Zipper Fall (11 page)

“Oooof.” That was me, with air forcibly expelled out of my lungs.

“Grrraahwrrr!”

“Dammit, I’ll crush that fuckin’ phone of yours!” Azurri’s weight, warm and comforting, pressed me into the carpet, and I felt absolutely no desire to move away. My tight, tired body melted into boneless lassitude from the contact, and my face froze as I became self-conscious over my reaction. Azurri reached his long arm above us and clenched the spasming, orgasming electronic device and shut it off. I felt his bent leg, warm and solid across my thighs, his chest lightly touching mine. Azurri was bigger and seemed stronger, but I didn’t mind because I liked where this was going.

Full of mischief, I struggled to reach for my phone, successfully provoking him to trap both my wrists in one of his hands, pinning me to the ground. His face hung above mine, the tendrils of his brown hair almost touching my face. Our breath mingled and our eyes met, but it wasn’t one of those longing gazes of sudden recognition where both parties feel unspeakable lust for one another. He merely looked pissed off. I gave him my puppy dog eyes and felt his grip on my wrists tighten. Jack Azurri seemed inexplicably immune to my Power of Cute.

“Alright, Gaudens,” he said, breathing hard. “Tell me what will keep you from using that particular sound as your ring tone.”

I was breathing hard too, albeit for a different reason. “For your information, Azurri, this ringtone is only for you. Not like before, for Reyna and all the other people who call me. You alone. See? You ought to feel good about that.”

“Is that so?” He exhaled, letting his stranglehold on my hands loosen a little. I didn’t make any attempt to move away from the tingling contact. “I’m not talking about having an exclusive ringtone. I wanna know what can I do to make you just delete it.”

Moments passed while I luxuriated under the delicious pressure exerted by his warm and muscular body. As he held me down like that, I felt my nether regions stir, and it took all the control I had not to arch into him. I was tempted to shift and see if, perhaps, he felt the same. My breath became shallow and my face flushed a bit at the thought. However, despite these challenging circumstances, I considered his request.

“Problem is, I really love the sound of that ringtone.” I felt him go rigid over me. “If you’d… if you would perhaps find a way that I could hear that sort of a totally addictive, animalistic, wild-cat growl in real life, then maybe—and I’m not making a promise, mind you—but maybe I’d have no need to keep a recording of it.”

He pressed into me ever so slightly while keeping himself from crushing me.

I tried to lift my hips, but my legs were pinned with his and the only solid contact I had was our chests. My hips wiggled a bit, searching for something solid, but his hips canted to the side. Frustration was the only fruit of my labors. I scowled at him. “You’re a tease, Azurri.”

“Yeah, I am.” The words ghosted over my lips as he came closer to me; the moist weight of his breath almost made me flutter my eyelids shut, except he finally settled his body right over mine, legs and hips and all. I relaxed into it, allowing a small, pleasured whine to escape.

He let go of my arms and stroked my wrists with his long fingers before he slid his hands all the way to my shoulders. Then he folded his arms on top of my chest, allowing his fingers to skim and drape over the planes and ridges of my body as though by accident. He gazed at me down his perfect, straight nose with the slightest hint of a smile, reminiscent of a big cat.

“Would you care for a drink? I could use a martini just about now.”

“Okay.” I breathed, never having had a martini before.

I
LEANED
my butt against the dishwasher and watched Azurri fix our third drink. He measured out five small glass jiggers of Blue Sapphire Bombay gin and the last dregs of Cinzano White Vermouth into a large plastic cup, added a handful of ice cubes, and stirred it for a while. Then he poured half into my glass and the other half into his, straining the ice through his fingers. He grabbed the lemon again and removed two whisper-thin strips of lemon peel with a paring knife; he twisted them over the clear liquid, then dropped them in.

