Roxie Nowak is a former basketball player, with a great job in tech and her own swanky place. She doesn't date, because what's the point? Men always want someone petite, pillowy, and pastel—everything that Roxie isn't—so she sticks to casual hookups, and life is good.
As a hot lawyer and a romantic to boot, Chris Dunn should have no trouble finding love. But a gaping hole at his center, left by childhood hurts, prevents him from having the type of relationship he seeks. He knew Roxie years ago, when her basketball career ended, and she inspired him to take the reins to his career.
When Chris moves back to town and into Roxie's building, their friendship and mutual attraction deepen. They finally give in with blinding intensity, unaware just how combustible the mix of her avoidance and his insecurity can be—until one vindictive ex-lover lights a match.
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Chris steps toward me and now we are only a couple feet apart. I can hear my heart beating in my throat. Why is it so hot in here? And why does he smell so good?
“I’m not some dude you screw and discard, and you’re not some random hookup for me. You are way too important to me, and it infuriates me that you think you don’t deserve all the consideration of yourself as a person and that you are less important than getting my dick wet, and I really wish you would stop talking about how you see me and us and other people are disposable. I don’t even believe you really think any of it, you just act like you do because you’ve been around too many assholes who didn’t deserve you and, now, because of them, you think you don’t deserve anything.”
My hand darts on its own and lands on his upper arm. He looks down at it, then at me.
I finally understand that old cliché about time standing still.
He is so warm, I can feel the heat radiating through his shirt. His muscles tighten under my grip, and that tension, knowing I am causing the tension, makes heat surge to my center.
He takes a step forward and is now within my personal space, his nose a mere inch from mine, and he waits. His eyes are dark and hooded and fixated on my mouth. Shallow breaths leave his partly open mouth and I can see the inside of his lower lip, wet with saliva and glistening faintly in the light of the TV, and I feel a primitive urge to sink my teeth into that plump juicy flesh. I barely resist, and instead graze it lightly with my fingertips. He holds his breath and closes his eyes.
The urge swells, getting stronger, impossible to resist. I close the small distance between us while his eyes are still closed, remove my fingertips, and gently suck that infernal protruding lip into my mouth.
That’s all he needs because he grabs me by the waist and the back of my neck and crushes me into his body and his mouth is soft and open and his tongue is a hard muscle twisting together with mine, and his lips are everywhere at once, all over mine, exploring, then out on my chin, on my jawline, moving down my neck and up again, and then I feel his breath and the tip of his tongue pressing on that spot on the neck right where the jaw and the earlobe meet, and I swear a jolt of electricity shoots straight into my pussy and I can’t contain a moan.
He grunts something like “Nmhn” in response and his hands are moving, one down from my waist and toward my ass, which he grabs not at all like the nice dorky boy I thought he was for some reason, stupid stupid Roxie, and his other hand is in my hair and he massages my scalp before he grabs a handful of strands and pulls backwards so I would open up my neck to him, and he uses his tongue and his teeth to sear lines on my skin from my cleavage to my collarbone to my jaw.
My hands roam along his neck, shoulders, chest, his face, and I have no idea what is actually guiding them.
There is a massive erection against my lower belly and I slide my hand up and down his cock over his pants and his hips follow my hand, chasing the friction, the pressure. I spread my legs a little and nestle his thigh in between mine, and I rub my pelvis against it, just a little, the rubs both igniting and soothing the ache in my clit, and that cock is magnetic so my little pelvic thrusts acts as little bows to its majesty, while I continue to stroke it and Chris is busy frying the nerve ends in my throat.
His hand moves to my breast and the traitorous nipples could cut glass and he squeezes the breast a few times, but it is not enough, so he yanks my shirt up and the cup of my bra down and he descends upon that nipple like it is the Holy Grail, and he licks it all over, in broad, measured strokes, and then he starts to suck on it, and his other hand is on the other breast, yanking the cup, and he is nibbling on one and pinching and twisting the other, and the jolts, one after the other, so many, shooting straight down into my clit and I buck against him, my spine arching because this is a lot, but then he switches so the other nipple wouldn’t feel overlooked and he sucks for dear life, and I grab onto his shoulders because my knees might give out.
His mouth is back on mine, his hand sliding into the front of my pants, and he slowly moves in between the folds and I moan as he makes little back and forth movements, inching toward the opening, teasing countless nerves along his path, my whole pelvic floor swollen and throbbing and ready and eager. So eager.
He sticks two fingers inside my cunt and groans and I know that is because I am so fucking wet, and I moan, “Chris—”
But hearing his name seems to bring him back to reality. His body stiffens and he lets go of me, then puts his hands up between us and takes a step back, panting.
“Fuck… Roxie, we can’t.”
Why not?
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