by Rosie Danan
Josh’s eyes grew darker, wilder, until he looked like the victim of a pheromone shipwreck.
Suddenly everything, the pressure of her hand and the pleasure she wrought, doubled. Josh worked himself in smooth strokes, swallowing every time his thumb grazed the head of his cock. He let his mouth fall open as he watched her work herself closer toward release.
Without thought or intention, Clara moaned the one word she’d forbidden herself to utter. “Josh.”
The sound of his name on her lips seemed to break him. His whole body started shaking. “Say it again,” he ground out through clenched teeth. His working forearm had pulled so tight she could count the veins. He lowered his voice to a litany. “Keep saying my name.”
She held his gaze as she inserted two fingers into her tight body, unable to find any room in her mind for shame.
Not when his breathing was as ragged as hers.
Not when she chased an orgasm that promised to ruin her.
It made perfect sense to turn Josh’s name into a mantra. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she could feel him everywhere. The heat and tightly coiled energy rolled off his body in waves.
Everything she’d ever believed about sex and her body became ancient history as she moved like a woman who had never apologized for chasing her own pleasure. Let him look. Let him see the frantic motion of her hand as she brought herself exactly what she wanted.
His presence acted like sensory deprivation, everything heightened, focused on a single point.
“Please tell me you understand how amazing you look right now.” His eyes rolled back in his head as she added another finger. He grew rougher with his strokes. “I’d do terrible things, Clara, to suffer the perfect torture of watching you fuck yourself again and again.” He didn’t touch her, but his words sank into her skin.
Clara was caught up in him. Drowning in sensation. So distracted that when she fell over the edge, she cried out in not only pleasure but surprise. Her eyes fell closed as she let the orgasm break across her body without shying away. When she blinked to find Josh watching her face, the naked longing in his eyes drew out the shudders of her body.
It wasn’t until a moment later when her body finally relaxed, when she fell back against the sofa like a limp noodle, that Josh allowed his own release, painting his stomach with the evidence of his desire. Sweat began to cool on her trembling body. Nothing had ever felt as good as the illusion Josh wove of wanting her.
The living room was quiet except for the mingling of their desperate breaths.
“That was . . .” Josh finally said. “I mean, you did . . . Your body is . . .”
“I hope the ends of those sentences are complimentary.” Clara smiled as she handed him a handful of tissues from the box on the end table, spent and happy and different from the woman she’d been an hour before.
“Yes, very,” he said as they locked eyes. The room filled with something more than attraction and unbridled lust. Josh clenched his jaw and Clara was the first to look away.
He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “I should probably go type up my notes. My findings, if you will.”
Clara hunted on the floor for her pajamas. “Right. Yes. You do that.” She admired his bare ass as he got up to walk away, weaving slightly.
“Oh, and Josh?”
He turned, holding his balled-up clothes in front of his waist.
“I’d say your strategy definitely worked.”
He huffed out a sound that was almost a laugh.
After Josh had locked himself back in his room, Clara cleaned up and changed into a fresh pair of pajamas. Then she picked up her discarded laptop and typed a single word into the domain search engine.
She grinned as she added her selection to her cart. Finally. Their fledgling project had a name. A word waiting to be reclaimed. One that beat in time with the thump-thump of her heart.
Shameless.
chapter twenty
CLARA WHEATON HAD experienced her fair share of embarrassment. She’d tripped down staircases in front of her peers, used the wrong French pronoun when addressing a native speaker, and once accidentally screamed “abort” when she ran into an ex-boyfriend at a Manhattan bodega.
Having endured so much worse, she decided not to let her little “living room rehearsal” with Josh ruin their strange, unnameable bond.
She needed him. Professionally now as well as personally. She would simply redraw some boundaries between them. No harm. No foul. It would probably be a good idea to stop getting off to the memories of him stroking himself. Just a thought.
In a desperate attempt to return to her comfort zone and get to know the performers and crew they’d hired over the course of the week, Clara convinced Josh they should host a barbecue in Everett’s backyard.
Entertaining was a skill set ingrained in Wheaton women, practically from birth. Clara could fold napkins in fourteen distinct shapes. That skill did not come in handy in this situation.
In an effort to appear laid back and unfussy, she’d purchased red Solo cups and rented card tables and folding chairs. She’d even gone so far as to allow Josh to write potluck on the invitations.
“No one our age can show up to a party empty-handed without feeling like an asshole,” he’d said. “At least let them bring beer.”
Clara had consoled herself by making a plethora of dips to accommodate any and all dietary preferences. She was still the hostess, and after the spectacle she’d made of herself at casting, this was her chance to make friends. To show them all she wasn’t a boss or a banker, but one of them. With delicious appetizers and stimulating conversation.
As the start time of their party neared, Josh came out of his room in a cheesy Hawaiian shirt.
“Are you seriously wearing that?” She didn’t know why she bothered to ask. She stirred fresh raspberries into a bowl of punch.
“Sure am.” Josh stole a piece of fruit before she could swat him away and popped it into his mouth. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Clara straightened the full skirt of her vintage dress. It had a halter neck. She’d thought it was charming. “You don’t like it?”
