The Lineup Page 17

  “Fancy.” He smiles. “Want me to take your suitcase to the west room?”

  “No, I can roll it over there, but thank you. The living quarters, kitchen, and dining are all in the middle. The back porch looks over a beautiful lake and there are books, games, and a few movies in the closet over there to help with your time here.”

  “Any naughty books in there? I love a good sex scene to put me to bed.”

  I stare at him, not answering, which makes him shake my shoulder and laugh.

  “Kidding. I don’t read. I watch porn, so how’s the Internet here?” Of course. He cooks, but doesn’t read.

  “There is none.”

  “Wait . . . no Internet? How am I supposed to watch porn?”

  I know he’s kidding, but still I answer. “Looks like you’re going to have to read one of those naughty books.”

  “Wait, you have some?”

  “No. I think my mom would faint if we did. You’re going to have to let the sway of the trees and the sounds of crickets put you to sleep.”

  “God, it’s like we’re mere peasants, being one with Mother Nature.”

  “That’s the point. You’re supposed to relax here.”

  He looks around, a big smile on his face. “That I can do.”

  * * *

  Fire flickering in front of us, we both have a cup of hot apple cider in hand, and it’s pitch black all around us besides the light from the fire and one side lamp next to me. We’re sitting in comfortable silence, absorbing the quiet peace of nature surrounding us.

  “Thank you for not kicking me out of this trip,” Jason says, shifting his large body on the brown leather couch we’re sharing. “I was bummed when I had to move my vacation, so this is a nice getaway for me.”

  “Oh, I forgot you had to move that. I don’t know, the Bahamas seem more fun than this.”

  “Nah, I’d take the woods over the beach any day. No sharks.”

  “Yes, but murderers can lurk in the trees.”

  “A chance I’m willing to take.” Growing serious he says, “Seriously though, thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. It was nice to have the company on the drive, despite the wretched pitch in your voice when you sing.”

  “Excuse me? Wretched?” He sits a little taller. “I’ve been told by many that my singing voice is beautiful.”

  “Who told you? Your mother?”

  “She’s one.”

  I chuckle and take a sip of my apple cider, the spices doing all sorts of things for my belly . . . or is it the man sitting next to me? Maybe a combination of both. We changed into our pajamas, prepared our bedrooms, and met back out here for a relaxing hot cider before bed. Jason is wearing a full-on flannel pajama set, and if I wasn’t so intrigued by the flap at the top he left unbuttoned where I catch glimpses of his ripped chest, I’d think he was ridiculous.

  “You said you sleep naked,” I say, remembering that little tidbit.

  “I do. Would you like me to change into what I actually wear to bed? Because that can be arranged. It’s a quick lift up of a shirt and a push down of pants.”

  “Are you saying you’re not wearing underwear?”

  “Psh, no. Free balling; feels good against the flannel.”

  Why do I find that answer erotic? Him not wearing underwear, only one layer of fabric blocking me from the view. I try to convince my eyes to stay on his face, to not glance down, but they betray me and fall to his crotch but quickly divert to my cider. I didn’t get a good enough look, of what, I don’t really know, couldn’t tell you, but whatever I was trying to look at, I barely got a glance.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “Did you get those pajamas for this weekend?”

  “I did, but I will admit, I might make them an every-other-Friday thing. My nether regions feel like a king.”

  I shake my head. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

  “What?” he asks, as if he doesn’t understand what’s wrong. “I talk to my friends all the time about my balls. We share products and such to help each other feel more comfortable. Try having two dangling balls hanging off your body. It’s very uncomfortable, so if something makes them feel good, I’m going to let everyone know.”

  “I have boobs.”

  He looks at them and back up at me. “That you do, sweet cheeks.”

  “I mean, I have dangling things hanging off my body as well but mine weigh heavier than yours and they can cause backpain, plus they’re attached to very sensitive nipples.”

