by Laura Carter
I see Izzy swallow hard. That reached her and I know why. She takes the glass and holds it up in my direction. “One night and one night only.” She takes a large drink and so do I.
An hour later, she’s draining the last of her second glass of wine as I come back from the toilets. I’ve seen this play out enough times when people are training hard to know that if she doesn’t slow down, this night could end badly and her morning tomorrow will be even worse.
“Go steady, Izzy. You don’t usually drink.”
She registers my hand on the small of her back before I do. I snatch it away from her. “We called a truce, Brooks. You can’t tell me what to do tonight.”
I lean into her ear, the soft fruit smell of her hair filling my nose. “I’m not fighting with you. I’m trying to keep you from feeling like shit tomorrow.”
She spins sharply to face me, the tip of her nose almost touching mine. “You didn’t care yesterday how shit I would feel this morning.”
She tries to storm away in the fashion I’m becoming accustomed to. I grab her hand and tug her back to me so fast, I have to lean back to stop our heads from clashing. “You have no idea why I stopped things from going further. It’s something I feel strongly about, all right?”
“I know exactly why you stopped, Brooks. You saw me naked and you touched me and kissed me, and…” Her eyes fill. The sight is like someone driving a roundhouse kick into my gut. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. I get it. I wasn’t what you expected or wanted.”
“Izzy, please.”
“Please, what? Huh?”
Before I can think of the right words. Before I can tell her she was more beautiful than ever when she was naked, that kissing her was like my entire world breaking from the safety of orbit and spinning into outer space, her name is called by the guy running the karaoke.
She tugs her hand out of mine and makes her way to the stage. I move into the group as Sarah, Becky, and Madge start whooping and whistling.
The music begins to play and I recognize the track right away. Cher’s “Just Like Jesse James.” Izzy stands on the slightly raised stage. She is looking down when she first starts singing. It gives me a chance to think, Hot damn, this girl can sing. When she dips into her lower register, her voice is husky, yet soft, with a British lilt. It drives straight to my groin without stopping to look for hazards.
When she glances up, there is no mistaking the intent in her eyes or who she’s aiming her words at. Her voice grows sterner as she calls me out with the lyrics of the track.
The others start to talk about how good she is. Then I hear a few comments about Izzy and me. Someone asks if I’m certain there’s nothing going on between us.
All I tune into is Izzy, as she sings, “If you’re so tough, come on and prove it.”
One night.
I push aside everything running through my head, telling me this is a bad idea. It can’t be one night. There’s tomorrow, in the gym. She’s just another Alice. You’re setting yourself up for a painful letdown.
Tilting my head back, I drain the last from my bottle of beer, and pull my wallet from my back pocket. I slap sixty dollars on the table for the next round and make my way across the bar, with only one thing on my mind.
She watches me make strides toward her. Her voice falters but she keeps singing. I step onto the stage and take the microphone from her hand. “So, you want to know what my loaded gun is for, Izzy?”
As she looks up at me, her lips part, and I think she might have stopped breathing. I wait, praying that this is going to end the way I want it. My heart is thumping so loud she must be able to hear it. My entire body is charged with desire. I want her. Hell yeah, I want her.
Eventually, she nods.
I lift my hand to her cheek. She watches me, unmoving, until I slide my fingers into her hair. She closes her eyes and I press my mouth to hers. Her lips are as soft as I’ve been remembering. Her taste, something that’s delicious and distinctly her, is mixed with wine. It’s a heady concoction.
“I’m taking you home.”
She opens her eyes and licks her lips. “One more,” she says, before grabbing my T-shirt and pulling me to her. She kisses me in a way that makes me need to get off this stage.
I take her hand and lead her through the bar, noticing how her fingers seem to fit between mine, as if we have been holding hands for years.
There’s a breeze outside that blows her hair from her neck and whips her perfume past me. I pull her into my side as I hold out a hand and flag a cab.
The cabdriver tries to make conversation. I respond on autopilot, not registering his questions or the appropriateness of my responses, desperately willing my dick to relax, which is not helped by Izzy’s fingers slowly tracing the line of my erection over my jeans.
She keeps going until I can’t even pretend to listen to the driver. I hook her leg over me and squeeze her ass as I fuck her mouth with my own. We make out like teenagers who’ve never kissed before. I run my hand down her leg and over the bare skin of her foot.
“When we get back, I’m stripping you of everything except these shoes.”
“You noticed them, huh?”
“Izzy, I notice everything about you, even when I try not to.”
The cab stops outside our building. “Go inside and strip down to those heels.”
Her eyes seem to grow heavy as she looks at me then gets out of the cab. I pay the driver and follow her in. I watch the elevator numbers descend as it comes back down from dropping Izzy at the twelfth floor, damn happy right now that the thing is finally fixed. It gives me a chance to pause and just breathe. I need to calm down or this will be over too quickly. As I stand here, rational thoughts try to pierce my lust. I push them away. Not now. Not this time. This is happening.
Upstairs, the door is open. Izzy’s apartment is lit by lamplight only. A heady song, maybe Sia, is playing in the background.
