Two days later…
It’s official. I have crossed the line. I’ve somehow turned into a stalker.
I haven’t spoken to Riley again since I literally ran into her in the breezeway, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen her. I’ve seen her plenty as she comes and goes to and from work. Okay, this is definitely not my finest hour.
Sure, I came back to Ohio looking for a getaway. But mainly I came back looking for Riley. I can’t figure out what she is hiding or, better yet, why is she hiding so desperately from me. That fact just doesn’t sit well with me. None of this does. My lifestyle sucks, but it’s nothing that can’t change. I’ve wanted to escape the spotlight for a long time now. It’s not like I’d be giving anything up by slipping into oblivion.
I have nothing left to prove. I haven’t needed the money in a long time. If it weren’t for the fact that I love the sport, I probably would have retired from boxing as soon as I won the title for the first time. I can honestly say that I don’t know that I will ever return to the ring, and that has nothing to do with a beautiful woman who wants absolutely nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that I think I’m finally done. It’s a liberating decision in and of itself.
Now, I just have to figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life. The good news is I have a whole month to not think about it. I flip on my iPod and head over to my couch for a night of solitude.
"You son of a bitch!" I hear shouted from outside my apartment. I recognize Riley’s voice and immediately rush to the door, readying myself for whoever she is screaming at.
Just as I pull it open, a box sails past my head. It’s quickly followed by a bouquet of flowers that hits me directly in my chest.
"Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?" I brush the stray petals off my shirt.
"Stop sending me crap!"
"You’re welcome?"
"I’m not thanking you," she says in the bitchiest tone I’ve ever heard outside of LA.
I can’t help but laugh at her. "So I’ve gathered." I smirk, and she narrows her eyes. "I can also see that your eyes are still brown, so apparently I haven’t gotten the right prescription yet. I’ll try again next week." I shrug and pick up the box off the ground.
"Call your little assistant or whoever you have sending me this shit and make them stop. I don’t want it. Damn it, Slate. I don’t want anything from you."
I toss the box back at her feet. "I don’t have an assistant. Well, I do, but I don’t even know her name. I sure as hell don’t have her out shopping for you. That’s my handwriting on that box. Now, if you just gave me your damn prescription, I’d stop sending you random contacts."
"Whatever. We’re moving, so send away. Maybe the next tenant has poor vision and your stupid contacts will finally get put to use."
"Where the hell are you going?" I step forward, fully expecting her to retreat. But she stands her ground and even squares her shoulders.
Her attitude and fearlessness makes my cock stir to life. Even with her bitch face, Riley is still beautiful. I’ve missed her so f*cking much. It’s absolutely absurd, but looking at her now makes it all so rational.
"Pssh. Yeah right. Like I’m telling you that."
"Riley, are you scared of me?" I ask, taking another step forward.
"What? No." She rolls her eyes, and I swear it makes my cock go ridged.
"Good." I suddenly loop an arm around her waist and pull her hard against me. She goes stiff, but she doesn’t resist. "You’re not moving. I’ll leave if I have to, but you are not going anywhere." I quickly turn and her shoulders fall back against the brick beside her door.
Her arms remain at her sides as she stands silently against me. She may not be afraid of me, but she definitely isn’t lighting up under my touch like she did in the past. Shit. I prop myself on a hand next to her head.
"Beautiful, you’re not moving. I have other places I can go—other places I can live—but nowhere I want to be as much as here."
She slowly lifts her head to look at me, and no matter how much I want this moment with Riley, I am not ready for the level of pain on her face.
"Slate," she says softly. It’s only a single word, but it wrecks me. I’m done with the bullshit. I’ve played her games for six months; it’s my turn now.
"I lied. I absolutely came back for you. It’s stupid, but, Riley, I can’t think of anything but you."
"Slate," she whispers again.
"Shut up." I gently grab her ass, forcing her against me. "Riley. I don’t even know you, but I spent a week with you, and if that was any sort of preview of who you really are, I want it all."
"You need to forget about me," she says, but every muscle of her body tells otherwise.
