Wrong Bed, Right Girl

by Rebecca Brooks

  But maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because “get creative” just meant her teeth were tugging on his earlobe, and then she was wriggling free of his fingers, sliding down his body, and wrapping her lips around his dick. Just like he’d been imagining as he’d stroked himself, alone.

  He knew he was supposed to stop this thing, not let it continue. But he’d been so consumed by the memory of her scent, her skin, he’d barely gotten anything done all day. If he’d thought his mind was Swiss cheese before they slept together, after was worse. He’d made himself stay out until he was sure she’d be asleep, to avoid exactly this temptation.

  But then he’d been restless, tossing and turning, his cock nosing up and demanding attention. It took every ounce of willpower not to get up, barge through the door, and fall into bed with her, forgetting everything he’d said that morning, every reason why this couldn’t go on.

  Spending a Sunday at the office poring over case notes about the robbery was exactly the reminder he’d needed of how serious his job was—and how dangerous it was to get close to him. Talia was living there, but that was temporary. Having sex? That made every interaction a whole lot more complicated.

  But he couldn’t quite make himself choose not complicated—not while her mouth was working his dick, her warm tongue moving in all the right ways.

  He laced his fingers through her soft hair. It felt so fucking good—her mouth, her tongue, her breathing. Everything he’d imagined. Everything he’d been trying so hard not to let himself have.

  “Careful there,” he murmured, warning her, urging her, wanting and not wanting her to stop. “You’re going to make me come.”

  She slowed, drawing her tongue up the length of him, then back down, over his balls and up again. She kissed the tip of his dick—that tease.

  “Be right back,” she said with a wink.

  He missed her body as soon as she scampered away from him. But he couldn’t complain when he heard the nightstand drawer opening in the bedroom. She returned in an instant with a condom and the bottle of lube.

  She passed them to him, then slid off her pajama pants and her panties, flashing him a devilish grin.

  But he put them on the floor beside him, untouched. “Not so fast,” he said.

  “No?” She paused in her seductive little striptease.

  “I’m going to make you wet first.”

  She laughed as she swung her leg around and straddled him. She pulled off her shirt and tossed it to the floor.

  Fuck, she was gorgeous. Her body in the moonlight was incredible, every curve, every inch of her skin. The pucker of her nipples in the air. He ran his hands up her stomach, over her breasts.

  “I’m already wet,” she said.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I can feel it.”

  He brought a hand to cup her, letting her rub against his fingers. Then he brought his fingers to her lips. She licked his fingertip, flicking her tongue. He let his wet finger trail down her lips, her chin, the hollow of her neck.

  “My fingers have already been in some important places,” he said, letting his voice drop to be nothing short of, he could admit it—obscene.

  She ground against him so that he didn’t need a hand to feel her wetness—he could feel it against him. It drove him wild to imagine that delicious slickness enveloping not just his fingers but his cock.

  “I’m very wet,” she added, as if he hadn’t noticed.

  She lifted her body so she could slide her own hand under her. This time, she pulled it out and brought her finger to his lips. He tasted the sweetness, and oh God, if he didn’t get more of that right now he was going to—

  “Fuck me,” Talia panted, rubbing against him.

  Die. That was all there was to it. He was going to die.

  “You’re wet, baby,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I’m going to make you wetter.”

  With his hands around her waist, he drew her forward and at the same time slid down the length of the couch, bringing her over him, making her sit on his face.

  He wanted to make her come, but it was more than that. So much more. He wanted to make her feel everything.

  He licked her clit, guiding her hips to grind against him. She was right, she was wet. But that was no reason for him to stop. It only made him want to taste her even more. As he tongued her, he reached down to stroke his cock, wondering if he’d ever been this turned on, this desperate to make a woman lose her mind.

  When she was screaming so loud he half expected to hear the neighbors bang on the walls, he finally pulled her down.

  “Now you’re wet,” he said, running a hand over his chin. “Now I’m going to fuck you.”

  He put a drop of lube inside and outside the condom, because why not. Why the fuck not make this feel as good as it possibly could? Then she got on top of him again and slid herself down onto his cock.

  He groaned, closing his eyes, feeling it all. Her body opening, enveloping him, and the tight but supple way she let him in, yielding and resisting, tensing and opening. All the contrast and complexity and the ultimate simplicity of two bodies moving together.

  He couldn’t believe how good she felt. How sweet, how soft this woman who was neither sweet nor soft could be. He thrust up into her and she bore down, grinding her hips over him, moving the way she wanted. He gave it to her, and gave it to her, and gave it. Watching her take it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, as she closed her eyes and lost herself to the pleasure of feeling him inside her.

  When she braced herself with her hands on either side of his head and dipped forward, he grabbed her hips and held her there, pistoning into her without a single thought in his head but getting deeper, filling her, fucking her.

  He needed this. He needed to not think, not worry, not hold himself back.

  He needed her. Her breath hot and panting in his ear. Her moans, her pleasure. The lavender of her hair tumbling over him, the brush of her nipples hard and hot against his chest.

  The sofa pounded. The cushions were falling apart. He didn’t care. The whole apartment building could crash down around them. He’d still keep fucking her until she came.

