Page 8 of Rocking the Receiver
Rupert is a few feet away, within arm’s reach. A perfect reminder that this lust isn’t a product of my imagination. Now is not the time to chicken out. His broad shoulders are an invitation. I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, and I want him to punch my V-card ASAP. My pulse races as I fight to catch my breath, battling my inner urge to bone him in the middle of the busy street. How could people appear so unconcerned by Mr. Rupert Smith’s presence? Granted—as he said himself—he’s not the biggest star, but he’s drop-dead gorgeous.
Spying on him. Salivating at the view. Lusting over him. His warm almond skin. His citrusy perfume. His assertive demeanor. My pseudo-poetic BS registers; what is this guy doing to me? Well, at that very moment, he’s getting me hard without even trying. Fucking teenage hormones will embarrass me if I don’t calm the fuck down quickly.
Breathe, Elliot, and pace yourself or all you’re gonna achieve is blowing this instead of him.
Meanwhile, my feet have a mind of their own. Nervously twisting a lock of hair that escaped from the side of my cap, I heave a heavy sigh and nonchalantly stroll towards the spot where my favorite redhead sits.
“Hey, Rupert.” I stand in front of him. He glances up, his cheeks reddening. “So, you made it!”
Taken aback, he freezes for a split second, then coughs. “Hi, there. I didn’t exp—” He pauses mid-sentence, biting the cornerof his lower lip. “I’m actually waiting for someone, so…” His long fingers run through his super short hair as he hides behind his Ray-Ban sunglasses, staring with his mouth parted. Mine are stuck in the collar of my T-shirt. It’s cute how he’s politely trying to get rid of me.
Unabashed, I slide the closest wicker chair for effect and position it across from him, facing the inside of the café. The second my butt hits the seat I lift my face to make sure that the man I’m obsessed with stays silent for a moment.
“I’m not kidding, Elliot. I’m expecting someone, so I’ll see you later at yourparents’,okay?” I hate the way he says parents, stressing the fact that he’s been repeating over and over: I’m a kid, and what he’s doing here doesn’t concern me. And in the blink of an eye, a crease appears between his eyebrows, deepening as he removes his sunglasses and puts them on the table. I’m guessing that he just registered my earlier greeting. “What do you meanI made it?” Same tone he used seconds ago.Man, this is gonna be fun!“How’d you know I’d be here? What the fuck’s going on?” A mix of irritation and confusion dances in the depths of his green pools.
“I figured you out is what’s going on.”
“What are you getting at?” His gaze hardens, then roams his surroundings, certainly praying that the person he was hoping to hook up with hasn’t shown up at this point. If he only knew… That’s why I let his snappiness slide. It’s a given that he isn’t willing to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Come on, don’t play games with me.” I rest my hands on the table to resist the urge to touch him. “I’m here, aren’t I? Same reason as you…” I wink. “A guy gave you a napkin with digits on it. A guy you texted after the party yesterday. A guy you aremeeting for s.e.x.” I mouth the last word to prevent unwanted attention. “Well, that guy isme.” The O of his delectable mouth widens. “Youtextedme, Rupert, not Matthieu, the blond waiter. I convinced him to give you a number if you came back to him… which you did. He’s straight, by the way…”
His silence tells me he’s mentally replaying our texts that derailed to sexting, quickly confirming the nature of this meetup. He heaves out a pained groan. “Is that some kind of a joke?” His strangled and muttered voice pains me. “Because I?—”
I’m about to cut him off when an overwhelmed waiter stands before us, so I order a beer, too. I may have tricked the guitar hero, but I don’t plan to ridicule him.
Covering his hand with mine, I tighten my grip so he doesn’t bolt, then shoot him a heated glance. “I felt our chemistry, Rupert, but—” can’t confess that I’m obsessed, so I opt for another route “—I had to make sure I was your type… You can’t deny that Matthieu and I look kinda alike. Fair hair, athletic, so…” I shrug, trailing off. My gaze flits to our joined hands. He looks numb, but what matters is that he hasn’t run for the hills… Interesting. I clear my throat. “I’ve known him for years. He played along, believing this was a prank, which I swear it isn’t. I had to find a way to see you… alone.” My eyes are downcast, giving him time to process what I’m saying.
I regretfully end our connection, just in case the waiter delivers the beer sooner rather than later. I quiver; Rupert’s proximity makes the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.
Teasing, I suggest a toast when my drink arrives. The heat in his cheeks is unmistakable as he hisses his disagreement. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, what’s gotten into you? You got me. Happy now?” He huffs an exasperated grunt. “Look, I’m gonna play nice andnot punch you, even though you deserve it. So, I’m gonna go pay for the beers and wash my hands of this ridiculous idea before hitting the road. When I exit the café, I expect you to be gone. I’m fucking pissed at you right now! Whatever you concocted inside that twisted little head of yours isnothappening.”
With that, he gulps what’s left of his beer and ditches me like I did him at the party. If he thinks he has the upper hand, he’s sorely mistaken.
Collecting his forgotten sunglasses as well as mine, I stow them and my baseball hat in my backpack. Chugging the rest of my drink in record time to give him a head start, I then wait in front of the men’s bathroom since he’s nowhere to be found. Taking my chances, I catch sight of the turning knob, and as soon as the door cracks open, I push in forcefully. The breath I’ve been holding whooshes out of my lungs as I grab his forearm and swing him around in a second flat. His back is now flush with the closed bathroom door.
Despite his height, he doesn’t resist. I guess the combined effect of surprise and countless hours at the gym will do that. A sly grin tugs at my lips. Without a word, I lean forward, his scent invading my senses, and snatch his wrists, pinning them in place so he won’t budge. Our eyes are locked, and the silence is thick with tension, pent-up frustration, and anticipation. His pupils are dilated, his eyes a darker shade of green.
“I want you.” My throat itches at the admission as I rein in my eagerness, ignoring my throbbing semi and hammering heart.
Puzzled, he blinks, uselessly writhing under my ironclad grip, visibly not computing what’s about to unfold. I don’t miss his lust-filled eyes. So, I lean towards him and pause when my face is inches from his. His breath comes out in short pants, caressingmy skin and sending a wave of warmth through my needy body. Worried of his next action, I go for gentleness, but clearly my intentions are anything but.
Ever so slowly, my lips graze his tentatively, then brand them. At long last. I whimper as we close our eyes and allow the sensation to sink in.
Unfortunately, time isn’t on my side, so I aim to seal the deal when his lips part; he opened to grant access, right? My tongue invades his mouth. He doesn’t protest, releasing a soft exhale instead, as if adjusting to the idea. Our tongues move in synch as his body grinds against mine while I fasten my hold around his wrists. My body goes lax. Dazed, we are one.
His taste is intoxicating. Beer. Lip Balm. Hope.
Please don’t let me cream my shorts!
My skin’s ablaze. More, more, more… And just like that, my horny brain takes the lead. Growling, I drop his wrists and fist his fitted polo, yanking him closer to me. I can’t bear the distance.
Released from his trance, he makes a throaty noise and opens his eyes. Within seconds, he presses his palms against my chest and pushes me away.
I shoot him a murderous glance. This encounter set my hormones on fire, igniting my filthiest desires.
“What the fuck am I doing?” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he takes a step to the right, distancing himself further from temptation. I smirk at him as he grimaces, his chest heaving. Does he realize that the fire he sparked within me isn’tabout to be extinguished? “I… I shouldn’t have… done that,” he insists, his face flushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” I ask, perplexed, moving towards him.
