Whatever happens, I’ll make you work for it. Nell took a sip of her drink, then stood too. “Sure.”
Eamonn racked the balls efficiently, reminding her of how he’d played against himself the day she first saw him — with confidence and ease, never doubting his game. “You can break,” he said, offering her the chalk.
“We flip a coin for the break,” she countered, feeling her stubbornness rise in the face of his expertise. “Otherwise, it’s like… breaking a rebreakable board that isn’t fully snapped together. Our dojang uses them instead of real wood; they’re just as hard, with plastic teeth that click together, and if the two pieces aren’t fully engaged when you go to break… I don’t know, there’s less satisfaction. The achievement is weakened, even if the technique is perfect.”
She thought he’d brush her explanation off or laugh, but he nodded thoughtfully. “Like using Auto-Tune, I guess. Doesn’t mean you can’t stay on key, but you’re not fully proving that you can, either. Okay. I flip, you call it.” He fished a coin out of his pocket and flicked it into the air in a fancy behind-the-back move.
“Heads,” she said, just as he caught it.
He brought his hand around in a swooping motion to slap the coin down on the edge of the pool table, then lifted his fingers away. “Tails.” He winked at her. “But I’m a gentleman, so I won’t sink them all on my first turn.”
“As if you could,” she muttered, choosing a cue.
At first, he flirted — brushing her hand as he passed her the chalk, bumping her with his hip as he leaned over the pool table. But as the balls left on the table grew fewer and fewer, he focused harder on the game. Competitive, she thought with respect.
“Corner pocket,” he said, and neatly sank the eight ball to win.
Nell grimaced. “Nicely played.”
Eamonn didn’t gloat, just handed her the phone. “Honestly, I’ll feel better knowing you have a phone. Not that you can’t take care of yourself. I just — I really want to be able to call you.”
“I’ll borrow it,” she said. “Only until I can buy the one I want. Thanks.”
And before the moment could get awkward, he put a hand right on her butt, which made her tense up momentarily until she saw that he was laughing at her. He’s my… boyfriend, I suppose? Stupid word. But this is… okay. The feel of his strong hand there made her tingle and want to squirm, and for once in her life, she had no urge to pull away, even when their server came over with Eamonn’s drink and asked Nell if she was ready for another. “Sure.” She wondered if the server noticed the flirty, intimate touch.
After the server had moved away, Eamonn gave Nell’s butt a little squeeze and said, “Now, how about a rematch? Different stakes.”
She grinned. “Fine. If I win this time, you come to my MMA sparring session on Tuesday. Just watch if you want to, get in the ring and dance with me if you’re willing.”
“Dance, you call it?” That made him chuckle. “Sure, and if I win, we’ll put a song on that jukebox and you’ll slow-dance with me right here. Deal?”
“Exhibitionist, that’s what you are,” she muttered. It wasn’t the sort of pub where people danced — everyone would stare.
“Rockstar territory, babe. What can I say?” He shrugged and turned to rack the balls. “It’s your break.”
No way am I making a fool of myself like that. This game’s mine. Determined, Nell switched her pool cue to her left hand, something she’d pulled before — a strategy intended to rattle her opponent. Something about the ability to shoot on either side of her body tended to be profoundly intimidating and distracting to those who couldn’t do it, but she’d been training to use both hands equally since preschool. And it was enough. He didn’t scratch or do anything overtly foolish, but she managed to put away her last two balls and then the eight ball while he still had four of his solids on the table. “Tuesday?” she confirmed with a lift of her eyebrows.
He accepted with an easygoing nod, not seeming troubled by having lost. “Stripes are lucky for you.”
I like a man who can lose graciously. It was one of the qualities she’d look for in a forever partner, if she believed in forever partners. “We can have a third game, if you want,” she said.
Before he could answer, the server brought Nell’s drink over, and she paid for it right away, not giving Eamonn a chance to get in ahead of her or have it put on his tab.
“I was going to take care of everything tonight,” he said, as soon as the server was out of earshot.
