Ties (10 page)

She tries to jerk back, but my hands are ready, catching her shoulders and licking at her mouth until I hear the first gasp followed by a tiny moan.

That’s when I finally pull away, kissing at her neck and sucking down one side. She grabs at my hair and tries to pull back, but I suck harder and she grinds down onto me. I drop my head and nip her shoulder to keep from losing it. Her hand, palm flat, fingers down, bumps from my chest to my abs to the buckle of my belt. When she hits lower, I strain up into her touch.

I’m rock hard and she’s purring like she’s ready for more. I screw my eyes shut and focus on her hand, the hot, slow caress of her skin on mine, up and down, back and forth until I want to unzip my pants and press her down onto the deck. I want to slide deep into her and fill her up over and over, until she’s panting my name and begging me not to stop.

But I can’t.

Not yet. Not with Hattie.

She’s my chance to start over, to do things the way I haven’t with anyone else, even Megan.

So I back up and slow it down, kissing her with soft brushes of my lips even though she’s pressing her tongue deep and letting her soft, full tits press hard into my chest.

“Ryan?” She toys with my pants, trying to push them lower, but I put a hand on her wrist.

“Damnit, Hattie. You have no idea how badly I want you. And this. But not yet. Not here.” I watch her face break into a pout and kiss her bottom lip. “Not for me anyway. But I want to help you. I promised you an orgasm, right?”

She shakes her head as my hand rides down until I feel the waistband of her panties.

“Nope.” She hops off my lap. “All or nothing, Ryan. That’s how I work.”

I catch her by the wrist. “So are you leaving me?”

She grabs the bottle of wine and shrugs. “Not yet. I have a few hours to kill, and this wine isn’t bad. So, what do guys with morals do when they’re done telling gorgeous women not to fuck them?”

“We could talk. Like two civilized people,” I suggest, and she pulls a face. “What? You think I’m so handsome, I’ve never had to hold up my end of a conversation before?”

Her grin is infectious, and I definitely catch her fever. Bad.

“So, what are we going to talk about?” she asks, tipping the wine bottle back and drinking so fast, a little rivulet leaks from one corner of her mouth. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then grins like she’s looking for trouble

“Anything you want,” I offer, spreading my arms out. “I’m an open book.”

“Okay.” She taps her finger to her mouth. “Tell me about your worst date ever.”

“Worst date ever.”

I think back to all the black-hearted, evil witch bullshit my ex put me through at the end, but I realize that’s not what Hattie means. She wants to laugh. She wants me to laugh. Bringing up the ghost of my evil ex isn’t part of her idea of a good time, I’m sure. So I go with a crowd favorite from the end of my ex-files.

“Okay. I got tickets to this ballet my ex wanted to see. Her mom had been a professional ballerina, and she was always dragging me to these things. Anyway, I haggled and got front and center seats. I wear my nicest suit. I get settled in to be bored out of my skull for two hours, and the ballet starts. I have no idea if the lead guy stuffed or what, but he comes on stage and it’s like his junk is front and center, bulging in my face.”

Hattie looks at me and the barest smile comes over her lips. “Um, were you intimidated?”

“No. And don’t try to make this a homophobic thing. I have zero issues with penises in a general sense. But this was like blatantly...exposed. In his leggings or whatever they are. Every woman in the audience was totally glued to the, um, performance. There was nowhere else to look, you know. My ex would have killed me if I took out my phone or started fidgeting. So I had front row seats for the most insanely stuffed codpiece dance off in the history of the world.”

Hattie is giggling now. She holds her palm out and sets her two fingers down like legs, then pushes her thumb between them.

“Like this?” she asks, making her fingers dance.

“You’re opening very old, very deep scars,” I deadpan as she howls.

“You are such a baby!” she accuses. “One little sausage dance and that’s your worst?” Her eyes sparkle, and I decide to tell her the rest, no matter how lame it makes me seem.

