“Where are you?” I asked hesitantly.
“I’m here,” the voice said, offering no indication of where here really was. I took a deep, steadying breath and then a few steps toward the TV until I was close enough to make out the outline of a bed in the middle of the small room and a pair of long legs hanging over the edge.
“Ummm, welcome home? Bear sent me.” Maybe, talking would give my heart time to get a grip inside my body. But the realization of what I was about to do struck me stupid and left me standing paralyzed in front of the shadow.
Ignoring my pitiful attempt at conversation, he shuffled to the edge of the bed. Although I couldn’t make out his features, his shadowy frame was massive.
He sat up and reached out, I braced myself for his touch, but there was no contact. Instead, he grabbed a bottle off of the nightstand behind me. He tilted it up to his mouth, taking a long, slow pull. His swallows were loud in the silence of the little room.
Again, I wiped my palms on my skirt, hoping the darkness cloaked my nerves better than the perspiration on my hands.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, as if reading my mind. I could smell the fresh whiskey on his breath.
“No,” I answered breathlessly, the lie getting caught in my throat. A large hand grabbed my waist roughly, tugging me into the space between his legs. His fingers dug into my hips and I squealed in surprise.
“Don’t you lie to me, girl,” he growled, without a hint of playfulness. My blood ran cold. My heart raced. He took another swig from the bottle, reaching behind me again to set it down. This time when he trailed back, he did it slowly, rubbing his cheek against mine, his facial hair not long enough to be considered a beard but longer than stubble. Unexpected tingles danced down my spine, and I fought the urge to touch his face. “Do you always ignore people when they ask you a question?”
Yes, yes he made me nervous. He made me so fucking nervous I couldn’t find my tongue. I didn’t expect this. I expected to spread my legs for some drunk horny asshole so he could have his way with me in a room that was too bright.
Instead, I stood in the dark, pressed between the thighs of a man I could barely see, but the feel of him alone sent shivers up my spine.
“I’ll take your silence to mean you want to skip the small talk.” He grabbed hold of my shoulders and shoved me down hard. I reached out to brace myself, my hands landing on rock hard thighs as my knees hit the carpet. “That’s better.”
You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.
“Suck me,” he ordered, leaning back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows.
I ran my trembling hands up his thighs until I found his belt. I slowly unbuckled it, my fingertips brushed the heated skin of his stomach. His ab muscles clenched under my touch and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. I shook out my trembling hands, trying to regain some control. When I reached for his zipper, I hesitated.
Desperate people.
Desperate things.
I steadied my hands as much as possible and slowly I dragged his zipper down. I closed my eyes in an effort to calm my erratic breathing, fearful that I was going to pass out and fall into his lap. I was hoping that closing my eyes was going to bring me some sort of comfort knowing I could remove myself from what I was about to do.
I’d just gotten his zipper down and was reaching into his jeans when his voice boomed over me like a cannon shot at close range. I jumped back in surprise, falling ass first onto the carpet.
“What the FUCK?” he roared. With my eyes closed, I hadn’t seen him turn on the side lamp, but when I looked up from the floor, I found myself staring into a beautiful pair of hate-filled green eyes, boring into me like I was the reason for everything wrong with the world.
Familiar eyes.
He pushed my hands away from his fly and grabbed me by the wrists. He stood and yanked me up to my feet, his hard chest pressed up against mine. “I walked in on you earlier, you were having sex with some girl.” I blurted, instantly regretting it. Fuck me and my speak-before-I-think disease.
His tight black wife-beater showcased the ripples of his impressive muscular frame. A myriad of colorful tattoos decorated one side of his neck, chest and shoulders, continuing all the way down both arms to the backs of his hands and knuckles. He wore bracelets that weren’t actually bracelets at all, but leather belts with metal studs wrapped around his wrists and forearms. Dark hair cropped close to his head, a black stud in each ear. A white scar through his right eyebrow. Stubble on his square jaw that was more than a few days past needing a shave.
I thought he was large when he was relentlessly pounding into the girl on the table. Even when he was only a shadow I knew he was big, but in all reality I’d had no concept of the wall of man who stood before me.
This guy didn’t look like he hung with the wrong crowd.