Chapter 31
Robin is in a bad mood.
There are multiple indicators. For one, she’s been glaring at the same page in her textbook for the last fifteen minutes. She’s also got her hand fisted in her hair, as if ready to tug a chunk out. Her hearing aid isn’t in, and I’ve found that means she has little patience for the way it feeds sound to her.
And another hint I’m trying not to fixate on, but can’t seem to get over...
She hasn’t kissed me.
Ever since we made our deal, Robin hasn’t gone an hour in my presence without at least one “kiss attack,” as she calls them.
But we’ve been home for two now, in the kitchen together, as I pressure-cook veggies and prepare the masala for the pav bhaji, and nothing. Only the briefest greeting before returning to glower at her schoolwork.
I feel petty and self-involved that I’m disgruntled that I haven’t gotten to feel her mouth against mine since this morning’s kiss attack. Instead, I should support her. Try to figure out what’s wrong. She seemed fine when we talked on the phone.
“What’s up?” I ask, the question piercing the silence. At least, for me, it did.
When Robin doesn’t respond, I realize I spoke on her left side.
I shift into her eyeline and wave my hand. She flicks her eyes up to me.
“Why are you . . .” I mean to say mad, but I’m not sure I should. So, while I struggle for a word, I end up flapping my hand in her direction, taking in the whole of her.
Which is a bad move.
Her scowl deepens. “Why am I what? Studying for a business degree?” She lets out a laugh that lacks true humor. “Think I should give up on it? It’s not like I’ll get to use it anyway.”
And this is why I tend to keep my mouth shut. But now that it’s open, I can’t seem to leave the conversation.
“You’re mad.”
Her eyes set on fire, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. “Oh, I am, am I?”
“Maybe,” I mumble, wishing I could take the words back.
“Tell me, Arthur. In all your great manly wisdom, share with me how you know I’m angry.”
This is a trap. But I can’t figure out where to step to reach safety.
“Never mind.” I turn back to the stovetop and reevaluate my life choices.
“No. I want to know. What exactly is giving you Robin is pissed vibes? I need to know my tells.”
There’s a blaze of heat at my back, and somehow, I’m aware she’s risen from her chair to stand behind me. Glaring at my shoulder blades.
I want to keep my mouth shut, but I don’t want to ignore her either. Gritting my teeth, I turn to face her furious little form, and even though she looks ready to tear someone’s balls off, I still think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
With a sigh, I step on the bear trap and pray I don’t lose a limb. “You’re scowling, not studying. When you walk, you stomp. You haven’t told me about your day. You haven’t . . .” Don’t say it. The first few were enough. But my traitorous mouth that’s obsessed with her keeps going. “Kissed me.”
Robin’s head jerks back, her eyes widening. Then, they narrow, and I brace to be flayed to the bone.
Instead, she whirls on her heel and stomps out of the kitchen.
Guilt cuts at my stomach.
“I’m sorry!” I bellow after her. “Forget I said anything.”
No response, but she might not have heard me. I consider going after her, but that would probably piss her off more.
Mind in turmoil, I continue making dinner as I try to figure out how to get back on Robin’s good side. Before I think of a solution, she reappears.
Dressed in a pair of my sweatpants and one of my T-shirts.
I barely manage to suppress a groan of longing. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m being Arthur. I’ve stolen your identity again. I get to be the surly one who frowns and grumps. And if you want to practice kissing, then you have to be the one to coax my immovable lips to get in on the action.”
I stand, immobile, by the stovetop, the bhaji simmering behind me.
Is she serious? She wants me to be the aggressor?
Do I even know how to do that?
“Come on, Mr. Mailman.” Robin crosses her arms over her chest and glares up at me. “My mouth is the door, and your lips are the package. Make the delivery.”
I frown, thrown off by the odd comparison. “I don’t rub packages on people’s doors.”
Some of the hostility in Robin’s eyes fades, replaced by a spark of humor. “Fine. That metaphor wasn’t well thought out. And I’m glad to hear you don’t rub your package on the doors of Green Valley residents. Would hate to see you end up in the back of a police cruiser for indecent exposure.” With a heavy sigh, she lets her arms drop to her sides, aggression melting away. “Now, kiss me, Arthur. Make my day better.”
There’s something in her voice, a note of vulnerability that has me hoping this is more than just a lesson to her. That maybe she gets something from this too. Probably not the overwhelming longing that I do. But a bit of enjoyment at least.
