting a serious burn.
Heat billows out of the oven, soaking into my pajama pants and causing my skin to prickle with sweat. Not to mention Damian’s body is like a furnace.
I should be terrified.
I should be screaming.
But I’m not.
I hold onto him as I feel the first bit of sweat spread across the crease of my ass. Son of a bitch. I know where this is going. A few minutes later, he tilts us back to safety and closes the oven door.
He slides a hand down my back, over my butt and between my legs. Making sure my panties soak up the sweat now speckled there. His middle finger slides around to my clit then dips into my center before his hand retreats the way it came.
He straightens and steps back, crossing his arms. “Take off your panties, Red.”
“No,” I challenge.
“Wasn’t a question. Take ‘em off or I’ll do it for you.”
If I wasn’t wet before, I sure as shit am now.
I consider my options. I could go into the bathroom and take them off, which technically isn’t breaking the rules because he didn’t set any. Or I could take them off right here in the kitchen. My pajama shirt is long enough to be a nightgown, so not only will it cover my stomach, it will also prevent him from seeing anything good.
I go with the second option. I step out of my pajama pants. Then, with my eyes on Damian’s, I reach beneath my top and pull down my panties. My red panties.
Restraint gutters in his eyes, but he reins himself in. He holds out a hand and I pass him my underwear. He turns them inside out, displaying dark fabric damp from sweat and dark fabric glistening from my wetness.
He pinches the perspiration. “Sweat,” he says. He does the same to the other spot and his fingers come away sticky and glossy. “Need.”
I cross my arms. “So what, you’re like a panty-reading fortune teller?”
“Yep. Wanna know your fortune?” He steps up to me and runs a finger between my legs, over my folds. My breath hitches and I have to grip his bicep to stay vertical. I’m fully turned on and ready to go. He pulls a now-glossy finger from me, and sucks it into his mouth, humming in satisfaction of his cheap victory.
I snatch back my panties and put them on.
“You’re really not on your period?” he asks honestly.
“Worst panty-psychic ever.” I pick up my pants. “Why would I lie about being on my period?”
“Then what’s wrong with you?”
I slide onto a barstool. There is no way I’m telling him I got an IUD. For about a thousand reasons.
Before Damian and I had sex, we’d had a brief conversation where we’d established that I was on birth control and that he wore condoms regardless. We’d also discussed the last time we’d both been checked for STDs and STIs. For the record, we’d both recently been given a clean bill of health and neither of us had any partners between the time of our check up and sleeping with one another. The beauty of college: you can literally walk into campus health and get tested any time of day.
If I tell him I got an IUD, he’s going to ask if I lied about being on birth control. When I tell him I didn’t lie, that I switched because the IUD makes more sense for preventing pregnancy, he’s going to know I got it so we can have unprotected sex.
I’ve never had sex without both birth control and a condom. I’m too much of a control freak—a fact of which Damian is aware. The minute he realizes I’m considering sex with him without a condom, he’s going to read into it and think I trust him and that he’s more to me than just a fuck buddy and blah blah blah.
Nope. Sorry. He doesn’t need to know I switched. At least not right now.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Just normal, random cramps.”
He clearly wants to ask more questions but the oven dings, letting us know it’s preheated.
Saved by the bell.
8
Marrin
After Damian leaves for work, I head to the 13th Floor. I spend the better part of the day teaching the choreography for my numbers in the Femme Fatale show.
In no time at all, the dancers have the timing and moves perfect. I can’t wait until we can rehearse on the main stage and I can start setting up the lighting. I have a few ideas, but nothing’s concrete until I can see it with my own eyes.
When I get back to my apartment, I jump into the shower. It’s Saturday, so I have to work, but I’m hoping it won’t be too busy because it’s fall break and a lot of students go out of town for the weekend. There is also a freak windstorm about to roll through that the news won’t shut up about. I doubt many people will be out in it.
I get to the Braxton a little before five and see that I’m working with Elle.
“Not heading home for break?” I say.
“No. My family lives on the west coast. It’s too expensive to fly home for a weekend.”
I don’t know Elle that well, but in the time I’ve known her, I’ve gotten the impression she’s not close with her family. She never talks about them. She also works as many hours as she can and when it’s slow, she pulls out a book to study or read.
“No offense,” I say, “but you dress like you have money.”
“My dad’s side of the family does. I stayed with them in South Korea for a bit and wanted for nothing. But when I got back to the States...”
“They cut you off?” When she looks uncomfortable, I add, “You don’t have to tell me. I’m just being nosy.”
She shrugs. “I sort of cut myself off. I don’t want them paying for me. Their money comes with too many caveats and I’m fine on my own.”
“I hear that.” I look through the empty arcade to the windstorm now raging outside. A garbage can flies down the street and the lights flicker. “I got a scholarship to study here. It pretty much pays for everything except the cost of living, insurance and”—Elle says the next word at the same time I do—“books.”
