In the Mix Page 7

  “First of all, not only was I starving but this is Charley’s eggplant parm we’re talking about. A fucking bomb could go off or David Beckham could pull up a chair next to me and I would eat that shit before solving world peace or convincing David he’s playing for the wrong team!” Jay deadpans.

  “Listen, nobody expects you to do any of that on an empty stomach!” I chuckle.

  “Right?” he plays along. “Alright, I’m going to head out and leave you two lovebirds alone.” He pushes his chair back and gets up.

  “You just don’t want to do dishes.”

  “Damn skippy!” he laughs. I get up to walk around the table and give him a quick hug. He leans down towards my ear, “Go easy on Kyle, he really likes you.”

  “I know.” I pull back from him and give him a smile.

  “Are you alright, besides everything tonight? You don’t seem like yourself.”

  “I’m a little off tonight. It’s been a rough few days. I’ll be fine though.” I admit.

  “Call me tomorrow and we’ll talk.” He kisses my forehead.

  “Sure,” I say but we both know I won’t do it. After releasing me, he reaches across the table to shake Kyle’s hand.

  “Sorry about tonight, man.” Kyle slaps Jay’s shoulder as he stands and shakes hands.

  “Look, I got what I came for.” Jay shrugs. “Alright, I’ll see you kids on the flipside!” And with that, he heads out. I turn back to the table and Kyle.

  “Um . . . I’ll go.” He runs his hand through his hair, seemingly unsure.

  “Don’t,” I say quickly.

  “No?” He furrows his brow.

  “I don’t want to eat alone.” I reach across the table and grab my plate before seating myself into Jay’s chair across from Kyle. I push Jay’s plate over before setting mine down. I grab Jay’s fork and start eating while Kyle stares at me in silence.

  “You’re using his fork?”

  “He’s my best friend, and last I checked, he doesn’t have cooties.”

  “Jay’s right and I’m worried, too.” He takes his seat. “You’re not yourself.”

  “It’s been a difficult week, Kyle, that’s all.” I keep my eyes down.

  “Talk to me . . .” he trails off. I look up at him and say nothing. I just sit here, studying him. “What?” he asks after a few minutes. If I knew, I’d tell him.

  “How are things going with Mickey? Linz didn’t mention him the other day.”

  “Not about the dog, Ceese, about you! I want you to talk to me about your difficult week.” He does nothing to hide his frustration.

  “What did you do with Mickey?” I question, feeling a little alarmed.

  “I have him till the party.”

  “You’ve had him for three days?” I widen my eyes. I can’t believe my ears.

  “We’ve come to an understanding. Incidentally, my mother invited you to my sister’s surprise party.” He grabs his wine and takes a swig.

  “What? Why?” I drop my fork.

  “Because you’re Lindsay’s friend and boss. She wants you there.”

  “Oh.”

  “And she knows that you’re important to me, as well,” he adds quickly before throwing a forkful of food into his mouth.

  What’s that sound, you ask?

  Oh . . . just my heart, trying to beat out of my chest.

  “All done?” I gesture to his plate as he finishes his last bite.

  “Uh, yeah,” he says with his mouthful. I quickly grab his plate and pile it on the others as well as mine. I head out to the kitchen to wash them all or . . . you know . . . regroup. I place the dishes in the sink and turn the faucet on. I lean my hands on either side of the sink, listening to the sound of the water rushing through the pipes at full force. Why does he affect me like this? I should be fighting this. It’s not good. He’ll hurt me. Sadly, part of me doesn’t even care anymore. I’ve lost my fight. I’ve no energy left for self-preservation. Everything is going wrong in my life right now. I could use some “right,” even if for just a small moment of time. Just a moment to feel normal, worthy, loved, and most importantly—not alone.

  “Ah,” I gasp softly as Kyle’s hand slides onto my hip. His free hand sweeps my hair away from the right side of my neck over onto my left shoulder before it finds its place at my other hip. Yes, I’m panting like a dog in heat. Wouldn’t you be? His breath hits my neck hot and slow.

  Lord, help me.

