Page 18
Story: Hit Me With Your Best Shot
18
austin
“ Y ou be on your best behavior,” I tell my father’s dog, pointing a finger at him like he actually understands what I’m saying.
Gio tilts his head and blinks at me with his bulging, watery eyes, the tiny tufts of white hair sprouting from his head and ankles.
He is looking undeniably handsome tonight with his underbite on full display, making him look both confused and vaguely threatening at the same time.
I sigh, kneeling down to his level, adjusting the bow tie I clasped around his neck earlier, adding to his charm.
“Listen,” I say to him in the soothing tone I reserve for babies and cute animals. “Gio is coming over—the other Gio. And I need you to not do that thing where you bark for no reason. Be nice. This is important.”
He flops to the floor for belly rubs, completely uninterested in the gravity of the situation.
I give him some pets and continue my lecture.
“You know,” I impart. “For once you could help me out by being cute and endearing instead of looking like the creepy little goblin he’s accused you of. Wag your tail when he comes in. Or, I don’t know—don’t growl at him. At all.”
Gio yawns, his long pink tongue curling as he stretches out on the floor.
“I take that as a no.”
Shithead.
Ugh, why am I so nervous!?
I stand, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror above my living room fireplace and smooth a hand over my hair, which I’ve spent the last thirty minutes trying to tame into something effortless but pretty. My outfit is casual but flattering—jeans and a mohair sweater that’s loose enough without being frumpy.
I’ve gone back and forth on the makeup, eventually settling on only mascara and lip gloss.
Natural.
Easy .
I pace the living room, glancing around to make sure everything looks tidy. The throw pillows are fluffed, the blankets draped over the back of the couch are arranged just so , and there’s a candle burning on the coffee table that smells like vanilla and cinnamon—yum—without being overpowering.
I’ve spent way too much time agonizing over these tiny details, but I can’t help it. I want everything to be perfect.
Which means that inevitably it won’t be.
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. My stomach does a little flip again, and I shoot the dog a warning look.
“Behave,” I hiss at him, pointing a finger at him before hurrying to the door. “Stay!”
He sits.
I take one last deep breath, plastering on what I hope is a relaxed smile—and open it.
“Hey,” he says, his smile easy and warm.
“Hey,” I manage, moving aside to let him in. “Come on in.”
He steps into my small foyer, glancing around the room as if he were searching for something—or some one , aka: Gio—tentatively crossing the threshold.
“Thanks.” He kisses me on the lips by way of greeting before stepping further inside. “Is it safe?”
Before I can respond, my dog makes his presence known, trotting into the room with his signature awkward gait. He stops a few feet away from Gio, eyes locked on the human version of Gio, sizing him up.
The dog sniffs the air.
Takes one dinky step forward.
It’s like a showdown in the Wild West.
When Gio puts his hand on my waist to pull me in for a hug, the dog freezes, his scraggly body stiff, watery eyes narrowing.
One more step forward…
I half expect tumbleweed to roll across the carpet .
“This is Gio,” I tell my date, pointing toward the dog, who tilts his
head, underbite catching the light enough to look menacing, like he’s debating whether to make friends or declare war.
Gio kneels down a few feet away, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.
“Hey, buddy,” he says, his voice warm and unthreatening. He holds out his hand like a peace offering, palm up so Gio can sniff it. “We’re going to be cool, right?”
“No,” I mutter to the dog. “Don’t you dare start growling.”
Jesus, can nothing ever be easy?
My dumb dog rumbles low in his chest, barely audible, and grows in volume that should not be so loud given the size of his
body. His lip curls, exposing far too many crooked teeth.
“Great.” Gio’s laugh sounds nervous as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “He hates me. Message received.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” I insist, reaching out to scratch Gio behind his silky ears. “I’m so sorry he’s growling—I warned him to behave, but he doesn’t want to listen. ”
I give the dog a sharp look. “Gio, knock it off.” Then to Gio, “He won’t eat you, I swear.”
I don’t think…
Truth be told, I haven’t introduced the dog to a man. I haven’t dated anyone since Dad passed away, so this is new to both of us.
The dog and I, I mean.
His scratchy snarl fades to a weak grumble, though his stance remains cautious. His eyes flick to me, then back to the man, almost as if he’s waiting for my signal.
