Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (10 page)

“Zarley.
Jesus, that’s, that’s . . .” He lost his words as she tipped her hips into him.

His
eyes were down on their joining and she watched his face signal his bliss as he
eased inside her till she was full of him, needed to adjust to him. He was
adjusting too, his body shaking with the effort of it, his belly hollowing out,
the muscles in his arms rigid.

“Move,
it’s okay to move. It’s going to be so good.”

He
pulled back almost all the way and pushed back in again, his eyes fighting to
stay open. She brought her knees up and his chin tipped back and he swore and
pushed inside more forcefully.

“Zarley.”

The crackle
in his voice, the lack of focus in his eyes, the tension and astonishment and
playfulness—she needed him now. “Reid, fuck me hard.”

He lost
it. Thrusting and reversing and thrusting again till he shook with the pleasure
of the rhythm he’d set and she trembled, clutching at the bed covering, willing
herself to come with him, but he stopped, went rigid and shouted her name, shaking
through his orgasm then sinking to his elbows and dropping his head to her
shoulder.

She
sighed and wrapped her arms and legs around him, kissing his cheek, smoothing
his hair back.

“I have
to pull out,” he murmured, almost slurring.

She
gripped him, reveling in the way he still trembled and not quite ready to feel
that loss. “In a minute.” A minute of luxurious kisses, gone caramel sweet and
lazy, and then he shifted to the side, flopped on his back.

He
fumbled for her hand and brought it to his chest. “Are you okay?”

“More
than okay.” For a first effort it was mighty. And they were far from finished
with each other, but he was exhausted and she had no desire to leave his bed.

“Did
you?” he asked.

“No,
but close, it was good. I’d had sex a dozen times before I had an orgasm,
before I even got close, and with a new partner it can take time.”

“Do we
have time for me to learn how to get you there? Will you stay?”

She
wanted round two and if it was going to happen, they both needed to get under
the covers and sleep. “Hmm, I’d like that.” Mostly what she liked was that he
asked with enough hesitation to think she might leave. The not being taken for
granted thing was a huge buzz.

He
roused himself, tugged at the bed covers. “Can I get you anything?”

There
was a box of tissues on the floor near the bed. There were rainclouds outside,
there were hours still to sleep, to have his body again. “I have everything I
want.” She moved to let him pull the covers over them. His sheets were crispy
and cool, they smelled freshly laundered. She even approved of his firm pillow.

They
resettled in the bed side by side, not touching, and she was on the edge of
consciousness when he said. “Can I hold you?”

She
rolled over to look at him. He didn’t have a script for this afterward stuff. And
hers was mostly about getting dressed and going home or counting the seconds
until the man did. Virgin territory for both of them. Reid lay looking at the
ceiling. “You don’t have to. We should sleep.”

“I want
to.” He turned his head. “That was. I don’t know how to. I feel like I flew the
space shuttle, explored the cosmos. Like I invented the space shuttle and built
it with my own hands. Like I don’t know what year it is and I don’t care. Like
I’m human.”

She
smiled at him. “Human?”

“A real
person at last. Not alien, something apart.”

Oh, her
heart flipped. He was uncertain, his emotions so raw he was the most human of
men to her right now. She moved closer and wrapped her arm over his chest to
snuggle him.

He
rested his cheek on her hair. She pressed her body to his side. “Who knew?”

“No
one.”

“Not
your friend from the alley?”

“Owen. No
. He knew I didn't date. I let him assume I’d had occasional women
in my life. It was easier.” He took a deep breath that swelled his chest. “You
have all my secrets.”

“They're
totally safe with me.” She lifted her head and kissed him, then broke away and
turned on her side, tugging his hand so he’d roll with her.

He
scooted up behind. Close enough she could feel his warmth, but not touching
her. It might be nice to be held again while she fell asleep. “You can hold
me.”

He
arrived at her back with a bounce that shook the bed. His arm looping over her
waist, his knees tucking up under hers. “Try and stop me.”

