Waiting for a Girl Like You: (Kissables Duology Series, Book 1) Read online

  She stared at me, her bangs’ wispy ends catching on her lashes. The tip of her tongue wet her lips. Talking about her private life wasn’t a requirement. She could lie to me, ignore my questions, fake an orgasm if she wanted. Honesty was not on tonight’s menu, but I wanted it.

  “I touch myself,” she blurted. “Okay? That’s what I do.”

  My cock got heavy in my jeans. Her hand moving in her black panties…I could shoot my wad on the image alone.

  “Go ahead. Touch yourself now.”

  “What? I couldn’t do that.”

  “But you’ll let me put my dick inside you.”

  She balked and her stilettoes scraped the floor. For a second I thought I’d ruined whatever was starting between us until her face split with a megawatt smile.

  “You have me there.” Head angled sideways, her pretty eyes searched me. “But, I thought tonight was about you…you know, being dominant over me.”

  Her blue-green stare lit a fuse from my brain to my balls. Red light skimmed her skin. She glowed despite the room’s spare, dingy feel. My thigh muscles tensed, and the way her pink lips parted, the same heat singeing me singed her. All we’d done was talk and laugh in our brief meet. Words could be an aphrodisiac. Or was it talking with her? I expected to buy a body tonight, not a person.

  Her smile softened. “Maybe talking isn’t so bad after all?”

  Lids heavy, I smiled back familiar heat pinging my limbs like a pinball. “Talking with you isn’t bad at all.”

  The way her eyes lit up, you’d think I gave her a gift. My cock pulsed against my button fly. Fuck. No touching. Just conversation. What would happen if I caressed her skin from shoulder to ass? To play it safe, I’d run scenarios in my head before I came. If I were a horny twenty-something I’d bend her over and take my fill, but I hadn’t been that guy in a long time, and there was something I wanted her to understand.

  “You think this is about hurting you?”

  “Yeah. Pain.”

  Her small voice cut me to the quick. She bravely stood her ground, the toes of her shoes pointed at me. I liked that she wore old school three inch stilettos. I liked her head tilting a few degrees down and her blonde hair falling everywhere, but I wanted her to trust me without my revealing much in return.

  “Dominance—” I stepped into her personal space “—is the other side of surrender.”

  She swallowed hard, scooting back to the bed. “Not pain?”

  I could smell her warmth, a gentle orange and spicy ginger scent on her skin. “It’s a dynamic, an energy or a force shared when one person gives up control and another takes it.”

  “You want control of me.”

  “You give yourself to me,” I said, reaching out to push blonde hair past her shoulders. “Your pleasure’s in letting go. All you do is feel.”

  Goosebumps pebbled her shoulder. She needed a world of explanation squeezed into a few minutes. I took care not to touch her skin. Too many words, a caress too early and she’d jump. Her pupils dilated the more I stroked her hair. We were in kissing distance, looking into each other’s eyes, lost in a trance.

  “You still haven’t told me your name,” she said meekly.

  “Touch yourself and I will.”

  Her breath caught. “Like a reward.”

  I smiled and nodded slowly. “Like a reward.”

  Our voices had dropped to an intimate low. Her arms loosened, but she didn’t let go. Pink lips pinched together. I’d guess she debated opening this forbidden box. Preparing for tonight, my date had probably coached herself on being here in body while mentally tuning out. That wasn’t happening. Not now.

  She trembled, both arms clamped over her boobs. If she decided to give herself to me, it’d be more honest than sex that came from overly mannered BDSM negotiations. An ache welled up, the desire to soothe her beyond lightly stroking her hair. Too much contact wasn’t a good idea. It’d weaken her. Yet, I wanted her hungry, desperate, and wet.

  A light toss of her head, and her nostrils flared as if she decided to open the forbidden box. The move unwound me. If I wasn’t careful, this sweet blonde would break me.

  One orgasm. Then I’d send her away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I already saw your boobs, if that’s what’s bothering you,” he teased.

  “You mean it’s no big deal to see them again.”

  He grinned. “Your boobs are part of the attraction.”

