Gulp.
“Have you ever had a hard time . . . rising to the occasion?”
“Never. Next question.”
Didn’t think he did, not with the kind of voracious appetite he has for sex.
“Have you ever taken part in anal play.”
A stupid grin spreads across his face. He licks his lips and nods. “Yeah, and before you ask, the answer is yes, I’ve taken part in anal play myself.”
Holy freaking shit.
I squeeze my legs shut, the thought of Bram letting someone . . .
Nope, I can’t even think it.
My voice is above a whisper. “Have you ever had sexual relations with the same sex?”
“Nope.”
“Threesome?”
“Nah, not my thing. I like a one-woman show.”
And for some reason that surprises me, maybe because Bram sort of seems like a player, or maybe because his sexual résumé seems to be five pages long with the kind of experience he carries, but no threesome is a little shocking.
He must catch the confusion on my face, because he says, “I might be experienced, but I know what I want and what I don’t want. When I’m with a woman, I don’t want to be distracted. I want to give her all my attention and make sure she not only comes, but comes multiple times.”
I nod, my lips moving as I talk while I write. “Likes to make women come. Multiple times. Got it.” Multiple times. Not once if you’re lucky. Multiple. Times. Christ.
He chuckles. “Glad you made that note. What about you, what’s your favorite position?”
Not happening.
I shake my head. “No way am I talking to you about this. Sorry.”
“Why not? You pretty much know everything about my sexual life besides the size of my dick.” He leans forward even more. “Want to know the size?”
“No, for the love of God, no.”
And there’s that smirk again.
“No need to get all flustered, just making sure that wasn’t something you needed to write down.”
“It’s not.” I straighten my dress and take a deep breath. “Okay, one more question and then I can have you fill out the rest via email.” I have to be done with this. I was able to ask most of the important questions and read his body language. Let’s just check sexually confident off in his profile because . . . yeah, there is no problem with his appetite for the physical. He’s also a selfless lover, intentional, focused. Every woman’s dream match, in other words.
“Only one more question? But we were just getting to the good stuff.”
I casually look at the time on my phone. Three hours—how is that even possible? “I have some things to get done at the office, so we should probably wrap this up.”
“Fair enough.” He glances at his watch. “What’s the last question?”
“Describe your dream girl in three words.”
His fingers drum against the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. His lips work to the side as he thinks. There is something to be said about the way he takes his time in answering some of these questions, at least the important ones. He’s thoughtful, something I’ve marked down on his profile.
“Three words would have to be intelligent, thoughtful, and”—his eyes drift to my chest for a brief second—“amazing tits.”
A flame of heat scorches through my face, my voice weak. “That’s four words.”
“Well aware, Jules.” He winks and stands from his chair only to throw his jacket over his shoulders and button up his coat. “I’ll be waiting on your email.”
And with that, he bends at the waist, presses a lingering kiss on my cheek, then struts out of the restaurant without looking back, leaving me feeling uncomfortable, a little hot and bothered, and a whole lot curious.
Just because I’m so curious, I glance at my chest where I notice the V of my dress is incredibly low, showing off a decent amount of cleavage. My face burns with heat as his words ring through my head—amazing tits.
Was he . . . was he talking about my boobs?
And why do I care if he was?
Chapter Eleven
BRAM
“Why are ya walking so damn fast?” Roark asks, jogging to keep up. “You’re going to make me pull my groin.”
“I told you I have somewhere to be.”
Lunch with Roark took way too fucking long. We talked business and then he spent the last half hour discussing the ins and outs of a woman he fucked last night. He described the shape of her areolas and the length of her nipples. It was excessive and unnecessary.
And it’s put me behind. I had plans, and now I’m hustling down the streets of New York trying to get to Julia’s office before she leaves.
“I didn’t think you were serious.” He catches up to me and pulls on my arm, slowing me down. “You’re getting all sweaty, dude. Why didn’t you take your town car?”
“The traffic is shit right now. Walking is faster.”
I keep my gaze forward, my brain working overtime, calculating the minutes I have left before Julia leaves and the amount of blocks I have to sprint/walk.
“Is this some kind of business meeting?”
“Sure.”
“That doesn’t sound convincing.” Roark coughs next to me. “Christ, my lungs.”
“Maybe if you worked out, you wouldn’t be heaving for air right now.”
“I work out,” he defends, but I can hear a smile in his voice. I think he’s the only bastard I know who can do pushups and sit-ups every morning with the occasional run, drink like a horse at night, and have the body he does. It almost seems inhuman.
Annoyed, I say, “Is there a reason you’re following me?”
“Yeah, we didn’t get to talk about the dating program. I want an update. We haven’t gotten one in a while and you know the rules . . .”
“That’s where I’m heading now, and you’re making me late.”
“Oh really?” he asks, his voice teasing and annoying. “Tell me more? Are you excited about the potential women you’re going to meet? Think you can handle a commitment? I’ve never known you to be a guy who dates.”
“Things change,” I answer sharply, picking up my pace.
