by Sarina Bowen
He grins. “You’ve got it backward, honey. I give the orders.” He drops his hand, though. And then he grips the waistband of his boxers and pushes them off. And I’m staring down at naked Braht on a velvet settee and there isn’t enough willpower in the world to make me turn away from that.
“Don’t swallow your tongue there, honeybunch.” He tucks his hands behind his head. “First things first. Kneel down and kiss me.”
That’s easily done. I press a knee into the settee, lean over and kiss him right on the tip of his cock. I make it a nice wet one. With tongue. His clean, salty taste makes my face flush with desire.
“Ahhh!” he moans, and every gorgeous muscle in that six-pack gets tight. “Fuck, Ash. I meant on the lips.”
“Shoulda said so, then,” I giggle.
He laughs up at the ceiling. “You are such a handful. Get up here right now and give me your mouth. On mine,” he adds quickly.
I guess I’m really doing this.
Slowly I maneuver until I’m right over him, and I watch as his greedy eyes take in the sight of my hair sliding over my bare shoulders. My movements are super slow, because I love the impatient look in his eyes. No lie—glaciers have moved faster than I do as I lean down toward his mouth.
When our lips touch, he groans.
I deepen the kiss, and he opens for me. Waiting. He doesn’t jam his tongue in my mouth, but I think he wants to. I give him a few more light kisses before I can’t wait anymore. And then I taste him, and he groans again.
I’m starting to catch on. Neither one of us has quite as much power right now as we wish we did. I can’t do anything he hasn’t asked for, and his hands are practically vibrating to reach for me.
He doesn’t do it, though. He holds up his end of the bargain, and it’s beautiful.
This is way, way more fun than all the gardening we did earlier today.
“Stop,” he pants, and I withdraw my mouth immediately. “Now lose the panties.”
I stand up and hook my fingers in the elastic. Then I push one side down my hip.
“Faster,” he demands, his gaze like a laser on my body. “Drop them.”
They hit the floor.
He’s not done yet. “And the bra.”
I unhook it slowly, as if the task requires great concentration. Meanwhile, he pants like an overheated St. Bernard.
When I’m finally naked, he gives me an evil grin. “Touch your tits. Cup them in your hands.”
I slide my hands under my breasts and lift them. My breasts are heavy and full, the nipples super sensitive. Wowzers. I am seriously turned on. It’s odd putting myself on display, but his voice makes me want to.
I swear his eyes roll back in his head. And his voice is thick with lust when he praises me. “That’s more like it, honey bear.”
“Hey!” It hardly sounds like a protest, though, because I’m teasing my nipples as I speak. “We had a deal. I am not your honey bear.”
“Oh but you are. Touch your pussy now.”
Uh oh.
I hesitate, and he smiles. “Spread your legs a little. I want to watch. Now use two fingers. Touch yourself.”
Whew. Closing my eyes, I pass my fingers over my sensitive flesh just once. But I am embarrassingly wet for him. And when I open my eyes, he’s grinning at me. “That’s right. Now I want it. Bring those fingers here.”
My knees threaten to buckle as he opens his mouth. Holy moly. Braht is a filthy boy. I’m impressed. I’m even a little intimidated. But I won’t let it show. So I straighten my spine and pretend this is business as usual. No big deal. I’m just crossing the room like a badass to put two fingers into Braht’s mouth so he can taste me.
He watches me approach with hungry eyes. And then his naughty lips clamp down over my fingers and his tongue laves over me, hot and determined. He gives an eager moan, and a suck, and my body temperatures shoots up another ten degrees.
That tongue. I want it all over me.
Braht releases my fingers on a sigh. His hips shift with desire. “Damn it, woman. Dying here.” But his eyes are bright and happy, even if his dick is so stiff it looks painful. “Straddle me already.”
I don’t even hesitate. A moment later I toss a knee over him and sit up on his thighs. I reach for that impressive erection…
“Wait,” he rasps. “Did I say you could touch it?”