I close the door behind me and step into the empty living room. I hear her footsteps and watch as she walks along the hallway toward me, naked but for those sinful heels. Her legs are endless. I follow them up to her bare pussy. She’s slim, but her waist still dips into an hourglass. Her small but perfect breasts bounce gently with each footstep. Her nipples are only a shade darker than her flesh, and they’re ready.
My cock feels uncomfortable in my jeans but I stay where I am and let her come to me. I pull my T-shirt over my head and slip out of my boots. My hands ache to feel her skin.
“Is this how you wanted me?” she asks. Her voice is hoarse, low, and drenched in sex.
I reach out and grab her waist, pulling her the last step into me. “Fuck, yeah.”
My hands roam over her ass, up her back, savoring every inch of her silky skin. I cup her breasts, rolling my finger and thumb around her hard nipples. She sucks in a breath when I wrap my mouth around one stiff tip.
I kiss her again, unable to get enough of her mouth on mine, my fingers slipping into her hair. The arguments are gone. Forgotten. Because in this moment, all I can see is her smiling and laughing, making me laugh.
We swallow each other’s moans as the kiss grows in intensity. I lift her bare legs around my waist and carry her to her bedroom. The double bed is covered in my sheets. The room is candlelit.
“You did a lot in five minutes,” I say against her lips, not willing to break the contact.
I feel her lips tighten and curve up as her tongue slips into my mouth. “I’m a very resourceful woman.”
“Let’s see how well you can multitask.” I lay her back on the bed and hover above her, sliding my fingers into her wet pussy, groaning when I feel how ready she is, as if her pleasure is my own.
I want to be inside her. God, do I. But first, “I want to taste you.”
I part her legs wider and bend her knees, planting her feet on the mattress. The height of he
r heels exposes her fully to me. Every delectable inch of her. I turn my tongue around her nipples, then draw a line down her abdomen, kissing, licking my way south.
Her back arches and she groans as my tongue finds her clit. Her taste is sweet and sour all at once. She whispers my name, breathlessly. I could never tire of hearing her call out for me like this. She fists the sheets at her sides as I suck her sweet spot and push my fingers inside her. I feel her build, her insides clenching around me. When she lets go, I watch her unravel. No attitude. No sass. Just an ethereal woman, giving over to me completely.
She giggles and writhes on the covers when I lick one last time through her plump folds. I move over her, taking my weight on my arms, and let her taste herself.
“I think we’ve finally found your talent, Mr. Adams.”
I smile and bite playfully on her bottom lip. “How about seeing to this loaded gun you were singing about?”
Her humor fades as heat comes back into her eyes. She pushes me back until I’m on my knees. With her legs on either side of me, she sits, eye-fucking me as she unbuckles and unzips my jeans. She takes them, with my boxers, down my thighs and grabs my hard cock in her hand. It’s my turn to drop my head back and groan.
She shifts to her knees; then her mouth is on me, the moist heat gliding up and down my length. “Izzy, fuck. That’s good.”
She grabs my balls and presses on the base of my erection as she moves up and down, flicking her tongue across my sensitive spot on each rise. I feel myself harden the last bit and I’m on the cliff’s edge when I lift her head. “Not like this. I want to be inside you.”
She sits back, her teeth dragging across her lip, as she watches me strip out of my jeans and roll on a condom from my wallet. I crawl back over her and she wraps her legs around me, the points of her heels pulling my ass to her.
Our mouths meet but our eyes are open as I slide into her. I pause for a second, finding the strength to hold back my climax. Her pussy is tight around me and when I begin to move, she squeezes my cock.
“Jesus, Izzy.”
I draw out and drive back into her. Her back bows; she presses her head into the bed, pushing her breasts against me. I lift her hips and thrust into her, over and over, until a white ecstasy takes over my vision. She calls my name as I pour everything I have into her.
Chapter 19
Izzy
Day 5.
With his bulky, unshaven, tattooed appearance, and his crabby, don’t-fuck-with-me personality, Brooks is not my type. Everyone else seems to love him. His clients and friends adore him. He’s obviously Mr. Charming with other people, but with me he’s like a hungry baboon 24/7—and that was before I actually made him hungry 24/7. In fact, he’s exactly the kind of man I would date just to narc my mother.
So, yeah, I’m just as surprised as you that I sat at home last night brooding because I missed him. I missed Brooks Adams. There, I said it. I didn’t just hate that we hadn’t had sex in that shower and that he made me feel like the last woman on earth he would ever sleep with. I had no one getting in my way when I made my dinner. There was no one bickering over everything I said. God knows why, but it made me feel so lonely I eventually gave in and went to the bar to see him.
Now, lying tucked into his side, the sun’s first light warming my bedroom, it somehow makes sense. I won’t overthink this. I know I’m leaving in just over a week. I also know that Brooks and I are truly incompatible human beings. But here, in this moment, tucked under the heavy arms that I decided last night have a very good purpose, I’ve fallen and I’m happy to just let that be.
Brooks shifts beneath me and inhales as he drops his lips to my hair. “Morning.” His voice is gruff, like we were up all night. Oh wait…
I smile to myself as I roll onto my stomach and rest my chin on my hands, lying on his firm chest. “Morning.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear and smiles, a full, dashing smile that reaches his eyes. It’s a rare and alluring sight. The tame side of the beast. And the way he looks at me makes me feel like Belle.