"Not happening. Try again."
"Forget. Me."
"I’d love to. But you see, we have a little problem, Riley. Not a single night has gone by where I didn’t lie in bed and envision your blue eyes. You have haunted my dreams. For six f*cking months, I’ve worried about you. Every time I heard even a car door shut outside my apartment, I would fly out of bed, frantic because I knew the noise would have scared you." I drag my nose up her neck and smile to myself when her breath catches. "Do you know how f*cked up that is, beautiful? You never even spent the night with me, yet I wake up in a cold sweat, worried about you. It’s f*cking ridiculous! But as the days passed, it was the memory of your smile that gutted me. So don’t tell me to forget about you, because trust me, I’ve f*cking tried."
"I can’t be with you. You don’t understand." She tries to walk away, but I refuse to release her.
"Then explain it to me!" I yell beyond all frustration. I’m only inches away from her face, and she immediately shuts down. "I’m sorry," I begin to apologize when she explodes.
"Don’t you dare yell at me! I want to be with you, but I can’t. It’s just not possible, and it’s not f*cking fair for you to try to make something happen. Walk away. Leave me alone, and stop sending me gifts so I can go one damn week without having you consume my every thought." She throws her arms up, batting my hands away.
"Damn it. Stop," I say just as she cracks open the door. "I’ll make it possible, Riley. Just give it a chance. I will make you safe."
"I’m not some damsel in distress you can just swoop off her feet and save, Prince Charming. I’m lost in a world so dark you wouldn’t be able to find the light of day again. But make no mistake, you’re the poisonous apple in this fairytale, Slate."
"F*ck your fairytale. I just want you. I’ll make my own God damn happily ever after. But you’re the one who is mistaken. You’ll be at the end of that story, beautiful. You either come willingly or you force me into the dark after you. It doesn’t matter to me, because either way, I’ll find you." I turn to walk away, and as I near my door, I decide to take a risk. It’s a gamble that could leave me looking like an arrogant prick, but I’ve been called worse. "Get your head together, because this is happening. My door’s open. I’ll be waiting for you."
She doesn’t try to stop me, but I don’t need her to. One thing has been constant since I met Riley. She’s always knocking at my door. Even unconsciously, since the very first time I laid eyes on her, she hasn’t been able to stay away from me either.
I cross my arms over my chest and stand inside my apartment, watching the door and willing her to bust through it. But as the minutes pass, that wish goes unanswered. Finally, I drag a chair over to face the door. She’ll come. I know she will. But when the clock hits the one-hour mark, I begin to lose my confidence. I lean forward, placing my elbows to my knees, and cup my hands over my mouth.
"F*ck. Come on, Riley. You want this. I know you do," I say to myself.
Finally, over an hour and a half later, I hear the slam of her door and the thumps of feet running toward my apartment. I jump up and ready myself for something so big that I don’t even know where to start preparations. Once she walks back into this apartment, she’s mine. I let her go once. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m ready for her—ready for us.
Suddenly, my door swings open and her eyes are red rimmed but blue as the Caribbean ocean. Her chest is heaving with anxiety, and the mix of longing and insecurity mingles in her face.
"You ready?" I ask calmly.
"I’m really f*cking scared. I don’t know how this will ever work."
"That’s not your job to figure out. I’ll take care of you, Riley. Just tell me you trust me."
She might have shown up, but I can tell that she isn’t here. She’s nervous and jittery. However, just the fact that she came at all proves that she’s trying to get there. F*ck it. I’ll make her ready.
I stand my ground, careful not to move any closer, completely unsure which version of Riley is standing in front of me. The timid and broken girl I first met or the bold and beautiful woman from the hallway.
With a gentle yet stern voice, I tell her, "I want to touch you, but I’m not going to want to stop. So tell me you trust me, beautiful."
"I don’t even really know you," she breathes, clearly doubting her decisions.
"You know enough, or you wouldn’t be here at all."
"I think this is going to be really f*cking bad."
"Probably. Now tell me you trust me."
"I trust you."
