Sucker for Payne Page 9

  She stayed silent, letting me explore her. Goose bumps sprinkled across her bare skin. My palm searched her softness, as if my thirst would be quenched by her preciousness. I had a moment where I wanted to look in her eyes, so I could pinpoint every twinkle, all the times they widened with each move I made, but I wouldn’t interrupt our rhythm.

  Like a blind man going through life, I paced my traces in time with the beat of my heart. Every thump, I inched further upward, until I was unbuttoning her blouse and cradling her forward, so I could undress her.

  She kept her eyes closed as I did away with her blouse, not even noticing its color. Her bra though…that was black. My index finger fondled the lace just beneath the wire holding her perfect breast in place. My thoughts of seeing her eyes fell by the wayside as I took in her bare skin. Leaning over her, I pulled her close, causing her back to fall onto the cushions as I took my place on top of her.

  I couldn’t recall another time I’d ever felt so turned on. Sure, I’d had multiple partners along the way—some of them even more experienced than I’d been—but I had never witnessed more beauty in any creature who ever lived on Earth.

  Rubbing the spot I’d picked out moments before, I pressed my lips against hers. I’d imagined it a million different ways, but joyful hadn’t been one of them. Kissing her again made me happy. Not satisfied. Not sated. Not even content. I smiled without control, each time my tongue slipped inside her.

  Willow’s soft sighs and small movements engulfed my body like music. Just like the beat of a killer song, she had my body gyrating in time with her breaths. We were in perfect sync as I slid the cups of her bra up and took the tip of her breast into my mouth. I never wanted to let go.

  She’d showed impeccable strength while I touched her, but her hands pushed through my hair, tugging gently until she reached the ends. My headache was gone. There was not one sign of discomfort from my fight earlier. All I could feel was her. She was as worked up as I was, and I reveled in the fact that I had a hand in her feeling that way. As my lips worked every square inch of her chest, my fingertips barely grazed her thighs. She kicked her shoes off and dug her heels into my ass.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  She willed me to be closer to her, and I wanted to be. I ground my arousal into her center as hard as I could. I needed her to remember me. To leave a mark on her soul. I wanted her to experience a different kind of pain. Not insecurities about where I’d been, or where we would go. Not thinking about being cornered by her sleazy boss. Not hurt because she’d just witnessed her man lay down and lose without ever trying. No. I wanted the aching to go so far beyond hurting, that it actually felt good.

  My body moved against her in a cadence that pulled moans from her throat. And when I took her to the next level, without ever losing our clothes, it took me so high, I was afraid to come down.

  “Conner.” Her hands slid from the back of my head to my chin, where she absently fondled the hair there.

  I wondered if she regretted letting me touch her. It hadn’t been something I’d ever concerned myself with before. Rejection happened, then you moved on to the next woman. That had been a given. But with Willow, I didn’t want to move on.

  I hated myself in that moment. There was something parallel with her and alcoholism. The lure felt similar to the pull of the liquid poison, and I wasn’t sure if it would be healthy for me to partake. Not just in the physical, but in the emotional part of her. She was already bringing out feelings in me that I hadn’t even been aware existed. And now that I’d tasted her and held her in my arms, I couldn’t think of anyone else. One addiction was clearly taking the place of another.

  “Hey.” She spoke aloud again, this time softly like she was coddling a baby.

  “You’re beautiful.” I didn’t know if I’d get another chance to tell her, and I wasn’t going to let her go without doing so. I leaned back, giving her room to put her blouse back on if she wanted.

  She wasn’t having any of it. Hooking each of her legs onto the back of my thighs, she brought me down to her again. This time, I waited as she took the lead. Her hands rubbed my fevered skin, until she lifted my shirt up and over my head. Our gazes never lost contact as she dropped the shirt beside the couch.

  “I don’t ever want to see your body look like this again.” Her nails scraped gently across my bruised chest. “I can’t do it, Conner.”

  “I know.” I kissed her trembling lips.

