by Julie Olivia
There’s a pause between us, but Nia doesn’t gasp or pet my arm or even ask if I’m okay. She stares at me with a hard expression as if waiting for me to continue. There’s nothing she can do to change my past and she’s not trying to apologize for it—and this is why I like her.
“I was drunk,” I continue. “He was kind of tipsy too, but I…I should have known he wasn’t fit to drive, you know? They say it happens in slow motion, but it really doesn’t. It’s like lightning then thunder. There was the initial crash, then all I remember is seeing those little pieces of glass flying around. You know when you see lint in sunshine? Or maybe it was dust from the airbag. I don’t know. The next thing I remember is waking up and being told I’d been in a medically induced coma for a month and I no longer had a car or a friend.”
She leans forward, hand brushing up my calf, to my knee, and then to my thigh. Her fingers run over my wrinkled flesh—the cinched skin peeking out from under my shorts. It feels fitting that Nia is the one I’m choosing to tell, and it’s comforting that she isn’t just hearing; she’s understanding.
“Is that how you got this?” Her fingers stroke the healed, grotesque wound, her tone soft and barely audible. I sit up, and the porcelain squeaks and echoes beneath my shoes. My head hovers near hers and when we make eye contact, I nod in response. Her hand leaves my thigh and before I can miss her touch, her finger taps the scar over my eyebrow. “And this?”
I chuckle. “Oh, no, that’s just a guy who punched me in a bar fight.”
The air in the room settles instantly and we’re both laughing. She puts her finger to her lips and slaps my shoulder to shush me.
“You got mouthy?” she whispers.
“Of course I did.”
“I’m not even surprised.”
I notice that, within the past minute, Nia has scooted in toward the center of the tub. She still sits between my legs, just a foot or so away from where I’m trying to hide the growing pressure against my zipper.
“My turn,” I say, loud enough for her to hear but trying to be considerate of the sleeping drunks on the other side of the door.
“Sure, go for it.”
“What’s up with Grant?”
“What isn’t up with Grant?” She exhales with a light laugh. “He’s a drunk and apparently into drugs now. He’s a mess.” There’s a pause and she lets out another sigh. “But, thanks for being nice to him. And to Harry.”
“They’re good guys.” I shrug.
“Don’t let what I’m about to say go to your head,” she says, “but I don’t think you’re that bad of a guy.”
“I find it offensive that you had to give a disclaimer before complimenting me.” I pause. “What happened with us?”
“What do you mean?”
“We were kind of friends and then…nothing. For my last two years I worked at Treasuries—what happened?”
She avoids eye contact, breathing in and out. “I don’t know.”
It’s uncomfortable, and I get the sense that tonight will not be the night I get an honest answer from her. “It’s because you realized how damn cute I am, isn’t it?”
A restrained smile beams on her face. “No.”
“You took a bit to answer that.”
She says nothing, looking at me, but tracing the outside of my leg.
My hands wander to her ankles, stroking her soft skin and letting my fingers explore her bone. I test the waters more and slide up to her calves, caressing the curves of them, tightening my grip slightly to get my fill of her. I reach her knees then, trying the boldness once more, my hands resting on the outsides of her thighs.
I wait for the moment she’ll stop me. I’m anticipating a snarky remark and blatant offense. However, she doesn’t move an inch. Every muscle in my body, from my jaw to my feet, tenses. Her eyes focus on some spot behind me. Maybe she’s contemplating her escape through the door, but Nia will be the first person to voice her opinion, and I wonder if she’s letting me in.
I try not to breathe heavy and seem like a desperate man longing for more, but it’s impossible. I’ve spent years craving to know how her skin would feel, questioning what she tastes like, imagining what my name would sound like on her lips as she moans with pleasure.
Her eyes dart to mine. I expect she was constructing a pros and cons list in her head, adding checkmarks and crossing out qualities of mine. In the end, once she’s made her decision, Nia doesn’t back out. She’s either in or she’s not.
“Do you want me?” she asks. It lacks any hint of seduction or desire. It’s all business, and if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s negotiation.
“Yes,” I say with a curt nod.
“How bad?”
“If you think you’ve been offended before, you have no idea how offensive I can truly be.”
At these words, her hands grip the nape of my neck and she jerks me toward her. Our mouths smash together, and I let out an involuntary groan. Her lips are full and perfect as we move against each other. I run my hands through her hair, taking in her scent of coconut hotel shampoo and the beach air that’s cemented itself onto her.
I use my other hand to grip her waist and tug her toward me. She arches her back and pushes into me, inhaling sharply before taking a fistful of my hair. I shouldn’t be surprised Nia dominates the situation. She only takes action on things she can control. Unfortunately for her, so do I.
As her hands run over my jaw and drop to my collar, I’m already clutching her hemline and pulling her shirt over her shoulders. In the second we part so she can toss the clothing aside, I trace my fingers just below her bra, down to her waist, settling on her pelvic bones. It’s both everything and nothing I imagined. She’s lithe and surprisingly strong. Her shorts hit just below her belly button and the length rides up her thighs, bunched from how we’ve maneuvered closer together.