"Then come here." I curl my finger at her, but she just blinks at me for entirely too long. "Riley…" I growl.
"Don’t call me that. Just call me beautiful. Please."
"Anything, beautiful," I purr.
Before I have a chance to say anything else, she rushes forward. I’m only a few feet away, but she runs at a full sprint, diving into my arms. Her unrestrained mouth crushes against mine.
I can’t fight this with Slate anymore. It’s messed up and I have no idea how anything good could ever come of us being together, but I absolutely can’t stay away from him any longer. It was one thing when he was hundreds of miles away, but knowing that he is right next door and feeling the spark that still burns between us has me throwing every single one of my fears into the wind and praying he can make good on his promise to keep me safe.
I push a hand into his hair, desperate to be closer. It’s been too long without him. Way too many months without the blaze that only he can cause within me.
"I want you naked. Can you handle that?" he asks, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor. I can’t even bring myself to stress that this is about to happen. I just want to feel him.
"Door shut. Lights off," I demand between kisses.
I move my hand to trace the muscles of his stomach. F*ck. Slate Andrews is an amazing specimen of a man. I’ve never had self-esteem issues before, and I’m not about to start now, but what the hell this man wants with me is mind-boggling. Yet his hand slides over my breasts with the same intensity that I touch him with.
"Door shut. Overhead off. Lamp on," he counters while carrying me toward the bedroom.
"This is not a negotiation." I drag off my own shirt.
He doesn’t say another word, but the grumble in his chest makes it quite apparent that he’s not pleased. He’ll have to get over it though because in all the stories Dave and I have memorized, we have never once discussed what I would tell someone about my scars. I’m bad at telling the lies we have practiced a million times. I can’t even image how I would explain away the raised scars up each thigh and over my sex. And I have no plans of letting Slate see them tonight. Having sex with a man for the first time in three and a half years is big enough for tonight. I’ll figure out the rest later.
As he places me onto the bed, he follows me down, devouring my mouth in a scorching kiss. I lift my hips off the bed, desperate for contact or, at the very least, friction. Slate props himself up on one arm and the other dives between my legs, still safely covered by my jeans.
"I’m going to lick this p-ssy tonight, beautiful," he growls, and my eyes immediately fly open. It’s a shame I can’t let him because I instantly go wet at just the idea.
"No, you’re not, but tell me what you would do," I ask, and he looks up, surprised but barely managing to tear his eyes away from my core grinding into his hand. I can’t experience it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy his ideas.
He blinks for a few seconds, seemingly unsure of what to make of my rejection and even more confused by my request. I reach forward and drag my nails up his rippled abs, moaning when he increases the pressure of his hand.
"Tell me."
He clears his throat and stands all the way up. I’m lying on my back across the bed and he’s standing against the corner. One of his hands is playing between my legs, pressing the seam of my jeans against my * like his own personal sex toy. But what really drenches me is when he uses his other hand to stroke his very promising cock through his own jeans.
"I’d start by taking off these f*cking pants, but not your panties. Beautiful, I bet you’ve soaked completely through them right now, huh?" he asks, and he definitely isn’t wrong. I nod my head, urging him to continue. "I want to feel that on my hand. The wet cotton sliding against your p-ssy as you ride my hand. I could feel your lips, and it would drive me out of my mind. I wouldn’t be able to stop my fingers from sliding your panties aside and pushing inside you." He lets out a moan and leans down, tugging my nipple out of the top of my bra and sucking it into his mouth. My back arches off the bed as he continues talking against my breast. "I bet your p-ssy’s so tight. I’d start with just one finger, pushing deep to get you primed. What do you think? Should I add another finger?" He pauses both his hand and mouth.
Holy shit! Slate gives good dirty talk.
I groan and begin to grind against him. I’m desperate for him to continue. This phone-sex-meets-dry-humping thing we have going on right now might just be the hottest sex I’ve ever experienced.
"No more fingers. Get to the part with your mouth," I say wantonly, surprising even my own ears.