Robin approaches me, and I ready myself for her kiss attack, trying not to seem overly eager. But she passes me by to hop up onto the counter beside the collection of spices my grandmother shipped me.
“Look. I’ve made it easier for you.” Her gaze holds mine. “Now, I’m Arthur height too.”
Not exactly. I’ve still got a handful of inches on her. But she’s right that this is less bending for my neck and back. Cautiously, I approach the no-longer-scowling woman, reminded of weeks ago, when we had our first—apparently bad—kiss.
Have I improved? Can I do better?
Can I at least distract her from whatever made this such a horrible day?
Robin spreads her thighs, allowing me space to nestle between them. But that’s all she gives me. Robin makes her face blank—I assume in an approximation of my normal expression—and she crosses her arms over her chest.
Which is a damn shame because, once again, she’s not wearing a bra.
I settle my palms on her thighs and lean close, pausing with my mouth an inch from hers to see if she’ll cross the distance, like last time.
But no. This is all on me.
“You look beautiful,” I murmur, enjoying the surprised gasp of breath. But then, with a smirk, I add, “Arthur.”
Robin’s eyes meet mine with a glare that I can tell is forced, her lips twisting to suppress a smile. And those are the lips I lean in to claim.
Like she’s shown me, I let my mouth relax, using only enough pressure to massage and coax.
But her lips stay tight and closed, like a tweaked muscle.
Hell, is this what kissing me is like? She should’ve given up long ago.
But she didn’t, and I won’t. I need her to kiss me back. Need her to enjoy this. To find a stray piece of happiness if that’s all I can give her.
I slide my hands over soft cotton until I find her waist, then drag Robin to the edge of the counter until we’re chest to chest. I angle my head and nip at the stubborn corners of her mouth, making sure to brush my beard against her cheeks the way she said she liked.
Nothing.
Frustration and panic mix in my chest, tightening like a thick rubber band around my lungs. Needing something with a bit of give, I let my lips trail elsewhere, across her cheekbone, to the corner of her jaw, and down to her neck, where I find a pulse beating at a faster-than-average rhythm. I suck on that spot, loving on the bit of her that gives me hope.
“Kiss me,” I demand before tonguing her hot skin.
She gasps, but when I lift my head, her lips are firmly shut once more.
“Damn it. Kiss me,” I growl, my desperate hands finding Robin’s ample ass and grabbing hold. This time, when she sharply inhales, I dive in, fusing our mouths together, plunging my tongue into her wet heat so she can’t shut me out again.
But she doesn’t try. The penetration flips a switch, and Robin loses her hold on the unnatural stoicism. Her arms wrap around my neck, fingers fisting in my hair. There’s a pressure against my lower back, and I realize she’s locked her ankles together behind me.
I can’t get away.
Not that I would ever want to.
This kiss is different from the others, raw and needy, our entire bodies involved. My cock grows hard and heavy between us, but I don’t consider backing away. Robin acts like she enjoys the rigid part of my body, keeping her center pressed tight against me.
My hands, driven by pure need, encourage her hips to rock. The heat of her body radiates through our clothes as she strokes me.
A guttural groan spills from my mouth into hers. I gorge on her panting, which grows more rapid as she continues to rub herself on my hard cock.
If we keep going like this, I’m going to spill in my pants.
Who the fuck cares? I have more pants upstairs.
Before that happens, something about Robin changes. Her entire body goes taut against me, and I freeze, worried I hurt her.
But then she presses her forehead to mine and lets out an erotic moan that tightens my balls. Spasms twitch through every muscle in her body that I can see and feel.
Robin doesn’t push me away. She clutches me, holding me in place, and I must be imagining the sensation of clenching where the center of her cradles my cock.
A dawning realization comes over me as the tension leaves her body.
It couldn’t be though. Not from kissing. Not from kissing me anyway.
But I could swear . . .
I delve a hand into Robin’s hair, cupping the back of her head and tilting her face until I can meet her hazy blue gaze.
“Did you just . . .”
Robin’s stare loses the foggy quality, and suddenly, she unlocks her ankles and shoves me away.
“Great practice, buddy!” Her voice is overly bubbly, and she avoids my eyes. Robin hops down from the counter, offers me a friendly punch in the arm, then strides out of the room while holding a firm grip on the waistband of her sweatpants so they don’t fall down.
Not her sweatpants.
My sweatpants.
Robin Dunn just dry-humped me to an orgasm while wearing my sweatpants.
Those are officially my favorite piece of clothing.