Roark pulls on my shoulder, slowing my pace. “What do you mean things change? Are you really serious about this?”
“Yes,” I answer sharply.
“Dude.” Roark’s voice grows serious. “I think this is something we should have talked about at lunch.”
“Instead of the size of the girl’s nipples you sucked on last night?”
“Well”—he pauses, and from the corner of my eye I catch his smirk—“we could have only talked about it for a few minutes. But you really want to dive into this dating thing, huh? What changed?”
My feet pound against the sidewalk. Only a few more blocks. I think I can catch her before she leaves her office.
“I’m thirty-three, Roark. I don’t want to be alone forever. It’s time I tried to find someone I can spend my time with, other than you two fools.”
“Hey, we’re good company.”
“Yeah, but do you cuddle?”
“Cuddle?” Roark’s face twists in disgust. “Where the hell is this coming from? Cuddling? Man, that’s real relationship-type shit.”
“I know.”
“And you want that?”
Almost there, I can see the entrance to her office.
“Yes. I do.” I want it with a certain blonde, someone who captured me the very first moment I met her. I just hadn’t realized it at the time. And now I’ve pulled my head out of my ass, after I saw her a few months ago in the park, looking so goddamn beautiful, I knew I needed to find a way to date her, to be a part of her life.
Maybe I’m going about it the wrong way but hell, she didn’t think we were at all suited last time I brought up the idea of us dating. Although, I don’t think she really took me seriously. This time? This time I will fucking prove I’m serious. That we’re the right fit. The perfect fit. She’ll have no othe
r choice than to believe me. Believe in us.
“Well, give me a hug, man.” Roark tries to pull me into his embrace but I fend him off.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He adjusts his suit jacket. “Congratulating you. Christ. Can’t a friend be happy for another friend? You want love. That’s a big step.”
Shaking my head, I turn toward her building and reach for the door but Roark stops me. “Does Rath know?”
“Know what?” I ask, my skin starting to prickle. If I’ve missed her, Roark will pay.
“Does Rath know you’re about to take a turn down relationship road?”
There is one thing to be said about Roark: he might drink like a sailor and fuck his way around New York City, but he’s perceptive.
And, Jesus, for a second I thought he knew about my feelings for Julia.
“I mean, he knows about the bet obviously, so I think the two go together.”
Roark shakes his head and smile. “Not when it’s his sister you’re interested in.”
Fuck.
“What are you talking about?” My palms start to sweat, the truth searing me in half. How the fuck does he know?
“Ah, don’t play with me. I can see it all over your face.”
“You’re drunk, dude.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Sober up and do some work for once in your life.”
I retreat and open the building door just as I hear Roark call out. “Just admit it, you like her.”
Sometimes I really hate him and his Irish ways.
* * *
I don’t have a meeting with Julia. I want to catch her off guard before she leaves. When I contacted her assistant, Anita, she told me Julia likes to leave the office on Fridays around 4:45. Well, it’s fucking 4:30 and I’m hoping Julia doesn’t spit fire when she sees me walk through her door.
The modern building is pretty quiet compared to its normal hustle and bustle through the hallways, so when I reach Julia’s office, I hope to God she’s still there. It’s been three days since our lunch, and I need to see her again. I have thought about every word, every blush across her sweet cheeks, and every rise and fall of her spectacular breasts when her breath hitched during our last conversation. I want round two. I need round two.
It’s why I haven’t turned in my answers to her questions.
And why I haven’t answered her emails looking for them.
Because I want to do this in person again. I want to ask her the same questions, find out what it was that I said that turned her on. Because she was. There were moments when I described what I’d do for my woman when I saw her mind wondering if how I have pleasured women in my past would be what I could do to her in the future. And I want to know every single way I can get her off. Pleasure her. Stripped of her exacting control—blind with sexual satisfaction and bliss.
With a deep breath I grip the handle to her office door and pull, relieved when it opens. Reception is empty, making me believe Julia let Anita go home early—such a good boss—so I make my way to her office where the door is partially open.
For a brief moment, I watch her at work, her fingers clacking against the keyboard, her eyes trained on the computer screen in front of her, and honestly, the concentration in her brow is a huge turn-on. She’s smart, clever, and determined. I respect the way she’s built a business from the ground up and has succeeded without the financial help of her brother. She’s done it on her own and that couldn’t be sexier to me.
With my knuckle, I rap the door, startling her. Through the thick black lenses perched on her nose, her blue eyes focus on me and slowly she starts to relax.
“Bram, what are you doing here?”
I push all the way through the door and strip out of my suit jacket, only to drape it across the couch. Before taking a seat, I press a quick kiss on her cheek despite wanting to move my lips softly across her lips. “Came to answer the rest of my questions.”
“I told you to answer them in an email.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I want the full experience. I want you to ask me in person.”
“I . . . I don’t have time.”
“Bullshit.” I stand from the couch and walk behind her desk where I grip the back of her chair. Her vanilla perfume floats around me, knocking me back for a second. Shit, she smells really good. Heavenly almost. It’s enticing . . . pulling me closer.