  Oh my, that easy grin of his. If he kept this up, I’d be a puddle at his feet. We stood close, his sandpaper voice tickling me down to my mons. Surfer Man was cute when he wasn’t scowling. No doubt his face would screw up in disdain if I called him cute, but when he smiled the contempt line beside his mouth disappeared in a panty-melting smile.

  The nice, light butterfly-feeling didn’t last. I softened to him and for some reason it was a mistake. Surfer Man’s smile vanished. His hair-stroking arm dropped to his side as jarring rock music blasted louder through the air vents.

  His eyes glinted darkly. “You’re not moving.”

  I bit the corner of my bottom lip. This was why I was here. For his pleasure. Both arms slipped to my sides and Surfer Man’s blue-grey eyes riveted on my breasts. I stood like a department store mannequin as he took his fill. My breasts are nothing spectacular, a tad bigger than small oranges, yet his hawkish stare devoured them. I looked down. Puffy nipples warm from my protective arms pinched to delicate, achy peaks. Heaviness bloomed in triangles of skin left milky white by my bikini top. Tan lines blurred in the red light and from limited beach time.

  What would happen when Surfer Man touched me? The wondering shot a sparkle of excitement past my navel deep into skin hidden inside my panties.

  It’s one thing to have a man see you undressed; it’s another to have him visually feast on you. Wherever his leisured scrutiny roamed a flush obediently followed. Every inch of skin tingled. He tipped his head sideways to his shoulder, glimpsing my bottom half. Flesh folds between my legs twitched in readiness. I groaned. My body flirted with a strange man even if my head wasn’t all in for this. There was no denying the more Surfer Man visually consumed me, the more my body came alive.

  Breath stuck in my throat as a lone finger traced my thigh without actual contact.

  “You don’t shave here,” he said.

  The hairs in question stood deliciously on end. A thin cushion of air separated his finger from my thigh, enticing feather-light pressure following his skimming fingertip’s sensual almost-touch.

  “Because they’re fine and blonde.” I coached myself to calmness but my mouth got away from me. “When you’re working two jobs who has time to shave hip to ankle? No one sees this much skin on me…usually.”

  His finger trailed to my hip. “I like it.”

  The ground got lighter under my feet until his smile faded.

  “Why aren’t you touching yourself?” Surfer Man’s voice was velvet over steel.

  Red light haloed him. He was a dark angel with the scowl slashing his mouth, ferocious need consuming his face. His mercurial smile and frown pattern was enough to give me whiplash.

  A new yearning formed —the want to appease him and smooth away the harshness that drove him here tonight. Watching his shaded face, I cupped my mons and rubbed. Cloth chafed my pubes, the hush a faint sound against music blaring from the other room. I had to look away. The friction aroused me, the sensation a warm blanket on my skin. I made myself happy when I was alone, but working it for an audience was a new dimension. A thump hit the wall, and I jumped. I blinked at the bed even though my brain processed the noise as belonging to the people next door. My hand worked awkwardly up and down. Everything was heavier, the air I breathed, the shoes on my feet, my panties rubbing my hips as my hand moved over my mons. Mid-rub I checked Surfer Man through my bangs.

  His hawkish stare na
iled me. “Inside the panties.”

  My clumsy hand froze, and a perfect shiver danced along my spine. His command was hard ass and gentle urging. I was caught. Snared. Unable to look away.

  I sucked in more air, feeling it trip into my lungs. Blood ran thickly in my veins. Pressure built in me…the first licks of pleasure on my thighs and vagina. Emotions swirled as my brain numbed on thought and reason. Staring at him, an unseen barrier broke, spreading through my body the way a crack slivers through glass about to shatter.

  Surfer Man didn’t say a word, didn’t touch me, yet his blue eyes coached me to breathe with him. Calm. Deep. Even. A connecting rhythm as my hand skimmed up my navel in slow motion.

  Our gazes locked, he gave me the barest nod. No more stalling. Just do it. Obedient fingers tucked into my panties. Pubic hair crinkled underhand. My clit throbbed. A storm kicked up in Surfer Man’s intense blue eyes. His breathing got harder and a tendon strained at the side of his neck. He resisted the enticement as much as he wanted it.

