The Do It List (The Do It List #1)

by Jillian Stone

Bradley reached for the knob. “Or he can apologize now.”

  He pulled me out of the way and opened the door. Something unsettling in his stare. A temper stirred behind those chilly blue eyes. Stoicism barely controlled.

  I shifted my gaze from Bradley to Derek. “No fist fighting.”

  Derek held his hands up in surrender. “I saw the lights on upstairs.” He hesitated. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glowered.

  Derek shrugged. “I’ll come back another time.”

  “If you have something to say to Gracie, say it.” Bradley curbed his glare into something less lethal.

  Hands in his jacket pockets, Derek stepped into my modest foyer. “My remarks were way out of line, Gracie. And whoever you’re seeing…” He barely made eye contact with Bradley. “Is none of my business. Not sure why I got so—”

  “Territorial?” I tugged the wrapper tighter.

  He nodded. “Sorry.”

  I needed to speak to Derek privately. “Do you mind, Bradley?”

  “I believe there are three good swallows left in the champagne bottle.” He backed off rather cutely.

  I returned to Derek. “We were friends first, before the occasional sport fuck.” I swallowed hard.

  Derek stared at me. “I always wanted to fuck you.”

  I stuck my chin out. “You wanted to fuck a lot of women.”

  “I played it like I saw it. The way you acted you weren’t looking for more.”

  Had the intimacy phobic Gracie discouraged him? Perhaps, but I reminded myself that he could have asked for more. Even better—taken more.

  I sighed. “Work with me on this, Derek.”

  Large brown doe-eyes softened. “We’ll always be friends, Gracie.”

  I nodded. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  Seconds of awkward silence passed between us. Bradley returned holding the bottle of Bollinger by the throat.

  “I should go.” Derek pivoted, then turned back. “We’re still on for Monday after work?”

  Bradley added a dash of menace to his grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He closed the door and turned the deadbolt.

  I retreated to the bedroom. “I’m not sure what that was about.”

  Bradley followed after and sat down beside me. “Derek likes you.” He passed the champagne.

  I gulped thirstily, releasing the bottle with a sigh. “And I like him. It just didn’t work out.”

  “I get the impression he likes you a lot.” His blue gaze searched my face. “And I wonder if you like him more than you let on.”

  I considered Bradley’s remarks. “I used to think I wanted more with Derek, but not anymore.”

  “Nice to hear.” He slipped the kimono sleeve off my arm, and kissed my shoulder. “Now, where were we?”

  I moaned softly, overwhelmed and amazed by the amount of raw lust he instantly aroused in me. “I was chasing an elusive orgasm.” I badly wanted to come again, for Bradley and for me.

  He placed the bottle on the nightstand. “You won’t be needing this.” He pulled the tie of my wrapper and I was naked and on my back in seconds.

  I unzipped his pants, and he fell into my hand, heavy and thick. I took long slow strokes and ran a finger lightly over the tip. I already loved the sound of his groan.

  Master of the dark, forceful gaze, he radiated potent masculine power. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m possessive and I like control.” He pinned down my hands.

  “I noticed,” I whispered against his lips as his mouth covered mine. His tongue plundered and explored, and I swirled up eagerly to greet him. He broke away and trailed soft bites down my throat, and the curve of my breast.

  He moved lower, drawing an areola into his mouth, teasing the nipple up hard. He traded one for the other, tugging and sucking until both nipples were engorged and sensitive. I quivered beneath him as raw wet arousal pooled between my thighs.

  “Lower,” I begged.

  “Forget chasing orgasms, Gracie. You’ll come for me when I tell you to.” He released my hands, rocking back on his heels. “Spread your legs.”

  I opened shamelessly, and his eyes gleamed with lust. “Such pretty pink.” He kissed the inside of my thigh, as he slid two fingers between slippery labia, stroking lightly.

  I gripped the bed sheets, suddenly oversensitive to his touch. “I don’t understand, I’m sopping-wet for you.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at my night table. “Lube?”

  Up on my elbows, I nodded. “Top drawer.”

  My body simmered under his spell, as he rummaged through an assortment of sex toys. He opened the cherry lube and spread clear gel on two fingers.

