Perfect Match, page 7
“This okay?” She whispers, trailing kisses to my ear. “I’m not too heavy?”
“You’re perfect,” I answer easily, growing more accustomed to finding my voice with Rose. And she is perfect, lush and soft on my lap, tongue lapping at my earlobe. And when she rotates her hips, she presses right into where I’m painfully hard for her.
“Oh, fuck,” she groans. “This for me?”
I hum affirmation as her mouth returns to mine, but she pulls back a fraction, breathing hard. “Words, Tyler. I want your words.”
“It’s for you,” I rush out.
“That’s it.” She rewards me with another roll of her hips. My fingers are digging into her flesh, restless to map the body I’ve been studying but not knowing how to start.
Rose chuckles, the vibration shooting right into my body where we’re grinding, her crotch pressing into my erection again, and again, again as she rolls. “Ask me, Tyler.”
When my brows pull together, she gently removes my glasses and rubs at the line above my nose as she folds up my frames and drops them in a cup holder. My lenses are for distance, so I can still focus on Rose, right in front of me, as she traces a finger down my nose.
“Sometimes your thoughts are so loud, I swear I can hear them. Remember, I can always say no, and I trust that you’ll respect that.”
I’m struck with the gift Rose is giving me, the gift we’re giving each other. Trust, openness, vulnerability. I have a sense I could ask Rose for anything, and while she might not always say yes, she’d never be cruel about any of it.
My fingers flex on her hips, and she smiles, so I ask for what I want. “Can I touch you?”
“Where?”
She’s always pushing me, and I find myself not just liking it, but craving it. “Your ass.”
With a quirk of her lips, Rose closes her hands over mine and guides them around her body, until we’re cupping her glorious ass together. My forehead falls against hers as I groan, kneading my fingers into her.
“Move me like you want to,” she orders. And I do, pulling her body against me harder, then guiding her back. Hit and retreat, over and over, her luscious ass at home in my hands as we set a rhythm, our thin shorts the only barrier between us. She’s all but devouring my mouth, moaning as her tongue makes confident sweeps between my lips. After a moment she pulls back, a stunned look on her face, then tips her gaze down to where our hips are thrusting into each other, her warmth hitting my dick in a frenzy.
Her eyes darken as she watches us, so I lower my gaze to observe. I’m watching that other man again, his greedy hands guiding Rose’s goddess body along the length of his dick, pushing her harder and faster than is proper. The movement has driven the flimsy fabric of her shorts up, exposing her thighs, that dragon that’s taunted me since first peeking out at me at the bar.
“Your thighs,” I grunt. “I want to-”
“Yes,” she moans, gripping my shoulders to pull herself into me harder.
My hands go to her knees first, then glide up. Her muscles flex beneath as she rolls and grinds, eyes trained on my hands. With the fingers of my right hand, I trace the spine of the dragon as it loops around her thigh, rub the fire with my thumb. I want to lick her, right there.
“Do it.”
Oh, apparently I said that out loud. When I look back to Rose with surprise, she’s watching me with one eyebrow up, her body slowing on top of me. Her lips purse as if with a challenge.
A challenge I want to meet. Roughly, I slide my hands to her waist and hoist her off of me. What I hoped would be a smooth move is awkward as I try to gently deposit her on the limo seat next to me, but the way she growls my name as her ass hits the seat tells me she doesn’t mind. In an instant I’m kneeling on the floor of the limo, my shoulders between her knees.
Before I can lose my nerve, I grip her legs, holding them spread for me as my mouth meets the soft spot of her thigh just above her knee. Rose giggles and bucks beneath me, but my hands hold her steady as my mouth moves up, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until she’s whimpering. When my teeth scrape her gently, she swears, and when I bite down, just barely, she fists my hair and pulls, hard.
It doesn’t take me long to reach my destination–the dragon, almost iridescent even up this close. I follow the curve of its pointed tail with my tongue before I pause to look up at Rose, who’s biting one knuckle between her swollen lips. “Tell me about it,” I tell her, before bowing my head again to follow the long line of its back, the stretch of its wings.