It’s not all that easy, since I’ve never even told my best guy friends. It was too much salt in a ripped-open wound at that point.

“We had to go backstage to meet Mr. Cucumberpants after, and it was like I could not look anywhere but right into his eyes. Deeply. Like I had an amazing connection with him and his art.”

Hattie is howling. “He must have known he impressed you with his massive...talent.”

“So I joke about this with my ex, and she gets all kinds of bent out of shape. Calls me immature, says it’s like she’s dating a middle school boy. Come to find out, my ex was doing more than admiring Senor Sausage’s third leg from the audience.”

Hattie’s laugh cuts short, and she looks at me with total shock and horror.

“Wait, what?” When I shrug and hold a hand out for the bottle, she gives it over and bites her lips. “Ah. She cheated. On you? With him?”

I take a long swallow and grin at her. “I love the way you sound so shocked. I think you’re overestimating how good-looking I am.”

“And I haven’t seen Mr. Stuffed Sausage either,” she points out. But she only half smiles at her own joke. “Well, I’m glad she’s your ex. Anyone who’d want to date a dancing wiener over you is clearly an idiot.”

I take another long swallow and don’t elaborate on the fact that it was my ex who dumped me, even after I knew she’d done many horizontal plies with the dancing dick.

“So, how about you?” I ask. “Worst date ever.”

She tosses her shiny hair behind her shoulder and squints at the sky. “I don’t know if I have one. When a date gets bad, I just leave.”

“You leave?” I ask slowly, because the idea is blowing my mind. “What about if you’re out somewhere. Like for dinner? Or in a movie?”

Hattie shrugs and reaches a hand out for the bottle. I pass it.

“I just leave. Like one time a guy took me out, but he spend the whole drive over texting and calling his friends. I asked him to stop, even though he should have been aware how completely rude he was being without my saying anything. Also, he was driving and texting. Asshole. Anyway, he told me I had a stick up my ass.” Even in the retelling she’s getting all pissed, and I secretly love seeing her so furious. “So I sat down at the restaurant, ordered the most expensive drink, appetizer, and entree on the menu, excused myself to the bathroom, and called a cab.”

Now it’s my turn to howl. “Holy shit! You did not!”

She gives me a look that lets me know she’s mystified by why I think this is so crazy, But, considering that she knows I sat through a two hour Chippendale version of
Swan Lake
, I’m not sure why she’s shocked.

“I tried to warn him. And he insulted me,” she says, like that’s the way any normal girl would have handled herself.

“That’s excellent. I’m dead serious. You are badass, and I admire that.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks go pink and she twines a piece of hair around her finger in a move that’s so innocent and sweet, it doesn’t fit the take-no-prisoners version of her that’s hanging out like a boss in my head. “Most guys would say I’m a bitch.”

“Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.” I make sure my voice is totally serious when I tell her, “That kind of confidence is sexy as hell. If any guy doesn’t like it, kick him to the curb.”

“Are you just saying that because you want to remain on my curb?” she asks, laughing self-consciously.

“I’d be honored as hell to get to hang on your curb, Hattie Beckett.”

“That makes me sound like your pimp.” She looks pleased, and I’ll take it.

“Now that we’ve established your clear dominance in this relationship, is it still okay for me to ask you out?” I position myself so our bodies touch from shoulder to hip, hoping she’ll initiate more.

She looks over at me, her eyes soft and hungry. “Mmm. I don’t know about mixing work and pleasure.” Her hand comes up and cups my jaw. “Pass?”

I shake my head. “I’m nothing if not persistent. I have tons of embarrassing stories about myself. Tell me you’re not interested.”

“I might be. But it’s not your stories I’m after. I like your hands on me.” She never breaks eye contact with me. Her hand finds mine and she lays it on her thigh. I stroke her skin, and her eyes flutter shut.

This is not the way I expected this to go, but I’m not about to say ‘no’ now.

