Timing (236 page)

“Stop,” he ordered. “Last night, when you were lookin’ at me,

kissin’ me… I saw you clear as day, Stefan Joss, and even though you

don’t think you trust me or even wanna trust me… you do. You already

do.”

I shivered hard.

“You ain’t gotta be strong all the time.” He exhaled, lifting his

other hand to rest on the side of my neck, touching the pulse beating

wildly at the base of my throat. “’Cause you don’t have to be on your

guard with me. I ain’t laughin’ at you, I’m laughin’ along with you, and

you need to learn the difference.”

“Rand––”

“Teasin’ you is all kinds of fun,” he chuckled; the backs of his

fingers sliding up and down my throat.

I wanted him to put his hands all over me, so I bit the inside of

my cheek to make sure I didn’t give voice to the desire.

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“I don’t want you to worry no more about them girls.”

I coughed before clearing my throat. “I was never worried.”

“Like hell you weren’t.”

“Rand––”

“You done staked your claim, boy, ain’t nobody takin’ that away

from you.”

He was insane. “I did no such thing.”

“You wanted to sit in my lap.”

He had no idea how much I had wanted that.

“I wouldn’t’ve minded at all.”

I pulled free of him and took several steps back. “Really? That

would have been all right with you if I just outed you in front of

everyone?”

“It would’ve been better’n the silent treatment I got since this

afternoon.”

“Rand, that’s stupid. I’ll be gone in two days, why mess up your

life for nothing?”

“So this is nothing to you.”

“No––you just––”

“Wait,” he ordered me, moving forward, the mountain of hard

muscle that was Rand invading my personal space. “Just, let’s call a

truce for the rest of tonight and tomorrow. I just don’t wanna fight with

you no more.”

As I stared up at him, the light from the porch gave off just

enough of a glow for me to see the hope and need in the big man’s

eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay?” The smile came blazing back to life, wicked and hot.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

He grabbed hold of the front of my shirt, fisting his hand on the

collar. “You should see how you’re lookin’ at me.”

“How am I looking at you?”

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“Like you wanna be kissed.”

My eyes got huge. “Are you drunk?”

He looked me up and down, missing nothing, eyes settling on my

lips. “Your bottom lip is wider than your top one––just made to be bit.”

“Rand––”

He lifted a hand, turned, and disappeared back into the house. I

was surprised that he left me and just as surprised when he reappeared

on the porch seconds later.

“What are you doing?”

He held up an olive oil cruet and flipped a dishtowel over his

shoulder.

I pointed at him. “I get to go home, cowboy, but you’re the one

that gets to live with it if anybody sees us. You ready for that?”

“I’m ready; you’re the one who’s chicken.”

“Is that right?” I asked, walking backwards away from him,

toward the shadows where the dryer was, and beyond. “Maybe for that,

you get to wait to get laid until all those people clear out of your living

room.”

“I can’t wait,” he said, following me, stalking me. “You smell so

good, Stef, and lookin’ at you all stretched out on the couch, that

beautiful body just needin’ some attention, and those jeans… how are

you even moving in them?”

“Come see if you can get them off.”

He charged over to me. “Oh, I’ll get ’em off,” he promised.

I leaped at him, arms and legs wrapping around him tightly,

kissing him savagely as his hands cupped my ass, grinding his groin

into mine. It felt so good—the friction, the way he rubbed against me,

how rough he was as he kissed me.

“Fuck, Stef,” he growled at me, shoving me up against the

washing machine, both hands on the fly of my jeans. Then his voice

went up sharply. “Shit!”

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He had to lunge sideways to catch the glass cruet and keep it from

falling off the dryer, and the ridiculousness of the situation made me

laugh.

“What?”

I tried not to giggle. “We’re outside sneakin’ around like a couple

of kids, ready to use olive oil as lube, no less.”

“Yeah, it’s hysterical.” He smirked at me before he spun me

around and pushed me forward, steering me past the dryer to a small

folding table I hadn’t noticed in the dark. Seconds later, the snap of my

jeans surrendered to his dexterous fingers, and the zipper followed. All

I heard was his indrawn breath before I was bent forward over the

table, my jeans and underwear shucked roughly to my knees. I parted

my legs as far as I could and let my head fall back.

“Rand.” I trembled when I felt his slippery fingers coating my

crease.

“Say I can. Tell me it’s okay.”

“You know it’s okay.”

“You’re so beautiful, Stef… I mean it. I ain’t never seen the likes

of you.”

He rubbed his face in my hair at the same moment his oily hand

wrapped around my cock. A hoarse moan tore out of me.

“I love the noises you make,” he said, his voice a throaty whisper

as he prodded against my entrance. “Fuckin’ love ’em.”

I could feel the muscles in my ass clenching and unclenching,

ready for him, wanting him, needing him. “Fuck me.”

“Yessir.” He exhaled as he thrust inside, sheathing himself in me,

the burn white-hot for seconds before the pleasure twisted quickly into

bliss.

He felt so good. I was so full, and his cock buried inside me felt

somehow more intimate than it had ever felt with anyone else. “Rand.”

I barely got his name out.

“God, Stef, your body just swallows my cock and then holds it so

fuckin’ tight… how is that even… baby,” he moaned, sliding in and out

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of me, stroking deep, the movement sensual and slow. The pace of his

movement let me know that he wanted to feel all of me squeezing all of

him.

I pushed back as he pushed in, the two of us rocking together

hard, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the open space. The

fingers tracing my lips were salty when I tasted them, and Rand let out

a harsh groan when I sucked his thumb inside my mouth.

