by Misti Murphy
Her body melts into mine, her voice feathery soft. “Too long.”
CHAPTER TEN
CHLOE
I swear, when I found that damn goat munching on my chrysanthemums, I knew its presence was Paynt’s doing. And after my initial irritation over having an animal in my yard, my heart thawed, just a bit.
He’d planted the goat on purpose, a prank to goad me into interacting with him again. Despite the way we’d left things the last time we spoke, he still wanted to see me, to talk to me, maybe to do ... other things.
Like kissing. And maybe not just on the mouth. Maybe on more intimate areas.
After I’d wrangled a rope around the surprisingly docile animal’s neck, I’d stood next to my house, hidden in the shadows created by the sun, and watched Paynter methodically rake leaves. He’s probably the only person in this neighborhood who actually does that task himself, and I can’t help feeling a bit envious. Who the hell gets jealous over someone raking leaves?
It’s just he looks so ... comfortable. And hot. Literally, apparently, because after a while he takes off his shirt and provides me with a glorious view of those pecs and abs I’d licked and nibbled only a few nights ago. God, it feels like a lifetime. I swear, the man has turned me into an addict. He must have, because it’s only a few minutes after he’s stripped half naked before I’m charging across the lawn, ruining my Jimmy Choos and dragging the poor goat behind me, working myself into a lather so I can lash out at him instead of grab him and shove my tongue down his throat.
And somehow he’s taken ownership of the goat, even though he swears it isn’t his prank, and I can’t help but think how sweet it is that he’s willing to take in a stray, no questions asked. Not even a dog or cat, but a goat, for crying out loud. A barnyard animal. I’m pretty sure it’s against the homeowners’ association code for the thing to even be in our yards, and he’s undoubtedly going to get a nasty letter, since Jersey Housewife—who I swear is stalking him, since she always seems to be around when he’s not wearing a shirt—saw him carry the animal into his house.
Now we’ve named this animal together and he’s actually making plans to keep it. This can’t be good, not for his standing in the neighborhood nor for my heart, which keeps sighing and melting and swooning in my chest.
My head, on the other hand, is staunchly against this entire scene and keeps reminding me of that life plan I’ve been working on for so long I’m not sure I know any differently. Since I graduated top of my class from grad school, my focus has been on the next prize, reaching the pinnacle of my chosen profession. Even when I started dating Marcus, love and forever and all the crap that came along with relationships was always secondary.
And now Paynter’s in my life, he and that damn goat, and I can barely refrain from throwing myself at him.
Scratch barely, because when he places his hand on the small of my back and exerts the tiniest bit of pressure, I’m a goner. I shift forward and practically fall against him, so eager am I to touch his body, to relive the way he’d fit so damn perfectly against my own.
“You shouldn’t have waited so long to bring me something to pet,” he says with his lips next to my ear, and somehow it sounds so tantalizingly naughty. He nips at my earlobe and my entire body clenches like I’m about to have an orgasm.
“Friends,” I whisper, turning toward him, desperate to taste him.
“Let’s be more than friends.” He shoves his glasses onto his head and brushes his lips over mine, gently, coaxing, while his hand slides up my back to cup my neck.
“Benefits. Neighbors with benefits.”
He chuckles before crashing his mouth against mine, as if he, too, can’t wait a moment longer. I make a noise, something animalistic and not at all me, but then again, I’m not the person I’ve created in my mind right now. When I’m with Paynter, I’m me, the wanton woman I’ve suppressed for far, far too long. The one who likes to wear sweats and her hair in a sloppy ponytail and who prefers to go without makeup on the weekends. Who thinks Naked Saturdays should be a damn weekly requirement.
A woman whose career doesn’t rule her life.
“I need to keep you separate,” I say.
His tongue is in my mouth, licking, searing a path straight to my core, which is molten lava right now, ready to boil over and consume me, consume us both. He pauses to take a breath and I’m already missing the feel of his lips pressed against mine.
“Separate? As in magic tricks? Like you want to pretend to saw me in half? Sounds kinky. I’m in.”
