That’s interesting.
Perhaps surprising too.
I hadn’t thought of it like that. I suppose the sharing was always a game, even a bond, I shared with Daniel. Then it turned into something more after Georgia. A need. A craving.
An excessive desire to feel good and wipe away the hurt.
But was it always something else all along?
And if so, what of that?
Is this part of how I show I’m good enough?
There’s only one way to find out. I curl a hand around her head, a sly grin tugging at my lips. “Let’s see if you’re right, Sage. Let’s see if I’m that man who can give incredible pleasure to one woman. To you,” I say, then I lay her down on the seat.
“Yes, show me. Prove it to me.”
And I do, fucking her again, taking her over the cliff.
I’m not sure if this has anything to do with being good enough.
But I know this—being with her is almost too good.
For my head. For my body.
And it seems, most dangerously, good for my heart.
22
Daniel
The next morning, the sound of one of Brahms’s violin sonatas fills my suite as I shave.
The rising crescendo weaves into my soul and wraps fierce tendrils around my heart, pumping it with blood, with oxygen, with passion.
And as I slide the blade across my jaw, I imagine conducting an orchestra, leading them through the stormy, impassioned fourth movement.
I can hear every chord perfectly, every broken chord too, can feel the frenzied, virtuosic soul of Violin Sonata 3.
This one is lyrical—fevered, even—and it reminds me of last night with Sage.
That is no surprise.
They all do. Every sonata, every symphony, every piece of masterful music returns me to a particular place.
Or rather, the opposite is more true.
Every night I’ve ever enjoyed with a woman brings me back to music.
A lovely, clever, open-minded woman is like a Stradivarius. Precious. Rare. Capable of producing incomparable beauty.
Capable of touching that part of my soul that can’t be touched anymore. The part that is black.
As the music thunders, I slide the razor across my jaw one last time while a deep and potent longing burrows into my soul.
And as it does, the ache starts again. An all too familiar ache.
For all the things I once wanted. All the things I once held dear.
But no matter.
I wash the blade, set it down, and shake off the futile wishes, the never-to-be-fulfilled wants.
I get dressed for the day.
Once I’m in a suit, I grab my phone, click on an email, and find one from Jane Black’s manager.
Yes.
This is brilliant.
The start of a terrific plan.
Plans like this, nights rich with pleasure—they all play their part in my life. In giving me the only things I need now. The only things I want.
As I walk down the hall toward the lift, I call the manager back. We chat, catching up on the latest goings-on for the Grammy-winning rock star, then I confirm her for a two-week residency.
When I tell Cole, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.
Just another way for us to stay ahead of the competition. The competition he’s falling in love with.
Of that I’m certain.
I’m certain, too, that they won’t realize they’re falling in love unless they fall into hate again.
23
Sage
After several early conference calls I take from my suite in the morning, I slip into the shower, letting memories of last night flash before me as the water beats down.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back under the stream, getting my hair wet as I replay.
Hands under the table.
Words in my ears.
Lips whispering filthy truths.
And as I rub the tropical shower gel over my skin, I imagine the limo interlude yet another time. Cole’s powerful arms pinning me down. His filthy mouth marking me. The things he said when he fucked me.
I draw a deep breath, a dose of morning pleasure cascading through me.
And my body needs.
I don’t want to do this.
Truly, I don’t.
But already, I can feel the crush of the day. The weight of all this wanting hanging over me as I go through the hours. The last thing I need as I dine with colleagues, as I host meetings, as I make calls, is to ache between my legs for my rival.
I give in, sliding a hand between my legs where I’m pulsing for him so desperately.
Wet, needy, and wound up, and it isn’t even nine a.m.
The glide of my fingers feels like blessed relief, but also like it’s barely enough. Well, this is why the goddess of all good things invented waterproof toys.
I grab my trusty dolphin friend from the shower bench, turn it on, and bring it between my legs. The buzz and hum sate me for a few seconds as the hot water beats down.
The pressure builds quickly in me, and soon I need more. I need all. I slide down to the shower bench so I can spread my legs, lean my head back, and fuck myself shamelessly.
And my God, that’s what I do.
In goes the vibrator in one long, slow slide, the dolphin’s fins flickering over my clit as the toy fills me to the hilt.