My fingers hover over the prize while he watches me through lust-darkened eyes. “Don’t disobey me, honey.”
My everything quivers with need.
“Take my hand,” he orders. I look at his hand where it’s lying still on the velvet. “Go on. Pick it up.”
I do this, and his skin is warm to the touch. I want this hand on my body.
“Use me to touch your breast.”
I raise his palm to my body and we both sigh as skin meets skin.
“That’s right,” he says gently. “So soft. I could touch you all night long. I could fuck you all night long. Can’t wait to be inside you.”
My pussy clenches and he chuckles. I should hate this—letting him see how much I want it. And I should hate him for denying me. But I don’t. I just close my eyes and sink into the sensation of his fingers on my tit. His thumb strokes over my nipple and goosebumps break out over my skin.
“My hand wants your pussy,” he rasps. “Touch yourself with me.”
All my hesitation is gone. I slide his long, smooth fingers down my body until the fingertips tickle my mound. He groans as I push his hand between my legs and then bear down, grinding shamelessly onto his palm.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Ride my hand. That’s so fucking beautiful.”
Let’s just say that I agree. And that I’m shameless as I pleasure myself. I don’t think about my swaying breasts or the way my hair is hanging down in sheets across my overheated skin. My pleasure builds, and I drop my hips a little lower, wanting more.
“You like?” he whispers. “I can’t hear you. Let it out, honey.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and so I let it out in one big whimpering gasp.
“What was that?” he asks, tilting his head as if to hear me better. “I asked if you liked it. You have to answer.”
“Yessss,” I hiss. I can feel the edges of my senses drawing together. I’m reaching for it, and tuning him out.
“Stop,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“Listen, Ash. Stop moving.”
That bossy voice penetrates my consciousness. Barely. But I bite my lip and stop. And that’s when the first glimmer of humiliation arrives. My face heats. I don’t look at him. I can’t believe I’ve been shamelessly… Gah.
“Shh shh shh,” he whispers. “It’s only a temporary cease and desist. Grab a condom, sweetie.”
Oh. That sounds like a terrific idea. Except, maybe we don’t need one. “Do I have to?” I actually whine. “I mean…my birth control is bulletproof. And you’re the most fastidious human I ever met, so unless there’s a reason you need to be extra careful…”
He grins. “In that case, get on my dick. I want your tits in my hands, and I want you to lower yourself down on me and fuck me.”
I have never obeyed an order so quickly in my life. Two seconds later I’m filling myself with him and attaching his hands to my breasts. Then I pause for a moment and look down into his gorgeous face.
“Wow,” he says. “This is fantasy stuff right here. You’re the sexiest thing on two long legs. And I can’t get enough of you.” His words aren’t manipulative. They’re simply grateful.
I’m in so much trouble here. I know this. But at the moment I don’t have enough brain cells to worry about it. When I begin to move, he takes a deep, hungry breath. And then another. His ripped chest flexes beneath me.
“Touch me,” he orders as I stare. And my hands are hungry for him. “That’s my girl,” he pants, and I light up with praise. “Now get down here and kiss me.”
Yum. Another order followed without objection.
/> “Now say my name,” he whispers against my lips.
I kiss him again, and then the word falls from my lips. “Sebastian,” I whisper against his mouth, and I like the sound of it.
He moans, because he likes the sound of it, too.
I stop thinking then because I don’t need to right now. All I need to do is be in this moment, with him, kissing and loving what he does to my body, how he plays me like a grand piano, how we’re suddenly breathing and moving in unison. Nobody is in charge anymore. There’s no ordering and no obeying. And there’s no room for worry or even thoughts.
There’s only room for what is.
Us.
16 Dweeb
Braht
I wake up to an empty bed and I panic. Seriously, I do. Ash is gone. I experience thirty seconds of intense displeasure before I realize…is that the scent of bacon floating toward me? And coffee? It is! Bacon and coffee!
Floating!
