by Brill Harper
She pulls away slowly, and it’s gratifying to see that dazed look has returned. I like putting that there.
I like it too much.
We make our goodbyes after pictures and drive down Bigleaf Lane and back to “town,” parking at her place and walking to the market. I try to imagine myself here long-term if this were really my life. I’d miss things from the city. Sushi. The Apple Store. Fast Wi-Fi. But I don’t miss my commute at all. And while the nightlife is slow and stale here, it’s not like I’m the kind of man who goes clubbing.
It’s a fine day at the market, though. She buys her canned salad fixings. I buy her an enormous bouquet of flowers in the interest of appearances, of course.
She stops and pets every dog we see. I watch her ass while she’s bending over to pet them.
It really is the perfect Sunday.
On the way back to her apartment, we pass a woman pounding a stake and a real estate sign into the lawn of a Victorian house in several shades of Easter egg. I hated that house on sight. Part of me itches to buy it just to paint it one color.
“Oh, I love this house!” Stella exclaims.
Of course, she does. It’s horrifying. It’s obviously well cared for, but an eyesore, nonetheless. “It’s too...complicated,” I say, trying to find the right word. The fussy trim, the color scheme, the protruding spires and bay windows. What is wrong with a nice rectangle in a neutral shade?
“Well, I have always wanted it.” She tells me a story about people I don’t know living in it, then tells me how angry Megan will be that she was not the agent to list it. We both agree that we don’t want to be the ones to tell her and finish walking to her apartment.
As she lays out her salad vegetables and jars, she glances at the bouquet on the counter. “You’ve officially fulfilled your boyfriend obligations for the day, Doctor. You don’t have to stay. Your shift is over.”
A little place inside my gut just hollowed out. “You don’t need help with the ...?” I gesture to the salad bar on her counter.
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve got it under control, thanks. Seriously—I appreciate your willingness to save my reputation today. Goddess knows I can’t manage the thing on my own. But salad I can handle.” She hip-bumps a drawer closed, and my mouth goes dry. I want to grasp those hips, dig my fingers into the skin there and hold her tight. “I know I’ve dragged you into a huge mess. And I know you hate huge messes.” She gets a look I haven’t seen before, and I don’t like it. Contrite doesn’t suit Stella. “I’m afraid that my entire life is pretty much like this. All the time.”
There’s more happening in this conversation than I understand, so I pull my thoughts away from her hips. “Your life is a mess all the time?”
She nods. “Ask anyone.”
I cover her wrist with my hand to stop her from chopping. “I’m asking you.”
Jesus. Her eyes are so blue.
She doesn’t speak for a minute. Just stares into my eyes like she’s trying to communicate something on a radio station I can’t tune in. “Maybe I am. Sometimes...never mind.”
My hand finds her chin. I don’t think I told it to. But I bring her face back to mine. “Sometimes what?”
“I think I have a good life.”
“I think so, too.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Sure, I do. You’re surrounded by friends and family who love you. You have a good job.”
“You don’t think I’m good at my job.”
“I never said that. You don’t do it the way I would. But you have a way with the patients, and Dr. Anderson thinks you walk on water. You seem happy there. It appears to pay your bills. You have a roof over your head. Albeit a crazily decorated one. It’s a good job. A good life.”
She nods. “I do love my job.” She glances around the room. “You don’t like my house?”
“I don’t have to live in it. Where is this insecurity coming from?”
She shrugs. “Anyway, you made your public appearances today. I’m sure there are things you’d rather be doing. There’s probably something in your life that needs alphabetizing or something. So, you can go.”
She’s right. Not about the alphabetizing. But I’ve done what we set out to do today. I’ve fulfilled my bargain. Why am I reluctant to leave?
“I’ll admit a certain curiosity about the jars of salad.”
She smiles, her blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “Well, you start with the salad dressing.” She measures some into a jar and then hands me the bottle and the measuring cup.
“Why the dressing first?”
“It keeps the lettuce from getting soggy if it’s at the bottom because we layer in the harder vegetables as a barrier.” She starts spooning corn into the jars that have dressing. “We are doing a southwest chicken salad this week. I cooked the meat yesterday.” When I’m done with the dressing, she hands me a bowl of peppers and I go in behind the corn. Soon enough, we have a counter full of jarred salad and I’m oddly moved that they are efficient and also...kind of pretty.
Out of nowhere, she says, “Maybe we should break up today.”
Damn it. Damn her. I can’t find a place to step that isn’t treacherous around this woman. I’m up. I’m down. I’m content. I’m irrationally irate. “Why?” I sputter.
See? Irrationally angry. I need to practice my calm breathing.
“We are getting along fine, Stella.” I breathe through my nose, hold for four, and let it out. “Why break up now?”
She loads the dishes into the dishwasher, and I move the jars to the fridge while I wait for her answer.
“I just think it would be easier. And then you don’t have to go to the wedding. And you don’t have to deal with me. Except at work.”
“Are you trying to get out of your end of the bargain?”
Pressing her lips together, she hands me a kitchen towel. It has gold stars on it, of course. “I don’t think we can fool everyone.”
“We fooled them today.”
