Trying to Score

by Kendall Ryan

  On the screen, my hips move faster between her parted thighs and she crosses her ankles behind my back, urging me even closer. She was always that way, enthusiastic in bed, and I loved it.

  Heat courses through my veins, and I stifle a groan. Jesus, this is torture. The soft weight of her ass in my lap, the scent of her floral perfume . . . I’m not watching the video anymore, I realize. I’m watching her.

  My blood floods with awareness—awareness of everything. Her nearness. Our history. This heated moment.

  She bites her bottom lip between her teeth, and when her eyes stray from the screen to mine, I open my mouth to speak.

  “I should . . .” Turn off this video. Abort this mission. Take a vow of chastity. Move to Russia. Something.

  Only none of those words come out of my mouth.

  I’m not sure when I decide to kiss her. I only know that I’m leaning in and then so is she, her eyes sinking closed. Her lips touch mine and the pressure is firm, yet soft at the same time.

  Her full lips part and our tongues touch, my heart racing. A small gasp escapes her as she shifts even closer, squirming in my lap.

  God, why did I ever think I could resist this woman? Suddenly, abstaining from this for the past seven years seems like the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. How and why did we resist this?

  Oh, right. Because when she came back at the end of that summer, she had a boyfriend, and then by the time she was single again, I was dating someone. Lather, rinse, repeat. That was how things went for a while.

  But now we’re both single. Very single. And kissing.

  And, holy shit, it’s the perfect kiss.

  It’s not too slow, but it’s not rushed either. There’s just the right amount of tongue, and so much hot friction in my lap that I harden even more.

  I feel so many things in this moment. At the top of that list is horny, of course, but there’s also elation, and a sense of relief, because this moment has been years in the making and now it’s finally here.

  Rising from the chair, I lift her with me and her legs cross behind my back, just like they did in the video moments before. Stalking toward my bedroom, I secure her around me with my forearm under her ass, and Sara presses closer, her tongue still tangling with mine in greedy strokes.

  I want to ask her if she’s okay with this as I place her in the center of my bed, but considering her tongue hasn’t left my mouth, I’m going to take that as a yes—she’s very much okay with moving this party to my bedroom.

  My mouth leaves hers only long enough to kiss a hot line down her neck, and then my fingers are fumbling for the zipper on her dress. She helps me as I give it a tug.

  A second later, her dress and my shirt hit the floor and we’re kissing again, her fingertips touching the grooves in my ab muscles in a slow, teasing exploration.

  “Jesus, Teddy,” she says in a whisper, admiring me as her hands roam over my chest. “Look at you.”

  Even though I’d love for her to look and admire and touch me to her heart’s content, right now I have bigger goals.

  “Take these off,” I say, rubbing my thumb over the front of her underwear as her hips shift restlessly on the bed.

  She obeys immediately, hooking her fingers into the black lace and drawing them down her hips. And then she’s bare, and it’s just soft curves and creamy skin, all on display for me.

  I rub my hands along her thighs, pressing one last kiss against her lips before kneeling on the bed between her knees.

  Her eyes roam my chest, and I almost want to puff it out, prideful lust pulsing through me. I have a nice chest and have been told so many times, but her eyes don’t stop there. They continue to lower until they come to a stop at the buckle of my belt.

  Jesus. I need to slow this train down or I’m going to embarrass myself.

  I lean down to kiss her, adjusting the monstrous erection trying to escape my pants. Her hand sneaks down between us and she touches herself.

  “No way, babe. That’s my job.” Scooting myself down the bed until I’m eye level with my prize, I place warm, wet kisses along her hip bone and inner thigh, teasing, licking, and biting her until she’s shifting restlessly again, her fingers knotting in the blankets at her sides.

  “Teddy,” she moans.

  I bring my mouth where she wants me and groan when I remember how good she tastes. Yum. She’s perfect.