  His lips move up to my ear, “All day—everyday—you’re there, in my head. I can’t get you out. You consume me. I keep trying. Christ, I try like hell to push you out, shake you off. I can’t. I see your eyes. I feel your mouth on mine.” His lips skirt down my neck. I close my eyes, relishing in his touch. I place my hands on top of his, guiding them to explore my belly and up my torso. I lean my head back, giving him more access to my neck as I listen to his words. “I breathe the rapid breaths you breathe those moments you let your guard down. I can’t stand the power you have over me. I hate it. I hate how much I fucking love it. I want you. I want you like . . . actually, I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.” He buries his face into the crook of my neck. His hands stop moving. I’m not going to lie—I’m disappointed. They’re parked just under my girls.

  My girls want to play “Tug, tug, rub and roll.”

  What the fuck?

  “Kyle,” I breathe, “Don’t stop.” I try to nudge his hands along.

  “You want me to touch you?” he asks, his mouth back at my ear—breaths matching mine.

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  I push his hands off me and grab the sponge, pouring a ridiculous amount of dish soap on it. I’m going to do these damn dishes and I’m going to try my hardest not to stab him with one of these knives for making me feel like an asshole.

  “I want to touch you.” He slides his hands back on to my hips. His chest presses into my back, giving me no space to turn if I wanted to. “But,” he continues, “If I touch you, I won’t be able to stop until you’re screaming my name while your legs are shaking around my hips.” Is it a little wet in here or is it just me . . . and my panties?

  I bet he’d give me good leg shake.

  Also, I may have just whimpered . . . slightly.

  “I’m going to go.” He pats my hip.

  “Go? What?!” I turn around the moment he backs off.

  “I can’t stay, Ceese.” He shakes his head. “If I stay, then I will end up making love to you.” Running his hand through his hair, he looks everywhere but at me directly.

  “Why is that such a bad thing?” I barely recognize the vulnerability in my own voice.

  “It wouldn’t be except for the way I know you will behave afterwards.”

  “The way I’ll behave?” I knit my brows together.

  “Aww c’mon, CiCi!” He raises his voice and paces, seemingly frustrated. “You will go right back to your usual “all walls up, I don’t need anyone” self. You’ll make comments about it being nothing, that you just needed to get your rocks off and I happened to be there! You’ll push me away and goddamn it, I know it will destroy me,” he lowers his voice for that last part of his speech.

  I take a few steps towards him and hold up my pinky. “I promise that I won’t do that.”

  “Really, Ceese? You think I’m gonna put my trust in a pinky-promise that you will be a good girl after we make love?” he asks, staring down into my eyes, once I make it into his personal space.

  “How about a pinky-promise that I’ll be a good girl while we’re making love?” I breathe as I toe-up and brush my lips against his. He growls lowly before attacking my mouth in a viciously delicious manner.

  “CiCi,” he murmurs against my lips.

  “Yes?”

  “You want to get rid of that soapy sponge now? You’re soaking the back of my shirt with it.” He does his smirkish smile while pulling my arm that is encircled around his neck down—soapy sponge
gripped tightly in my hand.

  “Sorry.” I whisper giggle. Yes “whisper giggle” is a real thing! It’s when you laugh through your nose without any sound—just rapid breaths, mimicking a giggle: whisper giggle. Got it? Now stop distracting me; that’s Kyle’s job. Mmm . . . Kyle. I toss the sponge in its dish and rinse my hands. I turn to him, drying my hands off only to find his hand already extended out to me.

  Shit’s about to get real, people!

  Kyle is sporting that hooded “I’m about to get laid” stare. His bright blue eyes have changed a few shades darker. And holy hell if my heart isn’t flipping out, knocking on every wall of my chest, trying to get the fuck out.

  “Lead the way, beautiful.” He squeezes my hand and nods his head. I stare at him. I’m pretty sure I just licked my lips before pulling my bottom one in to nibble on it a little because he growled again and tugged me along.

  My feet are moving but my mind is still on the mental image I just had of his naked body all over mine. He feels very muscular and toned. He’s not beefcake status, but he’s definitely built. I’m imagining a delicious v-line. I’m imagining everything so hard and powerful all over me.

  And . . . I may have just whimpered again.

  I look over at Kyle.