  “I’m thinking of a bit of anal stimulation. Something to take your mind off that hypersensitive clit.”

  He lifted my ass and stuffed a pillow under me. I rested my feet on his shoulders. “Flexible little nymph, aren’t you?”

  His finger slipped between my buttock cheeks and circled slowly, gently pressing against the sphincter muscle. Faint twinges grew into ripples of pleasure. I had always found anal play stimulating, but this erogenous zone had remained virgin territory.

  Bradley had a way of making me want to explore.

  He pressed into me—just the tip of a digit—and slowly retreated. With each tiny withdrawal of his finger, I experienced a ripple of sensation. He worked carefully, twisting and teasing—tickling my anus until the tight muscle relaxed and took two fingers. A simmering heat caught fire and arousal blazed through me.

  So much for my over-stimulated clit. I wanted it rough and hard—cock, fingers, tongue—everywhere and anywhere. My entire body lusted for him.

  “Fuck me, Bradley.”

  “I do believe you need some hard fucking.” His wolfish gaze made him appear dangerous as if he could barely contain himself. In a couple of slick moves, he flipped me onto all fours. A deep spasm of pleasure ripped through my body, as his tongue flicked lightly over my anus.

  Up on his knees, he grabbed my hips and yanked my ass close. He slipped the head of his penis between my labia and lubricated the shaft. He hesitated, poised at my entrance. “Are you going to come when you’re told, Gracie? “

  “Yes,” I cried.

  He pushed into me slowly. “Good girl.”

  He advanced his anal play, gently stretching with two fingers, as he pumped into me. The combination of his cock in my vagina and his fingers penetrating my ass caused a deep shudder of pleasure. With each thrust, I edged closer to an explosive orgasm.

  “Pinch your nipples—do it, Gracie.”

  I obeyed his husky command as a new kind of arousal engulfed me, one that sensed a master at work. “I’m going to come,” I cried.

  He slapped my bottom. “Not until I say so.”

  A spike of desire shot through me. Everything had become a turn on. From the force and frequency of his thrusts to his balls slapping against my thighs. My core pulsed with desire for this elemental man who was going to make me scream…any moment now.

  Aggressively, he plunged both fingers in my anus and withdrew playfully, using jerky movements. Electric jolts of pleasure shot through me.

  His other hand slipped around my hip and played momentarily with my piercing. “Please,” I whispered, moving his hand lower.

  “I’m not sure I should touch you there.” His breath warmed the back of my neck. “You might come.”

  I tossed my head back. “Not until you say so.”

  Finally, those talented digits slipped between moist flesh, exposing my sensitive swollen clitoris. He lightly tapped the bundle of nerves, until I cried out.

  “Now, Gracie.” He whispered.

  I nearly convulsed from the explosive wave of pleasure that rolled through me. “God, yes, Bradley.” Seconds of blissful euphoria rippled through my body. An anal-vaginal-clitoral orgasm. The kind of deep-down-dirty climax a woman never forgets.

  “Christ, Gracie,” he growled. His hips jerked from his o
wn release. I had to imagine his clenched jaw, eyes glazed over, as the hot rush of sperm shot into me. He thrust that masterful cock of his in deep, rubbing out a second spasm pleasure.

  Speechless, I arched my back and he nuzzled my shoulder blade with his scruff.

  Bradley understood what I needed most, as well as some of my darker desires. His gentle domination had pushed me beyond sensitive nerves to the most pleasurable orgasm of my life.

  His lips brushed my shoulder blade. “I don’t have a drop of cum left in me.” He exhaled the words, trailing soft kisses down my spine as he withdrew his cock. I imagined the look of satisfaction on his face—relaxed, fully satiated, with a hint of vulnerability. He curled his arms around me and lifted, turning me onto my back.

  “Sorry, nothing left here either. Just a limp rag doll.” Breathless, I managed a smile. “Twice with you—the first time. That’s never happened with any man. You’re fucking amazing.”

  He spooned up behind me. “And you’re so fucking…fuckable.”

  “I’m going to become addicted to you,” I huffed, in a slightly testy voice. “I’ll be demanding Bradley orgasms day and night.”

