Page 24 of For a Goode Time Call…
I had no idea what to say. I had no clue what I was feeling, or how to deal with it in my own head and body, much less how to communicate any of it to her. I couldn’t help looking down into her eyes, though. “I don’t know, Cass. I just…I’m—it’s—”
I was almost never at a loss for what to say, but right then all words and all thoughts were tangled up in the driving, consuming, burning need to touch-taste-hold-devour this woman. It was sudden and unexpected and was igniting things I’d kept shoved way down deep in the farthest back corner of the junk drawer of my soul.
“I don’t know how to do this with you right now, Cass. I just plain fuckin’ don’t.”
“Do what?” But something layered like a web of spider silk through her words and the wild burn of her eyes told me she knew damn well what I was talking about.
I swallowed hard, felt myself chewing on my thoughts as I do when agitated or deep in thought. She was in front of me, blocking the door.
I let my bag hang off my shoulder, reached out and grabbed her around the waist—god, bare skin, hot and soft—and set her to one side. I shouldnothave done that, though. Her skin, in that split second of contact, melted into my hand, dissolved into me, absorbed itself into my bloodstream and lit the furnace of need inside me to a snarling wildfire roar.
I pushed out the door and all but ran, my bare feet slapping on the pavement.
I ached for long hours after that.
Cassie
Iwatched his broad back recede into the shadows. His ponytail swayed at his back, and the huge bag of laundry seemed like no more of a burden than if he’d been carrying a single pillow. Yet that bag had been larger than me and heavier.
God, he was strong.
He’d picked me up and literally physically set me aside, and I don’t think it had required any effort whatsoever.
I stood at the door watching the sidewalk where he’d vanished for a long time, wondering.
Why had he left?
It had seemed, for a moment, as if he’d been about to kiss me.
His eyes had raked over my face, caught on my lips, stared at them. I’d felt his eyes on my body, and I couldn’t bring myself to regret having dressed so skimpily. I wasn’t overly modest anyway—as a dancer, I’d performed in this or something like it countless times. Practiced in it, sweated and been lifted and videotaped in outfits like this.
So why did it feel different with Ink? Why did I feel more naked? With anyone else I wouldn’t think twice. I was comfortable in my dance shorts and midriff tank top, and often went without a bra late at night when I was not planning on being around people, or moving around that much. It wasn’t a big deal, really. But with Ink, it just felt different. I felt exposed.
I felt…sensual.
And that was truly different. I am a physical person, a sexual person, a visceral person. But not a sensual one. Big difference. Ink made me feel intensely sensual, in that moment he was looking down at me like…
Like he wanted to devour me.
Has anyone looked at me like that, ever?
Did Rick ever look at me like that? Like if he didn’t get to touch me and kiss me and do wild and dirty things with me he would just die.
Rick had looked at me like he owned me, like he deserved me, like I was his. But not ever with such violent burning desperation, the way Ink just did.
And then Ink had just…walked away.
As if he couldn’t wait to escape me.
The washer buzzed, and I went to switch my laundry over, still turning the last half an hour over in my head.
I was attracted to him, I realized. It seemed like a weird thing to have to realize, but there it was. He was drastically different than Rick—the polar opposite, in fact. In every way.
Yet I was more than just physically attracted to Ink. There was a lot tohim. His presence was soothing and exciting at the same time. His size was intimidating and scary and thrilling and intense…and comforting. I had never in my life felt as safe as I did around Ink. Or as at risk, because heseesme. Knows me, despite not knowing a whole lot about me. I’ve told him things I’ve not really talked about even with Mom.
So, wait. Was I imagining him wanting me? Was I seeing something that’s not there because I was lonely and sad and upset and lost and—
And fucking horny as hell.
