The Perfect Man (5 page)

A shudder worked its way through me when his thumb rolled over my throbbing clit. “So wet,” he whispered. “So damn hot.” He dropped his head and suckled a kiss at the curve of my neck, thrusting two fingers into me and twisting, crooking them as he withdrew.

I was lost. Lost in the chaos he created, willing and eager to fall down that rabbit hole with him if it meant he’d keep going.

The orgasm came out of nowhere. One second I was hot, aching, on the verge of begging for harder, faster, the next I bowed up, mouth open on a soundless scream as lightning-hot pleasure tore through me.

He kissed me softly, bringing me down, my body pliant and boneless. “Beautiful.” He kissed me again, fumbling with the fly of his jeans.

Panic crashed through my pleasure haze. Despite the most amazing orgasm of my life, I barely knew Alex. Despite what my body was telling me, my mind was waking up and the little voices were growing from whispers to shouts.

Not yet
.

I wanted him. I wanted him more than I’d wanted any man, and the speed and ferocity of that need was scary, edging toward terrifying. I had to get control of this situation, and fast. Because if he got his pants off, if he touched me now, I’d throw all caution aside and beg him to fuck me.

I nudged his hand aside and opened his fly. Tipping my head back for a kiss, I pushed at his jeans, grasping the waistband of his boxers and working them over his hips. “Get on your back,” I murmured.

He complied, and I sat up, blushing as I pulled off my tank and socks. I wasn’t going to let my insecurities get in the way of his enjoyment. Flashing a shy smile, I went to work on his boots, then dragged his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down his legs.

Spread out before me, firelight throwing shadows and light across his dusky skin, he was gorgeous. Gorgeous, and mine to play with.

I slithered up and started with his neck, licking and nibbling my way to his chest, my hands busy learning the lines of his abs, pinching his nipples, loving how his skin warmed to my touch. His hips shifted in restless little jerks, and out of the corner of my eye I saw his cock, hard and long and flat against his belly.

His scent was fresh and icy somehow, the faint trace of laundry detergent mixing with his cologne. My nose loved it.
I
loved it. Kissing over his pecs, dragging my tongue over a nipple, I trailed a single finger along the underside of his dick, scraping my teeth over his nipple as I did so.

He groaned.

I withdrew my hand and brought it to my mouth. Eyes locked on his, I sucked on my fingers, one by one, giving each a thorough licking, moving on to my palm. He hissed out a breath as I closed my hand around his cock and squeezed, twisting my hand as I stroked up. I brushed my thumb over the head and kept it there, spreading the pre-come around.

There was a certain sort of pride, of smugness, knowing it was me making him feel this way. That
I'd
caused this reaction. He was hot and steely in my hand, his arousal slicking his skin and mine. Up and down, up and down, harder then softer, fast then slow. I leaned in and nipped at his ear, my hand twisting up and down in earnest, his soft grunts and jerking hips telling me he was close already. So very, very close.

“
Hannah
.” Thrusting a hand into my hair, he dragged my mouth to his, the kiss messy and frantic. “
Harder
.” I tightened my grip, kissing him softly, sweetly, drawing it out. His cock went rigid in my hand and pulsed, his orgasm spilling over my fingers and onto his stomach.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck.” I pushed myself up, and my pleased smile died a slow death, cold creeping in as I studied his face. The bewilderment in his eyes was, well, bewildering. He’d been into it. Of course he had. So why was he looking at me like he didn’t understand what was going on?

My hand was sticky, and he’d want to clean up. I got to my feet and made my way to the kitchen, turning over the last few minutes in my mind. He’d gotten me off, and I’d returned the favor. He could have stopped me at any time, and instead, he told me to stroke him harder. His reaction made absolutely no sense.

I washed my hands, dug out a washcloth, and dampened it with warm water, taking it into the living room. Alex hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the fire. I clutched the wet cloth, suddenly very aware that I was naked. I fought the urge to throw the washcloth at him and run for the bedroom as I crossed to him and knelt by his hip.

He lifted his head and smiled, his earlier confusion gone, leaving me more uncertain than ever. Had I imagined it? Determined not to drag the evening back into awkward territory, I held up the washcloth. “I thought you might want to clean up.”

