Chapter 27
"Vienna," Billy Joel
Victoria
I shed my coat and my shoes, refrigerated the takeout, then … waited.
With Spencer, sex had been an obligation, and with Alexander, a distraction from studying that morphed into a half-forgotten hobby.
I’d never done a booty call, never sat around waiting for that knock. Should I strip down and greet him naked on my couch? Already be in my bedroom?
I felt out of control, wishing for rules to follow.
Which is why when he let himself in, he found me at my desk. He leaned in my home office door frame and chuckled. I held up a finger as the paper pushed out of my printer, then signed with a flourish and held out the one night stand contract with a sarcastic grin.
His amused smile dropped into a scowl. “I’m not signing that.”
“But it’s my night." I tried to keep the pout out of my voice. I didn’t do one night stands, but that was all he offered … so I’d make an exception.
“No, it’s not,” he snapped. If he didn’t want sex, why proposition me from the stage? How dare he beg me in public then shut me down in my home? Was toying with my libido a game to him?
I dropped the contract on the desk and it flitted to the floor. “Twenty minutes ago you publicly begged to have sex, and now you’re telling me no? That’s bullshit.”
His nostrils flared. “No, what’s bullshit is printing out that paperwork because you got ghosted and now you want to save face.
” He strode across the room, looming over me.
I stood up to meet him, arms crossed, not letting him intimidate me.
I wish I kept on my shoes, I’d dig the heel into his foot.
“I know my role. I’m just your mulligan,” he said. Heat rose in my face, as if what I wanted from him was that transactional. “Your do-over after a bad shot.”
“I know what a mulligan is."
“Then you should know why I’m pissed you printed that contract."
“Contracts protect you."
“No, that contract protects you. I sign that paper agreeing to fuck you,” his voice was tight with barely constrained rage, “and you take it to management? I’m not just fired, I’m fucking homeless.”
Fuck. The air went out of my lungs.
“You think I’d do that?” I asked, my voice shaky.
He shook his head, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said in his calm customer service voice. His gaze was professional, with none of the heat from the bar.
I fucking hated it.
He hitched his thumb towards the door. “I’m gonna go.”
“Wait,” I said without thinking, grabbing his shirt before he put more space between us. He looked down at my hand fisted in the fabric, then raised his head slowly, his eyes narrowed. “I can explain.”
He stepped back to remove his shirt from my grip, crossing his arms. If he walked out, would I ever get this chance again? “I’m listening.”
“I …” I said, rubbing my index finger over my brow.
“It seemed easy when we were kissing, when your hands—then I walked into my apartment alone and got into my head about—” I willed my head up to meet his gaze.
“I’ve never done this before.” I wiggled a hand between our bodies and licked my too-dry lips.
“Casual sex, I mean. I’ve only ever …” My eyelids dropped to protect me from his judgment. “I’ve only been with two people.”
Every cell in my body wanted to shrink at my confession, but I forced my eyes open to catch his reaction. He unfurled his arms to wrap his hands behind his neck and released a long, indecisive exhale.
“Two people? But you and Alex broke up …”
“Three years ago,” I whispered.
“Three years ago,” he repeated, running a hand over his beard.
I glanced at my recently manicured fingertips. “It’s been a hell of a dry spell.”
He chuckled softly. “No kidding you’re so tightly wound.”
I smacked his arm as his laugh loosened something in my chest. “I learned how to take care of myself.”
His pupils blew wide. “I bet you did.”
I interlaced my fingers to stop fidgeting and lifted my chin. “So if you need to go, I understand. But I’d still like to do this. If you’re willing.”
Indecision warred on his face as he chewed that full bottom lip. “No contract?”
“No contract,” I agreed, trying to sound confident but my voice wavered. He must have caught my hesitation because he stepped closer, lifting his calloused fingertips to brush my cheek. His eyes crinkled as I leaned into his touch.
“Here’s what I propose instead,” he said, his voice soft like he didn’t want to disturb our tenuous agreement. His pupils were dilated, his breath coming in heavy. “You tell me what you like, I’ll try to give you what you want. You don’t like something, you tell me to stop.”
“That simple?”
“That simple,” he nodded. His thumb brushed my cheek, lowering his head, our mouths an inch apart. “Say yes, and we’ll figure it out.”
My hands clutched the fabric of his shirt to stay upright as the world tilted beneath my feet. I breathed against his lips, “Yes.”
