by Clover Hart
Barry
Holy shit, it’s not like I’m going to say no, and as we stumble into her apartment, making out like fucking animals, we slam into a wall, my back taking the brunt of it. My shoulder hits a picture frame, sending it falling to the carpeted floor, but I’m much too busy gripping Penny’s hair and losing myself in the feel of her warm, wet mouth. She’s already tugging off my coat, and I’m doing the same with hers, losing one piece of clothing after another with every step we take.
She makes a soft sound under my mouth, then pushes me away. My head is so scrambled that I have no idea what the hell is going on until I realize that the front door is still open. As she blows out an ecstatic breath and goes to close it, my mind has a few seconds to catch up on current events.
Penny. Her apartment. Kissing me. I’m happy and disturbed all at once, because she’s not my type, but fuck, she totally is. I look forward to seeing her and I dread it. I have a habit of letting down my guard with her and, at the same time, revealing parts of myself that no one else knows. I’m a total imbecile in her presence, and I actually showed up at Hana Sushi tonight hoping she’d be there, just like I’ve been doing since we first went. Every time, the same old story plays in my head: maybe this time, if I see her there, I’ll realize that the pleasure I got from watching her eat was a fluke, and she’ll be like any other woman I’ve lost interest in.
Wrong. Because this asinine crush has gotten so much worse since a few hours ago.
As she closes the door, part of me hopes that Penny will change her mind. There’s still time to tell me she made a boo-boo and I should just leave. But then she turns to me and leans back against the door. She’s wearing one of those Puritan dresses, and I have a cock-shattering epiphany.
It’s not about what she’s wearing. It’s about her. Even in a flannel dress with a collar and second-hand-store boots, she rocks me, making me throb and want her more than I ever have.
She gives me one of those looks I see whenever she eats sushi or talks about traveling the world. My pulse crashes in on itself, every part of me pounding as my blood gets jammed up, a million heated cells laying on their horns and shouting, What the fuck is going on here?!?
Then she rushes me again, and my body goes pedal to the metal. I scoop her up so that her legs are wrapped around me and we’re necking again, my body lit up as all fuck as we devour each other. Shit, I’m going to blow all the hard work I’ve put in at FCT, as well as my reputation, and over a damned girl.
It’s going to be so worth it.
She dips down to bite my neck, and a jolt to my groin almost takes me out at the knees. As the sound of us panting chops through the air, I grasp her collar with one hand and tear at it. Seams pop, and she only squeals against my skin, kicking me in the legs with her boots like she’s giddy-upping me, just like that first night when she wore heels.
I laugh, all my better angels turning into devils as I grip the front of her dress and yank some more until the buttons come flying off. Now she laughs and helps me to jerk the top part of her dress down, exposing her bra. It isn’t nearly as Puritan as that gunnysack dress she was wearing until about five seconds ago. Fuck, no. Everything is black lace, pale skin, and do-me-now. I grip her ass and bring her up so I can bury my face in her tits, gnawing, kissing, toying with every rounded part of her. Meanwhile, my fingers are busy underneath the back of her dress, sliding toward the center of her thighs. When I get there and press up against her, she yelps and laughs again.
The raw sound claps through me. I’ve never heard a sound like that until I got to Cherry Valley and met her, and as she clamps her legs around me harder, I hold her with one arm, coaxing my other fingers beneath the elastic of her panties so I can slip between her folds and feel how ready she already is for me.
Real ready.
“Oh, yeah,” she whispers against my hair while hooking her arm around my neck and moving her hips with my hand. “Oh, hell yeah.”
I keep massaging that sweet spot until she makes a needy sound, asking for more. I slide my fingers up and into her. She arches, then groans, and I slowly pump in, then out. Her groans turn into mewls. Then, on a more frustrated note, she reaches in front of herself to undo her bra.
When her breasts spill free, I drop to my knees on the carpet, my fingers easing out of her. I look at all the roundness, the pretty pink tips that’ve already gone hard for me. I don’t think we’re going to get to a bed this time. I doubt we’ll even make it as far as the sofa.
