Page 23 of Never To Suffer (The Hollywoodland #4)
“It won’t hurt you.” He rolls his head like he’s offering me his neck, cracking it several times before he stares at me again. That cockiness back and staring at me, tempting me. “Beer?”
“I should get going. I don’t want to?—”
He holds his hand up. It’s not threatening, it’s more of a plea. “Hang on, I owe you, man. You’ve put up with my shit one-liners and a couch in your hallway.”
Before I can stop him, he rounds the corner of the kitchen.
A moment later, there’s the rattle of glass and the sound of two bottles opening.
As he’s walking back, I can’t stop my eyes as they travel down his chest and follow the tattoos and the deep V until it disappears into his low hanging black jeans.
He hands me the bottle, his fingers brushing mine on purpose, or that’s only my mind playing tricks on me.
The bottles clink together and Xander flops down onto the couch.
Winking, he pats his hand on the cushion next to him.
“Come on. We worked hard getting this fucking beast in here. We might as well break it in, right?”
I don’t know if he means we should sit on it, or fuck, so I keep my distance as lower myself to the edge of the cushion. It’s comfortable. More comfortable than I am right now, anyhow.
“So, uh, you live next door? Or did I catch you doing a late morning walk of shame?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Not that it’s a bad thing, man, but I wouldn’t trust whoever let you out of your bed if that’s the case.”
“What?!” I squeak out before I clear my throat and try again. “No. I mean yeah. Yeah, I uhm, I live next door. No walk of shame. No one…in my…bed.”
“No one? That’s good to know.” He winks and takes a long swig from the bottle. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he drinks half the bottle before he stops. “Shit, guess I worked up a thirst. So, what do you do? Are you like a professor or something because that’s the vibe you're giving off?”
“I do?” My head drops to assess my outfit. He’s right.
“Oh, come on. There’s gotta be some fine young student or assistant to keep you company on those lonely Los Angeles nights?”
“Only, uhh, it’s only me and my cat. She’s pretty much the boss.
” Did that sound too desperate? Why did I even bring the cat into this?
It’s not common for me to fumble my words like that, I haven’t done it in years.
Not since my first trip to Paris, the day I met her .
Between my brain firing off warning flares and the beat my heart hammers out, I can’t focus.
He licks his lips, and the butterflies join the parade.
“I like cats. They’re soft and warm if you treat ‘em right.” There’s an edge to his voice, inviting but dangerous.
He stares at me while finishing his beer, and doesn’t stop staring as he moves closer, leaning over me with a nonchalance that’s got my cock straining against my pants.
“I like dogs, too, Theo. Little rougher around the edges, a little more bite to ‘em.”
He sets the bottle on a cardboard box while I pretend to be a marble statue.
“Am I making you uncomfortable, Theo?” The shake of my head starts slow, but the desperate need to grab his face and pull him to me speeds up the motion until I’m seeing double.
“Good. Because I do intend those puns and the innuendo, if you’re wondering.
So, I guess what I’m asking, Theo, do you like dogs? Or are you a cats only kind of guy?”
“I—I like…what?” He’s still leaning over me, and I can’t hear over the blood rushing through my ears.
He’s so close now I can feel the heat coming off his body and the scent of his cologne massaging my brain.
It has hints of something citrus—bergamot?
I gasp when his hand slides over mine, taking my bottle.
He licks around the mouth of the bottle and tilts his head back, pouring the amber liquid into his mouth until it’s empty.
I’ve never been so parched. I’m failing this test of my willpower.
What a fucking rollercoaster of a day. I’m not worrying about Paris anymore.
I don’t remember the bare cabinets and empty fridge.
My brain refuses to focus on anything that isn’t Xander.
There could be a circus car of killer clowns piling into the apartment, honking their horns and slashing the air with their knives, and I still wouldn’t be able to turn away from this guy.
His thumb grazes my chin and I’m pretty sure I get what he’s about to do. The moment I decide I won’t fight his advances; he swallows the beer. I swallow a mouthful of dry air and try to think of anything but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. I’m failing.
“Y-you…you said you have a girlfriend, yeah?”
“Uh huh. She left for Portland a few days ago. Guess I’m all alone, too.” His hand moves to my knee before sliding up my thigh. “We’ve got something of an open relationship. We both like to play, and that’s why I asked if you liked dogs, Mr. Clay.”
“D-doctor. Actually.”
“Oh, even fucking better. So, tell me, how’d you like me to help you out with that tent in your pants?” I nod, my chest heaving, out of my control like the rest of me. “Gimme words. Tell me you wanna play doctor, Doctor.”
“Yes. Yes, I like dogs and I… I wanna…play.”
“Good, because I wanna play, too.”
There’s no hesitation when I grab his face and bring it to mine.
There’s also no grace or delicate touches.
It’s raw. He’s itching a primal need that’s been begging to be scratched for too long.
I pick him up and pull him onto my lap and he rides me like a bucking bull, not caring that we’re both still at least partially clothed.
Doubt creeps in, but he doesn’t give it time to settle, pulling my face back to his and moving his hips harder and faster.
“Oh fuck! Slow…slow down.”
“I got a better idea, Doctor. Take off your pants.”