Junk Mail

by Kendall Ryan

  Josh winds his pinkie tight around mine, pulling his hand against his lips to seal the promise with a kiss. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  God, I’d give anything to be that hand.

  A shiver flickers through me as the memory of last night dances through my head, the way those plush lips of his felt against mine. Of the way he felt in my mouth. Before I put the brakes on everything, of course. It was the right thing to do, I tell myself.

  The drive home is surprisingly quick, the traffic gods graciously opting in our favor for the evening. Before I can dig out my keys, Gram swings the door open, doing an awkward celebratory jig behind her walker.

  “She’s home! My favorite worrywart!” She manages to wrap me in a tight, one-armed hug while balancing herself on her walker.

  God, I missed her. Even if it was just a couple of days.

  A gasp escapes her when she notices that I brought company with me. “Josh, how sweet of you to stop by,” she coos. “I haven’t gotten to properly thank you for saving the day when I took my little tumble.”

  I roll my eyes at her choice of words. “Little tumble” doesn’t quite describe the incident. At least the doctor finally got her to understand that she was a little unsteady now and that it was safer to rely on the use of a walker.

  We make our way inside and I drop my bag in my room. When I come back downstairs, Josh and Gram are nestled into the couch, chatting up a storm.

  “There’s gotta be a way to repay you,” she says. “We don’t have much money, but there has to be something.” She spots me on the staircase, and a flicker darts across her eyes, paired with a mischievous grin. “Or maybe Peyton here could, you know, do a favor of some kind for you.”

  “That’s enough of that, Gram,” I snap. This whole back-burner thing is difficult enough without my freaking grandmother nudging us toward each other. Little does she know my evening of favors last night was, unfortunately, our last. “Do you want that ride to the senior center?”

  “I’d love a ride, sweetheart. But don’t worry about picking me up. Duncan can bring me back home.” While Josh is busy fishing his keys out of his pocket, Gram shoots me a wink.

  “I can drive.” Josh jingles his keys in the air.

  I scrunch my brows at him. “Don’t you want to head out?”

  The corner of Josh’s mouth quirks into a partial smile. “Nah. I’ve got nothing going on tonight.” He directs his smile toward Gram before adding, “It’s the least I can do after hijacking your granddaughter for the weekend.”

  Luckily, Gram spares me any further suggestive innuendos on our drive to the senior center. Instead, she chats our ears off about tonight’s Pinnacle tournament, taking the liberty of explaining the game in precise detail to Josh. I’m not sure whether he’s faking it or not, but he acts genuinely interested, which Gram loves.

  It does my heart a lot of good that they get along so well. Even if Josh can’t be more than my business partner, we still have to be in each other’s lives. And with me comes Gram. We’re sort of a package deal.

  Once Gram has been dropped off into the arms of her senior-citizen boyfriend, I expect Josh to turn around the way we came to take me home. Instead, he catches me off guard with a proposition of plans for the evening.

  “We’re actually closer to my apartment than we are to your place,” he says. “And, full disclosure, I’m starving. How does bringing a pizza back to my place sound?”

  A giddy thrill dances along my nerves. How does it sound? It sounds like a date, that’s how it sounds. But inviting me over for a night of pizza and canoodling on the couch certainly steps outside of what we agreed to less than twenty-four hours ago.

  “Or would you rather I just take you home?”

  Shit, I paused too long.

  “No, no, that’s not it.” I chew my lip, searching for the right words. I quickly realize there are none. To hell with it. “Pizza sounds great.”

  The pizza joint Josh swears by is a quick ten-minute detour on our route back to his place. That’s the beauty of living in New York City: you’re never more than a stone’s throw from a pizza place. The bonus of living on the outskirts of town? Actually having a place to park your car.

  Josh’s building has its own parking garage, a luxury I thought was reserved for the millionaires of the Upper East Side. Then again, Josh is a high-level executive at the top wine distributor in the country. I’m sure he’s not hurting for money.