She squirms out of her bra and dress. “This is the last time this is gonna happen, you know.”
I take my gaze off her tits for a second as something inside of me twists. “Definitely. The last time.” My eyes automatically go back to where they were.
Penny’s breathing is shredded as she works off her boots, then her panties. “We just need to get this out of our systems once and for all.”
“This should do it.”
But it won’t. I already know that as I peel off my shirt, shoes, and socks, then pause before getting back to my knees. Penny is already bare and beautiful as she watches me, smiling with her head tilted, taking me in with her hazy, big eyes. I stop undoing my fly, feeling my heartbeat echoing through every part of me. This isn’t lust. It’s not anything I’ve ever felt before, and I have no idea what to do with it except just look at her and think that I’m the luckiest bastard on Earth.
“Penny,” I say quietly, even though I didn’t mean to say anything.
Her eyes go even wider, as if she doesn’t know why I’d stop just to say her name. But why would she know? She obviously has no clue what she’s done to me and how tonight shouldn’t be happening at all.
Then something changes in her, almost as if she has caught on to these strange emotions that I’m warding off. She lifts her chin, putting up her own kind of wall. I can imagine her making this same kind of move with all the other losers she’s told me about — the ones who’ve treated her like shit in the past. In spite of what she told me about my being a decent guy, she must still think I’m one of them, and she’s bracing herself to deal with it.
Sweet, Fun Penny disappears altogether as she gets to her hands and knees, then crawls her way toward me with a hungry, knowing smile. I recognize the distancing game she’s now playing, and I sense that a playful smack to my face is in my near future. As much as I’d normally love that — girls either react to my smartass mouth by slapping me, fucking me, or sometimes both — it’s not what I came here for. I walked Penny home because I couldn’t stand the thought of letting her walk alone. And when I came into Hana Sushi tonight and saw her sitting by herself, it actually pained me to see the forlorn look on her face.
Holy shit, I think, as everything suddenly hits me. I didn’t come here for games at all. I came here because I’m …
I don’t want to think about what I might be in with her, especially since she’s rising to her knees in front of me. She starts undoing my jeans.
“You’re not gonna slap me?” I ask. “It sure looked like it.”
“Want me to?” She’s got my second button undone, and my belly muscles are hopping under her fingers. “Or would you rather have some of this?”
She reaches into my fly and takes me out. Fuck. As she lowers herself to me, I close my eyes and enjoy. I’m already hard for her, and it doesn’t take long for me to get harder, my blood thudding in my groin and in my head, nearly blinding me to everything but her mouth and the heat and a thrashing sense of losing every bit of my mind in an oncoming, steadily approaching boom. I’m so close to it, but she only gets me to that edge before she backs away with an evil smile and oh-so innocent eyes.
She doesn’t know how much practice I’ve had at holding back, but that doesn’t make this any easier.
“You want me to get my heels so this will be the best time ever?” she asks. “Because if this is the last time, I want you to remember it.”
“No heels,” I manage to grit out. My cock is killing me, and I ca
n barely think. But what I do know is that I don’t want heels or a tight black city dress or a woman who has her shit so totally together that she has season tickets to the opera. I want everything about Penny, who’s more than a pair of legs in high heels or a good time on the town. Maybe I’m not the bad boy she’s looking for, even if she denies that, but what if I’m something else entirely, and maybe she’s been hoping for that all along without even knowing it?
As she stares at me in confusion, I stand up and swoop her up in my arms. She gasps as I bring her over to the sofa until she’s sitting on it, her back straight, her eyes still wide. She doesn’t know what I’m up to, and I’m not even sure until I kneel, then lean over to kiss her neck with all the feeling I’ve been holding back. I hear her take in another sharp breath like she’s going to talk again.
“Shut up, Penny,” I whisper against her soft skin, drunk on her scent. “Just shut the fuck up.”
