Page 29

The knock at the door has my pulse skittering inside my chest, and I stop in front of the mirror in the foyer. “You can do this,” I whisper to my reflection. “You’re a bad bitch, and you’re going to get fucked, and you’re just going to enjoy yourself.”

When Kalon knocks a second time, I go to open the door. He told me he was coming from playing golf, but Holy Moses, he didn’t tell me how good he’d look. Beige golf pants, navy Nike golf shoes, and a navy long-sleeve polo shirt. He smiles. “I hope you don’t mind pizza and wine,” he says.

I spy the Uncle Paul’s Pizza box in his hand, and know immediately that he’s been in cahoots with Oakley. It’s my favorite place in the whole of Manhattan to get pizza.

“Perfect,” I tell him. “Come in.” Having him in my space somehow makes it feel smaller. Until now, I’ve been really proud of my little home, but now Kalon’s here, and I’m dying to know what he’s thinking as he looks at my kitchen, my small dining room, my living room. “Needs some work,” I tell him, my insecurity talking on my behalf. “But I just bought it on my own so—”

“Channing, relax,” Kalon chuckles. “It’s just me.”

Exactly, I want to say, but instead, I shut the door and take the pizza box from him. I take plates from the cupboard, and two wine glasses. I dish up the food, and he takes care of the wine, and the way we move, it’s familiar. We move in tandem, and it reminds me of really good sex. The air between us becomes charged, and everything we’re doing slows down. I watch him from over my shoulder, he watches me from the kitchen island. It’s all in his eyes, in the quirk of his lips. And what’s strange is that we both pick up on that energy at the same time. He’s around the kitchen island in two long strides, the same amount of time it takes me to turn around. His breaths become heavier, and he looks down at me the way I look up at him. We’re both begging, silent pleas in our eyes. He answers my plea, and I answer his. He lowers his head and covers my mouth with his. He smells divine, even after playing eighteen holes of golf in the sun. His tongue dips into my mouth for a taste, then caresses my tongue with slow, languid strokes. I whimper into his mouth, clutching his shirt in my hands.

“Bed?” he grumbles, his hands going around my waist to grab my ass.

“Upstairs,” I whisper. Without warning, Kalon picks me up, showing off his strength. His biceps bulge, and his hands flex. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the ridges of his abs between my thighs. Without wasting any time at all, Kalon carries me upstairs, and I blindly point in the direction of my bedroom. Thank God I splurged on a king-size bed, and not a queen, otherwise this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. Kalon’s strides are sure. Confident. Like he knows what he wants, and he’s going to take it, and I have no say in that whatsoever. I giggle when he trips over one of my shoes and feel him smile against my mouth. “What about dinner?” I ask.

“It’s going to get cold.” He stops at the foot of my bed and pulls back to look at me. The next words out his mouth turn me on more than anything else ever has. “I changed my mind, you’re dinner.” He tosses me on the bed and slowly starts undressing himself. He slips his shoes off, tucks his socks into his shoes. Then he unzips his pants and slides them down his legs. He folds them neatly and places them on the small lounger I have by the window. His boxer briefs are tented, and I lick my lips, my eyes tracking every movement he makes. He lifts his shirt off, and I almost swallow my damn tongue because Holy tattoos, and nipple piercings. He’s forever surprising me, this structured, stamp-collecting man who doesn’t look like he knows the meaning of chaos and disorder.

I move onto my knees, and stop on the edge of my bed. I rest my hands on his pecs — thank you Mother Mary for such beautiful pecs — and feel him shiver when I start to play with the barbells in his nipples. My eyes can’t take him in fast enough either. So much ink. I want to lick my way across it all, draw a map from one end of his torso to the other.

“Keep staring, and I’m going to embarrass myself,” he says, his voice gruff and a little bit shaky.

“Are you nervous?” I blurt out, looking him in the eye. My wandering hands have stopped, and one rests above his heart which is pumping furiously. He swallows, and fuck me, I even want to lick his damn Adam’s apple. Which will be difficult considering the man also has a beard.

“Are you?” he fires back quietly. The only light in the room is streaming in from the city lights outside my bedroom window. But I can see enough, all the parts that matter like his face, his lips, his eyes, his torso, and yes, the outline of his dick.

“A little,” I admit. “You scare me.” He leans down, hovering just above my lips.

“Good.” It’s a whisper, a threat, and my God, a promise. This time when we kiss, it’s not with the urgency of two horny teenagers, but with the self-possession of two adults who know exactly what they want from the other, and what it will mean if we go there. He lays me down, and I allow him to slide my jeans down my legs, followed by my black thong. He tosses them by his golf clothes, and smirks. “A souvenir,” he teases. My crop top follows, as does my bra, and it’s only when I’m bared to him that he asks, “Condom?”

“Bedside drawer,” comes out of my mouth in a rush. Kalon grabs the unopened box of condoms, and shoots me a look. “I wanted to be prepared,” I tell him, lifting a shoulder. Heat blooms in my cheeks because yes, I bought that box right there in the hopes of using them tonight. “Are they the right size?” I ask. It’s my turn to smirk because without him having to remove those boxer briefs, I already know the man is packing some major heat.

“They’ll do,” he chuckles, opening the box. He tosses it to the side, and then spreads my legs. This is why Oakley insisted on us having a proper wax. He keeps his eyes on mine but lowers his torso onto the bed, and tucks his face between my legs. “You wax for me, Channing? You take care of this pussy just for me?” I bite my lip, and try not to close my legs.

