by Noelle Adams
I giggled. “Not really. I just meant we can talk. Unless you’re not a talker.”
“I think you know I’m a talker.”
He was. He was incredibly smart and incredibly verbal. That much had been clear from the meetings I’d attended in his offices over the past few weeks. He wasn’t the strong, silent type—despite his tragic history. He was charming and clever and articulate, and that was one of the things I liked about him.
“So talk,” I said.
He frowned. “Now you’ve put me on the spot.”
I laughed again, almost forgetting that I was lying beneath him wearing nothing but my panties.
He gazed down at me, his expression softening as if he liked what he saw on my face. “I noticed you the first time I saw you,” he murmured.
“You did not. You were in full business mode. You barely knew I existed.”
He’d started kissing my neck, teasing and nibbling in a way that made me shiver, but he replied against my skin, “I knew you existed. I saw you there, sitting so quietly, trying to fade into the background like you were afraid someone would notice you and realize you weren’t supposed to be there.”
That was exactly how I’d felt in the first couple of meetings. It was a real coup that I’d been asked to work on the team—it was the first big job I’d been given since joining the firm three years ago—and I’d been terrified I was going to blow it.
He’d moved down to my breasts now, nuzzling slightly before he teased one nipple with his tongue.
I gasped as the jolt of pleasure took me by surprise because I’d been distracted by the conversation.
“I wasn’t that bad,” I managed to say, shifting beneath him to ease the tightening pressure of arousal. “I acted just like everyone else.”
“I know you did. But I still noticed you. All that red hair and sexy lips and that gorgeous body you were trying to hide with those boring suits. I knew you had a fire inside you that you’d never let out before.”
“That’s...” I couldn’t finish the sentence because he was suckling my nipple in a way that made me want to moan. I closed my eyes and tossed my head and managed to try again. “That’s presumptuous. I’ll have you know I’ve always had a great sex life.”
It wasn’t entirely true, but it was partially true. I’d had good sex before, and there was no reason for him to assume I hadn’t.
“I believe you. That’s not what I meant.”
I wanted to know what he meant, if it wasn’t that he didn’t think I’d had hot sex before, but he didn’t explain himself further. His hands had moved down to part my legs, and his fingers slipped beneath my underwear until he was touching me intimately.
He would feel how hot and wet I was. He couldn’t help but feel it.
I groaned helplessly as he stroked me there and kept teasing my nipple with his tongue. The pleasure tugged between the two parts of my body until I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“I saw you sitting there every day, and every day I wondered what was going on in your mind. And what your body would feel like in bed with me.”
Two of his fingers were inside me now, and I felt myself clenching down around the penetration.
“There it is,” he murmured thickly, lifting his head as if he wanted to see my face. “Is it the talk or the foreplay that’s working for you?”
“I don’t know,” I gasped, rocking my hips against his fingers. The pleasure had taken form now, momentum, and I needed it to get where it was going. “Just don’t stop.”
He kept pumping his fingers and lowered his face to my other breast. He sucked on the nipple, making me writhe and clench my fingers into the bedding beneath me.
“I saw you go into the bar last Thursday,” he murmured, releasing my breast for long enough to talk. “And so I went in after you.”
“You did?” My voice squeaked just a little.
“Of course. You didn’t think my finding you there was an accident, did you?” He flicked my tight nipple with his tongue until I let out a shameless moan. Then he added, “I wasn’t following you or anything. I just happened to see you go into the bar. And I wanted to see what you were really like beneath the surface.”
“And now you know,” I gasped. I was so close to coming I could feel it. I was chasing it with my hips, my whole body.
“Now I know.” He gave my nipple one hard little nip.
I came apart at the sudden jolt of pain, the orgasm clamping down and then releasing in waves of pleasure. I made a loud embarrassing sound that was half groan and half sob as my body shook and tried to ride his fingers until the spasms finally faded.
He was smiling when I finally opened my eyes, as if he were very pleased with himself.
For no good reason his expression embarrassed me. It made me feel strangely young and inexperienced.
So my tone was tarter than it should have been as I said, “You don’t have to look quite so proud of yourself. It wasn’t that good.”
His smile widened. “Yes, it was. And I bet that jackass you’re in love with wouldn’t take the time to get you off first the way I did.”
I gasped, this time in indignation. “Yes, he would! And he’s not a jackass!”
“Yes, he is.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know everything I need to know about him. I sized him up in about a minute when he first walked into my conference room. I’ve known plenty of guys like him before.”
That’s the other thing to know about me. The man I was in love with was also a lawyer in my firm. He also specialized in property law. I saw him in the hall and in the break room every day, and he was always nice to me in a light, playful way. He’d led the team that had been negotiating the contract with Sean over the past month.
If I hadn’t gotten drunk last week, I never would have admitted to Sean—to anyone—that I’d been in love with John Cooper from the first time I’d laid eyes on him, from my very first day at work in the firm. It was true, but it wasn’t something I ever told anyone.
