“And the smog,” I add.
“Smog is a killer of the sky, blocks out all the pretty. Puts a damper on gazing at times.” God, he really is a romantic. I don’t even think he’s trying right now. I think that’s just regular stuff he says.
“Do you stargaze a lot?”
“Holly and I used to,” he says absentmindedly. Holly? Uh, old girlfriend? What an odd thing to bring up when you’re holding someone else’s hand. “Holly’s my sister,” he clarifies, causing my cheeks to redden from embarrassment. Hopefully he didn’t catch the stiffness in my arm when he said another woman’s name. Then again, why else would he clarify? Crap!
“Oh?” It’s all I’ve got. I don’t know what else to say.
Pulling me into his side, he takes our linked hands and brings his arm around my shoulder so my hand that is linked with his rests across my chest. It’s slightly awkward for me, kind of looks like I’m saying the pledge of allegiance. Despite being a little awkward, his warm body pressed into my side is actually comfortable. This is so not good.
Leaning into my ear, he says, “Yes, Holly, my sister . . .”
“Got it.”
He chuckles. The sound shoots through my body giving me goosebumps all across my skin.
“We used to look up at the stars from our trampoline. We lived out in the country, and when I say country, I just mean away from the bright lights. We would share a two-liter bottle of orange soda, eat Cheetos Puffs and hope that when we woke up the next day, we would have orange skin.”
“What?” I can’t help but laugh.
“Holly once heard that if you eat too many carrots, your skin would turn orange. We thought since the orange in carrots was organic, maybe if we ate processed orange things we would turn orange quicker.”
“And did you?” It’s kind of adorable thinking of a young Hollis trying to turn into an Oompa Loompa.
“No, we were never lucky enough.”
“Darn.” I chuckle. “Could have been amazing.”
“It really could have been. What a story that would have been to tell. My best friend growing up always wanted glasses, so he would cross his eyes every day until one day, he actually hurt the muscles in his eyes and had to get glasses. My orange story could have been like that. I failed at life.”
“Yes, you failed tremendously. Not being able to turn yourself orange, if only you’d used self-tanner, then your story would have been complete.”
“Damn.” He laughs. “This is why I need you in my life, baby, so you can direct me down the right paths.”
“Yes, the self-tanner, Oompa Loompa, tragically tanned Trump path.”
“I would have heeded your guidance.”
“Good to know.” I scan my apartment building and say, “This is my building. I have it from here.”
“No way.” He doesn’t let go. “I said to your door. I’m a man of my word.”
“Are you really? Didn’t seem like that at first,” I tease.
“Yeah, because I thought if I came close to touching you, you were going to gnaw my dick off and not in a good way. You had ravenous fangs sticking out of your mouth.”
“I did not,” I defend with humor.
“Sure did, bubble-yum butt. It was nice you put them away for the night. Give those dogs a rest, as it can’t be easy flashing your venom every hour of the day.”
“They only come out for you.”
“Ooo, kinky. I like it.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I ignore him and lead him up to the second floor. I stop in front of apartment 2D and turn to face him, my hand still in his. “This is it. You can let go now.”
“Two-D huh?”
“Please don’t make a joke about you wishing it was three-D.”
He cringes. “Is four-D off limits?”
“All jokes about my apartment number are off limits.”
He huffs. “You can be such a snore sometimes, sweets.”
“A snore?” I asked a little shocked, causing him to tilt his head back and laugh. For a brief second, I watch his throat move up and down. God, I would seriously love to have just one night with this man. Just one single night where I could explore his body, fuck him in every position conceivable, and then call it a day. If anything to just get him out of my thoughts. This phone call-texting foreplay is starting to drive me nuts.
“Man, I love fucking around with you.” He grabs my hips and steps closer. Okay, we didn’t talk about this position. “Just so you know, if you were a snore, I wouldn’t be hanging out with you.”
“Damn, kind of wish I was a snore now.”
