Drive Me Wild

by Melanie Harlow

  “Where the fuck did you learn that?”

  I smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Boarding school.”

  “There were boys at your boarding school?”

  “Hell, no.” I positioned myself above him, and slowly slid down the length of his cock. “But you’d be surprised how dirty a group of seventeen-year-old girls stuck in a dorm with some smuggled condoms and a bunch of bananas can get. And then there were all the fantasies I cooked up when I was alone in bed at night.”

  He grabbed my ass as his cock twitched inside me. “Tell me.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” I teased in a campy Southern belle accent. I covered my breasts with my hands—added bonus, it made them look bigger and perkier—and went on, “I’m actually quite shy. I mostly just spend all my time alone in my room. But I’ve seen you in town at the service station, and I just love the way you”—I leaned forward here for effect, making my voice more breathy—“pump your gasoline.”

  “Yeah?” Beneath me, his hips began to flex.

  “Yes. It does something to me, watching your hands at work.” I piled my hair on the top of my head, circling my hips in a sinuous motion. “I dream about having those hands on me.”

  Griffin slid his palms up my sides and over my breasts, his breath coming hard and fast. Then he slid one hand down my stomach and used his thumb on my clit.

  “Yes, just like that,” I breathed. “And I admit I’ve stared at you like a good girl shouldn’t. I’ve wondered about your body beneath your clothes. I imagined what it would be like to undress in front of you. Where it might lead.”

  Griffin’s breathing had become even more labored, his cock even thicker inside me. His thumb moved over my clit with quick, insistent strokes, making my entire body radiate with desire.

  “Then I snuck into your bedroom tonight,” I whispered. “I know it was wrong of me, I know I’ll be punished, but when I saw you sleeping there naked, something just came over me. I had to have you.” I placed my hands on his chest, playing with his nipples again, plucking at them, running my fingers over the ink on his skin, sliding my palms over his rippling abs. “Your body makes me swoon. All those muscles and tattoos, the way you move. And this”—I stopped, clenching my core muscles around him—“this. I took one look at your big, hard cock and knew I had to have it. I had to feel it. I had to make you come inside me, or else I’d go crazy.”

  “Fuck,” he growled.

  I knew he was close. I was too.

  Time for the finale.

  I moved my hands to my breasts, caressing them sensuously. “And I’ll confess something else—something so wicked I don’t even want to say it out loud—but sometimes I touch myself, and I pretend it’s you. Just like you’re touching me now. And something happens inside me, and it feels so good I never want it to stop, and I beg you to fuck me—harder, yes, yes, yes, like that”—as Griffin began to rock his hips more violently beneath mine, I fell forward, my hands braced on the headboard—“I beg you not to stop because I want to come all over your cock, and then you—”

  But that’s as far as I got before Griffin’s climax hit and he erupted inside me, groaning long and hard as his cock surged again and again. It set off fireworks in me, and I rode out another earth-shattering orgasm, crying out with every impossibly blissful swell and sighing as the last, rapturous pulses subsided.

  When my senses returned, I was still astride him, my chest flat against his, my face buried in his neck. I inhaled his scent, dizzy with it.

  Griffin was silent and still but for the motion of his chest as he breathed. I thought he might have fallen asleep, but then I felt his hands begin to stroke my back.

  “You’re still awake,” I whispered.

  “Barely.”

  “How was the show?”

  “Best I’ve ever seen.”

  I smiled. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Do you do encore performances?”

  “Already?” I asked, the shock evident in my voice.

  He chuckled. “No. I need an intermission.”

  “Good. My contract says I get a nap between performances.” Dropping a kiss on his collarbone, I peeled myself off him and rolled to the other side of the bed.

  He kissed my shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too. I’ll get you some water.”

  “Thanks.”

  He went into the bathroom, and when he came out and headed for the kitchen, I slipped out of bed and used the bathroom too. When I came out, he was already beneath the covers. “Here,” he said, grabbing one of two bottles of water on his nightstand and offering one to me.

