Sex & Sours

by Dani McLean

  I was aching and desperate for more, and I was already inside her.

  Danger had nothing on this woman. She was a menace on every conceivable level.

  Slowly, I continued to guide her shirt off, taking a moment to brush a thumb over the tattoo on her bicep, the fine lines of the constellation delicate against her pale skin. Beautiful. When the material bunched around her wrists, I held it in place like a cuff, meeting her eyes. “Color?”

  “Definitely green.” Tiffany licked her lips, smiling wickedly. “That what you want, Sam?” she breathed. “Do you want my hands bound? Do you like that?” She twisted her wrists, wrapping the shirt tighter around her hands. She held her arms above her head, her fingers laced together in an approximation of being bound.

  My dick throbbed at the sight. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Suddenly, the dynamic shifted, and I felt more like the prey, even as I stood over her, buried inside her.

  “You look so good like this.” Her feet caressed the backs of my thighs, teasing. “Are you going to give me what I want, Sam? Are you going to fuck me into this desk until I come? Can you do that for me?”

  As if on cue, I bucked into her, and any thought of going slow was obliterated by her command. It’d be a miracle if I lasted at this rate.

  She continued, goading me. This was the Tiffany I was used to. The one who had stormed into my office, my home, my … pants. Shit. “I bet you’ve pictured this before. I bet you’ve gotten yourself off to this. Haven’t you?”

  I nodded, completely under her spell, my sole purpose narrowed down to the push of my hips to hers.

  “Yes, Sam. That’s good. Keep fucking me.”

  And I wasn’t about to disappoint her. Hooking my hands underneath her hips, I altered the angle, getting a reaction immediately.

  “Yes, yes, yes. Right there, Sam. Fuck. Harder.” She managed between gasps.

  My pulse was jumping in my throat, pulsing hard and strong. Keeping my hands on her hips, I started to move, faster and deeper, watching as she gripped the edge of the desk and cried out.

  Suddenly, her knee jerked, a quick, startled movement as she called out, “Ah! Yellow.” Immediately, I slowed down, releasing my grip on her hip to stroke the muscles. She chuckled, the intensity of the previous moment distilled while she stretched her leg out. “Cramp,” she explained, still smiling up at me. “Either that or you hit something you shouldn’t have.”

  She surprised a laugh out of me, loosening the tightness of my chest and spreading a different kind of joy through me. Only Tiffany. Jesus. What a revelation.

  Not able to help myself, I leaned down to steal a kiss, swiping my tongue across her lips and deepening the kiss when they parted so easily for me. It would be so easy to get lost in those lips, in the terrifying way she set my entire body alight.

  So easy to lose myself in her completely.

  Pulling back, I softly kneaded her thigh. “Better?” I asked, happy when she nodded.

  “Now, if you wouldn’t mind.” Once again, she rolled her hips, pushing a groan out of me. “I believe I asked you to fuck me into this desk.”

  A huff of a laugh escaped me, the side effect of the giddiness I was feeling. Has sex ever been this all-encompassing before? Stupid question. Definitely not.

  “Sam.” Her gaze was laser-focused. Powerful. “Fuck me.”

  Damn, that about did me in. It wasn’t only the act of her commanding me that I was getting off to, but the power of her and this explicit expression of it. There was no doubt in my mind who was fucking who right now.

  The slap of our bodies colliding intensified as I redoubled my efforts, hooking my arms under her legs to change the angle, make it sharper, deeper.

  “Fuck, Sam. Yes!” Then, she was coming, clenching, tightening around me as she screamed my name.

  It was all I needed to throw myself over the edge, coming inside of her, while her hand released her shirt, throwing it aside to caress my chest, where I felt my heart thrashing loudly.

  I barely had enough energy to throw away the condom and pull my pants back on before I slumped back into my chair, trying to catch my breath. Out of habit, I rolled my shoulder, but there was only the same dull ache there always was.