With a side smile that will knock your panties right off, he says, “No, you wouldn’t.” Before I can respond, he pulls me into a hug and intimately presses the side of his cheek against my head, holding me strong. Somehow my arms wrap around his waist, I have no clue how they got there, but they are encasing him, loving the way his strong, muscular body feels under them.
Whispering into my ear, he says, “Remember this night, because this is the last at-the-door hug you’re getting from me. Next time I walk you home, your back will be against your door and my lips will be caressing yours. And after that, my tongue will be in your mouth, my hands dancing across your hips, moving up your stomach, teasing you but never really touching. And after that, I will be fucking you in your apartment, my tongue lapping up the arousal that will be dripping from that sweet, little pussy of yours.”
Oh. Fuck.
My clit is throbbing just from his words. It’s been so long. I love sex, but it’s been far too long since I’ve had it, since I’ve come so hard I black out. Just from Hollis speaking into my ear I can feel my panties getting wet as I develop a burning need in the pit of my stomach.
I want him.
Not for a relationship, not as someone to protect me or to take care of me, but as someone who can fulfill my sexual needs. Oh God, I want him too damn bad.
His smell, the way he’s touching me, the smooth, sultry tone of his voice, they are all attacking my senses, turning me into a puddle of need. If he doesn’t leave soon, I will start undressing myself in the hallway.
Time to say goodnight.
Clearing my throat, I press my hands into his stomach . . .
Oh, bad mistake. Such a horrible mistake.
Abs. So many of them. I know about his abs, everyone on this earth knows about them. They are perfectly defined into little nuggets and I’m touching them. My hands are actually wandering around his stomach, feeling them through his shirt.
Stop it!
Stop molesting the man, Melony.
“Feel something you like?” he asks, looking down at me.
Crap.
Tearing myself away in record pace, I step up to my door, accidently bumping my shoulder. In my daze, I reach for the handle and try to open it, forgetting completely about having to unlock the damn thing.
“Uh nope, nothing at all. Got to go now. Thanks for the lift.” I salute him. Christ . . . I saluted him. Fish out my keys, turn my back to him, and unlock the door.
Just as I’m about to shut the door without looking behind me, he calls out, “Melony.”
Shutting my eyes from the torture I’ve already been put through, I peek around the door to look at him. He’s smiling brightly, totally pleased with himself.
“Anytime you want to explore my abs, just let me know. I would be more than happy to give you an all-access pass.” He tops everything off with a wink.
“Ugh, cocky bastard.” I slam the door shut on his laughter.
Leaning my head against the door, I exhale finally. Why did I have to go and feel his stomach up? Don’t I have any shred of self-respect? Would any woman on the planet pass up a chance to feel Hollis Knightly’s abs? Hell to the no.
My phone chimes in my purse. Having an inkling who it is, I take a look.
Hollis: Goodnight, baby. Can’t wait to have my lips on yours next time. I’ve been waiting too fucking long for that moment, but what’s another
day when I know I will get to have them for eternity?
I can’t handle him. I don’t text back. Instead I go to my bedroom, pull out my vibrator and strip down. It’s going to be a long night if I don’t take care of my turned-on state, especially after envisioning his lips pressed against mine, only for them to fall down between my legs.
And then I hear the words he said at my door.
Next time I walk you home, your back will be against your door and my lips will be caressing yours. And after that, my tongue will be in your mouth, my hands dancing across your hips, moving up your stomach, teasing you but never really touching. And after that, I will be fucking you in your apartment, my tongue lapping up the arousal that will be dripping from that sweet, little pussy of yours.
Shit.
There is no doubt in my mind he would be amazing at going down. Yup, pretty sure the man is a giver. Fuck. Me.
Chapter Eleven
Hollis
Holy hell, I’m sore. Two weeks before I fly out to Atlanta for our training camp before Rio and I can barely walk. Putting one foot in front of the other is torture.
