by Staci Hart
I mirrored his smile. “I will when I’m ready.”
He turned to walk away, but his eyes were on my lips. “See you in a few then.”
I let out a breath, annoyed and turned on: the familiar cocktail of Joel I found myself craving. And then I spent a little too much time watching him walk away.
I gave some final instruction to the lead PA and walked toward the door, past a smirking Hairy, who watched me like he was thinking about all those dirty things he’d do to me just as I had been all day. And I tried to keep my body in check as I hurried up the stairs and into my office for the box with every neuron in my brain firing Joel’s name.
But Laney was there, sitting at her desk with an open box of pizza in front of her.
“Oh, good. Right on time,” she said, reaching for a slice. “It just hit room temperature.”
I reached for the box of ledgers and smiled at her, turning for the door. “Can’t, sorry. I ate downstairs — long day.”
I heard her pizza hit the box as she tossed it back in. “Hold up, really? Just like that?”
When I looked back, she was dusting off her hands, frowning. “Sorry, Laney. Joel needs to get started on these tonight if we have any hope of getting with a financial advisor next week.”
“So come back up here after you drop them off.”
My face gave nothing away, my mask firmly in place. “I’ve got to show him what’s up and down. I mean, he can’t even read them — they’re in my mother’s handwriting. In Cyrillic.”
She ran her tongue over her teeth behind her lips. “Convenient. Have you slept with him yet?”
“That’s not the plan, like I mentioned,” I answered, avoiding a direct answer.
“Sure would be easy to convince him to meet with Hal.”
“Oh, so now you want me to sleep with him? Make up your mind, already. You’re giving me whiplash.”
“What I want is to see that you have a plan that makes sense.”
I shifted the heavy box in my arms. “My plan is to run the show. And running the show has very little to do with Joel. Past that, does it matter?”
She didn’t answer.
“Don’t you trust me at all?”
She considered the question for a second. “I do trust you, but—”
“Then maybe you could act like it. Because whatever this is, it’s getting old.” And with that, I turned and walked out of the office, through the busy control room, and out the door, more ready for the escape of Joel’s body than I had been all day.
Down the stairs I flew, finding myself in the empty stairwell with my heart clanging, suddenly unsure that he’d be home. I wondered what I’d do with myself if he wasn’t. My fingers ached from the heavy box as I shifted, propping it against the wall with my hip so I could knock on the door.
The sound of his boots from the other side of the door could have been a chorus of angels, it was so sweet.
When the door opened, I all but shoved him out of the way, dropping the box on the table with a thunk before whirling around to face him as he closed the door, my fingers already unbuttoning my blouse.
“Take off your pants.”
His eyes twinkled, and he smirked but obeyed. My eyes were on his hands as he unfastened his belt. I pulled off my blouse and dropped it, moving on to my pants as he kicked off his boots and dropped his own pants to the ground. I stepped into him, slipping my hands under his shirt, my mouth angled up to his.
“Naked. I want you naked.”
His breath was hot on my face as he reached behind him, momentarily disappearing through the neck, reappearing again as he tossed it away. And then I took a breath as I closed the small distance between us, my mouth clashing against his, his warm skin under my palms. His hands wound around my bare hips and lower back, pulling me into him. And it felt so good. I wanted him even closer.
One hand snaked up my back, flicking the snap of my bra, and I didn’t let our lips disconnect as I took it off and let it fall, not considering the scrap of lace and underwire again, not once my naked breasts pressed against his chest. I found myself panting and writhing against him, so I turned and moved us toward his bedroom, my hands against his chest, pushing him toward his bed, his hands on my face and in my hair as he let me guide.