“You’re pretty when you’re quiet,” he says, chuckling.
“Hey!” I grab a pillow from my side of the bed and bash him with it. Then settle back on his chest.
“What are you thinking about, Izzy Coulthard?”
“That I want you to know, I didn’t go to the bar last night for anyone but me. I didn’t make sure my picture was taken. I won’t be writing about it on my blog.”
He seems to take in what I’m saying; then this cheeky almost smirk that I’m getting used to comes. “That’s because you broke your own rules.”
“Ha. Maybe.” I turn onto my side and trace the lines of his tattoos with my finger.
He strokes my hair. His touch raises goose bumps on my skin. “Why did you come?”
“A few reasons.”
“A few reasons you want to share?”
I contemplate not telling him, but he doesn’t make me feel vulnerable now. I feel with him. “I told you I lost friends and didn’t really get invited places anymore because of the whole exercise and not drinking thing and, to be honest, not being a Chelsea wife or a lawyer or doctor. Well, it felt nice to be invited somewhere. I know Madge invited me because of the PR thing but, I don’t know, it was nice to be in a group, talking to people.”
“For what it’s worth, the guys liked having you around last night. I think Sarah might move back to the UK with you.”
“She does seem to like the accent an awful lot.” I find a rose inked on his hip and trace the outline of the petals. “Thanks, Brooks.”
“There’s no need to thank me for the truth.”
“Still, it’s nice of you to say.” I also want to thank him for sending his friends to Barnes & Noble but last night, when I overheard Becky mention what happened, it was clear Brooks didn’t want to talk about it. So I keep that tucked away.
“I’m actually more interested in the other reasons you came. You said there were a few.”
“More like one, really. But I don’t want to tell you.”
“Come ooooon.…”
“I can’t really make sense of it. I just, I was in here last night, having dinner. Making dinner alone. I guess I missed having an obnoxious, arrogant man around.”
His chest bounces as he laughs. “I kind of missed fighting with you too, Iz.”
I don’t let him see how that short statement warms me to the core. I continue drawing shapes on his chest. “What is this?”
He glances down at the all-blue bird I’m tracing; its wings span both pecs. “A phoenix. It’s actually covering a tattoo that went wrong years ago.”
I move my fingertips along the rays of light bursting from a sun beneath the phoenix, then glide up his torso, through clouds, into trees. The tattoos are all so different but together, they paint a magnificent picture. In the trees are small birds with musical notes coming from their beaks. Against one trunk sits a man with a guitar. “What is this?”
“Me, I guess.”
“You play the guitar?”
He nods.
“Me too! We do have something in common. I had you down as more of a wicky-wicky dance track kind of man.”
“What was that? That thing you just did with your hand on your ear?”
I chuckle as I do it again. “It’s a turntable. I was being a DJ.”
“You’re so fucking cute,” he says, pulling me to straddle his hips.
“Shut up. Not cute. Cool.”
“Whatever you say.” He runs his hands down my thighs, and my skin is sensitive under his gentle touch. “And I do like dance music when I’m working out. I like country and rock too. I try out most stuff.”
“Can I hear you play sometime?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“We’ll see.”
Shaking m
y head, I get back to continuing my exploration of his tattoos, following another tree down his right arm. Next to it is a rabbit and a clock. An image I recognize. “This is the ticktock clock, right?”
He nods again. I notice the tensing of his muscles.
“From Alice in Wonderland?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would a tough guy like Brooks Adams have Alice in Wonderland tattooed on his arm?”
He stares at me for long seconds. In them, I see a story he doesn’t want to tell. He shifts beneath me. Though he kisses the tip of my nose as he moves me off him, I can sense his mood has changed dramatically. He moves to sit on the edge of the mattress, picking his boxers up from the floor and pulling them on. “I’ll start breakfast. I have to get to the gym,” he says without looking back at me.
“Have to, or want to?”
Now, he faces me. “With you naked and that little sheet the only thing between me and your pussy, I think it’s safe to say I need to go.”
I watch his mighty fine buttocks flex as he strides out of the room. I guess I can’t ask him to tell me everything overnight. Last night we were fighting. Does sex really change everything? Was I already falling before last night? Was I smitten from the first time I met him?
Rolling onto my back, I cover my face to hide my delighted giggle. Never before have I felt the way he made me feel last night. All four times.
His eyes are piercing me through the white T-shirt he wore to the bar last night and which I am now wearing as I make his breakfast shake. He still hasn’t spoken since the Alice in Wonderland question but he doesn’t seem to be brooding, either. Maybe there was nothing to it after all.
Switching off the juicer, I pour its contents into a glass and place it on the counter in front of the man who is staring at me with hungry eyes—hunger that could be related to food, or the fact I intentionally forgot to wear any knickers.
Finally moving his eyes from my thighs to his glass, he says, “My breakfast is purple.”
“I know, I made it. It’s beetroot and there’s a shot of protein in there, so drink up and stop complaining.”