I gurgle out a half-laugh while one of his hands twists in my hair, holding my head so he can plunder my mouth to my heart’s delight. The other roams south, flattening against my chest for a moment before drifting down to massage my breast through three layers of silk and satin. It’s too much—clothing, I mean. But I have to focus, as hard as it is. I need him to understand the parameters of our relationship. Or lack thereof.
“No, silly. You and my career. James—I can’t believe my boss is your brother.”
“Your brother?”
“No, your brother. Are you listening to me?”
“Uh-huh.” He’s kissing my neck, nips and licks that are setting me on fire, while one of his hands is wandering again. The left is still kneading my breast, but the right has gone to the hem of my skirt before it slides under, all the way to the edge of my panties. His fingers tease, toy with me, before he slips them under the elastic to cup my ass.
I need to get this out before I lose all sense of reality.
“The only way ... this is going to work is—oh, yes—if I keep you separate from my career. So-so you can’t tell James you know me, okay?”
He’s stroking me, his fingers rough against my sensitive skin, my body’s lubrication making his task all that much easier. I swear mere seconds have gone by and I’m already about to explode.
He’s panting, his hips moving against my leg, like he’s as lost in the moment as I am. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Just please get out of this suit, sooner than later.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” My fingers fumble over the buttons on the coat, but I manage to get it over my shoulders, where it traps my arms for long moments, during which Paynt takes full advantage. Wrapping one arm around my waist, he bends me back while he leans forward and licks the exposed skin over the top of my camisole. The slight sense of helplessness ratchets my body temperature up several degrees until I’m breathing so heavily I’m afraid I sound like an asthmatic dog. Or a goat.
“Should we—should we go inside?” I manage to ask. “Spot.”
“Spot?”
“The goat.”
He stops teasing the tops of my breasts to glance over his shoulder at the animal, munching away at the grass at the edge of his deck.
“If you really want a threesome, I’d prefer another human.”
I giggle and flap my hand, attempting to smack him, but I’m still trapped by my own suit coat. “Don’t be crass. I’m suggesting we go inside so we don’t corrupt the goat.”
He laughs and finally tugs the coat all the way off my shoulders before dropping it onto the deck so he can sweep me into his arms. “You are the oddest woman I’ve ever met.”
“And you are the sexiest neighbor I’ve ever met.” As he carries me past the kitchen, I squeeze his bicep. “Stop. Here. I want to—you, me...”
He groans. “Are you seriously going to ask me to stop now?”
I shake my head and point at the counter. “There. I want—I want you to, uh...” I broker million-dollar real estate deals, speaking with utmost confidence when a simple signature is all that stands between me and my next bonus, and yet I cannot tell the man I’m about to sleep with that I want him to bang me on his kitchen counter.
“I gotcha,” he says wisely, and I see the wicked gleam in his eye as he carries me over and places my ass on the cool marble. Thank God the man can practically read my mind. “Hang on.”
He hurries away, around the corner, and reappears
seconds later, holding two foil packets in his hand. “You forgot these when you ran away the other day.”
My laugh is nervous. “I had hoped to talk you into this then, actually.”
He steps up in front of me, drops the small squares onto the counter, and smooths his hands up my thighs. “You should’ve stuck around. I’m more than happy to see to any of your desires, sweetheart. So long as they involve the two of us getting naked, preferably together.”
“Well, you’re certainly halfway there.” I touch his chest, trail my fingers down to the waistband of his jeans. He grabs the hem of my camisole and flips it over my head.
“Let’s get you there, too.”
My bra is next, and my nipples pucker when they meet the cool air. He lifts his hands and cups them, skimming his thumbs over the sensitive nubs. I arch my back, craving more. I want more of his touch, more of him, more of everything having to do with Paynter. At the moment I cannot fathom why I keep running away from this man. Surely, I could have my career and him. They don’t need to interfere with each other. He’d already agreed not to tell James about us. So long as I keep them separate, I can certainly have my cake and eat it, too.
