Bigger Rock

by Lauren Blakely

  Oh, and she’s also arranged scented candles around the room. I suspect she hopes we’re all going to get it on right here on the kitchen counter after we prep the chocolate-covered strawberries.

  Josie and I aren’t the only ones taking the Enticing Appetizers and Alluring Desserts class, but I think we might be the only couple that’s barely a couple. Or the only pair not quite taking this class as seriously as all the others.

  There’s an older couple here, in their sixties maybe. The man has his paws all over his woman. I’m not opposed to PDA in theory, but I’m not all that interested in seeing him grope her ass incessantly. But it’s nice that they dig each other. A younger couple is here, and the woman is pregnant. They might be trying to get pregnant while pregnant tonight, if such a thing were possible, judging from how many times he kisses her as they chop vegetables. Two men are here, too, and they’re quite touchy-feely as well.

  Fine, it’s a sensual cooking class, but it’s a bit like we’re on an episode of Couples Retreat—Watch The Modern Man and Woman Mate. Or Man and Man. Or Woman and Woman.

  And look, I’m all for getting it on with Josie as much as possible. Just not in a class. Tonight, she wears a summery dress along with her cherry-patterned apron, and surprise, surprise, it makes me think of the first time we made—

  Screwed, I mean.

  That’s all it was, and she looks completely screwable in her apron, as she mixes melted chocolate in a glass bowl at the wooden counter.

  We’ve already cooked a pepper dish, while Ivory, in her slinky red dress, opined on how the heat in peppers stimulates blood, endorphins, and, you got it, erections. Considering I’m hard nearly all the time around Josie, I don’t need peppers to serve as my Viagra. But peppers are tasty, so we nibbled on that enticing appetizer.

  Oysters came next, and Ivory watched over us, encouraging Josie to feed them to me. I declined. “You should try them. They make you virile,” Ivory said.

  “Already there,” I told her.

  She moved on to another couple, and I whispered to Josie, “Can’t stand oysters.”

  She crinkled her nose. “I can’t either, so that was the right answer on the Roommate Compatibility test.”

  Next, our teacher waxed on about asparagus and bananas, citing both the stimulants contained in them, but also how their shapes served as foreplay.

  Everyone nodded sagely, like Ivory was sharing some newfound wisdom. But no one seemed able to utter the reason why their shape might be a turn-on.

  “You mean because they’re phallic?” Josie asked, as if she were just learning this fact.

  “Yes,” Ivory said, stroking a banana. “See?”

  “Oh, I get it now,” Josie said.

  When the teacher turned around, Josie opened her mouth wide like she was about to fellate the fruit. That made my night.

  Yeah, maybe we’re goofballs. Maybe we’re irreverent. Maybe this class isn’t exactly for us. It’s a bit too serious, but we’re having fun in our own way.

  Especially now that it’s dessert time.

  “Chocolate is the ultimate aphrodisiac,” Ivory says, wandering around the room like a dance instructor. Her dark hair is braided down her back. She stops at a hipster couple—a guy with black glasses and a goatee, who slices strawberries next to a woman with a pixie cut. Ivory places one hand on his shoulder, the other on hers. “Chocolate is delicious, but that’s not the only reason it’s an aphrodisiac. Do you know why it is?”

  The woman clears her throat. “They say it makes you feel like you’re falling in love?”

  Ivory nods and holds up a finger. “They do say that. But why? Why does chocolate make you feel like you’re in love?”

  Josie steals a glance at me, and for a second I think it’s because of the topic. That she can read it in my eyes, or that she’s checking to see if I might feel that way. Nerves crawl up my throat, but when Josie nudges me, it’s clear she’s just having fun. “I know the scientist in you is dying to answer,” she says under her breath.

  She’s not wrong. I rocked at school. Hell, I didn’t skip two grades for nothing. I loved taking tests, loved answering questions, and loved getting the answers right. Part of me wants to shout, “It’s chemistry.”

