Smut by Karina Halle
“No, you said I was a dork.”
“And a nerd.”
“And a prude.”
“And a stick-in-the-mud.”
“And a lot of things.”
Rio and Heath are watching us. I shrug, trying to act causal. “Luckily we were still able to work together. We ended up getting an A on the project.”
“You know, she’s not prude,” Rio says out of the blue or maybe her mind is just ten steps back tonight “She just doesn’t sleep around.”
“That’s good to know,” Blake says, leveling me with his gaze.
“Wish we could say that about old Blake Dawg here,” Heath says. “I’m pretty sure there’s a waitress here that wants to kill him.”
“What else is new?” Blake and I say in unison.
We both grin.
Eyes twinkling.
And I’m realizing how damn hard it is to sit across from him and not touch each other. Even when we’re working, I usually have my limbs draped over him or he has his hands in my hair, or he’s stroking his thumb over my shoulder. There’s always contact.
“I guess you two really got to know each other, eh?” Rio says carefully. I’m wondering if she’s picking up on anything.
“A bit,” Blake says lightly. “Wouldn’t mind knowing more though.”
I feel like I’ve got something lodged in my throat. I try to swallow.
Then the waitress comes by and while she doesn’t appear to know Blake—thank god—the rest of the conversation eases off of us and onto other topics. All the while though, as the drinks flow and the tapas come out, I feel locked in Blake’s force field. From the depth in his eyes, to his easy smile, the way his hand is across the table, so close to mine, he’s all I can think about.
It’s fucking unbearable.
“I’ve got to go to use the toilets, excuse me,” Blake says later, getting out of his chair. Just as he turns around, I see something in his eyes, a beckoning.
I chew on my lip, looking at Rio and Heath who are in deep conversation about travel. And by deep, I mean they’re discussing the significance of full-moon parties in Thailand and what drugs to do.
“I’m going to go get a drink from the bar,” I say after a minute but they barely hear me.
I get up and head to the washrooms at the back.
There are only two private stalls and I have no idea which one Blake is in and now I’m wondering if that look he gave me meant anything at all.
“Blake?” I whisper, looking between the doors.
Nothing.
I decide to try the woman’s one.
It’s not locked.
But there is a woman on the toilet, pants around her ankles, doing her business.
“This is occupied!” she yells at me and I quickly slam shut the door.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I cry out, feeling all sorts of embarrassed even though it wasn’t my fault at all. Why do people do that? Just lock the fucking door.
I turn to go for the men’s but there’s already a man going for it and turning the handle.
He opens it wide and Blake is in there, just standing there in the middle of the washroom.
Luckily he’s fully dressed.
“I’m sorry,” the man says curtly.
“I was just leaving,” Blake explains quickly, coming out of the bathroom and standing beside me. “Hi,” he says, peering at me.
“Hi,” I reply, smiling like a goof.
The man eyes us suspiciously before closing the door and locking it. The door thumps on its hinges, the man making sure it really is locked.
Then the women’s washroom opens and the occupant comes out, glaring at me as she goes.
“You know her?” Blake asks as he ushers me in the washroom.
“Making all sorts of friends tonight,” I tell him.
He locks us in and before I can say another word, he’s grabbing my face, lips devouring mine, tongue pushing in my mouth, stroking every pent up desire.
I grab him in kind, my hands in his hair, at the back of his neck while his hands grab my waist, my ass, pinching, groping. We grapple together in a frenzy of heat and lust and something unbelievably real.
I’m pushed back against the tile wall and pinned there and I’m his, completely his. My body operates on pure instinct, throwing myself to him, with no inhibitions, no caution. It craves him as much as my mind and soul do. As he presses against me, breathing hard and kissing me, messy and wet, I put my hands around his shoulders and relish the lean, taught muscles of his back as I pull him in.
One of his hands is lost in my hair, tugging on it the way I like and I let out a breathless gasp from the sweet pain. The other is lifting up the hem of my dress, shrugging it up around my waist. He slides the satin of my underwear aside lets out a deep moan that I feel vibrate through me as he explores me with his fingers.
“So wet,” he murmurs. “You get so fucking wet for me.” He sticks three of his large, long fingers inside me and I clench around them, begging for more.
“Hurry up and fuck me,” I tell him.
No, seriously. Someone’s going to knock at the door any minute.
He laughs, low and rich, reaching down to lift me up so my legs are wrapped around his waist. I reach down between us and frantically try to undo his belt. He stares at my frenzied hand for a moment, clearing enjoying just how much I want him.
“Hold on, peach,” he says, pulling down his pants and boxer briefs until his cock bobs freely, so dark and rigid. I love him like this, so raw, thick and all for me.
He holds himself at my opening and waits for a few beats. I can feel the heat coming between us, the way his eyes burn into me, until his gaze drops to his cock as he’s about to push its stiff length inside me. Before I can urge him in, my fingers tightening their hold on his back, he pushes with one large, powerful thrust.
