25. Alexandra
twenty-five
Three nights in a row, I prepped myself for him. I showered. I shaved my legs. I slathered lotion on my skin. I did my hair in lush waves. I applied nude makeup. I slipped on my sexiest lingerie.
I studied poses on the reading nook. On top of the bed. On the freaking rocking chair.
Three nights in a row, he didn’t come. After the kiss we exchanged and the orgasms he gave me. After the room he gave me and the key to his stupid secret staircase.
Angry at myself for being a docile puppet, I repeat the mantra—Men only bring misery—and will myself to not let it be true.
So, on Friday, I take Grace up on her offer to go out. I wear my sexiest lingerie again—the bodice that Cassandra gave me, with the garters and silk stockings that Sarah made me buy when I was trying to spice things up in the bedroom with my last boyfriend. It didn’t work at the time, but Sarah knows her shit.
The boyfriend was the problem.
Not me.
Right?
Or is it me?
Because why has Christopher been ignoring me for the last three days and nights?
Maybe it is me.
I fasten Cassandra’s bodice and think back to what she said when she gave it to me. Something about being careful who I wore it with? Well, if it brings me luck, I’ll owe her.
Then I shimmy into the short red dress that hugs my shapes just right.
Now if that doesn’t get me lucky, I don’t know what will.
Don’t judge me. Christopher ignited a fire in me that needs to be taken care of, and if he won’t be my fireman, someone else might. What else is a girl to do? Just because relationships aren’t for me doesn’t mean I don’t have needs.
I’ve recently discovered sex is totally for me.
And I want more than the taste Christopher gave me.
The Growler, an actual barn in the hills turned club slash event space slash game room, is the locals’ favorite nighttime hangout. Tonight, it’s packed with bikers showing off their tats on their bare arms, outdoorsy types and farm hands in flannel shirts, and office types with their button-down sleeves rolled-up. The troublemakers and the trouble seekers, both looking for relief after a week of whatever it is they do. There’s a small dance floor off the main bar that’s manned by a deejay, and a live band somewhere in the back.
The place is huge.
The women travel in packs, showing lots of glowing skin. I fit right in with the piece of red fabric barely covering my ass.
Everywhere, there’s the urge to either douse or arouse the sexual tension with too much alcohol.
It’s the kind of night I need. A night to make a mistake I won’t regret.
Drink in hand, I sway with Grace and her girlfriends on the small dance floor, looking for a suitable mate but seeing nothing. Surely, someone will make his way to me and replace the face that’s haunting me—dark eyes, curly hair, shadow of a smile—with something equally appealing.
No one does, yet.
Wandering hands make their way under my skirt, and I whisk them away when they don’t have the right feel. The one feel I’m looking for.
A strong arm grabs my waist from behind, but I don’t like the way his veins don’t bulge. I snake away.
After a couple of hours of this hide and seek, the girls and I travel to the bathroom.
I check my phone for no particular reason and see a text message from Christopher from an hour ago.
10:30pm
Christopher
Where are you
11:30pm
Me:
Growler
Christopher
Why
11:38pm
Me
This girl needs her fun
Christopher
Come home
Me
…
11:40pm
Me
???
Christopher
Come.
Home.
We go to the back of the barn, where a local group is performing live. I lift my arms and jump in the air with the crowd. A wet kiss smacks my neck; a hand grabs my boob. I shake off the intruder and catch Grace’s eye. She’s our driver. She points her chin to the door. I’m beat and follow her out, welcoming the sobering air. She greets me and the other girls with bottles of water as we pile into her Jeep.
I take out my phone and look at the last messages from Christopher.
What the heck. I’ve got nothing to lose.
1:17 am
Me:What will I get in return?
I watch as the bubbles wave up and down on the screen on his side, stop and start again. Does he never sleep?
The bubbles stop, and minutes later, Grace drops me off.
Shoes in hand, I tiptoe up to my bedroom. It’s chilly in there, so I keep my dress on to clean up.
There’s a full-length mirror in the bathroom now, and after brushing my teeth, I take time brushing my hair and looking at myself.
I lift my dress, revealing the bodice and matching thong.
I would fuck myself in that thing.