  But Ivory keeps going. “Chocolate is an aphrodisiac because it melts on the tongue, and because it improves circulation. But most importantly, it strengthens the heart.” She stops in the middle of the room and surveys her cooking students at each station. “And do you know what a strong heart does?”

  I. Can’t. Resist.

  I speak up. “A strong heart beats one hundred thousand times a day and pumps about two thousand gallons of blood through the circulatory system to sustain life. When the heart is strong, you can do everything better, faster, and longer.” Ivory watches me with wide eyes. “That also means a strong heart improves endurance.” I square my shoulders. “Including between the sheets.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Josie’s lips twitching. Her hand covers her mouth. Then a small laugh slips past her fingers.

  “Very good,” Ivory says with a nod. “And you see, class, chocolate is good for the heart because it helps ensure you can last all night long.”

  Josie grabs my arm and digs her nails in, no doubt so she doesn’t crack up.

  “And now let us enjoy the stimulant,” Ivory says, holding her arms out wide, as if she’s our Sherpa guiding us up the mountain of sexual exploration. “Let us dip the strawberries in the chocolate and feed them to our partners.”

  Josie turns to me, a naughty little grin on her face as she holds a strawberry and whispers, “Open wide.”

  I do, flicking my tongue out, letting her know what I want to be eating.

  My date brings a chocolate-covered strawberry to my tongue. It’s tasty, and I finish it quickly. Then I notice everyone else is moving in slow motion, taking their time with the berries, rolling them around on their tongues, dusting kisses on their partners’ mouth.

  Make no mistake—I would love to be kissing Josie right now. But in private. Not on display. I lower my voice. “I feel like we’re in a Lamaze class, and we’re the only ones not totally into it.”

  She laughs. “Same here. Also, I already knew all this stuff about the food. Sort of like you and the heart,” she says, tapping mine.

  Her hand on me feels good. It reminds me where I want to be.

  Not here.

  Evidently, she feels the same because she mouths, “Want to make a run for it?”

  I lunge as if I’m about to take off in a race. Josie shakes her head, then dips her hand in her purse, fiddles around with something, and soon my phone bleeps loudly from my pocket.

  Josie turns her expression to one of worry. “Oh my God, is that the hospital?” she says in a stage whisper.

  I slide into my role. “It must be,” I say heavily. “I’m on call tonight.”

  I grab my phone, swipe my thumb across the screen, and bring it to my ear, answering it professionally. I pretend to listen to instructions. When the imaginary answering service is through, I say, “I’ll be right there. Make sure to stabilize the patient and start an IV drip.”

  All eyes in the room snap to me. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” For Josie’s amusement, I add in a deeply ominous tone, “And whatever you do, Bob, don’t lose the patient.”

  Dun. Dun. Dun.

  I end the call, and Ivory points to the door. “Go! Godspeed.”

  We take off into the Soho night, laughing as we make our great escape from the too touchy-feely cooking lesson.

  “What a strange class,” Josie says as we head to the subway. “Funny, because I heard so many raves about it.”

  “I get why it’s fun, but maybe it’s not for us. To each his or her own, I suppose. The guy who recommended it liked to hang on chandeliers.”

  We stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light. She looks up at the faint stars in the sky, as if she’s thinking. “The whole idea of aphrodisiacs or sensual fo
od is cool, but maybe it’s not the food that’s sensual.” She meets my eyes. “Maybe it’s the person. Maybe it’s just who you’re with, and it’s not about the candlelight, or the music, or the way you feed someone.”

  I drop my hand to her shoulder and serve up the full truth. “Josie, you could eat tuna fish and I’d still be turned on.”

  She brings a hand to her chest and bats her eyes. “I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Then we go underground.

  27

  Let me be perfectly clear. The subway is not an aphrodisiac.

  But Josie is.

  The whole ride uptown, we talk. About the class. About food. About what might happen on the next season of Vice Principals. She slides her hand into my hair and absently plays with the ends as we talk.