“Yeah, well, no.” Nell crossed her arms, feeling defensive. “I ordered a second drink and I paid for it. Sometimes life is like that.”
“All right, but I’ll get your next one.”
“Two’s my limit.”
“Two is barely even buzzed. Don’t you ever want to just let go, without worrying about being in control and protecting yourself and doing right?”
She thought at first that he was mocking her, but he didn’t sound mocking, only curious. “Of course I do,” she said. “But this is who I am. I don’t know how to not be me, if that makes sense.” She took a sip of her drink, filling her mouth so she wouldn’t say anything more.
“Ninja woman, did someone… hurt you, to make you so on guard?”
“Nothing terrible. I’ve never been raped, if that’s what you’re asking.” She sighed. How could he even understand? Chunky Booty. Can’t you just smile? Unwanted touches and pinches. “But the small things add up. And if I weren’t who I am? I had to threaten to break my prom date’s arm.” A decade ago, and she’d never forget the fear and fury, her date’s yelp of pain, or the effort it had taken to let him go despite her visceral urge to damage him.
“Wow. That blows,” Eamonn said, looking rather stunned. It probably wasn’t a reality he’d had to think much about, after all.
“I don’t need sympathy,” Nell reminded him. “Just leave it.” But concern still hovered in his brow and an uncertain twist to his mouth. “Look, I train with a lot of guys; it’s a male-dominated sport. I’m tough and I hold my ground so they’ll take me seriously. And that’s not something I can turn on and off — I’ve lived in my armor so long, it’s become part of me.”
That seemed to reassure him. “Okay. I understand wearing armor.” He waved toward the pool table. “What about that third game, then? Got an idea of what to play for? Because I do.”
“Oh?”
The grin he gave her was half dirty, half sweet. “There’s something I wanted to do with you in bed the other night, Nella-bella…”
She felt herself tensing. “I do not know you well enough for butt stuff. If ever.”
“That’s not it — though if you ever want to, I’d love to show you how good that can be — and fuck me, you’re sexy when you blush.” He stroked a finger along the curve of her cheek, and his eyes on her were intent and blatantly aroused.
“What, then?” she managed to say.
“I want to taste you.” His voice was thick, raspy. “I want you to come on my tongue. I want your peach juice all over my face.”
Well, flipping hell. “You can’t really want to… I mean…”
“Oh, believe me, I do.”
“But it’s awkward, and too vulnerable.” Her voice came out small and choked.
Gently, he put his arms around her, pulling her into a hug, brushing softly urgent kisses against her forehead and temples. “Nell. You can trust me. And the thought of going down on you turns me on so hard it makes me dizzy. I won’t push you, but if you’ll let me, that’s what I’d most want to win in this pool game.”
She pushed away from him and took a big gulp of her drink, then another, and the icy slush gave her brain-freeze. “Crap, I can’t drink this as fast as I want to right now,” she grumbled to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Hey,” he said, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I know.” She gave him a long look, stee
ling herself. “And I’ll agree to let you have your prize if you win. I just… I don’t do vulnerable well.”
“Oh, Nella-bella…” For a moment, he looked pole-axed, beyond conscious thought, awash in desire. “And if you win? What will you ask of me?”
Focus. What do I want from him? “Well, I’m not fragile, right? I won’t break if you play a little rough.”
His eyebrows shot up at that. She’d surprised him, then.
“I could do that for you,” he said slowly. He picked up her cue and held it out to her, and then the chalk.
They were both clumsy this time. Missing easy angles, scratching repeatedly. Nell’s fingers felt numb and shaky so that she could barely hold the pool cue steady. Losing fine motor control. Adrenaline would do that. She wasn’t sure if Eamonn was riding the adrenaline rollercoaster too, or if his mind was just in his pants rather than on the game, but he wasn’t playing with nearly the skill he’d shown before. I can win, she thought, but then he bit his lip as he lined up his cue, and she started thinking about his mouth all over again. She took her shot to sink the eight ball for the win, scratched, and the game was his.