We both smile.
“I don’t understand why they’re so expensive,” Elle says. “And the fact they’re only good for sixteen weeks.”
“Ugh. Tell me about it. Is this your only job?”
She barks a sarcastic laugh. “I wish. I bartend at a hotel near campus. The owner is an absolute ass, but a lot of alumni and parents stay there when they visit, and they tip really well.”
“Too good to quit?”
She nods.
“If you like working for Alice, you should ask her about getting a waitressing job at the 13th Floor.”
“Thanks,” Elle says. “Maybe I will.”
The lights flicker, then go out. They come back on a second later and the arcade games gutter back to life. The only two patrons in the place lose their progress and decide to call it a night. Thank God they already paid because waiting on the wi-fi to restart so I can use the register is a pain in the ass.
My phone vibrates on the counter next to me.
Damian: Does the Braxton have power?
Marrin: Currently. But it’s in and out. You?
The wi-fi connects and I start closing out as much as I can. It�
��s only seven o’clock, but the wind is blowing so hard I swear I can hear the building groan. I’d rather have as much of the closing procedures done as possible. Just in case.
Damian: Complex lost it about 10 minutes ago. It hasn’t come back on.
I finish counting the money and receipts when there’s a loud popping noise outside and every light on the block goes out.
It’s eerie listening to the hum of power recede. As if it’s a living thing that might never return.
We wait in silence for it to come back on.
It doesn’t.
Elle turns on the flashlight on her phone. “I guess this means we’re off early.”
“Guess so.”
Even with the emergency lights by the exits on it’s still hard to see. Conor locks the front door and comes to the bar to help us close. We empty the garbage and sweep the floors. Elle tapes a sign to the door stating we closed early because of the weather.
“I think we’re good to go,” Conor says. He looms in the dark—a wall of solid muscle.
We head to the back. I set the alarm and Conor opens the door. Or tries to. The wind is blowing against it so hard, he has to lean his weight into it to get it open. He manages fine, and Elle and I slip out. The door shuts with a loud bang, and I turn to my car as Elle turns down the alley.
“You’re not walking in this weather,” Conor says, voice so deep it’s more like a growl.
Elle’s hair whips around her face and she desperately tries to tuck it into the hood of her jacket. “The dorms are closed for break. I’m staying at a friend’s house a few blocks away. I’ll be fine.”
It’s dark with the power out. Too dark to be walking alone.
A sheet of metal caught on the wind slams into the ground right in front of us, chunks of asphalt go flying.
“Shit,” I yelp, jumping at the same time as Elle. “You’re not walking. Let one of us drive you.”
Another gust roars down the alley and we all turn our backs to it.
The wind is frigid and icy and strong enough to sweep us off our feet if we’re not careful. The little bit of rain on the wind slicks the ground just enough that I feel myself sliding forward. I grab onto Conor just as he grabs Elle’s shoulder. She’s at least a head shorter than me, and while she’s gifted with killer curves I’d die to have, there’s no way she has more traction that I do.
The next blast of wind sends her sliding, and Conor’s hold on her shoulder is the only thing keeping her upright.
“This is insane,” I yell over the wind.
Elle turns, grabbing both Conor and me. Her hood flies off, loosing long dark hair into the night. “I’ll take that ride now.”
As a group, we walk to our cars. I ask them to text me when they’re home safe, saying if I don’t hear from them within the hour I’m calling 9-1-1. Conor takes Elle, and I drive down dark, deserted streets until I get to my apartment complex.
Emergency lights illuminate the lobby. The security guard stands next to a small box of flashlights.
“Generators are keeping the security systems up and running,” she says. “The emergency lights are keeping the hallways lit, but you’re going to need a flashlight once you walk into your apartment.”
I take one and say thanks before heading up the stairs.
Once inside my apartment, I turn on the flashlight and set it down pointed at the ceiling. I rummage under the sink and pull out a box of matches and an old-school hurricane lamp I bought at a garage sale. It does a good job illuminating the place—plus it looks cool. I pull my phone from my purse to check the time.
Damian: I’m sitting in the dark bored af.
Damian: Just kidding. I found a glow stick.
Damian: Is the power still on at the arcade? I’m trying to order a pizza from that place on the corner.
I get a twinge of excitement thinking about Damian sitting at home texting me.
I put on comfortable clothes, grab my purse and the hurricane lamp, and head down the hall. Damian answers on the second knock.
His expression changes like a kaleidoscope, going from intrigued to excited, sliding into confusion before finally melting into disappointment. “Damn. If you’re here, that means the power’s out at the Braxton, which means it’s also out at the good pizza place.” He steps back, letting me in.
“Sorry to disappoint. No pizza for you.” I’ve never shown up at his apartment without permission and usually with the promise of sex. Showing up to hang out is… new. I move into his living room where a random glow stick sits on the coffee table next to the saddest excuse for a candle I’ve ever seen. “Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you were sitting in the dark.”
