Chapter 19 #2
It’s not regret—more an observation. The slight shift in the mood is noticeable enough for me to regret not opting for the delivery.
Maybe this is too much, too quickly for him. We should still be in our own bubble, and here I am confronting him with poverty.
“Let’s get you that toothbrush,” I say.
He glances at the box again, and then takes my hand and leads me through the aisles. I should revel in the contact, but instead I fight the urge to pull my hand from his grip.
I thought bringing him here would be immersing him in my life. He adjusted just fine. It’s me who focuses on the looks of other customers.
Even in his casual attire, he is so obviously rich. And I’m so obviously older, especially with the red nose, no makeup, and bags under my eyes.
At the cash register, he pulls out a black credit card. The cashier flips it in her hands a few times before she decides she trusts it enough to try it.
“Did you bring me here to humble me?” He pulls me to him and kisses my temple when we step outside.
I guess he noticed how he stopped the usual flow of things in there. Even though he didn’t show his awareness.
Why the fuck do I care about strangers looking? Where did the need to appease people I don’t know—or try to be invisible—come from?
“I don’t think that’s possible. Your ego swallowed this entire zip code the minute you set foot in it,” I tease.
He snorts. “But you were tense there. Why?”
Goddammit, he has keen observational skills. “People were staring.”
He looks at me sideways, frowning. “So?”
His confusion is so genuine, it shocks me. He really doesn’t care. Or perhaps he is used to it.
“It really doesn’t bother you that I’m older? Or that I’m not draped in luxurious clothes? We’re so obviously different.”
He stops and pivots me to him, his gaze piercing through me. “Would I be here if that were my concerns?”
I shake my head.
“Stop looking at all our differences. They are inconsequential.” He’s transmitting the message with his entire body. His perspective is so freeing, I have no choice but to accept it.
Not because the man is a force to reckon with, and I lose all my arguments under his passionate gaze. But because he is right. Those differences are inconsequential.
Rooted in societal expectations, I accepted them at large without really thinking about our specific connection. I can be happy without strangers’ approval.
“You’re right.” I smile at him.
He brings my hand to his lips, brushing my knuckles, glancing at me with his pantie-melting bedroom eyes. “Besides, my cock fits your pussy perfectly, so fuck any other differences.”
I laugh.
“And it’s not ego.” His features harden, no longer jesting as he returns to my previous comment. “It’s confidence, sweetheart—something I’m going to instill in you. And from now on, we’re getting deliveries. I’ve never considered myself a snob, but apparently, you proved me wrong.”
He turns to walk again.
“So, no humbling on the agenda?” I grin, loving the way he holds me close to him, the plastic bag in the other hand.
“You, darling Coraline, change me enough already.” He kisses my crown, walking as if he didn’t just blow my mind. Or pierce my heart with a honey-coated arrow.
We remain silent, slowly meandering down the street toward my place. Despite the humidity, the companionship is pleasant, and I almost regret that the walk is so short. But then there is a large box of condoms in the bag, so I guess we can take a long walk another day.
“I think Chelsea or Tribeca would suit us well,” Xander says when we enter the elevator.
What? “I think Brooklyn suits us well, too,” I respond, just to be silly.
He nods, frowning. “It’s a long commute for both of us, but if that’s what you want, we will make it work. I’ll call my realtor.”
Oh, our living situation. Shit. I got completely distracted. “You would move to Brooklyn?
He shrugs. “I would bitch about it, but if that’s what you want.”
I laugh. Who is this man?
“I like Chelsea.” I squeeze his hand, the idea of living somewhere else, even if it’s temporary, exciting me. “But you choose, because you will be left with the place after the divorce.”
He flinches, but then gives me his signature grin. “Maybe you’ll hire a better divorce attorney.”
“Oh, the angle of cleaning you out financially hasn’t occurred to me. Good thinking.” I grin.
He studies me for a moment, a dark shadow over his handsome face, and then he steps closer. His body flush against mine, he captures my lips. The kiss is urgent, feral, almost desperate.
It’s arousing, like everything about Xander, but it takes me by surprise. It’s like he’s saying something with that kiss, but I don’t have the dictionary to understand it.
I take it anyway, and I give back, because there might be a gap between us in many ways, but physically, we just blend effortlessly.
The elevator jerks to a halt, and we stumble out, kissing and moaning. My back hits the wall, and Xander groans into my mouth.