We stopped when he hit the foot of the bed, and I pushed him, half playing, half as serious as a heart attack. He fell back on the bed with a bounce, his long, tattooed body stretched out, propped on his elbows, waiting to see what I’d do. He didn’t have to wait long — I hooked my thumbs in the band of my panties and pushed them down my legs, climbing onto the bed as I stepped out of them, pulling Joel’s underwear down as I brought my lips to his crown as soon as it was visible, making no pomp about it, just wanting him in my mouth. I took him deep, my eyes closed and body rocking, reveling in the feeling of his hands in my hair, squeezing until it almost hurt. But it didn’t hurt. It felt like everything I needed.
I let him go and crawled up his body, laying the line of me against the length of him, my hands on his rock solid chest, bracing myself as I rolled my hips. My lip was between my teeth, heart pounding, and I moaned, already close without even having him inside of me.
I climbed off of him before I did something stupid, reaching for his nightstand, where I knew he kept condoms. I came back until I hovered over him, knees pressed into the bed next to his waist, thighs parted, my shaking hands ripping open the condom and rolling it onto him as quickly as I could. And then I lifted him by his base and lowered my hips until he pressed against me, then into me. Neither of us breathed as I sank and sank, deeper and deeper until our bodies were connected completely, and we both drew a breath, letting it out with a sigh from the sheer relief of the sensation.
I leaned forward, my hands finding his hard chest again, elbows locked, my breasts squeezed between my biceps as I lifted my hips. He slipped out of me slowly, though I didn’t let him go, just let gravity bring me back down.
His hands found my hips and squeezed.
My thighs trembled as I did it again, lifting my ass, dropping back down faster, rolling my hips when they were against his once more.
The feeling was so divine, I didn’t want it to end. Ever. His strong body lay beneath me, the hard length of him inside me, his big hands on my hips, letting me do what I wanted. And my body rocked, humming with satisfaction at the sensation, the want and the need for him keeping my pulse thumping in my ears. I opened my eyes, wanting to see his face — his eyes were hot, lids heavy, full lips parted and hair mussed.
My gaze locked on his lips, so plump and wet, and I hinged over, bringing myself flush against himt, forearms against his chest and shoulders, hands splayed on the side of his face, and I kissed him. I took his lips like I took the rest of him, controlled and demanding as much as it was free and compliant. But the longer we kissed, the less control I had. His hands were on my ass, guiding me, and I wondered if I’d ever had control in the first place.
One hand found my hip again, the other slipping between my cheeks. His fingertips touched where we met, touched us, feeling both as he slammed into me, pulled out of me, again and again. He slipped two fingers around himself at the seam of our bodies in a V, flexing them gently against me. I moaned, my body speeding toward the edge.
I whispered his name, a plea.
His fingers slipped away, and he dragged his hand up, back between my cheeks, the tips of his fingers slick and hot, and before I knew what was happening, he slipped one into the tight hole and flexed gently.
I gasped, the sensation unfamiliar and satisfying, sending adrenaline through me in a shot like lightning. And within a second, I came unraveled, my body exploding and contracting, my breath frozen, heart stopped. The orgasm pulsed through my entire body, my toes curling, hamstrings tightening, bringing my calves up to the backs of my thighs. I gasped for air, my body still squeezing him inside of me, his hands still rocking me against him, knowing I wasn’t finished, though my body had abandoned all function other
than the one, only the one.
He moved to sit, taking me with him, cupping my face, taking my lips, and I was helpless, caught in a haze. He rolled us over, our bodies never separating, though he pulled my thigh into his ribs, holding it there as he pumped his hips. My head lolled to the side, eyes closed, my body still shuddering and heavy, nose brushing the edge of his wrist bracing him. I lifted my chin, parting my lips, closing them over his skin, dragging my tongue, closing my teeth to nip him.
His hand on my thigh tightened, his pace speeding, his breath heaving, and he came, slamming into me hard, head dropping down, his hair tickling my exposed neck. He buried his face in my neck, and I wrapped my arms around him, skating fingers around his back as it rose and fell with his breath. We lay there for a long while, long enough for him to turn his head so he could breathe easily with his cheek pressed against my chest, and my fingers danced across his back in wide loops and gentle turns.
