by Roni Loren
He laughs harder.
“Because I know how to do this thing with my tongue that—”
He rolls back to his side and puts his hand out, fast as a striking snake, and covers my lips. “Please, don’t finish that. I’m lying here, trying to be a decent guy, and you’re going to paint those kinds of pictures in my head. So not fair.”
I curl my fingers around his wrist and move his hand away. “Like those pictures aren’t already in your head. I think you had me naked in your mind ten seconds after we met.”
He grins, unrepentant. “Seven seconds. And I’d feel guilty about it if you hadn’t done the same thing.”
I huff. “I did not.”
“So you just stood there and watched me walk away because you like my brand of jeans?”
I bite my lip and try to shove him again. “Shut up.”
Great, now I’m acting like a twelve-year-old.
But when I push him this time, he grabs my arm, pulling me with him, and rolls me half on top of him. I land with a soft oof. The playful mood of a few seconds ago dies on the spot. Because now I can’t concentrate. My upper body is pressing into his, and all of my mental energy diverts to mapping every hard plane beneath me. God, he’s warm. And solid. And he smells like beer and cupcakes, which somehow works. I don’t move away.
He looks up at me, his blue eyes almost silver in the moonlight. The humor has faded from his face, too. He pushes a lock of hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I want to kiss you again.”
“Yeah?” I say, my voice so soft I’m not even sure it made it all the way out of my throat.
“But I also don’t want you to worry that I’m going to push you too far. There’s no real pressure here, Nat. Yes, I like kissing you. And yes, I think you’re hot. Like unfairly hot. But I’m also having fun just hanging out with you. Honestly, it’s been a long time since I’ve done that with a girl and enjoyed it so much.”
The words send this buzzing feeling through me. A very dangerous buzzing feeling. “What, you’re more of hey, what’s up, let’s bang kind of guy?”
“Truthfully? Yeah. Though, someone should punch me in the face if I ever use a word as lame as bang. Hookups are easy. Everyone knows what’s up and has a good time. No drama.”
“I don’t hook up.”
“I know,” he says, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back. “I can respect that.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I’m a smartass, but I try not to be an asshole. And seriously, if you’re tired, you can crash at my place without stressing about what that means. I’ll take the couch. I’d much rather that than worrying about you roaming the streets until dawn or going home to that psycho roommate.”
I stare down at him. His months-past-a-haircut hair is flopped across his forehead and there’s the beginning of stubble on his cheeks. With the tattoos and the attitude he comes across tough, dangerous even, on first glance, but the way he’s looking at me right now is so genuine and sincere that my chest squeezes tight. I’ve been with Caleb for almost a year. I’ve shared things with him I’ve never told anyone else. I’ve opened myself up and tried to be everything he wanted me to. But Caleb has never looked at me like this, with such . . . care. Like I matter. Like my concerns and feelings are more important than his wants.
And all I am is a stranger to Monroe. If he shows this much kindness and protectiveness toward some girl he just met, what must he be like when he loves someone? I can’t even imagine.
“I think I’m tired,” I say. “And that bed sounds nice.”
He tilts his head, clearly surprised. “Yeah?”
“But if you really turn out to be a serial killer after all, I’m going to be so pissed.”
“Just because it’s your birthday, I’ll keep the carving knife and plastic sheets in the closet.”
I smirk and give in to my urge to touch him, tracing the curve of one dark eyebrow. “And I know you’re being noble—gold stars for you, by the way—but I think I want to kiss you again, too.”
His lips curve. “Is that right?”
“You have no idea.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck. “Well, who am I to deny a birthday girl her wish?”
I let him draw me down to him, and my lips part easily for him this time. Even in a few short hours he feels familiar in the best way possible. He feels right. The kiss is slow at first, like the lazy lake water lapping at the shore behind us—a gentle, caressing dance. His hand threads into my hair, and he’s in control, moving me where he wants me, taking the kiss deeper. And I’m falling into it, the warmth of his body, the feel of his mouth, the taste of him. I want to drown in this.