  He’s smirking.

  Shit. I definitely whimpered.

  I lead him up to the pseudo apartment, above the garage, that Charlotte uses for overflow of guests. I use it for overflow of my life’s necessities: clothes, makeup, hair products, framed pictures—you know, the usual stuff. Stopping at the door, I reach up on my toes to feel for my key.

  “Why is the door locked if it can be entered from the inside of the house?” he asks in a hushed tone.

  “I don’t want the kids to go through my shit. Actually, I don’t want friends of the kids’ going through my shit. Kids are fucking nosy, ya know?” I shrug and fumble with getting the key into the hole. I can’t help it. I’m thinking about him, putting his key in my hole—unlocking shit.

  “I thought you didn’t live here.”

  “I do live here.” I open the door and flick on the light. “They just haven’t accepted that yet.”

  “I don’t know why. It seems pretty obvious to me that you reside here.” He looks around, smiling and shaking his head at all of my stuff.

  “See?!” I point out.

  “Clearly,” he adds, shuffling his hand out at all of my things. “So . . .” he trails off and sits on the bed.

  “Don’t do that!” I rush towards him when he picks up an old pair of my underwear.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t sniff my panties.” I try to grab them but he moves his hand back and away from me quickly. He’s laughing, I might add. Fucker!

  “I wasn’t going to, but now you have me intrigued.” He holds me back with his free arm as I continue my efforts in reaching them.

  “Kyle, they’re old! It wouldn’t be sexy for you to sniff those! You want fresh-scented CiCi pussy not expired-scented CiCi pussy. God only knows what kind of chemical changes have occurred since I took them off!” I practically yell as I go for the grab one more time. I’m not successful but he does toss them onto the floor before encircling my body with that arm, whisking me down onto the bed, and under him.

  Fuck, he really is a goddamn ninja!

  I’m trying to control my breathing. I really am. However, he’s staring down at me with those ice-blue eyes and strumming his fingers slowly over my bottom lip. They descend my jawline, neck, until he reaches my right clavicle bone. He traces over it and leans his head down closer to mine. Instantly, I feel that magnetic pull neither one of us has ever been able to fight. I lick my lips, anticipating his. Closer. Closer. Closer . . .

  Eskimo kiss.

  Let the record show that at the time of—I don’t have a fucking clock to look at; my panties have become soaked. And let’s also give an honorable mention to my confusion as to why the hell it turns me on when he does that!

  His lips linger over mine again.

  Peck.

  Open-mouth peck . . . suck.

  Peck.

  Open-mouth, slight tongue-peck and . . . succcckkkk.

  And so begins our synchronized kissing. His tongue dives deep into my mouth. My hands climb up to his head and thread through his hair, pulling him harder against my mouth. I feel his hand drift down my chest. He pushes at my flimsy V-neck shirt, making it fall off my shoulder. Grabbing at my sports tank, he yanks it down with urgency. Tug, tug, rub, and roll. Tug, tug, rub, and roll. Chant with me; you know you want to!

  Suddenly, he rips his mouth from mine. His eyes fall down to my right girl, chilling outside my shirt. Oh. Oh holy mother of all motherfucking hell! Tug, tug, rub, roll, and pinch. And . . . lick, suck, and bite. Repeat. Yes, I’m trying to hump him. He tears away from me again, sitting up on his knees. His shoulders rise up and down in a quick fashion, matching the tempo of his breaths. He stares down into my eyes and unbuttons his shirt at a God awful slow pace. Ever have one of those moments where you want to get so lost into somebody that you don’t even want to remember your fucking name afterwards? Yeah—I’m having one of those moments right now. I lean up and pull my shirt and sports tank off fully. Our eyes staying connected, I place my hands on his stomach and slide them up at the same pace he just took to reveal it. When I reach his shoulders, I slide his shirt off them. I was right. Oh, man was I right, but . . . I would’ve never guessed I’d find this on top of a very nicely toned chest. Half of his upper right chest and arm is covered in the most beautiful (read: HOT AS FUCK!) Polynesian tribal tattoo I have ever seen. This is the real deal, yo. Not the trendy 1990’s, “check out my tribal tattoo, dude, even though I don’t know what the fuck it means” tattoo.

