by Karr, Kim
My heart rate spikes with an excitement that is hard to control. “You nailed it, Keen Masters,” I admit, dropping my gaze to the rim of my coffee cup.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I really want to say I know I did, but instead I’ll just say thank you.”
I give him a shake of my head and take another forkful of cake, mixing the two.
Keen smiles as he watches me. His thumb moves back and forth against the inner skin of my wrist, and makes me melt a little more with each touch. When I look up after another bite, I notice his smile is sad. “To answer your question, I have a hate/hate relationship with my mother. And if you asked any of the dozen or so shrinks from my childhood, they would say I don’t trust women. Me, on the other hand, I say we’re all dealt a deck of cards called life, and we have to learn to play with the hand we’re holding.”
I blink. Shocked by his candidness. Shocked that he’s admitting this to me. Shocked that he feels this way toward Emma Fairchild. “Keen, I don’t know what to say. I just assumed you and Brooklyn both got along with your mother. In fact, I thought she had to be the reason you two were so close, since you were raised so far apart.”
“There’s nothing to say. It’s complete bullshit.” He drops hold of my hand and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, sliding out an American Express card and setting it inside the holder in the black billfold. The waiter is quick to retrieve it.
With the billfold out of the way, I reach over and grab his hand. “What is complete bullshit?”
His laugh is harsh and cold. “My relationship with my mother. She is not the reason my brother and I are close. It’s my father who made certain we saw each other. He’d fly Brooklyn out to see me, make the phone calls every week so we could talk, arrange for him to meet us on vacations. Fuck, I think my father was more of a father to Brooklyn than his own.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Like I said, you work with the cards you’re dealt.”
“But life isn’t one giant poker game, Keen.”
“Isn’t it?”
I sip at my coffee and contemplate this. “You know, in some small way you just might be right.”
“It’s all or nothing, Maggie, all or nothing.”
I study him. His expression is impassive. The mask in place. “Is that how you feel about you and me?”
He whispers without hesitation, “After everything I put you through, and the fact that you’re sitting here with me right now, I have to say that I honestly have no fucking clue.”
I laugh, and say something so not me. “Me either, but I want to find out.”
“Me too,” he answers. Taking his credit card back that the waiter has just returned, he pushes to his feet. Then he walks over to me, pulling my chair out and offering his hand. I take it and suddenly I am pressed against him, his fingers kneading into the skin beneath my top, and his mouth at my ear whispering, “Let’s go.”
There is a slight crackle in the air, a subtle tension that screams to be released. I look into his eyes and see a reflection of exactly what I am feeling.
Need.
Desire.
And hope.
It’s the last one that will either topple both our walls or crumble them.
28
SWEETER THAN FICTION
Maggie
At ten years old, this house isn’t old and isn’t new.
It has its issues, though.
The lock sticks. There is a trick to getting the key to slide in just right.
No pun intended.
I’ve told my mother about it. It doesn’t seem to bother her. Then again, I spend more time here than she does. She hasn’t come home much since moving back to New York City last year.
In fact, lately, I feel like I own two houses—this one and the beach bungalow in Laguna.
I fiddle with the lock but don’t seem to be able to make much progress with Keen’s hands on my hips, his body pressed against mine, and his mouth buried in my neck.
The car ride back to my mother’s house was done with the radio off. Hard to believe. Instead of listening to music we talked about everything light, as opposed to the heavy conversation at the restaurant.
He put the top down and turned the heater on.
I’d say it was romantic, but I don’t usually think in those terms. Besides, I think he probably does that often. I don’t mean with a girl, but whenever he drives at night. He seems to really enjoy it.
With the night stars above us, he took the long way home, and we discussed silly things like how basketball is his favorite sport and if he could be anything in this world, he’d be an NBA star. How Makayla and I despised cheerleaders in high school and used to write our own cheers, about them.
Eventually the conversation turned to more serious things. He told me why he had to shut everyone out of his life when he was fired, about his father dying of a sudden heart attack at sixty, and his need to succeed in life for him. And in turn I told him about Makayla’s mother dying and her moving in with my mother and me as a teenager.
Me fumbling at the door is becoming very familiar. He bites at my earlobe, and bolts of pleasure are spreading electric tingles that start somewhere in the vicinity of my belly and quickly move lower.
I turn. “Stop it, I can’t concentrate.”
“I can’t stop. I want you.”
“What makes you think I’m inviting you in past the front door? Good-night kiss, remember?”
“Screw that, I’m coming in.” His voice is hoarse, raspy, and makes my knees go weak.
“You’re pretty certain of yourself.”
Keen whirls me around. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I breathe in.
I breathe out.
“I can’t.”
Our eyes lock, and it’s right then that he takes hold of the back of my neck and brings my mouth to his in the most passionate way. His straining cock pushes against the denim of my jeans and I can’t help myself. “Oh, God, can you please get the door open?”
Keen shudders. Opens his eyes. Leans back. Licks his lips. Blinks.
I hold my breath.