"Is someone eager?" he asks with a slight chuckle and a huge, knowing smile. "I’ve got a better idea. Let me show you." He reaches down, unbuttoning my pants.
I cover his hands to still them. "Please just tell me," I whisper.
"Beautiful, if this is some sort of foreplay for you, then I am all too willing to give it. I’ll tell you absolutely everything I’ve dreamed about doing to that sexy little body of yours, and trust me, I’ve thought about it a lot. But if you think for one second this is all that’s happening tonight, you’ve lost your damn mind. I won’t let you talk yourself out of this. You want me. I know you do."
I absolutely do.
I immediately sit up and strip open his jeans. I might be afraid of a lot of things, but being with a man on my terms is not one of them. It’s just that, up until now, I’ve never trusted someone to let me have my own terms. I’m not scared of Slate. I never was, even when he was just Adam. I boldly reach into his pants, only stopping when my hand meets hard flesh. It seems everything about Slate is huge, his cock being no different.
"F*ck, Riley."
"Don’t call me that," I say, sliding his hard cock through my hand.
"I think you need to get naked." He reaches down again, but I stop him by moving across the bed.
I immediately miss his touch. "Tell me. You didn’t finish telling me." I drop my legs open, inviting him to join me on the bed. He doesn’t waste a single second before his hand is back between my legs.
"Damn it, beautiful. The first time I make you come, it’s not going to be through denim." He begrudgingly flips off the lamp next to the bed. "There. The lights are off."
I smile to myself and shimmy out of my jeans. He was right—my panties are soaked. Slate quickly follows suit and pushes his own pants to the floor. His cock slides against me as he crawls up the bed. He leans over and gently kisses my mouth. I can tell that he’s restraining himself, but it doesn’t take long before he loses it.
"You have to take control of this, beautiful. What I want to do to you right now is not something you could handle."
"You don’t know what I can handle."
"Okay, how about this? I want to strip you naked and drill into your tight p-ssy until we are both sated and numb. I want to cover you completely, to touch every part of your body. I want your chest pressed against mine while you writhe under me. And it’s going to be rough because I won’t be able to control myself when I get inside you. I want to f*ck you until—"
"Okay, stop!" I shout, cutting him off. My eyes are wide, and while absolutely everything he just said sounds amazing, I know myself. Without question, I would shut down on him.
"I thought you liked to talk?" he says with a smirk that I can barely make out in the darkness.
"I’m nervous," I admit, and his smile instantly fades.
"Tell me what to do to make you comfortable."
"Don’t touch me below the waist. I’m sorry. I’m just not there yet," I say, embarrassed. I ready myself for his reaction. I mean, what man wants a woman they can’t touch? But Slate doesn’t say a word. He just stares through the darkness, seemingly lost in thought.
"I’ll give you tonight. But I won’t do this again. You either trust me or you don’t. I want all of you, beautiful. I’ll earn your trust tonight, but tomorrow, there will be no more rules. No more nerves and especially no fears—not in this bed with us. And before you start getting any ideas about retreating again, there will be a tomorrow." He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in for a gentle yet unapologetic kiss. "Now, do your worst."
His hard body relaxes on his back. His hand roams over my chest but never even begins to travel south. Jesus, he is sexy. I’d give anything to forget it all and just enjoy this moment with Slate, but that’s not the way my life works.
"Can I—" I begin to ask, but he quickly cuts me off.
"See, the difference between us is that I unquestionably trust you. You can do anything you want, beautiful."
Conversation is officially done. I crawl down his body and suck his hard cock into my mouth.
"F*cking hell," he curses while his hands clench the sheets.
I lick and suck Slate over and over until he is on the brink of orgasm. I take it further because I love the way he feels and looks under me. His every muscle ripples with my every upstroke and quakes on the down. Just as I begin to really enjoy myself, he drags me up his body. Shoving a rough hand into my hair, he pulls me down for an uncontrolled kiss.
"Are you wet?" he asks between kisses. I nod against his mouth. "Thank Christ for that." He reaches to the nightstand and pulls out a condom, making quick work of sliding it over his length.
