SKINNED: A Descent Into Obsession

 

The  Hook

 Dana knew he was trouble the minute she laid eyes on him. A little voice inside her head said don’t go there, but whoever listens to that voice?

It was Thanksgiving and Robbie was laying on the guilt trip hard and heavy. “Come on, Mom, he’s just a guy Jason and I know. He doesn’t have any family here and I couldn’t let him be alone on Thanksgiving. You know you always have enough food for an army.”

Robbie had been bringing home strays ever since Dana could remember; first dogs and cats, then every hard-luck waif with an empty stomach and a good story. They had camped on her couch and raided her cupboards, and some–but not many–even thanked her for her trouble.

“It’s not that there isn’t enough food for him,” she told him, knowing she would lose. “I only thought it would be nice to have a day with just family.”

She glanced at Jen and Jason with a smile; well, almost family. Jen and her twin brother Jason had been best friends with Robbie since the first grade. The three of them had grown up together, so it was only natural that Jen would be the first girl Robbie ever asked out. Now the three of them had been living together for a year, since Robbie had graduated from college, leaving Dana alone for the first time in twenty-three years. Nearly a quarter of a century. She tried not to think about that, just as she tried not to think about how Robbie’s father had left her five years before for a woman half her age. He said it was because she was “too old-fashioned.” The way Dana saw it, he was just pissed because he could never bring her to orgasm. Of course, that was because, as he put it, she was frigid.

The roar of a motorcycle interrupted her thoughts. She looked at Robbie as if to say, “a motorcycle?” He shrugged and offered that boyish grin he knew would melt her heart. Just like his father.

“That must be him.”

Dana glanced out the window as a tall, lanky man climbed off the bike and removed his sunglasses, tossing a mane of long, jet-black hair away from his face. He looked up, scanning the house, his dark eyes finding hers through the window, and Dana felt something inside clench. He looked…dangerous.

She couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of his firm thighs in those tight black jeans. Like a second skin, they hugged every muscle and bulge. Without realizing it, her tongue flicked out across her lower lip, a quiver sweeping through her. Her gaze drifted up to his face as his lips curled in a feral grin. He’d caught her.

Dana jerked away from the window, feeling the hot flush of embarrassment and something she’d rather not name. What was she thinking? This was her son’s friend.

Robbie opened the door and beckoned the man inside. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“Nope, not at all.” His voice was somehow soft and deep at the same time. He stepped into the house, tall, lithe frame seeming to overwhelm the space. Shrugged off the leather jacket, revealing a hard, well-defined chest through the skin-tight T-shirt. “It was right where you said it’d be.”

Dana headed for the kitchen, pretending to be busy, to avoid his eyes, but Robbie had dragged the man over to her, introducing them. “This is my mom, Dana. Mom, this is Sloan.”

She turned, looking at him, at the twinkle in his eyes that she knew was just for her. The twinkle that said, “I saw you.”

“I hope this is okay.”

She blinked, realizing he was talking about dinner, and nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice.

“Mom’s used to me bringing people home,” Robbie assured him. “Our house was always the neighborhood hangout.”

He nodded, his eyes holding hers. “Well, then, I guess she is used to it.”

Dana was suddenly burning up. She could feel those dark eyes wandering over her–touching her. Found herself wishing she had worn something other than the faded jeans and favorite old sweater. Wanting to feel his strong, supple fingers roaming over her naked flesh. Feel him pulsing inside her.

What the hell was the matter with her?

Robbie was offering Sloan something to drink, the two of them moving past her into the kitchen. Jen approached Dana, laying her hand on her arm, shocking her back to reality. “Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sure. I, ah…better go check on the turkey.”

The kitchen was too small for the three of them. Robbie had poured everyone a glass of wine and carried the hors d’oeuvres out to the livingroom, grabbing the first for himself. Jen warned him about filling up before dinner, and he teased her about nagging him. Dana ignored their familiar banter as she busied herself in the kitchen, trying to focus on the meal. To bury her head in the oven and forget about the dark-haired stranger her son had invited into her home.

“Need any help?”

She sucked in a breath as the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He was right behind her, his clean man-scent filling her head, overwhelming that of the turkey and the pies. Making her knees feel weak. Go away, she wanted to say. How was she ever going to get through this?

“No, that’s okay,” she heard herself say without turning around, unwilling to look into those eyes again. Unwilling to show him the effect he was having on her. Certain that he already knew. That he had known the minute he stepped off that bike.

Dana tried to lift the turkey from the oven for basting and lost her grip. The pan slipped, some of the juice spilling onto her hand, burning it. She gasped, instinctively pulling away, but Sloan was already there, reaching around her to grab the falling pan and set it on the counter.

