by Rosie Danan
When he brushed his hand over her knee, she swore she’d go mad. Sometime in the last five minutes, all of her nerve endings had multiplied.
It felt like a punishment, though not like any one she’d ever earned, when he circled her ankle with his fingers and brought it to his mouth to suck on the thin, tender flesh he found there.
Familiar doubts and fears began to play across her mind: this was taking too long. He was going to get tired. Or bored.
Josh seemed to notice her mind drifting because he applied a particularly sharp bite to her calf. The acute press of his teeth, mingling pleasure and pain, made her gasp. Her entire lower body tingled, begging her to remove her own hand from its death grip on the sofa and provide the relief he continued to deny her.
Clara swallowed a choked breath.
“Wheaton,” Josh said, lightly. “This only works if you relax. Erase the finish line, okay? I don’t have any expectations for you to meet.”
He moved to lick a fiery stripe across her hip.
“I don’t care if this takes hours.”
Hours?
“I’ve got nowhere to be.”
The timbre of his voice alone was making her sweat at this point.
“I’m going to make you feel good until you tell me you’re ready to stop.”
Clara could feel his words between her legs. Each syllable pulsed, filling her with eager emotions that she couldn’t separate, couldn’t name. They blended together into a single insistent need.
Josh pushed the heel of his hand against her sex and sparks exploded behind her eyelids. Clara made a very unladylike sound. To think, a minute ago she’d thought his teeth on her ankle felt good.
Josh ran both thumbs up and down the damp seam of her sex before bracing one hand on her leg and using the other to slowly circle her clit.
With each caress, he inspired a sharper, deeper hunger until she found herself keening, as he worked her over without mercy. It was a cruel twist of fate that for twenty-seven years she’d settled for a pale imitation of the pleasure Josh wrought as he laid siege to her senses.
To act this way with a veritable stranger, right out here in the living room, without a carefully curated playlist of R&B slow jams, the casual carnality had her drunk on rebellion. At this point, she’d take anything Josh gave her and beg for more.
He played her body like a golden fiddle, ruthless in his quest to prove that he could make her come, fully clothed, barely skimming the surface of his amorous arsenal. That edge, the spike of superiority in him, as he bent her to his will made everything a little bit hotter. She couldn’t pull enough oxygen into her lungs. Clara didn’t understand—couldn’t even follow—his movements as they blurred together into a single heavy throb in her pussy.
For as varied as his touches had been earlier, they were constant, unflinching now. Clara knew she had soaked through her panties at this point. She didn’t care. Somewhere along the line, Josh had stripped her of every ounce of shame and replaced it with raw desire.
She hovered on the precipice of orgasm, her body so sensitized that every moment, every movement, almost but not quite sent her over the edge. The louder she got, the firmer Josh made his strokes, but it was never enough.
Still, even as the minutes continued to tick by, Josh never rushed her along to “get to the good part.” He never tried to take advantage of her compromised state to barter for services-in-kind. Everything he did, he did for her to enjoy, to savor, until she couldn’t survive another second on the edge.
“Please,” Clara choked out.
Josh slowed the motions of his hand. “What do you need?”
They both knew the answer, but saying it out loud? She shook her head.
The bastard took his hand away entirely. All that pleasure—just paused.
Clara opened her eyes to find Josh leaning back on his heels. He would have looked ready to discuss the evening news, if not for his dilated pupils and the strain beneath his belt.
“I want to come, you ass,” she said slowly through her teeth.
Josh smiled. “Oh. Do you? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Clara groaned in frustration and closed her eyes again, blocking out his stupid, smug face. She tried to picture Everett. Hoping that a familiar fantasy carved into the grooves of her brain would do the job. She imagined running her hands through dark hair, Everett’s eyes tracing her mouth. But for some reason, the images barely elicited a flutter in her belly.
Tears of frustration formed at the corners of her eyes as Josh’s voice racked over her frenzied flesh. “Open your eyes again and I’ll give you what you want.”
Against her better judgment, she complied.
His easy swagger had faded. There was nothing but conviction and a hint of possession on his face now. She’d never realized that eye contact could cause hyperventilation.
This interaction might be all about her body, her pleasure, but here was Josh’s consolation. Clara could never deny the identity of the man who made her whimper. She would know exactly who brought her over the edge.
“Wild looks good on you,” Josh said, and this time when he put his hands on her he didn’t hold back. The difference in tempo and technique was staggering. He’d been playing with her before. Pulling his punches. And it was obvious why. No one, especially a novice like her, could last against an onslaught of pleasure like this. Clara had no power in that moment, not even an ounce of the control that she considered her constant companion. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing but the way he let her fall apart. All the tension evaporated from her limbs as she shook in his arms.
After a few moments, as the sensations slowly began to fade, Josh cleared his throat and eased her thighs closed. But the passion in his touch was gone. His face had turned impassive, more like a man shutting the trunk of his car than a lover drawing out aftershocks.
“Well, that’s done then.”
Clara tried to gather her bearings. Right. Josh. Orgasm. Her and Josh. Orgasm. She’d . . . Oh dear.