  I insist on being the one to carry the pizza box, using the warm cardboard in my hands as a distraction from how unbelievably sexy Josh looks.

  “Feel free to make yourself at home,” he says with a turn of the key. But the apartment behind that door is nothing like any home I’ve been in before.

  Walking into the foyer, I quickly realize I was right about the money thing. Josh’s apartment is completely decked out in classy, modern furniture, all white. Not the kind you buy for your college dorm room—the kind you see in the sorts of catalogues where they don’t even list the prices. If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. The only exception? A brown leather couch with a white throw draped over the back. It’s worn in, not new like everything else.

  “What’s the story on this?” I kick off my shoes and head for the couch, dragging my fingers along the back.

  “Kinda sticks out, huh?” Josh chuckles. God, that laugh. Gritty but sweet, like honey in a whiskey glass. “There’s actually a story.”

  “As I expected.” I take a seat, sinking into the cushions as I reach for the white throw and drape it over my lap. “I’m all ears.”

  “It used to be in my parents’ living room,” he says, making his way to the kitchen and popping the cork on a bottle of red. “In high school, I practically lived on the thing. When I moved from the suburbs to the city, they let me take it. A little reminder of where I came from.” He returns with a glass of wine in each hand. “Do you think it’s an eyesore?”

  I shake my head as I accept a glass from him. “I think that’s super sweet. A great way to remember your roots. And you definitely make it work in the space.”

  His smile is proud, if not a little hypnotizing. If he’s trying to get me under his spell, it’s working. “What can I say? When I know what I want, I always make it work.”

  I gulp down the lump in my throat. Somehow, I feel like he’s not just talking about the couch, so I pivot the conversation to something a bit more practical and a lot less sexy. “Isn’t it a little dangerous to drink red wine on a white carpet?”

  Josh’s eyes narrow to slits, a smile tugging at his lips as he closes the space between us. He’s close enough to get me buzzing before I’ve even had a sip of wine.

  He raises his glass, waiting for me to clink mine against it. “Isn’t it a little dangerous for us to be alone together when we said we’d keep it professional?”

  I freeze, my mouth hanging open ever so slightly. It’s not until he taps the rim of his glass against mine that I’m able to speak.

  “I, um, I actually meant to ask you about that.” I swirl my wine in my glass, careful not to let any spill. “Because this feels like a—”

  “Like a date?” He finishes my thought, bringing a flush to my cheeks that’s probably as red as the wine.

  “Kinda. Is it?” I whisper, hope building in the back of my throat.

  “Well,” Josh says, setting his glass on the table before shifting so his broad shoulders are square with mine. “I had every intention of making good on our deal to take the romantic stuff off the table for now.”

  I set my glass on the coaster next to his. “Have or had?” I ask meekly, hoping I know the answer.

  “Had.” His fingers brush across my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear before his hand finds a gentle hold on the back of my neck. “But you’re certainly not making it easy on me. Look at you, for God’s sake. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Kiss me,” I say in a whisper, surprising myself.

  And he does. Not a second later, Josh�
��s lips crash into mine and we fall into our rhythm again, our tongues intertwining as he explores my mouth hungrily. He slides my blazer off, exposing my shoulders and collarbone for him to kiss and nip and tease. It’s only moments before my dress meets the same fate, unzipped and slid off, a bolt of red against the white carpet.

  I toss my head back, a stifled groan of pleasure falling from my mouth as Josh’s tongue moves from my collarbone to the space between my breasts, his breath hot and wanting. My nipples harden beneath my black lacy bra, tight and hard and ready for him. Every inch of my skin begs for his touch, every hair standing on end, every gentle bite against my neck fueling the fire building for this man.

  Pawing at his shirt, I pop open the buttons one by one before shoving it off his shoulders, then drag my nails down his back until I get a hum of pleasure out of him. God, I’ve wanted to hear that hum so desperately since the moment I slammed on the brakes last night.

  I’m already panting in need by the time Josh pulls back.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  I almost laugh, but instead smile devilishly, reaching out and taking a handful of his hardness through his pants. He groans again as I tighten my grip, feeling him harden even more beneath my touch. “I need this.”