Eamonn took the cue from Nell’s suddenly nerveless fingers and set it down on the pool table. “I think you’ll find we’ve both won,” he said, with an arm around her shoulders as he guided her back to their booth.
She made herself smile, reminding herself that losing graciously was part of being a good martial artist, whatever the circumstances. “You’re good at pool.”
“Thanks. Not sure either of us had our minds on the game in that last one, though.”
That made her laugh. “You think?”
She sat. Instead of resuming his place across from her, he slid into the booth on her side, close, his thigh brushing against hers. Denim against yoga pants. “So, what now?” he asked. “Dinner? Another drink? Get out of here?”
“Well, I’m not all that hungry…”
He gave her a considering look, and she found herself struggling to stay cool, trying not to think too hard about anything ahead between them. “You like doing shots? We could knock a couple back before we head out.”
Not a good idea. I don’t need to drink to relax, and doing shots only leads to trouble. But she heard herself saying, “Just one. And we go to my place, not yours.” His hand on her thigh felt so very warm.
“Sure. For that shot — how d’you feel about lychee as a flavor?”
“It’s been years since I’ve eaten any.” She thought of the round translucent fruits in their tough red husks, and the remembered pleasure of peeling them and biting into the pearly sweet flesh. “Funny, I haven’t even thought about lychees in ages. I like them, though.”
“So you’re up for trying lychee liqueur? It mixes beautifully with tequila.”
That sounds dangerous. But Nell nodded.
Their server was chatting with the bartender, so Eamonn got up and went over to them. He spoke briefly and held out a credit card, presumably settling their tab. Then he was striding back toward Nell, sliding in beside her, his hand returning at once to her upper thigh, easy and affectionate.
He makes life look easy; he really does. And in that moment, Nell could see how his nickname suited him.
The shots arrived, tinted palest pink and harmless looking. He clinked his glass against hers and drank, and she followed suit.
He wanted to call his car service, but she insisted on walking. “I always walk home from the Frog and Ball,” she said. “It’s only twenty minutes.”
“Would it matter if you got a ride this one time?”
“Would it kill you to walk with me? And I thought you were trying not to draw attention to yourself. Having some limousine roll up would be like waving a flag. Right now, no one’s paying attention — or is that the problem? You want to be recognized?”
Eamonn scrubbed his hands through his hair, fingering the ends. My hair is shorter these days, he’d said. “Fuck me, you’re so direct, Nell. And yeah, maybe I miss it a bit. But we’ll walk.”
Nell’s apartment was orderly and spotless, as always. “It’s not much, but at least I don’t have to share,” she told Eamonn as she unlocked the door. Small and plain, she thought, but it’s all I need. The sheets on her bed were clean, the apartment smelled of fresh laundry and citrus-bergamot candles, and her framed black belt certificate hung on the wall. Good enough.
“It’s nice,” he said. “I like the cactus.”
She glanced at her spiky little plant on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. “Yeah, well, it suits me — prickly, low-maintenance, and it rarely flowers. You want some tea? I don’t have any coffee.”
As she turned toward the electric kettle on the counter, he stepped up behind her and traced one finger down her spine. “We can have tea later.” His strong hands began to massage her shoulders.
It was ridiculous how much she wanted to lean into his hands. His thumbs digging into her trapezius and rhomboid muscles felt like heaven, soothing her, releasing tension. But she couldn’t relax. “I’m… uh, got to go freshen up,” she managed to say, and shot through her bedroom into the bathroom before he could respond.
When she came out, he was sitting on her bed, propped up against the headboard with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles like it was all no big thing. “Nella-bella, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said, his voice both raspy and gentle. “Just come and cuddle a bit. Let me hold you.”
She crawled onto the bed but sat cross-legged, like a student in class with her hands on her knees.
So he leaned forward and snagged one of her ankles, giving it a gentle tug to get her foot into his lap. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed. Chill, she told herself. He’s not a threat.
