Page 5 of Just This Once (Stone Family #2)

Taryn

D ante stares at me wide-eyed. As if he’s shocked I don’t want to beat around the bush when he’d been clear with his intentions all night.

At some point, maybe around the time he took genuine interest in getting to know Marianne and reacquainting himself with Clara, talking about how she helped him out with school, making sure he passed all his classes, and he apologized for not staying in touch, I realized he was a good guy.

In my experience, it wasn’t often a man apologized.

Full stop. No excuse, just a simple, “I’m sorry for not doing better. ”

Between that and his flirty smiles and wandering hands, he wore me down. As much as I wanted to convince myself I didn’t like the attention, I couldn’t. It felt too good to have a young and hot guy want me.

He is a dozen years younger than me, for God’s sake. I couldn’t ignore that if I tried.

But I did just get my hair and brows touched up yesterday, so I am feeling myself today. And it’s my birthday celebration. Don’t I deserve this? To have a few hours of fun. That’s high hopes, but I’m assuming his age and stamina will play in my favor.

Plus, the ride on the back of his motorcycle might have helped seal the deal. As terrifying as it was, the adrenaline rushing through my veins made sure I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep anytime soon.

And if he’s willing, so am I.

“Say it again,” he tells me, and I step inside my house, hearing the familiar prance of my dog’s paws upstairs.

“Did you come here to talk about my house or to fuck?”

He smiles, the same big grin that’s been growing on me all night. “I really would like to talk more about your house. After I fuck you.”

I’m not at all interested in giving him any more information about my house, but I let him inside anyway as Frankie happily plods down the steps and across the hardwood floor, skidding to a stop in front of me.

“Hey, baby,” I coo, kneeling down to scratch his ears.

Next to me, Dante bends and sticks his hand out. “Heya, buddy. What’s your name?”

“Frankie,” I answer, watching as my dog greets my guest with a lot less suspicion than I’d hope for.

I adopted the black-and-white boxer with the idea of his being my alarm system, but if anyone ever tried to break in, he’d show them around the house, permitting them to steal whatever they wanted before he ever alerted me to their presence.

“Frankie. I like that.” Dante leans in to accept a few kisses on his jaw and cheek from my dog. “Yeah, you’re so sweet. Nice to meet you too.”

I stand and remove his leather jacket, setting it on the couch, next to my purse, as Frankie and Dante continue their lovefest. That is until I cross through the living room and dining room to the kitchen at the back of the house.

Then Frankie races to the door so I can let him out.

Dante is not far behind, resting a hip on the counter next to me.

“I like him,” Dante says with a tip of his chin to the windows, where we watch Frankie sniff the grass of my small backyard.

“Yeah, he’s a good boy.”

I feel more than hear Dante’s hum when he dips down, closing the few inches of height difference between us, his chest against my back. “I like the way that sounds coming from you.”

I lean back, relaxing into him when he curls his hands around my waist. “You don’t really want to be referred to in the same way I refer to my dog.” I tilt my head, catching his gaze. “Do you?”

He squeezes my sides, fingers working to lift the hem of my shirt to find my bare skin. “I like hearing your voice go all soft. Like you love him. I like seeing that side of you because I’m sure not many people do.”

I haven’t had a man in my house in a long time, and I don’t really like the implication that this man can see something in me.

Since my divorce, I haven’t had the desire to be in a relationship, to ever give up that power again, and while I’m willing to strip naked physically for this man, I’m not willing to strip naked metaphorically.

Stepping out of his hold, I open the back door and whistle. “Come on, buddy. Inside.”

Frankie finishes up and trots over to get his treat, which he immediately takes under the dining room table. So, I reach for Dante’s hand and lead him upstairs, where I close the door to my room behind us, allowing him no time to look around.

Although with the way he cages me in against my wall, he’s clearly only interested in one thing, and my previous confidence takes a nose dive.

I’m 5’8”, and while I’d grown up athletic and have never been especially self-conscious, I’ve birthed two kids and that rude bitch perimenopause has been screaming at me since I turned forty. So, I’m dealing with a lot .

Meanwhile, this Greek sculpture come to life is tugging at my shirt. With the lights on .

I smack my hand on the wall, searching for the switch, and flip it off.

This motherfucker flips it right back on.

“What are you doing?” I flip it off again.