What a waste. I let the dress slide back around me.
I skip removing my makeup, dab some cream on my lips, and step into my bedroom.
And freeze.
Against a bedpost, wearing nothing but sweatpants, his arms crossed over his muscular, naked chest, one bare foot hitched over the other, Christopher stands, the image of fury and desire.
“This what you wear to go to that place?” he growls, his hungry eyes raking my body.
I indulge for a beat in being under his scrutiny. Why doesn’t he kiss me, touch me, hold me? I can tell that’s what he wants. But he only looks at me, and from that alone, my breasts swell, my nipples tingle.
“What’s wrong with that?” I finally say, a little out of breath. “This dress is sexy.”
He closes his eyes and growls again. “Fuck, Alexandra. Do you know what kind of guys go to that place?”
Really?That’s the reaction I get? “I was just there. I saw,” I clip.
His nostrils actually flare but his gaze finally meets mine. “And?”
“And no serial killers. No rapists. I’m back in one piece, thank you very much. And there’s nothing wrong with me, and nothing wrong with my dress either. Everything in perfect working order.” Tears of frustration start gathering behind my eyes, and I take a deep breath that comes out shaky, but helps me recenter. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed, please?”
He pushes himself from the bedpost and takes three long strides that bring him an arms’ length from me. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean.”
“Bed. Sleep.”
“Everything in perfect working order. What the fuck is that supposed to mean.” He takes another step toward me that places him entirely in my space, his warmth and scent wrapping around me.
God he’s beautiful. And the way he looks at me? He drinks me in, caresses me with just his gaze. It’s unfair what he does to me.
But he’s so frustrating. “After the way you kissed me. After everything you gave me. The room. The key to the friggin’ hidden staircase. After all that and what I thought it meant, you ignored me. You already gave up on me!”
I blink back tears of frustration. Why am I even upset?
It’s always like that.
“You’re upset,” he says.
“Am not. Just needed to figure out if there was anything wrong with me.”
His gaze deepens travels around my face, down my neck, leaving a burning trail. “You got frustrated with me because you felt I was ignoring you, so you went to that place dressed like that, and what did you find out.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He closes his eyes. “Of course not. Everything is right about you. Everything,” he growls. He lifts a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear.
I resist the urge to lean into his caress.
And I further pretend to ignore his sweetness and plant my fists on my hips. “Now, if you please, I’d like to get undressed.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Sure, don’t mind me.” He steps back to the reading bench, plops on it, his arms splayed on the windowsill, his thighs spread-eagle, and my traitorous eyes rake his bulging pecs and tight abs and stop right where his happy trail disappears under his sweatpants.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whisper, and I mean it in both ways, but I hope my tone says I mean it in the not-good way.
He stands back up, closes the distance between us, and takes my wrist. The pad of his thumb strokes the inside of my forearm. “Of course there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect. You think it’s fun, lying on my bed, resisting you?”
Because of the way he’s holding my arm, my hand falls naturally to his hip. I inch it up to where his skin is naked. My voice is small when I ask, “Why are you resisting me?”
He moves his hand up my arm, to my shoulder, to my neck. Ends up cupping the side of my neck and gently stroking my throat with the pad of his thumb. Desire shoots from where his hand rests down to my center.
“Because… the way your body feels so right under my hands… the way your lips taste so good,” he says and dips his forehead to mine. “Fuck, Alexandra… the way you kiss without holding back.” His hand is up to the back of my head, holding it against his.
My hand rakes up his back. “I don’t kiss without holding back,” I whisper.
His face goes back up. “You do,” he says against my temple.
I close my eyes and deeply inhale his manly scent, cedar and clean laundry and something else. “Maybe I kissed you without holding back. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
His body tenses. “See, that’s what I mean. Was hoping to get you out of my system. Not happening. Dangerous.”
That hurts a little, although it shouldn’t. My heart stutters.
It’s a good thing, him wanting to get me out of his system. It’s what I want as well. So I tip my head up and volunteer, “You have a few months to get me out of your system.”
He bends, his face to mine again. His stubble grazes my nose, then my chin. “What if I don’t. What if you get so totally under my skin, I never want to let you go,” he says, his lips brushing against mine.
