For A Good Time, Call... (7 page)

“Oh,
no,” I said, sounding serious. He turned around, brows drawn
down. “I don't think I can handle something that complicated. I
might... chip a nail or something,” I added, reaching in the
drawer for a knife. “So what are you making?”

“We,”
he corrected. “are making fettuccine alfredo with tomatoes,
broccoli, and mushrooms.”

As
little as a half an hour, we were both sitting on my sofa in the
living room, some random comedy he brought over in the DVD player,
heaping plates of pasta on our laps. He had even brought drinks for
us. Lemonade. Because we were eleven.

I
had to admit, the food was probably the best I had had in months. And
it really hadn't taken all that much effort to prepare either. Maybe
cooking was a habit I could pick up after all. Hunter finished his
food in a flourish, then reached over and started stealing the
tomatoes off my plate. “Not a fan, huh?” he asked,
popping one in his mouth.

I
scrunched up my nose. “They look like they'd be delicious. But
then you see the insides and squishy and seedy and... no.”

Hunter
laughed, shaking his head. “So... how is this going so far?
With the not going out thing?”

I
glanced at the clock, it was barely eight. I had another eight hours
to kill if I wanted to get through the night without more scars to
feel embarrassed about. “So far so good.” I glanced at
the two other DVDs he had brought. “That isn't going to do it.”

He
shrugged a shoulder. “There are other things to kill the time,”
he said and I knew what the suggestion was. And I knew that I needed
to nip it in the bud.

“What?
Braid each others hair and play MASH?”

“Sure,”
he said, grinning a little. “I don't think I would end up in a
mansion though.” I knew I must have given him a look because he
smiled. “I had a lot of female friends in grade school.”

“Sure
you did,” I said, sending him a disbelieving look. “I
think it was just you under the covers with a flashlight praying you
ended up with Billy, not John.”

He
ignored everything I said. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Don't
we know each other well enough for neighbors?” I asked instead,
watching the TV. But he just patiently stared at me until I gave in.
“A brother,” I told him knowing there was venom in my
tone.

“Sore
spot?”

I
snorted, reaching for my lemonade. “You'd have a hard time not
finding a sore spot.”

He
looked down for a second, but came up with a devilish look in his
eyes. “I think I found a spot earlier that wasn't sore.”

Little
did he know. I took a quick breath. “Hmm?” I asked. Feign
ignorance. Nothing happened. Nothing was going to happen.

One
of his eyebrows raised and I knew he knew what game we were in the
midst of. “What? Need a little refresher?” he asked,
leaning forward.

“Wasn't
that good the first time, Casanova,” I said, reaching for both
of our plates and walking into the kitchen. It was going to be a long
night if we were going to keep being close and not touching. And we
absolutely, positively would not be touching. I scraped the plates
and walked to the sink wishing I had the foresight to turn down his
offer of hanging out. I really couldn't see this working out in the
long run.

I
mean... how many movies can you really sit still and watch in a row?

I
heard him get up and walk to the bathroom. I exhaled the breath I had
been holding until I remembered...

There
was a loud, deep chuckle from behind the closed door and I brought my
hands up to my face, touching my too-hot cheeks and closing my eyes
against the knowledge of why he was laughing.

My
vibrator was still in the sink where I left it.

Holy
fuck.

After
I just told him the first kiss wasn't good.

Way
to go, Fiona. You totally just lost the game. And made a complete
fool of yourself. Good job. I heard the door creak open and quickly
turned the water on in the sink, rinsing the plates off. Ignoring his
lingering presence in the doorway. Silently praying to a God that I
didn't believe in that he wouldn't bring it up.

Please,
please let him have a little tact.

By
the time I had washed and dried the dishes, carefully stacked them
away, I felt enough time had passed that he wasn't going to say
anything. It would fall flat after so long. So I turned back around,
face calm, pretending I wasn't dying a little bit inside.

His
face was blank for a excruciatingly long moment. And then he pulled
his hand from behind his back and there in his hands, in all of its
bright purple glory, was my vibrator.

If
there was a devil, I wanted him to rip a hole in the Earth right that
moment and drag me into hell. I would rather spend all of eternity
having hot pokers stabbed into my eyes by Hitler than have to face
the man in my kitchen with my vibrator in his hand.

He
opened his mouth to say something and I knew it was my chance to try
to save at least a little dignity. I just needed to speak first. “For
you?” I asked, trying to sound calm, breezy. “I probably
would suggest a cock ring. But if you're dead set on the vibrator
thing, I think a less... thick one would probably be best. I believe
the ass can be a rather painful place to stick things that size.”

“So
does this guy just... live in the sink?” he asked as if I
hadn't even spoken, a habit I was finding incredibly infuriating. “Or
maybe you were a little more impressed with our little kiss than you
had let on.”

Little?
Little kiss? More like earth-shattering, knee-knocking kiss. But he
wasn't going to know that. “Don't flatter yourself,” I
said, rolling my eyes.

His
eyes darkened, the half-teasing smile slipping from his lips and
setting them in a firm line. Somehow he was sexier when he wasn't
smiling. Which wasn't right. “Come here,” he said, his
tone deep, firm.

No.
Nope. No way in hell. I was not, was absolutely not going to walk
over there. Except that, even as I was thinking that, my feet were
carrying me over toward him. Just when I was within a foot of him, he
turned and walked toward the living room. Expecting me to follow
behind like a little lost puppy. Which I wasn't going to do. I was a
strong, independent, no bullshit woman. I wasn't going to do it.

Except
I was. Into my living room, onto the cushion next to him which he
patted very much like you do for a fucking dog. But I sat right down,
looking at the TV which was on the home screen of the movie, playing
the same fifteen seconds over and over. The most annoying loop in
creation.

