Not Until You. Roni Loren
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years. Studies first. Fun later. Yet, there never seemed to be any time for fun after the first one was finished.
“You sure? I don’t want you going to bed with no dinner because of us,” Foster said, frown lines marring that perfect mouth of his.
Going to bed and us was about all I heard. My father’s stern voice whispered in my ear. You don’t know these men. You’ll be all alone in their apartment. Medina women have more respect for themselves than that.
“Really, I’m fine. I had a big lunch,” I said, my smile brief, plastic. “But thanks.”
“Oh, come on,” Pike said, his tone cajoling. “We’ve been neighbors for what, two years? We should at least get to know a little about each other.”
Get to know each other? I knew that Foster was loud when he came—even if he was alone. Knew that Pike liked to laugh during sex. Knew the two men shared women. And the other sounds I’d heard over the last two years … the smacks, the commands, the erotic screams. My face went as hot as if I’d stuck my head in an oven.
“Y’all just want me for my tequila,” I said, attempting to deflect my derailing thoughts.
The corner of Pike’s mouth lifted. “Of course that’s not all we want you for.”
“Uh …” Oh, hell. Pictures flashed across my brain. Dirty, delicious pictures. I almost dropped my phone again. I had no idea what to do with my hands, my expression.
Foster put a hand on Pike’s shoulder. “The lady said no. I think we should let her go celebrate her graduation however she wants.”
“All right.” Pike’s face turned hangdog, but he handed me the tequila bottle. “If you change your mind, we’ve got big plans. Supreme pizza and a Star Wars–themed porn marathon. The Empire Sucks C—”
Foster smacked the back of Pike’s head, and Pike ducked and laughed.
“Kidding. I mean, a Jane Austen marathon,” Pike corrected, his green-gold eyes solemn. “Pride and Pu—”
Foster was behind Pike, his hand clamping over his friend’s mouth in a flash. “I seriously can’t take him out. He’s like an untrained puppy. Maybe you can lend me a shock collar or something.”
Pike waggled his eyebrows, all playful wickedness.
I laughed, putting my hand to my too hot forehead, and turning toward the stairs. “Yeah, so, I’m going to go now.”
“Cela,” Foster said as I put my foot onto the first step.
I glanced back. “Yeah?”
His ice-melt eyes flicked downward, his gaze alighting along the length of me before tracing their way upward again in a slow, unashamed perusal. “Promise you won’t go to bed hungry.”
I wet my lips, my skin suddenly feeling too tight to accommodate the blood pumping beneath it, and nodded.
But it was a lie.
I always went to bed hungry.
And it had nothing to do with a spilled dinner.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Foster asked shrugging off his jacket and loosening his tie, annoyance digging at him like a bad case of chiggers.
Pike straddled one of the chairs at their breakfast bar with Who me? innocence in his eyes. “What? I’m not allowed to flirt with the neighbor? You certainly can’t tear your eyes away from her anytime she’s around. I know you time your morning run so that you pass her in the hallway.”
Foster groaned. “You invited her over to watch porn, Pike. I thought her eyes were going to fall out of her head.”
“Oh, come on. I was joking. She knew I was kidding.”
Foster wasn’t convinced of that. Cela’s movements had gone jerky at the suggestion, and her usually imperceptible accent had thickened her words. “You can’t joke like that with girls like her. She’s not some chick you met after a show.”
Pike somehow managed to smirk without his mouth so much as twitching. “Girls like her?”
Foster tossed his jacket across the back of the other chair and opened the button at his neck, his shirt collar feeling nooselike. “Yes, girls like her. You know what I mean.”
“Vanilla ones.”
Foster rubbed the spot between his eyes with his thumb, trying to chase away the throbbing that had started at the office and had gotten worse downstairs. “She’s not just vanilla, she’s …”
“Hot.”
“Innocent.” He grabbed two beers from the fridge and plunked one down in front of Pike. “And young.”
“She’s a doctor.” He twisted off the cap and took a sip. “So not that young. She’s got to be at least …” He paused, apparently counting in his head. “Twenty-four.”
Twenty-four. Not a total stretch for Foster’s thirty-two, but somehow Cela seemed even younger than that—untouched by the world. Part of it was that sheltered vibe that seemed to waft off her, like she’d been raised in another era. But he knew it was more than her demureness and manners that screamed innocence.
Foster leaned back against the counter, taking a deep pull of his beer, his throat dry and his blood hot from the brief encounter downstairs. The scene replayed in his head—the sound of her breath catching when he’d said her name, the way she’d looked there on her knees, that hint of a blush beneath her honeyed skin. His cock twitched to life. Fuck.
Pike rolled his bottle cap between his fingers, walking it over his knuckles in the way that said he’d spent way too much time in bars. “She’s interested, you know?”
“Right. She almost vaulted up the stairs to get away from us after your Jane Austen comment. She’s probably next door right now googling to see if we’re on the sex offender registry.”
But despite his protest, Foster knew Pike wasn’t far off base. His friend had probably noticed the same signals in Cela that he had. She’d been flustered, maybe even offended, but her nipples had been hard points against her blouse and her pulse had been pounding at her throat like a beacon. He’d wanted to lick the spot. He’d wanted her to say yes.
But maybe Pike’s crassness had actually saved them. The last thing Foster needed to be doing was messing with his good-girl neighbor. Women like her were off-limits. He’d learned the hard way not to get interested in someone from outside his scene. Once those women got over the excitement of the ooh, I’m being so scandalous dating a kinky boy phase, they bailed and went to find someone they actually wanted to be with for the long haul.
And Foster was tired of getting his hopes up and was really tired of one-night stands. His interludes at The Ranch, the BDSM resort he belonged to, and the occasional ménage with Pike and one of his band groupies satisfied the physical itch for a while. But the dominant side of him—the part that craved ownership—was shriveling into a desiccated husk.
He was over thirty, had a job that could fund a posh life, and even had a swank home his family had left to him sitting empty. But he was still living like a college kid, rooming with his best friend. Foster had good reasons for setting his life up this way. But on days like this, when he saw glimpses of what else was out there, he found himself wondering if his life was bound to be haunted by what ifs.
The doorbell rang and Foster headed over to the door to get the pizza. He paid the delivery guy and took the two large supreme pizzas from him, passing them over to Pike who’d eagerly stepped up behind him. After one furtive glance toward Cela’s closed door, Foster stepped back into the apartment.
Pike