Do You Take This Man (71)
I pulled her lips roughly to mine and her fingers tightened in my hair again. I needed to kiss that infuriatingly smug smile off her face, that smile that meant she thought she knew me, that she could call the shots and I’d follow along. The flood of memories washed over me at the thought of another woman thinking what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, and I deepened the kiss, pressing myself between her legs and swallowing her sighs when the head of my dick pressed into her wet panties. I pulled away from her mouth, nipping her bottom lip. One arm rested on the wall behind her, the other cradled against her neck, my thumb gliding over her throat. “You lied to me.” I heard the strain in my own voice.
She was silent for long enough that I pulled back to look at her face as she searched mine. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I don’t know why this bothered you so much, but I won’t do that again.” She pressed a soft palm to my face. “We’re honest with each other, above anything else.”
I flexed my jaw, so frustrated with myself that I wanted to walk out of the room just to prove how little she meant to me, but I knew RJ didn’t apologize easily. I wanted her like this—angry and passionate—and I wanted to revel in the feel of her soft hand on my cheek. I wanted both, and I wanted to ignore the voice in my head that wanted even more from her. “Then tell me the truth now. You want this?” I pressed against her. “Because it’s been a long damn day, and I’m not in the mood for games.” I was in uncharted waters. I’d never said anything like that to a woman before, never come close, but no woman had frustrated me as completely as RJ before, frustrated me and left me wanting.
She swallowed and met my steely gaze with her own. “I didn’t ask you for games. In case it’s unclear, I’m asking you to take me.”
I unbuckled my belt, but RJ slid down my zipper, stroking me. I had to close my eyes against her touch, and I pulled her wrist away. “Not yet.” I pushed her dress up her thighs, my thumbs pressing up the insides of her thighs until I could hook into her panties and pull them down her legs. Her skin was so soft, I wanted to kiss every inch. Focus. “So, we need, um, a safe word or something, since we’re both feeling rougher?”
She smiled, a laugh escaping in one breath, and heat rose on my face.
I didn’t like the embarrassment that wrapped me up, that this was more ammunition for her to use against me. That I didn’t know how to do this. “Forget it,” I said, shifting to take a step back. “I’m leaving.”
She reached for my arm. “No, Lear, wait.” Her expression softened in an instant, leaving my head spinning. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I just . . . I don’t normally do this either, being rougher.” Her eyes widened, and I watched as she carefully pulled back the smile and the openness, swallowing whatever she was going to admit and reminding herself what I was to her. “Cubicle. Cubicle means I want you to stop. That’s all. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was just nervous.”
I didn’t ask what she had been going to say. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want her to think I cared. Because it doesn’t matter. Because it’s just sex. And it wasn’t just sex because she’d said that’s all she could do, it was just sex because that was probably all I could do, too. The weight of my phone in my pocket filled with missed messages of concern and reminders of the date were proof of that. I wanted RJ—her scent and taste and the feel of her against me filled my brain—but I also needed to prove to myself that I could have RJ’s body without demanding her heart.
I pulled her face to mine, letting our lips and tongues clash before nipping her bottom lip again, the yelp and moan she let out pushing me on as I nipped at her earlobe, my fingers pressing between her legs. “Don’t lie to me again,” I said, sliding a finger into her, then two, pushing them in and out of her slick entrance.
“I said I wouldn’t.” She rode my hand, pulling my hair as I sucked the skin over her collarbone and rubbed a thumb roughly over one of her hard nipples pushing at the fabric of the dress.
I pressed my fingers in harder, fingertips finding the swollen bundle of nerves. “Good.”
“But you’re not in charge,” she said, but her voice wavered on the last word. I hated that I knew she was close to coming, not because of that but because of the way her eyes widened and her mouth opened, and I’d dreamed of that expression for months.
“Feels like I’m in charge,” I added, my thumb brushing over her clit.
RJ pulled hard on my hair. “Will you stop talking and make me come? That’s all I need you to do.”
Her words hit me somewhere primal and I pressed hard against her G-spot, watching her writhe, so close, her mouth opening, and then I pulled my fingers away.
“Why did you stop?” Her voice was pitched low, but her tone was frantic, and I felt her still rolling against my hand as I pulled back, reaching for my wallet.
I’d made sure I had a condom there, even after avoiding RJ the night before, despite my resolution to get this woman out of my head. I ripped open the foil and almost dropped it when RJ pulled the dress over her head. The fabric rubbing against her bun made several curls spring loose, and I, once again, wanted to pull them all free. I was desperate to be inside her, but also desperate to have her be as messy and out of control as I felt. I unhooked her bra instead, letting the fabric fall and rolling one nipple between my fingertips, increasing the pressure when she arched into me.