  “Where, baby?” he growls. “Show me where.”

  Pushing one thigh to either side of him, I straddle him, grinding against the solid ridge I can feel between my thighs. “Here.”

  He’s fully erect now, and he releases a soft grunt when I rock against him again. I could ride him like this. Right here. Right now.

  But Josh has something else in mind first. Lifting me by my hips, he pulls me off of him and onto the couch before his knees hit the plush white carpet. One twist of his fingers, and the fabric of my soaked panties is pulled to the side, his hot mouth against my wetness, breathing me in.

  “You’re so fucking wet, sweetheart.”

  He runs one finger along my wet flesh, his tongue chasing quickly behind it, and I shudder. As he touches my clit with his tongue, he eases two fingers into my tightness until I’m quivering around him.

  “Here?” he asks, his mouth not straying from that bundle of nerves at my center. He curls his fingers inside me to indicate where he’s referring to. “Is this where you want me?”

  “Y-yes,” I stutter.

  He’s so talented, so focused when he goes after what he wants, and it’s obvious right now that he wants me. I’m nearing climax already, but he’s not going to let me have it yet. Rising to his feet, he shakes his head.

  “Not here. Bedroom.”

  When he scoops me into his arms, I steady myself against his chest as he carries me down the hall. He nudges open his bedroom door to reveal another crisp white room with a queen-sized bed covered in the fluffiest white duvet. It looks familiar, but it’s not until he sets me down on the bed and starts unbuckling his belt that it hits me.

  I’m sitting on the backdrop of Josh’s dirty photo. The first-impression pic that started it all.

  As Josh unbuttons his pants, I watch in anticipation. My favorite picture is about to be recreated, and I can hardly wait.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Josh

  Since the first time I laid eyes on Peyton, I’ve wanted her in my bed, on top of my fluffy white comforter, not a scrap of clothing on her. I’ve pictured her like this more than I’d like to admit, her dark brown hair spilling over her bare shoulders, her blue eyes wide and wild with anticipation.

  And now, here she is, exactly how I imagined her. But even in my head, it never looked quite this good.

  Gripping the curve of her hips, I ease Peyton to the edge of the bed until her legs drape over the side, that tantalizing space between them about level with my thighs. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Like a damn painting, but better. There isn’t a museum out there that can offer me anything as hot as Peyton’s peachy skin against my white sheets, wet and ready for me.

  She props herself up on her elbows to watch as I step out of my boxers, giving myself a few strokes for good measure. Not that I need them. She’s got me totally hard just lying there, running her tongue across her lower lip. But she’s so mind-blowingly gorgeous, and I’ve been waiting for what feels like forever to get my eyes on this view. Might as well soak it in while I can.

  “Ready?” I ask, confirming what her eyes are telling me.

  She nods, and I lean in to press a kiss to the soft skin of her neck, letting her scent wash over me. Autumn and honey, like always. I would bottle it, if I could.

  She shudders against my breath as I let my lips linger on her neck, my erection pressed against her belly. I press the heel of my hand against the juncture of her thighs, then feel her back arch beneath me when I take it away. Teasing her shouldn’t be this fun.

  “God, yes,” she begs on an exhale. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

  While I sheath myself with a condom from my bedside drawer, Peyton relaxes onto her back, letting one hand float to the juncture between her thighs. Holy fuck, she’s rubbing her clit with her middle finger. A groan pours out of me.

  “That’s so fucking sexy, baby.” I moan, my eyes following the tiny circles her finger is making.

  “Yeah?” She gives me a devious smile as if she doesn’t know how unbelievably hot it is to watch her touch herself in my bed. Her eyes lock with mine, holding my gaze while she keeps up those lazy circles.

  “Mmm. Yeah. But it’s my turn now, angel.”

  I move her hand back to her side and replace it with mine, working her over with my thumb while my middle finger slides into her. It earns me a groan of approval. She’s so goddamned wet, twitching and shaking underneath me. It’s magnificent.