Her voice comes out somewhere between a laugh and a shudder. “It was my first. When I was 17. I thought dragons were bad-ass.”
I smile against her thigh, flicking my tongue out to the orange flames, sure I can feel their heat. “How’d you get a tattoo before you were 18?”
She barks a laugh. “You don’t wanna know.”
I peer up, my beard accidentally brushing at her inner thigh. When her head tosses back in a moan, I do it again, on purpose. I do want to know. I find myself wanting to know a whole lot of things about this woman. “Was your hair pink then?”
“No.” Her hand still gripping my hair, she tugs my mouth back to her thigh, sighing with relief when I lick her again, venturing outside the colors of her tattoo now, snaking up higher on her thigh. “It was black then. I had a big goth phase.”
My lips stay pressed to her skin as I look up, trying to imagine it. “I like it like this,” I tell her. “It’s bright, like you.”
Our eyes meet and hold, until my focus on her is broken by the warmth of her fingers over my hand where it rests on her splayed knee. Keeping her eyes on me, she pushes my hand up her thigh. Time slows as she drags my hand higher until my thumb is in the crease between her thigh and her–
“Fuck my life,” Rose groans, throwing her head back with a groan. It’s not just time slowing, it’s the limo.
A crackle emits from a speaker in the side panel, then a grumbly voice. “We’re just about at our next stop, folks.”
I laugh, crouching to an awkward stand before sitting next to Rose again, the thin fabric of my shorts doing nothing to hide my jutting erection. The last few minutes feel like a fever dream, one I’m afraid is going to break open once sunlight comes pouring in through the limo door.
“Hey.” A hand lands on my knee, then Rose is turning my face to hers. She opens up my glasses and slides them back onto my face. “Everything is cool, buddy. We just made out in a limo, which was a first for me, so thanks for that. If you want to make out again later, and maybe do more sex stuff, I will enthusiastically participate, but it doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
I nod, blinking as the world around Rose’s upturned mouth and sunset hair come back into focus. “I would like to, definitely.”
She’s smiling as she leans in, and her mouth brushes mine, softly. We sway together as the limo turns, presumably into a parking spot, and stops, and I know this is the time to pull away and get myself together so I can step outside without showing mid-day Phoenix how aroused I am. But the tip of Rose’s tongue brushing my bottom lip turns me greedy again. My hands work along her jaw, her neck, into her hair as my nose nudges her, begging her mouth to open wider for me. She moans in response, fingers gripping my hair like they did a moment before, and like I hope they will later, when we finally have privacy. When she teaches me just how she likes it.
Another crackle from the speaker brings us apart. “You folks okay back there?”
Pulling back, Rose starts to smooth down my hair, but seems to think better of it, and rubs her palm along my head until I’m sure I look like a mess. “They have us scheduled all day, don’t they?” When I nod, she laughs. “Well, we’ll get a lesson in edging, I guess.”
“What’s edging?”
She doesn’t answer, just presses her body against mine as she skirts around me, reaching for the door. “Oh Tyler,” she says as sunshine streaks inside. “This is going to be so much fun.”
9
ROSE
I take a few sips of the steaming cocoa, letting the warmth spread down my throat. The day is sunny and bright, with just enough crisp in the air to make the hot chocolate weather-appropriate. Tyler’s bright pink toes wiggle on the blue plaid blanket as he lays down flat, looking up. All over the hill, people are picnicking, tossing frisbees, and generally being idyllic. It’s the sort of scene I might be prone to roll my eyes at, but today it feels sweet. Just right.
After the goats we were taken to the spa, where we were separated and sent off to choose our own menu of treatments. I spent some time soaking in the jacuzzi tub before getting a hot stone massage. But through it all, the fresh memories of Tyler lingered on my skin. I’d shift on the bench of the jacuzzi and feel his hands gripping my ass, or shimmy on the massage table and be reminded of his tongue snaking along the inked colors of my thigh.