That is so not going to happen. I’m not the kind of girl guys don’t want to let go. I’m the opposite. He doesn’t know it, but it’s in my genes. And if I want to, cynically, get that side fun I’ve been entertaining, I need to enlighten him. Reassure him. We can do this without any consequences for him.
“Not a chance,” I whisper. “Anytime I got under a guy’s skin, it wasn’t the good kind of getting-under-his-skin. You’re safe with me. You’re not gonna get attach—”
His mouth drinks my last word as he leans into me fully and kisses me hard.
So hard.
So good.
See? You tell a guy there’s no chance of getting attached, they give their best.
His hand at my nape is fisting my hair, his other arm is at my waist, forearm the length of my back, plastering me to his length while his tongue captures me. Then his teeth tease my lower lip, and the arm that was at my waist trails down, grabs my dress, bunches it up, and his fingers reach the naked strip of skin above my garter.
I moan.
“I see,” he whispers in my ear. His teeth lightly worry my earlobe, then his tongue does some exploring behind my ear, and the shivers it sends down my spine curl and heat up between my legs.
I press my hips to the tops of his thighs, my stomach to his erection beating through his sweatpants.
And I moan again.
“So you’re saying…” he stops talking to lick his way down my neck to the other ear. “You’re saying,” he whisper-repeats once on the other side, “odds are, you’re going to get under my skin, but the kind where I’ll be relieved to see you leave?” He dips down to worry my nipple through the dress’s fabric. I lose the connection with his cock but gain the pleasure of his mouth on my breast. God.
“Un-hunh,” I answer, then, “Oh god,” as his mouth works my nipple harder.
His strong neck is bent over me, and I trail my fingers through his thick hair, my other hand raking his naked, muscular back.
“Guess we’ll find out,” he says as his hand deftly unzips my dress and he comes back up to face me.
The way he handles me, strong and gentle at the same time, exploring what I like, making me come alive under his hands, placing me before him, I know one thing.
He’s under my skin, and he’s here to stay.
I’ll deal with the consequences later. Right now, I can let go.
The dress drops to my feet. He grabs my ass and hoists me to his hips, twirling me around. “Fuck, baby, you’re beautiful.” He kisses me deep again, walking us to the reading nook. He places me on the bench under the window, my back to him.
“Get on your knees,” he says, “and hold on tight.”
“C-can’t people see us?”
“Kneel.”
I do as he says. My hands grab the windowsill and my knees spread apart on the pillows. My back arches, my ass begging for Christopher. I turn my head, and for a beat, our eyes lock. In the half-light of the streetlamps, I see him reach inside his pocket and throw a condom on the windowsill.
Then, he kicks his sweatpants off, freeing his thick, bobbing cock. My mouth waters and gapes at the beautiful sight, and my center clenches. I drink him in.
This.
This is a man.
His jaw tenses, and his breathing is heavy, but his hands are warm and comforting as he traces my back and cups my hips. I tilt my face back to the window and look at his reflection as he positions himself behind me. He caresses my ass with one hand, a breast with the other, then makes his way along my bodice, kneading his thumbs at the sides of my waist then fluttering his fingers along the length of my torso.
Slowly, he plucks one single ribbon open from the dozens that line the back of the bodice. He could have chosen the buttons in the front, where I could see him. There’s also a faster way.
“There’s a zipper,” I whisper, pushing my ass against him, desperate to get him skin to skin.
“Lovemaking is like breadmaking, Alexandra. If you rush the preparation, if you skip some steps, you won’t have the right result.” He tightens a ribbon sharply. “Understood?”
“Understood.” I squirm.
“I’m going to knead every inch of your body until you’ve lost the capacity to talk.”
His heat warms my back as he slowly unties my bodice. He sets one foot on the bench so his cock grazes my shoulder while his hands are occupied behind me. I tilt my head, licking my lips at the sight of the precum on his tip.
For the first time in my life, I’m getting soaked at the idea of giving head.
“If your pretty little mouth gets any closer, I am going to lose it.” He groans. “Look outside,” he orders.
I swing my head back, and my hair gets caught on his erection. I linger there.
“Witch,” he says, removing his foot from the bench.
