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He takes another sip of vodka before answering me, and I’m starting to worry about why he’s drinking and how much of that he’s going to be doing. I really don’t want to be stuck out here with an angry—or psycho—drunk person.
“Yes, I made it. My grandmother loves to cook, and sometimes I just go to her house and spend the day cooking with her.”
Picturing that scene brings a smile to my face. I don’t know many men who would hang out with their grandmother cooking, especially ones that look like he does.
Sterling waltzes into the room and starts to wind himself around my ankles, meowing up at me.
“Aww … he’s talking. He’s such a cutie.”
He takes yet another drink, and opens a small pantry door, pulling out a bag of cat food. “He’s hungry. This little fucker eats nonstop.”
I take the bag out of his hand and fill the cat’s dish, laughing at how quickly he runs over to start devouring his food. “Don’t call him a fucker. He’s just a kitten. Maybe he was starved as well as tortured.”
“Shit, I never thought of that.”
I put the food back in the pantry and spy more alcohol in there, way in the back.
I turn around and eye him. “Why are you drinking so much?”
“This is nothing. Trust me.” Thin red veins are spreading in his eyes, and his words are starting to slur just a little bit. The fuck is he doing to himself?
“Do you have a drinking problem?” I demand, folding my arms across my chest.
He laughs. “I have a lot of problems.”
Irritated, I take the bottle away from him. “I won’t stay here if you’re going to drink.” I pour what’s left in the bottle into the sink, hoping it doesn’t put him in a rage.
“What the fuck?” he yells. “Why did you do that?”
I back away from him a little. “I refuse to stay here if you’re going to be drinking. My father was an alcoholic. Forget it. No way in hell am I going to let you put a finger on me or be wielding knives and tying me up, or whatever crazy shit you plan to do if you’re drunk or high. You said I had to trust you and there is no way I can do that if you’re drinking. I can’t go there.”
We engage in a stare-off for a few minutes. His eyes are dark with anger and his fists are clenched at his sides. The fact that I don’t know anything about him or what he could do to me quickly comes to the forefront of my mind.
“You keep fucking walking away from me,” he finally says.
“And?” I prod, raising my eyebrows at him.
“And what? I don’t like it. Don’t do it again.”
“Fine. No more drinking or I’ll walk home.”
He sighs, and blows out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “All right. If it bothers you that much, I won’t.”
“It does, and thank you.”
“Come here.”
I don’t budge.
“Come. Here,” he repeats.
I relent and step forward, stopping a few inches in front of him. I crane my neck to look up at him and he touches my cheek. “Why do you run off?” he asks, his voice low and soft, his eyes fighting to close.
Shrugging, I lean against the warmth of his hand. “I don’t know, really. I’m constantly feeling like I have to run away … like being someplace else will somehow make me feel better. It never does, though, and I usually end up just crying or getting mad at myself. I don’t know how else to explain it other than my brain and my heart feel lost.”
He stares into my eyes for a few moments and I know that he understands. Finally, someone understands. “We’ll even you out and you’ll feel better.” He leans down and kisses me. “Come into the bedroom with me. I need to measure you.”
I let him lead me to the bedroom, but I’m confused. “Measure me?” I question. “For what?”
He pulls the T-shirt over my head, as if it’s just the most natural thing to be doing. I step out of my panties, hanging on to him for balance.
“I’m going to buy you something,” he finally says.
Well, that piques my interest. What could he buy me that I would need to be measured naked for? I recall reading about a psycho that kidnapped a woman and kept her in a box under his bed for weeks, taking her out only to abuse her. A flash of fear rips through me at the thought of that happening to me.
He goes to his dresser and comes back with a cloth tape measure, and begins to measure my height, my chest, my waist, my hips—almost every part of my body. He types it all into a note program on his phone.
“Okay, you’ve really got my mind going. What are you going to get me?”
He slides his hand between my thighs. “It’s a secret.” His finger presses up between my already moist lips. “It will take about a week to get here once I order it.” He slowly slides his finger in and out of me and bends down to kiss my neck, sucking the base of my throat. I lean back, stretching my neck to feel more of his mouth on me. His teeth graze my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
“Spread your legs for me,” he whispers, and I obey, spreading my feet farther apart. I run my hands up his arms and grip his shoulders as he pushes two fingers inside me. He pulls my hair, stretching my neck back even more, and ravishes my flesh with his lips and tongue. “Take your hands off me and put them behind your back.”
My heart sinks a little. I like touching him and feeling his muscles. I love how strong and solid he feels.
“I’ll fall over,” I protest.
He bites my lip. “I won’t let you fall. Ever.”
I drop my hands and clasp them together behind me at my lower back.
“Good girl.” He puts his arm around me and holds me against him while he finger-fucks me with his other hand, pistoning in and out while his thumb rubs circles over my clit. My legs quake and weaken as he brings me close to orgasm. His fingers are like magic, knowing exactly where and how to touch me. I can’t stop my body from grinding against him. I have to focus on keeping my hands behind me, and not grabbing onto him.
“You want to come, don’t you?” His voice is a sexy, raspy whisper in my ear. He slows his hand down, barely moving inside me. I press my sex against him, needing him to keep going, but he doesn’t move, and holds me back from riding on his hand.
“Yes …” I try to kiss him but he moves his lip
s away from mine, teasing me, taking everything away. I struggle not to whimper with want.
“Beg.”
All pride goes out the window. “Please …”
“Again.”
God, he’s a cruel bastard. “Please, let me come.”
He groans and thrusts his fingers inside me, swirling them around my core, his thumb working my clit as if his life depends on it. His lips find mine again and he kisses me so deeply, so passionately and so demandingly, it’s as if we have to kiss just to breathe and survive. I’ve never felt such intensity in a man’s kiss before and it drives me further to the brink and then pushes me over the edge. I’m tumbling into orgasm, my muscles clenching around his fingers buried deep inside me. He holds me tight as my body quivers against him, my legs threatening to give out. His kisses slow until they are soft and lingering, his lips just barely touching mine, our breathing slowing together.
Gently lowering me down onto the bed, he holds me while I come down from the orgasm high.
“I think dinner is ready,” he says, breaking the silence. “Let’s go eat and then I can play with you some more.”
Damn, is he serious? I don’t think I can take any more.
“Be right back,” he says, and disappears down the hall. He returns with the clothes he bought for me and lays them on the bed.
“Get dressed and come join me for dinner.” He kisses me once more. “That was perfect, by the way. I love making you beg and come.”
My limbs are wobbly, like wet noodles, as I get dressed. I really feel like I need a nap to recover after that escapade, but the smell of the food is making my stomach grumble so much that for the first time in months I actually want to eat.
I find him in the kitchen, and he looks so out of place to me with his long hair and tattooed muscles standing over the island stove. Sterling is at his feet, literally howling at the top of his tiny lungs.
“Oh my, what’s up with him?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “It seems he is yelling at the smells. I think it woke up his tapeworm or something.” He looks down at the kitten, who’s rubbing at his ankles. “I don’t know what the fuck Evelyn was thinking, giving me this cat. I don’t know what to do with him.”
