Brawler (5 page)

EIGHT

Jaz

Day twenty-six.

“This is awesome, what did you do to it?” Ethan asked.

The chicken tasted much better than the list of ingredients indicated, that was for sure. “Olive oil, fresh basil, salt, and pepper. That’s it.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “Really.”

I had invited Ethan over for dinner and had every intention of following Rachel’s recommendation of sucking his cock after we finished our meal. Seeing him satisfied with my cooking was a much better experience than I ever would have expected, and as much as I didn’t want it to end, I was ready to move on to stage two of our night.

“Well, it’s really good. Like
really
good,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He was wearing jeans, boots, and a really cute black and white plaid short-sleeved pearl snap shirt. He looked much different than he did in sweats or shorts, which was all I had seen him wear since we’d met. It was obvious his hair had product in it, but it was still kind of everywhere hair, which added to his overall cuteness.

He took another bite. “When’s your next fight?”

“Ripp said he’s setting up something now. I’d guess here in a few weeks – at the most – from what he said.”

“But you don’t know who?”

I poked a piece of chicken in my mouth and shrugged. “Don’t really care. As long as she’s in my weight class, I’m not worried.”

“Good attitude to have.”

I nodded in agreement. I thought of sucking his cock and wondered if he’d be as pleased with it as he was with the poultry. I took another bite of the mouth-watering chicken and began to wonder.

“Have you dated since...” I paused, not really knowing how to continue. Honestly, I wished I never would have started the question. Luckily, he fully understood what I was too uncomfortable to ask.

“No.” The fork dangled from between his thumb and forefinger as he gazed down at the table. “I don’t know. I would. But. I just haven’t found anyone who interested me enough.”

“No sex, either?”

“No. I’m not a random sex kind of guy.”

Well, that’s good to know.

I wondered if sucking his cock qualified as sex, and if so, if he would consider it random. Maybe he was interested enough in me to let me do it, and all I needed to do was ask.

But Rachel had said not to ask. I was just supposed to do it.

I poked at my chicken, far less interested in eating than I was in luring Ethan into sex. After a lengthy period of silence during which I planned what my next step was going to be, I took another bite and looked at him.

I didn’t really have a preference when it came to men, it simply seemed if someone was willing to pay attention to me, I allowed them to. That willingness to attach myself to any man who showered me with attention was a result of my lack of a healthy relationship with my father, and I realized it. My sexual experiences had produced nerds, jocks, cowboys, stoners, and a businessman. They ranged in age from three years younger than me to thirteen years older.

Sitting across the table from Ethan, I was convinced if I was given an opportunity to choose, he would be the type of man I preferred. Breathtakingly handsome, very athletic, and slightly broken, he was the epitome of perfection.

Because he was gorgeous. And imperfect.

Desperately wanting him to finish his chicken so I could suck his cock, I peered across the table. He was one bite away from a blowjob.

Satisfaction washed over me as I watched him spear the last piece of chicken with his fork and raise it to his mouth. I hurriedly finished my meal and stood up, prepared to take our dishes to the kitchen and begin my sexual advance.

I reached for his plate. “Looks like you enjoyed it.”

He looked up and grinned. “Is there more?”

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Uhhm. Sure,” I responded, even though I wanted to tell him no. “Do you want more?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

It’s not any trouble, but you’re cock blocking yourself and you don’t even know it.

“No, not at all,” I said.

I took his plate to the kitchen and picked through the platter of chicken, looking for the smallest piece. Tempted to cut one of them in half, but afraid he’d raise an eyebrow at the alteration, I reluctantly chose the smallest breast and grabbed the remaining asparagus.

“Here you go,” I said, handing him the plate.

“You’re not going to eat more?”

My appetite was elsewhere. “I’m stuffed.”

I sat down and waited anxiously for him to finish his meal. Not having knowledge of my plans to suck him into a state of sexual bliss, he ate slowly and talked about topics I had very little interest in discussing.

A piece of chicken dangled from the tip of his fork. “So how long have you had your car?”

What in the fuck does that have to do with anything?

I had the car for nothing short of forever. It was the only car I ever owned, and I’d driven it from my sophomore year in high school until its most recent venture to work, one day prior. “Uhhm, for like eight years. I’ve had it since I was sixteen.”

“You just don’t see many of those old school Corollas around anymore.”

No shit. Most people can afford to replace them.

“Yeah,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “It’s a classic.”

He ate the piece of chicken, took a sip of wine, and inspected the asparagus. After much thought, he stabbed a piece and raised it to his mouth. After nibbling at it leisurely until all that remained was the short stalk that was attached to the tines of his fork, he removed the remaining piece with his fingers.

I wanted to scream.

He looked at it, and upon accepting it as edible, nibbled on it endlessly.

Frustrated beyond belief, I counted the remaining pieces of asparagus.

Six.

I wished I had given him three.

My eyes went to the chicken. It appeared untouched short of the one nibble he had taken.

“Are you full?” I asked, the tone of my voice filled with hope.

“Just taking my time. It’s so good. I can’t believe you’re not going to have any more. You normally eat like a man.”

I shrugged. “I’m just full.”

Becoming increasingly irritated with each passing second, I ran through the few possibilities I could come up with to ruin his meal.

