Try Me (Seven Tech Tower Book 1)

by Amanda Richensexi

  He liked low-maintenance relationships.

  Unfortunately, clingy, overly possessive women did not offer that. And the new tone in Cheryl’s usually fun-loving voice was one he recognized as jealousy with a dollop of hysteria.

  Pity. It had been fun while it lasted.

  “What precisely do you mean by cheating?” he asked, hoping she’d take the opportunity to back off.

  She didn’t, of course.

  “Pretending ignorance now! How very, very typical,” she said bitterly. “Men always cheat. I’m just trying to figure out if it’s happened yet, or if it will be next month, or what. Everybody I talk to says you sound like the quintessential cheater type.”

  He blinked just as he heard footsteps coming up the stairwell. He turned away. The quintessential cheater type? That was rich. Conn never cheated. Cheating required a dishonest soul, and having seen the results first-hand—namely his father who, once he’d gone through his mother’s fortune, had similarly conned each of his ex-wives and was working on his fifth—Conn was chillingly honest. He had no problem being blunt when the situation called for it. When his attention wandered, and it always did, usually after a couple of weeks, he simply ended the relationship.

  “The answer is no.”

  “No? That’s it? Just no?”

  “No, I’m not cheating. I’m not fucking another woman. I haven’t looked at another woman since I started fucking you.”

  He heard her indrawn breath. “Really? You’re denying everything. Even though you hardly spend any time with me and you ignore my calls? I can’t believe you expect me to believe this shit. They warned me you’d sound convincing. You’re a textbook case.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m in town to do contract work."

  “Riiight. Whatever your excuses are, I’m not interested. You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that to convince me.”

  He sighed. He’d been so pleased with Cheryl. This was on him. He'd failed to anticipate the degree of her paranoia. Ah, well. Easy come, easy go.

  He drawled, “This a fascinating conversation, but it appear we’re done here.”

  “What? What do you mean, we’re done here?”

  “I don’t cheat.” He lowered his voice slightly as he heard hesitant footsteps advance down the hall. “If I want to move on, I tell all parties involved. It’s much simpler that way. I've enjoyed your companionship, but the fact that you automatically buy what random people are telling you irritates me. We're done.”

  There was a silence as she absorbed his frank explanation. He had a policy: he didn't leave women guessing as to why. It minimized incidents of women hounding him demanding to know why he’d bailed.

  The anticipated screech came immediately, bouncing off the walls of the narrow hallway.

  “You’re actually breaking up with me over this? You uncaring shithead! There is someone else, isn’t there? I fucking knew something was going on! You dirtbag, you need to go fuck yourself as soon as possible. You have no idea what you’re throwing away right now! You can beg and beg but you will never ever get me to suck off your big...fat...your big...ah...you're ugly deep inside! I have orgasms with other men, I do! Fuck that! I don’t need you!”

  He ended the call. One point she was on target with—he couldn’t care less about abandoning what wasn’t even a relationship yet. They’d fucked a few times and gone on a few dates. Sheesh.

  His eyes raised from his phone as he caught a flicker of movement. Somebody was passing him in the hallway. He grasped the door handle, about to turn back into the apartment, when a splash of pale blue entered his vision.

  Shapely legs were walking down the hall. Above them was a tent of a floral skirt billowing out from a tiny waist with a wide sash around it. There was a heavy backpack perched on the slim back, and the woman’s arms were laden down with plastic shopping bags.

  He didn’t know her, but there was something oddly familiar about her…

  Then he had it. She’d joined the Almattos while he was wrapping things up earlier this evening. He didn’t remember her name or anything about her other than her being a staffer. She had a plain, nondescript face, cute glasses, a quiet voice, and an odd taste in fashion. And hips. He’d noticed her excessively wide hips.

  The fact that she was here at all would seem an odd coincidence except for the fact that she seemed to know Charli Almatto. It had been Almatto’s wife who had referred Danielle to this place.