Before she can drag me to her once more, I lower down to kiss her neck, her collarbone, and the peak of her chest. I nip at the thin, lacy bra, and her shaky breath hitches. I drag the other side down then switch sides to kiss around her nipple. I tease her and wait for I don’t even know what. Begging? A moan? I will take any sign she wants me just as much as I need her, and at that moment she runs her fingers through my curls and pulls me closer, demanding action. I have to suppress my groan of satisfaction as I roll my tongue over her erect nipples. I swirl around, taking her in and nipping once more. Her head falls back and a mix between an exhalation and a whimper leaves her mouth. Knowing I can elicit such a submissive reaction drives me forward, and I’m determined to hear more.
She leans forward again and pushes against my arms so I’m sitting up.
“Hey, I was doing something there,” I whisper, attempting to lean back toward her chest.
“Let’s go back to my room,” she demands.
Well, fuck me.
I nod, rising out of the bathtub without a second thought.
We tiptoe through the door, looking back to make sure her brothers remain sound asleep. They’re still in a snoring competition and probably wouldn’t wake up even if a car busted through the window right now.
I close the door behind me as she pulls out her own keycard and scans it, granting us entry into her room.
Before I can even reach for the lights, we’re already at each other again. I’m kissing her neck and she’s running her hands down my chest. I’m trying to keep my cool while also hoping to God she isn’t regretting this.
Just as the thought crosses my mind, she reaches her hands downward and slides the button on my shorts through its hole. A sharp moan exits my throat and I lift an eyebrow. “You like being in control, don’t you?”
She ignores my comment, all the while tugging down my zipper and spreading her palm against my length. I shift to press it into her as she rubs the base, lightly cupping my balls then releasing them. It’s so fucking hot and bold that I can barely get any words out.
“Goddamn,” I say, voice straining as she pulls the ban
d on my underwear down and holds my penis, pumping her hand up and down and using her thumb to circle the head every time she reaches the top. I wonder where she learned to please a man so well. I’m used to passive women who remain shy and take serious reassuring just to allow themselves to be seen naked. Nia is different. She takes what she wants with no apologies.
She lowers herself down to her knees, allowing her tongue to meet the head of my cock.
“I want to make you come,” I say. I feel her smile against me. I love how she seems eager to please. I love the power struggle and how she’s relentless in her efforts, but this is what I’ve been wanting for years. I want to hear her moan and see her fall apart beneath my touch. She might like to be in control now, but I will teach her what it means to beg.
23
Nia
Ian, Ian, Ian.
His name keeps bouncing around in my head, unable to completely focus on one part of him before my hands discover another. His strong arms, his large hands, the peaks and valleys of his abs, and his large—very hard—cock.
I want him. I want him bad. I wanted him a few years ago and I want him now. He was, and still is, arrogant, pushy, and too charismatic for his own good—yet he’s also kind, incapable of prejudice, and somehow weaseling his way back into my thoughts. I need to push that aside, though, because this isn’t the time for admiration. It’s time for something different. At this moment, I want to take advantage of his energy, his ego, and every bit of confidence he exudes and place it all in the palm of my hand…and stroke it, and lick it.
“Nia,” he says again, strained and trying to stay quiet. I like taming the beast, making him say my real name with zero undertones of sarcasm. “Nia.” This time the tone isn’t pleading, but demanding instead. He pulls me up, removing himself from my mouth, and I’m immediately dissatisfied.
“I want to taste you,” he says, pulling me up to my feet and twisting his palm into my shorts without even bothering to unbutton them. He presses his two fingers against my wet lips with only the thin fabric of my panties as a barrier. The sensation is instantaneous. His fingers are deft as they encircle the outside, rising up until he reaches my clit. I extend my hand to find his dick, but he clutches my wrist and pushes me away. “No.”
The warmth from his breath sends more of me spiraling, and I take in short breaths. “Let me touch you,” I beg, trying not to sound too desperate, but I want him back in my hand. I want to feel just how hard he is in this moment…and all for me.
He removes his hand from under my waistband and takes both of my wrists, pinning them behind me. “Just relax, Nia.” A kiss on my neck. “Relax for me.” I can’t. My heart is pounding, and my legs are itching to wrap around him. I want to cause him to be unhinged until he can’t help but bury himself into me.
His hand strokes my spine, ghosting from my neck down to the small of my back. My head rolls back and I close my eyes. “Yes, just like that,” he croons, moving down to pull my nipple into his mouth once more. “You’re so sexy.”
He guides me into the room until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I fall backward. When he gets down in front of me, I push my hands into his curls. I’ve always wondered what his hair feels like, whether his locks were soft or coarse, whether they were twisted enough to curl around my fingers. I was correct on all accounts.
He glides his hands from my ass around to the front where he slowly unbuttons, unzips, and shimmies my shorts down my legs. They land around my ankles then he throws them to the side. I smile down at him, pushing his hair back so he can look at me. His ice blue eyes are hungry, shooting through me as my knees give in.
He spreads my legs apart, and I feel exposed having him stare directly at my underwear. I wish I had worn the ones that match my lacy bra, but how was I supposed to know anyone would see them this week?