  “Thanks.” Kneeling on the mattress, I took the cold bottle of water from him, uncapped it, and downed the entire thing.

  “You were thirsty,” he said, taking the empty bottle. “Must have been all that talking.”

  “Admit it.” I poked his shoulder. “This was one occasion where you actually wanted me to keep talking.”

  “Okay, fine. I admit it. That was the best bedtime story I have ever had.”

  “Good.” Although I wanted to snuggle up, I slipped between the sheets, rolled over and faced away from him, remembering that he wasn’t one to cuddle.

  Which is why it surprised me when I felt him press against my back, nestling the curve of my spine against his body. “I want another one tomorrow night.”

  I smiled in the dark. “Is that allowed?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Don’t you have a rule against it or something?”

  “Normally, yes. But nothing about this situation is normal.”

  “True. What about our deal?”

  “What deal?”

  “The deal we made saying this thing with us ends tonight since tomorrow you’ll officially be my boss.”

  “Hmm. Well, breaking a deal isn’t like breaking a promise, right? I mean, if both parties agree to . . . renegotiate the terms, I think it’s fair.”

  “I think so too.”

  “So we agree.”

  “We agree.”

  He wrapped a hand around one breast and kissed my shoulder again. “Renegotiations start at the end of the workday tomorrow.” He paused. “Assuming I can wait that long.”

  I laughed. “I’ll try not to tempt you.”

  “That’s the problem, princess,” he said. “You tempt me without even trying.”

  For once, I had no desire to keep a conversation going. I drifted off to sleep with his arms around me, his words even better than a dream.

  Nine

  Griffin

  When I woke up, she was gone.

  For a moment, I’d forgotten she was ever there, but one deep breath and I could still smell her shampoo or soap or whatever that sweet, mouth-watering scent was clinging to the sheets.

  Shamelessly I buried my face in her pillow and allowed myself one more long, slow inhale. Fucking delicious. Then I lay back for a minute, hands behind my head, contemplating everything that had happened.

  I’d definitely broken some rules.

  And, if memory served, I’d asked Blair for a repeat performance.

  How worried did I need to be that any of those broken rules would come back to haunt me? Despite the fact that we’d spent the last thirty-six hours together, how well did I really know her? How well could you know anyone after only a day and a half, even if you’d spent some of those hours naked?

  But damn, those hours had been good. Better than good. Fucking incredible. She’d surprised me, and very few people did. On the outside, she was all sweetness and light. Politeness and polish. But get her alone in the dark and she was eager and aggressive, loud and feisty. And if I occasionally got annoyed with how much she could talk during the day, I fucking loved it in bed.

  I’d stayed fairly quiet, even though filthy things had been on the tip of my tongue the entire time. I still wasn’t sure how dirty or rough she liked it, so I’d pretty much let her set
the tone and followed her lead.

  Maybe tonight I’d push the boundaries a little farther.

  My dick, already growing hard from the scent of her lingering on the bedding, shot to full mast. Groaning, I flipped the sheets aside and got out of bed.

  Work before play—that was a rule I could not afford to break.

  “What’s this?” I found her in the kitchen hunting through the upper cupboards, wearing her Snoopy T-shirt and purple panties. I could tell they were purple because every time she reached up and opened another door, they peeked out from beneath the hem of the shirt.

  “I’m checking for baking supplies.”

  “Pretty sure I have none.”

  “Is there a market open early? I’d love to make something to serve in the lobby today.”

  “There’s one on Maple that opens early, I think.”

  “I also made coffee—hope that’s okay. And I fed the cat. I think she likes the sun coming in over by the front windows. She’s curled up over there on the floor.” Blair set a mixing bowl I didn’t even realize I owned on the counter before turning to face me. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” I smiled. She chirped like a robin even at six a.m., but I liked the way she looked, barefoot and messy-haired. “I’m not used to seeing someone else in my kitchen.”

