Reckless (9 page)

L
augh
.

Have fun with Dante.

Relish in how good it feels to be wanted again.

Maybe let him kiss me.

B
y the time
my face is done and I’ve given my hair an extra mist or two of hairspray, the doorbell chimes downstairs.

He’s here.

Oh, God.

He’s here.

I can do this. I can do this.
I can do this.

D
ante

I
ring
her doorbell just before eight o’clock Saturday night, a bouquet of blue hydrangeas in hand. I may as well have a boutonniere on my lapel, because everything about this feels like a high school prom date. Even my car is freshly washed and waxed.

The door swings open a moment later, and for a good thirty seconds I find it extremely difficult to breathe.

She gives me a closed-lip half-smile, her shoulders back and her hand running the length of an extremely form-fitting, deliciously flattering little black dress. Her breasts are lifted, nearly spilling from the cups that barely contain them, and her lips are slicked in a shade of deep pink, but she still looks classy, and I’m honored to wear her on my arm tonight.

“Maren,” I say when I finally come to. “You look stunning.”

“Hydrangeas, just like you promised,” she says, smiling wide. “I love them. Thank you.” She takes the flowers and motions for me to follow her inside. “I’m just going to put these in some water.”

Standing in her foyer, I glance around, my gaze stopping on a wall of photographs of her sons. The home smells like vanilla and cinnamon and clean laundry. The furniture is more comfortable than stylish. It feels like a family home, and in a lot of ways, it reminds me of the one I grew up in, only mine smelled more like garlic and oregano and our furniture was beat to hell because of my brothers always doing backflips from the arms and backrests.

“Ready?” she asks when she returns, grabbing a black clutch from a narrow table in the hall. She unsnaps it, checks inside, and then fastens it before tucking it under her arm. “You going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of The Onyx Key?”

Maren locks the door behind her, and I wait.

“I don’t think so,” she says.

“It’s a private restaurant. Members only,” I say as a warm, late September breeze floats past us. “It’s on the roof of the Bluestone building downtown. The views are exquisite. The food is to die for. I promise you’ll love it.”

Maren smiles, slipping her hand into the bend of my elbow as I lead her to my car. If she’s nervous, she’s sure as hell not showing it. Everything about her looks confident and self-assured, and I’m damn proud to have her on my arm tonight.

I wait for her to climb in, and I close the door behind her, stealing a glance every chance I get. Her dark hair is swept off her neck, twisted and pinned back. She reminds me of a modern day Sophia Loren with her timeless beauty and hourglass curves.

I take my spot beside her and start the engine, my heart pounding in my chest and my hands resisting the urge to reach over and take hers because everything about her is begging to be touched right now. Her pillowed lips. Her smooth skin. The soft wisps of hair that frame the side of her face.

Tonight is going to require a higher level of self-restraint than I’m used to, that’s for damn sure.

M
aren

“
H
old still
.” Dante brushes the pad of his thumb across my lower lip as we leave The Onyx Key and head toward the elevator Saturday night. For the past two hours, we laughed and talked and ate delicious food and drank delicious wine, our evening framed by the twinkle of Seattle at night and lit by the night sky above. “There. You had something on your lip.”

I press my mouth into a straight line, creating an air-tight seam. My lipstick has long worn off, and I no longer have my temporary kiss deterrent. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m warm, I’m relaxed. I’m pliable. If he wanted to kiss me, I’d let him. I wouldn’t stop him. I’d probably do a lot of things with him tonight, though maybe that’s the wine talking.

The truth is, Dante’s been nothing but a gentleman since the minute he picked me up. In fact, I’ve checked off almost everything on my mental to do list tonight. I’ve laughed. I’ve had fun. I’ve relished in how good it feels to be wanted again. All that’s left is that kiss . . .

The elevator doors ding and part, and we step on. It’s just us, the intensity between us palpable.

Dante’s been staring at me all night, looking like he wants to devour me. Every once in a while, I’d catch his body tensing, his jaw flexing. Sometimes he’d look away, but his eyes would always return to me like they couldn’t get enough.

He basically eye fucked me all evening.

So we’ve fictionally fucked and now we’ve eye fucked, and that means the real thing is truly the next logical step here.

“Maren,” he says when we reach the lowest level of the building, “did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

The ground feels slightly unsteady. I’m not sure how much wine I’ve had, but I don’t think I’m drunk. Slightly buzzed. Definitely relaxed. But not drunk. I’m still fully capable of making decisions, both reckless and non-reckless.

“Yes,” I answer, painstakingly aware of the fact that there’s a brick wall behind me that he is currently not pressing me against, aware of the fact that his fingers aren’t in my hair and his mouth isn’t claiming mine. “Isn’t this the part of our date where you’re supposed to kiss me?”