And then that very annoying smirk crosses his lips. He cups his ear. “What did you say?”
I say nothing.
He doesn’t move.
What is this—a game of chicken?
I still say nothing.
When he leans toward me smelling so good, I think I might lose my mind.
I stare at him and breathe him in.
He’s still cupping his ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“Please,” I say at last. “Please…”
He has my keys in his hands before I can finish asking him nicely, and he has my door unlocked with the both of us standing on the other side before I catch my breath.
In less than three quick movements, he closes the door and locks it, then turns around and actually takes a minute to look around. “This place is really fantastic.”
My imagination is running wild and although I know it, I can’t seem to stop it. I imagine Keen and me naked in the forty-eight-foot saltwater pool fucking, me leaning back on the tiered platform stairs to the kitchen and his face buried in my pussy, him clinging to the tile of the ultra-secluded master bathroom, which opens to a private courtyard. “It is. My mother did a fantastic job. She has an eye for design.”
The staircase is within my sight. And it leads to the loft, which leads to my bedroom. Feeling a little desperate for him, I take his hand and tug him along. My room overlooks the Hollywood Hills and the pool. It’s the only view that comes close to comparing to that of the ocean.
Curling my fingers around his, I can feel his rough calluses and remember instantly how good they feel against my body, and can’t wait to be naked with him.
We walk, me leading him.
Him following.
After a step or two, his lips brush my earlobe. His breath is so intense it pushes at a few stray tendr
ils of my hair. And that’s all it takes for my entire body to light up like a million shining stars. His presence, plain and simple, drives me wild—into a frenzy of need that only he can make me feel.
Just before hitting the landing, I turn around and look at him. My shudder of breath echoes in the loft space and my lips barely move as I whisper to him how I feel. “I want you, Keen, and I think you should know, you were getting in my pants even if I hated the restaurant, which I absolutely loved by the way.”
Looking rather smug, Keen doesn’t waste any time with words. He moves against me so there is nothing for me to do but let his mouth press to mine. The kiss is short and sweet, so unlike his usual kisses, and then he breaks away, eyes closed, not moving more than a breath from me. Close enough that I can see the fringe of his dark lashes.
His hands move over my breast, belly, hips. One centers on my lower back as the other cups the back of my neck. His tongue, seeking mine again, strokes me.
I don’t have time to count even a heartbeat before he is kissing me again, harder, rougher, more intense. This time as my mouth opens, I slide my hands up and over his firm chest to link behind his neck.
We kiss until we are breathless, and once neither of us can breathe, he whispers in my ear, “I think you should know, the things I want to do to you have only multiplied since last night.”
I swallow, my pulse racing. “Tell me.”
He steps around me, leaving me, and finishes leading us up to the landing. Over his shoulder, he casually tosses, “I’m going to rub the head of my cock back and forth over your clit until you’re dripping wet for me.”
I can’t move. I’m under his spell. I grip the railing for stability, although I know he’d never let me fall.
And then with a slight tug, I’m up against his hard body on the top of the landing and he’s breathing more hot, filthy words against my ear. “Back and forth, so slow it drives you crazy. I’m going to tease you until you beg me to fuck you.”
With a slight step back, I bite my lip and ease us toward my bedroom. “I don’t beg.”
He takes my hand and puts it on the front of his jeans. On his cock, thick and hard beneath the denim, and oh, God, I think I just might beg.
His gruff voice breathes into the darkness. “Did you receive the text I sent you earlier?”
My eyes dart to my purse at the bottom of the stairs where my phone is. He could easily pull it out and look. “I did.”
“Anndd?” He stretches the word out, rubbing my palm back and forth over his erection.
I gasp at the feel of him. “I don’t take orders well.”
“In the future, I’d like to be acknowledged.” His hand brings mine lower, low enough to curl my fingers around the bulge of his balls.
My sigh is soft, and I know he’s right. I’d be pissed as hell if he didn’t answer my text. “In the future,” I repeat, wondering if I might laugh, and trying really hard not to, “I will answer your texts, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do what you demand all the time.”
He moves forward. I move back. When we stop again, he rubs my palm along the ridge of his hard cock, and I moan so loud, it makes him smile. “I ask, I don’t demand.”
“No, you don’t,” I breathe.
He moves forward again. I move back in stride.
“My room is at the end of the hall, and in there you can find out if I went braless,” I inform him.
His voice dips to a low rumble, making it gravelly and irresistible. “I already know you did. I’ve been staring at your gorgeous nipples all night.”
Feeling a bit like I’m on a cloud, I start to move faster.
He follows, slowly. Like a predator stalking his prey.
Watching him as his entirely too hot, too sexy body prowls my way makes my pulse zing. I can practically feel the air sizzle with each step we take.
I open my door, walking backward. He follows, walking forward. I step toward my bed, still moving backward. He closes the distance between us.
“Take your top off.” The demand liquefies my insides.
I fight to keep my control, but find myself pulling my top over my head.
He sucks in a breath. “Now your jeans and panties.”
