The Hot One

by Lauren Blakely

  She nods against my cock, and then I feel her hand on my thigh, and she cups my balls. Then she squeezes them. Yes, fucking yes. She tugs on them—not too hard, but just enough, and my brain goes haywire. My balls tighten, and my dick thickens even more. I unravel as a climax barrels through my body, knocking out lights, frying wires. It’s an obliteration of the senses as I unleash my orgasm in her mouth.

  “Coming. Coming so fucking hard,” I say, gripping tighter, and I’m done. I’m toast. I’m in blow job heaven. This orgasm finishes me off, my legs shaking, my heart racing, and pleasure partying in every cell.

  I shudder as an aftershock wracks my body.

  With a loud, wet pop, she lets go of my dick. I sigh happily. So fucking happily. There’s nothing inside me but the lovely, druggy aftereffects of the best blow job ever.

  She lifts her chin and clasps my thighs. “Told you I had a good teacher.”

  “Get up here, student,” I say, and offer her my hand. I tug her into my lap, and she sits on my half-mast dick. I wrap an arm around her and graze my lips against her forehead. But that’s all the time I’ve got for basking. Time to take care of my woman. I grab her hips, lift her up, and set her on the edge of my desk.

  She arches a brow in question. I push up her skirt and spread her legs, catching a peek of black lacy panties. I drag a finger across them, murmuring as the pad of my finger slips over her wetness through the fabric. “Let me do that to you. Right here. With you sitting on my desk. Let me eat you out.”

  She gasps like I’ve said the most shocking, scandalous thing. Maybe I have. We were always daring, always playing with fire in public. Even though this is private, it still feels dirty. The good kind of dirty.

  But she shakes her head and slips off the desk, sinking back to my lap. “Not now.”

  I frown. “Why not?” I dart my hand between her legs, rubbing her once more. I love how much of her slick heat has soaked through. She’s silky even with this tiny layer of lace between her flesh and my fingers. “Sure seems like you want it.”

  “I do,” she says, but she pushes my hand away and looks me in the eyes. “I want it so much. But it makes me feel really vulnerable, and I want to be one hundred percent ready for that. I want to be able to let go completely and give in to it. You know how I love it when you do that to me.”

  “I do know that.”

  “And I want to be able to be in the moment completely.”

  I pull her closer, my nose nearly touching hers. “You will be, angel. You won’t be anyplace else when I undress you, spread your legs, and bury my face between these beautiful thighs that I’ve been dreaming about. I don’t want anything but your complete abandon.”

  She murmurs. “That’s what I want, too.”

  I press a closed-mouth kiss to her lips. “Hey.”

  She pulls back and meets my eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for being open with me. For telling me that. That you’re not ready yet.”

  “An old dog can learn new tricks.”

  I sit up and beg. “Same here.”

  Her lips twitch in a smile. “And thanks for letting me blow you in your office like the world is ending.”

  Laughing deeply, I lean back in my chair. I drop a hand to her ass and squeeze her cheek. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Ruh roh,” she says, like Scooby Doo, and I’m glad she’s not worried. She shouldn’t be.

  Tucking a finger under her chin, I raise her face, keeping her gaze locked on me. “I like you. A lot.”

  “I like you, too. A lot,” she says, as she snuggles in closer. “It’s the sex, right?”

  I crack up. “Yeah, it’s all the sex. I’m overdosing on all the sex.”

  Her smile grows wider. “We are pretty good in that department.”

  I knead those lovely cheeks again. “We were always good together. In every way. We can be good again, too.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Her smile disappears. “But it’s not just this part you like, right?” She gestures from my chest to her breasts.

  “Your boobs like my pecs?”

  She swats me. “You know what I’m saying.”

  “Angel. It’s not just sex.” I rub my hands over her arms, reassuring her. “We haven’t even had sex, and I’ll wait months if you want to.” Then I lower my voice. “Though, I really hope we don’t wait months.”

  She screws up the corner of her lips. “I was thinking more like ninety days?”