He took it from me without a word, wiping away the mess. Then he tossed the cloth aside and held out an arm. “Come here?”

I stretched out beside him, and he curved his arm around my shoulders, bringing us skin to skin. And as I lowered my head to his shoulder, I tried to sink into the moment and lock away the doubt nudging me.

I didn’t quite succeed.

*

“Why EMT?”

“Hmm?” Alex paused in his lazy exploration of my skin, fingers brushing along my spine. We’d wrapped ourselves in the blanket and stayed in front of the fire, legs tangled together, our sleepy murmurs filling the quiet spaces in between the snap of the fire.

“Why’d you become an EMT?” I tipped my head back.

His hand rested on my hip. “The adrenaline rush. Knowing that I can help, and actually getting to do it.” He dipped his head to nibble at my upper lip. “You’re a grant writer?”

The heat was scrambling my brain. I wanted his teeth on other parts of me. Lower parts. More sensitive parts. “Yeah.” The response came out far breathier than I’d intended. I sucked in air. “I get to work from home, which is nice, and I can set my own hours. I’d usually be working right now.”

His grin was wry. “Another night owl. I’m usually on the swing shift.” His hand drifted up to cup my breast. “More action that time of day.” He kneaded gently.

A needle-sharp pain poked my calf, and I yelped, jolting upright. Lucien stared at me with wide eyes, his fuzzy face too adorable to stay mad at.

Alex sat up. “Who’s your friend?”

“That’s Lucien. Which means…” I glanced around and spotted Remy on the arm of the couch. “Remy’s behind you.”

My stomach let out a low rumble, and I flushed, pressing my hand into my belly. “Um. Are you hungry?”

His eyes glinted with amusement. “Depends. What’s on the menu?” I flushed hotter at the innuendo, and he laughed. “I could eat.”

I reached for my tank and slipped it on, then hunted down my underwear. I held up my ruined panties and wrinkled my nose. They had to go in the laundry. Pronto. I hurried to my bedroom and pulled out a clean pair, slipping them on as Alex appeared in the doorway, clad in his boxers.

His gaze took in the darkened room and landed on the bed. It was a pretty spectacular bed. The duvet was a silvery-gray color and fluffy, the bed itself high enough off the ground the top was almost at my hips. The frame was wrought iron, thin bars running vertically across the head and foot.

“Nice room.”

Some of the warmth and humor had left his expression, more of it fading the longer he stared at the bed. “Thanks,” I said.

Watching him was fascinating and strangely disappointing. I didn’t know if he realized how much of what he thought showed on his face. Pain, resignation, confusion, guilt; none of it good, and none of it lasted longer than a few seconds. I opened my mouth to tell him we should get dressed, that he could sleep on the couch so he wasn’t battling the storm to get home, when he smiled at me.

I’d have to be blind to not see the way it reached his eyes, how his body relaxed, and it left me more confused than ever. Clearly, I was missing a very large piece of the Alex puzzle, and it was a big,
important
piece.

My stomach rumbled again, a painful, aching growl, and I glared at Alex when he chuckled. I flipped him off as I darted past, heading for the living room and my sweatpants. They were decidedly unsexy. It’d get my message across, and I wouldn’t have to say a word. Maybe I’d even manage to work up the courage to talk to him.

I put a pot of water on to boil and grabbed a jar of spaghetti sauce. Fifteen minutes, max, and then we’d have food. As I dug out the spaghetti Alex joined me in the kitchen, one brow lifting as he took in my pants. “Cold?”

I shrugged. “A little.”

He nodded. “Gimme a sec and I’ll help you with dinner.” He crossed into the living room, picked up his jeans, and dragged them on. “You know, I missed the tattoo tour.”

Ah, yes, the ink. The thing that started this all. I held up my arm. “You’ve already seen this one.”

“Where’d you say the rest were? You’ve got one on your leg, right? Which one?”

“Right. Just above my ankle.”

He wandered into the kitchen and dropped to his knees at my side, tugging up my pant leg. The first shudder rippled through me as his finger traced the dragon winding around my right ankle. “No wings.” His lips whispered over the ink, and I gripped the counter as his tongue darted out. “Traditional Chinese dragons don’t have wings.” My heart tripped as he trailed his finger over the scales. “Alex. Stop.”