When he spoke, the words rumbled through me. “You smell good.”
I laughed. “After the long day and … that? I doubt it.”
He turned his sleepy face to run his nose against my skin, inhaling. “You do. Like some flower, but I haven’t been able to figure it out. Magnolia?”
I smiled up at the ceiling. “Gardenia.”
“Yes,” he said, the single syllable full of relief at knowing. “It’s been driving me crazy, trying to figure it out.” He nestled into my neck, and I found myself smiling.
My fingers spread flat against the smooth, hard curves of his back, hands sliding in opposite directions as I squeezed him.
He hummed. “Remind me to make you jealous more often.”
My hands stilled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Joel laughed, lips closed, and kissed my neck. “Sure, princess. Whatever you say.”
I frowned. “Who would I be jealous of?”
He lifted his head, propping it on his hand so he could look down on me. He was smirking. Stupid, hairy smirker. “You’re really going to deny it?”
“Deny what exactly, Joel?”
“You are. You’re going to pretend like you didn’t want to grab poor unsuspecting June by the hair and throw her out of my shop.”
I smoothed my face. “Did I think she was attracted to you? Absolutely. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it.”
He was still smirking as his hand trailed down my ribs, to my hip. “Nice try. Don’t try to turn it around on me. It drove you crazy, didn’t it?”
I felt the flush, this time angry. Because he could see right through me — there was no hiding from Joel. “If the tables had been turned, would it have driven you crazy?” I asked, still evading.
His eyes were green, with flecks of blue and gold shooting out from his pupils like starbursts, but they darkened at the question. “Without a doubt. And if he’d had his hands on you all day like I did June, I would have considered breaking every one of his fingers that touched your body. If I even gave him the chance to touch you in the first place.”
I swear to God, my body physically responded, his words hitting me low in my body, in my lungs that drew a shallow breath. “You’re a brute,” I whispered, wishing that fact didn’t turn me on so very much.
He leaned in. “I am. Unapologetically. And you hate that you love that about me.”
Transparent, translucent, like the ice that I was. Freezing him out would never work, not when he could see the fire in my heart.
His lips were against mine, sweeping all other thought away, and for a long time, we just lay there, tangled up in each other, kissing like we had no other purpose. When he broke away, I sighed, wishing the rest of the world would just go away. But it wouldn’t.
Joel moved my hair from my face, peering down at me. “We should get started on those ledgers.”
I drew I another breath, trying not to sigh, but I just didn’t want to. I wanted to lay there, wrapped up in Joel. “I suppose we should.”
He rolled over and climbed out of bed, and I watched him with unabashed appreciation. Tattoos. Everywhere. Well, not everywhere, and thank goodness for that. A tattooed dick would be terrifying. But his sculpted back, ass, thighs … all of him covered in ink that told stories, gave glimpses into his heart and soul. It was the most intriguing thing I’d maybe ever seen. I wondered if I’d have enough time to memorize the patterns on his skin, and my heart squeezed in my chest.
“Need something to wear?” he asked as he pulled on a pair of slate gray sweats, and I mourned the loss of the view.
I stretched and yawned, rolling onto my back. “I brought stuff.”
He looked over his shoulder at me with one brow up and the other side of his lip raised. “You’re staying?”
I sat and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “I mean, we have so much work to do.”
He snorted as he left the room, heading toward the bathroom. “You have no idea how much.”
I chuckled and walked through the apartment and to the kitchen where I’d tossed my bag, which was heavy with a smaller bag inside full of rolled up clothes. I set it on the table and unzipped it, revealing neat little rows of fabric — pajamas, panties, and a skirt and top for tomorrow.
Joel chuckled from behind me. “I bet your sock drawer looks like an advertisement for Ikea.”
I grabbed my pajamas, another sheer, muslin tank and short set, though this one was black. “I don’t really have a designated sock drawer, but if I did, yes, it would.”