Finally, his hands resume their places on my breasts. He very gently rolls my nipple between his fingers, igniting me unlike ever before. I rock back and find his stiff cock at my entrance. F*ck it. I need this. I push back firmly as he slides inside me with a cuss. The familiar bite of pain threatens to transport me back in time, but Slate grounds me.
"Look at me," he demands, and my eyes immediately flash to his. "I don’t know much about you, but I know something is playing in your head. Let me fix it."
The tears threaten to spill from my eyes. It’s not fair to bring all of my baggage into his bed. I want to forget that it even exists.
"Take me away from it all," I whisper.
A small smile grows across his mouth as he lifts off the mattress, pushing deep inside me. The burn fades, but I’m consumed from the heat left in its path. We both groan as he fills me. Slowly, he begins to thrust in and out of me from the bottom. I fold over him, kissing every inch of his neck and mouth. And for those minutes with him moving inside me, I forget.
He tries to move his hand between us, presumably to rub my *—a feeling I would pay thousands for—but he stops just inches away.
"God damn it. I want to taste you," he growls.
I push up, using his hard pecs to brace myself. I reach between us and rub my *, forcing myself perilously close to the edge that Slate is driving me toward.
"I’m sorry," I say as I slide a finger into his mouth. His tongue swirls around, savoring my arousal.
"For f*ck’s sake, don’t tease me with that." He grabs hold of my hips, forcing me down as he thrusts inside me. His movements become frantic. "Come on, beautiful. I want to feel that tight p-ssy pulse around me."
Oh yeah, Slate gives really good dirty talk.
With one final push, I do just that. I stop fighting and embrace the high that no one, including myself, has been able to give me in three and a half agonizing years. I lean over on his chest, riding the wave of my orgasm down while he finds his own release inside me.
The inevitable tears spring to my eyes.
"That was really good." I half-laugh, half-cry into his chest.
"Shit. Are you okay?" he asks, and I silently nod, not trusting my voice. "Riley," he growls and sits up taking me with him.
"I didn’t freak out," I barely squeak out.
"What?" He relaxes again, pulling me down tight against his side.
"I always thought I would freak out when I was with a man again. But I didn’t with you."
Slate's eyes flash dark and he swallows hard, yet somehow he manages to be gentle as he says, "Why would you freak out, beautiful?"
"It doesn’t matter why. It only matters that you made me comfortable enough to forget it."
"Son of a bitch," he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth.
I go willingly into his arms, squeezing as close as possible while trying to stop the tears of relief and happiness that are openly flowing from my eyes.
"Riley, I’ll never ask, but one day, you are going to have to tell me."
I don’t respond because I have nothing to say. I can’t tell Slate—ever. I just curl in even closer, lying with my body instead of my voice.
He holds me for hours as I drift in and out of sleep, but from what I can tell, he never even closes his eyes. His fingers constantly glide over my back and up my sides.
"I need to go. Dave will worry."
Slate lets out a laugh. "You’re not going anywhere. We aren’t doing this you-running-home shit anymore. You sleep in my bed, or I sleep in yours after we make love. And even when we don’t. I’ve never even slept with you, but I refuse to sleep without you again."
"You’re bossy." I stretch up and kiss the underside of his chin.
"No, I’m just not going to sit back and watch you distance yourself from me again. I missed you—something else I’m not willing to do again."
"Slate, I—"
"Sleep, beautiful," he says with a sexy grin.
"I need my pants," I shyly whisper.
"No pants."
I immediately clam up. I’m no choirgirl. I know middle-of-the-night sex happens, and I’m not positive how I would react if he woke me up like that. He must notice my anxiety because he immediately rolls me over and folds his hard body behind me.
He whispers in my ear, "I won’t touch you, but I want to feel you." A tender sentiment that makes me melt against him.
"I trust you," I whisper back.
"No you don’t, and we'll talk about that tomorrow. But at least you believe me tonight. Now go to sleep, Riley." He kisses my head and buries his face in my hair.
If he only realized how much I’m trusting him by being here at all.