Sleeping With the Help (Toyboy Lover) (6 page)

I crept past the living room and into the kitchen, poured myself some grapefruit juice, and regretted its purchase the second the glass touched my lips. Whose stupid idea was it to turn such a sour fruit into juice? Better still, what idiot would actually buy it?

Swallowing it down, trying my best not to taste it, only allowing it to do its job of quenching my thirst, I turned to the door. The glass nearly slipped out of my hand when I spotted Eduardo standing in the doorway.

“Jesus, you scared me half to death.”

His brow furrowed, making him look more bad-tempered than usual. It could have been because he'd just woken up.

It didn't take long for my initial shock to vanish and be replaced by something completely different; something carnal. It was as though a sleeping lion awoke inside me as I noticed him for the first time, taking in his full form. Bandages covered the bottom half of his torso, wrapped tightly, while the top of it was bare, tinged with colorful bruises. His dark nipples were pert, helped no doubt by the chill in the air. His chest seemed to be made of stone; I had to restrain myself from diving at him and running my hands over it, just to see if it was as solid as it looked. His filthy black jeans sagged; the top button was undone, revealing his white boxers underneath.

“Where's my sister?” He held onto the door frame for support, his biceps bulging, contracting.

I cast my eyes in another direction, afraid of the filthy thoughts running through my mind with him in my vision. “She, she's asleep, in the guest room.” I spoke without looking at him.

I felt him advance slowly into the room. “Why didn't you send us home?”

“You were sleeping and the doctor advised I leave you that way. You were in no state to move.”

“I'm fine,” he insisted, his voice gruff.

My eyes returned to him. I tutted in disbelief. “Really? You could barely stand up when we got you here.”

“She never should have called you. Just another chance for you to play the heroine.”

“Are you serious?” I slammed my glass onto the counter. “You get yourself beaten up, I leave my home in the middle of the night to come save your ass, and all you can do is condemn me for it?”

“You want a medal? Applause? You fired me, what else was I supposed to do for money?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don't you dare put this on me. You were being an ungrateful... son of a–”

“We both know you got rid of me because I saw you naked.” He moved further into the room, closer to me.

My blush didn't develop out of embarrassment alone; anger made a much bigger contribution to it.

“That's, that's not even remotely true.”

He edged closer still, his movements slow, measured, as though anything quicker would hurt. The back of my foot hit the refrigerator as I edged backwards. There was nowhere for me to go – I was all out of backwards.

His eyes sparkled, not with anger but with something else. Something mischievous. Something lascivious.

“It got to you that I saw everything. And I mean
everything
... right down to that little boomerang birthmark on your left thigh.”

So much for me hoping that his two second preview hadn't been enough to take everything in.

“I'm going back to bed, and you should too. You need your rest.” It was my way of politely telling him to get out of my face before I did something I'd regret.

I went to step past him, not interested in continuing this argument, noticing for the first time just how close he'd gotten. Only a few feet separated us. Suddenly, I was unable to move. When I looked down I saw his hand on my stomach, preventing me from leaving. I searched his eyes for answers, for reasons. But what I saw instead was longing, lust. I'd seen it many times before in other men and knew exactly what it looked like.

“I said I'm fine. You don't believe me? You still think I'm weak?” Before I knew what was happening, or knew how to react, his hand – so strong – was pushing me against the refrigerator. He now stood so close I could smell the antiseptic cream. I peered up at him, unsure what was coming next, yet holding my breath in delicious anticipation. The look in his eyes wasn't the look of someone hell bent on hurting me.

With steady hands – quite the opposite of mine – he reached for the belt on my dressing gown. Within seconds the material fell away, exposing my black bra and matching panties. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I became light-headed from lack of oxygen.

“W-what are you doing?” I breathed, the words caught in my throat.

“Showing my gratitude,” he said, his eyes serious. He took in my exposed body, my breasts rising and falling before him, with every anxious breath.

He took one finger and worked it up my midriff, his touch lingering, tracing a line to my breasts. He teased the tops with his light touch, tickling me, before pulling the cups of my bra down. My breasts fell over the bra as though released from captivity.