Honestly, what would she do right now if I leaned over her shoulder and ran my tongue up her neck to her jaw where I nibble the path to her lips. Would she hate it or be turned on?
From the tense set to her shoulders and the way she won’t turn in my direction, I’m going to guess she’d float on the side of don’t come near me.
I’m not worried though. I can change that.
I glance at her computer and take a look at what she’s working on.
A letter to Panera . . .
“Uh, you’re busy?”
She quickly exits out of the window and crosses her arms over her chest, spinning her chair to face me. “If you don’t give feedback right away about your meal, you end up forgetting.”
“It’s just after four thirty, what time did you eat lunch?”
She bites the corner of her lip and fuck if it doesn’t make me hard in an instant, seeing the way her teeth graze over her plump, wet lip.
“Twelve thirty, but I made a note.” She spins around again and holds up the note she made to herself: Rip Panera a new asshole.
“Interesting choice in words. May I ask what Panera did that results in receiving a new asshole from you?”
Her eyes cast to the side, a slight smirk on her face. “They forgot my cookie in my delivery.”
“Well, that’s all kinds of fucked up.”
“I know,” she complains. “The only reason I decided to get a salad was so I could have the cookie, or else I would have gone with the mac and cheese.”
“Obviously. The fucking nerve.” I nod toward the computer. “What have you written so far? Let’s see if we can spice this email up for you, get you a year’s worth of free cookies.”
“Do you think they would do that?” God. Fuck, she’s looking at me with the cutest expression I have ever seen on her beautiful face. As if she wants me to help her. So incredibly gorgeous. And for once, I feel like I have what she needs.
“Might as well try.”
Turning toward her computer, she opens up the screen, and I read the letter out loud.
“To whom it may concern. I ordered a Fuji apple chicken salad and seasonal cookie today and didn’t get the cookie in my order. I’m very upset . . .” I shake my head. “Jules, this won’t do. You have to be firm. Let me have a crack at it.” I lean over her shoulder and reach for the keyboard.
The heat from her body immediately strikes me, and I make sure to keep her blocked in with my foot so she’s forced to stay close. I want to feel her warmth for as long as I can. It’s addictive. She’s addictive.
I crack my fingers and look over my shoulder. “Are you ready for this?”
Lips sealed together, eyes wide, she nods and then glances at my broad shoulders before turning back to my eyes. That little perusal—the one she tried to hide—makes me believe that maybe, just maybe there might be something brewing between us.
“Okay, first of all, you have to change the heading of this email. Let’s start it off with, listen here, you bloodthirsty cocksuckers.”
She nudges me, but I don’t budge. “You can’t write that.” She laughs.
“Sure I can. It’s more impactful.”
“It’s rude.”
“It’s rude they forgot your cookie. Now where was I? Oh yes, bloodthirsty cocksuckers. I bought a salad on the sole basis of eating a cookie afterward, and your incompetent harem—you like to refer to as employees—forgot my precious cookie.”
“You can’t call them incompetent.”
“Why not? Weren’t they? They forgot your cookie.”
“They might have been busy.”
I
roll my eyes as Julia pushes at me again. “I can worry about the letter later.”
“Do you not want my help?”
“I don’t want you causing a scene with the Panera guy who delivers regularly to me. I rely on their service to feed me, so I’m not calling them bloodthirsty cocksuckers.”
“If you don’t want my help, I guess we should just get started with the questions.” I stand and make my way to her couch where I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot of a quick text to Linus.
“I wasn’t planning on staying late.”
“Neither was I, so let’s just forget this is work and treat it more as a way to get to know each other better.” I turn, wink, and plant myself firmly on her couch, stretching my arms out and marking my territory.
“There’s no need. You’ve known me for years, and these questions are about you so I can create a profile.”
“Oh no, I came here for the full experience, so I want you to give it to me.”
She gives me a cursory once-over, her eyes roaming my body, before she lets out a heavy sigh and succumbs to my impromptu meeting. She switches off her computer, grabs her notebook and iPad, and makes her way to the couch. “You know, you’re really annoying.”
“And yet, you’re about to have a get to know me more session.”
“Because I know you won’t give me any other choice.” She’s right about that. I had my heart set on spending Friday night with her, so here I am. “Don’t you have plans for tonight? Going out with the boys?”
I shake my head. “My priority is you, Jules . . . and this program,” I add . . . just to throw her off.
The blank stare and the way she nervously fidgets with her pen leads me to believe I’m doing everything right to gather her affection.
“Well, it’s nice to see dedication,” she awkwardly answers and fumbles with her notebook. “I think there are fifteen questions left, so we can quickly get through these and then be on our way.”
Or we can catch dinner, drinks . . . go back to my place. Either of those options would work for me but I don’t say that, because that would be a sure-fire way to scare her. She’s already nervous, and I don’t want to push her away when I’m starting to feel like I’m gaining ground.
The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister Page 9