“Merde.” A familiar voice jerks us apart.
Heat swallows my cheeks. Down the short corridor, Saar and Celeste stand in front of my unit.
“Fuck, and we thought you were unconscious on the floor.” Saar folds her arms across her chest, smirking.
“That’s yesterday’s news, ladies.” Xander saunters to the door, pulling my key from his slacks.
“I don’t have pockets in my shorts,” I say, like explaining Xander doesn’t own the keys to my place is the most pressing issue here.
Saar snorts. “We thought you were sick.”
“What is he doing here?” Celeste asks, as if he wasn’t standing beside her.
“Wasn’t that obvious?” Saar’s lips twitch.
“Still warrants an explanation.” Celeste doesn’t even try to hide her grin.
I look at Xander for guidance, but he is as cool as a cucumber, leaning against the now unlocked door.
I groan and push past him, letting everyone in. “Saar, Celeste, meet Xander, my fiancé. Xander, these are hopefully still my best friends. But you know each other already anyway.”
With my glare, I try to communicate the rest, or rather ask them to leave.
“Merde.” Celeste leans against the chest of drawers beside my entrance.
“What do you mean, fiancé?” Saar’s eyes dart between me and Xander.
To his credit, he stays close but doesn’t crowd me. He gives me his silent support without running his smart mouth.
He’s letting me decide how I want to handle this with my friends. Why does he always know…? Fuck… I really need to write a list of his flaws and read it daily as a reminder.
“Xander needs my help, and I need his, so we are fake-engaged at the moment.” I know that my succinct non-explanation is not going to get them to leave. But it’s not like I can tell them to fuck off because I want to have a lot of really, really, really hot sex right now.
I can’t ask them to leave after they showed up because they were worried about me.
“What help do you need?” Saar turns to Xander, more accusing than inquiring.
He gives her that handsome grin and hikes his shoulder. “Hand job, blow job…”
Saar covers her ears, and Celeste snorts.
“Xander!” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Of course he would joke. That’s his personal brand. And while he showed me there is more behind that veneer, I can’t expect him to change his personality for the benefit of my friends. I wouldn’t want him to.
“Thank you for checking on me. I’m feeling much better. I’ll fill you in later.” I walk to the door.
“Will there be a big fake wedding?” Celeste asks, but at least she angles herself toward the door, like she got my not-so-subtle attempt at ushering them out.
I look at Xander. Fuck, there is a lot we need to discuss.
“There won’t be a wedding. We will donate to a few organizations in lieu of a big party,” Xander answers, and fuck, I like that solution.
“Okay, I guess you don’t need us at the moment.” Celeste gives me a hug. “You good?” she whispers in my ear.
I nod and grin, and she winks at me.
“I get that you’re fake getting married, but what are you in real life now?” Saar hugs me.
“Friends with benefits?” I shrug, avoiding Xander’s eyes. I don’t think there is a definition of this.
After I promise we will get together soon, they finally leave. Closing the door behind them, I lean my forehead against it. Shit, I didn’t want them to find out like this.
Strong hands whip me around, and before I manage to gasp, I’m pinned against the wooden surface, my hands above my head in Xander’s tight grip.
We stare at each other. His gaze burns, incinerating all nerve endings in my body.
“I’m going to punish you for that, Coraline.” His voice is dark, but the threat sounds like a promise.
“For what?” I breathe.
His erection rigid between us, Xander kicks my legs apart with his knee. He thrusts forward, his hips holding me in place. Somehow, he holds both my wrists in one hand while he brings the other to my throat.
My pulse must be hammering against his touch. I can practically feel it bouncing off his fingers. He squeezes a little, and my breath hitches. “For calling me a fucking friend with benefits.”
My entire body hums with need and want, but I’m completely at his mercy, unable to touch him. Somehow, that heightens my arousal.
“Isn’t that what you suggested when I asked you what you wanted from me?” I croak, that conversation in his car feeling years away.
Xander lowers his mouth to my ear. “There is nothing friendly about the things I want to do to you.”
“Promises, promises.” I pant, and Xander groans, thrusting forward again, practically locking me between him and the door.
“Oh, Coraline, you think you can provoke me? Make me lose control? Let’s see who is in charge here?”
His words should appall me. Instead, they ruin my panties.
In one swift move, Xander spins me and pulls my shorts and panties to my knees. With my cheek pressed against the door, he fists my hair.