“Yeah, I kind of figured when you kissed my butt in the alley.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”
“I don’t even remember what we were talking about,” I said. “How did we even get here?”
“I feel like that’s a common question in your life.”
“Better get used to it,” I said, suddenly rather nervous.
His smile softened and became more genuine than I’d ever seen it before. “Yeah?”
“Rule ten,” I said. “Can I ask you now?”
He nodded and took my hands in his again.
“Why did you agree to do this?” I asked him. “Why would you do this for me?”
“Because,” he said. “I thought it would be the only chance I’d get to be near you. To be with you the way I wanted to. I’d wanted you for so long that I didn’t really know anything else anymore. But you hated me and any time I even got close, you’d lash out and I’d fight back and I didn’t want that anymore. I was willing to take anything you’d give me. And if it was this… fake thing, then I’d take it. I thought maybe I could show you I wasn’t like you thought I was. That I wasn’t a fucking asshole. That I wasn’t like my father. I needed to prove it to you as much as I needed to prove it to myself.”
“And was any of this about your father?”
He snorted. “Absolutely not. I learned a long time ago that nothing good would ever come from him for me. Andrew Taylor may be my father, but he’s not my family.” He looked me straight in the eye and said, “This was always about you. I was going to take what I could get, because I thought having you like this was better than not having you at all. And that was one thing I could not stand. The thought of not having you at all.”
And it was about that time that I learned that there was only so much boner-making words a person could take without recourse. My limit came with this was always about you and went over the edge with not having you at all. Add in the fact that it was said with such a level of earnestness that only Darren and Vince seemed to be capable of… well. It was really more than I could take.
So I don’t know that I could be blamed, then, when instead of acting as a normal person would to a strange and somewhat scary confession of feelings (say by announcing said feelings in return), I launched myself at him instead.
He let out a squawk unbefitting of someone his size and stature as he fell back off the stool, landing on his back on the floor with me on top of him, the skirt hiked up around my thighs as I lay flush against his chest, ear over his heart.
“Ow,” he said.
“Yeah.” I grimaced. “That was my bad.”
His body shook slightly underneath me, and it took me a moment to realize he was laughing at me.
“It’s not funny,” I pouted.
“You just tackled me. I tell you I have feelings for you and you tackle me? Sandy, what the hell.”
“Maybe you deserved to be tackled,” I muttered, and then his hands were on my hips and I completely forgot about anything else I wanted to say.
I lifted my head slowly to look down at him. His eyes were open and his gaze was soft, almost like he was fond of me. I’d never seen him look at me like that before, and it did things to me.
“Um,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said when he could feel the things it did to me.
“I’m usually not this easy,” I said with a frown. “It actually takes quite a bit more—”
He gripped my hips, holding me down as he began to push up, grinding into me gently. “I guess I should take all the credit for that, then.” And before I could come up with a suitably witty and devastating retort that would have left him emotionally eviscerated, he surged up and kissed me.
It wasn’t like the times before. It wasn’t because of necessity. It wasn’t because of desperation. It felt almost like relief, like sweet, giddy relief that maybe we could finally have this. That it could be ours. That it could be real. There was no deception behind it. No half truths. He wanted it, and given by the way I was clambering all over him, I definitely wanted it.
The problem with making out with a man with big hands and who seemed to like sucking on your tongue is that eventually, clothes become horrendous obstacles that should be destroyed at all costs (and you wonder, really, in some far reach of your lust-addled brain, why they are even necessary to begin with). I didn’t even know how it happened, though by the look on his face, it must have happened quickly. One minute I had his tongue down my throat, and the next, I had his shirt rucked up around his armpits while I scraped my teeth against his nipples, his hand pressed to the back of my head, holding me against him, fingers tensing and flexing, digging into my scalp. The groan he let out as I flicked my tongue across one hardened nipple vibrated against my lips. Wanting to hear more of it, I bit down.
I heard a lot more of it.
Also some cursing, but he didn’t let me go.