Model Behavior

by Tamara Morgan

  “No.”

  “You jerk.” She pressed up against him, furious, yes, but also weakening. Even in retreat he was somehow able to come out ahead. “Maybe it’s too late for the tattoo and your cell phone, but it’s not too late for this.”

  “You want me to keep my apartment?”

  “Yes. God, yes.”

  “And you want me to go back to the life I had before?”

  “More than anything in the world.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll do just that. You can sit across the table from me at dinner in a few months’ time, when our schedules happen to align again. We’ll talk about your latest photo shoot or trip to Argentina. You can laugh at my jokes about the maître d’. I’ll introduce you to the woman I’m seeing, and you can pretend to like her.”

  Livvie stopped, and the world stopped with her. She couldn’t possibly be hearing him correctly. “Did you...? Is that...? Are you seriously blackmailing me right now?”

  “It’s not blackmail. It’s the truth.”

  “It’s emotional blackmail, and you know it. You’re threatening to sleep with other women if I don’t give in.”

  “Of course I am!” Ben’s jaw ticked, and she wondered if he was as near to exploding as she was. “That’s what my life was like before. That’s what my life has always been. A series of meaningless flings that don’t fill the hole inside my heart. A frantic search to find someone—anyone—who can make me feel a fraction of the joy I get from being around you. That person doesn’t exist. I’ve looked, Livvie. I’ve tried. She doesn’t fucking exist.”

  All of the fight seemed to ebb out of him at once, and his hold on her slackened to almost nothing. “I understand there isn’t anything I can do or say to change your mind about us, but don’t expect me to be thrilled about going back to the way things were. Learning how not to love you isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Goddammit, Ben.” She growled a warning, a sound they both recognized as a cue for him to back off or risk attack. He didn’t move. “You can’t just keep pushing all the time until you get your way. You have to stop pushing me.”

  “It was your list,” he said, his words barely above a whisper. “Not mine.”

  She kissed him. It was fury that made her do it—fury and the chest under her fingertips and the fact that she had no idea how to learn not to love him, either. Although she wanted to rip her fingers through his hair and push him against the wall, showing him just how angry she was, she paced herself, savoring the taste of him as she dipped into his mouth.

  Because he tasted amazing. His breath was warm and his tongue hot, and he was unable to stop himself from returning her kiss with all he had. She had a feeling it would always be like this with them. Neither one would stand there and simply accept an embrace. It was battle and it was war. It was push and pull and a never-ending fight for dominance.

  He groaned into her mouth, and it wasn’t a sound she welcomed. That wasn’t the groan of a man who wanted her, driven to the edge of madness with lust. It was the groan of a man who was about to stop things before they got even messier than they already were.

  “Don’t,” she said, desperate not to hear the words. Once he said them—that he demanded everything or nothing, that he didn’t want sex if he couldn’t also have her heart—there was no taking them back again. “Don’t tell me you can’t do this. It was your idea. And you can.”

  She reached down and grabbed his cock to prove how effectively he could seal this deal, to prove she wasn’t the only weak one in the room. The semierect length of him solidified under her touch, and he hissed when her palm hit the rounded tip through the fabric of his still-damp slacks. God, his cock was heavy—full and throbbing, perfect in its weighty promise.

  Rich, powerful, gorgeous men were the absolute worst. Why did she ever think she had a chance?

  “Of course I can do this,” he said with a sharp intake of breath. “My prowess has never been the question.”

  She refused to ask what the real question was, because she already knew the answer. Me. I’m the answer.

  “Then prove it to me. I’ve never been the sort of woman who buys a dress without trying it on first. Fuck me, Ben. Show me what it is I’ll be missing for the rest of my life. Convince me you’re worth the risk.”

  He slid his hands under her shirt, peeling the fabric away and yanking it over her head so quickly she didn’t have time to register it until she was standing there in nothing but her bra. She registered it when she looked up in his eyes, though, which flared with a combination of desire and stark pain she’d never be able to erase from her memory.

  “If you aren’t convinced by now, you never will be,” he said.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Fucking you. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  Hands came up again, this time to her shoulders to drop her bra straps over the slope of each arm. She could feel the cups slipping lower as a result, her nipples aching to be released to the air. All of her ached that way—to feel something, to let Ben take control, to know she was cherished from the inside out.

  “Oh, God, yes. Please.”

  He dropped a light kiss along her jawline, a soft touch of lips against skin, her whole body shivering at the sensual implication contained within.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she said.

  With a nudge that dropped the lip of her bra even lower, he gripped her nipple between forefinger and thumb and twisted—not enough to hurt, but enough to elicit a cry and have her tightening her own grip on his cock. Ben would soon learn that she was no passive participant. He might have caught her off guard in the tattoo parlor, but she wasn’t about to fall into this trap a second time.

  “If it’s not a good idea, why are you still holding on to my cock?”

  “Because you’re holding on to my tit.”

  “Is that how this is going to work?” he murmured. “I wish you had said something earlier.”