He
just sat there silently, my vibrator still in his hand like it was
something as innocuous as a remote control instead of something I
routinely pressed up against my naughty bits. Each second that passed
made my body get more tense, my thoughts raced from here to there and
back a hundred times.

“Hey
Fee,” he finally said, quiet, almost like a question.

I
turned to face him automatically and found him a lot closer than I
thought he was. His free hand snaked around to the back of my neck,
massaging for a second before grabbing it and pulling me forward.

This
kiss was different. Slower. Lighter. Lingering. I felt the tension
slip out of my shoulders as his lips whispered across mine, touching,
retreating, then pressing again a little harder. I turned my body
toward his and the hand at my neck pulled me closer until our chests
were touching. I fisted my hands in the couch cushions, my lips
begging for more than he was giving me.

He
pressed his body forward, until I felt myself sinking backward
against the fabric of the couch. His body followed mine, his hand
slipping off my neck to brace his weight off of me. His head tilted
and his lips moved slowly down toward my neck, touching my skin
softly, making me arch up into him. My head fell back, giving him
full access, my eyes closing. His hand grabbed at the collar of my
shirt, pulling it to the side so he could kiss along my clavicle.

I
nearly found my O right then and there, his lips pressed into the dip
of my collarbone. I felt my hips thrust upward toward his, needing
the relief like I had never needed anything before. A strange
strangled whimper escaped my lips and he pulled upward, sitting back
a d off of me. His hand went toward my crotch, reaching for the
zipper.

I
nearly flew off the couch. Like someone had dropped a bomb. Like
there was another person in my head screaming out “NO!”
as loud as their lungs could allow. He couldn't unzip my jeans.
Because if he unzipped my jeans, he would reach in. And if he reached
in, he would feel them. The scars. And if I was particularly unlucky,
he would see what they spelled out.

If
my life had taught me anything, it was that I was very, very unlucky.

My
hand slammed down on his, but my words caught in my throat. Caught
somewhere between mortification and desire, my voice and brain and
body couldn't decide what to say.

His
eyes went to mine, heavy with desire for a moment before he
registered the panic. “No?” he asked, watching my face. I
shook my head emphatically side to side. “Okay,” he said,
leaning forward again, taking my lips, slowly, patiently stoking my
desire to a point where it pushed past the worry.

Then
I felt it. His other hand had moved, sliding my vibrator up my leg
and placing it between my thighs. It just sat there for a minute,
making my body tense in anticipation. Making me feel suspended in a
indescribable nothingness for a second. He lifted his head from mine,
his blue eyes opening slowly as he quickly flicked my vibrator on.

My
legs shot out, one of them slamming into his hip in the process. My
arms reached out, grabbing the front of his shirt and holding on like
my life depended on it.

Where
was this feeling earlier?

But
if I were being honest, it had never felt like this when I had taken
care of myself before. Maybe it was his presence that was making my
thighs shake and my back arch up off the couch. Maybe it was Hunter
that made me feel like the only thing that existed in the world was
the sensations he was giving to me.

I
moaned and it was nothing like the moaning I did for work. It was
nothing like the exaggerated, screaming sound of ecstasy I faked for
the callers. This was a hushed, desperate sound.

“Does
that feel good, sugar?” he asked, his own voice a husky timbre.

“Yes,”
I cried out, twisting my hands into his shirt. God, I was close
already.

“How
about this?” he asked, started to move the vibrator in circles.

My
thighs clamped around his waist, my fingers dug into his skin beneath
his shirt. I guess it was the change in tempo, but all that was
coming out of me was strangled noises.

“Come
for me, baby,” he urged. “Just let go.”

And,
with that, I did. A fast, frantic throbbing deep inside that had me
crying out loudly, springing up and burying my face in his neck as my
body shuddered. He kept working the vibrator in circles, drawing
every last second out of the already completely overwhelming orgasm.

I
kept my face buried in his skin, breathing in his sawdust and soap
smell, blinking furiously at the tears I noticed had found their ways
to my eyes. The vibrator shut off and I struggled to slow my
breathing.

“Well,”
he said, taking a deep breath. “that killed twenty minutes.”

I
shot backward, my eyes wide. When I saw the smirk on his face, I
broke off into a fit of giggles. Literally. Like... school girl
giggles. I wasn't a giggly kind of girl. But there I was on my couch
in my living room, a hulking man above me, a vibrator still pressing
into my thigh, and I was curling onto my side with a hand over my
mouth, laughing.

“Now
all we have to do is do that... twenty or so more times and we will
be seeing the sun,” he added, moving up off me and onto his
side of the couch.

If
we did that twenty more times, I would be seeing the face of God. I
pushed myself back into a seated position, my legs feeling heavy and
wobbly as I placed them on the floor in front of me. Hunter silently
got up and slipped another movie into the player, placing the
vibrator in the middle of the coffee table as if that was a totally
normal place for it, before he settled back in.

A
few hours later, I felt my eyes getting intolerable tired. Checking
the clock, I noticed it was barely past two in the morning. Which
wasn't possible. There was no way I was so bone deep tired at two in
the morning. I pulled my legs up on the couch, turning slightly to
the side so my face could rest against the back cushion. No, I
couldn't be tired. But I was. My eyes fought against the heaviness
for a long time and I felt my head falling forward, then jerking it
back, trying to stay awake. I needed to stay awake. Just a few more
hours. I could make it a few more hours.

My
head fell forward again and I pulled it back, my eyes finding
Hunter's on my face. “It's okay,” he said quietly, his
eyes looking a little heavy too. “I'll stay. Until the sun
comes up. I'll stay. You can sleep.”