“Look, Christopher. You’re a nice guy. And today was fun, but it’s not fair to drag you along into my stupid lie.” She hangs the towel back up. “We don’t have enough in common to pull it off for very long. There’s no way you would put up with someone like me unless we were madly crazy about each other. People are going to notice we don’t have that kind of spark.”
I raise my eyebrows at that. Has she forgotten the kiss in the bar last night? “You are kidding me, right?”
“Look, everyone who knows me knows that this is the Year of Stella.”
“Right. No dating. But you already broke your resolution. They already know you’re dating me.”
“But they also know that it would have to be special. That I’d have to be swept off my feet. I don’t think we can pull that off.”
I’m a quiet man. I’m a patient man. But I am a man, and I’m pretty sure she just took a shot at my ego. “You don’t think we can pull that off,” I repeat quietly, calmly, taking off my glasses. I bracket my arms around her, trapping her between me and the counter. “You’re worried that I can’t sweep you off your feet.”
Those big blue eyes widen at me. “You’re too well-mannered. Too controlled. No one will believe—”
I interrupt her by kissing her neck.
“What are you doing?”
I lick a path to her ear and draw her lobe into my mouth.
“Christopher?”
“Hmm?”
Her breath catches. “I asked you what you were doing?”
I sink both my hands into her hair, holding the back of her head and move my kisses to her mouth, drawing that candied bottom lip into mine. She groans and returns my kiss, and I slide gently into the most glorious high. I want more. Now. I can’t stop myself.
“Christopher!”
I pull back. “Tell me again. Tell me how well-mannered and controlled I am.”
Something is pushing at the door to my sanity. I think it’s a battering ram. The hinges are rattling and
one more good shove and I’m out of my skull. And it’s not even Stella doing it. The crazy is coming from inside the house. I’m throwing off my own chains. I can’t stop. And I don’t want to.
Stella’s breath is shallow, her eyes a little wild. I’m still holding her head. My body is pressed against all her luscious curves, and the battering ram inside me is pulled back for one last blow.
And she knows it. She studies me. I see the moment she decides to push. “There’s nothing wrong with being in control. Having manners.” She licks her lips, and I feel it on my cock. “It’s just that you wouldn’t know what to do with someone like me. You can’t handle me.”
And just like that—I break free.
I hope she’s ready.
Chapter Eleven
Stella
Goddess, Christopher kisses like a dream.
It doesn’t even make sense. I know this is all wrong. I was trying to set him free—why is he kissing me?
His hand grasps my ass and we both groan. “God, Stella. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”
I swipe my hands under his sensible polo shirt. I don’t want him to think or be able to breathe. I want him just like this—hot and manic and mine.
His skin is smooth, but underneath is all hard muscle. I want to see what I’m touching, so I start bunching his shirt up, frustrated that it won’t come off his body without us separating. He reaches back and pulls it over his head, throwing it behind him.
Christopher is a work of art. He’s chiseled with round, hard muscles. I trace my hands over his pecs, down his sides, and back up. I want to rub against him like a cat. I want to feel that soft, springy chest hair against my breasts. I want him inside me. I want to somehow touch him everywhere at once. I lean down and tongue one flat nipple and am rewarded with the best out-of-control growl of pleasure I’ve ever heard.
And then he’s wrenching the fabric of my dress up.
“Zipper’s in the back,” I say, and then the dress pools around my ankles. I can see the images in his mind cross his eyes. The things he wants to do to me. I’m on board. I am so on board.
“You’re amazing,” he tells me. And for now, I’m going to believe him. I feel warm and more alive inside my body than I’ve ever been. He slows down, running his hand reverently over my bra, down my side, and over my matching midnight blue panties. “Even your underwear has stars.”
“Take them off me.”
His eyes heat as he unwraps me so I’m standing naked in my kitchen in front of the hungriest man I’ve ever seen.
“This body has been driving me crazy for weeks.” He turns me around and places each of my hands on the counter, one at a time. “Don’t move,” he whispers into my ear.
I shiver.
He uses his hands and his mouth all over my spine, the back of my neck, the sides of my torso. He’s creating erogenous zones where there weren’t any before. I grind back against him, wishing he would go faster and thankful that he isn’t.
I try to turn, to get closer to him, but he forces my hands back to the counter. “I said don’t move.” The unexpected order, gruff and low, followed by a feather-light kiss in the middle of my spine is too much. The cry of desperation I’d been holding in bursts out. “That’s right,” he says. “That’s a good girl.”
That should have made me cringe, but instead, I beg. I don’t even know what for. I just keen with pleasure and longing.
He places his hands on top of my shoulders and presses his chest into my back. We both hiss at the contact. It’s so potent, so good. My nerves are slam-dancing against my skin. His arms come around me, pulling me tightly into him. I think I could come, just from this. From the sparks wherever we are touching.
His cock is pushing against me, still confined in his pants. I’m trying to live in the moment, memorize how he’s brought me from zero to molten so quickly, so surely. But I want him.
I want him bad.
I try pushing into him harder to get more contact, but he stills me. “I’m in control, Stella.”
“We’ll see,” I answer. “Turn me around and we’ll see.”
