Page 11 of Just This Once

I stand and remove his leather jacket, setting it on the couch, next to my purse, as Frankie and Dante continue their lovefest. That is until I cross through the living room and dining room to the kitchen at the back of the house. ThenFrankie races to the door so I can let him out. Dante is not far behind, resting a hip on the counter next to me.

“I like him,” Dante says with a tip of his chin to the windows, where we watch Frankie sniff the grass of my small backyard.

“Yeah, he’s a good boy.”

I feel more than hear Dante’s hum when he dips down, closing the few inches of height difference between us, his chest against my back. “I like the way that sounds coming from you.”

I lean back, relaxing into him when he curls his hands around my waist. “You don’t really want to be referred to in the same way I refer to my dog.” I tilt my head, catching his gaze. “Do you?”

He squeezes my sides, fingers working to lift the hem of my shirt to find my bare skin. “I like hearing your voice go all soft. Like you love him. I like seeing that side of you because I’m sure not many people do.”

I haven’t had a man in my house in a long time, and I don’t really like the implication that this man canseesomething in me. Since my divorce, I haven’t had the desire to be in a relationship, to ever give up that power again, and while I’m willing to strip naked physically for this man, I’m not willing to strip naked metaphorically.

Stepping out of his hold, I open the back door and whistle. “Come on, buddy. Inside.”

Frankie finishes up and trots over to get his treat, which he immediately takes under the dining room table. So, I reach for Dante’s hand and lead him upstairs, where I close the door to my room behind us, allowing him no time to look around.

Although with the way he cages me in against my wall, he’s clearly only interested in one thing, and my previous confidence takes a nose dive. I’m 5’8”, and while I’d grown upathletic and have never been especially self-conscious, I’ve birthed two kids and that rude bitch perimenopause has been screaming at me since I turned forty. So, I’m dealing witha lot.

Meanwhile, this Greek sculpture come to life is tugging at my shirt. With the lightson.

I smack my hand on the wall, searching for the switch, and flip it off.

This motherfucker flips it right back on.

“What are you doing?” I flip it off again.

“You usually have sex with the lights off?” He flips the switchagain. “How do you see anything?”

“That’s the point,” I say, and he catches my hand, pinning it above my head when I go to turn them off one last time. I start to argue, but he grabs my other hand, holding them both against the wall, his mouth taking mine, stealing my breath, along with any words I had in my head.

His lips are demanding, directing mine to open to him with soft pulls until he slips his tongue inside, sliding against mine, then teasing me with a curl against my upper lip that sends goose bumps across my skin. When I chase him for more, he laughs into a kiss, because he evidently likes to torture me.

With his thigh between mine, he tightens his grip on my wrist, pulling slightly, stretching me until I’m almost on my toes, and gazes down at me like some maniacal villain who’s got me strung up on a rack.

Then again, it might not be too far off from the truth with how his eyes roam slowly over me from head to toe, his gaze hot and hard. If it weren’t for the pinch of his fingers at my wrist, I might think they were on my cheeks and throat and breasts and legs with how my skin warms and feels heavy like his palms are on me. Everywhere. All at once.

When I can’t take it anymore, I squirm, absently rubbingmyself on his thigh, and he nods in this self-satisfied way that I shouldn’t find so attractive and yet…

Here the fuck I am.

Like a pig on a spit for the taking.

“Kiss me,” he says, and I don’t hesitate, inclining my head forward, but he doesn’t do the same. I can’t reach.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing how bad you want it.”

I hate his stupid smile. “You’re not cute.”

“Really? I would’ve guessed otherwise from your little needy sounds.”

I mash my lips closed. He won’t win.

But then he bends, his mouth ghosting over the shell of my ear. “From how you’re grinding your pussy on my leg.”

I freeze immediately, my head against the wall. “I can’t stand you.”

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