  He reached for the bottle of lube on the floor and used one hand to coat his finger. Then he pressed it to her ass as she rode him. Pressed slow but firm and felt the singular pleasure of her body unlocking for him.

  “Is this okay?” he asked her.

  She whimpered, and he felt her drive against his cock even harder.

  “Do it,” she moaned in his ear, so frantic it hardly sounded like words. So out of her mind that all she could do was keep saying yes, yes, over and over again in his ear.

  He fucked her, fingered her, filled her. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe he was bad news. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was supposed to be alone.

  But when she came, he felt every inch of it, tightening and releasing, moving like the waves over his arms, moving like the waves inside his own body. She begged him not to stop, and he felt a laugh rising within him. As if he ever would. As if the waves of the sea could ever stop crashing, ever stop moving, ever lie still.

  “Reed,” she panted. “Reed, Reed, Reed.”

  He felt her coming down, the orgasms subsiding. “I want you to—” she started, lying limp and soft and trembling on top of him. “I want you to come.”

  “I will, baby,” he said, running his hand over her ass, her back, her shoulders, through her hair. He wanted to come. He was so hard it almost hurt.

  But he also wanted to hold her. To lie there and feel her breathing, feel her body on his, and never have this end.

  Because as soon as he came, it would be over. The sex would be over, the night would be over, and then it would be Monday. Time to go to work. Back to the case, Jonnie West, the real world waiting for him. Back to the reminders of everything he couldn’t have. Everything he couldn’t do. Everything he couldn’t be for her.

  He didn’t want that yet. He wanted to lie suspended in time, where al
l he had was this woman and her voice, her breath, her body that fit just right with his.

  But he was so hard, and he needed it. He needed her. He needed to lose his mind, to fall over the edge and lose control the way he never got to lose control. Not with anyone, and especially not with this woman who may have been in his arms right now, but who he’d never be able to keep.

  “Will you suck me?” he asked. The question was raw and throaty. He could barely get it out.

  But he wanted her mouth on him. He wanted to feel it, wet and sucking. He wanted her to look into his eyes while he shot into her mouth and yeah, he wanted to watch her take it all for him. If he couldn’t have everything, at least, for right now, he could have that.

  She grinned, gave a sultry little laugh, and slid off him. He took off the condom and got up to throw it away and rinse off. He expected to come back and get into the same position, lying on the couch. But when he walked over, she had moved.

  She was in front of the couch, and she was kneeling. Oh God, she was on her knees. For him.

  He walked up to her, and she tilted her head back. Tilted her head up and opened her mouth. He could barely breathe just watching her there.

  He stroked his cock in his hands. Once, twice. Just a little. Just to feel it. Just to make this last.

  The moment when he got to stand in front of her, hold her chin, and lift her face. Hold his cock and there, right there, slide it into her waiting, eager mouth.

  She sucked his cock, or maybe he fucked her mouth. He wasn’t sure, right now, if there was a difference, or if he even cared. She put her hands around his legs, gripping the backs of his thighs, using it for leverage to move her head over his shaft.

  He felt the saliva building up, the wetness, how deep and soft and dirty. She made little noises, these fucking cute little noises, wet little gurgles and moans he knew he’d be hearing in his dreams, making him hard as a rock for the rest of his life.

  This was always going to be his fantasy from now on. He knew that now. This beautiful woman on her knees. This beautiful woman who had come apart on his cock and was now giving everything to him. When he came in her mouth it was with a cry and a thrust, everything tight and then still. Releasing. A final, unthinkable letting go.

  He stayed like that for a long time, breathing. Feeling. She moved her tongue so slowly, so soft around the sensitive head, before she gently let him drop from her mouth and wiped her lips.

  He fell, collapsing onto the couch, his body floating somewhere endless. He spread his arms, and she came to lie on top of him.

  There was no room for both of them on that couch. They were both too tall. He was way too big.

  But maybe that was the excuse they needed for why they had to lie so close and sleep like that, never pulling away throughout the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Yoo-hoo, anyone home?”

  Talia jerked back to attention. Hal Burton, New York City Ballet’s artistic director, was standing in front of her, waving and snapping his fingers.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly. “Where do I stand?”

  “It’s so nice of you to join us for rehearsal today Ms. Lassiter. But, please, if you have more important matters to attend to than opening night, don’t let me keep you.”

  Talia’s face burned. She could feel everyone looking at her. No one ever had to question whether Stacey was prepared for a role. If Hal was getting worried over whether Talia was really ready to fill Stacey’s shoes…he wasn’t the only one.

  Sorry, Hal, I’m a little distracted, she could say. Someone kept me up half the night fucking my brains out, and my thighs are still sore. Not to mention my jaw, because oh my God, this dude’s enormous. Also, my arms had to do a lot of work holding myself up while I was riding his face. So could you go a little easy on me with the pirouettes today?

  Yeah, right.

  She zipped her mouth, got into position, and tried to give Hal her absolute attention as he reviewed yet another set of changes to the choreography.

  “You can learn the steps,” he always told her. “But where’s your heart? I can’t teach you to feel the music. You can’t train for how to truly dance.”