I could have talked about gross stuff and tried to ruin his appetite, but decided it might curb my sexual desire. My small dining table didn’t have a cloth on it, so tugging against the table cloth and causing a spill wasn’t an option, and starting a fire was out of the question. While he chewed on another small piece of chicken, I gnawed on my lower lip and continued my line of thought.

Being in his presence as a friend was becoming annoying. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company, because I did, but I was far too attracted to him to continue without at least trying to get in his pants.

The wine.

The table was small enough that I just might be able to make it work. I reached for the glass at the exact instant he began to strike up a new conversation.

“So what about you?” he asked. “When was your last relationship?”

I smacked the back of my hand against the glass, toppling it over. The wine spilled with perfection, all over his plate.

And his cute little shirt.

And lap.

Fuck.

I felt like a complete fool.

“Shit!” I shouted.

“Shit,” he shouted.

“It was an accident,” I said as I jumped from my seat.

He chuckled as he tried to absorb the wine with his napkin. “I didn’t think it was intentional.”

If you only knew.

I ran to the kitchen, dampened a few towels, and returned to my dining disaster. “Here, I’ll get it. I feel like such a klutz.”

After cleaning up the mess and taking his plate to the kitchen, I took a close look at his shirt. It had a six-inch wide swath of wine down the center of the bottom half of it.

My accelerated blowjob plan had gone to fuck, and I felt like an absolute fool. I motioned toward the rapidly drying stain on his shirt. “You should probably take it off so I can wash it.”

Without hesitation, he tugged against each side of the shirt, popping the snaps from the bottom to the top. With a quick shrug of his shoulders he dropped the shirt down his arms and handed it to me.

Now standing in front of me wearing only his jeans and boots, I realized several things. One, it was the first time I had seen him shirtless. Two, I was halfway to having him completely naked. And, three, there was no way he was getting out of my home without me at least sucking his cock.

His wide chest tapered down to a perfectly chiseled mid-section. Where most men hoped to have a six-pack, he had an eight-pack. How lower stomach formed into the shape of a ‘V’, which pointed directly to the prize housed in the jeans that hung low on his waist.

Every time I had seen him in the gym, he was dressed in shorts or sweats, but he always wore a tee shirt or hoodie. I tore my eyes from his massive chest and swollen biceps. “At least it was a Chardonnay.”

He seemed slightly self-conscious.

“I’d give you a shirt, but there’s no way--”

“I’m okay with it if you are,” he interrupted.

Now that he had his shirt off, I never wanted to see him with it on again.

I raised his wadded shirt, shrugged, and turned away. “Considering the circumstances...”

Three steps toward the laundry room I had a revelation. I turned around. “You didn’t get anything on your jeans did you?”

He looked down. I looked down. I had a reason to stare, and I used it. A dark spot on the hip of the jeans gave me a little hope. I stepped closer. Sure enough, a spot the size of my fist darkened the hip of his jeans.

My bumbling the glass of wine was a complete success!

I pointed to the spot. The longer I looked at it, the less it looked like a wine stain. I declared the spot a product of my disaster nonetheless. “There’s a spot right there.”

“I can wash them when I get home,” he said.

You’re taking those jeans off, mister.

I shrugged. “I guess you can, but it’ll stain for sure. I think you’ve only got like thirty minutes, and then Chardonnay stains for good.”

His eyes went wide. “Really?”

Fuck I don’t know, but it sounds good.

“It’s a well-known wine fact. Just uhhm. I’ll grab you some shorts. I’ve got a few large pair of swishy shorts I wear around the house. You can wear one of them until they’re clean.”

“Okay,” he said.

I did a mental fist pump and ran to my room. A moment later I had returned with the shorts.

I handed them to him. “Here.”

“Where do you want me to change?”

You can take them off right there.

“In the bathroom?”

“Okay.”

He came out of the bathroom in a matter of seconds, the shorts clinging to his muscular thighs and shapely ass like a thick layer of shiny blue paint. In the front, a prominent bulge reminded me of why I’d spilled the wine in the first place.

I guess they’re not big enough. Oh darn.

“They’re kind of…” He tugged down on the front of the shorts. “Small.”

“They’re as big as I’ve got.” They weren’t, but it sounded good.

I walked in his direction, my eyes shifting between his abs and his bulge as I approached. I held my hand out. “It should just be an hour or so to wash and dry them.”

An hour with him wearing my tiny silk shorts was going to be nothing short of heaven. I carried the clothes to the laundry, sprayed them with stain remover, and placed them in the wash. I rushed back into the living room, eager to see my tiny shorts wearing soon-to-be sexual partner.

Sitting on the loveseat with his legs crossed, he looked like he belonged in a
Saturday Night Live
skit. I fought against the urge to laugh and sat down at his side. “Sorry I ruined your dinner.”

He smiled a little, but it wasn’t very convincing. “I was getting full anyway.”

I studied his long muscular legs and quickly realized they were hairless. Surprised that I had never noticed before, but intrigued that he appeared to shave his legs, I stared for a moment just to be sure.

Yep. Sans hair.

“Do you shave your legs?”

“Yeah. I really don’t like hair – other than on my head. Does it bother you?”

It did everything
but
bother me. It explained his hairless torso. I gazed at his legs. I wanted to caress them, squeezing his bulging thigh muscles in my dainty little hands as I worked my way up to his stiff cock.

“No. Uhhm. Not at all. I uhhm. I think it’s sexy.”

“Really?”

My eyes moved to his shorts.

Shit!