“You usually have sex with the lights off?” He flips the switch again . “How do you see anything?”

“That’s the point,” I say, and he catches my hand, pinning it above my head when I go to turn them off one last time. I start to argue, but he grabs my other hand, holding them both against the wall, his mouth taking mine, stealing my breath, along with any words I had in my head.

His lips are demanding, directing mine to open to him with soft pulls until he slips his tongue inside, sliding against mine, then teasing me with a curl against my upper lip that sends goose bumps across my skin.

When I chase him for more, he laughs into a kiss, because he evidently likes to torture me.

With his thigh between mine, he tightens his grip on my wrist, pulling slightly, stretching me until I’m almost on my toes, and gazes down at me like some maniacal villain who’s got me strung up on a rack.

Then again, it might not be too far off from the truth with how his eyes roam slowly over me from head to toe, his gaze hot and hard.

If it weren’t for the pinch of his fingers at my wrist, I might think they were on my cheeks and throat and breasts and legs with how my skin warms and feels heavy like his palms are on me. Everywhere. All at once.

When I can’t take it anymore, I squirm, absently rubbing myself on his thigh, and he nods in this self-satisfied way that I shouldn’t find so attractive and yet…

Here the fuck I am.

Like a pig on a spit for the taking.

“Kiss me,” he says, and I don’t hesitate, inclining my head forward, but he doesn’t do the same. I can’t reach.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing how bad you want it.”

I hate his stupid smile. “You’re not cute.”

“Really? I would’ve guessed otherwise from your little needy sounds.”

I mash my lips closed. He won’t win.

But then he bends, his mouth ghosting over the shell of my ear. “From how you’re grinding your pussy on my leg.”

I freeze immediately, my head against the wall. “I can’t stand you.”

“We’ll see how you feel in another few hours.”

“Few hours? That’s a bit cocky.”

“The fact that you even believe that makes me sad for you.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say, attempting to push him off me, but he kicks my feet apart with his own and presses his body against mine, completely immobilizing me.

His mouth quirks up. So arrogant. “Yeah? You think you’re in charge? I bet you do, huh? All day, you’re the boss. You’re the one making decisions, telling people what to do. What would happen if you stopped? Just for the night? Let me be in charge.”

I don’t answer because I don’t want to tell him he’s correct. That’s exactly what I am. I like being the one in power. I want to be the one making decisions, partly because I know what it feels like to be powerless, but also, I know I won’t fuck it up.

Except spread out and pinned against the wall under a man bigger than me, I understand he is the one in charge. And I’m okay with it. Especially because I know I could say no, and he would stop immediately.

He kisses me, sucking my bottom lip between his, letting it go with a nip. “Can you do that, beautiful? Let me take care of you for the night?”

I inhale sharply when he leans in to suck on the sensitive skin below my ear, and my nipples harden to tight, almost painful peaks. I nod, needing relief.

The jackass lifts his head, smirking. “Did you say something? I missed it.”

I grit my teeth. “I said yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I squint, contemplating if it’s worth it, but then he takes both of my wrists in his right hand and skates his left hand under my shirt, roughly squeezing my breast over my bra cup before gently rubbing his thumb back and forth across my hard nipple.

Even through the layers of cotton, I feel it.

Feel how it would be if I gave myself to him.

I moan. “Yes, you can be in charge tonight.” I feel him smile against my throat and add, “Just this once.”

“Mm? So you’re saying there’s a chance for more than once?”

“No.” I close my eyes when he bites the tender flesh at the slope of my neck.

“We’ll see.”

“No.”

His responding chuckle is soft, barely a puff of air, as he backs away, releasing my wrists to sit on the edge of my bed, appearing wholly out of place on my threadbare quilt and the lacy curtains billowing in the breeze from my open windows behind him.

With his messy hair, richly tanned skin, and dark clothes, he has a roguish vibe about him.

I can’t put my finger on it—if it’s the smarmy, I’m-gonna-fuck-you-raw smile or the overall arrogance that makes him seem too big for his britches—but whatever it is, I’m a fucking sucker for it.

And I hate myself for it. Especially when he says, “Take your shirt off for me.”

“Not with the lights on.”

He heaves a sigh then reaches over for the small night-light and turns it on. I then flip the switch to turn off the overhead lights.

“Better?” he asks, and I nod. “Strip.”