  Frowning, he eyed the swinging progress of her more-than-generous ass down the hall, not thinking about the ass’s owner so much as the fact that he’d expected to be enjoying Cheryl from behind a couple of hours from now. It was a true pity that he was dateless tonight; when a random woman’s broad rump could make his cock twitch, he needed to get laid. He absently swiped his phone. He knew a few women in Seattle he could call...

  He glanced up again at a sound. The woman with all the bags had stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway and was fumbling in her purse. She’d set down one of the bags but continued to hold onto the rest while trying to sort through her keys. She seemed agitated.

  It amused him to realize she was aware of him. He didn’t know how he knew it...he just did, in the same way he’d felt her attention earlier in the the office tower and recalled catching her scoping him out on previous occasions.

  It was embarrassingly easy to tell when a woman was attracted to him. The way this female had pointedly not looked at him...the way she angled her face slightly in his direction so that she could check him out from the corner of her eye...oh, yeah, she was aware of and excited by his presence. She was subtle, he’d give her that.

  She looked a few years younger than him, in her mid-twenties. Her light brown hair was neatly arranged in a solo braid down her back and tied with a ribbon that matched her dress. In profile, her mouth looked quite small—it was one of those little rosebud mouths. Her breasts looked delicate in the old-fashioned, conservative dress she wore. She was garbed like a virginal young woman, the kind you probably met at church two hundred years ago.

  Virginal. He shook his head. He could see her nipples thrusting visibly against the bodice. He’d bet his business class plane ticket home that between those plump thighs she was dampening her panties. It was a plus when a woman was eager, but he wasn’t interested. She was cute in a way, but not exactly his type.

  Her fumbling continued, becoming comical. Now taking an idle interest, he ignored the urge to go inside and pilfer some of Danielle’s dinner in favor of watching the oddball struggle with the strap on her backpack.

  She ejected a loud curse. It was one of those odd curses some prissy girls tended to use; this one sounded like great galloping jalapenos! but he was too far away to be sure.

  He was considering offering his help when his phone buzzed. Cheryl again. Casually and regretfully, he blocked her.

  A crashing noise came from down the hall. He looked up and noticed the woman’s bags were now all scattered across the floor. Their contents were rolling all over the carpet in a holy mess.

  The woman’s face was beet red, her lips pressed tightly together. On impulse, he strolled toward her.

  She was squatting, scrambling to return things to their rightful containers, her bent knees sticking forward under the full skirt, the high collar of her dress dipping just a bit to reveal the barest hint of a collarbone. Such extreme modesty was hard to swallow, considering her nipples were still thrusting out.

  “Need some help?” he murmured.

  “It’s okay!” she snapped, her brown eyes a little wild. “I’m okay. Go back to your phone conversation. I’m fine. There’s nothing to see here.”

  His eyes sharpened as he noticed what he’d missed from his perspective down the hallway. The backpack had fallen as well and she was stuffing a shiny silver object into it. It had a distinctly phallic shape. He surveyed the rest of the evidence and snorted.

  The thing was stuffed with adult toys. Toys manufactured by Al
matto Tech Joy, judging by the logos he spotted. At least, it had been stuffed. Now the devices were rolling all over the compact carpet.

  He watched with a schooled expression. Nothing had amused him quite so much in a long, long time as the sight of this strange woman continuing to grapple with the provocative jumble of objects while giving him the back-off signal with her palm.

  He managed not to smile as he commented, “My chivalrous instincts are suffering here.”

  A true gentleman would politely retreat, of course. But he was enjoying the show of her scuttling about, that oversized rump wiggling inside that voluminous skirt. Not to mention her clearly desperate desire to hide the fact that she was a woman who ate a helluva lot of pepperoni and frozen egg rolls and came home from work with easily a dozen self-pleasuring toys.

  “No need,” she muttered. Her voice was sweet and soft. “I’ve got this.”

  “It sure looks like it. Just out of curiosity, which one is your favorite?”