I get up and stumble into my boxers, following the scent, my semi-hard braht pointing the way, straight into the kitchen. And yes-there-is-a-Santa-Claus because Ash is there, wearing one of my dress shirts, buttoned only once, and she’s naked underneath. I know it. I could just slide my hands up her legs and check, though. She turns to me, spatula in hand, and says, “I’m pretty sure I burned everything. I mean, I’m fairly certain eggs aren’t supposed to have black parts on them, are they?”
To answer her, I just walk right up to her, wrap my arms around her and kiss her, bacon sizzling and coffee percolating around us. And yes. Burnt eggs. “Well, good morning,” she says.
“Yes, it is.”
It’s a very good morning. I sorta want to high-five her and dance around the kitchen to the tune of “We totally had amazing sex last night!”
But I do have my pride.
“Hand that over,” I say instead. She hands off the spatula. “I’ve got this.”
Burnt eggs slide into the disposal, and then I’m whipping up new ones. A three-minute omelet, bacon, coffee, and a naked-under-that-shirt Ash…what more could a man ask for?
I could ask for waking up like this every day for the rest of my life, but I’m pacing myself. I don’t want to scare her off.
“How’s your heart this morning?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“Your heart. Or, what’s the reading on your anxiety meter? How you feeling?” I’m referring to the possible stalker camera. And, hey, it’s okay with me if she also wants to admit that she’s head over heels in love with me so we can elope to some warm Italian honeymoon where we’ll shop for handmade shoes and eat pasta.
“I’m feeling…” She considers. I swear to God a sunbeam streams in from the window and highlights her flaxen hair. I’ve never used the word flaxen before, but it’s the right word. She’s fucking flaxen. And that semi-hard-on is now fully engaged. “I’m feeling good,” she says. And then she smiles. This is the Ash I’ve been waiting for, the one that I saw glimpses of the first time I laid eyes on her. She’s a piece of art.
And I am gone gone gone.
“Give me two more minutes,” I say to focus on the omelet. She pours the coffee, grabs two plates and the bacon, and sits at the counter. In another minute, I’ve added in some goat cheese and chives to the eggs, turned them over so they’re fluffy and beautiful, then I cut the omelet in half and slide it onto our plates.
“A girl could get used to this,” she says.
“Okay,” I say. She laughs, but I’m a hundred percent serious. “So, what’s the plan?”
“The plan?” She takes a bite of the omelet and I just watch her reaction. It’s melting in her mouth and a happy groan escapes her lips. “Ohmygod,” she says. “You’re amazing in bed and you can cook!”
“I also have good hygiene,” the salesman in me adds.
She nods. “That you do. What do you mean by ‘plan’?”
“Well, the creepy dude. Your ex? Dweeb or something?”
“Dwight,” she says with a grimace. “I don’t like to say his name.”
“Hmm. I think you should. You’re giving him power that way by staying scared of him. Name him. Say it. Dweeb. Dweeeeeeeeeeeeb.”
A little laugh at that. “Okay. Dweeb.”
“You can’t live in fear of him, honey bear.”
“I’m not your…” Her eyes widen as she remembers the fun we had last night. Then she blushes all the way down into the open collar of my shirt.
My dick does a happy dance in my boxers, and I have to change the subject or we’re going to have to cook breakfast a third time because I’m going to push all the plates off the table and fuck her right here.
Whew.
Once I have myself back under control, I turn back to the important matter at hand. “Listen, we’ve got to figure out what he wants.”
“What does it matter? I’m not letting him near me.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t let that happen. But getting rid of him will be easier if we can figure out why he’s pestering you.”
“Because he’s a creep?” She cringes. “I testified against him. He’s angry. Whatever he wants, it isn’t good.”
“Mmm,” I say, unconvinced. I take a thoughtful sip of my coffee. The problem with Ash’s logic is that men are simple creatures. We are goals-based thinkers. Want beer. Find beer. Drink beer, etc.
If that man is following Ash it’s because he wants something concrete.