  With one foot flat against the bed and the other rubbing up and down the center of my back, she rocks herself closer, eager for every bit of pleasure I can deliver. And deliver, I do. I’m shameless in my pursuit of her orgasm.

  Placing one hand against her stomach, I hold her in place, and with the other, I explore her breasts, caressing and pinching until her breathy gasps grow more needy. I glance up, desperate to see her expression. Those gorgeous full lips are parted and her eyes are focused on the action. Oh yeah.

  My hips move shamelessly against the mattress, and I don’t even care that I’m fucking my bed in heavy, uncoordinated thrusts. I have to move, have to do something before I explode. If Sara is bothered by any of this—my embarrassingly hard dick, or the desperate noises I’m making—she doesn’t let on.

  Sealing my lips around her, I give a good, hard suck, and her hips jolt as she moans out my name again.

  “Are you going to come for me?” I murmur, my tongue moving in slow, sure strokes.

  Her head bobs, and she makes a needy sound as I suck again, my tongue tracing her sensitive flesh. And then her hands are in my hair and she’s coming. Her body tenses and a curse leaves her lips as her hands tighten around the back of my neck.

  Fuck yeah. She’s so sexy.

  While she’s still trembling in my arms, I kiss my way up her body, nuzzling into her neck with soft kisses as my hand works fast to open the front of my pants. Shoving them down only far enough to free myself, I get my hand around my swollen cock, jacking it as her hands run up and down my back and shoulders. A few more lazy tugs and then I’m coming, spilling myself all over her stomach in jet after jet of hot liquid.

  I shiver, breathing hard against her neck. “Fuck.”

  She meets my eyes as I reluctantly lift myself off of her with one arm.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, glancing down at the mess I made on her.

  “Don’t be.”

  A lazy, lust-filled smile overtakes my mouth, and Sara’s eyes move from mine down to my still-hard cock that’s wrapped in my fist.

  “Let me grab something to clean you up,” I say, hefting myself up off the bed.

  After cleaning myself in the bathroom, I’m back with a warm washcloth that I use to wipe away the remnants of my orgasm from her stomach. I’m not sure if things are about to turn awkward between us, but thankfully, they don’t. With a satisfied sigh, Sara gets up and begins dressing while I change into jeans and a T-shirt. She was never one to make sex into something awkward and it’s just one more thing I find myself admiring about her.

  Once we’re both decent, she turns to face me, lifting onto her toes to press a quick kiss to my lips. “Is it okay if I take a rain check on the ice cream?”

  I grin down at her. “Of course it is. I’ll save you some.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Can I drive you home?” I ask, picking up my keys.

  She nods and slips into her high heels once again, neither of us mentioning what just took place in my study, or in my bedroom.

  As we get in the car for the drive back to her place, one thought skates through my brain on a continuous loop.

  The date might have been fake, but the orgasms? Those felt very real.

  9

  * * *

  Sangria and Secrets

  Sara

  It’s Monday morning at Carroll and Associates, and although I’ve been at my desk sipping cold coffee and staring at a crowded in-box for nearly an hour, I’ve gotten approximately zero things done. I wish I could say I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t pre
cisely pinpoint what my distraction is. He’s six foot three, chiseled as hell, mouth like a Dyson vacuum, and keeps infiltrating my thoughts.

  No matter how daunting my email in-box is today, I can’t wrangle my mind into focusing on work without it wandering back to Friday night. I had no intention of hooking up with Teddy, but the second he pressed PLAY on that video, I knew my body would betray me.

  I told myself it was a long time ago and I’d moved on, but watching us move together on video sent electricity coursing through my veins, the same electricity I felt pulsing through my core the night we hit RECORD. And I couldn’t help but act on it.

  While I’m still pissed that Teddy lied to me about deleting every copy of our little sex tape, he was right about one thing. That video is hot. Apparently, hot enough for me to want to reenact a scene. But as fun as Friday night was, I need to remember that, above all else, Teddy is my client. And a friend. Which means I need to hit PAUSE on the naughty daydreams and make sure that we’re the only two sets of eyes that ever see our little cinematic experiment. Aside from the jerk who hacked into it.