“Hmmm hmmm.” I nod, and lick my lips. He mimics the movement right before he parts his lips over my pussy, and pulls my clit into his mouth. My back bows off the bed. I was already turned on, and then he just went for it. I grab his hair and pull when he sticks his tongue inside me and keeps it there. This is the beauty of fucking a man — he knows what he’s doing, you don’t have to tell him a damn thing. G-spot? He knows where that’s at, sis. My breath leaves me in a whoosh because he replaces his tongue with middle and ring fingers, and makes a come hither motion, all the while fiddling with my clit.

“K-kalon, I’m going to c-come,” I mewl. I didn’t expect it to happen so damn fast, but I’m already right there. I try to watch him, and then he gives a few quick shakes of his head. I squeeze his head between my thighs, and let out a scream from so deep inside my chest, I startle myself. I have never made a sound like that before. Not ever. I collapse, completely overwhelmed and overstimulated. From oral sex. Oral sex. God. I hear Kalon lick his fingers, and when I open my eyes, he is stroking his beard, his lips glistening.

“Good?” he asks.

“Don’t tell me that’s all you got?” I tease. “Please don’t be a one pony show.”

He leans back on his haunches. “That was just the beginning.” He grabs a foil packet, rips it open with his teeth, and slides the condom down his impossibly long dick. I didn’t even notice he’d taken his boxer briefs off, but there he is. In all his naked glory. When he’s suited up, he crawls over me, and kisses me before reaching between us. He rubs the head of his dick over my clit, and then lower. Now, I’m no virgin. I went through my wild phase in my twenties, but Kalon is by far the biggest man I’ve been with. I allow my knees to drop to the bed, and I grip his arms when he starts to push inside me. He’s considerate, he doesn’t go in all the way in one thrust. His hands tangle in my hair, and he kisses me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth the same way he thrust his dick into my pussy. I slide my hands over his shoulders, and then hold his neck, digging my nails into his skin when I feel him bottom out. I shift my legs, and my hips, and I let out a rugged breath that borders on a whine. Kalon lifts his head, his blue eyes piercing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I exhale. “Just give me a minute, let me feel you. All of you.” There’s only a hint of discomfort, but there is something glorious about how he feels buried all the way. He peppers kisses on my face, my neck, and when I grab the round globes of his ass, and squeeze his length, he groans. Our gazes crash, and after one more thorough, toe-curling kiss, I tell him, “Now you can fuck me.” And God does he do just that. It doesn’t take much time for my body to open to him, allowing him to really fuck me, and that’s what I want. The room smells like sex, our skin is slick with sweat, and I can feel his balls hitting me. I want to weep from joy, and ecstasy, and scream from the rooftops that I’m getting laid by the most incredible man ever. Thank God he knows how to use the equipment God blessed him with. He grabs my hands, and squeezes to the point I think he’s going to bruise me, but I realize he’s warning me he’s close.

“I’m there with you,” I tell him breathlessly. “Fuck, Kalon.” He does something with his hips, and it sends me over the edge. I scream, grabbing him where I can, and feel him fall over the edge after me. He huffs out a breath, and I savor his weight, the way he shakes and the sounds he makes when he’s mid-orgasm.

“Jesus,” he mumbles into my neck. He lifts his head and adds, “I think I’m addicted to you.”

I arch my neck and kiss him. Because I can. Because I want to. “I think I’m addicted to you too,” I whisper. “You’ve surprised me with your stamina.” And he has, fucking hell.

He narrows his eyes. “Why? Because I’m old?”

I shake my head, not breaking eye contact. “Because you’re older. I knew you were hung, but you also know what to do with it, that’s rare.”

“You know what else is rare?” he whispers. “A man who can go all night.”

I raise my brows in challenge. “Show me.”

He does, he does, he does, and then he does again. Because I ask him to. Dinner is forgotten, and we only go down to eat after our third round of sex. Then we go back upstairs, sleep for an hour, and go again. He reaches for me in his sleep, and somehow, he always ends up inside me, even if he’s spooning me. Each orgasm is more intense than the last, and when I think I simply can’t take him again, Kalon proves me wrong. I can. And I do. His phone wakes us up, and I roll away from him when he answers.

“Hello?” His voice is groggy, and hoarse. I made him groan and growl a number of times. His throat has to be as sore as mine is. “Shit, what time is it?”

I check my phone. “It’s just after six,” I tell him quietly.

“No, Tala, I’m not going to do that. I’ll be on my way in the next half-an-hour.” He ends the call with his daughter, and takes me in. We’re both butt naked, and my bed, and body, have been thoroughly abused. “Would you like to go to my daughter’s polo game with me?” he asks, smiling while taking in my naked body.

“I need to see if I can get some time off work today,” I reply, already reaching for my phone. I sit up, and let out an “ow” because, good heavens, I’m sore. I make the mistake of putting Oakley on speaker when I call her.

“Bitch, if I give you the day off, it had better be because you can’t fucking walk.” Kalon chuckles from behind me, and Oakley hears him. “Shit, you can’t walk, can you? I’m so fucking jealous.”

I take her off speaker and put the phone next to my ear. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“Fine, fine. But I hate you.”

“No,” I laugh. “You don’t. You’re happy for me.”

When we hang up, Kalon is already waiting for me in the shower. We end up leaving an hour late.