  I watch him slowly swallow while his eyes fall to my breasts again. When he talks, his voice is a little squeaky. “Sensitive nipples, huh? Like what kind of sensitive? If I blew on them, would you have an orgasm?”

  “Do you really believe that’s a thing?”

  “I mean . . . yeah. Picture this.” He sets his apple cider down and shifts so he’s closer. His arm is draped over the back of the couch, and he sits close enough where he can pick up a strand of my hair and start twisting it in his finger, which he does. It’s a small move, my scalp barely registers the touch, but it causes my whole body to break out into goosebumps. “You’re tied up, wait . . . have you ever been tied up?”

  “Umm, no,” I answer, my body starting to heat from the mention of being tied up. Is that something Jason does? Why can I easily see it, him in control in the bedroom, using that deep, unwavering voice of his to direct me how he wants me to sit, lie down, where to put my hands, what to touch, what not to touch, what to suck . . .

  “Christ, okay, I’m going to ignore that answer.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “So, let’s say you’re tied up, you’re completely naked, legs spread, and arms above your head. You have no control in what happens to you next, and you’re at the mercy of your lover. He comes down on the bed and hovers over you but never touches you. He’s naked as well, his cock raging hard, because all he can focus on are your tight, tender nipples. They’re hard, aching, begging to be touched, but he doesn’t lift a hand to ease the pressure building inside of you. He can smell how aroused you are, and on top of wanting to suck your nipples into his mouth—hard—he wants to tongue your needy and delectable pussy and clit. Instead, he slowly lowers his head so he’s a whisper away from your nipples and he ever-so-lightly blows. It’s small, a featherlike wind that caresses you, but it starts to build, and build, and build, until the pressure that’s been coiling in your wet pussy starts to unfold. Your hips rub against the sheets, your body heaves, your spine straightens, and with one small flick of his tongue over your right breast, you tumble over into ecstasy, your orgasm plummeting you into a high, the kind of pleasure you haven’t felt in such a long time that you’re calling out his name, begging him to make it last longer . . .”

  Fuck.

  Breathless.

  Throbbing.

  And seconds away from straddling the man in front of me, ready to make him ease the ache he just put inside me.

  “What do you think? Orgasm?” he asks, tugging on the strand of hair he’s been twirling.

  Uhhhhh . . .

  Yeah.

  Parched mouth, I gulp my cider and then say, “I guess it would depend on the man.”

  But I can tell you right now, the man sitting in front of me could probably speak a few more naughty words and I’d come from that. God, I want everything he just said. Now.

  “I guess that’s true.” He leans back. “Okay, I should be getting to bed, I’m exhausted.” He holds his hand out for a high five and a part of me dies when I return it, wishing it was a hug, a kiss, a slip of his hand down my pants, something other than a high five only friends would share.

  “Yeah, I’m tired too.” And turned on. “Are you good? Do you need anything?” A blow job? Something warm and tight to sink into? A boob in your mouth?

  He stands and stretches his arms over his head. His shirt rolls up showing off his low-hanging pants and . . .

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  His bulge.
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  It’s huge. I hold back the tears that want to fall from that small sneak peek. The towel picture has nothing on the in-person angle.

  “I’m good,” he says, releasing his hands. “Want me to put your cup in the sink?”

  “Yes.” I stand abruptly and hand him the half-drunk apple cider. “I, uh, yeah, I’m going to my room. Have a good night.”

  “You too,” he calls out casually.

  I quickly walk back to my bedroom, hearing dishes clattering in the sink in the distance. Get as far away from him as possible.

  When I reach my room, I shut the door and lock it, as if that will stop me from attacking the man across the house. I make quick work of brushing my teeth and going to the bathroom, the whole time thinking about Jason and his laugh, his lighthearted smile, the way he casually touches me, but not in a sexual way, just a friendly way, the deep tone of his voice, the way he delivered his erotic speech like it was second nature.