  He snorted a soft laugh against my shoulder. “I look forward to servicing you.” He kissed my neck. “My beauty, mine.”

  My beauty, mine. So poetic and polite—the proper British Bradley. That is when he wasn’t making suggestive remarks and being sexually dominant. What sort of man was this? Romantic, protective, and amazing in bed. I could fall in love with him. The thought made my heart race, and I had to catch my breath. Careful, Gracie girl.

  He pulled me tight against him. “That’s so cool you were a Laker girl.”

  “You like that, do you?”

  He swept back a few curls, so he could nuzzle my earlobe. “Did you get to know Kobe or Shaq?”

  Thinking back, it had been a hellish season—for me and the Lakers. “Lots of drama. Kobe’s trial. All the infighting between Kobe and Shaq. And Payton right smack-dab in the middle of it.”

  “Christ, that’s right, Payton was there—oh three, oh four—that season was a train wreck.”

  “M-mmm.” I rubbed my bottom against him. “Team meltdowns, contract disputes—the media circus around Kobe, and we still made the playoffs.” Nearly ten years had passed and yet the experience remained fresh in my mind. Perhaps all that sports drama had been a therapeutic distraction for me. It brought to mind a favorite axiom of Grandma Nona’s. God works in mysterious ways.

  Sometime during the night, I recall the covers being drawn over me. The feel of strong, comforting arms, and a naked man snuggling up against me. I drifted off to sleep and awoke with that same man in my bed.

  Familiar sounds of the city drifted up from the street below. The splash of car tires. A horn honked over on Irving Place. It must have rained during the night. I cracked an eye open and predicted a beautiful, sunny morning. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen outside the bedroom window.

  A light snore snuffled up from under a nearby pillow. Bradley Craig.

  Last night, he had explored the secret places in my body. He had rescued a no-orgasm situation and turned it into a toe-curling climax. My cheeks warmed just remembering his demands. He had stirred passions lying deep inside me, ready to be released.

  A goofy, satisfied grin tugged at the edges of my mouth.

  I pushed back the duvet and uncovered a lean torso. He stirred, exposing a length of thigh. The body of an athlete, and a marathon penis. Lord, have mercy.

  I turned up the thermostat on my way to the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I took note of my lopsided hair. Flat on one side, curly on the other. I spritzed on curl reviver and scrunched up some waves. On my way back to bed, I put on a pot of coffee and slipped under the covers.

  Bradley snaked an arm around me. “Good Morning, Gracie.”

  Cuddling up against him, I squinted at the clock on my nightstand. 8:15.

  “Fuck!” I sat up straight.

  Up on his elbows, Bradley blinked. “What?”

  “I’ve got Pilates in forty-five minutes.” Leaping out of bed, I rummaged through the dresser. I pulled out a thong, leggings, and a sports bra.

  Bradley reached for his large watch on the nightstand. “I’ve got an appointment as well. The dreaded apartment hunt is on.”

  I grinned, slipping on a tennis sock. “Think of it as an adventure.”

  He swung long legs over the edge of the bed. Having never seen his cock at rest and I mean NEVER, I gawked.

  He stared at me staring at his penis. “Piss hard-on.”

  My ass received a friendly swat on his way to the bathroom. “Cute togs.”

  Bradley washed up and dressed quickly. Between slurps of French Roast, he inquired about my day. “What are you up to, besides your workout?”

  “Gym, then grocery shopping. I feel like fish tacos. There was a girls’ night out planned for tonight, but Sarah begged off at the last minute. I’m going to rent a Bond film and enjoy a sex fantasy.”

  He grinned. “Which one?”

  I tilted my chin. “Skyfall or Casino Royale.” I noted a twinkle in his stare. “Oh, you meant which sex fantasy.”

  “What about Hannah?”

  I shook my head. “Hannah-free weekend.”

  “Not that I don’t enjoy Hannah…”

  “Don’t apologize, you’re wonderful with her.”

  “It’s just that there might be an opportunity here, for us to get to know each other.” He smiled the winsome Bradley smile. “And I’ve never had fish tacos.”

  I paused. “Are you suggesting we spend the weekend together?”

  “I could gather up a few things—bring a suit for Monday.”