When we reconvened for the couple’s pedicure, both showered and changed, he was perusing colors, picking up each bottle and reading the bottom with a slight chuckle before putting them back neatly, labels all lined up. I was kind of stupidly happy to see him again, even though it had only been an hour, and our technicians arrived just before I could tug him into the nearest supply closet. So I grabbed the perfect shade of pink for Tyler and took my place on the throne. I feel awkward as hell ignoring people who are doing work on my body, and I spent most of the pedicure chatting it up with Elise and Raymond as they’d worked wonders on our feet, catching glimpses of Tyler as he’d sat beside me. After being properly pampered, we were carted off to a picnic.
Considering we still had most of the day of required romantic activities before getting back to our room, the cool-off period was probably necessary. But now, lounging on the blanket on the dry grass of Phoenix’s most expansive and bustling park, after delighting in baguette and fancy cheese and juicy, dripping strawberries, I’m keenly aware of Tyler. His hands are basketed behind his head as he tips his head back, letting the sun hit his face. His brown hair is floppy and untamed, begging for my fingers.
He’s still the Tyler I met yesterday—quiet, fidgety, generally happy to follow my swirling thought patterns without sharing too much of his own. But he’s wound a little less tightly this afternoon, and I’m fairly certain there are even a few wrinkles in his shirt. But the biggest difference is his smile. It’s real, no trace of the trying-too-hard thing from the bar.
You’d almost think he’s really enjoying being stuck with me for the weekend.
Returning my mug to the ground, I stretch myself out on my back, leaving about a foot of blanket between us, watching a wisp of cloud streak across the sky. I’ve tried to bite back my curiosity about his family since the museum last night, but it’s a losing battle. “So, what was it like, being raised by the great Macey Hawthorne?”
Tyler gives a small laugh next to me. “At the time, I figured it was a normal childhood, but looking back I see how my family was a little unique.”
“Unique how?”
“My mom was already painting full time by the time I was born, so going to work meant disappearing inside her studio and emerging 10 hours later with paint in her hair.”
“Did you ever watch her work?” A thrill sweeps up my spine, imagining watching one of my favorite artists in action. The movement brings my hand against Tyler’s on the blanket, the knuckles of our pinkies barely grazing.
“Sometimes.” Slowly, his finger curls around mine, hooking it beneath his. The way my body reacts, you’d think he’d just whispered dirty things in my ear. “But I usually thought it was boring. It’s a lot of Mom standing in front of a canvas silently. She says she’s seeing the future. Lu–that’s what I call my other mom–she would have to remind her to eat, like, all the time.”
“Are your parents still together?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I don’t need to know, except I’m driven by curiosity to understand where Tyler came from.
Tyler laughs. “Oh yeah. They’re kind of gross together, honestly.” His pinkie tightens around mine. “But inspiring too, you know?”
A choked sound bursts from my mouth, giving away that I don’t, in fact, know.
“Are your parents not together anymore?” he asks delicately.
“Nah.” I keep my voice casual. Because I’m a grown-ass woman, right? No need to whine about how Mom and Dad couldn’t make it work. Most marriages fail, and my parents were just another statistic. “They broke up when I was pretty young. Since then, my mom has–” I search for an easy, sunny-park-picnic appropriate way to say she’s thrown herself into relationship after relationship, sending a string of men through my life–some decent, some not–on her search for love. “Played the field a lot, without success.”
Above us, the wisp of cloud starts to fall apart, disappearing into the blue. “Is that why you’re allergic to happy endings?” Tyler says quietly. “Like Amarah said in the car?”
Fucking Amarah, thinks they know everything. “Not allergic,” I answer. “Just realistic.”
And if I feel a little tension in Tyler’s hand next to mine, it’s only for the best. Best he knows that while he was raised by two people who somehow beat the odds and stayed in love, some of us see things more clearly.
“Anyway.” I draw in a big breath and wiggle my toes. “We aren’t talking about my family right now, we’re talking about yours. Did you do art growing up?”