  By the time I reach my bed, I’m so worked up that I reach down and slip my hand under my nightgown where my legs are spread. I press my finger along my slit and good God, I’m so wet. Biting my bottom lip, I sink deeper into my mattress, run my other hand up my stomach to my breasts, and start playing with my nipples. I can feel him above me. Watching me. Breathing rapid breaths. Turned on. My hand down my panties brings the pleasure roaring in my body to a full-on inferno. God, I want him. I want his lips and tongue on my pussy, my clit. I want his fingers tugging my hair, pulling it hard as he sucks me in. I want him to lean down and blow breaths over my nipples, then suck them into his hot mouth. And then it hits, one of the strongest orgasms of my life. All because of the sexy-as-sin man on the other side of the house.

  Chapter Sixteen

  JASON

  Jason: I’ve jacked off twice since I arrived at the cabin last night.

  Knox: Dude, self-control.

  Jason: I have zero. You have no idea what this woman is doing to me. She wore a camisole last night with no fucking bra. What am I supposed to do with that? Oh, and then she goes and tells me her nipples are really sensitive. I’m trying to be cool here, but I can feel myself unraveling.

  Knox: What’s holding you back from making a move? You’re in a cabin together, a romantic setting, so this should be a dream come true to you.

  Jason: Your last conversation with me about her scared me away. At least, made me move into ultra-slow mode, which was ramped up to hyper speed last night. Fuck, dude, I heard her laugh, and it was, hell, it was perfect.

  Knox: Whoa, you really like her?

  Jason: Yeah, I think so. The more time I spend with her, the more I realize I like her surly attitude and the way she rolls her eyes at me. Oh, and get this, met her dad last night and we hit it off.

  Knox: Then go for it. Just be gentle, and don’t attack her full-on with your neediness.

  Jason: Fuck you. I’m not needy.

  Knox: Sure, okay, man. You’re not needy.

  Jason: There was sarcasm in that statement.

  Knox: Yup. Now stop talking to me and go make her breakfast. That’s a good way to start.

  Jason: Shit, you’re right. So I’m doing this? I’m going to make a move this weekend?

  Knox: If you don’t, I’m going to punch you in the balls when I get home just to make sure you still have them.

  Jason: Believe me, I do. They’ve excreted a lot of my sperm in the last twelve hours.

  Knox: Jesus fuck.

  I laugh to myself and set my phone back on the nightstand. I stretch from side to side, warming up my spine and then hop out of bed. I take a quick piss, brush my teeth, because I’d rather eat minty pancakes than have morning breath, slip on my flannel pants but leave it at that. If I’m going to make a move, I have to entice her somehow, and I don’t just work out to be good at baseball. I want to look good for the girl I plan on dating as well.

  Before I step out of my room, I check myself in the mirror near the door and toss my hand through my hair a few times, trying to even out the messiness, but when it goes back in place, I figure, nothing like some good rumpled hair. Girls like that shit.

  When I leave my room, I’m greeted by the smell of coffee. She’s awake.

  But when I reach the kitchen and don’t see her, I wonder if I’m wrong, until I see her head peeking past a chair on the deck. There’s a misty fog settling through the trees, casting a dream-like view out the windows.

  I pour myself a cup of coffee, add some sugar, because Daddy needs a little sweet in his coffee, and then open the door to the deck. The fresh morning air is a shock to my lungs as well as the chilly temperature.

  No worries about boners here. Well, the only hard things are my freezing nipples.

  “Good morning,” I say, taking the seat next to hers, but instead of facing the trees, I face her.

  She’s wrapped up in a blanket, her silky hair piled into a bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing round, thick-rimmed black glasses.

  So fucking adorable. It takes everything in me not to cuddle her ass.

  “Hey, good morning.” She lightly smiles at me, her eyes roaming my chest for a brief second. Look all you want, sweet cheeks. “How did you sleep?”

  After I jacked off to you in my head? Amazingly.