I can’t help the cry that escapes from my lips, and then the soft “oh,” as he slowly, agonizingly, pulls himself out, his cock absolutely drenched.
He eases himself back in, a few inches at a time, his lips brushing over mine.
“You’re really something, you know that?” he whispers against my mouth, his words breaking off into a groan. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
My heart catches high in my throat. I can’t speak, I can only feel, and the intense gaze of his eyes tells me that something is happening, something new. His eyes continue to burn as he pushes himself in and out, pumping steadily. He grabs my chin lightly and holds my face, making sure I can’t break eye contact, can’t look away. It’s nearly embarrassingly intimate, the way his stare feels like he’s stripping me bare.
Our moans are hushed, our breathing rough and ragged as he moves inside me, his hips circling so he hits each and every tightly wound nerve inside me.
It’s so fucking good.
It’s everything.
We are joined, connected and the more he thrusts in, deeper, deeper, the warmer he feels, like fire, barely contained. A bead of sweat rolls off his nose and finally his eyes pinch closed as he approaches his climax, his mouth going for the crook of my neck where he bites and sucks and grunts as he pounds me, each thrust getting faster than the last.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, inhaling sharply. “I’m coming.”
Before I even have a chance to try and catch up, he lets go of my waist and slides a finger over my clit, petting it twice, and that’s all it takes to set me off like dynamite.
I explode outwardly, until I feel like there is nothing left and he explodes into me. I can feel him inside, hot and potent as I throb mercilessly around him, my nails digging so hard into his shoulders as I ride him out I know they’re going to leave marks tomorrow.
My heart is huge, filled with stars and bliss.
This man. This gorgeous specimen of a man, who fucks me with all he has.
I want this man forever.
“Blake,” I whisper, trailing off because I can’t catch my breath, because I know
He’s breathing heavily into my shoulder and I run my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it, loving everything he is.
“That feels so good,” he murmurs.
“Better than the sex?”
“Nothing is better than that.” He lifts up his head and gazes at me with sated eyes. He gently brushes this thumbs over my cheeks. “I don’t know how to top that.”
He’s got that look I love in his eyes, the one only I bring to him. Sleepy, relaxed, happy. Absolutely satisfied. But there’s tenderness brimming underneath, something rare and beautiful, like a key that makes my heart want to burst free, like a bird from a cage.
I smile shyly, suddenly feeling like it’s all so much, too much, and if he wants to he can just reach into my soul and walk around in it, examine every inch of who I am and then just walk away.
“We should get back,” I tell him.
He nods, brows knitting together for a moment. “Of course.” He gently lowers me to the ground and then takes a wad of toilet paper, running it up the inside of my legs where I can feel him drip down. It’s such an intimate gesture and yet quite crude at the same time. Pretty much like Blake himself.
We give ourselves the once over in the mirror. He smooths down my dress, I straighten his shirt. We head back outside.
Heath and Rio are still talking and barely look up at us when we return. I know it has to look pretty obvious—the two of us have flushed faces and dilated pupils – but I don’t really care anymore.
Later, while Heath goes down the alley to smoke a joint and Blake goes with him, Rio tugs at my hair, much like Blake did earlier. Only this time it’s not fun.
“You guys,” she says, tugging with each word, “are totally fucking.”
“Ow,” I tell her, ripping my hair out of her hand. I smooth it back, pouting at her. “Well, it was hard not to be obvious about it. Though I suppose I could have said we were at the bar doing shots or something.”
“No, not now,” she says. “I mean, of course you just had a bathroom quickie. I’m talking about before this. You guys have been seeing each other, haven’t you?”
“We’re just friends,” I assure her, having a drink of water.
“Friends with benefits?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t believe it. It’s something more. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You guys aren’t just friends.”
I feel my cheeks flame and hope the low lights of the patio hide it well. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
But I do.
I could tell her the truth.
I’m falling in love with him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Blake
“You were in the bathroom for a pretty long time. Food poisoning?” Heath asks all too innocently.
We’re walking back from the bar to my place. I really wanted Amanda to come home with me but Heath is staying over since he got a new apartment in Langford, out of the way, and getting a cab was proving to be way too difficult tonight. God I wish they had bloody Uber in this city.
I don’t say anything to Heath. I assumed he was preoccupied with Rio, but it was pretty obvious why Amanda and I disappeared for a while. And honestly, I don’t want to get into a discussion about her. She’s way too personal of a topic now. I want to keep her as close to my heart as possible.
“Dude,” Heath goes on. “I have to commend you. She’s pretty fucking hot. I’m amazed you’ve been able to keep it in your pants all this time.”
I suck on my teeth loudly and his eyes flit to mine. “Have you been banging her this whole time?” he asks.
“We’re just friends,” I try and explain, even though I know we’re anything but. Even though having sex in a public restroom is nothing new to me and by no means romantic, that meant something. That said something about us. How badly we want each other and need each other. It nearly killed me to be at the same table as her and pretend like she wasn’t more to me than a casual fuck. She’s not that at all and I don’t know how to process it other than to screw her silly.
