When the thirty minutes were up, I hopped off, even though I could have stayed on for hours. After quickly showering and changing, I called the pizza shop I liked to splurge on and ordered a large pie. On my way to pick it up, I stopped for a bottle of wine. I was about to head straight to the rental at that point, but then realized there were no wineglasses or plates there, so I stopped to pick up some of those too.
Finally at the door, I debated letting myself in, but then decided against it. This was Aly’s place now. I knocked once, twice, before I rang the bell.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Me with food.”
I sounded like an idiot. I didn’t know how to do this. Up until a few months ago, I was a fuck-and-run kind of guy. Now I was rescuing girls, hiring private detectives, baring my soul, and picking up pizza for dinner.
The lock unclicked and when the door opened wide, Aly stood there wearing a big T-shirt and leggings.
“Pizza?” She looked at me with an eyebrow raised.
“Hey, I can still have a good time.”
“Oh, good, you remembered plates. There’s nothing in the kitchen, obviously. Tomorrow, I’m going to stop at the store.”
Carrying the pizza in one hand and a bag with the wine and dishware in the other, I made my way into the kitchen. “Want me to drive you?”
“No. No thanks. I’ve got to resume my life, and like you said when you first told me about this place, it’s on the bus line.”
“Oh, Aly-cat, what am I going to do with you?”
“Feed me!”
We sat on the stools at the narrow breakfast bar, eating pizza and sipping wine. Aly seemed calm and relaxed, yet I was anything but. Concerned about her safety, I was on high alert, listening for every sound. Maverick slept in the corner in his crate, and I wanted to take him outside and pretend to let him pee so I could check out the yard. But Aly was telling me a story about her one failed attempt at visiting a sorority. It must have been funny because she was tied up in fits of giggles.
“All those girls sat there staring at me in my worn-in faded jeans, white T-shirt, and ankle boots. I wasn’t sure why they were staring, but then I realized they were all in black. Black slinky tops and dark jeans and knee-high boots and covered in jewelry. Get it? They all looked the same, and they wanted me to do that?”
A tear escaped her eye. “I’m sorry,” she said, swiping at the tear and swiveling her stool to face me. “I didn’t mean to get all weird and laughing at the same time. It’s been an emotional twenty-four hours.”
I turned and brought my hand to her face, smoothing my thumb under her eye before bringing her in for a kiss. “You’re not getting weird, and yes, it has been a lot in the last twenty-four hours.” Christ, where’s this coming from?
“But you got to know this, Legs. I had those girls. If you had one, you had ’em all, because you’re right, they’re all the same. And you’re different, which is why I really want to stay and take off your clothes right now.”
She didn’t let me finish. Instead, she took my mouth with hers and kissed the fuck out of me. I grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her head to the side, releasing her lips and taking control. My tongue slid up her neck to her earlobe and I sucked—hard. After I let it go, I whispered in her ear, “You’re not in control when it comes to this. I am.”
Aly moaned and gasped at the same time. She was probably wet as fuck. I’d be willing to bet she’d never been dominated before, and I couldn’t wait to get the chance. I didn’t get all freaky with the dominance thing, just needed to be in command. I liked to go a little rough when I wanted, and soft when I needed something different. It was a control thing for me. I knew this from my shrink—because who doesn’t talk about their sexcapades when they’re on the couch?
Dr. Wells would tell me, “Jake, you lost all control when your parents died and Shirley took away your ability to make it right. You crave control, but you also need distance. It’s a recipe for loneliness.”
Well, maybe I didn’t want to be distant anymore considering all the romantic shit I was spewing, but I sure as hell wanted to be in charge. Women usually went all for it, but I suspected Aly might have trouble with it. She was such a take-charge kind of person that she’d need to let go; I’d known this somewhere deep in my gut. Maybe that was why I’d taken it slow.
Shit! What the hell did I know?
Aly
Visions of whatever they called that stuff . . . the painful stuff . . . BDSM, I think it was called, floated through my mind when Jake said he needed to be in control.
I bit on my lip. I wasn’t a virgin, but I wasn’t a dirty girl. Or was I? Because here I was incredibly turned on just hours after my home was broken into, and I was living in some guy’s place. A guy who needed to be in charge. My teeth continued to worry my lower lip.
“Hey, you there?” Jake ran his knuckles over my cheek. “Aly? Don’t let your mind run away. I don’t want to hurt you. I would never make you do anything you didn’t want to.”
I nodded, swallowing any doubts or regrets. “I know.”
“Do you?” His eyes were filled with doubt, now more gray than blue, and his brow furrowed.
“Yes.” My response came out almost muted. It was a whisper of a whisper, a hoarse concession to what was happening. I was telling the man I’d met in jail after he was arrested that I trusted him to be in charge—in bed—and not to hurt me.
“I don’t like to hurt women,” Jake said in a low voice. “I just need to control the pace, the mood, maybe be a little rougher than gentle, but never when it means pain. Never.”
He almost seemed to be explaining it to himself, but I didn’t want to challenge him right this moment. His need for acceptance was so plain on his face.
“I believe you,” I said softly, letting my eyes tell him I was sincere. “I don’t think you’d hurt me.”
I reached out and ran my hand up and down his arm, smoothing the soft hair sprinkled there. He’d shrugged off his leather jacket when he first came in, and now he sat before me in a navy T-shirt and jeans. I kept my eyes on his as my fingertips cruised his forearms, stopping at his elbow and waiting for permission to travel onward.
Somehow, I knew he’d want this. So I waited.
“Go on,” he said, his voice hoarse, needy.
My fingertips trailed under his shirtsleeve, pushing it up to reveal a well-defined bicep covered with a tattoo of a tree, its leaves falling through the air. The tattoo sat high on his shoulder and I wondered at his choice. Why a tree, and not a skull and crossbones or a smoking gun?
“For my parents,” he said softly before he brought a hand to his face and covered his pained expression. “Shit. I’ve never really told anyone that,” he said from beneath his hand.
“It’s okay.” I let my hand continue to wander, then brought my lips to his shoulder and placed a soft kiss on the tree. “Is that all right?”
His palm quickly found its way to the nape of my neck and pulled me tight and close. “It’s more than all right. I want more. I want those lips all over my skin, everywhere, kissing and sucking. But I can’t start because I won’t stop until I’m deep inside you and you’re screaming my name, your voice hoarse with pleasure.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and kissed his Adam’s apple—it was as far as I could reach with his hand gripping my neck. Although I wasn’t in pain, I felt secure for the first time in a long time. Safe in his rough touch.
“I’m not a virgin.” My lips grazed his neck as I spoke. I couldn’t look at him. “But I’m innocent . . . at least, more than you.”
“I got you, Aly-cat. I want to take care of you. Never wanted to do that with anyone. I’m not going to hurt you, but let’s not start what we can’t finish.”