He chuckles against my ear but does what I ask.
I watch his face as he takes in my breasts, and it’s the most gratifying moment of my life so far. I was already so gone, so needy. But seeing his control crack doubles the sensation.
All that power always trapped beneath his cold control is rising to the surface of his skin, radiating out in hot waves that will pull like an undertow. I want to drown in his desire, breathe it into my lungs until there’s no room for air, just him. The tattoo on my chest gets traced lightly with one finger while his eyes darken to near black.
He cups me where I ache the most, dipping his finger into the moisture already there. “Sexy.” He leaves that finger there and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking until my knees start to give out. He lavishes me with long, slow kisses on each nipple, alternating until I feel like I’ll catch fire, his finger stroking me almost carelessly. Not enough to bring me off, but enough to remind me he’s in there.
I reach for his waistband.
Before I understand what is happening, he’s flipped me back to facing the counter. When I try to move, he pins me in place. “I’m not done.”
“Well, I should hope not. Let me help.”
“I don’t think so.” He holds me in place with one arm while petting my ass with his other hand. “I’m going to like making you come, Stella.”
I like hearing him talk so raw. A lot.
“I’m going to like it so much, you’re going to do it again. And again.”
“Okay,” I whisper. As if I have a choice.
He pushes against my ass and grinds against me hard. “God, it’s going to feel so good to sink into you.”
He cups me again, tugging all my awareness to my core. “You’re so wet for me, Stella. All for me.” He starts stroking and I’m losing my mind as I try to push into his hand. I need more pressure, but he’s teasing. Holding back. He’s still in control.
Oh, hell no. I want him as crazy as he’s making me. I want this man turned inside out. “Take me, Christopher.” He stills. “I want to feel you inside me. I need it.” He bites my shoulder gently, but firmly.
He shudders and uses his free hand to clutch my stomach, squeezing me like he can’t get enough of my flesh to please him. But he’s still fighting. He still wants to hold on to the damn reins. I don’t want his careful reserve. His sober prudence. I want him bold and frenzied. I want him to call lightning from the sky like a god and take me.
“Do you want me to beg, Christopher?”
“Yes.”
I smile. “Please fuck me. I need it. I need you. I—”
I don’t get the rest out. Christopher bites my shoulder, harder this time, then pushes me across the counter.
“What you need is for me to show you what I mean by I’m in control here. Hold on to the edge and don’t let go.”
I don’t even think. Just do what he says. I have to stretch on tiptoe to do it, and the countertop is hard and cold on my chest.
“You can’t just tell me what to do,” I blurt out, surprising even myself.
“Stella, do you like teasing me? Getting under my skin? Generally being a brat?”
“Well, duh. Yes.”
I hear the smack on my ass more than I feel it. It’s so shocking. All the blood leaves my face. Nobody has ever done that to me before. I’m not sure how I should feel about it.
“Do you know what happens to brats?” he murmurs directly into my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive lobe. I shudder with pleasure. Without waiting for a response, he delivers another.
That one stings more than the first. A low moan escapes from my lips, but I can’t tell if it’s from pain or pleasure. I settle on a mix of both.
“Are you still feeling bratty?”
“Again. Duh, yes.”
“Bad girl,” he growls in my ear before another jolting smack. I let out another moan as I f
eel the moisture seep from between my legs. “So pink. So pretty.”
I whimper. I want more. What is wrong with me? Each smack of his hand gets just a bit harder until both my cheeks are left with a pleasant dull ache. He alternates between spanking and soothing with gentle caresses, keeping me off balance. My breaths come in hard gasps, but damned if I don’t hold on to the counter just like he told me to. My body is quivering all over and I want to touch him so badly, but I don’t want him to stop either.
He eases me back on my feet and turns me to face him. He trails hot kisses over my breasts, down my stomach, moaning as he goes lower and lower until he’s on his knees in front of me. He uses his shoulders to spread my legs wide.
“Keep your eyes on me, Stella. I want to see those beautiful blue eyes when you come in my mouth.”
My Goddess. Christopher is full of demanding surprises. Liquid heat courses through my veins. Guess what else Devon never did? I shudder in pure anticipation of what is to come. He lifts his amused gaze to mine, a sinfully sexy smirk playing across his lips. I watch, fascinated, as his mouth slowly lowers to my damp folds, his eyes trained on mine the entire time. He begins with gentle flicks, teasing one lip, then the other, never delving between them to where I need him most. Next come long, languid licks, twirling around my clit, but never on it.
He reaches up and takes my hand in his, linking our fingers, then slowly flicks the tip of his tongue against my clit, kissing it sensually using his tongue and lips.
The sweetness of holding hands is overwhelming, but the pleasure is nearly unbearable. And then it gets even worse as he thumbs my clit and brings his tongue down, thrusting that naughty tongue inside me while he plays my clit like it is an instrument made for him. It's too much...the sensations are overwhelming, but it’s his eyes that are undoing me. Watching them grow darker, filled with lust and desire. I can’t take it and let go with a silent scream.
Look at that. He finally got me to shut up.
He holds me through the aftershocks and then I’m back on my kitchen counter. “I want to see that pretty ass again.”