  And this, right here, on the noisy, dirty, grimy subway is the true turn-on. Me and my girl, heading home. As the train slaloms past Fourteenth Street, she drops her hand and reaches for mine.

  My breath hitches as she squeezes my fingers. That’s all it takes. Her holding my hand. I let my head fall back, hitting the window behind us.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “I'm perfect.”

  Perfectly ruined for anyone else.

  I take our joined hands and press a kiss to her knuckles, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do about the fact that she’s not out of my system. Not even close. Not one single bit.

  She rests her head on my shoulder.

  We aren’t hand-holders. We aren’t daters. We aren’t affectionate.

  At least, not in public.

  And in private, we’re usually naked.

  But tonight on the train, she’s been playing with my hair, snuggling against me, looping her fingers through mine. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this is couple behavior, and it’s coming from a woman who made it crystal clear she wanted to be roomies-with-benefits only. Has something changed for her?

  A wild idea descends on me. Could she want . . .

  No. I can’t let myself think that. It’s crazy, and beyond the realm of expected outcomes.

  Even so, my heart skips a beat. My skin heats up. And something like hope makes landfall in my chest. It feels like a wild, crazy possibility, but it’s one I desperately want right now—to simply slide from this phase to the next one without a hitch. To be the exception. To pull this whole crazy thing off.

  I hold that thought close as we walk home.

  When we reach our building, the mustached doorman gives a quick hello, then points to the elevators. “The main elevator is out of commission. We’re having some work done to it. The service elevator is working, but it’s a bit slow. It should return to the lobby in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll take the stairs,” Josie says to him with a smile. “We have strong hearts and good endurance.”

  He adjusts his green blazer. “Oh, and Ms. Hammer. The postman delivered something for you. Would you like me to get it from the mail storage room?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ll grab it tomorrow. I’m sure it’s the rolling pin I ordered.”

  We head to the stairwell, and I open the door, letting her go ahead of me.

  As she walks, I enjoy the view of her legs, her ass, her skirt. At the first landing, I grab her hand and pull her back, her chest pressed to me. “You’re the enticing appetizer.”

  She sighs sexily and brings her hands to my chest. “So are you.”

  Her lips part, and my God, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

  But kiss her.

  And hold her.

  And have her.

  And want her.

  It’s a slow, sensual kiss at first. A tease. The start of something. And when she murmurs against my mouth, all bets are off. I band my arm around her waist and tug her close, sealing her body to mine. “I’m seriously considering fucking you in the stairwell,” I tell her.

  She lowers her hand to the front of my jeans, rubbing the outline of my cock. “Love that idea. But I want to be naked with you.”

  I groan and smack her ass. “Upstairs,” I growl. “As fast as you can. Get that dress off and then get on me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She scurries up the next set of stairs, then the next. When we near the fourth floor, she sneaks a glance back. “Peekaboo,” she says, then lifts up the back of her skirt, flashing me her panties.

  Her red lace, see-through panties.

  Heat roars through me, and instinct takes over. I reach for her, and when my shoe hits the landing, the ankle rolls out, and my foot turns in.

  An instant, searing pain rips along my right calf and straight into my ankle, a shot of misery.

  “Fuck,” I curse, as my ankle yelps.

  Josie flies down the steps in a flurry. “Oh no. Are you okay?”

  I wince. “Yeah,” I bite out, bending over to grip my ankle.

  Her hand runs up my back, a reassuring pat. “Babe, are you okay? You’re worrying me.”

  “Fine,” I mumble.

  I straighten, because I can’t be that guy. The helpless guy.

  “Let me help you,” she says, moving to my side and draping her arm around me.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. Let me help you.” Her voice is firm.

  “I swear I’m okay.”

  “Stop being such a macho man.”

  She wins the battle and walks with me the rest of the way up the stairs as I try not to limp. “It was my butt’s fault,” she says, contrition in her tone. “My cheeks distracted you.”

  I dart a hand down to squeeze one. “Your butt is worth a twisted ankle.”