  Without releasing his hold on her nipple, he leaned down and drew the puckered flesh into his mouth. His teeth flicked the already sensitive nub, but she barely had time to protest as he gentled his hold and swirled his tongue in painstaking circles. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another second of the teasing, the ache that filled her whole body and centered in her pussy, he switched to the other breast.

  He was just as thorough the second time around, slowing down as he savored the feel of her in his mouth. She moaned and arched her back, urging him to take more—to take it all.

  He didn’t. Instead, he released his hold and glanced pointedly at his groin. “Okay. Your turn.”

  She laughed. She wanted to moan, to cry, to do as he asked and fall to her knees to suck him off, but she laughed. They were too close as friends, too well-known to one another. They couldn’t just fuck like strangers or animals, or even like two people who’d fallen into lust a long time ago. He’d always find a way to make her laugh.

  “If only it were that easy, eh?” He smiled sadly and lifted his hand to cup her cheek. He lingered along the curve, running the pad of his thumb over her lips, tracing the outline with a reverent touch. “You were right about us not being able to go back to friends after this. I didn’t listen. I never listen. I’m always too sure of my own position to give anyone else a second thought.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. That sounded an awful lot like a man about to retreat. “And now?”

  “I’m not sure about anything except how I feel about you.”

  She almost cried out—in longing and in regret, in the pain of the inevitable. “Then what do we have to lose? If our friendship is screwed anyway, why not enjoy the few hours we have left?”

  His smile lit him up from within. This was no peroxide smile, either. It was the beautiful, boyish, authentic smile that belonged to the Ben only she knew. H
er best friend. Her lover. A man who would push her over the edge before yanking her back up again. “Then I say it’s my turn. My list. Before I let you go, there are seven things I want you to do for me first.”

  No. No. If a list written years ago in jest could cause this many problems, she didn’t want to think about what a deliberate attempt on his part could do.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, sensing her panic. “I think you’ll like where this is headed. The first thing I want you to do for me is strip.”

  She paused only long enough to blink. She was all too happy to get out of these wet clothes, to stand naked before Ben and let her body do the talking. It was always the most articulate part of her anyway.

  Maybe it could say all the things she couldn’t. I need you, and that scares me more than anything.

  Her bra was already halfway off, so all it took was a flick and a toss, and that tiny scrap of lace was disposed of. She allowed herself a moment’s enjoyment as Ben swallowed heavily enough to sink a ship before reaching for her miniskirt.

  She took her time with the bottom half, gyrating her hips in a slow rotation to make the most of the moment. The stretchy fabric clung, and peeling it away from her damp skin probably wasn’t the most alluring she’d ever been, but when she hitched a finger in the band of her skimpy thong, she knew without a doubt that it didn’t matter. Ben wanted her.

  Whatever his motivation, whatever his endgame, whatever ridiculously complex steps he’d taken to get them to this point, Ben wanted her. That desire, that need, centered her.

  She stepped out of her panties carefully, but instead of tossing them onto the heap of her wet clothes, she tucked them into the nearest open box. It looked full of awards—oversized and made of glass, dozens of them all honoring Ben for the same thing—and she let a tiny scrap of the lace hang out.

  It would be a trophy for his trophies.

  “Okay. I’m stripped. What now? A dance? A show? Do you want me to get on all fours and crawl to you?”

  She meant to inflame him with each of those suggestions, but all she felt was the mounting pressure of her own desire, her blood hot and her body wet. She wished he’d demand all that. She’d show him what a compliant girl she could be when he asked nicely.

  “Number two. I want you to strip me.” He lifted his hands up, as if she were a cop on the verge of arresting him. “I want you to strip me using only your teeth.”

  “You have a very predictable list,” she said, unable to stop the smile from spreading over her face. “I have to say I’m a little disappointed.”

  “Would you rather we take a seat over by the window and discuss our feelings?”

  “Fair enough.” Her movements toward him were slow and careful, the sway of her body not unlike the predatory swish of a shark’s tail. “Your wish is my command.”

  Stripping a man of a damp T-shirt using only one’s mouth was a much more difficult task than it seemed. She started at the bottom hem and tugged, her nose brushing against the hard wall of his abdomen, swirling her senses with the scent of him. Each movement of the fabric up his chest was a challenge she gladly undertook, nipping her teeth over and under, taking her time as she slowly exposed him to her hungry gaze. The most difficult part was the top, and she saved it on purpose, nuzzling into his neck and kissing the rapidly beating pulse that awaited her there. The stubble Ben always wore—those perfect eight hours of manliness that never disappeared—grazed at her cheek and lips, and she gave into the urge to nibble along his jawline.

  “Do you want some help?” he asked with a slightly shaking voice. So far, he had yet to lift a hand to touch her, but she could feel how much he wanted to, his tension second only to his desire. “By my count, we only have about three hours left, and I’d like to spend at least one of those inside you.”

