“Yeah. It was.”
But now it was awkward. So awkward. What should I do? Thank him? Offer to return the favor? Ask if he was still in the mood? I looked at his crotch, and the outline of his erection strained impressively through his jeans.
Oh dear, he saw me. He saw me looking at his dick. Now what?
He cleared his throat. “Well, I should go.”
“No! I mean, don’t go yet. Um, are you…” I swallowed. “Horny? I mean, hungry?” I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. Dammit, focus!
“Hungry?”
“Yes, I could make you a sandwich or something.” For a moment, I had this insane little fantasy of Charlie and I eating sandwiches, then cuddling up on my couch to watch a movie.
Then maybe he’d tell me not to let him fuck me.
And I would not let him fuck me. I would not let him fuck me so hard…
“No, that’s OK. I should get going.”
“Oh.” I was disappointed, and yet also relieved. This was ridiculous—Charlie Dwyer was not boyfriend material. I didn’t even like him.
Much.
Spying his keys on the counter near the door, he walked over and scooped them up with the same hand that had been down my pants not five minutes ago. Holy crap. Had that really happened? It didn’t seem real now.
Charlie saw me staring at his fingers. “Listen, Erin…I’m sorry about—what just happened.”
I blinked at him. He was apologizing for getting me off? Oh God, now this was even more awkward.
“I got a little out of control, a little demanding. Sometimes I—sometimes that happens when I’m…really turned on.”
“You were really turned on?”
The slow, sexy smile overtook his mouth. If my panties hadn’t already melted, they’d be melting now. “Yes. Believe it or not, you really turned me on.”
I crossed my arms. Only Charlie could take me from aroused to annoyed in five seconds flat. “What does that mean, ‘Believe it or not’? Why wouldn’t I turn you on? Because I’m too sweet to be sexy?”
He laughed. He laughed at me. “Red, you’re not that sweet.” While I fumed, he opened the door and walked halfway through it before turning around again. “Thanks for the beer. Don’t forget to lock your door in case I change my mind about…that sandwich.”
I bared my teeth. “Get the hell out, Charlie Dwyer. And don’t come back.”
Laughing, he ducked all the way out the door and disappeared into the driving rain.
In a daze, I sank into a chair at the island, staring at the spot where he’d been so rough with me, treating me like a little doll at his whim. What would have happened if the power hadn’t come back on? I shivered. Would he have fucked me right there on the counter? On the floor? Would we have made it to my bedroom?
He’d apologized for getting demanding, out of control. But actually, I was the one without control. He’d had it all. And yet, he’d given me exactly what I secretly wanted. How had he known what I wanted?
Fucking Charlie Dwyer had the spark.
How infuriating.
I didn’t see or hear from Charlie for almost a month. Was I disappointed? Maybe. But it wasn’t like I didn’t have his number. He’d left it for me on his card, which I’d stuck in my nightstand drawer in case I heard anything go bump in the night. But nothing (and nobody) was bumping in the night at my house, and I couldn’t really think of another reason to contact him, at least not one that preserved my dignity.
He’d given me the most intense orgasm of my entire life with one hand and a dirty mouth. The more I thought about that episode—Confession: I thought about it A LOT—the more insane it seemed. One minute we were arguing about pulp over a couple of beers, the next minute he had me bent over the kitchen counter, gasping in pain and pleasure, following his every command. It was frightening. It was fascinating. It was phenomenal.
But I couldn’t bring myself to call him.
For one thing, I was too busy giving the studio a makeover. Mia and Coco helped me paint the studio lobby and both of the dance rooms; Lucas bolted the barres to the walls more securely and reconfigured the lobby to add more seating, and Nick brought in a builder friend who helped him repair the leak in the ceiling. To thank them, I spent two weekends painting bedrooms at Nick and Coco’s new house, and filled in as hostess at Lucas’s bar, The Green Hour, when he was short-staffed a few times and Mia wasn’t feeling well. With the physical improvements at the studio underway, I felt much more confident dealing with difficult parents. I felt like they could see I was serious about keeping my promises and running the business better. I also stopped taking their calls on my cell phone. My stress level decreased a ton.
Another reason I didn’t call Charlie was that I didn’t see the point in pursuing something with him when there was no long-term potential. At my house that night, he made it clear he preferred his “relationships” with women to be like the action films he enjoyed—intense, thrilling, and finished in about three hours. I wasn’t necessarily looking for an engagement ring, but casual sex with a playboy wasn’t my thing, either, so I kept my distance.
And so did he.
Until the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, when he showed up at my social dance class.
With a date.
I saw her first—a tall, willowy blonde with narrow hips, big breasts, and long legs. She didn’t look familiar, so I walked over to introduce myself, and stumbled over my own feet when I saw who she was with.