Or be eaten.
I gasp when he lifts me off the counter, efficiently disposing of both my skirt and my panties, and then places my bare backside on the chilly surface. I’m seated before him, utterly naked save my silver and black heels, with my legs spread wide and his thick erection only a foot or so away, and he’s staring at me like I’m that strawberry dish he helped me make the other day. Like he wants another strawgasm.
“Hold that pose,” he says, and then he sprints away and returns carrying one of the chairs from the dining room.
“What are you...?”
Placing the chair before me, he sits and shifts closer, his face between my legs, his hands stroking my inner thighs as he moves nearer to the prize.
“This. I like this,” I say, salivating as if he’s about to feed me, when in reality, I’m pretty sure his plan is exactly the opposite.
“Me too,” he says, and he kisses my pussy, featherlight but enough contact to cause me to jerk as if he’d electrocuted me. “It’s definitely one of my favorite pastimes.”
I lean back until my head rests against the wall, and I watch him through the valley between my breasts as he uses his fingers to spread my outer lips and give me a lick and then another. While I make noises that are wholly inappropriate for the kitchen, he thrusts his tongue into me, mimicking sex, and I reach down and cup the back of his head, holding him while I grind against his face, until my orgasm hits me so hard, the spasms cause me to slide off the counter. Luckily, he catches me and pulls me into his lap, where I straddle him while he’s sitting on the chair.
“Hey there.” He grins and half his face is glistening with my juices. It’s so incredibly hot, I press my palms to his cheeks and kiss him, soul deep, tasting myself on his tongue, lapping at him as if I might never get enough.
Breaking the kiss, I say, “Keep going. I need you. Inside me. Hurry.”
He snags one of the condoms from the counter and shifts me lower on his thighs so he can shove his jeans down just enough to sheath himself while I’m still sitting in his lap, my body tense, needy, desperate for him to fill me, give me what I want most.
Him.
Us, connected in the most intimate way known to the human race. Right now, I don’t care that I insisted we keep our lives separate except for these stolen moments. Right now, all I can imagine is that Paynter is mine, forever and ever, that he will never share this sort of intimacy with another woman ever again. Only me. If he had any inkling of my feelings, he’d be able to negotiate any sort of deal he wanted, even an exclusive and real relationship.
Thank God he doesn’t realize how I feel.
The condom in place, while I’m still straddling him, I press my heels to the floor to leverage myself so I can sink onto his shaft. With a satisfied groan, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, relishing the pleasure shooting through every nerve ending in my body.
He’s not giving me time to revel, though. He’s kissing me, every part of my face, until he finds my lips, and then he’s thrusting his tongue into my mouth, keeping rhythm with our bodies, which have begun to move of their own accord. It’s not slow, not even at first, but that’s not what we want anyway. At least, it’s not what I want, and judging by his actions, I don’t think Paynter does, either. With one hand on his shoulder and the other grasping the back of the chair, I bounce in his lap, my thighs slapping against his, and he holds my hips, letting me lift up before slamming me back against him again, over and over, until we’re both slick with sweat and another orgasm is welling.
“Come for me, sweetheart. Come. Hard. All over me.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” I grind against him, shifting my hips to pull him deeper, again and again, and then time stands still, the whole world freezes, while my body turns into a rocket and shoots into the sky, exploding into a million sparkling lights before gently drifting back to earth.
“Was it good for you?” he says with a chuckle some time later, probably because I’m draped over his body like one of those ragdoll cats, the ones that, when you pick them up, their bodies go limp like, well, ragdolls. My head is on his shoulder, my eyes closed, my entire body more relaxed than it’s been in ... well, since the last time we did this.
I should make a habit of hooking up with this man.
“Mmm hmm.” I shift my hips because the poor guy needs to enjoy a climax too, but he grabs my waist and stills me.
“I’m gonna fall out at this point. I think I’m dehydrated from how hard I just came.”
“Oh.” I was so lost in my own pleasure, I hadn’t even realized he’d found his too.