Oh for the love of God .
“He’s not used to strangers,” I explain, embarrassed. “Especially uh, male strangers.”
Gio chuckles, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine. “Challenge accepted.”
The dog gives a single bark as if to say, We’ll see about that, chump , and I debate: should I let the dog stay in the living room with us…or put him in the laundry room with his bed and toys?
I bite down on my lower lip, bending to scoop the little pain in the ass up off the floor, carrying him to the other room so I can bond with Gio in peace and quiet without this tiny terror ruining the evening.
He whines for a second, but I give him a firm look. “Don’t even start. You’ll survive.”
He is so spoiled and it’s not even my fault.
Gio gloats as I close the laundry room door and turn back toward him. “I feel like I should be flattered that you’re locking your guard dog away for me.”
Ha ha.
“Don’t be. If I thought he’d actually go for your throat, he’d still be out here,” I tease, crossing my arms. “Honestly, he’s more likely to annoy you to death than to try to eat you.”
Gio snaps his jaw like a shark, wanting to take a bite of my arm.
“I can handle him. The jury is still out on you though. ”
I roll my eyes, heading to the living room. “Big talk for someone who hasn’t proven themselves worthy of the remote yet.”
While I wouldn’t call my living room impressive, it’s comfortable, and the big windows offer a decent view of the rooftops of my neighbors and twinkling lights shining in the distance.
I love city living.
“Oh, I’m worthy,” he replies, dropping onto the cushion next to me. His knee is plastered against mine and he takes my hand, kissing my palm. “I just haven’t gotten the chance to prove it.”
“Well, here’s your chance.” I toss the remote onto his lap. “Pick something. But if it’s boring or another action movie, you lose serious brownie points—and don’t even think about putting on a documentary.”
“ Who hurt you ?” He holds a hand to his chest as if he’s been hurt. “Documentaries are great.” Gio hums as he channel and app surfs, finally stopping on a movie. “Horror okay with you?”
Not my first choice, but I put him in charge and thus cannot complain.
“Sure, this works.” I cozy up next to him, sinking into his side and the cushions.
“You sure you won’t chicken out halfway through?”
“Not a chance.”
He glances at me, a playful glint in his eyes. “If you get scared, feel free to grab my arm. Or climb on top. Whatever.”
I giggle.
The opening credits roll, and for the first fifteen minutes, we actually watch. Well, mostly.
Gio spends them sneaking sidelong glances at me whenever a tense moment builds, clearly waiting for me to flinch or react. I refuse to give him the satisfaction, keeping my expression neutral even when a jump scare is on screen.
He shakes his head. “Remind me not to put on another scary movie during movie night. You’re no fun. ”
That makes me laugh. “Not screaming is a skill.”
His grin widens, and before I can process what’s happening, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Thanks for having me over. I was excited.”
He was excited.
Awww, I love that.
Tilt my chin up so he can kiss me on the mouth in a proper hello, now that we’re settled in.
The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. His hand moves to gently stroke the side of my face, thumb brushing against my cheek as he deepens the kiss. The warmth of his lips, the way he tastes faintly of mint from gum—it’s enough to make the rest of the world fade away.
He’s smiling, and it’s not the cocky grin I’ve gotten used to—it’s softer, genuine, and it sends a warmth straight to my chest.
“How was your day?” he asks, his voice low, like he’s afraid to break the moment.
I let out a small laugh, the kind that escapes when you’re caught off guard.
“It was fine—nothing exciting, which is always good. What about yours?”
He shrugs, pulling back and leaning into the couch cushions, taking my hand along with him and pressing his thumb into my palm, massaging it.
“Worked out. Had practice.” He pauses. “Went down to Nova’s after you left my place—she won’t be walking in on us any time soon. For the record, she thought it was hilarious.”
Great. At least one of us did.
My face immediately flushes at the memory of his sister seeing us having sex.
And before I can reply, Gio’s gaze flicks to my coffee table.
“Hold on—is that Connect Four?”
You bet your sweet ass it is.
I follow his line of sight to the game sitting neatly on the table, the red and yellow pieces already half-filled from my last game against myself a while back.
“It is.” It’s a classic.