“No, I like it.” He let his gaze trail down her form. “But it’s white. At a backyard barbecue. With red punch.”
Clara frowned. She hadn’t considered that. “Perhaps I could wear my apron during the meal?” She pulled a pile of gingham and flounces out of the closet and held the material up for his inspection.
“That seems on brand.” He turned toward the fridge and Clara noticed a Band-Aid across his temple.
She stood on her tiptoes to inspect the bruised area. “What happened here?” He probably hadn’t thought to apply an antiseptic.
“Nothing.” Josh pulled away. “Just clumsy.”
The doorbell rang.
“They’re here early.” She wrung her hands. “I haven’t put the place cards out on the table yet.”
Josh steered her toward the door by her shoulders. “You go and greet our guests. I’ll set the place cards.”
Clara dumped the paper triangles with each person’s name written in calligraphy into his cupped hands and hurried to the door.
Naomi stood on the doorstep, along with a handful of other cast and crew members that Clara recognized but didn’t know by name. Naomi pressed a large plastic veggie tray into Clara’s arms. “I don’t cook and I don’t chop.”
“I don’t blame you.” Frankly, the idea of Naomi wielding a knife was terrifying. “Thanks for coming. This is perfect.” Clara pointed to the door that led out back. “Party’s through there.”
Clara collected a few other food items as guests in flip-flops and tank tops snaked by, introducing themselves and thanking her for the invitation. The crowd grew larger than she’d originally accounted for. Good thing she had plenty of food.
After s
ome last-minute prep, Clara joined the rest of the group in the yard. Despite the music playing, the scene had not achieved the air of jovial camaraderie she’d hoped to inspire. She noticed with bemusement that a few of the guys had turned her place cards into paper footballs. Oh well. At least they’d put them to use. She made her way over to where Josh and Naomi stood in a corner talking. With more than her typical nonchalance, Josh’s ex handed him something small and black, smoothly, the way Clara’s dad passed a tip to the valet.
Clara caught only the tail end of the sentence that accompanied the covert gesture. “. . . that’s got my stuff and everything from Ginger.”
Josh shoved the item into his pocket when he noticed her approach. “All done in the kitchen?” He turned his dimples to high beam.
“Uh, yeah. Everything okay out here?” Clara’s brain flipped through a dozen explanations for that handoff. Not the least ridiculous of which was that Naomi had passed Josh some kind of electronic key to a hidden sex dungeon. But what kind of “stuff” did one keep on a key? More likely it was a flash drive of some kind which was . . . only slightly less disconcerting. It’s none of your business anyway, a prim voice in her head reminded her.
“I think we’re off to a bit of a slow start.” Josh frowned at the tepid gathering.
Now that he mentioned it, the party wasn’t exactly lively. Most of their guests looked as uncomfortable as Clara felt.
“You need to encourage interaction,” Naomi said. “Half these people don’t know one another. You’ve got a bunch of strangers together and is that Shania Twain playing from your phone?” She stared at Clara accusingly. “No wonder it’s awkward.”
Who doesn’t like ‘Man! I Feel Like A Woman!’? “Ooh. I have an idea. I’ve got a list of questions, originally developed by Marcel Proust to rouse meaningful conversation, in my room. I could grab those—”
“No,” Josh and Naomi said in unison.
Josh turned down the music and called the guests to attention. “How about a round of old-school Never Have I Ever?”
A couple people exchanged sly smiles. Others laughed and moved to top off their drinks.
“You’re on, Darling,” a woman who’d introduced herself as Stacy said. Her date, one of the place card abusers, whooped and drained his beer before punting it on the ground.
“Adult performers love Never Have I Ever because it gives them a chance to brag about all the sex they’ve had,” Naomi explained as she led Clara over to the table to play.
Interesting. Clara had played the game a few times at camp. She knew that more often than not the questions centered on illicit activities. Though she had to imagine this crowd defined illicit differently than the counselors of Camp Sparrow.
Still, drinking games were a good idea. A social lubricant would set everyone at ease. She poured herself a glass of punch and joined the fray.
“All right, everyone. Let’s play with both hands up, and the final person standing can shotgun a beer at the end of the round. Last time we played with the rule that you had to drink for everything you’d done, the whole party ended up trashed.” Josh smirked. “I’ll start. Never have I ever fucked both members of a married couple.”
His ex dropped a finger along with a few others. Clara lowered her eyebrows before anyone noticed her surprise.
“Never have I ever come so hard I passed out,” Stacy said. Many more fingers fell.
Clara shifted her weight from side to side. She had never considered that possibility. How . . . ?
“Never have I ever fucked ten times in one day.”
Even Josh had lowered a finger on that one. But . . . that defied science. She wanted to call a doctor.
“Never have I ever been offered a million dollars for a one-night stand.”
Only Naomi lowered a finger on that one.
Clara turned to her. “Are you serious?”
“I didn’t take it,” Naomi assured her.
“Never have I ever turned down a million dollars,” the next player said.
Naomi flashed him the middle finger, conveniently the only one remaining up on her right hand.