  Fingernails rasping my underwear, my forefinger and middle finger made a V over my labia. What would happen if I went deeper? Surfer Man and I hung on a fine wire of give and take. If I did this, let him have me, I’d plunge into a dark unknown place. This wasn’t the let-him-smack-your-ass-and-pinch-your-nipples wisdom Mrs. Smith gave hours ago. I’d set up a protective barrier, and Surfer Man smashed through it.

  I was giving myself to him.

  “Put your fingers inside your slit,” he ordered.

  I whimpered. Excited. A little hot. My pulse thudded against my breast bone.

  Black shadows washed his hawkish face. Harsh and tender. No mild in between with him. My hand kept its rhythm over my labia. Dampness covered tight curls the closer both fingers got to my cleft.

  His mouth firmed. “I won’t say it again.”

  The chicken in me tried searching for a lame excuse, but my sex-hazed brain wouldn’t let me. Touching myself for his pleasure was riskier than letting him spank me for an hour. I don’t know why that was true, but we both knew there was give and take going on here. Staring into Surfer Man’s eyes, I nodded like a good girl and both fingers dutifully glanced over my clit. White-hot pleasure spiked hard. My head snapped back as I gasped at the ceiling.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Move your fingers for me.”

  Hot fireworks sprinkled embers all over my body. Both fingers slid up and down slippery flesh. Touching myself got me wet. His voice got me wetter.

  I mewled like a kitten, wiggling in place, tensing my legs. Unhurried drips tickled my labia. Still Surfer Man didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. Two fingers worked my slippery nub and all the skin around it as air burst in fits from my lungs. I wanted to collapse.

  “The bed…” My butt started to drop only to be slapped. I shot bolt upright, yelping.

  “You stand up for this one.”

  There was no arguing, and strangely the terse edict got me hotter. My hand did the moving, but he controlled me. My brain was sensual mush, lost to the hot, tingling sparks spreading everywhere under my skin. A force built inside me, powered by Surfer Man and my fingers. I’d never climaxed standing, but my hand couldn’t stop. Liquid silk drenched my fingers. I thrust my breasts at him, and a cool smile curled his lips. He knew what I wanted. I was desperate for his attention, his mouth, his anything on my needy nipples.

  I grabbed Surfer Man with my free hand and pushed up on my toes. Steamy want racked my limbs. “Please.” My voice wavered. “Hold me.”

  “I’ve got you.” He clamped an arm around my waist, his low, thick voice the sound I craved. “Keep going.”

  As if I could stop!

  “Your voice—” A high pitched cry bubbled up from me.

  “That’s it,” he crooned. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

  We both watched my hand shimming furiously inside my black panties. There was no grace or artfulness in what I did. Tiny beads of sweat prickled my skin. I was falling in a sensual cloud, pleasure spiking hard and fast. My right breast ground into his chest. The friction wasn’t enough. I humped my fingers and muffled a scream against his bicep as a blinding white orgasm exploded.

  Never had I shot off that fast and hard. Never.

  Our legs tangled as my open, panting mouth rested on Surfer Man’s T-shirt covered shoulder. My hand stayed in my panties. The bulge in his jeans pressed the back of my hand. Surfer Man pulled me close and wrapped both arms around me. He breathed hard as if my pleasure was his.

  “My name is Mark,” he said against the top of my head.

  I smiled, tasting his cotton sleeve. The reward. His voice vibrating on my skin was just as compelling and rich as hearing his name.

  “Abbie.” I clung breathlessly to him, all the happy hormones coursing my veins.

  An orgasm was the best drug, and Surfer Man Mark was my dealer. Yet, I needed him holding me. I was euphoric and exhausted. His embrace sated me, a safe cocoon around my body. I didn’t want us to unwind from it. Oh, I’d had orgasms before and knew all the post-coital blah blah. This was different. This weak-kneed drunk sensation whipped me, and I wanted more.

  “Your pec is the best pillow,” I said dreamily. “Just the right firmness.”

