Page 29 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
A long pause.
“I’m not blaming you, Franco. It was me. I just—I don’t know.” I finally meet his gaze, and what I see in his eyes and on his face is a mirror for what I’m feeling—overwhelmed, confused…too much to even process or comprehend.
“Audra…” He sighs, swirls his wine. “That was a hell of a lot more than us not using a condom, and you know it.”
No, no, no. I can’t do this. Yes, dammit, I feel it. There’s a lot more to it than that. That was supposed to be a quick fuck; it wasn’t supposed to get…intimate. It was raw and carnal and not at all romantic, but it still felt way too personal. Too real. And I don’t want to feel that.
I have no answer for him. I just drink my wine and try not to think about anything at all.
His eyes are on mine, probing, piercing. “Not gonna say anything?”
“We both know how this goes, Franco.” I toss back the last of my wine. “Three for me, four for you—that’s our rules, right? We both play the game, Franco. Keep it neat, clean, mess-free, and simple. And…this thing, whatever it is between us, it’s starting to get messy and complicated. And, like you said, it’s a lot more than you almost coming inside me without a condom on, and we both know it. So…why risk letting it get any messier or more complicated? Neither of us want that, do we?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “No…” he murmurs, “I guess not.”
There’s a hell of a lot to dissect in that response—the quietness of his voice, the hesitation, the word “guess”, the way he didn’t look at me as he said it.
I don’t dissect it. I don’t allow myself.
Franco finishes his wine, then glances at me, a long, slow, burning stare. His blond hair is loose, tangled, falling around his broad shoulders. His eyes flicker inscrutable blue flames, like ice made into fire. I see a quick barrage of things cross his features, and then he shuts down again, closed off, unreadable. I feel myself retreating behind my own walls.
Yet, despite those walls, I feel him.
I feel us.
Chemistry.
I’ve never really grasped the import of that phrase—to have chemistry with someone.
Until now.
Now, I get it.
Certain people just react to each other explosively.
A little bit here or there, and you get some sparks, some smoke, some bubbling. Add too much, and you get a fireball. Franco and I mix to create a fireball—that’s our chemistry. Even now, with all this boiling between us, I feel that combustion sizzling.
As hot as what just happened between us was, it hadn’t really satisfied a certain deep down craving. That need for him won’t go away. I still want him. Need him. I want his hands, his mouth. Dammit, I want him above me, beneath me, behind me. All over me.
I feel my nipples harden—a glance to the side reveals an unsuccessfully hidden tent in the sheet; he feels it too.
His eyes meet mine, then go to my breasts, the pink tips hardening into points. My empty glass, spinning idly between my fingers. He sets his glass aside, takes mine, and puts it next to his.
Silence.
I can’t take my eyes off that tent in the sheet.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, I want him.
I shift; tug the sheet away to reveal his erection.
“Audra.”
I look at him, bold, daring him to deny he wants it too. “I know.”
He heaves a breath, holding utterly still other than the sound of his sigh. “We just agreed we don’t need to complicate this any further.”
Yet he’s moving to face me, and then he’s above me, and my hands are roaming his shoulders and spine and butt, and then I’m gripping his hardness and he’s burying his face between my breasts and I’m biting his shoulder as I caress everywhere I can reach.
“I can’t…fucking…help it,” I groan, and then bite his shoulder again out of raw frustrated need. “I don’t want to need you like this, but I do.”
He has a condom wrapper between his teeth, and rips it open, withdraws the ring and spits the wrapper aside, rolling the condom on in a smooth motion.
“I know. Me either.”
“We shouldn’t,” I gasp, grasping him, lining him up at my entrance.
“No, we shouldn’t,” he agrees, surging into me.
I lose the thread of my thoughts, then, as he fills me. I can only cry out, clinging to his broad hard shoulders, fingernails digging into his flesh and raking down as he thrusts into me. His face is buried between my breasts, his lips catching at my nipples, his teeth occasionally nipping the tender flesh. His hands curl under my thighs and lift them. I wrap my legs around his waist, hook tight, and I move in unison with him.
I claw at him, helpless, as he fills me and overwhelms me—I can’t breathe except to breathe him, cannot move except to move with him, cannot speak except to cry his name.