I don’t look outside. I look at our reflection in the window. His hungry stare, his careful movements. The wild desire emanating from his body, constrained. I’m giving myself this. The way he wants me is intoxicating.
The bodice is halfway undone. He rolls it partly down my waist and wraps himself behind me, rolling my nipple in one hand. With the other hand, he slowly makes his way between my legs, grazing my clit through my panties, stroking my thighs. Holding me tightly in his embrace, he presses his chin on top of my head. “Fucking beautiful.” He pushes himself against me, his cock firmly against my lower back, his rhythm matching mine as I rock myself against him. With soft strokes, he massages my nape, my shoulders, runs down my stomach.
Eyes locked on my reflection in the window, he whispers, “Gonna take my time savoring you, beautiful.”
I whimper in response.
He drops to his knees and kisses my ankles, licks his way slowly up my calves, his hands fluttering up my thighs. After several minutes of this infuriating teasing, I feel my wetness drip down my leg.
“Gonna give you the time you deserve.”
I circle my hips to try and ease the need.
“Soaked for me?” he growls.
“Only for you,” I whisper.
He tears open a condom wrapper. “That sounds right, beautiful.”
“Only for you,” I repeat.
This gets me another growl. And makes me even wetter.
He sheathes himself, and I ready myself for him, dropping my head between my arms, tilting my ass up to him. God I want him so bad.
He’s flush behind me, his legs inside mine, his cock banging against me.
“Take me,” I plead.
“I’ll take you when it’s time,” he answers, his voice commanding.
He grabs my breast with a full, strong hand, then rolls my perky nipple between his fingers, sending spikes of want through my pussy. “I-I think I’m gonna come,” I breathe.
He slaps my ass lightly, making me shriek in surprise. “Only when I tell you to, Alexandra.” He grabs a fistful of my hair and gently pulls my face to his, raking his stubble against my cheek.
It’s not painful. It’s just right.
So right.
“B-But you’re making me so wet and so… so—”
“So what? Say what I’m making you.”
I can hardly think straight. “I— I don’t… have… the words,” I stutter. “So needy.”
He growls in response but continues to worry my nipple with his fingers. He kisses and sucks my neck, adding to the arousal. My legs are weakening, a tremble taking hold of them while a hot wave builds inside me.
“I think you’re ready for me, now,” he whispers in my ear.
“I—I… been ready… forever.”
He moves his powerful hands to my hips and finally thrusts himself inside me. His cock fills me so much I jerk up and lose my breath. He pulls almost all the way out then shoves back in, finding my tender spot and rubbing it continuously. I reel back in sheer pleasure, shrieking faintly, my hands holding the windowsill for balance, his pounding finally building up to the release I’ve been wanting for days.
“Try to keep it down, beautiful,” he says into my neck. “Shoulda known you’d be loud,” he mutters, then drops a kiss on my shoulder.
His manly scent mixed with the smell of sex and fresh sweat envelops me, and I breathe it in. My pleasure is so deep it’s hard to keep my eyes open, but I catch glimpses of us in the window as he takes possession of me—his head hanging down, his pecs and biceps rolling as he pulls me onto him, my breasts bouncing back and forth with each of his pumps.
The sight of us is so hot.
“Christopher,” I pant.
“Alexandra. Come for me. Now.”
I keen, my knees tremble, and my arms grow weak as I let out a wail that doesn’t begin to match the undoing that tears my insides deliciously apart.
He places a hand over my mouth. “Fuck, baby, love the way you scream for me.” He’s still pumping in and out of me, harder and stronger and faster, one hand wrapped around my waist as the first tremors of my orgasm render me unable to hold myself up, while his other hand muffles my wailing. I arch against his front as my orgasm rolls out, seizing me body and soul. His thrusts increase until he stiffens, his arms clamp around my body, and he growls against my ear as our eyes lock again through the reflection in the window.
We stay like that several moments without breath, heartbeats wild, hair matted, my limbs weak, his strength alone carrying us both.
Then he lifts me into his arms and sets me on the bed. He takes care of the condom and lies on his back, pulling me onto his chest.
His heart is still beating fast, and I love the way his hand plays in my hair.
I love it and it scares me.