I couldn’t decide what to ogle first—either his shapely butt or his broad shoulders—but I was soon captivated by the focused frown between his eyebrows. I studied his face, making note of every detail of his aquiline nose, soft lips, and strong chin. He had wide, well-muscled shoulders and strong arms that ended in skilled hands; their every movement was deliberate. He prepared the drinks like an act of artistic expression. The fingers of his right hand were still dripping with the liquid as he handed me mine; I took it from him and set it down.

“Well, go ahead, taste it! This gin’s different.” He sounded eager to have me try.

I had an appetite for something else entirely. I grasped his wrist. Not bothering to meet his eyes, I bent and wrapped my tongue around his fingertips and licked the drying martini off his skin.

Lemon. Juniper. Alcohol.

My palate demanded more. I wrapped my lips around his fingers and sucked them in, using my tongue to explore their underside, tasting, caressing.

The bitters of vermouth. A hint of salt.

Salt? Jack’s salt.

The sound of glass crashing onto the tile floor made me stop and open my eyes. Azurri stood still and breathless and his eyes were shut. I eased his fingers out of my mouth, drawing my tongue along their undersides, enjoying its slither over the pads of his calloused fingertips. A low moan rumbled deep in his chest, escaping his throat as a breathy sigh. Slowly, as though it took a great deal of effort, he forced his eyelids apart to reveal confused, impossibly blue eyes.

“Look… look what you made me do,” he rasped. “That was the last of the vermouth.”

“Sorry.” I felt a blush rise up my neck. “I’ll clean it up.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’re barefoot. Sit up on the dishwasher and stay put.”

I did as he said, sipping a bit of the freshly made drink. The Bombay gin was a lot smoother than the Beefeater; the lemon a fine counterpoint to the sublime balance of juniper and bitters—although, truth be told, fine distinctions were becoming difficult to discern because I was on my third drink. Suddenly I felt a bit off balance and the floor tilted fifteen degrees to the right. Acting with smooth deliberation, I set the glass down and grasped the edge of the counter to right myself. Now I knew what a martini was and what went into it, but still—wow.

Azurri returned with a broom and a pan and threw the broken glass in the garbage; then he ran a handful of wet paper towels over the white tile, picking up the smallest shards. He washed his hands at the sink and looked at me just sitting there. Watching him. “Drink your martini,” he growled.

Not unless you want it back later.

“I’m waiting to share with you.” My enunciation was careful. It wouldn’t do to slur.

He wiped his wet hands against his dress trousers. Our eyes met; the arctic ice of his irate glare was long gone, replaced by the soft warmth of a tropical ocean, liquid and caressing. He came closer—way too close—and snaked his long arm around my waist. “The floor’s wet, and I don’t want you to mess up my socks. Here, hop a ride.”

I didn’t want him to carry me like a groom might carry a bride—that position was way too loaded with unintended meaning.

Being tossed into a fireman’s carry was out of the question—that would make me hurl.

I reached for the last martini with my right hand and wrapped my left around his neck. I saw only one option left, and I took it, feeling brazen and shameless. My face burned as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He pressed our chests together, hoisting me under my rear, and transported us to the living room.

I would have thought I would have enjoyed this sort of a thing. After all, I had been lusting after this fine specimen of manhood for weeks. So why did I feel this sudden sense of ambivalence wash over me? Every step he took made me rub my stirring groin against his belly; the sensation had me turn all warm and gooey inside. Yet I couldn’t make myself just lean into it. The tables must have turned while I wasn’t looking. The control I enjoyed so much during my invasions and burglaries had dissipated with my landing on Azurri’s windowsill, soaked to the bone and stuck in my rope harness. Once I had allowed him to untie me; warm me up in his shower; clothe me in his soft clothes; indulge me in a drink made by his own hand… dammit, where did my sense of control go?

I had to get the upper hand again.

His butt sank into the soft leather sofa as I let go with my legs and straddled him. I sat safely on his knees: close, but not too close. His eyes were darkened with heavy-lidded heat and his hands felt steady and warm on my hips.

“Gaudens.” His voice broke the silence as he tightened his hands on my waist.