We stop walking, and Dante turns to me, head cocked to the side and eyes glinting. He drags his hand along his jaw and smirks.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is. This is the part where I kiss you.”

My heart hammers in my chest, and I take a step backward, straddling apprehension and excitement. I’ve never kissed anyone but Nathan in my adult life.

“Do you
want
me to kiss you?” he asks. He must sense my trepidation.

I try to speak, but my voice feels like a squeak in the back of my throat, and nothing comes out but air, so I swallow my words and nod instead.

His hand lifts to my face, his fingertips grazing the underside of my jaw as he angles my chin upward.

I swallow, willing the nervous ball in my throat to dissipate so I can truly enjoy what’s about to happen because every fiber of my body feels pretty damn sure this is going to be a momentous occasion. Licking my lips, I pull in a deep breath at the very moment Dante lunges for me.

His mouth is on mine, warm and soft, and the instant our tongues meet, I can no longer feel my feet or the ground beneath it. I don’t feel the jagged brick wall digging into the bare flesh of my back behind me. I don’t hear the whir and rush of the city traffic that rushes past. I only feel his hands in my hair and his tongue between my lips, and I’m painstakingly aware of the way our bodies line up perfectly.

He tastes like sweet red wine and peppermint gum, and his spicy, clean cologne makes me dizzy with anticipation because I want to know how it smells on his naked flesh.

In my mind, I’m already running my palms along his smooth chest, tasting his lips, feeling the power in his thrust.

Dante pulls away, and I’m already breathless. His lips are cherry red from kissing me so hard, and we both smile.

I want more.

I liked that.

A lot.

“Nobody’s ever kissed me like that before,” I manage to say.

He slips his hand in mine and pulls me to the valet stand under the royal blue awning of the Bluestone building.

“Come home with me tonight,” he says, pulling me into him. His breath is hot on my ear, and his words tickle my eardrum and send three-dimensional tingles down my spine.

Maybe it’s the wine speaking . . . maybe it’s a decade-plus of never feeling anything remotely as magical or intense as this despite believing I was head over heels in love with Nathan in my younger days . . . but tonight, I’m going home with Dante Amato.

I’m throwing caution to the wind.

I’m not thinking about all the reasons I shouldn’t be with him or how nothing good ever comes from reckless behavior.

Tonight, I’m thinking about how good he’s going to feel inside me.

“Fine,” I say, heart beating so hard in my ears that I can hardly hear my own thoughts. The image of him at dinner floods my mind – the way he slipped his hand over mine so casually. The way he refused to take his eyes off me all night. The way he asked about my boys and laughed at my stories like he knew them. “I’ll come home with you.”

D
ante

“
T
his is where you live
?” she asks as we pull closer to my new, temporary living quarters.

“Only for the next four or five months,” I say. “My brother found me this rental. Hotel Noir was nice, but I can only live in a five-hundred-square-foot shoebox for so long. Was starting to feel suffocated.”

“It was a luxurious five-hundred-square-foot shoebox,” she says. “But I get it. It’s nice to have the space and the windows and the privacy.”

I turn onto Monserrat Drive before making a left on Strawberry Hill.

“My ex lives in this neighborhood,” she says, watching the street signs as we pass. “Small world.”

I take a right on Belle Plaines.

“He lives on this street, actually,” she says, speaking slowly and peering around.

I pull into the rental house, an all-brick McMansion better suited for a family of five, and kill the engine.

“We’re here,” I say, reaching for the keys.

Maren stares to the right, her jaw slightly hinged. “That’s Nathan’s house. You live next door to my ex-husband.”

“Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.” I shrug, reaching for her hand. “Come on. Don’t let some asshole ex ruin this night for us.”

Maren redirects her attention my way, her mouth inching into a smile. “Yeah, no. I would never let him ruin this.”

We climb out of the car, and I take her hand when she makes her way around the hood of the car. Pulling her into me, we all but sprint toward the front door. In a matter of seconds, we’re inside, hands pulling frantically at each other’s clothes, lip-locked, and stumbling backwards as if we’re in some kind of race against time.

I’ve lived here two nights now, and I’m still not familiar enough to stumble around this house with my eyes closed, so I pull my mouth off Maren’s and take her hand, leading her upstairs to the master suite.

The left strap of her dress hangs from her shoulder, and her mouth is red where I kissed her against the wall in the foyer a moment ago. She wears a delirious half-smile, just for me, and her dark eyes flash when our gazes meet.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” I rest my hand on her hip, bringing her body against mine. Lowering my mouth to hers, I lift my other hand to the nape of her neck. Freed satin tendrils fall from the loosening twist in her hair as she rises on her toes. Stepping out of her heels, she presses herself against me, harder this time, lifting her hands to my shoulders.