  “No.” She stopped me by pushing on my chest. “I physically can’t do it. It reminds me of something I hate.” I quirked an eyebrow at her choice of words. “Not that kind of hate.” She rolled her eyes. “Real hate, the kind where self-loathing is the positive adjective to describe what I felt about myself. There was a time where . . .”

  “Where what?” I lifted myself up on my elbows, giving her my full attention. As much as I wasn’t one for small talk, I hung on her every word.

  “Where I didn’t care what happened to me. Where I spent time shadow-boxing my other half. I saw that in you—in the cage. I promised myself I’d never be weak like that again. Promise me you’ll do the same.” Her hand pushed harder, demanding my vow.

  “I promise,” I whispered.

  Lifting my pinky up to hers, we both kissed each other’s skin, giving the promise more weight. I knew I loved her then. So much so, that even though we fell asleep in each other’s arms without making love, I’d never been more fulfilled.

  I loved her, and I’d never love anyone else.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Willow

  “Where are all your underwear?” I asked, setting a tray of grapes and cheese on the coffee table in front of Conner. “I’ve done two loads, and haven’t come across so much as a pair of boxers.” Doing his laundry hadn’t been high on my list of things to keep me busy, but I found myself in the small wash-room, doing it anyway.

  He shrugged. “Don’t have any.”

  “You don’t have any?” Not bothering in the least to keep my eyes away from his package, I glanced down at the bulge in his sweat pants. “None?”

  He chuckled, wiping moisture away from his eye, like I’d just sent him into a fit of laughter, performing the latest comic relief routine. “Nope.”

  “Why are you laughing?” I picked the trash up from his last snack of peanut butter crackers. “What’s so funny about me asking if you have underwear? I mean normal people wear underwear, especially ones who, you know, have that much junk.” I nodded to his mid-section.

  “I don’t like being constricted.” He grinned and shrugged, wincing at the movement in his shoulder.

  “So, you don’t wear anything under your shorts when you’re fighting?” Not that I was looking there during his fights, but everything always appeared to be in place.

  “I have to wear a cup when I fight.”

  I smiled at his admission. So, he wore them sometimes. Glancing at my watch, I knew I needed to leave early to fight the morning traffic. “I have that interview to get to. Do you need anything before I go?”

  “Already?”

  “Yeah, because bills, you know?” I winked and grabbed my purse off the end table.

  “Kiss me.”

  I smiled and leaned down to give him what he wanted. I’d planned on doing it anyway, but I liked that he thought about it before I did.

  ***

  I checked my phone as I pulled into the parking lot. I normally wasn’t nervous, but for some reason, I kept thinking I had the time wrong. As I walked inside, my gaze landed on an attractive brunette in a navy-blue dress that looked as if it costed more than a month’s rent.

  “Thank you for meeting me at such a late notice. I had planned on coming to town next week, but those plans changed.” The middle-aged woman stuck her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Dana.” She took a seat across from me at our local coffee joint, pulling her laptop out of the case.

  “Willow. And, it was no problem at all. Thank you for meeting wi
th me.”

  I had no idea what this freelance position entailed. The only information the ad had given suggested it was for a women’s magazine. For all I knew, it could be writing reviews for vibrators. And given that I’d used a total of one in my entire life, I wouldn’t consider myself qualified.

  “I have seventy-five magazines that I contract for. No topics are off the table. So, if your writing is good, and I mean good,” she leveled me with a look, “then I’d sub-contract your piece for a certain amount of money. Each job pays different.”

  “Is this something I can live off of?” I wasn’t sure how she’d take my question, but I needed a reliable source of income.

  “Sure. If your writing capabilities are decent, that is. I have several writers who write for multiple magazines. It can be a lucrative career, but like I said, you must be good. People have to respond to your style. They need to be interested in what you have to say, or why you have a certain perspective on whatever topic you are writing about.”

