So Different (12 page)

He waited until she drove away before he pulled out and headed to his apartment. He felt a little weird after their encounter, like things had gotten away from him. She was correct. He hadn’t wanted anything more, not really. More time with her, maybe a night or two; hell, maybe a few weeks in light of the incredible way she’d felt wrapped around him just then.

He didn’t know what to make of her and her reaction to him. She seemed to be there with him in that pleasurable place, yet the indifference toward him afterward left him confused.
Let it go, Adam,
he told himself. It was what is was—a quick screw in the back seat of a car.

* * *

Mariah, Mariah, Mariah, what were you doing
? she asked herself as she drove away. That was such a mistake, and in the back seat of a car?
Really?
Was that the best she could come up with? What had she been thinking?

Nothing. She’d lost what little willpower she had with the touch of his thumbs. Just get out your slice of toast and spread her over the top, she’d become the new butter substitute.

What about him brought out the need to remain in control, to not go easily, even though she wished to? So tonight she’d taken charge. She felt less like a novelty if she took charge, less like everyone else in falling over for him—no using of Mariah, at least not on her watch, not without her awareness of it. But man, that dentist sure knew his way around a body.

And if she was honest she would admit Adam was so much more that she’d bargained for.

First week of May

The following Tuesday Adam found himself outside the door of the Skate-o-torium, where Mariah and her team practiced. What was he doing here again? He’d gotten what he was after, hadn’t he? Guess not, because here he was, attempting to see her again.

Their encounter in the back seat the other night had made quite the impression, and he clearly needed more time with her. The memories from that evening had persisted enough for him to drive over here after leaving the office.

He parked and walked inside, going through the lobby. Same as it was the last time—red, worn, and frayed. He entered the doors leading into the rink, a little nervous at seeing her again. He didn’t have any other way of contacting her. She had never given him her number and she’d left before he could muster up enough brain cells to ask the last time they’d been together. He refused to use the office files. That felt weird, and more than a little desperate—and not very ethical, either—so he’d opted to try his luck and just show up. He wasn’t sure if she had kept his card; he had no idea with Mariah.

He hadn’t cared for the way it had ended, either; she had knocked his ego a bit. She unceremoniously rejected him. She had morphed into one heck of a challenge, and everyone knew that putting your mind to a new task was the quickest way to forget one’s troubles. He wouldn’t share that with her, though, couldn’t tell her, either, that she was just the diversion he needed; their interlude was a confirmation that she was just what he needed. Of course he couldn’t say,
You’re perfect, so different, and hopefully even a walk on the wild side
. No way could he say,
You’re so unlike what I’m used to
.

His thoughts were no longer centered on Jamie, what he knew and didn’t know of her, and what his choice of her said or didn’t say about him. He felt less pressure in his chest, and that was another upside to having a relationship with Mariah. He needed this.

He looked to see that she was already on the track, yoga-type pants adhering tightly to her slim form, racing around singularly focused on skating, on dodging and weaving her way through the mass of women blockers He leaned his back against the wall and watched her go.

* * *

Of course she’d known he was here. Every one of her teammates had passed the information on. She didn’t need it. She spotted him right off the bat when she made the turn around the track. Saw him standing against the back wall, watching and waiting, arms crossed, glasses on, giving him that intense smart guy look. Her eyes had traveled unconsciously to the back wall before he’d arrived, seeking him, hoping he’d appear. They traveled unconsciously now to the back wall, seeking assurance that he hadn’t gone.

This, of course, was in stark contrast to what she’d told him the other night, the part about not needing to see him again. She wanted him again. Still. More. Practice had ended, and he was headed her way.

“Back again,” she said when he reached her.

“Back again,” he replied and sat next to her without further comment, watching her change into her tennis shoes and pack up her bag.

“How was practice?” he asked, standing up along with her as they both made their way to the door and out through the foyer and out into the night.

“Practice was normal for us. You’ve been here a couple of times. How do you think it went?”

“It looked fine. I always like watching you. You are one determined and focused woman on the rink.”

“I enjoy it. It pulls me into this world where the worries fade away,” she said. He looked at her.

“Didn’t think I could be pulled into another world?” she asked, a small smile on her lips, surprised at having shared that.

“Don’t start with that. Other than the assumptions about you being abused, I’ve not made any others about you.”

“Sure you have. They are so much a part of you that you don’t even notice.”