And she does, holding her breath as I kiss my way down her body. I taste the skin over her collarbone, making her grip my hair. I drag my mouth over her chest, skimming over the tip of her breast, and she shivers. I circle my tongue there while her fingers tighten in my hair and my groin rages at me to just move on. Then I nip my way down her ribs, exploring every inch as she arches her back. Knowing an invitation when I see one, I slip my fingers between her legs and skim through her again, working her until she closes her eyes.
“Just one last time,” she sighs, falling to her side until she’s lying on the sofa.
I climb onto the cushions, kissing her lower. Then lower. Then I give her the biggest kiss of all between her legs.
I make myself at home there, getting all I can of her, hearing her make agitated sounds, moving along with her hips as she grinds against my mouth. I hear her build and build to something high and restless, and when she comes for me, I’m ready to fucking do it. But if this is our final time together, I’m going to make it last.
I turn her over, wanting to linger over even more of her, kissing up the curve of her beautiful ass, up her spine, then to her shoulders until I get to her neck again. With a groan, she turns back over, then uses her feet to push down my jeans and boxer briefs. I’m beyond waiting now, my head in a thick mist, my body kicking and screaming, and I barely have time to fish a rubber out of my jeans pocket before I let the denim drop to the floor. Then I slip the condom on before she cups my face with her hands.
I think that maybe, just maybe, she’s feeling it, too.
Then her expression changes, and she grabs my hips, pulling me toward her. I thrust into her, and she rocks up against me with another dizzy sound, and from that point on, we’re inseparable. She meets every move with a crazy, dazed need, and every moan she makes piles up in me, one after another, pushing at my insides, making me think that there’s never going to be anyone like her. Then …
Then I can’t think much at all. Penny is the only thing I’m tuned into: how she tenses below me, how her voice gets higher and louder, how she lifts her hips and cries out a final time. As she then urges me on with her fingers digging into my skin, that’s all I can take. I’m being pummeled inside, one punch right after the other until there’s an explosion, then nothing else but the way I can’t get my breath back.
As she breathes beneath me, I wait for the regular old panic to set in, telling me I was wrong about fucking feeling anything and to just get out of here. Even after all the fuzzy-wuzzy emotions I had before I got off, I’m still the same asshole, right?
The seconds turn into minutes, then stretch beyond that. The urge to run never comes. Fuck — in fact, there’s no way around the truth: the only way I’m going to get out of this is to be totally honest with Penny. If I don’t tell her what I’m feeling, I won’t be able to go to work knowing she’s right there in front of me five days a week. I can’t go on pretending that I don’t want her more than anything.
So … okay. I’ll just talk to her and tell her the truth about this screwed-up thing I’m feeling. If she tells me to go to hell, I’ll back off and never bring it up again. I can still be a decent boss. Then again, if she’s interested …
As I roll to my back, making sure neither of us tumbles off the sofa as I bring her on top of me, I tell myself I’ll figure out a solution, whether it’s to have her report to Zach from now on or to find her another job she likes so we can date. Because this could be dating, right? Wait … maybe I should talk to her tomorrow instead of now, just in case my hormones are fucking me up in some kind of afterglow. I’ll get through this night, then reassess where I stand in the morning.
Great plan.
Penny stirs on top of me, and suddenly I’m a nervous wreck. But how can that be, when I’ve faced down bosses and captains of industry? How is it that a girl has made me such a disaster?
She presses her face against my chest. “Hoo-boy. Once again, that was …”
“It really was.” But what was it? I want her to say it first, if she says it at all.
She pats my chest, almost lightheartedly. “We’re so bad.”
“Regular fuckin’ outlaws.”
“It was totally my fault.”
I stare at the ceiling. Her … fault? Like this was an error? I tense up, feeling those cactus spines putting up my usual barrier. If she’s not into this, I shouldn’t be into it either. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who should’ve known better.”
A girl, I think again. This girl has really gotten to me.
