Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Riley
The metal sound of his belt unbuckling echoes against the exposed brick as Rowdy makes his way to the bathroom.
He’s making a beeline for the medicine cabinet, exactly where I’ve told him to look for the condoms.
As for me, I’ve ditched the leggings. I’m now completely naked as I sit perched on the blanket, waiting. I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this easy and free with my body.
The last time I was with someone, I’d be covered up or wrapped in a blanket or a towel while not actively fucking.
Everything feels different with Rowdy.
When he exits the bathroom, he stops short and steadies himself, one hand gripping the doorjamb, his body leaning to the side as he stares at me. He wasn’t expecting me to be posed like this.
Rowdy’s boxer briefs are visible through his open fly, and his erect, sheathed penis sticks out past the elastic waistband. It’s long enough that the tip nearly reaches his navel.
Rowdy sees me staring back. “You ready?”
I smirk. “Do I look ready?”
“You look like you’re fixing to destroy me.”
“Get over here, Rowdy.”
Pushing off the doorjamb he’s been using for support, he kicks off his jeans and stalks toward me.
One closed fist rubs up the underside of his cock, over his underwear. The sight of that sends a tingle through my pussy, and I clench my muscles.
I have a feeling this man knows what he wants and how to get it at any given moment. He knows exactly how to prime himself without going too far.
I’m still mentally wrung out from the orgasm, so I let him take the lead.
Rowdy doesn’t say much, just gets a deadly serious look and kneels in front of me, pulling me down to the floor with him.
We’re both on our knees, naked, pressed together, joined everything. Almost everywhere.
With firm but gentle hands, he rotates me around and takes a handful of my hair, pushing it out of the way as he kisses my nape.
He stokes another fire in my belly as he leans me over the cushion. It’s a good thing he’s taking charge because I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what he has planned for me, but I’m trembling in the best way.
Rowdy smooths his arms over the back of mine and covers my hands with his. He guides my hands up to the inner edge of the cushion, and I can feel his rigid cock pressing against the softness of my ass.
He’s gonna fuck me from behind.
When he moves away, my skin is immediately starved of him.
I curl my fingers around the inner edge of the cushion and grip it tightly as one of his knees slides between my thighs.
His hands caress my ass and then lower, to the back of my thighs. He pushes there, and I allow him to spread me.
I rest my cheek on the cushion and glance backward. He catches my eye.
“Reach back and touch it.”
The tone is clear. I’d better grab that cock.
Gladly.
With shaking breath and shaking hands, our eyes stay connected as I reach back and take him in my hand.
He whispers a curse as I circle my hands around it, noticing the weight, noticing the length, the girth, the absolute hardness that could be carved out of stone under the sensitive, red outer skin.
He seethes and pushes into my hand. I regret the condom as I run my thumb over the tip, wishing to see and feel everything.
I know it’s irrational, but damn.
“Whose were these?”
“What?”
“Whose condoms were these?”
I really hoped he hadn’t asked that question, but I can’t lie. “My ex left them. When I threw him out, he didn’t bother to take them.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if Rowdy was repulsed by that idea. I think I would be, if I were him.
But he assigns nothing negative to that fact.
“Now I’m gonna fuck you with your ex’s condom. How does that make you feel?”
Oh my god.
“Alive.”
Rowdy’s fingers find my heat once again; he guides in the tip. I push back. I’m so wet. It takes a little effort before he pushes in and finds his way home.
It doesn’t take much for him to be buried to the hilt inside me.
Once that happens, I firm up my grip on the cushion once again, my mind reeling at how hard he is, how much he stretches me.
I feel him in every movement and muscle.
“You’re good?”
“So good, Rowdy,” I moan.
With a growl, he pulls out and pushes again inside, thrusting slightly harder, gauging what I can take.
“Harder.”
He whispers something unintelligible, then covers my back with his bare chest. The heat of him over me is all strength and warmth. It’s the kind of comfort that I didn’t know I needed.
That cock drives into me harder and harder, over and over, until my cries of need transform into moans of pleasure. With every stroke, he hits a spot inside. I’m in the moment. I’ve lost the ability to think about anything but him and me. Together.
Pleasure rushes up my spine with every thrust.
“You’re so fucking perfect, Riley. Just looking at you makes me have to fight the urge to come.”
Ridiculous thing to say, and yet it’s working for me. The sounds of our bodies slapping together grow louder and louder, faster and faster. Did I remember to lock the downstairs door?