I find myself shifting more on top of him and sliding my knee upward. His free hand catches the back of my thigh and draws me onto him fully. I straddle him and don’t care that we’re in a public park. He groans into the kiss and now both his hands go to my hair. We’re drinking, drinking, drinking from each other. All the stress of my day, all the worries of tomorrow, all the concerns of a few moments ago seem to drain from me, the scary stuff sloughing off and leaving only this minute behind. This really spectacular minute.
I press myself fully against him, and my body tightens at the brush of his erection against me. I want to reach down and feel him against my palm, feel if his skin is getting as hot as mine. But I know if I do that, there’s no turning back. So I satisfy my need to touch by running my hands over his shoulders, his sides. My fingers find the edge of his T-shirt, and I let them slip beneath it and trail along the firm muscles beneath.
The groan from him this time is louder and he pulls back, his head landing against the grass. He’s out of breath. So am I.
“I think we need a time-out, princess. I’m not that noble.”
I splay my hands over his chest and push upward to get some space between us, but I don’t climb off of him. “Neither am I.”
“Natalie . . .” His tone holds warning.
“Why did you take me out tonight?”
A little wrinkle appears between his brows. Whether it’s from the subject change or the question itself, I can’t tell. “Because I wanted to. I like you.”
“Okay, but why? I was kind of a bitch to you.”
“No, you were—are—feisty, and I’m into that. I like women who aren’t afraid to say what they’re thinking. Polite girls bore the shit out of me. And I could tell you weren’t going to let me get away with anything. I’d have to work for it.”
I process that. “So you like a challenge.”
“I do, but I wasn’t looking at you like some prize to win or anything. Just thought we’d have fun together, if I could get you to let your guard down a little.”
The answer affects me more than he probably realizes. He likes that I’m a challenge. He likes that I talk back. “You know why people like me?”
“Same reason?”
“No, they like me because I’m really good at doing what’s expected of me. I’m responsible. I’m practical. Nice. You don’t have to worry about me being unpredictable. I do what I’m supposed to because I’m way too concerned about what everyone thinks about me. But the minute you picked me up today, that seemed to fall away. I didn’t have this need to impress you.”
He gives me a wry look. “Gee, thanks.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just . . . I didn’t need to put on some mask. You saw me, the unedited, not-so-polite side, and liked me anyway.”
He lifts my hand from his chest and kisses my palm. “Is that bad?”
“No, it’s not. It’s very, very good.” I lie down again, bringing my face close to his. “Because no one’s ever taken the real me to bed, and I’m thinking it’s way overdue.”
His blue eyes widen. “What?”
I shift against him, settling myself along his body. “You’re going on a road trip for the summer because you want to, because it will be fun and an adventure. You aren’t worried about anyon
e else’s opinion. It’s your whim.”
“Right,” he says slowly.
“I want you to be mine.” I let my hand drift between us and cup his erection, loving the sound he makes in the back of his throat when I do. Never have I been so bold. I don’t make first moves. I’ve been the nice girl behind closed doors just like I have been in the rest of my life. But right now, all I want is a whole lot of bad. “Take me home, Monroe. And to hell with sleeping on the couch.”
Chapter 6
Monroe
I’ve never made it home so fast in my life. All those traffic laws I agreed to follow earlier this afternoon? Yeah, well, I got her home safe, that’s all that counts, right? But now I can barely get my key in the door. What the fuck? I’m like a damn teenager again, getting ready to cop his first feel.
This isn’t me. I’m the guy who keeps his cool. Women are great, sex is fantastic, but I’m not one to get all urgent about it. We’ve got all night. But I’ve got no fucking shot at slowing myself down and acting like a normal human being.
The minute we’re inside the door of my house, I’m grabbing for Natalie and pushing her against the nearby wall. She’s been rubbing that body up against mine on the ride over here, and I’m about to combust. My mouth crashes against hers, and my hands reach for her thighs.