  Tiffany sat up on the desk, pulling her shirt back on. It was creased beyond recognition and did nothing to conceal the new marks blooming on her throat, but she didn’t seem to mind. “You, Sam Cooper, really are a surprise.”

  “Is that praise I hear?” I asked.

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  “I would never.” I located my shirt on the floor and pulled it back on. “What do you think you’ll do next?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. I’ve been approached by a few people, even a couple of bars in New York, but I’d need to know it was worth the move. I did get asked to write a book.”

  “You’re a writer?” What couldn’t she do?

  “Like a cocktail recipe book.”

  “Because there’s not enough of those.”

  Tiffany playfully kicked my shin. “Fuck you.”

  “I think you just did.”

  She arched a brow with playful surprise. “Wow, another joke. I’m starting to think I don’t know you at all.” She stood, pulling her jeans on before running her fingers along the design cut into her shave. “It’s late. I better get home. This was fun.”

  “Goodnight, Tiffany.”

  “Night, Sam.”

  25

  Tiff

  It was a fairly innocuous Thursday night when Jackson’s friend and co-star Wesley showed up at the bar. He’d been dropping by for months now, whenever he felt like it, occasionally flirting with strangers, but mostly just there to drink and annoy me.

  He was harmless, though, and I could tell from the way his expression turned blank sometimes that he was holding back some pain, covering it up with that aloof bad boy attitude.

  Too bad my bullshit meter was finely tuned.

  “Oh, look, it’s you,” I said wryly, placing his usual beer in front of him.

  “Hey! It’s my favorite bartender.”

  “How’s it going, Wes?”

  “How do you think?” He smirked, holding the beer to his lips, trying (and failing) to be seductive. I’m sure it worked for some women (ok, I’d seen it work on plenty of women), but cocky little shits just weren’t my type.

  Not to mention, he had an almost permanent case of sad puppy eyes, and I’d learned a long time ago I didn’t want to “save” anyone.

  “You really want to know what I think?”

  He gave me a noncommittal shrug, but there was a hesitation in his eyes. I decided to take it a little easy on him. “I think you come here so you can forget about someone, but no matter how much you drink or joke or flirt, you’re only delaying the hurt.”

  The façade drained away from his face, and he drowned half of his beer in one move, dropping it back onto the bar with a thud. “Well, fuck, Tiff.”

  “Everything alright here?” Sam asked, suddenly appearing at my side. Obviously, he’d overheard Wes’ comment, but I couldn’t pick if it was Wes or me who he’d come over to check on.

  Wes’ usual smile sprang back so fast that I got whiplash. Guess it paid to be an actor. “Oh, yeah, just having fun with my best gal.”

  Sam looked between us. “You two know each other?”

  “Unfortunately,” I deadpanned.

  “Ok. Sorry. I’ll leave you to it then.” Sam took another customer’s order farther down the bar, leaving us alone again.

  Wes nodded towards him. “He’s cute.”

  I kept myself from looking over at Sam. “He’s a pain in my ass. Just like you.”

  Wes’ canines showed when he smiled knowingly. “You don’t look like you mind it that much.”

  “We’re …” How to phrase it? We were technically non-friends with benefits (ex-coworkers with benefits?), but we had agreed to keep things professional when working, and I didn�
�t need any of the barbacks overhearing me. “None of your goddamn business.”

  He winked, the little shit. “Mum’s the word.”

  I huffed a laugh, despite myself. “Shut up and drink your beer, mopey. Now, did you want to talk about it, or are you just here to get on my nerves?”

  “Nah, it’ll just bore you.”

  I dropped the sarcasm and placed a reassuring hand on his forearm. “Try me.”

  I watched him chew on this for a moment, probably deciding how honest to be with me. He reminded me a lot of my brothers. It was probably why I could see through the fake bravado so well.

  Avoiding my eye, he picked at a corner of the beer label. “Have you ever had someone get you in a way that no one else does? But not even just that, it’s like …” he took another swig of beer, “like they accept you, even though they see how fucked up you are? Like, the real you, even the parts you don’t like about yourself?”