All heads turned to Clara for her turn. “Umm. Never have I ever broken a bone?”
“You mean like a boner?” Stacy bent a finger halfway down. “Like breaking someone’s dick during sex? ’Cause I’ve totally done that.”
Clara forced herself not to recoil at that mental image. “No, I meant like a regular bone.” She held up her arm and mimed wearing a sling.
Stacy deflated. “Oh.”
Naomi took her turn. “Never have I ever fucked a celebrity.”
“How are we defining celebrity?”
“B list and above,” Naomi clarified.
“Damn. Close but no cigar,” said Stacy’s date. “Never have I ever fucked a world leader.”
Most people had one hand left up or less. Clara’s ten fingers stood out like a neon sign announcing her as an outcast. A couple people looked at her with arched eyebrows.
“You’re supposed to lower a finger when you’ve done something,” Stacy whispered to her unhelpfully.
“Oh no.” She craned her neck, trying to see the drinks table. “I think we’re running low on ice. I’ll check.” Clara walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer, letting the blast of air cool her heated cheeks.
“You need any help?”
She shut the door and faced Josh. “No. I’m sorry. I know I’m making a habit of running out of rooms.”
“That game wasn’t fun for you, huh?”
“Not so much. My sex life is very vanilla.” She sucked in a breath and looked away. Present company excluded.
“We can play something else.”
“It’s not the game, Josh. Look at me. I don’t fit in. You go back out and have fun. I’m sure no one wants to be on their best behavior because of me.”
“Come on. No one thinks of you like that. Everyone wants to get to know you. You’re a mystery to them.”
“Mystery is a nice word for weirdo. The cool kids in high school used to use buzzkill.” Clara had tried blending in with Everett’s new friends after he’d started getting attention for his burgeoning looks, but casual had never come easily to her.
Josh reached over and wrapped her in a hug. “You’re not in high school anymore.” He bent his knees so her chin could rest on his shoulder without strain and applied the perfect pressure, firm but loose. The scent of fresh laundry filled her nose. “Clara, those people out there are showing off. Half that stuff is exaggerated, guaranteed. Besides, our sex lives are hardly average. You’ve done tons of stuff none of those people have ever even attempted.”
She stepped back from the hug, grateful he’d let her break away first. A part of her could have stayed there forever. “Yeah, right.”
“Throw up some fingers.”
Clara waved him off.
“Come on. I’m serious. Put ’em up.”
She rolled her eyes and held up her right hand.
“Never have I ever earned a doctorate.”
Clara folded down a finger. “A lot of good it’s done me.”
“Never have I ever made brussels sprouts taste good.”
“Anything tastes good if you fry it in bacon fat,” Clara said, but she smiled a little despite herself. She’d vowed to get Josh to eat vegetables by any means necessary.
“Never have I ever come up with an idea for my own business.”
He had her there. Shameless made her proud.
“Never have I ever been generous enough to fund a ragtag band of sex workers that no bank would ever give the time of day.” Josh’s voice conveyed his respect and she found herself blushing.
Clara lowered her ring finger and shrugged. “I believe in you guys.”
Josh touched the Band-Aid on his forehead. “Never have I ever ma
de someone walk into a door frame because I exited the bathroom in a very tiny towel.”
Clara tilted her head. He’d lost her with that one.
Josh reached over and lowered her last finger.
Comprehension dawned. “What? This morning?”
Josh gave her a self-deprecating smile. “You might think you don’t fit in, but those people out there are as intimidated by you as you are by them. If you relax, they will too. I promise.” He punched her lightly on the arm. “Now let’s go back out there before Felix finishes all the crab dip.”
She’d entered this business endeavor with one foot out the door, but with Josh by her side, maybe she should stop telling herself that the “cool kids” would never accept her. “Thanks.”
The noise of the party barreled on outside. “Anytime, Wheaton.”
* * *
• • •
JOSH NEEDED TO get his feelings for his roommate under control. His physical symptoms had started to cause him bodily harm. And his mental ones? Well, those had gotten so powerful, he could hardly go ten minutes without thinking of Clara.
All he knew was that he always wanted her to be happy. When she smiled or laughed, he felt powerful and good. If something hurt her, he wanted to Hulk smash.
He’d been grateful when she suggested the party, a chance to blow off steam that didn’t involve blowing his load. His dick was officially on lockdown after he’d almost blurted out, “I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” while whipped into a sexual frenzy by the sight of Clara’s naked body. His capacity for longing terrified him.
“Come on, Darling. We’re picking teams for flip cup. You and Naomi are captains. Battle of the Exes.”
Naomi caught his eye. He knew she’d seen him follow Clara inside after the earlier debacle.
Josh gave her a subtle nod and watched as her shoulders relaxed. Her cool demeanor didn’t fool him. Naomi was starting to like Clara, whether she wanted to or not.
“You pick first,” she told him, gesturing to the gathered guests who wanted to play.
Josh found Clara where she stood rearranging the plastic cups near the keg. Despite the talk they’d had in the kitchen, he knew she would love to spend the rest of the party doing hostess chores instead of interacting with other people.