  He pulled away. Bereft of support, I flopped butt down on the bed. Back muscles bunched under Mark’s T-shirt as he swung away from me. My vagina twitched a mile a minute. Limbs loose, I was too intoxicated on this new facet of sex to analyze his sudden retreat.

  Both hands stretched languorously over my head. “If that’s being dominated, sign me up.”

  Mark turned around. “Liked that did you?”

  His measured tone should’ve been a warning. I’d not heard him talk quite that way in our short time together.

  Smiling like a lush, I nodded. “Yep.”

  He stalked over to the side of the bed, his knees crowding mine. “I didn’t say you could get on the bed.”

  My eyes rounded with mock fear as I grabbed his belt loops and pulled myself flush against him. “Ooooohh, yes sir.” Our bodies mashed enticingly. A perfect fit.

  “Smart ass.”

  Face tipped up, I looked him in the eye. “What are you going to do about it?”

  The corner his jaw ticked and his eyes were dark slits. His breath stirred my hair, and I’d swear he fought the urge to kiss me. A kiss from him would rock me to my toes. One way or another, we’d lock lips tonight. If ever a man needed kissing, Surfer Man Mark was it.

  I held onto his belt loops, my legs bracketing one of his thighs. It didn’t take a genius to see I was hot for whatever Mark would dish out.

  Hands at his side, he backed off. “You should leave now and never come back. This isn’t your kind of place.”

  “Is this a thing of yours? Come on like you like me and then give me the brush off?”

  “No, it’s not a thing, and I don’t like you,” he said sharply. “I won’t let this place destroy you.”

  I flinched. His I don’t like you was a slap in the face. Instinctively, I knew he lied. His whole body leaned my way, and he couldn’t take his eyes off me —not my naked body, but my face. Me. In his acerbic way, he was being chivalrous.

  Still, there was the matter of the last thing he said.

  “What do you mean ‘you won’t let this place destroy me’?”

  His chin jutted at the door. “I mean, leave now. If you stay, you won’t run into men as nice as me.”

  “As nice as you,” I huffed. “Are you serious?”

  The seam of his mouth flattened.

  An AC/DC song blasted through the vent. New male voices rumbled in the hallway. There were eight rooms in Mrs. Smith’s establishment and I’d heard tonight was fully booked. Despite the plain accommodations and cheesy red bulb hanging from the ceiling, Mrs. Smith’s operation was high end, catering to lawyers, CFOs, and doc
tors from Los Angeles. Men bought dates for the night, not by the hour. Just about any fetish was served.

  “So I’m an ass. Got it,” he said brusquely. “Now you need to leave.”

  “You have me for the night and that’s it. Telling me what to do ends when the clock strikes midnight.” I smiled thinly. “Or it ends when I say.”

  His frown deepened. Did he expect me to hightail it out of here because he said so?

  Daisy, one of Mrs. Smith’s “girls” I’d met tonight, warned me to be ready for anything and know my boundaries. She’d been at this job for a while. I’d pegged her as one of those women who thought selling her sex was empowering. Not me. I thought it was stupid. But, desperate times called for stupid measures. At least I’d be smart about this, earn what I needed, and leave on my terms. One thing Daisy and I agreed on was boundaries.

  Reckless energy prodded me. Peel back my layers, and you’d see shame bubbling next to eroticism at what I’d just done at Mark’s command, but these were boundaries I wanted to push. Never mind that I argued comfortably with a man I barely knew while wearing only black panties and my best high heels. This roller coaster ride I was on had left the gates. I couldn’t say why Mark’s reaction irked me, but it did the way bumping a bruise hurts.

  Hyped up on hormones, I pointed at the nylon bag. “So what’s in there?”

  I was sure he had a few painful secrets zipped up in his black bag.

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “Then why’d you bring it?”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. He was caught in a tug-of-war of his own making and pissed off that I’d called him on it.

  “You want to keep going.” His voice was gruff.

  “I do.” I checked his crotch, gratified to see his jeans tenting. “So do you.”

  Hands on his hips, Mark’s shoulders squared. I’d thrown down the gauntlet. Standing fully sated and saying I wanted more empowered me. Hawkish eyes studied me a few seconds before his wicked smile stretched.