  Speaking of . . .

  In the midst of my cluttered Monday morning in-box, one message stands out. The random letters and numbers that make up the email address it’s sent from are an instant indication that this is the message I’ve been waiting for. A reply to the cease-and-desist letter I sent.

  I open the email and am met with exactly the sort of message I was expecting. He’s trying to cash in on this. At least, I assume it’s a he.

  The message is to the point. The idiot wants a million dollars. In exchange for what? A promise that he won’t blast this video all over the world wide web? As if I would trust that a person who breaks into people’s personal clouds for shits and grins would keep a promise. That’s not how any of this works.

  I keep my answer short and sweet.

  My client is offering not to prosecute in exchange for your cooperation. If you choose not to cooperate, we are prepared to press charges. The choice is yours.

  It’s not my most professional email, but then again, sending threats isn’t normally a part of my job description. Unfortunately, this threat is really more of a bluff.

  The private investigator I hired has been unable to trace the blackmailer’s IP address, leaving us pretty much in the dark on who, or even where, he or she is. As far as lawsuits go, we can’t exactly prosecute someone if we can’t identify them first, and if they turn out to be outside of the country, this whole mess gets ten times more complicated. Whoever this creep is, they’ve done their homework on how to cover their tracks.

  I heave a sigh, then press SEND on the email. Until I get a response or the PI gets a lead on this guy, there’s not much I can do on this case, and I have about a dozen others I need to work on today. I frown at my computer monitor, weighing my options on where to start, but before I can make up my mind, a shadow appears in my door frame. It’s David, my boss, clutching a coffee mug and giving me a narrow-eyed stare.

  “Good morning, Ms. Dawson. How’s that’s intellectual property case coming?”

  It takes a second for me to even remember which case he’s referring to. Shit. I am so off my game today.

  “I haven’t looked at it yet today,” I admit with a small smile. “I’ve been pretty tied up with a few other clients this morning.”

  A knot forms in my stomach. I shouldn’t be lying to my boss, but what am I supposed to say? That I’ve been too busy reliving my Friday night orgasm to do my job? Although maybe he would understand, because that was one hell of an orgasm.

  David gives me a firm nod. “Understood. I hope you can make some progress on that today. We’ll be discussing it next week at your review.”

  My eyes dart to my calendar. Shit.

  This review, the thing I’ve been counting down the days to for months, the day I’ll bring everything I’ve got to the table in hopes of walking out of that meeting as a partner of Carroll and Associates, has somehow sneaked up on me. I was hoping that I’d have the promotion in the bag by now, but this morning, I’m not feeling so sure.

  Hello, intellectual property case. It looks like you and I are going to be spending the rest of the day together.

  “Absolutely. Looking forward to it.” I grin as he gives me one more nod and then exits my office.

  After logging a full ten hours of uninterrupted work, I sign off for the day and head for the wine bar down the street. I was supposed to meet the girls for happy hour about thirty minutes ago, but better late than never, right?

  As I walk up to the bar, I spy Aubree, Elise, Becca, and Bailey through the window and give them a tiny wave as I tug open the door. They’ve already divvied up a pitcher of sangria, and I just barely catch the tail end of a story Aubree is telling about a huge anonymous donation that came in today for the charity she works for. As I slide into the booth next to her, I make a mental note to ask her to retell the beginning of the story later.

  “Sorry I’m late.” I reach for the pitcher and an empty glass, giving myself a heavy pour of sangria. “Work was nuts.”

  “Isn’t work always nuts when you’re a lawyer?” Bailey asks, fishing a raspberry out of her drink and popping it between her lips. “How is the state of the legal world today, Sara Dawson, Esquire?”