Maybe that’s been our problem. Every time some inkling of a feeling pops up we jump right into bed with each other and fuck it out of our systems.
But you can’t ignore something like that forever.
I fear something like that only comes along once in a lifetime.
I was hoping the fresh air from the harbor on the walk home would help but Heath’s yapping mouth is muddling up my thoughts.
“Just friends,” he muses. “A fuckgirl. Have you had any other fuckgirls while you’ve been giving her the D?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It totally does. You’ve been fucking the same girl. And only that girl. On more than one occasion. Right?”
“So?” I shove my hands in my pockets and shrug my shoulders up. There’s a chill in the air tonight which is odd for summer. Maybe it’s because my nerves have me on edge, my gut is churning like I’ve got razorblades in there.
“So,” he goes on, obviously not done yet with this, “you haven’t done that once since you and Rachel broke up. I seriously thought you’d fuck the entire city before your dick fell off or something.”
“You should talk.”
“I should,” he says. “But I’m not trying to run away from my problems. I have no problems.”
I stop and stare at him. “What does that mean?”
“Other than my life is sweet?” he says, tucking his hair behind his ears. “It means that ever since Rachel cheated on you, you’ve been having your revenge on her by sleeping with everything that moves. You’ve been a total dick to them all because Rachel was a dick to you. And you’ve tried to prove to yourself, over and over again, that you don’t need relationships or commitment, or even love to have fun.”
My mouth drops open. Is Heath seriously lecturing me about love?
“Don’t pretend I’m not right, dude,” Heath says, kicking at a stone. “We all get screwed over at some point in our lives. It’s part of the Great Circle. The Circle of Life. You remember the Lion King, right? Simba’s father dies, he has to avenge his death by killing Scar and he becomes so focused on that, he nearly messes things up with Nala, the one true thing that will save him more than revenge ever will.”
He continues walking down the street and I can only blink at him for a moment before catching up. “Are you sure that’s how The Lion King went?”
“You know it was based on Hamlet, right?”
I’m surprised he knows that. “I still don’t think…”
“Anyway, Amanda might be your Nala and that’s okay. Don’t throw it away because you hate Jeremy Irons.”
I shake my head, falling into step beside him. “I’m not throwing anything away.”
“You’re just stuck and don’t know how to take it to the next step. What you really need is to take her on a walk through the jungle, preferably while Elton John—”
“Will you stop with the Lion King analogies?”
“Fine. But you have to admit they’re helpful.”
I’m not too sure about that.
But I do have “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” in my head for the rest of the walk.
Thanks, Heath.
***
“It’s enough for this restless warrior,” Heath sings from the kitchen, “just to be with you.”
I groan and roll over. I thought the song had invaded my dreams.
I get up and stagger out of the bedroom. Heath is fully dressed and belting out the song into a half-empty glass of pineapple juice.
“Hey, you’re finally up,” he says, stopping his singing mid-lyric and finishing the juice. He pounds the empty glass on the counter. “I’m just about to jet off. There’s a good swell off Point No Point.”
I eye the microwave clock. It’s only eight a.m.
“All right,” I tell him, glad to be alone and get my hea
“By the way, I fed Fluffy for you,” he says. “I love that little dude. The way he munches on those crickets is so cute.”
I raise my brows at him. “Well one day that little dude might just be yours.”
“Awesome,” he says with a goofy grin, heading for the door. He pauses. “Oh and remember to go get that little lion, pound her until she purrs and tell her how you feel.”
“Right.”
He gives me the hang loose sign and heads out the door.
I sigh, going straight for the coffee maker. He made coffee and he fed Fluffy. Not a bad guy to have around sometimes.
After I have several cups of liquid gold on the patio, watching the seaplanes take off and the water taxies ferrying people from the taco stands and houseboats at Fisherman’s Wharf, I try and go over what to say to Amanda. I might not have to say anything at all. Or that’s just wishful thinking since I have no clue what I even want.
Do I want a relationship with her?
I’m not sure if I can open myself up like that again.
Do I want to just keep sleeping with her as is?
Of course. But the feelings are only going to get worse.
Stronger.
Deeper.
Wrapping around me like vines until there’s no hope of being cut loose.
What I do know is that she’s more than just a writing partner. She’s become everything to me. And the last time I had someone be my everything, I lost everything when she left me.
I head back inside, the heat already strong this morning, and put on The White Stripes to get Elton John out of my head. I pick up my phone from the charger on the wall, hoping Amanda has texted me.
An email displayed on my lock screen puts my heart in my throat.
It’s from Rachel.
Funny how life works like that. Like when you have a dream about some random person and then happen to see them the next day.
I breathe out slowly, trying to expel the tension in my chest and sit on the bed, taking a moment before I open the email.
Here I go.
Bollocks.
There’s a lot to read.
I scan over it, blinking hard at what she’s written and going back over it again.