He holds the condom in place while I slide off his lap and stagger around the kitchen, retrieving my clothing. As I pull my camisole over my head and tuck it into my skirt, I notice he’s snapping his jeans and staring out the window at the backyard.
“Spot,” he says, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the goat. “She’s gone.”
“What?” I hurry to his side to look out the window, too. The rope is still tied to the post, but there’s no goat. “Where is it?”
“Her. Spot’s a girl. And I don’t know.” Paynter is pulling his flannel shirt over his shoulders as he heads toward the door leading to the deck. I follow, grabbing my suit coat as I go. My heels sink into the earth as I hurry across his backyard, but they’re already ruined at this point anyway.
When he reaches the beam where he’d secured Spot, Paynt bends over and picks up the frayed end of the rope. “She chewed through it.”
Twisting my head back and forth, I automatically search for the goat, hoping she only meant to graze outside the reaches of her tie-down, and she isn’t, as I fear, wandering about our uppity, too-many-rules neighborhood.
Paynt points at a cluster of razed hydrangeas lining the north side of his house. “I think she went that way.”
“Not to downgrade what we just did—at all—but we weren’t in there for very long. She can’t have gone far.”
“You’d be surprised. Goats like to eat. A lot. And they’re inquisitive, too.”
Paynt jogs around to the front yard, and I chase after him, wishing I could change my footwear, but my house is in the opposite direction.
“How do you know so much about goats?” I ask when I catch up to him.
“We used to go to the 4H fair every year when I was a kid. The goats were my favorite exhibit.” He shrugs. “When I’m fascinated by things, they stick with me.”
Is he fascinated by me? Because I sure seem to be sticking with him, even against my better judgment.
“Over there.” He points at a dishevelled group of leaf bags that look as though a tornado has torn through.
As we hurry through the quiet, tree-lined streets, my sense of unease grows with each house, each mess, we pass. I can feel our neighbors watching us
, using their fingers to provide just enough space between the blinds to see without being seen. We are certainly a sight, him in his jeans and rumpled shirt—I swear, I’m going to buy the man a damn iron—and me in my suit—which is also dishevelled, so I suppose I shouldn’t judge—and my four-inch heels and sex-sloppy hair. The wind that has kicked up isn’t helping my attempts at smoothing my locks into something resembling style, or at least presentable.
A child giggles somewhere nearby, and I turn toward the sound—and spy our mischievous goat, enjoying a scratch behind the ears from a delighted little girl who can’t be more than three or four years old.
“There she is,” I say, pointing. “Spot,” I call, as if the goat is a dog—one that’s already been trained, at that.
While Paynter jogs ahead of me toward the duo, the goat looks up and gives a bleat before lowering its head to nibble at the hair of the doll the little girl has dropped on the sidewalk.
“Doggy,” she says to Paynter when he snags the small bit of rope still wrapped around Spot’s neck.
“Yeah,” he says, smiling down at her. “My doggy. Thanks for watching her for me.”
“Bye-bye, doggy,” she calls in a singsong voice, and Paynt scoops the goat into his arms and walks toward me.
“Told you we should have named her Dog.”
I can’t help it—I laugh as we head back to his house together, the crisis momentarily averted.
“Looks like I’m going to spend the rest of the day building a pen for Spot, since it’s obvious I can’t keep her tied up with a rope. Will you babysit while I head to Home Depot for supplies?”
I’m surprised by my desire to go with him, but after that escape, I know we can’t leave the little kid alone. “Sure. That’s fine.”
“I’ll make it up to you later,” he promises when we step into his house and he deposits Spot on the floor, where her hoofs scrabble on the gleaming wood for a few seconds before she’s able to toddle off to explore. “With chocolate syrup on top.”
“Now I really can’t say no.”
“I know you can’t.” He grabs his car keys from the counter, pulls me into an embrace, and then kisses me until my knees wobble. A crash from some other room jerks us apart. “Don’t let her destroy my house, please.” And then he’s gone, leaving me to try to keep an inquisitive kid contained.