“So,” she says. “It’s out of our system now, isn’t it? And, just like last time, I won’t tell a soul.”
Then she hugs me to her, and I get the shitty feeling this actually is a goodbye — one that I’m not ready for.
Chapter 22
Penny
I probably shouldn’t have kicked Barry out of my place so fast, but what else could I do? There was no point in pretending we were caught up in anything but a last hurrah, so after we quickly got over that hot sex on the sofa, I tweaked his cheek, sat up, and put on my clothing.
He didn’t argue, so our happy ending was obviously cool with him. We finally got all that sexual junk out of our trunk, and Monday will be easy-peasy with us being so much more relaxed around each other.
But the morning after, I’m still lollygagging wide-eyed in my bed when he texts me.
We ought to go over a few things before we get to work Monday. Are you free to meet at the office today at 9am?
Oh, no. It doesn’t take a CSI team to figure out what this is about. He’s going to tell me that I shouldn’t have invited him to eat with me at Hana Sushi, and that I really shouldn’t have pulled him inside my apartment like I was in feral heat. He’s my boss, not a loser boyfriend, and maybe he’s going to fire my ass. Maybe I was wrong about him being a decent guy, and this is where he proves it.
I was definitely projecting when I thought I saw something in him after that kiss. And, dammit, I was doing so well steering clear of bad-news guys lately. But, really, deep inside, could it be that I still want some of that? I’ve never admitted this to anyone, much less myself, but bad-news guys are easier to handle. Now that I think about it, you don’t have to go out of your way for a bad boy. You don’t have to rise up to their expectations; you only sink down to their level, and that takes no effort at all. By avoiding nice men, I never have to disappoint them.
Screw it. Maybe Barry won’t fire me — he just wants to brush me off, and I need to want that as much as he does.
I can’t eat breakfast because I’m so anxious, but I shower, then I walk to the FCT offices. When I get there, I make sure no one else is inside. It’s Saturday, and if Zach is working, he’ll be at the FCT campus, checking out the progress there.
At 9:04, I wonder if Barry is standing me up, so I go back to the lobby, only to find him entering. He’s wearing his typical natty sport coat with a shirt underneath that reads Ask Me About My Ninja Disguise. But he’s not doing a very good job of wearing a disguise right now, because he looks cranky and unh
appy.
I was right that he’s pissed. I was wrong about him feeling something for me. You were totally projecting again, I think, and I should be ecstatic about the fact that I’m let off the hook and he doesn’t like me that much after all. Instead, my belly churns and my heart sinks.
“Maybe we should go for a walk,” he says.
“Good idea.” The walls are closing in on me, just like they did on that day when WayvComm terminated my job before I’d even started.
He holds the door open for me, and I walk out in front of him. It’s too early for Main Street and most its Old West-fronted shops to be livened up with tourists, but down the street where The Curio Cupboard is located, there’s a bit of a crowd. It’s one of the early wine tours making its first stop at the shop I used to own. I’d worked so hard to arrange for them to come in with discount coupons and spend spend spend, but now the new owner, Mrs. Baker, is in there greeting them and collecting their cash. I used to love being kept on my toes by a crowd and never knowing who was going to walk through the door, but then I started feeling so chained up.
I just don’t know where I belong anymore — not in Cherry Valley, not anywhere else.
Barry and I cross the street and head in the opposite direction of my old shop, toward Preserve Avenue. He’s tenser than I’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t even have as much product in his hair, leaving it loose and … oh, man, I just want to feel it again.
As we keep walking, he takes in a very un-Barrylike breath, as if his nerves are frayed, too.
I spare us the torture. “It was just sex.”
He slows down in front of the health food store. No one is around us, so the coast is clear, and I go on in a rush. “It’s not a big deal. We just had a weak moment. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets, his jaw tight. “A weak moment.”
“Of course.” I can’t stop running my mouth. “You don’t have to worry about how this is going to affect everything. I’m even researching other cities to live in so you don’t have to worry about this awkwardness continuing forever.”