She doesn’t fight it. She wraps her legs around my waist, letting me lift her up, and is kissing me back just as hard. I press her against the wall and her nails score my scalp, the resulting tingles going straight to my dick. I want to swallow her whole.
And happy day—I think she wants to devour me right back. Whatever reins she’s been holding on to have been cut. She’s letting go. And I get the feeling this might be the first time. I can’t wait.
I pull back for half a second to grab a breath. “Tell me you’re sure.”
Her eyes are dilated, her lips puffy. She’s fucking gorgeous. “I’m so sure.”
My fingers dig into her thighs, my restraint on a weak tether, and she winces. I soften my grip. “Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “No, I like it. I want . . .”
She rolls her lips inward, and her gaze skates away. Old fears are obviously creeping in. I tighten my hold on her. “No, princess. You want me to fuck you? Then tell me how you want it. No room for being scared right now.”
“I like how rough you’re being.”
Oh, hell yeah. “Feel free to be rough right back.”
I bury my face in her neck and press my teeth to her throat. Her head tilts back, and the gritty moan that accompanies the move makes me so damn hard I worry I’m going to have a permanent zipper imprint on my cock.
My hand coasts up her body and I cup her breast, the full, soft flesh heating my palm. I need to get her out of this dress, but I don’t want to put her down long enough to do it. I rub my thumb over her nipple, and she shudders in my hold. God, she’s sexy. Even the slightest touch gets a response. I want to find all her hot buttons and press them over and over until she’s out of her mind from it.
Her lips are on mine again and the long, deep kiss has me feeling wild and frantic on the inside. And I’m down for being rough. But I don’t want to hurt her or fuck this up in my rush to get us naked. I pull away and ease her down from the wall. “This will be better on the bed.”
She nods and kicks off her shoes. “Good idea. I have condoms in my purse.”
“I’ve got us covered.” I grab her hand and lead her down the hallway, hoping to hell I put away all my crap before I left for work today. Nothing like a pile of dirty underwear to ruin the mood. Luckily, when we walk in, the place looks mostly presentable. The bed isn’t made but other than that, we’re good.
I turn to Natalie and kiss her again, my hands going to the tie on the side of her dress. But when I tug, she puts her hand over mine. “Should we shower? I mean, I probably still smell like skunk and . . .”
“You smell amazing,” I say, and mean it. She smells like the grass from the lake, baked goods, and girl. There’s even a hint of some fruity shampoo lingering.
“Liar,” she says, but she’s smiling.
“Maybe I just like you dirty.”
“You would.” She cocks her head in challenge.
“There she goes again. Judging.” She laughs and I gather her flush against me, putting my lips close to her ear. “Lose the dress, beautiful. There’s only one scent I want you wearing. Mine.”
She groans softly and steps back to finish unfastening the tie on her dress. The fabric falls open, and I forget how to speak.
Chapter 7
Natalie
When I let my dress drop to the floor, I have the immediate urge to run into Monroe’s closet and slam the doors shut to hide. I’ve never felt more exposed. The red lacy bra and thong are somehow worse than being naked. Because this says—Hey there, I totally planned on getting laid tonight. And oh, I bought these to impress someone. Not you, by the way. Though, I’m really happy it is you who’s here.
Awkward.
Plus, I don’t know what kind of girl Monroe usually dates. I’m not exactly a size-two model. No quarters are bouncing off this belly. And what if I look ridiculous and like I’m trying too hard and—
“Fuck,” Monroe breathed. “I knew you were going to kill me, but jeezus. You look . . . wow.”
Monroe steps into my space again, claiming my waist with those big hands of his, and I’m no longer out there alone and self-conscious. The heated look on his face says he approves. No, not just approves. Fully endorses. He lets his hands drift down over my ass and draws me against him.
“You have way too many clothes on,” I declare.
He smiles and kisses along my collarbone. “Patience.”