  I checked him out. Still wearing last night’s clothes—so rumpled and cute. “Meet me back here at four-thirty, five o’clock?”

  He pulled me into a long smoochy embrace, which involved a number of kisses, and a reluctance to let go.

  “Four-thirty it is.”

  By mid-morning, Union Square’s Green Market bustled with shoppers. I wound a path through canopied tables piled with colorful produce and headed for my favorite family farms, Four and Twenty Blackbirds and Muddy River Nursery. I went over the list in my head—jalapeños and cilantro for the mango salsa. I picked up a bundle of fresh mint for mojitos. Handmade tortillas. Last stop on my way out—a nice piece of snapper or cod from Blue Moon Fish.

  Having grown up on the exclusive Westside of L.A., I knew my organic vegetables and free-ranging chickens. Mother had never been the most motherly creature, but she could teach a master class in nutrition.

  I splurged on a huge bunch of gorgeous, hothouse parrot tulips and was heading for home when I stopped cold in my tracks. I could not believe my eyes.

  Bradley stood under the canopy of a waffle truck with Audrey Lacoste. What was he doing in Green Market, and with Audrey?

  He handed her a waffle of massive deliciousness. One with fresh raspberries and whipped cream.

  Frozen on the spot, all I could do was stare as she offered him a fork full of heaven. Bradley even managed a charming smile as he chewed.

  Not sure who saw who first, but I must have looked like an idiot. Standing there, arms full of produce and flowers, with my jaw on the ground. The second I became aware he’d spotted me, I turned away and lost myself in the crowded marketplace.

  I stumbled past the farm trucks that lined the square, slightly nauseous and confused. My phone rang and I didn’t answer.

  Several minutes later, just inside Whole Foods Market, a text arrived. Where are you?

  I scored three ripe organic mangos and texted: Go to hell, Bradley.

  I continued to shop for dinner like an automaton, and I wasn’t exactly sure why I bothered. I had no appetite, and I didn’t want to see Bradley or feed him. Wisely, I picked up the main ingredients for heartbreak preparedness, two pints of gelato ice cream. Dark Chocolate Chip and Salted Caramel. I was going to need both.

  I received another text
alert: Trust me, Gracie.

  Now I was angry. I scrolled through my photo file and found the shot of me giving the one finger salute. The one Derek had snapped the same day Bruce Weber had taken my portrait. Derek had walked into the dressing room and caught me with my top off. I had covered my breasts with one arm and flipped him off. In the picture, my mouth is open, swearing. The shot smacked of don’t-mess-with-me hotness.

  Bradley deserved this for lying to me. I pressed send. A shot of crisis adrenaline instantly made me feel better. Fighting back, even at the junior-high level, felt cathartic. I emptied a pound of French Roast beans into the coffee grinder and enjoyed a flash of fantasy that involved Bradley’s penis. I hit the drip grind button.

  Mother hadn’t gotten out bed for a month after Dad moved out. The dark cloud of her depression had descended over the house like a black fog. It had taken years for her mood to lift for longer than a few hours at a time. She had never fully recovered from his infidelity and abandonment. In many ways, she made sure none of us would.

  A blur of coffee grounds poured into the paper sack, as memories filled my head. I was thirteen—last year of junior high. Flashes of me, climbing into the Mercedes and driving down the hill to get cereal and milk for breakfast. My hands had gripped the steering wheel so tight, my knuckles turned white. All I could think was Hale and Carly needed something to eat. Groggy from sleeping pills, and antidepressants, Mother could barely lift her head off the pillow.

  What a crazy, fearful year that had been. Father had deserted us. Mother struggled day to day, in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Hale and Carly were too young to be of much help and Leah was away at college. I had determined then and there to never let what happened to Mom, happen to me.

  Ever.

  Standing in the checkout line, I swiped my credit card to the ring of yet another text message.

  See you at four-thirty.

  No. I answered.

  Yes. He replied.

  I shoved the phone back into my messenger bag and walked the four blocks home in a queasy daze. My stomach rose and fell as I rode some kind of huge self-destructive wave of pain. I tried not to overanalyze what had just happened, but it seemed pretty obvious.