  “Good. That mattress is comfortable. I don’t think I could ever go back to my own.”

  “My dad is all about maximum comfort when sleeping. It’s why I’m so well rested after staying a few nights here.”

  “Yeah, sleep like an angel?” I sip my coffee.

  “You could say that.” She looks out at the trees and the calm water. “One of my favorite things to do in the morning is watch the fog lift off the lake; it’s breathtaking.”

  I can name a few other things that are breathtaking . . . like her eyes and the way they shine when she wants to smile but holds back, or her laugh, how it’s throaty and only earned, or the way she carries herself in a suit, with confidence and power.

  Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking goner.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask.

  “Are you going to make me cook?”

  I chuckle. “Nah, not breakfast. But dinner, you’re mine, got it?”

  Her eyes flash an emotion I can’t quite decipher, and she doesn’t give me enough time to work it out before she says, “Fine, dinner it is. What’s for breakfast?”

  “Pancakes? I saw the ingredients in the cupboards last night. Does that work for you?”

  “With raspberries?” She bats her eyelashes.

  I point my finger at her. “Only if you say please.”

  “Please, Jason?”

  Oh fuck, that sounded good. Why did she have to add my name at the end? Now all I can hear is her saying that while I’m playing with her clit, massaging it to the point of her release but then pulling back before she falls over.

  “Yup, sure.” I stand abruptly. “Pancakes with raspberries it is.”

  “Thank you, I’ll be right in to keep you company.”

  I tug on her ponytail. “No, just sit back and relax. I’ll let you know when they’re done.”

  And when my libido has calmed down, because it seems that Dottie Domico can defeat the chill in the air and cause my dick to harden regardless. As I said, breathtaking.

  * * *

  Breakfast was good but uneventful. I made pancakes peacefully in the kitchen while Dottie hung outside. She looked so calm, so relaxed, that I didn’t bother her when I saw her head lull to the side and she fell asleep for a few short minutes.

  We shared breakfast on the deck, staring at the lake, not really saying anything to each other. It was a comfortable silence I haven’t shared with many people. After breakfast, she cleaned the kitchen and I took a shower where I took matters into my own hands again, because the minute we were back in the house, Dottie dropped her blanket and showed off that little nightgown she packed for the trip. I swear she did it with pure torture—for me—in mind.

  After a nice long shower and a rather quick re
lease—I apparently transformed into a teenager the minute we hit the woods—I spent time catching up on some reading for the foundation. Thanks to no Internet, I can’t tackle any of the emails Natalie sent, but I did draft some things for later.

  I close my computer as Dottie appears from her side of the house looking like a mountain goddess. Skinny jeans with hiking socks halfway up her shins, denim long-sleeved shirt, fresh face, and hair in high ponytail.

  “Want to go for a hike?” she asks, sitting down on the couch with some hiking boots that she starts to strap on.

  “Hell yeah. Let me grab my shoes and a jacket.” I take off toward my room, snag the things I need, and meet Dottie in the foyer. She has on a jacket as well and a backpack strapped to her back.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Snacks, water, a box cutter.”

  “Box cutter?” I lift a brow.

  “You know, self-defense.”

  I hold up my fists. “That’s what these are for, sweet cheeks.”

  “Oh, okay.” She rolls her eyes and opens the door.

  “What?” We walk out of the cabin and lock up. “You don’t think I can do damage with these?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen you do some damage on the playing field.”

  She leads the way to a trail that flanks the side of the cabin. I fall in step with her, loving the still air and quiet sounds of nature still waking up. It’s stunning, and I get to experience it all with an equally stunning woman.

  “You have, have you? Keeping track of me? Let me guess, you know my stats by heart.”

  “No, not even close. Are you even good?” she asks, joking around.

  I pull her in by the shoulder and give her a squeeze. “You know I’m fucking good, so don’t even pretend.” She pushes me away playfully.