Glancing up the stairs to my condo, I sigh. I did an endless amount of stairs today, thanks to Holly.
One more dive.
One more dive.
If she uttered those three words one more time, I was going to take two fingers and pop her eyes out.
Ten-meter platform when I was young seemed like fun. Now, training for the Olympics, not so much when you have to constantly walk up stairs, especially when I was working off a protein bar and some measly nuts.
Sugar. I need fucking sugar.
As I walk up the stairs to my condo, I mentally take inventory of my cupboards. Gluten-free bullshit that I eat when I’m trying to shred, meat in the freezer, water in the fridge. Nuts, protein bars, vitamins . . .
No fucking sugar. Not even sugar to bake with. Right about now, I would stick a spoonful in my damn mouth and salute Mary Poppins. I’m desperate.
Making it up what seems like a fourteen-thousand-foot mountain, I unlock my door and throw my gym shit on the ground. I can bother with it in the morning.
Takeout menus.
I need to find my takeout menus.
Taco, the lazy fuck, is resting on two stacks of pillows on my couch. He barely lifts his head to acknowledge my presence as I sift through my place. Normally, little dogs are yappy little fucks, not Taco. He’s older, more mature, at least that’s what I like to tell people. I don’t bother saying he’s the laziest dog ever. Fetch? Yeah, he doesn’t know what that is. Whenever I try to play, it turns into Taco pushing the ball and me chasing it. How the fuck that happens, I have no clue. But I refuse to play anymore; it’s demeaning to me.
“What’s up, Taco?” I call out, finding my takeout menus and filing through them. “Daddy’s home. You going to make out with me later?” It’s the only godforsaken action I’ll get. And to be honest, his little dog tongue does nothing for me.
I eye my dog, who doesn’t even care to answer my question. I’m going to take that as a no. Fine by me, I didn’t feel like making out with him anyway.
But I am horny as fuck.
The blinds are shut, making the condo rather dark, so in my perusal of food, leaning toward pizza and one of those pizza desserts, I open the blinds, letting the light in.
Taco scrunches and turns his head away. “Get the fuck over it,” I say. “You’re not a vampire, you won’t shrivel up into dust. Vitamin D is good for you, Taco.”
If he wasn’t so lazy, I would take him for a walk. Women like men with small dogs, as they think it’s cute. But every time I try to go for a walk with him, he winds up rolling on the ground and playing dead which then leads me to having to carry him the rest of the way. It almost feels like once again, he reverses the roles and he’s the one taking me for a walk.
The dog demoralizes me when I’m just trying to be a good pet owner.
“What do you think, the chocolate chip pizza pie and a large veggie?” I’m scanning the menu when movement from outside catches my eye. A woman in a neon yellow sports bra and black spandex capris is stretching outside on the lawn. Her honey-brown hair is pulled up into a ponytail, exposing a beautiful long neck.
Yup, I know that fucking neck. I’ve had dreams of kissing that neck.
And the body. Fuck. Me. Her small waist swells at her hips, giving her a heart-shape backside, a backside I want to dig my fingers and teeth into.
That ass.
That perfectly round, bubble ass. She has it on full display and before I know it, I’m grabbing my wallet and painfully jogging out into the parking lot. Taco giving me zero encouragement whatsoever. The little dickhead.
Every step is like a bag of needles digging into my legs but the one thing propelling me forward is her. The chance to talk to Melony.
Last time I saw her beautiful face was two days ago, when I walked her to her apartment and held her hand. What a fucking day that was. So many ups and downs, so many unsure lustful looks from her. Fuck if I didn’t go home after that and jack off in the shower . . . twice. Her body language around me is very stiff, very uninterested, but those electric-green eyes of hers, they speak a different story. They dilate and have a certain haze to them when I step close, when I touch her a certain way . . . when I call her baby.