  When we reach the apartment, the pain shoots through me once more, and I pretty much limp inside, Josie holding open the door.

  “Go sit,” she directs, pointing. “On the diddle couch.”

  I do, plopping down on the soft cushions. I’m grateful to be surrounded by all these pillows. I lift my right ankle onto the coffee table as Josie sets her hands on my shoulders. “Tell me what you need. Ice, I presume?”

  I nod. “Ice and ibuprofen, too. And elevation. But I took care of that part.”

  She marches to the bathroom and returns quickly with two pills and a cup of water. I down the ibuprofen. She rounds the corner into the kitchen and reappears seconds later with a hand towel and an ice pack. She wraps the towel over the pack, takes off my shoes and socks, and pushes up the bottom of my pant leg. She parks herself on the table and presses the pack gently to my ankle.

  “Ouch! It’s freezing.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s supposed to be frozen. It’s ice.”

  “It’s so cold.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible patient?”

  I frown. “I try to never be the patient.”

  A soft smile plays on her face. “But this time, you have a nurse who offers a special brand of TLC.”

  And my foot isn’t cold anymore. In fact, it barely hurts at all when Josie rests the ice on my foot, cuddles up by my side, and kisses the hell out of me.

  Ten minutes later, my foot is frozen, but everything else is on fire.

  “You going to be okay?” she asks.

  “I’ll live,” I say with a pout. There’s one good thing about twisted ankles—the recovery time is quick. There’s a bigger problem, though, in my pants. I cast my gaze to my hard-on. “But can you do anything about this new issue you’ve created?”

  A grin spreads on her face. “That is my special nursing talent,” she says, standing and stripping. With each shred of clothing that comes off, I’m harder and more aroused. How that’s possible, I don’t know. But that’s the Josie effect. She does this to me, and I help her along by unzipping my jeans and pushing them to my knees.

  In her naked glory, she grabs a condom from the table and straddles me. I brush strands of pink hair from her face. “Your pink is fading,” I say, as I run a finger over her locks.

  “I need to touch
it up. I’ll do it tomorrow morning, since I’m not working. Takes me a little while since I have to focus on putting the color in so I don’t get it all over my neck,” she says as she opens the condom wrapper.

  “Do you want me to help? I have steady hands.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course,” I say, wishing I could add the full truth. I’d do anything for you.

  She drops a kiss to my lips then rolls the condom onto my dick. So much for the hair talk. All I care about now is this. She lowers herself onto me, and her wet, warm pussy hugs my cock. We groan in unison. Electricity rushes through me. Pleasure spreads to every damn molecule. I grip her hips. “Jesus, Josie.”

  She rises up on my dick, then back down. “I know, right? It’s so good.” Her voice sounds as if it’s breaking.

  I cup her cheeks as she rides me. “What am I going to do with you?”

  She shakes her head, like she barely knows the answer either.

  “You’re so fucking good to me,” I say, then crush her lips to mine.

  I don’t know how to do this. Not when she owns me, not when she takes care of me, and not when she fucking wins my heart over and over.

  I can’t stop feeling this way. I can’t stop falling. I’m so fucking in love with her, it hurts. I want to be the one who wants her, and be the one she wants, just like she asked for.

  “One guy who wants me the way I want him.”

  You have him, I want to say. He’s right fucking here.

  She breaks our kiss as she rides me harder and wilder, and it’s spectacular watching her chase her pleasure. I drop my hand to her legs, rubbing her clit as she fucks me until she shudders and then breaks apart.

  Her face falls next to mine, cheek to cheek, her mouth near my ear. “I don’t know how to stop.”

  Hell if I know how, either.

  Later, when we’re in bed, and I reassure her for the tenth time that her medicine worked and my ankle’s fine, she sets her hand on my shoulder. “Did you enjoy our date?”

  That last word makes my breath catch. Her voice is nervous, like she truly hopes I’ll say yes.

  “Loved it,” I say as I run my fingers through her hair.