  Wow. Color me surprised. Puppy dog here had some depth. “Goddamn, Wes. Way to lay it on me.”

  He gave another half-hearted shrug, looking like he regretted saying anything. God, from the look of him, I was probably the first person he’d ever said this to.

  Fucking dammit. I was starting to like the little shit. I decided to repay his honesty with my own. “I’ll tell you a little secret. If we’re talking romantic shit, I’ve never once had what you’re talking about. That unconditional acceptance?” I shook my head. “But if I did? I’d do whatever I could to keep it. As should you.”

  He was silent as he finished his beer, but there was a small nod of appreciation. Later, when he left, I realized he hadn’t flirted with a single person all night.

  “Wait, I thought they were family heirlooms?” I asked Sam when we were upstairs in his apartment for a post-closing drink. Luna was purring quietly beside me on the couch while Sam sat on my other side.

  “Is that what Harry told you?”

  Sam’s smirk taunted me, and the realization hit. “That little shit.” My gut clenched at the warm sound of Sam’s laughter. I ignored it. “Well, score one for Harry.”

  “He needed some way to stop you from taking over completely.”

  Ouch. Guess I deserved that.

  “He picked it all up from a garage sale in his neighborhood.”

  “I never thought he had it in him. I might actually like him now.”

  “High praise. I’ll have to let him know.” He leaned in for a kiss, and I turned my head, letting his lips hit my cheek instead.

  “I can’t believe he got one over on me. I mean it, I’m impressed.”

  Sam ignored me, guiding my chin back with a strong hand and slipping his tongue into my mouth. I fell into the kiss, enjoying the way his (now regrowing) beard brushed against my skin; the bristle contrasted with the soft, plush pressure of his mouth.

  I pulled back. “You know you can’t just kiss me to shut me up.”

  “Can’t I?” His voice was a soft, low a rumble. Like he was sharing a secret with you. I’d seen the way people would lean in close, pulled by gravity to him. I was (to my horror) not as immune as I’d like to be.

  It was only afterward, when we were lying tangled in his bed (and thank god we were upstairs this time because my back was getting sick of hard flat surfaces) that I brought up the scar on his left shoulder.

  I’d noticed it the last time we’d fucked but hadn’t said anything, and I’d seen the way he rolled it occasionally or massaged the joint when he thought no one was paying attention.

  “What’s with the shoulder?” Because tact was not something I had mastered. And frankly, tact was hard to come by when I was post-orgasmic.

  To be fair, he’d hidden it well enough. When I’d started, I hadn’t noticed it at all. But lately, I’d become all too aware of him. And now that I had a decent sample size to go off, I’d realized that when we had sex, he always preferred positions that didn’t put pressure on it, which had lent itself to creativity (something I’ve always been a fan of).

  If he could have moved it out of view, I was sure he would have. Tonight must be the night I accidentally asked invasive questions. I was going two for two. Eventually, he took my hand, turning my palm inward so he could kiss it. I wondered if he didn’t like to talk about it, and I was about to change the subject when he answered.

  “It’s an unfortunate side effect from a car accident I was in a year ago.”

  “Shit. What happened?”

  “It was a minor thing. No one’s fault. A woman swerved to miss hitting a child that wandered into the street and hit me instead. There was minimal damage to the cars, and no one got hurt, thankfully, but the impact messed up my shoulder enough that I’ll feel it for the rest of my life. At the end of the day, it was the best case scenario.”

  “Best case would have been no accident.” I relented at his judging look. “But, yes, considering the circumstances, it’s the least that could have happened. How much does it hurt?”

  “It’s manageable.”

  I groaned because if I knew anything about Sam by now (and it was a short list, to be fair), it was that he would always defer his own needs or concerns when asked.

  He was stubborn like that. It reminded me of me.

  I stroked the healed streak of raised scarring above his pec, white skin cutting through the otherwise clean chest. “Is this from the accident?”