  “Okay, this sounds fun. What do I need to do to convince you to hire me?” No sense in beating around the bush. Plus, I could work from home? Count me in.

  “I’ll give you three topics today. The directions are on the paper,” she said, handing me two copies, then promptly typing on her computer. “These need to be completed, edited, and submitted to me within two weeks. My contact information is at the top of the page.”

  I glanced down at the paper:

  Politics for Millennials

  Diets that Actually Work

  Boyfriends vs. Star Boys

  Okay. These were subjects I could have an opinion on. But could I impress her with my bullshitting capabilities? Sure, why not. I could bullshit with the best of them, especially from behind a computer screen.

  It was settled then. I’d go home and kill it.

  No pressure.

  I answered a few more questions, handed over my resume, and chatted about some of her favorite places to visit while she was in town. It was formal, but I didn’t mind. It was a job interview after all, and being able to get groceries next month would help keep me afloat. I finished my coffee as she politely advised me that she had another appointment.

  ***

  The next three weeks passed quicker than normal because I was enjoying my job. I liked it so much, I found myself working longer than the eight hours Dana required. I hadn’t seen her since my interview, but she stayed in contact with me weekly through email. She seemed relatively easy-going, but distant. That was cool. I had enough friends, and Conner kept my mind occupied during my down time.

  I’d been so caught up in my other job, I hadn’t realized what freedom could afford me in writing. I was shit at writing lengthy pieces, but as I got more experience, I learned short, colorful, opinionated works were my sweet spot. I had been forwarded a couple of emails praising my wit and ability to connect with the readers from the magazines. Those words of encouragement were huge for my confidence. I found, as time passed, I was getting more comfortable and poised, knowing that someone was listening to what I had to say.

  “Conner!” I yelled from his living room.

  “Back here,” he answered from his bedroom.

  I stepped inside his room to find him taking clothes out of his top drawer and piling them on the floor. I knew him too well to assume he was spring cleaning. “What are you doing?”

  “Making room for you.”

  His words stopped me in my tracks. We’d never discussed making room for me. “For…?”

  “If you ever need it, it’s there.” He shrugged, as he threw the clothes in his hand into the bottom drawer.

  He wasn’t making a big deal out of it, so I decided not to either…on the outside. We had become relaxed around each other, but talking about the future hadn’t been something we’d done. He seemed okay with going day to day, and I was too.

  “Sometimes, I really hate you,” I whispered as I ran my palm from his naked shoulder down to the center of his back. His muscles tightened at my touch. It was as if I had the secret code for unlocking pure delight in his body. Physically, he might have been considered intimidating to most people, but to me, he was perfect. I’d spent hours tracing every scar, every imperfection, trying to massage them into his skin so they’d disappear. Even though he didn’t know my intentions, he sighed and relaxed each time. His demeanor changed under my fingertips, and it made me feel like Houdini.

  I took it upon myself to hook the sides of his shorts with my thumbs and pull them down slowly, so that he would get that I was in control. I kicked them aside once they reached his feet, and continued to massage his back. I placed both my palms on his shoulders and rubbed all the way down to his ass. His breathing picked up, and I reveled in the fact that he was so turned on by simple contact.

  “I hate you too.” He turned so that we were facing each other. I stood a good foot shorter than he did. I kept my gaze on his stomach. I counted each ab, as I lightly scratched my nails across them. He tensed, muscles bulging and stretching across his tanned skin. I held my smile inside and continued my path. I was in love with his body. The shape of him brought out feelings inside me that I’d never felt.

  His thickness aroused something inside me that I couldn’t nail down. Obviously, he was fit, but it seemed to me that I was attracted to how solid he was. The breadth of his shoulders reminded me of a bird’s wingspan. His arms were dense enough to pick up a refrigerator. His chest was full, and even though it was hard as steel, it was soft enough to make me feel safe when he engulfed me in a hug. His thighs were full and muscular. The dark curly hairs on them were perfectly proportioned, all the way down to his ankles.