“You can’t stand a mess, can you?”
I stepped into my shorts, seeing no point in being modest. “No. I can’t.”
“Then don’t look in my sock drawer.”
I chuckled as I pulled on my top and turned for the bathroom. “Deal.”
He caught me around the waist as I passed and pulled me into his chest, kissing me once, sweetly, before letting me go again with a burning look and a smirk, saying nothing. And I did my best to calm the flurry of butterflies in my chest, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of my mind that whispered that I’d crossed an uncrossable line, and I couldn’t go back.
GIRL
Joel
WHEN SHE CAME BACK A few minutes later, I was already at the table with the ledgers stacked in front of me, working on sorting them. But there was nothing I could do — all of the markings on the ledger covers were in Cyrillic.
She twisted her hair into a bun as she took a seat next to me.
“I can’t read any of these, Annika,” I said with a frown, wondering how I was going to be of any use.
She smiled and reached into her bag for a little notepad and pen. “Don’t worry. It’s not too hard.”
My brow dropped, very much doubting that. But she jotted out a series of lines and squiggles, noting each one with the Western numbers they represented before ripping off the page and lying it between us.
“Here’s your decoder.”
I found myself frowning. “This is going to take forever if I have to translate the numbers.”
“Only at first. You’ll get the hang of it, I promise. Plus, that’s why I’m here.”
I sighed. “Okay. Let’s start by getting these in order by year.”
She reached for the first stack, and I tried not to look down her loose tank as it hung down, exposing her through the draping. I was unsuccessful and unremorseful, suddenly wishing we were finished here and back in my bed.
Annika flipped through the first stack. “I’ll tell you the years and you can keep them in order. Do you have Post-Its?”
My brow quirked as I thought about if there were any in my apartment. “Uh …”
“Don’t worry,” she said as she reached into her bag. “I’ve got some.” When her hand reappeared, it held hot pink sticky notes, and she passed them to me.
“What else do you have in there? A lamp, maybe?”
She smirked. “And a carpet. I also have ruler tape that will tell me exactly how you measure up.”
I smirked back. “I’m
curious to see what that would say. I’m betting Practically Perfect in Every Way.”
She chuffed. “More like Rather Inclined to Giggle, Doesn’t Put Things Away.”
“I don’t giggle, I chortle.”
Annika laughed, that glorious sound, and I continued on.
“And I like to think I’m pretty tidy.”
“For a hairy brute, I suppose I’d agree.”
“Yours would definitely say Extremely Stubborn and Suspicious.”
She shook her head, though her eyes were on the ledgers as she sorted them in front of her. “Why am I surprised that you can quote Mary Poppins? You’d think I was immune to surprise, when it comes to you.” She handed me the first ledger. “1994.”
I jotted the date on the note and stuck it to the cover of the book, setting it aside. “It was Shep’s favorite movie when we were kids. Don’t tell anyone.”
She laughed and passed me another book. “2002. You just told the producer for your show, Don’t tell anyone,” she said, chuckling again.
I wanted to laugh, seeing the humor, but something about it hit me funny. “So, we’re not off the record?” I labeled it and set it next to the other one.
Something flickered across her face. “1990. We are and we aren’t. Do you really object to me bringing up Mary Poppins to Shep? I’d really like to try to convince him to do the chimney sweep dance on camera.”
“No.” I labeled it and slipped it under the ’94 ledger. “But I’d like to think most of this is private.”
“2010. It is.” She reached for another as I wrote the number.
“Just not all of it.”
“’96. Joel, I wouldn’t ever exploit you like that.”
I took the ledger and wrote the number, not offering a response.
“Hey,” she said as she rested her long fingers on my forearm. I met her eyes, which were honest and open. “I mean it. I’ll even swear not to say anything unless I’ve passed it by you. No matter how trivial.”
“I believe you.”