I bit my bottom lip, catching the desire in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, impressed with my offering. When the cold air hit my unclothed nipples they became as hard as pebbles.

He bent low, taking one breast into his mouth and working his tongue around it, lavishing a wet offering on my hardened nipple. I held his head in my hand, keeping him in place, pressing the back of my head against the refrigerator. My eyes fluttered shut, a drawn out groan escaping my lips.

He brought his head up. We stared at each other. It was as if we were finally seeing eye-to-eye. And then his lips were on mine, fighting to overpower me. His tongue found its way into my hungry mouth. His kiss was as unyielding as his hold on me – as powerful as his desire. He stole whatever breath I had in me away.

The rough texture of his bandages brushed my skin as his chest pressed against mine. I wanted desperately to tear them off and expose him as he had me, to feel him completely – skin on skin – not separated by pieces of cloth.

His hand gripped my wrists, his tongue still battling with mine, but dominating. He lifted my arms above my head, pinning them easily to the refrigerator. This seemed to give him the power boost he needed, because his kisses became more aggressive, more breath stealing. The rock hard imprint of his manhood rubbing against my waist wasn't unexpected; I knew it was only a matter of time before it made its appearance. A warm, moist sensation between my legs developed shortly after, in anticipation of what would come next.

“You still think I'm weak?” he said, once he'd torn his mouth away. He traced his tongue along my earlobe, speaking gently against my ear. The deep timbre in his voice sent a tremble through my veins. His grip on my wrists tightened; when I tried to wriggle free, for effect as opposed to an actual need to escape, I found I couldn't. Even with his ribs bruised I wasn't a match for him.

He smiled wickedly, looking down at me with a satisfied grin. “I thought not.”

A frightening thought came to me. Now that he had shown me that he wasn't weak, what if he denied me? What if he cruelly withdrew now that he had me wet and anxious, refusing to give me what I'd literally dreamed about? What if he left me wanting?

I would have pleaded with him – I was already too far gone not to, the need too strong to ignore. It would have shamed me later but I would have. Luckily, the need never arose. As he finally released his grip on my wrists, he tucked his fingers into the top of my panties and slid them down my thighs. I stepped out of them and reached for the zipper on his jeans, still so filthy with shoe prints and dried mud. His hands grabbed mine before I had the chance to loosen his pants. He firmly pushed them aside, his eyes silently telling me that he called the shots here, that we would go at his pace. He got no argument from me.

He hoisted me up, suspending me against the refrigerator. Against my bare back I felt the To-Do list – his mother's list – crumple. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He held me with one hand, while the other reached into his pants. Seconds later I felt his steady entrance, jolting me into submission. His length coursed into me gently at first, not what I'd expected from someone with so much anger in them. My moans escaped, loud and piercing, before I could contain them. But his lips were upon me once more, catching the moans in a kiss, muffling them.

As his pace quickened, his thrusts became more fervent and I heard myself grow louder, moan harder. I could feel every inch of him, inside and out. From his face on mine to his thighs between mine. We were as close as two people could be. Only a few minutes before we could have been mortal enemies. What a difference a stiff penis made!

His hold on me tightened as his rhythm changed, as he pushed his manhood deeper. My nails dug into his bare flesh, as though wanting to add to his many other wounds. It was my way of exerting authority, claiming some of it back. But the harder I dug the more powerful his thrusts became. The refrigerator jerked and rattled as he slammed his body against me; his mother's list crumpled and fell to the ground.

His entrance and exit became slightly staggered; I knew he was close to the end. I pulled him into a breathless kiss, crashing my lips to his, and I felt the tremble of his orgasm on my mouth as he let go. The low groan he let out vibrated on my tongue.

His head landed on my shoulder, his breathing heavy. I stroked the back of his head softly while he rested there, getting his breath back. We remained like that for awhile, though I wasn't sure for how long. What I did know was that, after that performance, I would have taken reality over the dream any day.