He wasn’t in love with me. He’d never even tried to get to know me outside the context of work. It was one of those hopeless unrequited loves that eat away at you and never come to fruition, and I knew it.
If I hadn’t known it, I never would have ended up in bed with Sean Doyle.
“Admit it,” Sean said, still smiling in that smugly pleased way. “Your jackass would have been in and out in about five minutes, and you’d have had to finish yourself off after he left.”
I scowled at him. “That’s not true at all. You don’t know him. Now shut up and take your pants off.”
He was chuckling low in his throat as he did as I said, and I couldn’t help but watch with interest as he bared himself. His body was strong and lean and natural—he wasn’t unusually hairy, but he obviously didn’t believe in manscaping—and his erection was thick and heavy.
I really liked the looks of him, and I liked how real he seemed.
He wasn’t the love of my life—stepping out of my daydreams or a sexy fantasy. He was a real, human man, slanting me a look of ironic inquiry.
And now he was sliding off my panties, reaching over for a condom, and then positioning himself between my legs.
I still couldn’t believe I was doing this.
We didn’t talk as he rolled on the condom and then lined himself up at my entrance. I was still very wet, very aroused, so there wouldn’t be any worry about discomfort. He held himself up on one arm, and I bent my knees, and then he was starting to push himself in.
I had another one of those moments of strangeness—that this guy I barely knew was putting his penis inside me—but it didn’t feel bad. It felt full and stretched and intense. Sean let out a low groan as he finished the thrust.
“How is it?” he asked hoarsely. He’d turned his head slightly, and his eyes were focused on the pillow on the other side of the bed.
“Fine. Good. It’s good.” I rolled my hips, trying to relax my m
uscles even more.
Sean groaned again. His jaw must have been clenched because I saw a muscle flickering on the side of his face.
When he just held himself still, I finally asked, “So are you going to move or what?”
He turned his head back to meet my eyes. “Kind of impatient, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think so. When a guy is inside me, I expect him to do something. Unless you’re thinking I’m going to do all the work.”
He gave a huff of amusement, and then he seemed to lose control for a minute, making a few fast, short pushes into me.
It felt so good I gasped and arched up.
After that, we didn’t talk anymore. His focus had narrowed down to a hot, urgent motion, and that was clearly the only thing filling his mind. He held on to one of my legs, pushing my knee toward my chest and spreading me open for him. He moved in fast, steady thrusts, his eyes moving hungrily from my face to my breasts to where he was pumping into me.
The look on his face, as much as his motion inside me, was causing pleasure to tighten again at my center.
I occasionally came during intercourse, but it wasn’t a regular thing. So I was surprised when I felt another orgasm rising up inside me.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
No girl didn’t want to hear that, especially when he obviously meant it. He was totally into this, all his attention and energy channeled into the way he was fucking me right now.
Sean’s thrusting was getting harder and faster as he was starting to lose control. “Fuck. You’re getting tighter. Oh fuck!”
I was panting just as much as he was now, and my fingers were digging into the back of his neck. He’d pushed my knee back even farther until it almost met my shoulder. The bed was rocking shamelessly, and in another situation, I would have been embarrassed, afraid the people in the next room would be able to hear how hard he was taking me. But I didn’t even care. I wanted it, wanted even more of it.
“Fuck, Ash,” he gasped, his face twisting dramatically, clearly right on the cusp of coming. “How do you feel this good?”
It was his words as much as the stimulation that pushed me over the edge again. I gave a soft, breathless sob as I shook helplessly through an orgasm.
He wasn’t holding back anymore. He was pushing into me hard, with a clumsy kind of roughness. It didn’t hurt. It just felt raw and urgent and nakedly real, like he wasn’t putting on any kind of show—and neither was I.
When he came, I could see the rush of pleasure on his face, and he let out a loud, uncontrolled sound.
We were both breathless as we came down, sweating and gasping and limp. It took him a minute to catch his breath before he pulled out of me and rolled over, his eyes closed and still holding on to the condom.
I felt sore and tingling between my legs, and I was suddenly a little embarrassed again. So I said, “I’ll take care of that if you want.”
He opened his eyes and looked a bit surprised, but he tied off the condom, and let me take it.
I threw it away in the bathroom and then washed my hands. I stared at myself in the mirror, flushed cheeks, wild look in my blue eyes.
I couldn’t believe I’d just done that.
I’d had sex with Sean Doyle—a man I barely knew—and it had been odd but still really good.
I wouldn’t mind doing it again.
I decided to use the bathroom since I was in here, so I peed and then I cleaned myself up a bit. Feeling better, I grabbed a bathrobe from a hook and put it on as I returned to the bed.
Now that sex was over, I didn’t want him peering at my body.
He was still lying on top of the sheets, completely naked, his eyes closed. He looked relaxed, sated—and it made me just a little bit proud.
He’d had a really good time. With me. And now he was satisfied.
I went to get my glass of wine from the table.