  “So perfect,” I say through a groan as I ease out of her, examining her glistening arousal on my fingers. My groin aches to have the same sheen. “Fuck,” is all I can manage to say after seeing how wet she is. So I position myself above her, my erection pushing against the wet heat between her thighs. “Is this okay?”

  “Go slow, okay?” she whispers. “It’s been a while.”

  I nod, promising to take things at her speed. Slow and steady. I’ll give her what she wants, a little at a time.

  As gently as I can, I press the head of my cock against her opening, testing the waters, and she gasps and contracts against the bit of length I’ve given her. She’s definitely tight, but keeping up the circles with my thumb allows her muscles to relax into me. I think I can give her a little more, if she feels ready.

  “Talk to me, okay?” I try to hold back the need building in my groin. I don’t want her to feel like we have to go any further if she doesn’t want to. I’m aching to be all the way inside her, but it’s not up to me. She’s running this show, and I’ll let her tell me what she needs. “More?”

  “Mmm, yes, more,” she says on a groan.

  I’m happy to oblige. I tilt my hips forward, letting my length slide into her. Holy fuck. She feels every bit as good as I imagined, and more. I have to bite my lip just to hang on to my control.

  After a few of my slow, introductory thrusts, she finds her pace, rocking her hips and letting me hit a deeper spot within her. God fucking damn, I can’t get enough of her. She crosses her legs behind my back and I lean into her, kissing down her neck as I bury myself in her, pulling a needy moan from her lips.

  “Fuck, baby. So good.” I’m normally better with words than this, but she’s leaving me near speechless. Her gorgeous, full breasts bounce as I pump into her a little faster, and I can’t help but lean in and take one in my mouth, sucking and running my tongue along one nipple while pinching the other.

  “Josh, yes,” she whimpers, her long, thick eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. She’s entering that state of bliss I’ve grown so fond of watching her slip into.

  But I want more. I want to see her come undone while I’m inside her. And by the way her breath escalates each time I slide into her, I think I’m going to get what I want.

&nbs
p; My thumb finds her clit again, stroking it in time with each thrust. She twitches and contracts against my touch. Yup. I’ve got her where I want her, right on the edge.

  “Go ahead, angel. You know what I want. Show me how you come for me.”

  And she does. Hard and wild.

  Her hands cling to my sheets for dear life as she unravels, contracting around me. She feels like heaven. And I’m right behind her, pouring into her, her name falling off my lips as I do.

  Entirely drained, I collapse onto her momentarily, holding her tight against me as we catch our breath.

  “Wow,” she pants. “That was incredible.”

  “You are incredible.” I press a grateful kiss to her flushed cheek before carefully easing out of her. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  It’s a quick trip down the hall to the bathroom, where I ditch the condom and wash my hands as I try to cool down. When I get back to the bedroom, Peyton is curled up in the center of my bed, her dark hair splayed across the pillows.

  “Hey there, sleepyhead.” I tug on a fresh pair of boxers and pull a T-shirt from my dresser, offering it to my snuggly guest. “Here, gorgeous. Put this on. It can get kind of chilly at night.”

  Peyton sits up in bed and raises a brow at me. “Am I spending the night?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Well, it sure looks like you are to me. But I’m happy to drive you home if you’d prefer.”

  She eyes the T-shirt a moment longer, then accepts it from me and pulls it over her head. It’s a little too big and looks adorable hanging off her shoulders. I’ll have to remember to let her keep it.

  She moves from the center of the bed, making room for me to join her. I lace my arms around her waist, tugging her into me until she’s nestled against my frame, and bury my nose in her hair.

  “Sweet dreams, Peyton,” I whisper, pressing a kiss into the back of her head. But she doesn’t respond. She’s already fast asleep in my arms.

  • • •

  It feels like hardly a nanosecond passes before I’m rudely awakened by the irritating, generic ringtone of my phone. Blinking, I check the clock on my nightstand.