  “You think I can’t last, but let me tell you something.” I slide my hand under her skirt and up her inner thigh, grazing the soft skin. “I know it would drive you crazy to wait that long, too.”

  She whimpers, but then it turns to a little chuckle. “Pot. Kettle.” She moves my hand away. “Seriously, though. Tell me, Tyler. Is it just sex?”

  I shake my head. “Woman, the way I feel is not just coming from how much I want to fuck you.”

  “Or how much I want you to fuck me,” she tosses back, with a naughty little lilt to her voice that tells me all her worries have been assuaged.

  “Exactly. There’s way more to this, and you know it.”

  Later that day, I toss a crumpled up sheet of paper into the wastebasket and swivel my chair so I face Oliver. He’s slumped back on the couch with his navy tie loosened as we review contracts. “Let me ask you a question,” I say.

  “Hit me.”

  “You ever fallen in love when getting a blow job?”

  Oliver cracks up, his hand on his belly. “Oh dear Lord. You have come to the right man with that inquiry.”

  “That so?”

  “Oh, yes,” he says confidently. “I’ve fallen in love when getting them, and when giving them. But that’s not all. I’ve also seen God, witnessed angels, traveled to the stars, and seen the light of distant planets.” I roll my eyes, but Oliver’s not done. He sits up straighter. “I’ll have you know I’ve also walked through the pearly gates and back.”

  “You’ve died and gone to heaven and back all from giving and getting head?”

  He laughs deeply. “No, no, no. During the heavenly experience, I was absolutely the recipient. Bloke had the most astonishing—”

  I hold up a hand. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what was so astonishing about—”

  Oliver jumps back in, a quizzical look on his features. “About his tongue?” he asks, 100 percent deadpan.

  “You’re the worst.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows and sticks out his tongue, flicking it around.

  Dragging my hands through my hair, I mutter, “Why do I even ask you this shit?”

  Oliver taps his chin as if in deep thought. “Hmm. Let me guess. Might it be because you fell in love during a blow job today?”

  I sigh heavily, then I smile stupidly.

  I did fall in love during a blow job. Only it wasn’t because of the astonishing friction or the magnificent deep throating. But trust me, her ability to go deep is, indeed, astonishing. What did it for me was her passion. Her zest, if you will. She wanted it to be amazing for me, and after what I put her through eight years ago, that’s saying something.

  It says something about her. About her heart. About her willingness to try again. She’s all in when it comes to starting over. She surprised me at my fucking office with a striptease and some oral loving to say she was sorry for something she didn’t even need to apologize for. But she did it anyway, and I loved the gesture.

  Am I falling in love through my dick?

  That’s not how I see it. A man puts himself at a woman’s mercy with a blow job. On the surface, I have the power. She’s on her knees, my hands are in her hair, and I’ve got her where I want her.

  But no.

  During a blow job, a woman holds all the cards. She’s got a man’s most valuable possession in her mouth, and next to her teeth.

  To top it off, Delaney had me by the goddamn balls. Literally.
r />   And like that, I surrendered to her, and she gave me the best time ever, even though I’m the asshole who broke her heart.

  Now, I hope to hell I’m the man she lets back in.

  And make no mistake, I want her heart badly.

  How to win it is the big question.

  21

  Tyler

  * * *

  When I leave Craig Buckley’s office that afternoon, you’d have to wipe the grin off my face with a street sweeper.

  My go-big-or-go-home strategy worked. It performed like a Bugatti hugging the curves on the Autobahn. We won nearly every point, making this one beautiful deal for Jay Benator. I punch the air when I exit the revolving glass doors of the Midtown office building then call Jay on my cell phone.

  As soon as he answers, I dive in. “Congratulations! You are now the lead prime-time show on LGO, and you’ll be getting a fifteen percent raise.”

  “Holy shit.” His voice is rich with elation and relief all at once. “I can’t believe it.” He repeats those words over and over as I tell him the details.