  But she was exhausted, and it was hard to feel much of anything besides where Reed’s scruff had chafed her skin.

  This was why she hadn’t wanted to get involved with anyone when she had such a huge performance to worry about. Especially not if that someone was Reed. He’d bolted so fast that morning, she might have been afraid she’d grown eight tentacles in the night.

  Except she was beginning to think that thing in Reed’s eyes that looked like panic was actually something else.

  He may have mumbled an incoherent line about getting his coffee to go. But he couldn’t hide the way he looked at her. Especially when he thought she couldn’t see.

  Or maybe it was panic in his eyes. But the kind that made a shiver sneak up her spine, so that no matter how hard she tried to empty her mind and let the music fill her, it felt like he was always there beside her.

  She got through the rest of the rehearsal, but it was far from her best. Hal was pacing nervously, muttering to himself. Only three weeks to go until opening night, when the seats would be packed with reviewers, and his lead dancer was jumping like her feet were made of lead.

  She slinked back to the dressing room, hoping no one would corner her and ask what was up. As soon as she got home to Reed, she was going to take the longest shower and wash this day away.

  Then she caught herself. She wasn’t going home to Reed. She’d better stop that fantasy before it got even more out of control.

  “You doing okay?”

  Talia spun around. One of the other dancers in the corps, Chelsea, had come up behind her. “Hal was really going after you today, Ms. Lassiter.” She imitated Hal’s clipped, pissed-off tone.

  “Pretty sure I deserved it.” Talia sighed as she gathered her things. She didn’t want to talk—not when she knew Chelsea would be the first pick to take her spot if Hal decided Talia didn’t have what it took.

  “You’re dancing well when you’re, you know, actually with us,” Chelsea said with a brightness that could have been nice…or could have been totally fake. “Hal knows you can do it. That’s why he’s riding you so hard.”

  “Thanks,” Talia said. “It’s a lot to have dropped on my plate all at once.”

  And you don’t know the half of it.

  She turned back to her gym bag, thinking that was it. But Chelsea kept talking.

  “I know how hard it is to get back into jumping after knee surgery. I went through it, too. Your PT clears you, but it still feels like, what if I can’t trust my body? And with all that pressure on you now…”

  Chelsea put a hand on her shoulder. Talia just stood there. Clearly, Chelsea thought Talia was distracted because she was worried over how her knee had healed after her last injury, when she’d been dancing in London for the summer.

  “It’s okay,” Talia said evasively. “I’ve just been doing a lot lately.”

  Namely, the massive, grouchy DEA agent I’m living with for reasons I can’t begin to explain.

  But Chelsea wasn’t done talking. She leaned in close.

  “This performance season is really important,” she whispered. “You heard Hal. Opening night has to be flawless.”

  “I’m pretty sure I know that,” Talia whispered back, getting annoyed.

  “I’m just saying.” Chelsea’s voice dropped even lower. “If you’re in pain and need a little help…” When Talia didn’t answer, Chelsea went on. “I can help you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Chelsea took her arm and steered her into one of the bathroom stalls.

  “Knee pain. Opening night jitters. I know what it’s like, Talia. We all need a little boost sometimes. Even Stacey. Don’t you think Stacey danced beautifully, before her mom got sick?”

  “Yeah,” Talia said carefully. “She did. I’d love to be able to dance lik
e that. So—” She took a deep breath, wondering if Chelsea could hear how loud her heart was thudding in her chest. “What kind of help are we talking?”

  She tried to keep her voice as casual as possible. Like they were talking about a new pair of pointe shoes, or how to wear their hair for a show. Like she was genuinely curious about buying what Chelsea had for sale. As opposed to curious so she could run straight to the DEA agent she was currently living with and tell him every detail.

  Not that she was going to rat out any of her colleagues. But she couldn’t help thinking about Reed’s case, the robbery, the people who’d died. How badly Reed wanted to make lieutenant. How there might be some way she could help.

  It was a good thing she’d kept the drama to herself about Stacey’s apartment and her unexpected midnight raid. Chelsea clearly had no idea, and Talia planned to keep it that way.

  “It’s nothing bad,” Chelsea said. “I have some pills I can get you, if you want. Try it once, see what you think. But it helps. Like if something hurts. Or you’re tired. It makes the rehearsals easier. It makes Hal’s voice not so—” She squinted like she had an excruciating headache.

  Talia made herself laugh.

  “Where do you get them?” She let her voice go breathy, like she was in awe.

  Chelsea gave a Cheshire Cat smile. “I know a guy.”

  Talia’s eyes widened. Enough time on stage meant she could act, even when the pressure was on.

  “It’s totally safe,” Chelsea reassured her. “Stacey knows him, too. You don’t have to worry about him getting knockoff shit, like stuff off the streets that could be filled with sawdust or whatever. You’re not paying for a placebo. This stuff’s legit.”

  I bet it is, Talia thought. Stolen straight from a pharmacy. She wanted to ask Chelsea how many people got shot so she could snort some Oxy up her nose, but she bit her tongue, working to keep her face as bland and sweet as possible.