Clipped Wings (44 page)

She leaned in to kiss me, and her hand came to rest on my knee. “Thanks for taking me out. I had a really good time.”

“Yeah?” I asked, all pleased with myself, like I’d gotten an A on an assignment.

She nodded and her hand slid up my thigh. I’d been looking forward to the car make-out session since before I picked her up today. Something about the confined space and the potential for getting caught jacked me up.

Her lips parted and I took the invitation, sliding my tongue against hers. Tenley shifted, angling herself closer. It was awkward as hell, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her hand continued moving until her fingertips grazed my cock. The barrier of my pants muted the sensation, but it still felt good.

She moaned into my mouth, clearly as affected as me. Pushing her back, I searched blindly for the lever to recline her seat. It went down with a jolt. Stunned by the sudden movement, she took stock of her options and crawled onto the narrow bench in the back. I followed her, hitting my head on the roof as I fumbled to right her seat so I had room for my legs. It was a little more private with the blacked-out windows and the headrests to shield us. I planted a knee between her legs as she spread them. When I slipped a finger beneath her panties, I met slick, hot skin.

Tenley made a soft noise, her fingers moving to my fly. She pulled down the zipper and her hand went into my boxers. I groaned as she smoothed her thumb over the head. Tenley’s grip tightened when I pushed two fingers inside her. She shuddered as I increased the pace, pumping harshly, impatient for her release so I could take her home and get inside her. She didn’t last long, as worked up as she was. After she came, she sagged against the seat, breathing hard. It took her a minute to regain control of her limbs, and when she did, her hand started to move with long, slow strokes.

“Lean back.” She pushed until I was sprawled out on the bench, one foot up on the center console, the other stretched out on the seat, my foot against the door. She kissed me as she continued to move her hand up and down my shaft, thumb circling the steel ball at the head.

I gritted my teeth, aware if she continued I was going to blow my load, potentially all over the interior of my car. It was leather, but still. “Kitten, you need to stop, I’m—”

One second Tenley’s lips were on mine, the next they were gone. Her hair brushed over my cock, the sensation making me jerk in her hand. And then her hot, wet mouth engulfed the head, her tongue swirling around and her lips sliding down.

“Jesus
fuck
.” I threaded my fingers through her hair. My original plan was to pull her off, but then she started sucking. She angled her head to accommodate the piercing, going slow until she found a smooth rhythm. I involuntarily guided her movements as she sank down and then came back up, over and over. I should have felt some guilt for letting her do this, especially in my car, where it had to be uncomfortable, crammed into the backseat as we were. But the less civilized side of me relished the feel of her mouth, and I wondered why I’d been so intent on keeping her from going down on me, when it felt so fucking good.

My longevity was pitiful. “Tenley, I’m going to come,” I warned, tugging on her hair.

She moaned around my dick and sucked harder, taking more of me into her mouth until I felt the head hit the back of her throat.

“Holy shit,” I groaned, grabbing the seat so I didn’t succumb to the urge to hold on to her hair and push her down. I came violently, my head smacking off the window.

When I was sucked dry, Tenley released my dick and gave the tip a lick. I made a weak sound of protest because it was so damn sensitive. She sat back on her heels, swollen lips turned up in a satisfied grin. I rolled my head in her direction, so relaxed I could barely move.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I muttered.

“But aren’t you glad I did?”

“Mm.” I motioned for her to come closer and pulled her in for a kiss. “Want to come up to my place? When I recover, I can show you how glad I am.”

Tenley sat back on her heels, her expression one of shock. “You’re inviting me over?”

I frowned. “We can go back to your place if you want—”

“No, no! It’s just . . . you’ve never asked me over before.” Her eyes dropped and she twisted her hands in her lap.

She was right. I hadn’t. Not once. I’d made myself at home in her space, reorganized everything from her cupboards to her linen closet to suit my needs. If I wasn’t buying her groceries outright, we were shopping for them together. Aside from the past week, I hadn’t slept in my own bed more than a handful of times since we’d started this thing. So why hadn’t I invited her to my place?

It wasn’t because I didn’t like having people over. Chris, Jamie, and Lisa used to come to my place all the time before Tenley happened. Granted, they were my closest friends and they knew what I was like, so they didn’t razz me too much about my anal retentivity. Nate would probably tell me it was an attempt to keep some distance. Self-protection or some bullshit psycho-babble. Except this time it seemed like it might be true, which was a fucking joke. The past few days in my condo had sucked ass because I hadn’t been with her.

I wanted her in my space. I wanted her in my bed, the smell of her shampoo on my pillows, and the scent of her lotion clinging to my sheets.

I picked up her hand and brought it to my lips. “Well, that needs to change.”

The windows were foggy and the car smelled like sex, even though we hadn’t technically had any. I hoped that would change once we got to his place.

He tucked himself away and zipped his fly. Shifting around, he pressed his face against the back of the passenger seat and fumbled with the release lever. It gave way and the seat folded forward, taking Hayden with it. He grinned dopily as he opened the door and practically fell out.

“Are you okay?” I asked, climbing after him.

He hopped to his feet and brushed off his pants. “I’m good.”

I’d never seen Hayden embarrassed before, or exhibiting any clumsiness. It was reassuring to know I affected him in such a way, especially since his experience far outweighed mine. Score one for putting into practice information gleaned from
Cosmopolitan
magazine.

We took the stairs to the second floor and stopped in front of unit 222. Hayden unlocked the door.

“Uh, can you wait here a second? I just want to make sure it’s not a mess.” His eyes shifted around like he was nervous.