Gio untangles himself from me and leans forward to sort the pieces, sliding the tiny blue bar at the bottom, allowing all the chips to land on the table.
“Dude, I haven’t played this game in ages.”
Same. I like it because it looks cute on the table.
A fun talking point that no one actually plays; not that anyone besides Dolly and my other friends come over.
“I haven’t played in forever, either.”
Gio separates the yellow and red pieces into piles, his movements methodical. “Let’s do it.”
Click.
Click.
Click.
He stacks them neatly, sliding the yellow ones closer to my spot on the couch and I nod, moving to the edge of my seat.
“You’re on.”
“But let’s make it interesting.” He glances at me, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “ Strip Connect Four.”
I choke on the laugh that bursts out of me, shaking my head. “Will you stop at nothing to get me naked?”
His head shakes. “Obviously not. Any cheap way to get those pants off. Plus, it’s a chance for you to get me naked ‘cause I’m an equal opportunity streaker.”
I chew on my bottom lip, pretending to consider it, knowing I’m game. “Alright, fine . But I’m not going easy on you.”
Big words considering it’s mostly a game of chance.
And luck.
The first few moves are harmless enough, but it doesn’t take long before his strategy—or lack thereof—becomes apparent. He’s playing more to distract me than to win, making exaggerated moves and muttering fake strategies under his breath.
I roll my eyes .
Gio’s grin falters when I drop a piece into the perfect slot, blocking his next move.
“Boom,” I say, sitting back with a triumphant smile. “What was that about strategy?”
He mutters something under his breath, peeling off his hoodie to reveal a tightly fitted Baddies tee shirt.
I take a moment to admire his muscles, reaching over to squeeze one.
He flexes.
“So firm,” I compliment him. “You must work out.”
He flexes some more. “A little here and there. You know, just trying to stay in shape and impress the ladies.”
I smack him.
I laugh, sitting back and watching as he makes his move. His focus is clearly divided—half on the game, half on trying to impress me—and it’s almost too easy to block his next play.
When I drop my red piece into the grid, cutting off his carefully laid plans, he stares at the board for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to think of a way to recover.
“Wowza,” I say, smirking. “You’re not great at this.”
“This game requires zero talent,” he claims, though the sheepish grin on his face says otherwise. “I’m just distracted by the idea of getting you naked.”
“And how’s that going for you?” I drop my chip into another slot. “Boom, I win again.”
He peels off his tee shirt.
I blink, momentarily thrown off by the sight of his bare chest.
Smooth.
Fit.
“My turn since I just lost,” he tells me, resetting the board and leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “And don’t get cocky, you’ve only won twice. I’m just getting warmed up.”
“Sure you are,” I say, forcing myself to focus as I take my turn. But it’s harder than I expect with him sitting there, shirtless and smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
The game continues, and while I’m determined to keep my winning streak alive, Gio seems equally determined to make me lose my focus.
He leans closer every chance he gets, brushes his hand against mine when I reach for the next piece, and tosses compliments my way that are just distracting enough to make me hesitate.
“I have an idea,” he murmurs close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, straight to my vajajay—it knows what that mouth can do…
“Hmm?” I manage, the proximity of his lips to my ear is enough to short-circuit my brain.
He smells so good…
My mouth waters at the memory of how good his skin tastes .
“I think,” Gio murmurs, his voice low and teasing. Tongue flicks my ear. “You’re working so hard to win this game. And for what? A shirtless date? How about I reward you with a little...performance?”
A little performance?
What’s that supposed to mean?
He leans back against the couch, relaxed and confident, arms going behind his head. Gio has a tattoo on the underside of his bicep and I fixate on it before my eyes go back to his face.
I blink, pulling back slightly to look at him.
“Performance?”
He nods. “A lap dance. Think about it—what better way to celebrate your inevitable victory?”
“I…” I swallow nervously. “I’ve never had a lap dance.”
“Neither have I.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You’re so full of it. Do not sit there and tell me you haven’t been to a strip club.”
What a liar.
“Am I?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone that always sends a shiver down my spine. “Come on, Austin—don’t tell me you’re not curious.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t curious.” My cheeks are on fire, heating under his penetrating gaze. “I just feel like this is one of those things that sounds better in theory.”