  I smile through my first sip of sangria, the fruity flavor washing away the stress of the workday. “Overwhelming as always.”

  For half a second, I consider telling them about the sex tape, but opt instead to take another swig of sangria. I said from the start that I wanted to get as few people involved in this as possible, and I’m going to stick to that. It might, however, be a good idea to fill them in on Teddy and me. Better they hear it from me than from some sports gossip website in a few days.

  “There’s actually something I wanted to tell you guys,” I say, circling my straw through the ice in my glass.

  All four of them lean in attentively, ready to hear whatever gossip I have to offer. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a secret to share with the girls.

  “So I went on a date on Friday,” I say, pausing briefly before I drop this bomb on them. “A date with Teddy.”

  I’m instantly met with four sets of wide eyes and four dropped jaws. I could have guessed that was coming.

  “Whoa, hold up.” Aubree holds her hand up like she’s waiting for the teacher to call on her so she can ask a question. “I’m confused. You and TK? A.k.a. the two members of this friend group who argue more than anyone else?”

  I shrug, biting nervously on my straw to keep from spilling all the details on this being for PR purposes. That would involve telling them why we have a public relations scandal to cover up in the first place. But I have no problem with letting them think that Teddy and I are a thing in the meantime. If anything, it will make this fake relationship a little extra believable to the public.

  “He needed a plus-one to his ex’s engagement party,” I say to explain. It’s not a total lie. “I agreed to be his arm candy so he didn’t have to show up single to see his engaged ex-girlfriend. And it was fun. We had some drinks, some laughs. No big deal.”

  I don’t exactly relish the idea of lying to my girlfriends, but I’m not totally lying, I decide. I’m telling them half the truth. It’s kind of what I do as an attorney—find loopholes and work with them.

  Elise gasps. “No big deal?”

  “This is so freaking weird,” Becca says, shaking her head in disbelief. “You and Teddy are, like, the last two people I would’ve imagined together.”

  “We all said the same thing about you and Owen when you started dating,” I point out. I’m not sure why I’m so defensive about a relationship that’s entirely for show, but for some reason, I am.

  “I guess that’s fair.” Becca backs off, topping off both her own glass of sangria and mine. “I’m just saying. You guys are constantly butting heads. It’s hard to imagine you two as a couple.”

  “We’re not a couple,” I say,
correcting her, although her use of the word couple sends a tingle up my spine. I like the sound of that more than I should. “We only went out once. That’s all.”

  “But do you think you’re going to go out with him again?” Aubree asks, her eyes glistening with anticipation.

  To my surprise, the question releases about a hundred butterflies in my stomach.

  “Yeah, I think we will.” The smile tugging at my lips grows to a full-blown grin.

  After Friday, the idea of going on another date with Teddy, even a fake one, is more than a little exciting. Sure, this is all going to come crashing to an end in a matter of time, but until then, what the hell? Why not have a little fun while it lasts?

  After all, I know exactly how fun Teddy King can be.

  10

  * * *

  Fully Invested

  Sara

  In the time it takes me to set my phone on my kitchen counter and pop my Thai food leftovers into the microwave, I’ve heard my phone buzz fifteen times. As in 1-5.

  It’s a Wednesday night, and after spending a soul-sucking twelve hours at the office today, all I want to do is plop down with my pad Thai and fall asleep on the couch watching reruns of legal dramas—which, by the way, are about a thousand times more exciting than my actual life as an attorney. Instead, it looks like I have fifteen—no, make that sixteen—texts to deal with. And I’m hoping with every fiber of my being that this isn’t a work-related emergency. I’m not sure I can scrounge up the energy to deal with one more case file today.

  Balancing my bowl in one hand, I snatch up my phone to see what’s worth sending sixteen texts about. The group chat with the girls is the culprit of this crime of excessive texting, and when I swipe open my messages, I nearly spill noodles and chicken all over my kitchen floor.

  Holy shit. Becca and Owen are engaged.