Ian places his face directly across from my pussy. He turns his head to my inner thigh to kiss, lick, and slide his finger closer and closer to my center. I exhale, eagerly awaiting the inevitable, almost unable to keep my patience in check as he moves his mouth over my underwear and extends his tongue against them. It’s so close and I can feel his hot breath against me. I swallow back any noise I might have made.
His middle finger reaches to the edge of my panties and slides it over, exposing all of me to him. He wastes no time before sticking his tongue into me and pulling back out to lap me up.
He knows his craft well. With each flick of his tongue, another wave of shock rolls through me. He quickly locates my clit and devours it. I feel two of his fingers enter me and my head falls back before I can will it not to. My eyes close when he rolls his fingers inside me, continuing to dart his tongue across my skin. Nerves in my thighs are radiating down to my legs and my toes curl.
I don’t want to come yet. I want to keep experiencing every pleasure Ian is willing to give me. I’m not sure how we got to this point or how I’m allowing him to drive me to a state of madness when only days ago he was driving me insane for completely different reasons. All I know is that with every stroke of his tongue, my stomach is falling deeper.
I clench my muscles, trying to hold off as best I can, but he groans, his tone rumbling against my body. “Don’t hold back. Come for me.”
The words provoke a whimper from me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle any additional noises that may arise—and they definitely do. Ian continues to lick me, faster and faster, pumping his fingers against me, and my voice is muffled against my hand.
Ian. Ian. Ian.
“Say my name,” he commands, driving into me aggressively.
Ian. Ian. Ian. I can’t get the words out. They’re screaming in my head, but I’m too distracted to say anything.
“Say my name, Nia.”
Ian. Ian!
“Ian!” My exclamation pushes me over the edge. A wave of euphoria washes over me, my muscles tremble, and all the tension releases under the weight of my orgasm.
Ian grips my legs, kissing every inch of me as his mouth drifts by until he’s beside me, my head nestled into the curve of his neck.
“That okay?” he whispers, kissing the top of my forehead.
“It wasn’t too bad.”
He chuckles. “Not even a thank you?”
“Thanks,” I murmur between heavy breaths, which only makes him grin. I’m both elated and irritated that he’s as happy as he seems, and yet I want to spread that smile wider. “I want to return the favor.”
He hums to himself, looking down to glance at my body, which is now only covered by my lopsided bra that is failing at its job as it is still pulled down and exposing one of my boobs. “Maybe next time,” he says.
“How do you know there will be a next time?” He’s much too cocky for his own good.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because Nia Smith wouldn’t call out my name unless she meant it.”
This man has me wrapped around his stupid, wonderful, orgasm-inducing finger, and I wish I could rip it off. Then again, how would we have a next time if I remove something so precious?
24
Ian
Four years ago
“This is a horrible gift, right?” Cameron asks me.
“No, it’s a great gift for people who live in the 90s, or people who like dismembered animals.”
“I never really thought of it like that…” Cam holds the pink rabbit’s foot keychain up to his face, scrunching his nose and pulling his lips back in a grimace. “Yeah, that does kind of ruin it.”
“I bet someone would find it fun,” I say. My feet are propped on Gary’s desk as I swivel around in his chair. I take a gummy bear from his large candy jar and pop it in my mouth. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“So, what are you going to get her?” I ask. “A teddy bear? Or—possibly!—a ring?” I let my jaw fall open, but the sudden point of his finger elicits only a tiny bit of guilt from me.
Cameron isn’t going to propos
e to his girlfriend. I know that, Cameron knows that, and Abby must surely know that. He wouldn’t settle for anyone less than perfect, or someone who’s such a jerk. Abby is like cool ice against hot asphalt—always seconds from melting and constantly surrounded by steam.
“That’s not funny,” Cam says, plopping himself back at his desk and scrolling on his laptop, probably trying to find another gift just as genius as the rabbit’s foot. I reach into Gary’s candy stash once more and toss two more gummy bears in my mouth.
The designer’s den is dark with the exception of Cameron’s desk lamp and every third overhead light, available in case of emergency. Cameron won’t say it yet, but he doesn’t want to go home. Hell, neither do I, but I have far different reasons. He’s just unhappy in his relationship, whereas my demons run deeper.
A stray light shines through the doorway and I lean farther back in the chair to catch sight of its source. I hear a door close and the clopping of heels on the concrete as Nia’s head pokes around the corner.
I should have known.
“What you two still doing here?” she asks.
“We’re shopping on Amazon,” I say, grinning. Nia smiles back, dawdling around the corner and walking down the aisle toward us, her purse swinging by her side. She’s wearing her typical outfit: tight pencil skirt hitting her knees, loose cotton blouse tucked in, and heels high. She’s both professional and sexy all at once. How she balances the two is a mystery to me, but it’s a puzzle I enjoy all the same.
“At work?” she asks. “Go home.”
I’m tired, it’s late, and all I want to do is follow that comment up with Can I go home with you? However, I’m also not a big enough idiot to provoke the one person who could convince the right people to get me fired.