And again I’m pulled back into the moment with another rush of electricity as I push back, and he slams into me.
“You feel so good, Rowdy,” is all I can manage. I’ve never been good at off-the-cuff dirty talk.
My nipples rub against the cushion, starting to feel so sore. Well, I’m gonna feel sore everywhere tomorrow.
Rowdy gives one final push, and it’s so hard and so good, the couch slams against the wall, knocking loose bits of old mortar from the brick.
I don’t care.
Looking back, I watch Rowdy bare his teeth, then lean over me again, pressing into my shoulder blade. He grinds out his release. I grip down hard, milking him.
“That’s it. You take it. Get it out, get it all out of me. Fuck!”
It’s all I can do to keep hold of him.
Slowly, he begins to relax. His breath on my skin is everything.
Eventually, Rowdy pulls out, and I feel the loss of heat. He makes up for that, in his gentle but firm way, as he turns me around and kisses me on the mouth.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m in his lap, nestled together on the sofa.
When I get a chill, he reaches for another blanket from the pile in the basket and covers my naked skin.
He’s still breathing hard. And I’m still shivering in pleasure and wonder.
“You’re clingy after sex.”
“I’m cold, and you’re an oven,” I say.
“Not complaining. I like it.”
I say nothing for a few minutes more, noticing how steady his heart beats where I rest my head against his chest.
He doesn’t need to fill the silence with chatter, which is something I appreciate. I pick up one of his hands that rests on my thighs. I turn it over and run my fingers over his palm.
Rowdy’s hands are rough, and I remember the way they felt when they cupped my ass. I turn it over and look at the back of his hand, pressing small kisses over his knuckles. Scarred and strong and long. His nails are short and tidy, not manicured, but I can tell he takes care of himself.
“What do you do exactly?”
Rowdy says, “I’m just Rowdy Fraser.”
“But what do you do for work? I might need to know that.”
“This and that.”
“Like a handyman?”
“Sure. I do odd jobs. I like to work with my hands, so I got a handyman cert, an electrician cert, and some other things.”
“What kind of other things?”
“A little of everything. Appliance repair. I’m not a licensed plumber, but I can do small things. I know how to do a lot of things and help people do DIY for free. I’m really good with tools in general.”
I sit up and look at him in the face, and then snort-laugh at the tool comment.
He laughs, “I didn’t mean it that way!”
“Yes, you did!” I exclaim, shrieking as he tickles me. I tickle him back, and for a moment, I forget that this is not a relationship. This was a hookup. So why does it feel so easy with him afterward?
When we both finally stop laughing and call a truce to the tickle fight, Rowdy sighs, “I suppose I should get out of your hair and let you take your daily stroll.”
“You noticed my walking schedule?”
“I notice everything.”
Slowly, reluctantly, I climb off the sofa and pick up the blanket, wrapping it around me.
Rowdy goes to the kitchenette and checks his phone.
“Are you walking tomorrow at 10? I’ll swing by and join you.”
I swallow hard. This man is really about to fuck up my schedule. And who knows what damage he’s going to do—to his emotions and mine—if we’re seen going on walks together and perpetuating the story that we’re a couple.
He’s already poured too much into this ruse when I just need a social buffer for one night.
“I’m brunching with Maddie tomorrow. But if you actually want to get to know me, maybe we should talk on the phone later instead. When I’m done with work.”
He smiles and buttons his now-rumpled shirt. “Oh. I already know you, Riley.”
Rowdy leaves me speechless and bounds down the stairs before I can secure a time to get our story straight. We barely have two days.
I look at the time, and I don’t know whether I should go ahead and take that scheduled walk now or sit down in front of my canvas again.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I have enough energy left to take that walk. And neither can I sit comfortably on my stool.
I drop a bomb in the group text.
“I just had sex with Rowdy.”
And then I silence my phone and put it away, because there’s no way I’m going into detail. I only owe my friends the facts.
I grab some more water and open the blinds, which sheds a harsh midday light onto the state of my studio. Blankets and throw pillows are everywhere. My discarded leggings and underwear are rolled up into a ball in the corner of the sofa. The scent of sex still hangs in the air.
I’ve gotten no work done today, and I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate at all for the rest of the day.
In less than 30 minutes, Rowdy has turned my life upside down.
The man is pure chaos. But if one fake date turns my life upside down, then it wasn’t very right-side up to begin with.