“You have your expectations, too,” he said.

“We all do. It’s human nature, but some are more limiting than others,” she replied. They had now arrived at her bumper-sticker-clad car.

“Where to now?” he asked.

“Home?” she said.

“Come home with me?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

“You’re persistent,” she said.

“Come home with me?” he asked, stepping close to her this time, feeling this pull, putting his hands on her waist, just to touch.

“I need to go home first, take a shower,” she said, searching his eyes for signs—of what?

“You could shower at my place.”

“Don’t have a change of clothes.”

“Fine. Here is my address,” he said, taking a card from his wallet, writing his address on the back. “My cell is listed in case you get lost.”

“Okay,” she said, taking the card from his hand. He was unsure if she would come. Wasn’t sure how to read her current expression, either. He’d been surprised that she acquiesced so easily. He’d expected to have to talk, maybe even plead his case.

“You’re not going to leave me stranded again, sitting on my couch waiting for you?”

“No, I’ll be there. Give me an hour, okay?” she said, getting into her car.

He nodded, stepped back, and watched her leave.

* * *

He got up to answer the door almost an hour later and sighed in relief. He hadn’t known for sure. He’d been on his couch waiting, as there wasn’t much else to do.

He walked to the door and opened it. She stood there, serious again, like she was about to change her mind. He reached for her hand and pulled her in. She seemed to have a fondness for skirts, and her legs were great underneath them. She was wearing Doc Martin-style boots; these reached the top of her calves. She wore a t-shirt on top, leaving skin visible near her waist. A gym bag was slung over her shoulder. She had a helmet in her hand.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to her helmet.

“I ride a small electric bike sometimes,” she said, placing it on the floor. It was an empty area. She guessed a dining table belonged there, but it was bare now. She pulled her bag over her head and set it down next to her helmet. He watched her, taking in her blonde-dyed hair wet on her head. It worked with her skin color. Who knew? Brown and gold—he hadn’t thought of that combination.

“That was quick, easy to find,” she said.
It wasn’t too far from me,
she thought, but didn’t say out loud.

“I like your hair color.”

“Me, too. It’s one of my favorites. I don’t spend much time primping. What you see is what you get usually,” she said and ran her fingers through it. “Except for the color. I need variety.”

“Want something to drink?” he asked.

“No, I’m good.”

“Want to sit and watch TV?”

“Not really.”

“No foreplay for you,” he said.

“Not TV foreplay anyway,” she said, looking around his apartment at the emptiness. Not at all what she’d expected he would live in, but he was only here filling in for his dad—temporary was written all over it.

“I know, sparse right?” he said, following her eyes as they checked out his place. “I have a home in Houston. Living here is only for the short-term, but I needed my own space, you know?”

“Sure,” she said, as if she needed the reminder of his status.

He reached for her hand, pulling her to him. He placed his hand at her waist, touching the visible skin, and he looked her over. “You are very pretty when you’re not covered in bruises.”

“I always have bruises,” she said.

“Now?” he asked, scanning her body. “Where?”

She stepped back and pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her braless and bare, he cleared his throat. She was constantly surprising him, not that he minded. Her pert breasts pointed upwards, small but full. He appreciated the chance to see and touch them, without having to be so rushed.

“Here,” she said, bringing his attention to her side, where there was a very large bruise the size of a fist. He touched it, before bending his head to place a kiss on it, and heard her sudden intake of breath. Her hands landed softly on his head as his lips skimmed over her side, moving to her breast. He kissed the right one first, softly playing with its tip, a gentle pull and tug for a few seconds before moving on to the left one to do the same. She moaned and held on tightly to his shoulders.

“Anywhere else?” he asked, his words barely above a whisper. He pulled back and moved into her lips, running his tongue along the seam.

She pulled away and unbuttoned her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She wore those men’s style fitted boxers. They came about mid-thigh, and looked sexy on her. She lowered one side of her boxers, bringing his eyes to her area near her left hip. Another bruise, larger and covering most of her hip. He ran his hand over it, bent his head to kiss that part softly, the kiss barely grazing her skin.

“What’s this?” he said. spotting a tattoo peeking out of her boxers near her navel. She lowered her boxers until it was visible; roller skates with fire shooting out the back of them.