Robbie, Jason, and Jen had heard the clatter from the other room and came running. “You okay, Mom?” Robbie asked.

Dana looked up at him, nodding. Sloan had grabbed her hand and was examining it, his touch sending shockwaves through her. “You got any aloe around here?” he asked Robbie.  “She’s burned her finger.”

Robbie scanned the kitchen, assuring himself that everything was all right, then gave his mother a questioning look.

“In the pot on the patio. Just break off a piece.”

He hurried off to fetch it with the twins on his heels, leaving Dana alone in the kitchen with Sloan, who still hadn’t relinquished her hand. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and he smiled.

“I know what will make this feel better.” He sucked her finger into his mouth, his tongue circling it, teasing it, until she was sure she would faint. She heard the sliding glass door open, Robbie’s footsteps in the diningroom, the panic welling in her, but Sloan already had released her and backed away, and now it was Robbie who stood in his place.

“Here, rub this on it,” he said, offering her the aloe.

Dana felt like she had just awakened from a dream. Robbie insisted she let them finish preparing dinner, but she balked, afraid to be left alone in the other room with Sloan. Afraid of what she might do; what she might let him do. She could still feel the touch of his tongue on her finger, the warmth of the memory spreading through her body. No, it was better that she stayed right there, in the kitchen–alone.

“You guys go sit down and enjoy yourselves. I’ll be fine.”

Somehow Dana got dinner on the table. Got everyone seated and the food passed and the plates full and more wine poured. Everyone was talking and laughing and enjoying each other and the meal, and Dana would have sworn it was all just a dream. That she had imagined the whole thing. And then she would glance across the table where he sat and the illusion would be shattered.

She watched, transfixed, as he buttered a roll, his hands a symphony of strength and dexterity. The fingers dipping the knife into the butter. Spreading it across the bread in slow, lingering strokes. Tearing off a piece and bringing it to his lips. His mouth opening, tongue grabbing it, pulling it in, chewing, then the tongue snaking across his lips, licking away the last trace of butter as he reached for his glass. She watched him drink, watched his lips curl into a smile, savoring the rich bite of the wine as it slid down his throat, and all the while she was aware of his eyes watching her from beneath the kind of long, dark lashes she had always felt were a crime on a man.

She tried to hold up her end of the conversation, to be the attentive host, but her mind was too distracted by his presence. Half of her wishing the meal would end and they would all leave, and the other half wanting it to go on forever, just like this. Just so she could sit here and watch him, fantasizing about being caressed by those long, subtle fingers and that hot, lush mouth.

But the evening did end, and they all made ready to leave, even Sloan. He thanked her politely for having him over, expressed concern for the burn on her finger, then followed Robbie and Jen out into the night. She stood on the stoop and waved at them as his bike roared to life and thundered out of her driveway and down the street. Relieved that they finally were gone.

Wished that he had stayed.

She wandered back into the empty house and started the dishwasher, turning off the lights and walking back to her room. Undressed slowly, appraising herself in the full-length mirror attached to the door. Not bad for her age. In fact, not bad at all. People were always telling her she didn’t look her age. Her light brown hair still almost free of gray, her face still smooth, her body still slim and fairly tight.

She’d taken good care of herself over the years; palates classes at the gym, walking in the evenings, drinking plenty of water and getting her sleep. And all for what? In the five years since Robbie’s father had left her, she had dated twice–both disasters–and decided she would prefer being alone. That she had no patience for the head games of dating. Besides, most men left her cold.

And then this…kid…walked into her home.

She pulled on her nightshirt, shut off the light, and slipped into bed. But she couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing his eyes looking at her, undressing her. Feeling his hands holding hers, sliding her finger into his mouth. Feeling the gentle pressure of his tongue.

She was surprised to find the nightshirt up around her waist, her fingers burying themselves in the moist heat between her legs. She moaned, kicking back the covers. Stretched out, imagining it was his hands that caressed her, his fingers that dipped into her hungry pussy, pressing with ever-increasing urgency against her swollen clit while her hips rocked back and forth, pushing against one hand while the other massaged her breasts.

She could feel the pressure building, her body tensing, her mind wrapped around a fantasy of his hands and his mouth and his cock. Her hand became more insistent, working harder now, pushing her to the edge. To release.

She moaned as the orgasm crested over her, her body quivering, her hand soaked with the juices of her climax. Her heart was still thumping even as the spasms subsided, her breath still heavy and short, her mind still locked on Him.

“Damn you,” she cursed under her breath.

Skinned is available on Amazon for kindle. Read for free on Kindle Unlimited.

Trigger Warnings: BDSM, MF and FF sex, polyamorous sex, discussion of taboo subjects to include stepbrother and underage sex, humiliation and shaming, MMC sharing FMC, psychological manipulation