“Nope.”
I set the hurricane lamp on the table and sit next to him on the couch. He’s only wearing a thin pair or pajama pants, which means his abs, chest, arms, and tattoos are on full display. The swirling, black lines of ink look stark in the dim light. They crawl over his shoulders and chest like the first bit of ivy in spring.
His skin is luminous in the low light. It’s not white or brown, but somewhere in between. Naturally tan might be the right phrase—but it’s cool not warm, that undercurrent of taupe running through it even in the places never seen by the sun.
And I would know because I’ve seen those places. All of them. My eyes follow the trench between his abs lower and lower and—
Quit staring, you creepazoid.
I snap my mouth shut and focus on his face.
His eyebrow dances up.
Busted.
Full honesty, I did come over here just to hang out. But one look at Damian in his half-naked glory and my lady parts have made other plans.
“How many pizza places have you called?” I ask, attempting to salvage my dignity.
“Three. None answered.”
“Darn.”
“I know.”
“What should we do to pass the time?”
Goddamnit, Marrin. You hussy.
Unmistakable heat flares in his eyes, but he makes no move to come closer. Instead he does the opposite, leaning away from me back into his corner of the couch, arms and legs propped wide in invitation. The cocky stare he gives me makes my core clench and my breasts tighten. I settle into my corner of the couch because two can play this game.
I rub my foot over the top of his thigh.
He hisses in a breath when it dips between his legs—then surprises me when he grabs his phone. “Before we start anything, we should get food.”
He calls three pizza places before one answers. I’m shamelessly rubbing my foot along his erection.
“Hi, I’d like to order a pizza for delivery? Yeah, no problem.” He looks at me. “They put me on hold.”
I slide forward, running my hands up his thick, muscled thighs. I hook my fingers on the waistband of his pajama pants and pull.
“What are you doing?” Damian purrs. His eyes are wide with lust and mischief.
I slip a hand beneath his briefs and stroke his bare erection. “Passing the time,” I say innocently.
I pull out his cock and his head tilts back on a silent groan. I lower myself between his legs, my tongue running along his length. He’s smooth and hard beneath my touch. A kick of satisfaction jolts me when I notice his breathing has become shallow and breathy. I kiss the tip of him then suck him into my mouth.
“Oh fu—” He bolts into a sitting position as if he’s been struck by lightning. “Yeah, hi, I’d like to place a delivery. Order. An order for delivery.”
I smile around his cock.
He caresses my cheek, as if to say, Hold on a sec.
Not gonna happen.
I grip his shaft and suck him deep into my mouth. He falls back on the cushions, fist to his mouth.
“Uh, cheese. A cheese pizza. Please.”
I bob hard and fast, using my hand to work the length of him that won’t fit in my mouth. I pull back momentarily to swirl my tongue around his head then sink back over him.
; “Toppings? Uh, what toppings do we want?”
His hand tightens on my hair and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me. I look up at him, his dick still in my mouth. Desire and worry war on his face. But his eyelids are heavy and I know desire is winning.
“Toppings, babe. What do you w-want?”
I release him with a pop, but continue stroking him. “The Wane sausage”—I swirl salty pre-cum with my thumb—“and the special sauce.” I suck my thumb into my mouth, tasting him.
His eyes roll to the ceiling, he mouths, Fuck.
“Just cheese, please.”
I smile wickedly and take him in my mouth again.
I hear the person ask him what size, to which I answer, “Eight and a half to nine inches.” They ask how he’ll pay, I say, “With my mouth.” They ask for the address, I whisper, “The corner of About To and Come.”
I punctuate my last answer with a squeeze of his balls and Damian says, “Okay, thanks, gotta go, bye.” He hangs up the phone, grabs my head and starts to come. His hips thrust off the couch as he fucks my mouth, pushing and pulling my head where he needs to feel good. I take everything he gives me.
When it’s over, he’s limp and sated.
He pulls me to him so that my head rests on his shoulder.
“That was very good and very bad, Red.” At the use of the nickname, I know what’s coming. My body goes tight and loose in all the right places. “I ought to punish you.”
Yes, please.
My panties are uncomfortably wet.
He strokes my cheek with a knuckle while his other hand draws lazy circles down my back. Fingertips trace along the band of my yoga pants but go no farther.
I push my hips into that hand. He gives me a wry smile, tracing my mouth with a thumb. “You don’t know how beautiful you look with my cock in your mouth.”
I love it when he talks dirty.
The hand on my pants moves down to lazily knead my ass. “I imagine I must look similar to you when your clit is in my mouth.” The thumb tracing my mouth presses against my bottom teeth. “When my lips are glossy with your need.” It glides over my teeth beneath my lips. “When I fuck you with my tongue.” His other hand slides to my center. I push into it as he traces devastatingly slow circles over my core.