But when he lifts his head, he reaches back and tugs his T-shirt over his head. And damn, the view’s even better than I expected. I could totally leave the quarter-bouncing up to him. I take my fill, my gaze tracing over all that bare skin and smooth muscle. The guy is beautiful. Like art. And the ink is even more stunning without clothing in the way. The tattooed arms are the showpiece as they give way to a mostly unmarked chest—but the small bluebird that seems to be flying away from a branch inked on his shoulder captures my full attention. I reach out and run my fingers over it, fascinated for some reason. He presses his hand over mine and smiles.
I want to ask if the bird has any meaning to him, but he’s kissing me again and I sort of forget about conversation. Tattoo analysis can wait. Especially when those long, calloused fingers have unhooked my bra and are caressing me beneath it, tugging and teasing. I reach between us and unfasten his jeans. He makes a sound that seems like relief, and I smile into the kiss as I dip my hand inside his fly.
I wrap my hand around his warmth, and we both make dirty sounds simultaneously: him because I’m sure it feels good, and me because my body clenches everywhere, the need punching through me like a fist. I curse under my breath, the desire almost too much to process. I’m no virgin, but I can’t remember ever feeling this all-consuming need to have someone.
Monroe lowers down my body, trailing kisses along the way, and shoves my bra all the way off to take one of my nipples into his mouth. I grip his shoulders hard and electricity runs right from the point of the connection straight down, where I’ve gone wet and warm and desperate.
He gives the other side the same sensual treatment, and then he’s gripping my waist and guiding me to the bed. He gives me a gentle shove, and I fall onto the mattress with a bounce. When I start to scoot back to get farther up on the bed, he grabs my ankle and drags me forward. “Not quite yet, princess. I’m not done tasting.”
“Oh.” It’s a dumb response, but I’m not capable of much more. Not when he’s lowering to his knees and slipping my panties down my legs. The strip of red lace is swept away with a flick of his wrist, and I’m spread out before him with nowhere to hide. But the anxiety doesn’t have time to fully form because he’s stroking my thighs and kissing a path upward and making me forget my name.
All I can think is—yes, yes, yes. I don’t know what my name is, but that’s his new name—Yes. And when his mouth finally reaches its destination, pleasuring me in a way that has my fingers curling into the sheets, the world seems to disintegrate around me. There’s only his tongue and his lips and the decadent sensation of being consumed one nibble and lick at a time by a man who knows what he’s doing.
Monroe doesn’t rush anything. This isn’t a duty. A step in the checklist. Not like with Caleb, who seemed to think this part of the sex procedure was cumbersome and only for special occasions. This is a man who relishes this privilege.
His lips tease my hot button, making my hips tilt upward, and he slides his finger inside me. It glides in easily, my body clamping around him. I feel like I’ve been aroused for hours. Ever since that first kiss, it’s like my body has been on standby, just waiting—hoping that this would be at the end of the journey. He moves with easy confidence, stroking inside me with one and then two fingers. I feel the pressure building low and fast.
Oh, shit. No, this is too fast. I’m not ready for it to be over yet.
Use your words. But I’m having trouble finding the right ones. “Monroe, wait, I’m going to—”
He pauses for a moment. “I know, princess. That’s the point.”
“But I don’t want it to be done.”
He gazes up at me, lips glistening with my arousal as they curl into a wicked smile. He looks obscene and so fucking gorgeous I can’t stand it. “Over? Not even close, princess. This is just the first one.”
“The first?”
But he’s dipping his head down again and his fingers are curling inside me, rubbing at the perfect spot. I can’t speak anymore. I can’t think. All I can do is feel. Monroe. I go over, losing the battle.
My back arches off the bed, and my fingers lock in his hair. I cry out like a crazy person, the sensations fanning out like the waves of a bomb blast. I can’t even try to be demure or sexy about it. I just freaking lose it. I’m calling his name. I’m begging him to stop, to keep going, to yes, yes, yes. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.