“I’m sorry,” she said automatically as she wiped her hand across her forehead, brushing hair that probably resembled a tumbleweed.
Josh stood up.
Clara’s eyes found the bulge in his pants like a heat-guided missile.
Wow. Okay. So he’d suffered an involuntary response. To pheromones. That was fine. Casual. Nothing to get worked up over . . . again.
“Don’t worry about it, Wheaton. There’s no need to be embarrassed. Think of it this way, this will make a great story when you go back to Connecticut. You can dine out on your ‘The Time a Porn Star Made Me Come’ story for at least a year. Hell, considering the circles you run in, maybe for the rest of your life.”
Clara flinched. How sad did he think she was? Had she really gone through that earth-shattering situation alone? She admittedly didn’t share his wealth of experience, but Clara had thought maybe that had been something extraordinary.
He picked up his bag and held it in front of his body.
Idiot. How could she think that a little rubbing over her underwear would even register on Josh’s sexual radar? His mind and body were understandably at war.
Hadn’t she watched him with the redhead? He routinely went all the way with incredible-looking women.
Josh could probably have chemistry with a ficus.
“Right.” Clara pulled at a loose thread on the sofa. “I suppose for you that was just like work?”
Part of her wanted him to argue. To tell her she was special.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Josh backed toward his room. “At work, I get paid.”
Her shame turned into a living, breathing thing panting against her neck.
Clara had assumed she’d reached peak embarrassment the day Everett left her on his doorstep with a one-armed hug. She saw now that she’d made a mistake.
&n
bsp; She could withstand an inelegant dismissal. Could weather a few weeks of unemployment. She could clean a year’s worth of dirty dishes in forty-eight hours. But she knew, from the roots of her hair to the depths of her soul, she couldn’t stay in this house with the knowledge that she’d gotten a pity fumble from her roommate.
chapter nine
NOTHING SAYS APOLOGY like caffeine and carbohydrates. At least, that was what Josh had learned over the course of his lifetime.
So when he couldn’t sleep he’d gotten out of bed and driven across town to the best bakery he knew. At the ungodly hour of eight in the morning, the roads were filled with commuters, but he couldn’t risk bringing Clara overcooked croissants or a burnt muffin from some run-of-the-mill gas station or national chain coffee shop. Based on her reaction last night, he’d be lucky if, presented with the best babka in L.A., she ever spoke to him again.
Josh knew, almost the second the words left his mouth the night before, that he’d taken the wrong approach in the moments after he’d made Clara come. But in all fairness, the experience had thrown him for a total loop. He’d expected a small thrill at the novelty of a new woman. Maybe a surge of competitive spirit at the chance to pull a passionate response from a pearl-clutcher like Clara. Not a spike of lust so powerful it made him dizzy.
He got paid on the regular to do stuff way sexier than a little over-the-clothes fumbling on his own sofa. Cotton panties shouldn’t do it for him. He shouldn’t savor the smoothness of Clara’s skin or the way she hummed slightly when she liked a particular move.
Josh had gotten women off with his hands thousands of times, but he hadn’t relied on heavy petting alone since high school, when he’d downgraded it from the main course to an appetizer.
He should have been safe, but something about Clara, about the noises she made, or the way she moved, or the wicked combination, threatened to pull him under her spell. Because when he’d watched her, squirming against his hand, panting, his skin had grown too tight for his body. Especially the moment when she said please. She hadn’t looked like a buttoned-up blue blood then. She’d looked greedy. He couldn’t think of another, more delicate, word to describe it. Her hair mussed. Full lips parted and wet from where she kept running her tongue across them. His dick liked it all. The whole naughty picture. Apparently, he had a good-girl fetish he’d never discovered before.
He’d gazed at her like some green teenager, his eyes so ravenous for her pleasure he must have scared her. Because as awareness returned to her body, she’d gone totally silent. Josh felt that quiet like a bucket of cold water over his head. He’d almost ruined everything. He’d promised Clara a professional and acted like an amateur.
He’d failed. At the one thing he was supposed to be good at.
Josh entered the bakery, opening the door to a cloud of air that hung heavy with the scent of sugar and butter and fruit pretending to add nutrients to devilish confections. He recognized the guy behind the counter from previous trips.
“Hey, Frankie. What’s the special today?”
“Banana cream pie and fig tartlets.” He pulled out a couple of trays from the display.
Josh shook his head. Neither of those treats sounded like his new roommate. He didn’t know her yet, but he found to his surprise that he wanted to. There was something about her that intrigued him. That challenged his preconceptions about a rich girl from Connecticut.
The way she’d fidgeted last night when she admitted that her previous partners had left her to her own devices made his blood boil. He’d become determined to give her everything those other guys couldn’t, or worse, wouldn’t. Offering to help her out had felt more like a religious calling than a job. So despite the sirens ringing in his ears, he’d stepped up to the plate, telling himself the gesture was basically a public service.
Enter his massive erection.