The
first time she’d been in this bedroom she’d said something similar to him. She’d
had no idea then she’d be here so willingly now.

He
nuzzled the back of her neck. “Thank you.”

“You
don’t need to thank me.” No way this encounter had been a duty.

“The
hell I do,” he said gruffly, sleepily. His arm was heavy and his breathing had
slowed.

“We’ll argue
about it later.”

She
smiled into the pillow when she realized the only reason she’d won that
argument was that he was asleep.

ELEVEN

It was annoying to be awake; to be wide awake and to be in bed with
Zarley, and for her to be sleeping still. It was going on midday, they’d had
maybe four hours sleep, waking her would make him an inconsiderate bastard.

Holy fuck,
he wanted to wake her. She was just there, on the next pillow and that pillow
was butted up against his and he didn’t have to extend his arm full length and
he could wrap it around her, or he could play with her hair, which had stuck to
him in wet strands earlier and now was dry and soft, fanned out on the pillow.

But if
he did that she might wake.

And if
she woke, maybe she’d want to shower, dress and go home. And do all of that
alone.

Damn,
but she smelled good, enhancing his clean lemony linen with a different scent. Like
that indescribable smell before it rained. He took a deep breath and held it in
his lungs. Soap and sweat and them. She smelled of sex. Of what they’d done
together. He wanted to snort her up, feel her up, kiss her, have her hands and
her lips on him, have her cock-zapping sighs and little squeals breaking over
him while he eased inside her slippery warmth again.

If he
touched himself, he was in all kinds of trouble. It was difficult to keep his
hands still. That taste test he’d gorged himself on, that was only enough to
demonstrate what a starving man he’d been. How had he lived so long without
knowing how to be with a woman? How had he pretended to know anything about
anything without knowing how it felt to be inside that tight, wet channel, to
have the livewire of a woman’s body in his arms?

He was
worse than an alien. He was an imposter. And how the fuck had he managed to get
this woman to do what she’d done, to let him . . . God, what he’d done.

He’d
had a blackout once in college from drinking too much. A total blank space in
his memory about where he’d been and how he’d gotten back to his dorm covered
in leaves and twigs. He’d been drinking heavily, consistently, the last month to
hangover nastiness, but not blackout stage. What he’d felt with Zarley was powerful
and freaky like a blackout only it was white, an out of body brain flashing
that reset his synapses and left him addicted to the concept of going there
again and again.

Would
she let him have her again? He lay there and willed her to wake so he could
hear her voice made super husky from not enough sleep, look in her eyes and
know whether this thing between them had run its course or only just begun.

If she
glazed over and started rumbling in her bag for clothes, he wasn’t above
begging. At sixteen, eighteen, twenty, that might’ve been endearing. He was
five years older than Zarley and should know how to handle a woman in his bed, in
his apartment, the next morning. He gingerly prodded the lump on the back of
his head, he’d almost given himself a concussion when she put her lips around
him in the shower and then inside her, he’d been so lost in the sensation he
didn’t know if she’d come. Nothing about that was appealing.

All he
knew was that spine-jarring brain flash was something he wanted again, harder, for
longer, made more intense because he’d learned how to give her one too.

He scrubbed
his face. He needed a razor and a toothbrush at least before he faced her. He
needed not to have a stiffy you could swing from.

He couldn’t
lie here any longer. He had to stop being pathetic and get up and do something
about the state of himself while preparing to beg.

He
eased out of the bed, snagged sweats and a t-shirt, bypassed the en suite and headed
to the main bathroom so he wouldn’t wake her. He showered, got himself together
and went to the kitchen where he put the coffee pot on. Then he swigged from a
carton of juice, hung off the refrigerator door and stared at the various
containers Dev had left. There had to be something he could offer Zarley.

“Hi.”

He
turned to find her on the other side of the counter. She had a silky black robe
on. Not his. He should’ve thought to leave her a t-shirt or something. Isn’t
that what women who slept over did, wore your stuff and looked outrageously cute
in it?