“No,” she breathes. “I don’t want this, Dante.”

My body freezes but my heart still pounds in my chest.

“I
need
this,” she adds, lips smirking before they meet mine again.

“Good god, woman, don’t scare me like that,” I growl, my hands moving to the back of her dress and tugging on the zipper. The fabric pools on the floor at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy black panties.

Lowering myself to my knees, I slip a finger beneath the waistband of her panties and tug them slowly down her curved thighs. And then I grip her ass, bringing my mouth to her apex, dragging my tongue along her seam, and listening for that sigh . . . the one that tells me she’s letting go. I need her to give herself to me. I want to make her feel things she’s never felt before. I want her to remember this night as long as she lives.

Every square inch of her is smooth and hairless besides the narrow landing strip above her gorgeous fucking pussy. She spent the better part of this week acting like she didn’t want this, but no woman would’ve gone to all this trouble getting a fresh wax if they didn’t want to get fucked.

“You taste so good, Maren,” I sigh, blowing a hot breath between her thighs before breathing in her intoxicating arousal.

Rising, I take her by the wrist and lead her to the bed.

“Lie down,” I command, my hands working to unfasten my belt.

I watch her lie back slowly, never taking her eyes off me as I undress before her. Her body is soft and womanly, it curves and dips in all the right places. Swollen breasts that beg to be touched. Thighs that beg to be parted. A generous ass that begs to be groped.

As soon as I’m completely disrobed, I climb over on top of her, using my knee to separate her thighs. Tracing my hand between her breasts, I move to take a single budded nipple, twisting it gently between my thumb and forefinger before lowering my mouth to taste it.

Every square inch of her smells like almonds and honey and arousal, and I’m happily drowning in her intoxicating aroma.

I move between her thighs, settling in and lifting her legs so they’re resting on my shoulders. I watch her stomach bow and cave as she waits, anxiously, for me to finish what I started.

Separating her folds, I slide a finger inside, aided by her arousal, and circle her clit with my tongue. Her hips buck in response, a sign that she’s fighting a lost cause. I’m in control tonight, and her pleasure belongs to me.

“Relax,” I breathe against her wet flesh, feeling a quiver in her thighs as I bring my mouth closer again. Fucking her with my fingers, I devour every tender, sensitive part of her, flicking and sucking and swirling until she’s writhing against me.

I could stay here for days, but I want to feel the deepest part of her with the hardest part of me.

Pulling myself up, I lower my mouth to hers. “Taste how fucking good you are.”

She kisses me, hard, and our tongues press against each other’s. I’m sure no one’s ever done this to her before, but she needs to know how sweet and addictive she is.

I roll off her and swipe my wallet from the floor where it fell out of my dress pants. Taking a condom, I rip the foil packet between my teeth and sheath myself. I’m hard as a fucking rock, and Maren fucking Greene is lying naked on the center of my bed, breathless, and staring at my cock like it’s the scariest thing she’s ever wanted to feel in her life. Her almond-shaped eyes are wide and round, and her hand clutches across her left breast.

Going to her, I slide behind her, pressing the back of her body against the front of mine. My hand slips beneath her arm and I hold her close, pressing kisses into her hot flesh, at the bend where her neck meets her shoulder.

Her body alternates between tense and relaxed, and her breathing quickens. Beneath my palms, her skin is covered in goose bumps.

“It’s okay,” I breathe my words between kisses, my hands sliding down her soft belly and along her thigh. I pull her leg higher and press my cock closer, positioning myself to enter her from behind.

Her hair is a mess, sticking to her neck and my face, and her hips jut out when she feels the tip of my cock graze her slick seam. Reaching lower, I grip the base of my cock and press myself inside her, moving slow, savoring each inch of her that I fill.

She sighs the moment I’m completely inside of her.

“Feel good?” I whisper.

She nods as my hand slides up the S-shaped curve of her side, moves between her swollen breasts, and stops at her neck, just beneath her jaw. My thumb grazes her lower lip as I take my time, filling her with slow, deep thrusts that elicit sweet, breathless sighs from her full, perfect mouth.

“Touch yourself.” I take her hand and bring it to her clit, pressing the tips of her fingers to her most sensitive spot.

Her hair has unraveled, spilling around her shoulders. I gather it in my hand, tugging on it as I thrust harder and faster, loving the way her body feels warm against mine.

Her lips part, and soft moans grow faster, more desperate. Her fingers coax her to the edge and her thigh wraps around my hip. My cock buries deeper inside her, and my balls tighten the second she screams and her body writhes and hardens.