I met his gaze as I lifted the drink to my lips. Taking an overlarge sip of the strong, burning liquid, I touched my lips against his and curled my tongue into a straw, letting the scorching liquid invade his mouth. His eyes widened as he drew a sharp inhale, the air current irritating the tender tissues of both of our mouths by evaporating the alcohol too fast.

“Fuck, Gaudens….”

I shut his mouth with a kiss, my tongue skimming the bottom of his lip, enjoying the edge of his stubble.

He groaned.

The sound was as intoxicating as the taste.

He responded, engaging in gentle play; his tongue swept the inside of my upper lip, and I moaned, relishing in how sensitive that place can be. Jack’s strong, able arms pulled me into him, his undeniable hard-on, imprisoned yet rampant, rubbing against mine through layers of fabric.

There was no hiding it now; I felt a blush coming on again and fought to make it go away.

I’m in charge—it’s okay.

I’m in charge—it’s okay.

I’m in charge—it’s okay.

My control-freak mantra worked its magic. I felt my embarrassment drain away as I rocked my hips, grinding into Azurri’s washboard abs. Our fingers brushed as he removed the glass from my hand; the silence of the room was broken by a soft clink as the crystal bottom met the polished wood surface of the side table. Driving rain susurrated against the windowpanes, accompanied by our breathy gasps of pleasure. His hands warmed my skin, skimming my waist, my back. Daring and brave, he ventured to explore under my tight shirt. I shivered at the touch, taking in every nuance of his caress. Tongues met and parted again. I felt him slide out a bit so his hips could reach mine as he arched into the pleasure of our contact, and that familiar, thrilling heat began to spread from my center down, and I knew it was moments from blooming into a hot, wanton ache of desire.

I slid my hand down his chest in a slow, exploratory caress. I slowly mapped his defined contours through the fabric of his shirt. Bent on removing some of the layers of fabric between us, I found the cool metal of his belt buckle. My fingers felt slow and clumsy after all that alcohol, and it took some fussing before it came undone; Azurri’s delicate sucks on my collarbone sure didn’t help my coordination any. The button finally gave, the zipper fell open, and my hand slid under the silk boxers.

Oh yeah.

The hot, hard, satin-smooth shaft caressed my fingers as Azurri gasped, turning his breath into a growl. “We… we have some unfinished business… Gaudens.”

I’ve always loved the smooth, silky hardness of cock in my mouth. I don’t quite know how I got down there; I could never quite recall the exact sensation of the delicate and soft skin—its tender caress along my neck and my lips, avoiding the fine sandpaper of my late-night cheek—until I encountered it once again. It always came as a pleasant shock that I could play with something so smooth and hard and hot; a toy so fabulously responsive.

“Move your pants down,” I said as I grabbed his knees to keep from swaying like a martini-soaked rope in the breeze. He wiggled, pushing his trousers and boxers down to his ankles. I had full access. I smiled.

I caressed his thighs and parted his knees, enjoying the feel of his heated skin, reveling in the conflict between tightening and relaxing that now warred within my prey. His shirt was in the way, and I undid the buttons from the bottom up and pushed it to the sides to better see him in his glory. I flickered my gaze up to his face, and our eyes met. His lids were almost closed, yet he struggled to keep his eyes on me. When I saw him bite his lower lip, I smiled in satisfaction. His chest was all firm planes and ridges, with just a bit of hair swirled in its natural growth pattern. It then thinned to an arrow-shaped line that pointed down, traversing abs you could do your laundry on, and then further down, following the hair pattern to its nexus.

There it was, nested in a thatch of brown curls: his cock.

The generous shaft rose toward me, and its smooth, swollen head was circled by a sensitive ridge. It sat there, enticing and challenging at the same time. I eyed it with a mixture of greed and apprehension.

“Hey… anybody home?” Jack whispered in a husky voice, while “Little Jack” just about strained in my direction like a moisture-and-heat-seeking missile.