I groan, the sound of my own solo pleasure hitting the shower stall.
My moans, my pants, my hungry sighs echo against the glass as I let my knees fall open wider, as I take the toy deeper.
I say his name. Cole.
I say the other man’s name. Daniel.
And I give myself permission to fantasize. To go places I’ve never been. To Cole’s dirty words from last night. I imagine.
Two men pleasuring me.
Two men having me.
And me being used by them.
Me being the woman who makes them feel. Who makes them shudder and groan. Who makes them hard as steel, hungry as animals.
Images fly by as the dolphin drives deeper, as my head falls back, as my legs go wide and wider still.
Fuck me.
Take me.
Have me.
Make me come, over and over.
I am thrusting and groaning and panting, a wanton wild woman enrobed in steam and enveloped in her own wild fantasies. As pleasure winds tighter in me, tighter, then bursts, I breathe a name.
One name.
I want to say his name as they both fuck me.
Cole.
I want to taste it on my tongue as I come for him, for them, for me, just as I’m coming hard, ruthlessly, right now all on my own.
Minutes later, I’m practical, businesslike Sage again. The dolphin is clean and put away in its corner. My body is washed. I turn off the shower, and surely this ought to be enough for me.
This shower diversion needs to get me through the day.
It will. It will knock him from my mind. It will erase my X-rated reel of images.
Twenty minutes later, my mind is clean, along with my body. My hair is dried, twisted in a clip. Makeup is on. I’m dressed in a skirt and a blouse.
As I slather lotion on my calves, my phone dings with a text.
I set down the bottle, wipe off my hands, and adjust my skirt.
My belly flips more than I want it to with the unexpected hope that Cole is texting me.
It’s crazy to feel this way.
That’s what the shower was supposed to do.
It was supposed to wash him away.
And yet it didn’t.
Because last night is with me still.
Last night was like a cocoon of a moment. Like a bubble of intimacy, of true connection, of closeness that I’d never expected and I know I shouldn’t pursue.
And yet.
Here I am.
Hoping. Pursuing.
I reach for the phone on the bathroom vanity, then slide it open, and I actu
ally gasp.
Against all my judgment, against all my logical wishes, I am giddy with delight when I read his message.
* * *
Cole: What is your favorite type of chocolate?
* * *
That is easy to answer. I write back immediately.
* * *
Sage: Patrick Roger from Paris. 70 percent dark chocolate.
* * *
Cole: Excellent choice. Incidentally, I wasn’t thinking of you at all when I woke up.
* * *
A strange sense of relief courses through me. Perhaps this is what I needed to know. That I’m not alone with this intoxication. I carry my phone around my suite, heading to the closet, hunting for my favorite pair of red-soled shoes as I type a reply.
* * *
Sage: I wasn’t thinking of you either this morning. Or when I fell asleep last night.
* * *
Cole: Same here. Not one bit. And I definitely wasn’t thinking of you in the middle of the night, when you were haunting my dreams, and I took my cock in my hand and replayed the way you made me feel in the limo.
* * *
My eyes widen as I read, and reread, and read that one more time. A rush of heat flings itself through my body, white-hot sensations whipping through me as the memories collide, smashing into each other. So much for my best efforts to start the day fresh.
* * *
Sage: You were in the shower with me moments ago.
* * *
Cole: I was, was I? Did I hike up your legs around my waist and fuck you against the wall?
* * *
Sage: No. You and Daniel took turns with me. And you finished me.
* * *
I tense, wondering if that was too much.
* * *
Cole: Say the word, Sage. Say the word, and I’ll make that happen.
* * *
I’m pretty sure I just said it, but I also understand that for a request like that, I need to be absolutely clear. So I tap back.
* * *
Sage: I will. I will say the word soon. And for the record, this morning and the middle of the night aren’t the first times I’ve taken myself on solo rides to thoughts of you.
* * *
Cole: I doubt the middle of the night will be the last time for me either. You are in my head. You are under my skin. And I can’t stop wanting you over and over. And then one more time.
* * *
Sage: I think I’m going to need to change my panties before I head to my office.
* * *
Cole: Show them to me.
* * *
Sage: Make it worth my while.
* * *
Cole: Don’t I always?
* * *
He does, and I would send him a photo of my panties, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable enough to send that kind of text yet.
