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There’s that word again, love, that he so easily tossed out as if it were a given. He loved her, but would that be for a month, a year? How long would he love her? Could she endure losing another person who loved her? She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s just…”
She let out a shocked gasp as he lunged forward into her space, cupping the back of her neck, snaking the other hand around her waist, before jerking her into him. He sucked in a deep breath, his mouth merely a whisper from her lips. She could feel his hot breath on her chin as his hand positioned her face upward. His scowl was somewhere between rage and heat. Yet his voice was somber, as if every ounce of control he possessed right now was channeled through the slow, methodical way he spoke. “It doesn’t matter to you, but it does to me. What does it cost you to wait five seconds, five goddamn seconds, to appease me?”
She opened her mouth defiantly, prepared to lecture him, but he captured her lips with his mouth, firmly kissing them, then yanked back, his eyes boring into her, but she saw the twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth as he said, “Do get five seconds, can you give me that so I can open a damn door, that’s all I...” His daring eyes made her stomach drop, the electricity between them palpable, sparking an idea in her head. She knew exactly how to redirect this night, to end up untangling each other’s bodies, not each other’s hearts. That was easier.
“Yes, five seconds, not a second more or,” she murmured, the corner of her lips twisting into a smirk, wondering if it was always like this when you cared about someone—more difficult, more fraught with misunderstandings—or was it just the two of them?
“I swear,” he grumbled, bending to kiss her as she snickered into his mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Settling in her apartment, I poured us each a glass of wine and some water as I grappled with how to approach her about her dad. Distracted, I turned on the fireplace, plopping down on the couch. “Hey,” I said to her back, “let's chill for a minute.”
She twirled toward me, a wide smile consuming her face as she pranced past me like she was on stage performing. “You could use a bit of wine. It’ll help you calm down.” She fucking winked at me with that comment. What would help me calm down would be my hand heating up that ass of yours. So proud I was able to keep that in my thought bubble.
Taking a long sip, I said, “Yep, wine is exactly what I need.”
She dimmed the recessed lights. “I think I have something else that will help with your tension. Give me a second to change. I'll be right back,” she chided like a preschool teacher to a naughty boy.
Help my tension? Wow, what a brazen thing to say. My tension! “Yeah, okay,” I said, taking a slow breath in through my nose, letting it ease from my mouth, still unsure of my tactic to guide her into this conversation.
My dad’s words waved in my mind like letters drawn in the air by a plane: “One choice: empathy.” Sipping my wine, I thought about his message, his tone, his body language. God, I sucked at this. I just wanted to be direct and make sure she understood that she should have already told me something so central to her life. Memories of my dad holding my mom when she was upset, the way he’d been able to deliver a hard message to me or my sisters even when he’d been angry. We all knew love directed him, so our hearts and minds were open to his words. I needed to be like my father right now.
I laid my head back on the couch, blankly staring at the ceiling, popping up when I heard her throat clearing. Then, with a sultry murmur, she cooed, “Hey, birthday boy.” She sounded all Mae West-like, raking her eye tooth over her bottom lip in that way I loved, her eyes focused as she watched me sit forward, swallowing a gulp of wine. My eyes snagged on the black leather and lace one-piece teddy draped by an open black, short silk robe, and—to send my crotch into pure mania—she wore black stiletto heels, her lips doused with red lipstick, which she typically didn’t wear. It was all a ploy to distract me. I recognized it, but damn if I didn’t wanna just abandon my plan to delve into her past, connect with her…blah, blah, blah.
“Damn, just damn, damn it,” I growled half into my wine. “Sweets…fuck, what are you doing?”
“Um, well, if you need me to explain, I will.” A haughtiness oozed from her as she continued. “This…” She threw her hands in the air, and I half expected her to yell, tah-dah! “This is the first half of your birthday present. The other half can wait till tomorrow,” she taunted, sauntering toward me, straddling my legs, then lowering her pelvis onto my lap. “Promise, I’ll let you come before me this time,” she added, her voice husky as she leaned forward, nipping at my earlobe.
“Yeah, now…you…” I grunted, my hands cradling her ribs, pushing lightly to move her back from my ear. “You can’t do that right now.”
“Uh?” Her bottom lip protruded as she searched my somber face for a crack, something to indicate that her little sexy-as-hell charade to derail me was working. I mustered every last bit of the adult shit in me not to give in to her. “Rakell, I just…God, this is hard.”
She palmed my crotch, my pelvis flinching as she purred, “I know. I can feel it, and I can’t wait to get it in my mouth,”
“God, you’re so bad, I swear…you! I want to spend some time talking. I want to ask about your dad. I feel like we shouldn’t do this before we talk. We need to…”
Shaking her head, she said, “Really, really?” She rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off my chest, moving her legs back to standing. “I come out in this…after being gone for three weeks, and you…” She stared down at me, practically vibrating with anger. “And you want to fucking talk.” Stepping back, then to the side, she continued, “I wasn’t aware that we were entering a new phase, the platonic phase of our relationship. Because talking is the last thing I wanted to do,” she hissed, grabbing her wine from the coffee table. “I want to fuck, and you want to engage in a chit-chat session. Great, I…”
“Stop with the bullshit,” I yelled, jumping up. “This is hardly a platonic relationship, and, of course, I want to fuck you all the time. It’s pretty much all I think about.” Then I added, trying to lighten the air, “Ninety percent of the time I’m awake, I think about that.” I gestured to her, waving my hand up and down. “Ten percent of the time, I’m thinking about Tex-Mex and BBQ.”
She sighed heavily, her eyes rolling back. “Sure...”
“Okay, not exactly. Ninety percent of the time, I think about doing bad things to your amazing body, and the other ten percent, food, family, and football…but that is a pretty accurate breakdown,” I said, grinning, hoping she’d laugh.
Her features were locked, intent on her anger smokescreen. “Guess not,” she snarled, gesturing to her black get-up before swigging her wine.
I see through your bullshit, sweetheart. “Rakell…Jesus, talking is part of any boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, sharing things that may be difficult.” I realized the hypocrisy as the words spilled from my mouth. Until then, I was never willing to engage in this level of intimacy with a woman who wasn’t in my family or Delilah. Now I was demanding that she go deep with me. I saw the cords in her neck flex, her features stiffening as if masking the sheen of sadness in her eyes. She was battling an internal war, using her fierce reactions as a defense so she didn’t have to face genuine feelings.
“Thanks for the relationship lesson. Another Jake Skyler teachable moment,” she muttered, deadpan, then added with a bite, “Why don’t you write a goddamn book?”
I smirked, a quick chuckle escaping, taking a step toward her. “Come on now, I’m trying to do the right thing, so no pouting.”
“Got it, Mr. Noble. I’ll go change into a platonic outfit,” she huffed forcibly, rotating her pelvis in an exaggerated way as if to make sure I knew exactly what I was saying no to…before stomping down the hallway as slowly as possible, giving me ample time to abort my quest to understand her and just fuck her. Damn, it was tempting.
“Wow, good job not pouting,” I teased, watching her middle finger dart above her head, leaving it as a trail as she walked away. I chuckled, thinking, I love that about her. Followed quickly by, what the hell is wrong with me?
“Don’t use a teacher's voice on me,” she shouted, striding toward her room.
