Head On (Strength And Love)(14)

Prowling toward me, like a lion stalking its prey, he never takes his eyes from me, not even when he stops to grab a towel. I’m stuck, a deer in the headlights of his charisma, and I can only stare as he approaches.

If I thought the back view was impressive, then the front’s even more so. He makes my mouth water. He makes me want things. Things I’ve never wanted before in real life. Things I’ve been happy to leave to my toys and my porn.

His abs are defined, and his torso fans out into a broad chest and massive shoulders. He has a smattering of hair over his chest, and in a trail down to his shorts. I realise I’m eating him alive with my eyes and drag my gaze back to his face.

His deep blue eyes are watching me and he smirks. “Like what you see?”

“N-n-no.” When did I start stammering?

“You’re a terrible liar,” he murmurs.

“And you’re an insufferable big head.” Great, I sound like a child.

He’s right next to me now and I can smell him. He smells of clean sweat, and something fresh which might be aftershave. Underneath it all, something darker and more masculine. I realise with horror that I’m literally throbbing between my legs, and my panties are damp.

I want to run away and hide in my room, like the stupid child I clearly still am, but instead I stand trapped in the fog of desire he’s created around us. Because it is him doing this, I’m not capable of anything more than swaying where I stand.

God help me. I’m completely and utterly out of my depth.





Chapter Seven



Ethan



Her eyes are wide, and they darken as she watches me. Her pupils growing until the cornflower blue is only a ring around the edge of her irises.

She’s breathing in shallow, rapid breaths. Her chest is rising and falling and I can’t help but let my gaze flicker down for a moment. Jesus, her tits look mouth-watering. All full and firm, the rest of her so slight and slim. Her legs are long and lean in her skirt and I wish it were shorter. But like most things she wears, it’s sensible. Knee length denim, plain, but on her as sexy as hell. She’s fresh and pretty, everything I never thought I wanted, and nothing I can have.

There’s no artifice to her. Where other women flirt, and pretend, and play the game, same as all of us do, she’s just…herself. She’s probably the most genuine person I’ve ever met.

I want her…badly, it takes all my strength not to reach out and touch her. But I can’t. She’s not some, been around the block, hot MILF I can have some fun with. I know, deep down, if we go there, we’re going to stir up feelings. And feelings are messy. I don’t have time or room for them in my life.

She licks her lips and her weight shifts slightly, a sure sign she’s about to run. I half want her to. I’d love to chase her. To catch her, take her down to the ground, and fuck her senseless right here in the house. On the thick, creamy hallway carpet. I want to stain it with the evidence of us.

Holy fuck! I shake my head. Where am I going with this? This isn’t me. I fuck like I do everything else these days. In a half daze. A momentary burst of pleasure in a washed-out life. It’s been the same ever since I came back from Afghanistan.

I can’t complain. Others have it worse. Luka, for example. He has it a whole lot worse. Doesn’t sleep. Can’t stand being out amongst people. At least I don’t have PTSD. Just some sort of never ending, half-assed mild depression that never leaves.

Speaking of Luka. We’re meeting him later, and I hope to hell Isla doesn’t look at him the same way most women do. I don’t think I can stand to see her going all gooey-eyed over him. And since when did I get jealous?

I lean in close to her, unable to resist, and take a deep breath. She smells of fucking roses. Like her surname. I mean who is called Isla Rose and actually smells of roses? She’s ridiculous.

“You smell of roses.” It comes out like an accusation.

She juts her chin at me. “I like it. I know some people think it’s old fashioned, but my mum used rose perfume and now I do, too. I like to smell like her.”

“Rose by name, rose by nature, eh?” And I tell myself to shut the fuck up.

“I know what you think of me? Na?ve, stupid. A boring, silly virgin.”

“Stop.” I take her chin in my hand, and it’s tiny. “I don’t think you’re stupid, or silly. Na?ve? Maybe a little, but that’s no bad thing.”

“It isn’t?” She sounds genuinely curious.

Christ, she doesn’t know the half of it. This world is so jaded. Full of bitter, bored people who know it all. She’s nothing like them. Simply being in her presence makes me feel younger, less used up and worn out. And those are the reasons I need to walk away from her right now. I’m thirty-two and she’s only twenty-one. She’s a virgin and I’m a whore. Literally. I’ve killed with my bare hands, and she’s one of the gentlest souls I’ve ever met.

But I can’t do it. I’m a selfish bastard, and for one moment, I want to lose myself in something better than me. I keep hold of her chin, and lower my face.

The moment my lips meet hers my world changes. I breathe her in and taste her and I’m lost. And she whimpers against me. Fucking whimpers, like she needs more.

I lick the seam of her lips and she opens for me. Oh, fuck, she’s eager. Those heavenly tits are pressed up against my chest, only her strappy top between us. They’re full and soft, and I know they’ll be heavy and ripe in my hands. I wonder what colour her nipples are, and if she’ll like them bitten or prefer them sucked. Will she like it gentle or prefer it hard and fast? Gentle at first, I’m sure.