Instead, I opt for flirty, casual.
* * *
Sage: You do. You definitely do.
* * *
Cole: And I’m definitely not thinking about you as I hike right now.
* * *
I laugh as I read that last text while taking off the lacy fabric and grabbing a new pair. I put them on, then slide my feet into my shoes.
* * *
Sage: Are you truly hiking right now?
* * *
Cole: Do you want me to prove it?
* * *
Sage: Are you actually going to send me a picture of you hiking?
* * *
Cole: I am. O ye of little faith.
* * *
A picture arrives seconds later. And my God, my heart somersaults unexpectedly.
Cole Donovan looks gorgeous, all tanned and fit, his body rippling with those muscles I love running my hands over. They’re on display in a T-shirt that reveals his biceps. He wears shorts that show off his strong legs. Sunglasses hang on the neck of his shirt. He must have removed them for the photo—a little touch I love because it gives me the chance to stare into his soulful brown eyes. Almost as if he knew I’d want that.
* * *
Sage: Are you playing hooky?
* * *
Cole: Depends how you define playing hooky. I woke at 5:30. Struck three deals already. Now I’m taking an hour-long break for a hike.
* * *
Sage: Show-off.
* * *
Cole: I’m not sure you’d like me if I were less ambitious.
* * *
Sage: That assumes I like you.
* * *
Cole: And that is a fair assumption.
* * *
Sage: You know what they say about making assumptions.
* * *
Cole: I do, but you like me and I like you, and therein lies the issue.
* * *
I sigh heavily, reading that last note as I make my way toward the foyer, reaching for my purse. I tap out a reply.
* * *
Sage: And what is that exactly? This issue?
* * *
Cole: We want to hate each other. But attraction is proving stronger than enmity.
* * *
Sage: Perhaps it is.
* * *
Cole: I will continue to do my best to resist you, but every taste of you makes me want more.
* * *
Sage: It seems you are bewitched by your rival.
* * *
Cole: Yes. You have bewitched me, Sage, and for that, I will likely need to put you on all fours in my office, push a hand between your shoulder blades, press your face to the floor, cover your mouth with my hand, and fuck you till you come so hard that you bite my palm.
* * *
I stop, setting my hand on the wall, collecting myself so I don’t melt into a puddle of fiery lava, which is how I feel right now. Because all I can think is . . . make me your plaything.
I write back deciding to tell him that. To lay it all on the line. To let him know.
* * *
Sage: If I ever show up in your office, feel free to use me like that. You know I love it when you make me your plaything.
* * *
I head to my office, doing my damnedest to erase the man from my mind temporarily. While there, I focus on my own dealmaking, on setting up a phone meeting with Max and Alex’s managers again for this afternoon.
An hour later, my assistant knocks on my door, opens it, and hands me a gift. It’s a box of Patrick Roger chocolate. My favorite flavor.
This time, my heart handsprings. It spins and shimmies as a smile owns my face.
I open a bar and take a bite, my eyes rolling back in my head in pleasure. Grabbing my phone, I type a note saying thanks, but then I decide a picture is worth a thousand words.
I snap a close-up of my ruby-red lips, my tongue licking the corner.
He replies quickly.
* * *
Cole: Need to be between those lips. Also, I trust you received the gift?
* * *
Sage: I did. And it’s decadent. Like the way you treat my mouth.
* * *
Cole: Woman, I want to treat your mouth decadently right the fuck now.
* * *
Sage: Good. I hope you’re as aroused going about your day as I am, then.
* * *
Cole: I am steel. I am relentlessly hard for you.
* * *
And that thrills me. That delights me to no end.
In fact, the entire day delights me until Ivy pops into my office late in the afternoon. There’s a crease between her brows. Her eyes are worried.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did you hear that The Invitation just signed Jane Black for a two-week concert series?”
My ears ring. My vision buzzes. I grit my teeth. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Her answer is crisp.
“This isn’t a goddamn game.”
But maybe it is. Maybe this is precisely a game. And Cole isn’t the only one who can play.
All m
y competitive instincts sharpen, coiling like a jack-in-the-box, and I snap.
I pick up my phone, stab the dial pad like I want it to die, and ring the managers for Max and Alex.
One Exquisite Touch: Book One in The Extravagant Series Page 15