He stood up again and smiled, looking her over. The sight of her was completely branded into his brain, becoming his new version of sexy. Tall, lean, gold hair against brown skin, white boxes hugged slim hips and ass, golden-tan Doc Marten boots on her feet.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her in for another kiss, but not soft like before. She met him, mouth warm and open for him. He could get lost here if he wasn’t careful, he thought, as he lost himself in the sensation of his tongue tangling with hers.

“Bed,” she whispered, pulling back from him a few minutes later. He smiled, turned, and led the way. She sat on the bed a minute later, working to remove her boots while he lost his t-shirt. Nice chest, dark hair sprinkled over it, a match for his head and eyebrows.

She removed one boot, having a little trouble. The sight of him shirtless in a pair of old scrubs with a hole in the knee, tied just loosely on his hips, barely hanging on, had her swallowing. She stopped working on her left boot, distracted now. He chuckled, walked over to her, bent down, and removed it for her.

He stood before her, untying the drawstring of his scrubs slowly, knowing that she was watching. He heard her breathing change as his pants fell. He leaned over and kissed her. His hands sought her breasts. It was an invitation he couldn’t pass up. He moaned at the movement of his hands on her, smoothly caressing, creating a powerful need within her. She reached for his hand to pull him back, when he tried to pull away. He laughed and she lay back on the bed, opened her arms and spread them, another sexy smile at her lips, invitation in her eyes. He was so there.

He walked away for a second and went into the bathroom. She heard noise, like he was looking for something. He returned in a few seconds with condom in hand, a beauty in his bare skin. He tore the package open and started rolling it on as she watched avidly. And he watched her watching him.

He smiled again, clearly in control of this. He walked over to her and she scooted further up toward the headboard. She had removed her underwear and now lay before him nude, on her back, waiting and watching. He climbed up, situating himself between her legs, placing his arms on either side of her head, and bent down to kiss her; slow kisses, not in any hurry. Theses were getting-to-know-you-thoroughly kisses. Her one arm moved to surround his neck, the other ran along his back to his butt, where it gripped and kneaded, causing him to push into her, groaning at the way she felt underneath him. They stayed there for a while, exploring each other’s bodies. His hands had found her breasts and he softly kneaded them while his mouth made love to hers.

“Open for me,” he said, so slowly and softly against her lips, his eyes fixed on hers. She complied and he entered her a few seconds later. She sighed in pleasure, or was that him? He waited a second, looked down at her.
Very pretty, indeed,
he thought, and then he stopped thinking altogether and just moved—a nice slow push into her. He groaned and thrust in and out of her, smooth and steady. She moaned again. He placed his head into the crook of her neck and closed his eyes, concentrating on not rushing, just reveling in the wet slide of him into the heat of her, the fluid glide in and out of her body, surrounding him, soothing him,
gripping
him. God, she felt incredible. He reached for and then held her hands in his as he continued to move within her at that slow, steady pace.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

“You feel…” he whispered against her lips, before he moaned. He lost his train of thought. “Mariah…” he whispered a few seconds later. She groaned her reply as he pushed into her again, and out ever… so… slowly. It seemed to her that it took minutes for him to complete each thrust, so slow were his movements. In and out, slowly, steadily, and deliberately he moved, wanting to prove a point to her—that he wanted more from her than a quick fuck in the back seat of a car. He wanted
this
, this taking it slow, this wet and soft welcome from her. He rested his head against hers as he ground his teeth and kept up his pace. He heard her moan again and he held her hips in place with his as she tried to push up to meet him, to somehow speed him along.

Nope. He had waited for this. He pushed firmly and slowly in and out again, her climax approaching. He could feel her tightening around him. He moaned this time as he felt her climax take on speed, urgency, pulling him along with her. His hips held hers in place as she moaned, her head moving slowly from side to side. She wrapped her arm around his neck tightly, and placed her face into the curve of his neck as she came. “ Oh…I…Adam…” she said with a sigh.

And he joined her, climaxing too, clutching tightly to the sheets of his bed, his fists above her head filled with them, holding her hips in place with his, holding her body in place as he covered her completely and let his climax hit him. He couldn’t think, just let it race through him. So good, this feeling. He sighed, then moaned and sighed again.

It was quiet. He took in one deep lungful of air, pushed onto his elbows, and looked down into her eyes.

“That was really nice,” she said, grinning, her hands moving up to run through his hair, which was wet from exertion.