I shake my head no, and in the process end up falling onto the bed. “Why should I do your work?”
He reaches the bed and places his palms on either side of me, leaning forward. “Because I need to see you naked again before I fuck you. Hard and fast.”
If I hadn’t already been wet, I am now, and any semblance of calm and cool I have been putting forward quickly diminishes. My lips part, my breathing hitches, and my nipples peak. I am, without a doubt, 100 percent turned on.
Keen straightens, takes a step back, and lowers his eyes in a lustful way. “Now, once again, stand up and take your jeans off and then your panties.”
His demand completely obliterates my resolve to be the one in control this time around. Still, I really do not take orders well.
His gaze roams my body. “Maggie, let me see you again. I can’t stand it,” he growls.
Goose bumps rise on my flesh, and I know it is hopeless to even pretend I am not going to do what he asks. Because God help me, I am.
You would too, and you know it.
With those eyes blazing and watching my every move, I stand up and toe my Converse off. Naked from the waist up, I unbutton my jeans. Then, as his eyes grow even more lustful, I slide them from my hips, and then remove my panties.
“Oh, fuck, you are just as beautiful as I remember. Do you know that?”
Under his gaze I feel beautiful. Still, I say nothing.
He sucks in a breath. “Tell me you know how beautiful you are.”
“I know you think I’m beautiful.”
“Not just me, Maggie. Every man that looks at you.”
I meet his stare, and nod.
“Sit back down,” he commands.
“Okay,” I whisper with a thrill as I sit on my bed. Arousal makes me hot and I wish I had turned the fan on.
“That’s it,” he says, stepping toward me with that rock-hard body of his.
While I wait for him to pounce, my whole body feels like a furnace—that’s how hot I am for him.
He slides his hands up my thighs and my pulse races.
I reach up to steal a kiss, but he pulls back.
Chewing on his lip, he stares down at my naked body. “Take your finger and circle it over your clit. Just a few times. Not too much.”
Now, I’ve openly admitted to being a sexpot, but I do not take orders from men well, or I didn’t. With him, I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of okay with it.
Do.
Not.
Tell.
I flash him a heated smile. “No need. I’m already wet.”
“Do it anyway,” he demands.
My heart races. This is about control. This means giving up all of my control. And I’m not quite sure I’m ready for that, so instead, I stand up.
His eyes flare. “Maggie.”
I meet his hungry gaze and turn the tables. “Sit down.”
He narrows his eyes at me.
I swallow, and then point toward the bed.
His lips quirk up in bemusement.
I keep my finger pointed. “I mean it.” I’m not quite sure how this is going to go down, so it surprises me when he actually lowers himself onto the bed.
Perhaps, in hindsight, I should have seen control would be an issue for us. But then again, it is my turn to take control. “Unzip your pants.”
He gives me a sly grin that makes him look more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “I think you should do that.”
I shake my head.
“Are you sure this is the way you want to play it?”
I swallow. I’m not sure if it is, but decide why not. “Yes,” I reply sternly. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. This is fun. A lot of fun.
He unzips his jeans and his long, thick cock juts out.
Ho
ly hell, he isn’t wearing underwear.
I lick my lips at the sight.
He looks down, his gaze darkening, and then he begins stroking himself.
Wait! That’s my job!
My internal muscles clench as I watch, mesmerized by the picture before me.
I approach, ready to pounce.
“Don’t touch,” he warns.
“What?”
“No touching.” His head tips back as his stroking becomes more aggressive.
I make a noise that might have been a growl when he starts thrusting his cock into his fist. My pulse quickens and my clit pulses in perfect harmony.
Keen flicks his glance toward me. “This feels good . . . but you’d feel so much better.”
Damn him.
I can’t hold out any longer. I sit beside him on my bright yellow comforter in my bright yellow room that has never had a man inside it and start touching myself. Of all the boyfriends I’ve had, all the lovers I’ve taken, the many men I’ve fucked, I’ve never brought one back to this house.
Never.
So intent on watching me, Keen’s own stroking has stopped.
“That’s it,” he says, and then within seconds takes my hand and puts my fingers in his mouth. “I’ve been dying to taste you again since you left me alone in that hotel room.”
“Oh, God,” I moan. Loud. Remembering that night. So loud, in fact, I might have screamed it.
Before I know it, he’s tearing open a condom, rolling it on, and tugging me onto his lap.
Bracing myself, I put my hands on his shoulders to straddle his legs with mine.
He looks down at our bodies and then lifts his head up. Gone is any amusement on his face. All that is left is pure lust. “I’ve been thinking about this since last night,” he whispers. “I wanted to fuck you on Jordan’s desk last night, not in the hall, so that I could see you, look at you, watch you come, but I knew we shouldn’t.”
I lean in and kiss him. “No, he wouldn’t have liked that. He has everything organized on his desk.”
“I know. I saw that.” Keen nips at my lip.
Without another word, I position myself over the broad, blunt head of his cock and ease my way down.