  “No.” I was surprised when he laughed. “That was a renovation gone wrong. A box fell from a rack, and a wayward nail scraped me on the way down. It’s not very sexy.”

  “Hmm.” I ran my finger over it, then leaned down and followed it with my tongue, kissing it reverently, noticing how his fingers buried themselves into my hair, holding me to him. My lips curled against his skin as I lowered myself to his perfectly prim nipple. “I think it’s very sexy.”

  26

  Tiff

  I wasn’t one to play by the rules most of the time. Rules were usually just arbitrary lines people drew to play it safe or whatever, and I just didn’t want to waste any of my life acting for the sake of pleasing people.

  Sam, I’d thought, would be a stickler for the rules (and he certainly had a hard-on for setting them). Especially ones he’d specifically set. The same rules I was abiding by (and that alone deserved a gold star, frankly).

  So color me surprised when he asked me into his office one afternoon before opening and said, with utter hunger in his eyes, “Lock the door.”

  We had a full team on shift, meaning there were people outside. People he had expressly told me he didn’t want to know about this little tête-à-tête we had going on.

  But, fuck me, if I wasn’t immediately turned on by this turn of events. That didn’t mean I was going to fight fair, though. I leaned against the closed door, crossing my arms. “And if I don’t?”

  * * *

  “Then you’ll just have to stop anyone from coming in. And make sure they don’t hear you.” He stalked over to me and sank to his knees.

  Fuck.

  Yes.

  My hands instinctively slid into his hair, the dark strands fine silk between my fingers, before he reached up and removed them, placing them against the cool surface of the door, with a silent command to leave them there.

  It was going to be like that, then. A wave of anticipation flowed through me.

  Each button of my jeans was undone slowly, neither of us speaking. My hands flexed against the wood, itching to reach for him.

  Patience was not a virtue I’d ever been comfortable with.

  Competition, however. Competition could make me very patient indeed.

  I just needed to hold out longer than he did.

  Which wasn’t easy. Especially when he dragged my jeans and underwear only as far as he needed to get what he wanted, slowly taking me apart with long confident swipes of his tongue.

  There wasn’t enough room for him to get too deep, but that didn’t stop him. My jeans dug into my thighs; the material taut as I rocked into his mo
uth.

  My breathing was ragged, my whole body shaking with the strain to keep still, keep quiet. My mouth was clapped shut, even if I was screaming inside my mind.

  All I could hear was the indecent sounds of his lips, slick against my skin. Wetness coated the inside of my thighs, and I imagined his face was a mess.

  When he snuck a couple of fingers into me, my eyes snapped down to meet his. He looked fucking smug, but, goddamn, had he earned it. My control was hanging on by a thread, and he knew it.

  The wood felt rough against my fingers as they scraped against the door, and as I felt myself nearing my peak, my hand reached out for him. When I remembered not to touch, I rushed to slam it back against the door, too far gone to care about the sound. He pushed me over the edge, and I bucked against him, my blood pounding in my ears as I climaxed.

  It took a few shaky moments before I came back to my senses, my heart beating high in my chest, rapping solidly against my collarbone.

  Soon, my knees buckled, but I didn’t sink down, held in place by my jeans and Sam. I was weak all over, completely wrecked by the mind-blowing orgasm I’d just had.

  There was a sheen of sweat along my brow, cooling in the afterglow. My head sagged back against the door, and I turned to find a cool purchase on the wood.

  Sam rocked back on his heels and tugged my pants back up. I could see the hard line of his cock straining against his pants, felt it press against me when he stood and kissed me with the same slow strokes of his tongue that he had used to great effect before. Tasting myself on him, I finally succumbed to the need to moan into his mouth, the first sound I’d made in minutes.

  Finally recovering the ability to move, I traced the shape of him, but he reached for me, taking my wrist lightly in hand, a gleam in his eyes. “Break’s over,” he said before opening the door.