  “You did it, man,” I say with a grin as wide as the traffic jam near Times Square.

  “No, you did it, Tyler. I’m amazed,” he says, awestruck.

  I like having a client who’s amazed. We took a risk and it paid off. Proof that sometimes you have to swing for the fences.

  We chat for a little longer, and then I call Clay. I give him the good news as I walk up Broadway through the late afternoon crowds, feeling like I own this city. I might even be strutting, and that’s fine with me. I’m in one helluva New York groove. My cousin has been a fantastic mentor, guiding me through the ins and outs of entertainment law and giving me the opportunity to pursue riskier opportunities.

  When we’re through, my workday is officially over, so I head to Speakeasy, a bar in Midtown where I’m slated to meet Simon. We toast to the good news as we grab some stools at the counter.

  Then he clears his throat. “I’ve got some good news, too.”

  “You do?”

  The man nods with a grin. “I asked Abby to move in with me, and she said yes.”

  “Excellent,” I say, and I knock fists with him. “You’ve got the whole happy Brady Bunch thing going on, don’t you?”

  “Life with my ladies truly couldn’t be any more perfect.” Simon has a five-year-old daughter, and I can already tell that Simon, Abby, and Hayden will be the happiest blended family around.

  “Wait. Don’t tell me you need moving help.”

  Simon laughs and shakes his head. “Pretty sure my phone still works.”

  I wipe a hand across my brow. “Isn’t that one of the nice things about being an adult and having a J-O-B? You can call up a moving company and have them do the heavy lifting.”

  “You know it. I’ll drink to no longer needing to ask my buddies to move futons and milk crates.” He lifts his glass and takes a sip. “How’s your insane campaign to win back Delaney going?”

  “Better than expected,” I say, then I get him up to speed on that front, letting him know the dates are going outrageously well.

  “I’m impressed, Nichols. I knew this was going to be a tough one, but you’re defying the odds.”

  I grin like a son of a bitch. “And I need to keep doing that. Tomorrow night we’re going to a party that one of her clients is throwing, and she seems pretty psyched for it.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Should I get her a gift before we go? What do you think?”

  Simon nods. “Women like gifts.”

  “Wisdom from on high,” I say, knocking my glass to his. “The question is what to get her. Flowers? Or chocolate? Or something quirkier, like a necklace made from recycled bike chains?”

  Simon furrows his brow. “They make that?”

  “Yeah, they’re actually kind of cool looking. Stark and sort of industrial, but sexy. And Delaney’s all about being green, so I think she’d dig it.”

  “Seems you have your answer.”

  “But is that enough? Is it defying the odds? The thing is, I think I’m already in love with her again. I want to prove myself. Show her how seriously I care about her. Remember when you said I needed a grand gesture?”

  Simon laughs. “You’re going to show up naked at her doorstep this time? Run down the street in your birthday suit? Wait. Wait.” He holds up his hand. “I know. Take her to a Yankees game and do the full monty on the Jumbotron.”

  I give him a look. “If that’s what it takes, I’d do it.”

  He whistles. “You’ve got cojones. Oh, and feel free to call me when you need to post bail.”

  I spin my coaster. “Don’t worry, Travers. I’ve got you on speed dial.”

  But I’ve got something else in mind—something that doesn’t involve my balls on a Jumbotron.

  22

  Delaney

  * * *

  Tyler stands in my sliver of a hallway, his eyes closed.

  I run my fingers lightly through his lush brown locks, savoring the soft feel of his thick hair. I could do this for a while. But we have a party to go to.

  “Ready?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His eyes are closed. The hairstyle I picked for him is a surprise. I slide the banana-blond wig over his skull, tucking his brown hair into the wig cap. He smirks and smiles the whole time. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, per my instructions.

  I adjust the wig, then I tell him to stand still as I grab a red-checked bandana from the coffee table. I tie that around his forehead, tucking it under the bright bangs. He wiggles his eyebrows as I do that.

