His Alone (For Her 2)

Me: Stalker

Captain: You like it. Make sure you tell them no sesame seeds on the roll.

I want to stomp my foot because he knows me too damn well. Better than I know myself sometimes. How he knows all this is beyond me, but I guess we spend so much time together it was bound to happen.

Me: Why don’t you order it for me, since you know everything?

Captain: Already did, kitten. See you at your place in ten.

I growl at the cat emoji he sends next and I curse again. I shoot a look into the diner to my right and can’t see if he’s really in there because of the glare on the glass. At first I think he’s joking, but what if he isn’t? I stuff my phone in my bag and quicken my steps to my place.

By the time I get home, I’m a little sweaty. I go into my apartment and clean up a bit. I try to tell myself it’s not because he’s coming over, because clearly, I’m not letting him inside. I’m just straightening up at a very fast pace for no reason at all.

Looking around the living room, I see all the wedding shit is still in its place. I give up on that immediately and go to my room, putting away my clothes and making my bed because I forgot this morning. Not because Captain is going to see it. Or push me down on top of it.

The thought of him over me has me squeezing my thighs together in excitement. The image of him in my room again and doing so much more than sleeping takes hold, and I feel the pool of desire between my legs. Just as I debate if I have time to masturbate, there’s a knock on my door.

“Shit.” I pull off my heels and throw them toward the closet and walk barefoot to answer the door.

“Go away,” I say through the closed door, and the fucker laughs.

“Open up, kitten.”

“No.” I cross my arms and stand there like a brat. I don’t know why I’m pretending I don’t want him in here, because I do. I just don’t like that he assumes he can come and go so easily.

“You going to make me eat this whole thing myself?”

My treacherous stomach rumbles, and I remember that I haven’t been to the store. There’s a piece of moldy cheese and a can of Red Bull in my fridge, and my stomach knows it. I let out a huff and open the door a crack.

I look down Captain’s big muscled frame to the huge bags of food he has in his paws. The smell of Italian spices and marinara hits my nose, and my mouth waters. I clear my throat and try to act cool.

“Leave it.” I prop my hand on my hip and wait expectantly.

“That’s cute. Move your sweet little ass out of the way.” I stand back in surprise as he kicks the door open and walks right in. “Could have used my key, but my hands were full. Lock it, will you, kitten?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I do as he says, half annoyed, half turned on. Did he kick in my door to bring me food? Talk about a wet dream.

He places the bags of food on the table and I walk over, reaching out to open them up. But before I can, Captain is in front of me, pushing me back against the wall and placing his hands on either side of my head.

“What the—”

My words are cut off as he leans down and places a soft kiss on my neck. The warm sensation sends a shiver all over my body, and without thinking I tilt my head to give him more of my skin. The slick heat of his tongue trails down to my collarbone, and a pulse thrums between my legs. My hands move to his chest, feeling the ridges of his pecs, and I run my palm across his dress shirt. His nipples harden at my touch, and I wonder if he’s getting hard anywhere else. He presses his lower body against me, and I know exactly where he’s affected the most. I push my hips forward, trying to mold our bottom halves together, forgetting every reason I’ve ever had for not wanting to be with him.

“I keep calling you kitten,” he says, pulling one of my legs up his hip so my pussy is rubbing against his thigh, “because it gets you wet.”

The shudder of my breath does nothing to disprove his theory as he starts to move me up and down his leg. Captain has never talked dirty like that to me before. He’s made it known he wants me, but he’s normally a gentleman about it. This is different. It’s dirty. And a small part of me likes the idea that maybe he just does dirty with me. That something about me makes him talk to me that way. That he can’t control himself and I bring out his barbaric side.