  She laughed and allowed him to finish lifting the shirt over his head, happy to take a moment to drink in the sight of him, bare chested and vibrating with desire. “A whole hour? You’re awfully confident for a man who’s spent the better part of the day walking around with an unsated erection.”

  “I’ve spent the better part of five years walking around with an unsated heart. I think I can handle myself.”

  She sank to her knees, unwilling to listen to any of this while the intensity of attraction still lingered. There would be time enough to talk about how they planned to end things. She could look her future in the eye at eight thirty-five. Right now, all she wanted to do was feel this man sink into her—whether it was for an entire hour or a mere sixty seconds.

  “Of course you’d say that. You always were a cocky bastard.” As she was eye level with the hard swell of his slacks at the time, Ben laughed.

  He also broke his own rule, dropping a hand to her neck, his thumb pressing the underside of her chin so she was forced to look up. There was a possessiveness to the gesture, yes, but there was also tenderness. So much tenderness her throat grew thick.

  “I really do love you, Livvie. I know it’s the last thing you want to hear right now, but I refuse to take things one step further without saying it. I love you, Olivia Winston Schnur. I love you as my friend and as a woman. I love you for everything you’ve gone through and all the challenges you have yet to tackle. I love you because you’re the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever known.”

  She couldn’t look him in the eye, too afraid of what she’d see there. “Did you want me to take your clothes off with my teeth or not?” she asked.

  He dropped his hand. “Yes. I only thought you should know before we have sex. It won’t just be physical for me.”

  He was giving her an out, a chance to put her barriers back up, an opportunity to flee. Even though her mind screamed at her to take advantage of his generosity, her heart wouldn’t let her. She had to know, at least once, what it was like to have sex with a man who loved her. She wanted to discover, without a doubt, if she was capable of having sex with a man she loved right back.

  “Thank you for telling me that.” She attacked his belt with her teeth out. It wasn’t her finest work, but she was still shaky from his confession and unable to look him in the eye. Fortunately, sex was something she’d always been able to do regardless of what else was going on in her life, and she knew they were back in the groove when she took a slight detour with her tongue, dipping into the hem of his slacks where a robust trail of hair tempted her farther downward.

  He growled and broke the rules again, this time running his fingers through her hair, gripping her head in that way men did when they wanted to fuck your face.

  But he didn’t. He just held her lightly, giving himself over to her as she continued attempting to disrobe him.

  She didn’t make it all the way. The moment her mouth nuzzled against the curve of his cock where it struggled to break free of his boxer briefs, he released her head and finished the job for her. She rested back on her heels, enjoying the show.

  His erection was a glorious thing, thick and straight, rising from the dark curls as if to conquer all in its path. She licked her lips, anticipating the stretch of her mouth and throat to take him all the way in. “Please tell me number three is to suck on your cock. I can’t stand it much longer.”

  “I don’t think you understand the way this list thing works. I’m supposed to be the one making the rules.”

  “Too bad I’ve never been very good at following them.” She sat up on her knees again, bringing herself closer to the object of her desire—and his, obviously. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with things like contracts and laws and lists. Not me.”

  “You know I can’t deny you anything, love.” He sighed, but it was followed by a laugh. “Fine. Number three is for you to suck my cock. Never let it be said that I willingly denied you anything.”

  A smile crept across her face, and she wasted no time in doing his bidding. She intended to savor ever
y moment of this, every touch of her lips to his shaft, the delve of her tongue into the grooved tip of his erection, the salty taste of man filling her senses.

  “Jesus, Livvie—slow down,” he said, pulling back as she opened her throat and prepared to swallow him whole.

  “Not so sure about lasting that full hour now, are we?”

  His laugh was gruff but shaky. “Everything with you has to be some kind of challenge, doesn’t it?”

  “Yesterday, you said you liked that.” She pursed her lips and blew on the length of his cock, watching as her saliva cooled and caused him to twitch. “You said you didn’t want me to make this easy on you.”

  He groaned. “You could make it a little easy.”

  She got to her feet, not once losing eye contact. His darkly expressive gaze didn’t waver as he returned her look, challenge for challenge, equal for equal. “Saying goodbye is never easy.”

  He caught her hand and twisted it, pulling her close enough that she could smell the sweat and aftershave of him, feel his heart beating next to hers. “That brings me to number four.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this one?”

  “Don’t leave, okay?” He dropped a hand to her hip, guiding her, possessing her. “Don’t fuck me into a coma and sneak out before we have a chance to talk.”

  “I wouldn’t—” she began, but she saw the martial glint in his eye and stopped. She’d actually been thinking about doing just that. It would be much easier to break away from this man if she did it from afar. She was good at that—running away, fleeing from the pain and finding solace in new places.

  But his grip on her hip tightened, and she swallowed. He meant this one.

  “I promise, Ben. I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say more, but she sidestepped the issue by thrusting her breasts closer. The tips of her nipples grazed his chest, and he raised his hands to cup her. His touch was agonizingly light for the first few moments, but as she moaned her approval, he increased the pressure, working his fingers until she felt it like a jolt of lightning between her legs.