“Grab mine too, if you don’t mind,” he said.
When I handed him his wine, he took my hand and pulled me back into the bed with him. I propped myself up on the pillows and smiled at him.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“About what?”
He frowned. “You know what. Should we sign the contract or not?”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” I didn’t want to sound too excited, after all. I couldn’t let him think that I was already looking forward to the Wednesday after next.
“Yeah?” His eyes were searching my face, as if trying to read my mind.
“Yeah. What about you?”
“I would have signed it even before we had sex,” he admitted.
“What? You had no idea whether we’d even be good together or not.”
“I was pretty sure we’d be good.”
I shook my head at him, not sure whether he was telling the truth or just being cocky in that teasing way he had.
“And you’d really be okay with the... the limitations?” He was still looking for something in my face.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, this works out perfectly for me. I’m never going to fall in love again, and I’d rather not deal with the complications of dating since it will never lead anywhere. But you want to fall in love, so this can’t be what you’re really looking for. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s patronizing. I can make informed decisions about my own sex life, and if I agree to it, it’s not going to be because I’m secretly longing for you to fall for me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I never thought you were.”
“Good. Because I’m in love with someone else, and right now I can’t have him. Good sex is good sex, and it’s better than nothing.”
He chuckled wryly. “Very flattering. Thanks.” Despite his words, he looked almost relieved.
And I realized something else then. Sean might be rich and powerful and accustomed to getting what he wanted, but at heart he was a really decent guy. He wanted a situation where he could have sex with absolutely no strings, but he didn’t want to hurt me in the process.
I liked that about him.
And I knew I wasn’t going to get hurt.
My heart belonged to someone else, so there was no danger of my ever giving it to Sean.
I finished my wine and set the glass on the bedside table. Then I got up and walked over to pick up the contract and the pen.
I scrawled my name on the signature line.
Sean was smiling as I brought it over to him. He signed it too.
“So I’ll see you two weeks from tonight,” I said.
“You’re leaving already?” He was still completely naked, but he didn’t look the least bit self-conscious about it.
“Yeah. I think so.” I was feeling pretty good right now—like it had been a very good evening—but I was afraid if I stayed much longer, it would begin to get awkward.
I leaned over to pick up my clothes. “I had a good time though.”
“Me too.” His smile was real and companionable, but it was clearly not mushy or romantic.
He was never going to want anything but sex from me, and that was just fine with me. He was a good guy, and he was good in bed.
That was all I needed.
He wasn’t my first choice for sex, and I obviously wasn’t his. It didn’t matter.
Second best was better than nothing.
Two
SO HERE’S THE SCOOP on John Cooper, the love of my life who didn’t know it yet.
I met him for the first time on the day I started my job. I was getting coffee in the break area for my corner of offices and pretending to be poised and self-assured, as if I were completely comfortable in my new position and in my semi-expensive suit.
I wasn’t. Of course I wasn’t. I could barely believe I’d been given the job offer, and I was living with this lurking fear that someone would realize they’d made a mistake, that they’d actually wanted to hire another Ashley with red hair wh
o’d graduated at the top of her class in a midtier law school and they’d mistakenly ended up with me instead.
Naturally, I didn’t want anyone in the world to know I was feeling that way.
That first morning, I was using all my willpower to put on a confident demeanor as I poured a cup of coffee from the pot. When I turned around, mug in hand, the most handsome man I’d ever seen was standing less than a foot away.
He had very dark hair and very blue eyes and the broad, solid build of a football player. He wore a nice black suit, and there was the slightest of clefts in his chin.
I slopped hot coffee all over my hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a deep, pleasant voice. “Did I surprise you?”
Now I was trying to pretend that the spilled coffee on my skin didn’t hurt. “Sorry! Oh. Oh. Oh, no. No, of course not. Sorry. Sorry about that!”
That was word for word what I said.
The man broke into a slow smile.
My heart burst into flutters.
“Are you new here?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I am.” I forced myself to take a deep breath and try to speak lucidly. “I’m Ashley.”
“John. John Cooper. Glad you’re on board.”
That was it. That was our entire conversation, and the only conversation we had for the first month I worked at the firm.
It was enough though.
I returned to my office, ignoring the burning sensation from hot coffee all over my hand. I pulled out my little planner—a paper one since I can never make an electronic planner work for me—and I wrote this sentence on the very last empty page.
I’m going to marry John Cooper.
Silly, I know. The kind of foolish romantic gesture a teenage girl might make.
But I was convinced it was true. It felt like a deep abiding knowledge that descended on me from on high.
And I believed it still, three years later, as I was riding up the hotel elevator on my way to my second evening with Sean Doyle.
My heart belonged to John Cooper. But my body, at least for tonight, belonged to Sean.
Two entirely different things.
There was safety in that. Safety in the fact that ultimately it didn’t matter that Sean had built up impenetrable walls around his heart—around the deepest parts of himself—and that I’d never be able to scale those walls or bring them down. I didn’t want to.