She
looked better than teddy bears and kittens. God, he’d only just got rid of his
erection. The refrigerator door beeped and he let it close, not taking his eyes
off her.

She
returned his stare. “That would be, hello Zarley, did you sleep well? Can I get
you coffee?”

He put
the empty juice carton on the counter. “Hello, Zarley.” He loved her name. Wild
and unusual, it suited her. He needed to say it more often. “You look beautiful
and I can hardly believe you’re here. I had the fucking time of my life with
you and, Zarley, I’m wondering how you feel about letting me repeat the
exercise.”

She
slipped onto the kitchen stool with a wry smile. “I still want the coffee.”

“I
still want to learn how to make you come.”

She
laughed. “You got close.” Her cheeks went pink. “I had a good time, Reid. You
don’t need to prove anything to me.”

He
needed to prove he was a keen remedial student so she’d agree to be his ever-loving
dedicated tutor. “I still believe a thank you is in order.”

“Dude,
I’d settle for coffee.” She gave him a look. “Don’t try me before coffee.”

He
turned to collect mugs and make the brew, and when he faced her again she had
her elbows on the bench and chin propped on her fists. He tensed for a tricky
question and got, “Why do you only have one stool?”

Too
easy. “I only have one ass.”

“You never
have friends over?”

“I
worked with my friends and you’re the only woman aside from my mom and my
cleaner who’s ever been here.” He put a filled mug down in front of her.

She wrapped
her hands around it. “You don’t think two stools might look, less, um, lonely?”

“One
was a concession. I didn’t think I’d ever sit there.”

“Not to
eat?”

She
wanted to talk about stools and all he could think about was sex, specifically
Zarley on her knees, water spraying her skin, her lips wrapped around him, or
maybe Zarley beneath him her knees folded into his sides, flushed and trembling.

“I’m rarely
here. Cereal for breakfast, but I eat that standing over the TV news. I work
out, shower, change, play games and sleep here.” He remembered she took milk
and sugar and lurched at the refrigerator for milk, hopeful he had some and it
wasn’t off.

“And
then you lost your job, fell down a pity well, became a bum and hung out at
dodgy club girly bars.”

“Yeah,
that.” He sniffed the carton, and she laughed at him, but happily added milk to
her coffee while he opened cupboards and drawers looking for the ugly pottery
sugar bowl Mom had given him. Dev would know where it was. Ah, there. He took
it out of the cupboard and lifted the lid. A couple of Mickey D’s sugar
satchels nestled inside.

Jesus,
he was smooth. She’d caught him drinking out of the carton and he didn’t even
have the basics, bread, milk and sugar, reliably to hand. She’d probably be
horrified to learn he ate Dev’s meals out of the plastic containers they came
in and he’d only incidentally changed the sheets the day before.

He put
the sugar bowl in front of Zarley. She had the longest eyelashes, could be
fake, and the most incredible lips and she was looked at the sugar bowl with
raised brows.
A spoon
, she needed a spoon. He got her a spoon. At least
he knew where they were kept.

“Now
that you don’t do that drunk bum thing anymore, it might be nice to get another
stool.”

He
poured his own coffee, black and simple, no unnecessary mucking about. “Still
only have one ass.”

She
smiled, tearing open a satchel and stirring the sugar into her coffee. “If you
can afford the rent here, you can afford a second stool. Think dangerously,
Reid.”

“I own
this place. Wait, are you saying you might want to bring your lovely squeezable
butt into my kitchen on another rainy day?”

She
looked behind her at the empty living area. “You own this.” Never had not
bothering to furnish it seemed more like a dumb idea. She turned back to face
him. “I’m saying it’s not totally crazy.”

What
was crazy was how much he wanted that to happen. The two them, sugar that
wasn’t stolen in the sugar bowl, a stool each, eating together using plates and
glasses like they were more to each other than a thing. That was ridiculous. That
was sex messing with him.

“Tell me
about things.” He gestured between the two of them. She had that piece of silk
wrapped tightly around her, no cleavage, but nipples, yeah, he could see
nipples and he hadn’t had his mouth on them yet. “How long do they last?”