His lips slanted over mine. The kiss was sweet and tentative, yet with a hunger lingering just below the surface. I could get lost in his hand sliding into my hair, cradling my head as if I were delicate. Each touch was careful, like every point of contact between our bodies mattered.
He nipped my bottom lip, light and teasing, leaving me aching for more. But he moved slower than our earlier kisses, when it felt like he’d die if our lips parted. Why was he holding back?
Craving that intensity, I pressed my breasts into his chest, skimming my tongue against his lower lip. His lips stayed soft but didn’t part.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked. He tilted my cheek into his palm, starting a slow trail down the length my neck.
“You don’t have to be gentle, I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he pulled back, and I shivered from the loss of his warmth. “We’ll get there. But right now, I just like kissing you.” He met my eyes, expression concerned. “Is that ok?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, still impatient but uncomfortable about telling him to kiss faster. I loosened my grip on his shirt as his lips returned to my jaw, wondering how long he would take.
Eric’s mouth started forming words against my neck, a melody emerging as the lyrics advised a crazy child to slow down, to cool it off before burning out …
I shook my head. “Do you have a song for every occasion?”
“I guess so,” he said against my neck. “Though it’s my first time singing Billy Joel while making out.”
“Aren’t Billy Joel songs too old for you?”
“I listen to his greatest hits whenever tenants move out,” Eric explained, his eyes brimming with lust. “Do you have more questions about the Piano Man? Or can I get back to seducing you?”
“By all means,” I said, threading my hand through his hair, listening to his soothing melody about being so ahead of yourself that you forget what you need.
His calloused palms traced the slant of my shoulders, the V of my cleavage, the ruching at my waist …
but never dipped under my dress. I arched my back, my hard nipples begging for attention.
His knuckles gently teased the sensitive peaks until my lips parted on a sigh.
Following his lead, I slid my hands beneath his shirt to trace his ribs. “Off?”
He broke contact long enough for me to drag his shirt over his head to reveal the tattoos on his chest and biceps.
I’d ogled them in the elevator, lusted over them while hungover.
Both times I’d wanted to explore the colors with my fingertips, tracing the lines with my tongue … and now I finally could.
His heavy-lidded gaze tracked my lips lowering to his shoulder. His arm tightened around my waist to tug my hips against his erection. As I kissed along the inked path, his fingertips pinched my nipple.
When I whimpered, he chuckled.
Two can play this game.
I skimmed his firm pec, using my thumbnail to scrape his nipple. His head dropped back with a groan, muttering under his breath about trying to take his time. He lowered me into the work chair behind me, knelt and placed his warm palms on my knees. “Is this what you want?”
I parted my legs. He slid a hand under my skirt, grazing my inner thigh.
“Your panties are soaked,” he murmured. His fingertips brushed the lace, making my hips spasm.
“Yeah,” I exhaled like I’d sprinted a mile. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, sliding a fingertip underneath the lace. His pupils dilated as he skimmed the smooth skin of my mound.
“You got waxed,” he said, voice full of wonder. “For your date?”
“No, weeks ago,” I said. I preferred the smooth skin against my clothes and hated the insecurity of being unprepared.
“Tell me what you want,” he said as the pads of his fingertips explored the delicate lace of my panties, inducing a ragged breath.
They swept along the fabric over my core, then moved away.
He chuckled at my annoyed reaction as his moist fingertip drew a soft circle against my sensitive skin, avoiding the place where I needed him the most.
I wanted him to quit playing…Yet the words got trapped in my throat.
“I can’t read your mind, Victoria,” he said as my hips shifted, silently begging for more, “so you have to tell me what you want.”
“Touch me,” I breathed.
“I am,” he said smugly, moving his rough palms to the tops of my thighs. “Is that what you mean?”
When I glared, he tapped a rhythm on my knee, waiting for my instruction.
This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To be in control?
And yet, the words evaporated on my tongue.
“Panties on or off?” Both his hands slid to the outside of my thighs then paused, fingertips drumming on the hem.
When I lifted my hips, he slid my thong down my thighs. I expected him to drop my panties on the floor, or maybe toss them over his shoulder … but he shoved them into his pocket.
My heart stuttered at why he’d want my panties. What he’d do with them.
The thought soured as I considered that maybe he had a whole drawer of stolen panties from all of his conquests.
“What’s that face about?” he asked.
“Those are La Perla. They’re handmade in Italy.”