  She looked a little guilty. “I’m an early bird. And I like to get to work.”

  “It’s fine. I do too.”

  She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “You’re dressed already.”

  “Yeah. I have to knock off early on Thursdays because it’s game night, so I go in early too.”

  “Game night for your baseball team?” She leaned back against the counter.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I come watch?”

  “Uh, sure. Game’s at seven.” It was hard not to stare at her bare legs and recall the way she’d straddled me last night. Already I felt another erection coming on. It hadn’t been easy to get rid of the first one five minutes ago, so I figured I’d better get out of here fast. “I should go.”

  “Don’t you want coffee?”

  “I’ll make some downstairs.”

  “You’re out down there, remember?”

  “Oh yeah.” I frowned. “Maybe you could order some today? My mother always kept us supplied, but I’m not sure where she got it.”

  “I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, I’ll pick some up from the market this morning.”

  “Thanks. Save the receipt and I’ll pay you back.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I’m not worried.”

  “Okay.” I hesitated, not sure what I was supposed to do here. Did I kiss her goodbye? Toss her a wave as I headed for the stairs? Thank her for last night? Usually I made this kind of post-sex exit under the cover of darkness. This felt really different.

  While I stood there debating, Blair set her mug down and walked over to me, brushed some dust off the shoulders of my navy work shirt, and fussed with one of the buttons. “Have a good day at the office, dear.” Then she kissed my cheek and leaned back. “Is that what you were waiting for?”

  I scowled at her, grumbling under my breath and I turned and took the stairs down. I could still hear her laughing as I went out the door.

  I spent a blissful two and a half hours by myself, save for the two minutes Blair came down with a cup of coffee for me and asked for directions to the Maple Street Market, which she’d verified opened at eight.

  “So when I walk out of here, I’d go left on Main, right on Maple, and then down a few blocks?” she asked, staring at the map on her phone.

  “Right.”

  She looked up and squared her shoulders. “Cross your fingers for me. With any luck, I’ll be at the desk with fresh coffee and scones by ten a.m. If not, come looking for me. I took a wrong turn.”

  “Will do.” I watched her walk out as I took a sip of the hot black coffee she’d brought me. She wore another short dress today, this one was light blue with white flowers on it. It had some kind of little bow thing that tied at her chest, and while she’d been standing here, part of me had been tempted to take one end between my teeth and undo it. Shaking my head, I set the coffee cup down next to the computer and got back to work.

  That girl could distract me like nobody’s business—which is why I stayed in the service bay where I belonged even after she poked her head in and let me know she was at the desk with fresh coffee and homemade scones.

  McIntyre came in shortly afterward, his expression sulky and his mood sour.

  “Emily still mad about the shower thing?” I asked.

  “Nope, something totally different. You might be right about this forever thing,” he groused. “Is it too late to back out?”

  I laughed, saying no more as I continued working on an older Honda whose owner had let her idiot boyfriend swap the original four-cylinder engine for a V6. He’d asked my advice on it while the car was in for a turn signal problem—he was the kind of asshole who wanted to stand there and watch me work, because he knew everything about cars—and I’d told him it could be done, technically, but should not be done by anyone who wasn’t a certified mechanic because it would require so many modifications.

  But did he do it anyway? Of course he did.

  And now it was on me to try to clean up the fucking mess he’d made. It was a tedious, expensive job, the kind of thing that normally would put me in a pissy mood. But today, my mood was just fine.

  “Are you whistling?” McIntyre asked around noon.

  “What? No.”

  “Yes, you were. I heard it. What happened, you get laid or something?”

  “Fuck off.” But I was glad he couldn’t see my face.

  “You did. I know you.”

  “What? Griffin got laid?” Handme came strolling over, wiping his hands on a blue shop towel. “Was it the new receptionist?”