“Faster, don’t stop,” she pleads, whispering. “Keep going, keep going . . .”

I fuck her faster, my forearm pinning her breasts and my hand cupping the base of her neck as I drive myself into her. I feel her come undone in my arms, her body melting against mine as I drive myself into her a final time, exploding with a rush that spans my entire body.

We collapse, and I linger inside her a few extra seconds, savoring that sweet, fleeting, ecstasy high.

Pulling myself from her a moment later, I make my way to the bathroom to clean up and return with a warm washcloth for her. I drag the cloth between her thighs and kiss her swollen mouth for the hundredth time tonight.

“That was amazing.” Her lips curl into a smile, her hands tracing the outline of my biceps. “Good God,
that’s
what I’ve been missing all these years?”

I roll to her side, admiring my work. The flush of her cheeks. The way she bites her lower lip. The glint in her dark eyes as it shines against the moonlight that spills in from the window beside us. Her hand smacks her forehead, and she stares up at the ceiling.

“I actually
came
, Dante. I came during sex.” She smiles, shaking her head from side to side. “When can we do it again?”

Resting my hand on her lower belly, I catch a hint of a scar just below her hip bones. It’s faded, but slightly jagged along her smooth skin. I’ve never seen a C-section scar before, but I can’t think of what else that would be.

She notices me staring and tries to draw her knees up, but I won’t let her. I press her legs flat, sit up, and move my mouth to her lower belly, kissing lower and then lower still, until I find the jagged scar, and then I kiss that too.

“Every part of you is sexy, Maren,” I say.

I take my place beside her and bring her into my arms. Her hair spills down her shoulders and over my chest, and her cheek rests against my heart.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask, staring at the ceiling.

She nods, and I hear her pull in a breath and hold it.

“The first time I saw you, at the Hotel Noir, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were sexy and confident and you had this contagious laugh, this otherworldly ambience about you, like you’re lit from within,” I say. “I was completely transfixed. And extremely turned on. And when your friend approached me with your number, I had to contact you immediately. That’s not usually my style, Maren. But I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want you to get away. I didn’t want to lose my chance. Calling a week later would’ve been weird, you know? I had to call you right away. And then when you rebuffed me, it only made me want you more.”

There’s something else I want to tell her, something I feel like she should know, but it’ll have to wait.

She lifts her head and rolls to face me, her hand pressed on my chest. “You like a girl who plays hard to get, don’t you?”

I bite my lower lip and smile. “Yeah. I do.”

“What made you give in? You were pretty dead set on not fucking me for a good while there.”

“You made me laugh.” Her head tilts and our eyes lock. “And you look at me in a way that no man’s ever looked at me before.”

Losing myself in her chocolate-brown gaze for an endless moment, I realize I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone in my life. Being with Maren, in any capacity, is easy.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

“Of course.”

“I was so nervous today,” she says. “I thought about cancelling our date.”

“And why would you want to do an insane thing like that?”

She lifts a shoulder to her ear. “A whole bunch of reasons, really. Mostly doubting your intentions . . . what
are
your intentions, Dante?”

I cup her soft jaw in my hand and press my lips against hers, tasting wine and remnants of her arousal.

“I just want to lose myself in you. Escape the world for a bit,” he states simply, breathing me in. The corners of his mouth pull up as he kisses me once more. “You want to go again?”

Her hand slips south, gripping my cock as it begins to throb and harden at the thought of feeling her again. My skin burns, feverish everywhere our bodies touch.

“Yeah,” she says. “I do.”

* * *

T
he next morning
, her hair frames her face in loose, messy waves, the dark strands playing off her caramel complexion. Sex hair in its truest form. She steps into her little black dress and scans the room for her heels.

“I’d offer you breakfast, but I literally have no food in the house,” I say as she climbs out of my bed and lets the covers fall.

I watch as she gathers her clothes and shimmies into her dress with quick, fluid tugs and pulls.

Waving her hand, she stoops down to grab a heel. “Don’t worry about it.”

I’m not sure why, but I expected this morning to be a little more awkward than it currently is. Instead it’s easy and comfortable.

When she’s dressed, I slip on a pair of navy sweats and a gray v-neck t-shirt, then grab my wallet and keys to drive her home. On our way out the door, I cup her ass and press her against the wall in the foyer one last time, my lips trailing kisses along her collarbone.

Maren smiles before pushing me away. “Come on. Let’s go. You should be sick of me by now.”

That’s where she’s wrong.

I’m a serial monogamist.

I’m a one-woman type of man.

I know what I want, and when I see what I want, I take it. No excuses. No apologies.