Before I can think too hard about it, he pushes himself off the couch and steps back, running a hand through his hair like he’s actually preparing for this. He’s shirtless and the dim light of my living room only makes the sharp lines of his chest and abs more noticeable.
Then, he pushes the coffee table to the other side of the room, clearing the space between us.
Oh, God. He’s serious .
His phone comes out, and he thumbs through it for several seconds before a sultry beat fills the room. He sets the phone on the now-displaced coffee table.
I sit frozen on the couch, my pulse racing as I watch him. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, a challenge that has me equal parts intrigued and terrified. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he steps closer to where I’m sitting, the music building around us.
“Relax, babe.” He is teasing me. “It’s just a dance.”
Babe .
“Just a dance,” I repeat, my voice coming out a little shakier than I’d like. “Uh huh.”
My breath hitches as he unbuttons his pants, sliding the zipper down with maddening patience. The denim clings to him for a moment before he peels them off in one smooth motion, leaving him standing there in nothing but boxer briefs.
Tight. Blue.
Briefs.
The dim light of the living room casts shadows over the sharp planes of his chest and abs, the soft glow making every muscle more pronounced.
Smooth and luminous, as if they were oiled up .
So handsome.
So sexy …
I gulp back a shot of air, nerves on edge, eyes straying to his dick.
It strains against the cotton material.
I want to touch him.
Run my fingers down his abs …
Gio steps closer still, lowering himself onto the couch until he’s straddling my lap. His knees press into the cushions on either side of my thighs, body radiating heat as he wraps himself around me like a second skin.
The proximity is the best kind of overwhelming...
…and when his hands rest lightly on my shoulders, I forget how to breathe.
The music pulses around us, filling the silence, and for a moment, all I can do is stare up at him.
His confidence is magnetic, intoxicating, and when he starts to move—slow, fluid rolls of his hips perfectly in time with the beat—I can’t look away.
How is he so good at this?
Seriously?
Did he practice before he arrived?
Was he an exotic dancer in a former life?
Before I know what’s happening, his fingers take my wrists, prying my hands off the couch, guiding them to his rib cage. His skin is ablaze under my touch, and I can feel the ripple of his rock-hard muscles as he moves. He moves with practiced ease, like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me.
“Gio,” I whisper, though I’m not entirely sure if it’s a plea or a warning.
He lifts my arms, pinning them behind my head.
Leans down, nuzzling my hair so he can kiss my neck.
“You smell amazing,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Like vanilla. Sweet like your pussy .”
My heart skips thirty beats; my body responding to the way his words drip with intention. His teeth graze the spot just below my ear, and I can’t stop the small gasp that escapes my lips.
He kisses me on the mouth.
"Touch me," he croons against my lips, rough with desire.
I don’t hesitate.
My fingers slide down his back, his skin warm and taut under my touch. He takes my hands lower, placing them firmly against the curve of his ass, and I feel the flex of his muscles as his hips continue their maddening rotation.
I can feel his erection against my core.
He knows what he’s doing—he has to—because the subtle grind of his hips sends a jolt of heat racing through me.
Every roll of his hips, every brush of his lips against mine, every whispered breath that tickles my skin—it’s all-consuming. My fingers grip his waist, pulling him closer as if I could somehow fuse us together, and he lets out a low groan that sends a shiver straight down my spine.
I want to be naked beneath him.
I want…
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Austin,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as his lips trail down my jawline, finding the curve of my neck. “You’re the only thing I can think about.”
Gio reaches for the hem of my shirt.
Tugs until it’s up and over my head.
On the floor.
He adjusts himself, dick straining toward me, as he unbuttons my pants and pulls down the zipper. When my jeans join my shirt on the floor, he pauses for the briefest of moments, his hands resting on my bare thighs as his gaze flicks up to meet mine. The look he’s giving me is so exciting…
We’re frantic, now.
Heated.
I explore his flesh, hands skimming up his backside .
Down into the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them down over his lean hips.
He gives me an assist.
Together, we move his briefs and now it’s my turn to be in charge, pushing at his chest so he’s on the couch, sitting with his legs spread.
I climb down off the couch…
Settle myself on the carpet, kneeling before him.
His eyes are glassed over already, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
“Austin…”
His cock is as stiff as a cock can be and he watches, mesmerized, as I lean forward to lick up his shaft.