“That
depends?”

“On?”

She
sipped the coffee. He should be trying to fix food for her. He usually
microwaved a random container but that seemed careless in the light of the
current milk, sugar situation. He’d rather look at her, wonder what it would be
like to clamp his teeth down on her earlobe while he slid his fingers inside
her, than futz about with food.

“Oh,
lots of factors.”

How
many fingers was too many? “Like.”

“Sometimes
it’s a one-time thing.” Part of him might feel actual physical pain if that was
the case.

“Otherwise
it’s about compatibility. How much two people like being together? If they have
fun. How good the sex is?”

“I’m a
bum who only has one stool, but I really like being with you, Zarley, and the
sex was—”

“Best
you’ve ever had.” She rolled her eyes and laughed.

He
shook his head and rounded the counter. That robe was hellishly short. She was
all neatly crossed legs on the stool. He put his hand on her knee and swiveled
her so she faced him. And she let him do that. That had to be a good sign. Did
she have underwear on under there? He trailed his hand up her thigh under the
silk, flicking it aside, as he skated around to her ass. No underwear. He moved
his hand over her sacrum looking for those dimples.

“That
was mean, Flygirl, and you’ve been nothing but generous.” He meant that to
sound jokey.

She
didn’t take it that way. She sighed, stood on the stool rung and wound her arms
around his neck. She was almost eye to eye with him. God, she still smelled of
sex. Fantastic.

“I
wasn’t being generous. I like being with you. I’ve never stayed over. I’ve
never woken up in someone else’s bed or had anyone wake up in mine. If I didn’t
like you, I’d be out of here so fast you wouldn’t see my triple salto dismount.
You are my first too.”

He went
to object to the comparison but she put her hand over his mouth. “Have you been
thinking about sex the whole time we’ve been talking?”

Her
hand drifted into his hair. Zero point lying. She only had to look at him to
know it. “Yes.” She tightened her fingers on his skull but she didn’t seem put
out.

“I
don’t think we’re finished with this thing yet.”

Oh
thank fuck
. Would it be okay to kiss her till his
lips burned?

“I
think we should go back to bed and put that attraction to me you have going on
in those sweats to good use.” She leaned in, her mouth close to his ear. “What
do you say?”

He pushed
into her, his hips to hers. Ah, that was good, that press of hardness against
her body, the feel of her almost sitting in his hands, his thumbs resting in
those dimples.

“I find
myself agreeing with you about the merits of a second stool.”

“Is
that right?” She ran her nose over his, one hand grabbing a good hunk of his
hair and tugging before he could finagle a kiss. “And about making use of this
thing we have?”

“Completely
on board with that.”

Did
words come out of his mouth? Did they make sense? She got him so quickly to the
point where his brain went reptile and all he wanted was the pleasure hit. He
was reduced to heart rate, breath, body heat and balance, everything else was
instinct and his instinct said his very survival depended on getting her on her
back and burying himself deep inside her.

She nibbled
along his jaw, made it worth the shave. “This is a very nice kitchen counter.” That
spot, right there on the neck, that felt—son of a . . .

“The
right height.”

“What?”
Too much talking. If there was a question there he missed it, because she had
her hands under his shirt and danger, danger, danger, he wanted more of that so
the shirt had to go, urgently. He brushed her hands aside and pulled it over
his head, then grabbed her off the stool and lifted her to the counter.

“That’s
it.”

No, it
wasn’t because her robe had a belt and there was a knot and his fingers weren’t
working. Reptiles didn’t have fingers, that was the problem.

“Reid. Take
a breath.”

Yes,
that he could do, but the knot, the knot was stopping him getting . . .
Ah
fuck it
, he pushed the robe off her shoulders and now he could get his
hands on her glorious skin, his lips, his tongue. Going for her neck like she’d
done to him. And she was the right height to wrap her legs around him, look at
that, feel that—good goddam, Jesus Christ.