“Christ, I have never wanted anyone this bad,” he almost snarled,

tangling his hand in my hair only to yank my head back hard, making

my back arch as he shoved into me, stretching me tight. The angle was

perfect, and he stoked over my gland, causing a hoarse moan to well up

from deep inside me.

I felt my balls tighten, heat gathering at the base of my spine as

the strokes became harder, pounding thrusts before I was lifted and

twisted sideways, folded in half, his hand like a vise around the back of

my neck. Rand slid his hand to the small of my back and held me there,

anchored, the hammering thrusts pushing up as I was forced down.

Every gliding stroke nailed my prostate. I couldn’t scream—only

panting came out.

His balls slapped against my ass, his thighs plastered to mine as

he pushed in and out of my clenching hole, fucking me so hard, so

deep. I writhed on his cock, and I heard the sharp intake of breath.

“Fuck yeah… come for me. You’re fuckin’ drippin’, Stef…

you’re so hard in my hand… let go, just let go.”

His name tore from my throat in a strangled whisper, and semen

splashed the floor at my feet. The muscles in my ass clamped down on

him, gripping his cock tight, and I instantly felt my insides filled with

heat.

“Stef!” He got out my name before I was yanked up roughly by

my hair, and arms like iron wrapped tight around me. His face was

buried in my shoulder, and I registered the moisture seconds later.

“It’s okay,” I soothed him, trembling hard, so thankful to be held.

“I’m not….” he started, but couldn’t continue.

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I knew he wasn’t crying, it was simply that the emotions were

overwhelming, the pleasure so intense that there was no way to process

it without breaking down just a little.

“I don’t wanna let go,” he said, his mouth opening on the side of

my neck, sucking hard.

The man really enjoyed leaving marks on me. “You gonna stay

inside of me ’til you go soft?” I smiled, letting my head bump against

his, my body boneless in his embrace.

“Stef!” I heard Charlotte yell from inside.

“I guess not.” He chuckled, and because he was still buried inside

me, plastered to my back, I felt the rumble spread through me like a

ripple on the surface of a lake until my entire body vibrated with his

happiness.

When he slid out of me, I had to grip the edge of the table to keep

myself standing. Everything in me wanted to beg him to stay buried to

his balls in my ass.

“I wanna lie down with you,” he said, kissing up the side of my

neck to my ear, breathing out sharply, covering me in goose bumps

from head to toe. “Don’t you wanna get in my bed, Stef? Don’t you

wanna wrap yourself around me?”

I groaned, unable to stop shaking.

He took a quick breath. “Lookin’ at your sweet little ass with my

stuff dripping out of it is makin’ it hard to breathe.”

His words were having the same effect on me.

“Stefan Joss, where are you?”

The yell was shrill—she wanted me now. Without another word

to him, I bent, yanked up my briefs and jeans, and bolted from the

porch.

“You smell like come and olive oil,” he laughed at me as I threw

open the screen door.

I had just enough time to flip him off before Charlotte appeared in

the kitchen doorway.

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“Jesus Christ, Stef,” she barked at me. “I’ve been looking for you

for a half an hour!”

But even though she was mad, all I could hear was Rand’s throaty

laughter. He really needed to get it together. It wasn’t that funny.

ONCE the crowd thinned out, I went upstairs with Charlotte and lay

down on her bed. I listened to her talk about Ben and the wedding

flowers and the appetizers and how much she hated vegans and why

my idea of having a photo booth had been so inspired. She had wanted

to have cute pictures of everyone, and now she was sure to have them.

The photo booth would make two prints of every picture, one for the

guest and one for Charlotte’s wedding album.

“How did you ever get so brilliant, Stef?”

It was a photo booth; I had not found the cure for the common

cold. “Seriously, how tired are you?”

She groaned loudly and flung herself face-down on the bed.

“What’s wrong?”

There was a long, muttering explanation spoken into the pillow.

“Look at me, because I didn’t hear a word of that.”

She rolled her head to the side, her eyes fastened to mine. “I said

that Ben wants to know about the worst day of my life.”

My stomach did a slow roll.

“What should I say?” she asked, her fingers feather-light across

my jaw.

“What do you want to say?”

She took a shaky breath. “I want to tell him, but I’m just afraid

that he’ll look at me different after. I should have told him a long time

ago.”

Her face looked pained.

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“Honey, do you––”

“Will you hold my hand?”

“What?”

“When I tell him”—she swallowed hard—“will you hold my

hand?”

I took a quick breath. “Cut out my heart instead.”

Her sigh touched my face. “I already did that.”

Laying there, my face inches from hers, I watched her eyes fill,

saw the tiny rosebud lips purse and the delicately arched brows tighten

slightly.

“Ben’s downstairs.”

“He’s drunk.”

“Maybe that’s better.”

We sat up at the same time.

“It’s a lot to take in the night before your wedding,” I told her.

“And I should do what?” she asked me seriously. “Begin my life

with him with this hanging over us?”

“What’s hangin’ over you?” I snapped at her. “If he never knows,

who cares?”

“Easy for you to say.” Her sigh moved my hair. “You know

already.”

I rolled my head back so I was looking at her.

“Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say.”

Only at that moment, staring into her eyes, did I realize how

terrified she was. I grabbed her hands tightly, startling her, as

evidenced by her gasp. “You know… whatever happens….”

She nodded quickly, the tears spilling over, trailing down her

cheeks. The reassuring smile she gave me, trying to comfort me, was

painful. “Go get him.”