He started down the hall, stopped abruptly, and turned with a shake of his head. He pulled me inside, twisted the dead bolt, and slid the chain lock into place. Unlacing his shoes, he took them off, opened the closet, and placed them neatly inside before closing the door again.

“I’ll be right back.” He kissed my cheek and left me there before disappearing to the right when he reached the end of the hall.

I shrugged out of my jacket and opened the closet door. Inside were a number of coats for various types of weather, the fall and winter ones most accessible. A rack of shoes lined the floor, the heels perfectly aligned. The upper shelving contained boxes, arranged with the same symmetry. Not a thing out of place, nothing jammed in the back. I’d never seen a closet so organized.

I hung up my coat and removed my shoes, putting them beside Hayden’s before I closed the door. He returned a few seconds later.

“All clear.” He rubbed his palms on his pants and took my hand.

The hall was painted a soft gray, a large antique mirror the only thing breaking up the color. The floors were dark hardwood, gleaming under the warm light thrown off by the ornate chandelier hanging above. I followed him around the corner and stopped short at the sight of the open concept living space. The muted gray color scheme continued throughout.

To the right was a very sparse, minimalist kitchen. The backsplash was white subway tile, the countertop dark gray granite. A bowl of fruit on the island and a soap dispenser at the sink were the only items to break up the continuity. The stainless steel appliances showed no trace of fingerprints. To the left was a dark wood dining table that would easily accommodate six guests. In the center a silver square planter with a single blooming orchid broke the spell of emptiness.

A black leather couch with hard angles and a set of matching chairs defined the living room. A solid wood coffee table sat atop a bloodred area rug. On the opposite wall a huge flat-screen TV dominated the space, and on either side were dark wood shelving units. Each shelf alternated between rows of books, perfectly arranged from smallest to largest, and decorative knickknacks or photos. The images were too far away for me to make out the faces. I recognized a few items Hayden had chosen from my time with him in the basement of Serendipity. It seemed so long ago, but it had only been weeks. Back then I never entertained the notion that I would be here, in his home.

Beyond the living area was what looked to be a drafting table, like the ones architects use. The space was delineated with a box shelf, which housed more books and several red fabric bins, the contents hidden from view. The cool colors and the uniformity were both calming and masculine.

The condo wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I’d envisioned some kind of anarchist retreat, including a wall of angry graffiti. Instead it felt like I walked into the pages of a modern magazine.

Spanning the wall behind the couch, perfectly spaced out, were three framed works of art. The two on either end clearly belonged to Chris and Jamie, but the one in the middle was Hayden’s creation. Detailed and vibrant, the art almost looked like a photograph. It was a perfect replica of my tattoo on my body. The rendering held me in an incredibly flattering light.

“I, uh . . .” Hayden cleared his throat. “I just put that up the other day.”

“You don’t see enough of me so you thought you’d hang me on your wall, too?”

Hayden stood at the edge of the room, hands shoved in his pockets. “Something like that.”

“It’s beautiful.” His mood was difficult to track. Inviting me into his space was like giving me a look inside his head. Hayden kept such tight control over everything in his life: his work, his home, his emotions. I seemed to be the exception to that rule.

“That’s because it’s you.” His smile was shy. “Can I get you something to drink? I have beer, red wine, scotch. I think I might have stuff to make a girlie drink if you want.”

“Wine would be nice.” I moved away from the drawing and followed him into the kitchen. “Do you have a housekeeper or something?”

He eyed me like the notion was absurd. “I’m good at keeping things organized. I don’t need someone else to do that for me.”

“Are you taking a shot at my housekeeping skills?”

“I can’t take a shot at something you don’t have.”

Insulted by the insinuation that I wasn’t tidy enough, I circled his kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers while he poured drinks.

“What are you looking for?”

“Where’s your junk drawer?”

“My what?” He swirled his scotch, amused.

It was a strange contradiction, seeing this man, so unnervingly beautiful, sipping scotch in the most immaculate kitchen I’d ever stepped foot in.

“Your junk drawer. You know, the place where you put all the stuff you don’t know what to do with.” When he just stared at me, I provided a few examples. “Elastic bands, twist ties, masking tape, spare pens, those kinds of things.”

“Open the drawer to your left.”

I was sorely disappointed by what I found. An organizer had been dropped into it, each compartment labeled according to the items it housed. In my world, most people tossed those random items into a catch-all drawer. At least that was what I grew up with. Even Connor, whose family had employed a live-in housekeeper, had a junk drawer.

“This is too organized. It doesn’t qualify.”

“I like organized. Clutter stresses me out.”

“I never would have guessed,” I replied.

My place was perpetually lived in. He was always tidying up after me. Now I understood his compulsion. In comparison to his, my apartment looked like a bomb had gone off in it.

“Are you done snooping?”

“For now. Did you want to show me where you sleep?”

“Sure.”

At the end of the hall, he opened a door and hit the light switch. Hayden’s bedroom retained the same masculine minimalist bent as the rest of his place. A king-sized bed was set against a midnight blue wall, the heavy dark wood frame complemented by a dresser and a nightstand in the same modern style. The slate gray duvet was turned down, navy sheets pulled tight, matching pillows propped against the headboard. There were signs of life in here; books stacked neatly on the nightstand, a digital clock, and a lamp with a dark shade.

There was more art on the walls, all of which reflected abject sensuality. A trio of photographs depicted various female body parts—the curvy silhouette of a woman’s torso, the line of her neck, the swell of a hip draped in red satin.

“Lisa took those,” Hayden said, his fingers drifting down my spine.

“Is it someone you know?”

“No. Just a model from one of her photography classes.”