I tug her to me, lifting her so she straddles my lap, my hands pressed hard just above her knees. I push up, letting my thumbs drag over the sensitive skin on her inner thighs. She rocks forward, inching my hands higher quicker than I’m ready for.

I stop short and take my time moving my mouth against hers. She has the best lips, sweet and sure, quick and insistent. Her kissing presses into determined, like she’s mapping my mouth with her tongue. She presses her hands to the sides of my face, catching my earlobes between her thumbs and forefingers and rubbing.

It’s a shocking turn on.

Ears as my weak spot?

I never saw that coming, but I’m not at all surprised Hattie figured out something that simple when every other gyrating, pole-dancing, stripping girl who tried to get me off missed it. She keeps her lips on mine, licking and nipping as her hands abandon my ears and work down to my neck. She kneads her fingers there, and I moan into her mouth as she loosens muscles I didn’t even realize were coiled tight as springs.

“Damn, Hattie.” She kisses me, one sweet, hot press of her lips before she bucks against me again.

It’s like my neck runs a direct line to my dick, and her touch is making it granite hard without her hands going anywhere near my pants.

“Touch me,” she insists, her voice rough and sweet as a jagged piece of hard candy on the roof of your mouth. I do what she says.

My hands ride up. My fingers cup her full ass, my thumbs hooking under the lacey elastic of her panties and trace the v of her legs until they meet in the middle.

I barely brush the tips of my thumbs over her skin and feel she’s soaked.

I moan into her mouth and know all my rational thoughts, all my decisions to do better and take it slower are going to be sorely tempted by this girl.

“Touch me,” she repeats, holding my face close, keeping her eyes screwed closed.

I slide a thumb along her slick folds, running it back and forth until I feel her swollen clit.

“Like this?” I ask.

“Mmm.” She wraps her arms around my neck, and I can smell the heavy sweetness of her perfume over the salty tang of her skin.

I pull a hand up and undo the buttons of her tank top. Five buttons uncover the swell of her tits in a black bra. I let my fingers draw slowly over them, then dip down under the cups. Her nipples are hard. I wedge my fingers between the fabric and their tight peaks, slowly at first, then with more pressure. I squeeze and pull gently, watching her mouth fall open. I use my other hand to part her legs, pressing my fingers inside her slowly.

She’s tight and hot around my fingers, and her hands make quick work of pressing my head down. I try to nuzzle under the cups of her bra, but when it proves too difficult, I suck on one nipple then the other through the lace.

She shifts so I drive deeper into her, and urges me with her little moans to flick my fingers faster. I suck on her hard, and my mouth leaves wet rings on the fabric. She moves a hand between her tits and unsnaps the closure. The cups fall aside, and I kiss and suck her as hard as I can, making it my mission to up her cries and squirms into one long scream of contentment.

“Ryan,” she cries, her body folding into mine as she strains closer.

I move my hand faster while I rub my face against her tits, catching at her with my teeth and mouth as I get more frenzied, ready for her to come undone under my fingers.

She finally shudders against me, hammering on my back with her fists and letting a long, shaky groan out as she does.

Her body goes slack, and I catch her by the shoulders before she slides to the deck of the boat.

“Holy fucking amazing,” she pants, then slides her phone out of her pocket. “Oh shit! I have to go! I told my brother I’d be home for this dinner. I’m sorry.”

She stands up, pressing her skirt down, adjusting her panties, putting those amazing tits back into her bra, and buttoning her tank.

I scramble to my feet, but she’s already headed off the boat.

“Hattie! Wait!” I call, trying to adjust my raging hard-on so I have a chance of catching up with her.

“Can’t! Sorry and thank you,” she says, slowing down once she’s on the pier. “Seriously, thank you. You were amazing.” She waits for me to catch up and stands on her toes to kiss me one more time.

“Do you want to do something later this week?” I ask.

“Um. Maybe,” she says, laying a hand against her face, which is flushed because she just came so hard while she was pressed tight against me. “I’ll call you!”