  Next, I grab some leather wristbands and snap them on his right arm.

  “I’m going to look so hot,” he says.

  I drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Even like this, yes, you are.” I step back, appraising my handiwork. Technically, Gigi’s fete isn’t a costume party so I didn’t plan to go full-on dress-up, but I couldn’t help myself once I saw the wig. I had no choice but to accessorize it.

  I put my hands on his shoulders and walk him to the mirror. “Open your eyes.”

  He does as told, and his laughter starts with a trickle, then small little burst. Then, like a dam unleashed, it becomes a waterfall of belly laughs.

  He shakes his head at his reflection and turns to me. “I’m your Axl Rose, angel. You got me a mullet.”

  A grin spreads. “And no one has ever rocked a mullet like you have.”

  “You do have a big thing for hair bands.” He runs a palm over the too-bright blond hair that’s spiky on top and long on the sides.

  I hope he knows it’s a compliment that I picked this look for him. Sure, it’s ironic, but it’s also a nod to one of my guilty pleasures. “You do know I had a huge crush on Axl Rose back in the day?”

  He runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. “I am one hundred percent aware of that crush, and I couldn’t be more honored to rock the look. And will you be wearing a Joan Jett rocker-chick ’do?” He presses his hands together in prayer. “Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.”

  I laugh and drag a hand down his chest, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles through the fabric of his T-shirt. “Just you wait.”

  I head to my bedroom and shut the door. I won’t be playing Joan Jett or Belinda Carlisle tonight. But I think he’ll like my look anyway, even though I didn’t pick it for him. I picked it for me. It’s fun, playful, and bold. It’s the opposite of the more muted looks I wear to work.

  But more than anything, the wig I picked makes me happy. I twist my hair up, tuck it into a nylon cap, and then pull on a sapphire blue wig. The fake hair hits me just below the chin in a cute bob. I kick off my jeans and slip on a white dress.

  For the pièce de résistance, I grab a pair of boots from my closet. Nicole tracked them down for me. She hoofed it all over the city in hot pursuit of the sexiest pair of size-ten flipper-feet ankle boots she could find. When she presented these gray beauties to me last night over happy hour drinks, she said, “A pea
ce offering.”

  I arched a brow. “There’s no need for an olive branch when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Nicole shook her head. “I do need to make peace. Because I want you to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m here for you. I support you. When you go on your date tomorrow night, I want you to know I’m behind you.” She squeezed my hand, and her green eyes teared up. “I mean it, hon. All I want is for you to be happy. If this man makes you happy, then you should go for it, and you should have the hottest pair of boots in existence to match your little go-go outfit.” She smiled and threw her arms around me. “You’re going to look like Katy Perry.”

  But after I slip on the boots, which jack me up by three inches, it’s not the pop star I look like. It’s a kids’ TV star. When I return to the hallway where Tyler’s leaning against the wall, his eyes roam my figure from head to toe. His jaw falls in slow motion like a crank is winding it wide open, as he takes me in. “You . . .”

  He doesn’t say anything more. I think he might be speechless. He licks his lips and tries again. “You look . . .”

  I smile and jut out a hip, giving him a sexy little pose.

  He detaches himself from the wall, strides over to me, and sets his hands on my hips, clasping me tight. “I can’t believe you have just given me Smurf fantasies. But you have. You are the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen, my Smurfette.”

  I’ll take that over a pop star anyway, considering what he does next.

  He slams his mouth to mine. He sweeps his tongue over my lips, then insistently pushes inside my mouth. He kisses me roughly, with hunger. His stubble scratches my chin, and the whiskery burn sends a rush of heat down my chest and straight between my legs.

  Already I’m hot for him, needy for him. He bends me back, demanding more from my lips, wanting all of my mouth, kissing me like it’s the only thing on earth left to do.

  Kiss and crush and devour.

  I moan into his mouth, and he swallows all my sounds then kisses me impossibly harder. My head goes fuzzy, my brain turning into a haze of heat.