He placed a kiss on the dragon’s nose and moved over to my left foot, picking it up and throwing me off balance. “No.”

“Please. Dinner.” I looked down at him, willing my heart to calm, damning it as it sped up again when he shot me a look so full of hunger I wanted to crumple to the floor. “The stove’s on,” I whispered. Considering what a simple touch could do to me, I didn’t want to be anywhere near hot elements if he was determined to find all my tattoos.

“Finish what you were doing.” He pulled down my pant leg and edged out of the way. I quickly dumped the jar of sauce into a small pan and set it on the burner, checking the pasta water for good measure before I stepped away from the stove, leaning on the counter behind me. “Done?” I nodded, and he picked up my foot again.

He smoothed his thumb over the constellation on my left instep. “Knowing you were inked, hiding it under that dress, drove me fucking crazy. Tell me about this one?” he asked.

“The Archer. Sagittarius.”

“Your astrological sign?”

I shook my head. Some secrets had to wait until another night. He got to his feet and tugged on the hem of my tank, revealing the Egyptian cat riding my hipbone. “Why did you cover them up?”

I wasn’t going to tell him I’d stupidly allowed my friend to hide me in plain sight. I had confidence. It had just been crushed by Jonah. “February. Snow. Need I say more?”

He strummed his fingers over my hip before lifting my arm, tracing the words, brows drawn together in a slight frown. “Your water’s boiling,” he murmured. He stepped back, and with shaking hands, I dumped spaghetti into the pot, flipping on the burner under the sauce so it would warm.

I turned around to face him. “What’s going on?” I asked quietly. “It’s like one minute you’re
right there
, with me every step of the way, and then the next you take three steps back.” I didn’t want to know. I
didn't
. But I hadn’t come this far to ruin it all because I wouldn’t listen to my instincts. My stomach twisted itself into a giant knot, waiting for his answer.

He pushed a hand through his hair, eyes on the floor. “You ever see someone and think, there’s a connection there? A goddamn click, and you may not have spoken a word?” He lifted his head, and the knot tightened. He looked so
serious
. Serious and intense and a little desperate, like it was essential I believed him. “It’s been a really fucking long time, Hannah, since that click’s snapped for me. I keep hearing it, over and over. And it’s pretty fucking loud. I can’t ignore it. I don’t
want
to. Every time I think maybe we oughtta take a step back, I look at you and think
fuck that.
”

I had no words. All I could do was stare at him, wide-eyed.

I walked into a club tonight as a favor to a friend. I hid away the ink that represented so much of me because Lucy’d convinced me I needed to make a different sort of first impression. I walked in expecting very little, and walked out with Mr. Fucking Perfect. The fear crouching at the back of my mind sprang forward and threatened to devour me whole. Because I heard that click. It echoed, it was so loud. Loud and clear as a bell.

“You need to shut up,” I said, voice quavering with terror. “You can’t say something like that, not when you don’t know me. Words hurt a hell of a lot more than you think, when they’re used to build the pedestal you put me on.”

To my horror, he scowled. “No one’s putting anyone on a pedestal.”

I had. Fuck me, I had him on one.

“Hannah.” He reached out and hauled me against him. “I know I’m not the only one feeling this. It’s written all over your face.” He lowered his voice, gentling his hold. “I’m not going anywhere. You and me, this is real.”

It was very, very real. Tangible. I could grab it in both hands, hold it tight.

All I had to do was take it.

Lucien hopped up on the island and butted his head against Alex’s shoulder. A well-timed rescue. This was too deep for one night.

Even though he was right.

Chuckling, Alex let me go and scooped up the kitten, cuddling him to his chest, grimacing as Lucien tried to claw his way up. That was all it took for my heart to squish in my chest. One day, whether it was a matter of days or weeks, I’d fall over the edge for this man. It pissed me off.

I turned back to the stove to stir the sauce. “I don’t get it,” I grumbled. “Men like you aren’t supposed to exist. You say the right thing, kiss me like you care, and turn me into a puddle of mush. Then, to top it all off, you fucking
cuddle
my cat. You are not real. You do not exist. I do not have a mostly naked, absolutely gorgeous man standing in my kitchen with a kitten in his hands.” I spun around and pointed my wooden spoon at him, splattering his arms with tomato sauce. “What the fuck?”