She fucking wants me. I can see it in the way she looks up at me through her eyelashes, those ovals flirting with me. Fuck. I see it when I walk up to her and she gives me a once-over, thinking I don’t notice.
Oh, I fucking notice. I see the way she stares at me, the way she analyzes the scruff on my jaw. Does she think it will leave beard burn? Does she wonder when it would feel like having my head between her legs, my rough cheeks rubbing against her delicate inner thighs?
I sure as fuck hope she does, and I hope she gets just as turned on as I do thinking about it.
She has earphones in, connected to her phone, which is strapped to her bicep, and her back is toward me. I want so badly to slap her ass, brand that fucking ripe peach so every fucker in this city knows she belongs to me, but I don’t think that will go over well.
So I settle for something else, that most likely won’t go over well either but I’m sore as shit and little snuggle might just heal me.
Walking up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into my chest. Just as I suspected, she goes into “kill the psycho holding me” mode and starts flinging her arms about, knocking out her earphones. Leaning close to her head, avoiding any kind of head butting, I say, “I like it when you’re feisty.”
From the sound of my voice, she stills and stiffens at the same time . . . just like my fucking dick thanks to the soft skin of her toned stomach resting in the palm of my hand.
“Hollis.” It’s all she says but the hitch in her breath speaks a thousand words. “You can’t just walk up to people like that.” I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t walk up to anyone like that. Just you, baby.
I turn her in my arms so I get to see her face and I’m awestruck when I see her up close. She doesn’t have any makeup, her face is fresh, young, with little freckles speckling her cheeks, freckles I’ve never noticed before.
I don’t counter her lecture, instead, I run one of my thumbs over her freckles but don’t get to partake in the sensation very long because she quickly pulls away, pushing me with her hand to my chest.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You have freckles.”
Slightly embarrassed, she covers her cheeks with her hands. “I don’t have makeup on.”
“I noticed. You’re fucking breathtaking.” I step closer, but she steps back, frustrating the fuck out of me. “Stop moving.”
“I don’t have time for whatever game you want to play.”
“I’m not playing games. I came down here to see if you needed help stretching after your workout. Stretching buddies are always appreciated.” I do a little tricep stretch of my own over my head.
“
I haven’t worked out yet, I’m about to get started.”
Scrunching my eyebrows together, I say, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you, you shouldn’t stretch without warming up?”
“That’s a myth.”
I shake my head. “It really fucking isn’t.” She doesn’t believe me, so I give her my best example. “Have you ever had a Laffy Taffy before?”
“What does this have to do with stretching?”
“Humor me?” God, this woman. Stubborn as hell.
“Yes, I’ve had a Laffy Taffy.”
“Let me guess, you like cherry flavor?”
She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest, propping her boobs up slightly. Fuck, they would fit so perfectly in my palms. They aren’t too big, just big enough that I know I would have no trouble fitting them entirely in my mouth.
“My eyes are up here, Hollis.” She draws my attention with her fingers, pointing to her head.
“And they’re fucking gorgeous, but sometimes I have to give your boobs attention too. They wrote me a letter the other day, asking if I would finally squeeze them, flick them, pull on their little nipples with my teeth. I kindly said I would be more than happy, but their owner just has to let me first.”
“My boobs did not write you a letter.” There is a little smirk on her face, and I take that as a victory.
“They did. Come back to my place, I’ll show you the post-mark date. And then, my dick can meet them. He’s been wondering what it’s like to rest between them.” Fuck. If only she knew how many times I’ve come with that vision in my head.
“You’re not going to fuck my tits.”
“But, I can suck on them?” I ask with hope.
Rolling her eyes, she shifts in place and says, “You either spill about the Laffy Taffy or I’m taking off.”
“Fine. When you’re eating your Laffy Taffy, and you want to fold it, you don’t just try to do it when it’s cold, or else it will snap. You warm it up between your hands first. That’s what you have to do with your muscles. You have to warm them up, baby.”