  She looked at him.

  “Of the toys.” He gestured.

  “Oh.” She answered without missing a beat. “I don’t have one.”

  “Is that so?” He couldn’t decide if her response signalled a quick wit or a literal mind.

  “That is so.”

  He was intrigued. He bent and started shoving groceries into bags, ignoring her irritated grunt. He palmed a bulbous, leafy object. “What’s this?”

  “Kohlrabi.”

  “And it’s here because…” He didn’t know why he was teasing her so mercilessly.

  “Because it’s crunchy.”

  “I see. And this.” With two fingers, he lifted the fattest dildo he’d ever seen. It was made of a soft plastic, a bit more rigid and smoother than silicone. There was something odd about the vein-like ridges. “What’s the story with this?”

  “It has tiny pumps inside it.” She took it from him and pointed a slim finger at the stiff straps at the base. “These clasp the upper thighs to offer leverage while the shaft pumps on its own power.”

  “Ah.” He peered into her eyes. “And that’s a good thing?”

  “It is for users who are left unsatisfied by the normal vibration range of rumbly to buzzy. It’s part of a line called Thruslo. Get it? Thrust. Slow.”

  He was beginning to understand. “Does working at ATJ get you a discount on all your sex toys?”

  Her jaw dropped open. That left her rosebud lips parted in a very attractive “O.” “You misunderstand. I don’t use them.”

  “No, of course you don’t.” He made his tone deliberately soothing.

  “I mean it. I don’t use any of these. I was taking them home from work and there were too many to zip my pack up all the way. I didn’t expect it to fall and release...uh...”

  “Of course that’s what happened. I understand. You don’t use any of the six dozen sex toys you have stashed here.” He kept his expression bland.

  “There are not six dozen. There are exactly fourteen. So. Thanks for your help.” It was a clear dismissal.

  One he was reluctant to heed. The smell of marinara sauce was now drifting all the way from his sister's apartment to his nostrils. Danielle would share her meal with him. He should go. But he didn’t really want to.

  “It was my pleasure.” He paused and added, tongue-in-cheek, “and yours, I hope.”

  “I told you—look, I work with this stuff, okay? You should know this. Right? I mean, you do recognize me. Right? Don’t you? Like I know you look through me whenever we pass each other but you have to know by now that I work at Almatto Tech. I work for ATS but also ATJ. I’ve seen you...I mean…we just met...not that we were introduced...but you...”

  Her nervous, if charming, awkwardness just confirmed what he already knew, that she wasn’t his type. But she was a train wreck he couldn’t seem to walk away from.

  In fact, the urge to provoke her further was irresistible. “So you’re saying you don’t have a favorite, not even the whippy thing there with the tassels. Hey, is that melting?” He pointed.

  She had turned away and was sorting through her key chain and didn’t even glance where he pointed. “It’s fine. I like it melted.”

  “You like ice cream melted.”

  Her eyes flashed up to bore a hole into the door. “Yes. Yes? Yes. Yes, I do!” Her chest was heaving, her hand white on the door handle.

  He assessed her from top to bottom. She was strung taut like a bow. Wow, was she stirred up. Suddenly his sense of fun and the minor stirring in his cock intensified tenfold. He decided then and there that he wanted her. Now.

  “Fair enough,” he said, altering his voice subtly. “What’s your name?”

  She froze. Her head swung around. “Wendy. LaBruce. Wendy LaBruce. Is my name.”

  He raised his brows. “Nice. I’m Conn Milidonis.” He held out his hand.

  She stared at it without moving.

  “Feel like sharing your melted ice cream tonight, Wendy?”

  It seemed he’d struck her dumb.

  “Because I like to lick the sweet cream that drips off the spoon, too.” He inched closer and inhaled what turned out to be a very nice scent of lemon mixed with female arousal. Damn, he liked that she was so turned on he could smell her…

  “I don’t share my ice cream with random strangers,” she mumbled.