His strong, clever hands massaged her foot, kneading and stroking into the arch, and the pure pleasure of it made her sigh with contentment. “Other foot?” he asked after a while, and she shifted position to unfold her other leg, then flopped onto her back to better enjoy the massage. He was only touching her feet, but there was something sensual about it, his touch running from the nerve endings in her soles right up her legs and into her core. And it went on and on, like he had all the time in the world and was happy just to rub her feet.
It didn’t seem fair, and she reluctantly raised a hand to let him know he could stop. “You don’t have to—”
“But I like touching you. Anywhere and in any way I can. And your face when you feel good is so fucking beautiful it blows my mind…”
“Whatever,” she said, but the sincerity and desire on his face were so vivid she had to close her eyes. “You want sex, already?”
“I want to taste you, if you’ll let me.” The husky, thick sound to his voice couldn’t be faked.
Heat washed over her. And she wanted it. But… “It just takes a lot of… trust, is all. Sex doesn’t have to be intimate, but this…”
“Nella-bella, you’re the most practical goddess I’ve ever met. But what we’re doing? It’s kind of supposed to be intimate. Let me inside your guard, lovely.”
“Ugh.” I’m so uncomfortable. Why would this man want any kind of real intimacy with her, when it was so much easier to bounce around on the bed and keep everything light and fun?
Holding her gaze, he licked his lip — not overtly, just a tiny subtle lizard-flick of the tip of his tongue — and it broke her.
Because a martial artist does need to have trust. Trust for instructors, trust for training partners, and maybe trust for lovers too. Something I’ve always struggled with. Is it time to push past that? “Fine,” she said, and skinned out of her pants and underwear all in one tangled lot, leaving her lower half bare.
He grinned. “Arms up,” he said, and whisked her t-shirt over her head and off, adding, “I’ll let you get the sports bra off yourself. Extra hands don’t make some jobs any easier.”
That made her laugh as she wriggled out of it, remembe
ring various instances of dudes attempting to help. But he was still fully dressed. “What about you?”
“I’m good for now. Lie back and open your legs for me.” He spoke with such command and assurance, and somehow also such admiration, that she found herself gasping and complying — spreading herself open for him, with both her body and her mind. Trust. And the erotic contrast between her bareness and his clothes intensified it.
He laid a firm hand on her abdomen, and it scorched her.
“Flipping hell,” Nell muttered, part of her wanting to curl away from the devastating intimacy as he settled himself between her thighs, but the part of her that had any control over actual movement and choices was transfixed by electric excitement at the warmth of his breath and the subtle stroking of his other hand at the top of her thigh.
“All right?” he asked.
“Awkward, but yeah,” she choked out. I can trust this man.
His eyes were full of laughter and arousal as he looked up at her. “The idea is for you to enjoy it.” He stuck his tongue out at her, waggled it until she laughed. And then — it was then, when she was undone by unexpected mirth, that he began a delicate exploration with his lips and tongue.
At first, she was tense, but the sheer pleasure of it and his evident enjoyment overcame her, and gradually everything around her coalesced into the slippery, talented stroking of his tongue. Slowly her universe turned inside out and she fractured into pure bliss.
She woke sated — and alone. Suppressed a twinge of disappointment. He’s gone, then? But when she sat up, she saw the note that must have slid off the pillow and into the sheets. Getting coffee. Back soon, it said, signed with an untidy, scrawled E and a scribble that looked suspiciously like a heart. No way. Just a scribble.
Well. A movie heroine would stay in bed, naked under the sheets, lounging sensually as she waited for her lover to return. But after about three minutes, Nell grew twitchy and couldn’t lie still — lazy inactivity had never been a good fit for her. She kicked the sheets off and rolled out of bed, landing on her feet with more of a bounce than she’d felt in a while. Once she’d made the bed and snagged a pair of workout shorts and a top, she put a playlist of power-up songs on her tablet and blew through her morning workout like it was nothing — doing squat kicks instead of plain squats, just for fun, and opting for Spiderman pushups because she was feeling strong and fine.
Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2) Page 18