“He’s been in prison for years, right? He probably has a probation officer he’s eager to placate.” Not for nothing have I been a TV addict my whole life. “Hounding you won’t help his case. So I think there must be a reason he’s doing it. Do you have any of his stuff?”
“God, no. I gave it all to the church sale. It was just clothes and classic rock CDs.”
“You ended the marriage.”
She nods. “I got an annulment. And—get this—I tried to sell the ring. He bankrupted me, too, when the feds seized our joint account. But the diamond he gave me? It was…” She blinks back tears. “It’s really hard for a fashion addict like me to admit I was duped.”
Oh, God. No! “A cubic zirconia?”
She nods, looking pained. “I was such a babe in the woods. It’s embarrassing.”
“You are still a babe,” I point out. “A total babe.” But I feel her pain. There’s nothing wrong with a man buying the kind of ring he can afford. But to pretend he’s giving her something valuable? “He wasn’t a man, Ash. I can guarantee he coughed up his man card the first time he ever lied to you.”
She puts her fork down on the plate. “Can we talk about someone else’s stupidities, now? I threw the ring in the river and borrowed money from my parents instead. That’s how I got my residential real estate license.”
“Ah, parents. At least you’ve got a pair of those.”
She looks sheepish. “Yeah. You’re right. It could always be worse.”
“You’re not alone in this, okay? You’ve got me, and your besties. And Tom and even Bramly. Your parents. Heck, I’ll bet you can even count on our little thriller writer. I bet she’s fierce in a rumble. I can see her with nunchucks.”
The smile returns to her face. “And a skintight bodysuit. I can see it, too. She could take out Dwi…Dweeb.” Her smile gets stronger.
“That’s the spirit. Now finish your coffee. We have a house to sell. And if you think of anything Dweeb might want from you, don’t hold back, okay? He’ll be easier to deter if we know what he thinks he can gain.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “Back to gardening, huh?”
“Nope,” I say. “I’m calling in a landscaping company so we can work on our listing.” And so that I don’t turn into a grump monster in front of Ash again. “They’ll have that yard under control by the end of the day. So dress appropriately for the office. But not too appropriately. We can reward ourselves with a quickie during lunch.”
Her face takes on a dreamy expression, and I feel like I’ve won the fucking lottery.
17
I’m Right Here
Ash
When it’s time to get ready for work, we realize there’s a problem. When two people care equally about their appearance, not even a luxury-sized master bath is large enough.
There is a tussle over the shower. Braht wants at least a half hour in there to open his pores; I need the same amount of time to shave so I don’t turn into a sasquatch.
We are forced to compromise; I get the shower, he sits on a fancy towel and practices his mindfulness techniques while the moisture in the air does its magic.
Then there’s some playful and mutual groping, some teeth brushing, and a quickie against the wall.
Who knew Braht had such a thing for me in a pencil skirt and heels?
We take separate cars and routes to the office. And as soon as I step over the threshold of VanderMollen, there are no more thoughts of Braht touching me, or of nakedness in his bathroom. Nope. Not at all. I am the mistress of my domain and when I show up at work I am one hundred percent in The Fucking Emperor Of Selling Houses mode.
Emperor. Empress? Whatever. I’m the Emper.
A quick check of the whiteboard confirms my worst fears—whoever sells the mystery writer’s house, me or Braht, will take the lead in securing the annual bonus. Even though I wrote a memo to management protesting this unfairness, they’ve still lumped all of Braht’s current year production on the books for this branch.
For two seconds I consider cutting him off—withholding sex until I win the bonus.
However.
This snafu isn’t actually Braht’s fault. Moving branch offices wasn’t even his idea. Besides, cutting him off would also harm me. Because goddamn it, he’s a fucking sex god in pastel.
Since I took the circuitous route to the office (a girl needs her Starbucks), I’ve arrived a few minutes after Braht. Naturally I discover a pair of scissors spread eagle on my desk. And the stapler is performing…