My face stays facing the sky, but I can feel Tyler turn and look at me from his spot on the blanket, probably assessing my very obvious change of subject. After a minute, he does me the favor of letting me move on.
“I tried, with the art. Mom had me in art classes before I could write. I never had a spark for it, though. When I was seven, she found me at her desk adding up all the numbers from her recent sales, and she gave up on the art part of my education.”
The vision is as clear as the sharp day around us: a little Tyler at a too-big desk, crunching numbers. It makes me smile up at the sky. “An accountant through and through.”
His hand gives a little twitch next to mine. Someone along the way left Tyler convinced his job is something to be embarrassed about, like it’s not a damn superpower. I flip my hand over and slide it under his, petting the palm of his hand with one finger.
I’m a toucher. Arm touches, shoulder nudges, pats on the hand—touch is part of how I communicate. But each small touch with Tyler is charged with the small things we’ve done and whatever is to come.
“Tell me something you like about your job,” I say, still facing the sky.
“You don’t want to hear about it.”
“I do, actually.” I roll to face him, keeping our hands connected. “That’s why I asked.”
He turns on his side and our eyes connect, his gaze hitting mine and wrapping around it. There is definite fluttering in my stomach, and it transforms into a swarm as Tyler reaches for my face, twisting a strand of my pink hair between us.
“Usually people ask questions just to be polite, and I always end up giving too little and being aloof or too much and being boring. It trips me up, so I’ve gotten used to just avoiding small talk.”
My free hand taps his glasses right over his nose. “Then you’ve been talking to the wrong kind of people, babe. And I bet you’re better at conversation than you think. You’re comfortable with your roommate, right? The amorous one?”
Tyler laughs, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Rashid, yeah. He spent a couple months pulling me out of my shell. I’m not sure why.”
I know why. Because he met Tyler and saw a man almost too sweet for this cruel world, someone who might take some effort to get to know, but who would make each moment worth it. I draw a line with my finger down his nose, bopping it once. “So tell me. What’s something you like about your job?”
He sighs, but I can see he’s going to at least try. “It sounds cheesy, but I really like helping people. Everybody has to navigate so many complicated systems just to live, you know? And sometimes I feel like—”
Between us, I entwine my fingers fully with his, squeezing.
“I feel like a guide,” he says quietly. “Like our opaque tax system is the wilderness and I’m the guide helping people get through unscathed.” He quickly covers his face with his free hand, groaning. “Wow, that sounds dumb.”
I give his hand another squeeze. “That is a bizarre and truly wonderful metaphor.” It’s as nerdy and sweet and unexpected as Tyler himself. “And as someone currently adrift in that very wilderness, I think what you do is amazing.”
“I really will help you,” he says quickly. His hand lifts from his face and hovers between us for a minute before bridging across our bodies, landing gently on my waist. “We’ve been concentrating on my, um… needs, but when we’re back at the resort, I can look over your stuff with you. Business plan, budget, forms, whatever you need.”
I’d grabbed my laptop from home last night for this very reason, and I know I need any guidance Tyler can give me. But I also know that when I get this man alone in our room, the last thing I’m going to want him to do is my taxes.
His smile is so welcoming I have to taste it, so I lean my mouth into his. There’s a brief inhale of surprise, but it’s gone in a flash, replaced with the parting of his lips and slip of his tongue against mine, then his hand sifting fully into my hair. He tastes like chocolate, rich and dark and sweet, and I want to lap it up. The tightening of his hand on my waist sends a hot zip up my body that comes out in my moan, straight into his mouth.
I felt him under me in the limo, but now I’m hungry for the knowledge of how we line up, side-by-side. I’m ready to swing a leg over his hips when a loud laugh from somewhere in the park brings me back to reality. Sure, I’m an exhibitionist, but I draw the line at grinding in front of families flinging frisbees.
I pull back, giving Tyler a series of shallow, short kisses before finally leaving a little air between us. His lips are wet, his eyes alive with the needy glint that makes me burn.