  “But I’m not a random stranger. Come on, try me.” Some women were touchable and others were more touchable. He sensed she was in the latter category. Sure enough, when he reached out and tapped her cheek with his thumb, she seemed to soften. Her shoulders slumped and her cheeks reddened and her eyes became very large. “It can be nice to share your treats unexpectedly.”

  Her eyes were very big. “Are you joking here?”

  “Mm, no...” he said, making his perusal blatant now. “I’m sorry if I didn’t notice you before, Wendy LaBruce, but I’m noticing you now, with your goody-goody dress and your sex toys. ”

  “You didn’t hear me. I don’t use them, I work with them.”

  “Work, pleasure…”

  “No, I work with them. I’m a CAD drafter.” The words began pouring out of her adorable mouth. “I used to draft bookshelves and industrial shelving, once upon a time. But then I was downsized and Charli Fontina as she was called then got me an interview with ATS and I started designing fitness machines, or well, not designing so much as drafting, the engineers do the designing work, although I like to...anyway, I also doodle in my spare time and a coworker saw one of my doodles and showed it to the big boss, you know, Draken Almatto, the guy you were talking with earlier, well of course you know him...and well before I knew it he was having me draft for ATJ and now he wants me to work on this product line that failed and if my improvements are enough to push a successful relaunch then some pieces can be integrated with this super-robotic product they have, their flagship sex toy, but the only problem is I’m not comfortable working on it in the office, mostly because I have to do all this anatomical research and I don’t like it when people look over my shoulder and...I mean...the plan is to draft at home. By myself. Home. Where I’m not disturbed. I mean, so I can draft undisturbed. And I think I just told you a bunch of proprietary information. Please tell me you’re not a competitor or something.”

  “I’m not.” He had a sudden mental image of her naked, that ropy braid resting between high breasts, rounded hips below a tiny waist, her soft, dimpled thighs parted, revealing a pussy that was...what? Glossy and swollen, certainly. They were all glossy and swollen. But sometimes the pleasure was in the details, and only seeing them for himself would do…

  “You can rest easy,” he told her with a smile. “I’m here in Seattle working on a project to do with the flagship product you mention.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re from…”

  “Portland.”

  “Well...okay.”

  The urge to see her naked was rising. “So how about it, Wendy?”

&n
bsp; “How about what?”

  Jesus. “Invite me inside.”

  She blinked. “Just like that? Because you want my ice cream?”

  “I’d like to sample your ice cream, certainly,” he said with a straight face. “And maybe share some pepperoni with you. Actually, even those egg rolls of yours look good to me right now.”

  “I think the appropriate response here is...no, thank you.”

  He had to admit, he was startled. "No?"

  "No, thank you.

  He tilted his head. He tried to remember the last time he’d been rejected and failed. He let his hand drop. “That’s too bad.”

  It was more than too bad. It was flummoxing, and disappointing, and frustrating.

  “Sorry, I’m, uh, not interested. I just...I guess I’m used to eating my snacks alone.”

  Not interested. Really? “Are you sure about that, Wendy LaBruce? Because you seem interested to me.” He let his gaze flicker south to her chest. “That dress doesn’t look very prim to me at the moment. FYI.”

  She looked down, and then jerked her chin up, her face flaming.

  CHAPTER 3

  Wendy

  CONN THE HAUGHTY Hottie was propositioning her.

  A mixture of excitement and terror swirled within Wendy. She was pretty sure that if Conn Maldonis pierced her with another of those heated, silvery glances directed at her nipples, she was going to lose her cherry from spontaneous contraction. He was in her personal space and her body knew it and was out of control.

  And he knew it.

  So why was she saying no?

  Because he didn’t ask you on a date. He didn’t make small talk. He drilled you about your choice of vegetables and then asked for entry into your...apartment. A man doesn’t work that fast unless he’s sure of a positive reception.

  The android expects sex.

  And she wasn’t interested in sex. Witness her virginal state.