Josh had gritted his teeth through the unexpected pleasure, and it had almost worked. But as she got closer and closer to falling apart, as the walls she built against the world turned to rubble, he’d forgotten his pledge to let her escape into a boilerplate fantasy.
Afterward, Josh had watched, transfixed, as she came back to earth. As her eyes cleared and her breath slowly evened out. He’d drunk his fill of her rosy cheeks and pink lips until he remembered that this moment didn’t belong to him. Clara’s postorgasm glow, bright as any star, wasn’t his to savor.
Neither of them could afford to forget that he wasn’t some average joe, free to fall for her. No. Josh Darling was a second-rate adult performer who would probably fade into obscurity by this time next year.
He couldn’t give Clara any of the things that she probably expected after sharing an intimate moment with someone: comfort, security, romance. Out of the question. Off the table. Better to head off the discussion.
His contract left him with a huge mess on his hands. He couldn’t even begin to untangle his relationships with Bennie and Naomi. The last thing he needed was Clara Wheaton asking him to go steady.
So he’d cut to the chase. Let her know that their experience had expired as quickly as it had begun.
“What would you recommend for a woman scorned?”
Frankie didn’t miss a beat. “Lemon scones.”
“Are you saying that because scone sounds kind of like scorn?”
“Absolutely.”
While he couldn’t fault Frankie’s logic, Josh needed more. Despite his best efforts to shake off Clara’s final wounded look, he’d tossed and turned for hours last night while one thought chewed on the corner of his brain. What if he woke up to find her gone?
He’d finally bit the bullet and checked the bathroom. Only seeing her toothbrush next to his by the sink had eased his fears.
There was the kicker. Josh didn’t want Clara to leave. Even if it meant he could have the house to himself. That he could walk around naked eating peanut butter out of the jar and blasting the Ramones until the cows came home.
“What about those chocolate croissants? Women like chocolate, right?”
“Excellent choice.” Frankie packaged a few pastries for him in a pink box. “And if you’re really concerned about the lady’s reaction, might I suggest adding an éclair or two?”
Josh didn’t like Clara’s rules. They’d turned his life into one big game of Operation. If he forgot to use a coaster or left the milk on the counter instead of putting it away immediately after use, he’d kill his imaginary patient.
She already hated him. At this rate, he’d be lucky to keep her on Danvers Street for the rest of the week. “You know what, you better give me the whole tray.”
chapter ten
EVERETT BLOOM BE damned. The sooner Clara got out of this town the better.
The unrelenting crush of traffic mocked her through the window of the car she’d called to take her to Jill’s office. She never thought she would miss the subway. She pulled up a map on her phone. Just a few more miles. After barging back into her aunt’s life after so long, Clara couldn’t stomach leaving without saying good-bye.
Josh had been gone before she woke up that morning, saving her the torture of having to face him in the harsh light of day. He wouldn’t understand why what had happened between them last night made her so embarrassed.
For the second time this week, following her gut instead of her head had landed her in a scandalous situation. Josh would never imagine that she couldn’t sleep because her body didn’t know how to come down from the most intense sexual experience of her life.
It was almost ten in the morning. He had probably done things ten times dirtier to women ten times hotter than her by now.
Fresh-cut flowers, bright topaz curtains, and an ancient floral rug softened the harsh industrial lines of the offices of Wheaton + Partners Public Relations. When Clara knocked on the door of Jill’s office, she looked up from her laptop with a harried scowl.
&nb
sp; “Hey there.” Her aunt shook stiffness off her face. “What brings you here? Everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean, it will be. I’m sorry to bother you at work. I wanted to say good-bye before I headed back to New York.” Her five o’clock flight couldn’t come fast enough.
Concern arranged Jill’s features. “But you just moved here.”
“Yeah, well, it turns out things aren’t going quite as well as I might have hoped with my new roommate.” Talk about an understatement. She had completely blown whatever fragile friendship might have blossomed between her and Josh. “I think it’s best if I get out of here before I cause any permanent damage.”
Clara had gotten so far out of control last night, she didn’t even recognize that woman panting on the couch. She’d made a spectacle of herself and now she had no choice but to pack her bags.
Jill opened her mouth to reply, but a young man holding a clipboard against his chest rushed into the room before she could get any words out.
“The DA finished her call. She’s ready to resume your meeting in conference room B.” His eyes resembled those of a frightened hare. Apparently, district attorneys didn’t appreciate waiting.
“Shit.” Jill’s fingers sifted through the massive pile of documents on her desk. “Sorry, Toni’s a new client. She’s asked me to run her reelection campaign. It’s a big deal for us. Normally someone in her shoes would go to one of the big corporate firms.” Jill beamed and Clara could see why the men of Greenwich had once fallen at her aunt’s feet. “She said she likes that we’re famous for championing underdogs.”
“Of course. I can see that this is a bad time. I should go,” Clara said, already edging toward the door. She could call later on her way to the airport.
“No, wait. Don’t leave. What time is your flight? I’m a bit underwater at the moment. One of my associates quit last week without notice.” Jill continued riffling through the mess on the desk. A folder careened off the edge, splashing papers in a waterfall at her feet.