  I ran my hand down his right hip, pressing harder as I got to his thigh. His muscle flexed under my fingers, causing me to squeeze. I paused to look up at him. His body wasn’t the only thing that was tense. His heated observation pinned me, stopping me in my tracks. For someone who hadn’t said anything, his features spoke volumes.

  I held my hand in place, while taking in the crease of his brow and his pursed lips. He didn’t like going slow. It was taking a lot of effort for him to hold back. Forcing him out of his comfort zone enthralled me. It made me want to make him wait forever.

  “Patience, grasshopper.” I winked and continued my soft assault.

  “I’m about to show you some patience.”

  Normally, I would have laughed at him struggling, but I was too focused. Nothing could have broken my concentration in that moment. I wanted to bring him to his knees. Walking in on him doing something so caring had turned my insides to complete mush. It was like we were in a battle for who could do more for the other. He wanted to make me happy. I wanted to make him happy. I’d never been in a relationship so selfless. It was liberating.

  Going to my knees, I traced the skin around his stomach, then down to his pubic bone. His length had grown twice its size. Desire shot through me, as I geared up to continue my attempt at creating a moment between us—one that neither of us had ever experienced. Not in the act itself, but in the crackle of fire that existed between us.

  I’d never had this level of passion with anyone before. Attraction, sure. But not feeling like if I didn’t do everything I could to put a smile on his face, I would be failing him somehow. I wanted nothing but pure bliss in his mind as I showed him what a joke our mutual hatred for each other was. I loved him. I loved him as much as I loved myself, and that scared the shit out of me as much as it elated me.

  Giving him all of me, I took him in my mouth and swirled my tongue.

  “Damn, woman!” He groaned.

  We’d spent the last three weeks talking and fooling around like a couple of teenagers, but never taking our physical relationship all the way. I knew he was waiting on me.

  Well, I was ready.

  Strong hands gripped the sides of my head, fingers thrusting through the strands of my hair, nearly ripping pieces out at the root. Pain fizzled into pleasure the wilder he got with his movements.
I was driving him mad physically, and he was driving me insane emotionally. Like we were professional dancers, pushing and pulling like a perfect magnet, our movements complementing one another.

  My heart fluttered as he pushed his hands under my armpits and lifted me so high, my stomach was level with his mouth. He walked steady to the bed, placing kisses on the patch of skin peeking out from my raised shirt. Heat flooded my body. As hot as I’d been while giving him pleasure, nothing compared to the thrilling sensation of his lips on my skin.

  He grunted as he pulled my pants off, before tugging my shirt over my head. My bra lay haphazardly, causing my breasts to come out of the cups. With one hand, he reached behind me and unclasped the hook. His face was contorted, almost looking pained. There was something so poetic in his reactions. Like he was spilling his guts—his deepest thoughts—to me through visual expression. It was how he did most of his communication, and I’d gotten to know him so well, it worked for us.

  His eyes softened as he took in my bare breasts. Leaning in slightly, he pulled one of them into his mouth. Bursts of color shot behind my eyelids. I couldn’t imagine anything feeling better than Conner kissing the life out of my body.

  I was wrong.

  Lifting his weight from me, he continued his path of feather-light kisses down my body. My stomach dipped of its own accord; my muscles were quite content on playing hide-and-seek from his tongue.

  Bringing my knees up, I squeezed my legs around him, feeling like I would crack one of his ribs as he peppered kisses along the top of my pubic hair. He pulled my panties to the side and his tongue dipped into my center. I lifted my hips off the bed, searching for more, but he didn’t give it to me. I was melting right before his eyes.

  Kissing my hip bone, Conner took one side of my panties into his mouth and tugged a few times, bringing one side down to my thigh. Then made his way back up to the other side, only to do the same thing. The whole time we’d been working our way up to making love, he’d taken control of the physical side of things, but had left the emotional part up to me. Even with his calculated movements, at every pause, I knew he was silently waiting for me to give consent.