  “Will you guys stop? It’s none of your fucking business whether I got laid or not.”

  “But you did, didn’t you?” McIntyre’s grin was all-knowing. “Where’d she sleep last night, Dempsey?”

  I clenched my jaw and turned back to the Honda.

  He burst out laughing. “Yeah, I heard all about how you rescued her from sleeping in her car from Emily. You left out that part of the story yesterday when you told me she was just passing through town.”

  Fucking Cheyenne. She and Emily were best friends, so no doubt my sister had gone blabbing the moment I’d left the house yesterday.

  “So does this mean she’s here to stay?”

  “No,” I snapped. “It means my sister cannot keep her mouth shut to save her life, and it’s impossible to keep anything private around here.”

  “If I were you, I’d keep her around,” said Handme. “Did you taste one of those things she brought in this morning? She only let me have one because she said they were for customers, but it was really good. And the lobby smells like a bakery.”

  McIntyre was already heading for the door to the waiting room when I called after him. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I just want to sniff the lobby, that’s all,” he said.

  I knew what he wanted to sniff out—some gossip—so I followed him, grabbing a towel on my way out. Handme was quick on my heels.

  In the lobby, Blair stood beaming behind the desk chatting with old man Dodson, who was eating something. I smelled fresh coffee and something sweet, and she’d propped the front door open, letting in a summer breeze as well as the sunshine.

  She waved us in. “Hey, guys. Come try the scones. Mr. Dodson here came in just to taste one. He heard about them already.”

  “Really?” I asked, moving deeper into the room. My hands weren’t clean, so I refrained from taking a scone off the tray—had that been in my apartment?—but I had to admit they looked delicious. Golden and fluffy and dripping with some sort of glaze that caused my mind to wander toward inappropriate territory.

  “I sure did.” Mr. Dodson fin
ished his scone and brushed off his hands. “I just saw Charlie Frankel at the diner and he said he’d been in here earlier this morning and had the most amazing pastry. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but he said he hadn’t tasted anything so good in years.”

  Blair smiled at me and said, “Mr. Frankel came in to make an appointment for a tune-up, and I offered him a scone. Apparently he liked it.”

  “I’ll say he did. He showed up at the diner raving about it, told everyone it was the best thing he’s tasted since Betty’s apple pie.”

  “At least three other people came in to say hello and taste one after overhearing Mr. Frankel at the diner,” Blair said proudly.

  “Did they make an appointment?” I asked.

  “No,” she admitted. “But they all introduced themselves and said nice things about your dad. A couple said they’d be back soon.”

  “Frankel will probably be back every morning,” Mr. Dodson said. “I think he’s in love with your wife.”

  I sighed heavily, my eyes closing. “She’s not my wife.”

  “I also took their names and email addresses down for our new mailing list,” Blair continued. “I said I wanted to be sure they got an invitation to our party.”

  “What party?” Handme wanted to know.

  “Is it a wedding reception?” joked McIntyre.

  “No. We’ll talk about it later,” I told them, eyeing the tray again. I wasn’t even sure what a scone was. “So what’s in these things anyway?”

  “They’re blueberry-lemon-thyme,” Blair said. “I call it a BLT.” She grinned triumphantly. “Try one. I made plenty.”

  “I can’t. My hands are filthy.”

  “Here.” She picked one up and held it to my lips. I took a bite, conscious of the way everyone in the room was watching us.

  But as I tasted her creation, I had to admit I understood why widowed old Charlie Frankel might be back every morning. “Wow. It is good. I thought it would be sweet like a donut.”

  She shook her head and smiled proudly. “My favorite things are both sweet and savory. I love the way the thyme and lemon balance the sugar and fruit. Here, have another bite.” She held the scone to my mouth again, and I bit into it once more. As the sugary glaze dissolved on my tongue, I wondered if that’s what she would taste like. Why hadn’t I tasted her last night? I made a mental note to rectify that as soon as possible.