  “You like that, beautiful?” he asks, running the back of his hand down my cheek while I trace the very intricate lines of this masterpiece with my fingertips.

  “Fuck, yeah,” I murmur before following the path of my fingertips with short licks and nips.

  “I thought you would, especially, when I saw this.” He runs his hand down my side, tracing my own, more delicate version of a tribal tattoo. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are, Ceese?” His voice carries through the air all soft and vulnerable—almost aching. His fingers trail farther down, hooking the waist of my yoga pants, and sliding them down. My lips work their way up to his neck. Fisting his hair, I breathe him in and get lost in the sense of his touch. “Don’t leave me in the morning,” he whispers against my shoulder, his lips painting it gently. I jerk my head back slightly and look into his eyes. “Don’t do it,” he repeats with a sterner approach, yet calm. I give him a little nod of agreement before leaning in to sweep his lips. The pressure from the weight of his body makes me lie back down on the bed. Abruptly, he tears his lips from mine. He stares into my eyes again for a moment before he begins to travel down my body. His tongue spends some time tracing the details of my tattoo, spanning the length of the left side of my torso. “So fucking sexy . . .” he trails off in a growl before continuing on, whipping my pants off.

  He gasps. Pants. Groans.

  He gently flicks at my hood piercing.

  I lean up on my elbows and study him, not sure of this reaction. His fingers glide across my clef. “So smooth,” he barely utters.

  “I don’t like body hair . . . on me. It bothers me,” I offer.

  “Gorgeous. So. Fucking. Gorgeous.” His finger plays with my ring gently. He closes his eyes, throwing his head back.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, feeling a bit anxious.

  “What’s the matter?” He lets out a light chuckle. “I’m trying to compose myself. You have no idea how badly I want to pound into you like a teenage boy, having his first go at things.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “Remember the first time we kissed? What you said to me about how good my scruff was going to feel against your pussy, when I eat the fuck out of it?” He situates himself in position and . . .
he smirks. This is different from the usual Kyle smirk I get from him. This is sexy smirk. This is “I’m about to rock your fucking world” smirk. Fucking smirker. I’m gonna wipe that smirk right off of his face—with my pussy. He lowers his face to my center and glides up it with one . . . two . . . three quick, soft, and savoring kisses. The last one, on my clit, had a little tongue slippage action going on and it was hot as hell. “Did it go down at all like this in your mind?” he asks before he lowers back down then shakes his face, rubbing his scruff on my pussy lips and blowing raspberries.

  Me?

  I’m wide-eyed for a moment until my laughter rolls up from my toes and closes my eyes as I go into hysterics. I stop when he stops. My eyes open to find his smiling ones. I’m about to ask him what in the fuck that was but I’m distracted by the weight of my smile falling. I know exactly what that was. That was him pulling some shit that I would’ve pulled had the roles been reversed. He pulled a “CiCi.” He’s been doing that a lot lately. And at this moment, I realize, he’s able to pull a “CiCi” because he gets me.

  Holy fuck . . .

  He gets me . . .

  “That was so much hotter than I imagined, actually,” I say with the most serious tone I can muster, cos . . . ya know, I gotta fuck with him.

  “It was the raspberries, wasn’t it?” he asks, knowingly.

  “It was.” I nod. “I mean, you went right for it. No waiting. No planning out when you would take our relationship to vaginal raspberry status. You just went for it . . . like a ninja.” I widen my eyes at him. “That’s fucking hot, Kyle. I love a confident man who pays no attention to codes, rules, and whatnot. You see a pussy that needs a raspberry blown on it and you go in like a champ!”

  “That’s my motto, actually—go in like a champ! I’m getting bumper stickers made next week.”

  “I’d put that on my bumper,” I say thoughtfully.

  “That’s nice, Ceese. Thank you for the support but I have other things in mind for your bumper.” He flicks his left eyebrow up at me then winks.

  Let the record show that I am speechless. Normally, I’d have something here, but I don’t. I feel like he stole my line. I feel like I’m bantering with myself. I don’t know how to banter with myself . . . with other people in the room.