The Trouble With Bachelors (Windy City Bachelors Book 1)

by Caitlyn Blue

  My hips rock. My lungs are working like a bellows.

  “Emma, I’m going to come...” And if she doesn’t take her mouth off me, I’m going to climax straight down her throat.

  But still she works on me, taking me deep. I’m thrusting harder, my fingers digging into her skull. Another few seconds and I won’t be able to stop. I try doing multiplication tables in my head to hold off my climax so I can enjoy every glide of her lips and swirl of her tongue. But even that can’t stop how quickly my orgasm approaches.

  “Coming…” I warn her, and with a supreme act of willpower, I remove my hand from her head, giving her the space she needs to turn aside.

  Only she doesn’t. Instead, she cups my balls with her free hand and gives the tiniest of squeezes. I come hard as her lips suction, milking me dry.

  In the aftermath, I pry my eyes open and gaze down at her. She’s staring up at me in a mixture of smugness and awe. Gratitude sweeps over me, but before I can speak, I feel myself sway and have to focus on staying upright. The last thing I need is to fall at her feet, even though that’s really what I should do. Still kneeling before me, she takes hold of my boxer briefs and slides them up my legs. After carefully tucking me in—with a little assistance from me—she does the same thing with my jeans. Once I’m all buttoned up, I help her to her feet.

  I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her shoulder, all too aware that my knees are unsteady. “Thanks,” I murmur. It’s inadequate.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I cup her face in my hands and softly kiss her lips. I doubt she has any idea what a gift she’s given me today.

  “Next time, I intend to do that to you.” I can already taste her on my tongue.

  “You’re sure there’ll be a next time?” Her sly smile isn’t as cocky as she thinks it is.

  Mine, on the other hand, is smug as hell. “You can count on it.”

  11

  Emma

  After Zach leaves, I return to Sarah’s bedroom. The gray furball is sacked out on her bed, snuggled into a fuzzy teal throw that matches her quilted headboard. Unwilling to disturb the kitten, I lie down beside it and prop my head on my hand. Worn out by its afternoon activity, it doesn’t budge as I stroke its fuzzy head. I’m no expert on kittens, but this thing can’t be more than three months old.

  “Well, you certainly caused an uproar,” I murmur to the kitten.

  I roll onto my back and let my eyes drift shut. Did I really just go down on Zach, and then send him on his way? I cover my face with my hands as giggles build in my chest. How many times have I imagined doing that to him? Hundreds probably. It’s hard for me to look at the man for more than a couple seconds and not imagine what it would be like to lick my way down his gorgeous body.

  But a blowjob in the hallway?

  He called me a snowflake. Perfectly unique. That was a compliment, right? It probably would have been better if he’d said I was unique and perfect. Having a man think you’re perfect would be pretty…well…perfect. But unique? Is that like when a girl is described as having a great personality?

  Did I just give the most fantastic blowjob of my life to a guy who thinks I have a great personality? I sit up and frown at the kitten.

  “What the hell did you make me do?”

  Now, not only does he think I’m weird, he knows I’m easy.

  No, I can’t think that way. He’d taken on the dreaded rat. His reward was a blowjob. I promised. Okay, I’d been a tad bit selfish when I’d decided on his prize for such bravery. It had been just as much fun for me. He had a great dick, not too big and not too small. In fact, I’m getting hot all over again just thinking about how it had felt in my mouth. My hands are wandering southward toward the ache between my thighs when the door opens and Sarah enters.

  “Emma?”

  My eyes pop open, and abruptly my fantasy vanishes. Sarah’s standing just inside the room, wearing a gray t-shirt that says: To quote Hamlet, Act III, Scene III, Line 87, “NO”.

  I sit up and give her my best steely-eyed high school principal stare. “Well, look who’s home. If it isn’t the kitten concealer.” Okay, not my best jab, but it drives the point home.

  “What are you doing in my room?”

  “We thought we were apprehending a burglar.” I hold up the purring kitten. “Instead we found this.”

  “A burglar?” Sarah looks skeptical. “And who’s we?”

  “Zach and I.”

  “You and Zach?”

  Suddenly I’m on the receiving end of the interrogation and not liking it one bit. “Yes.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her eyebrows. “And what was he doing here?”

  If she thinks she can use Zach as a distraction, she’ll discover I’m wise to her ploy. “We were talking about the bachelor/bachelorette getaway when we heard a crash upstairs. Since no one was home, we thought the place was being robbed. But there wasn’t a burglar. There was this.” I gesture with the sleeping kitten. “What’s it doing here?”

  “I rescued it.”

  “But we have a rule. No pets.”

  “Tammy said that the people who lived next door to her owned the mother, and when they moved, they abandoned the whole family. She brought them in until the kittens were old enough to be weaned, but then her husband forced her to find homes for all the kittens. He was the last one. She was going to have to take him to the shelter if I didn’t take him.”

  “Someone would’ve adopted him.” I hold the kitten against my cheek. The better to enjoy his purr.

  “You don’t know that.”

  I extend the kitten toward her. “Look at this face. And he’s purring. It doesn’t get cuter than this.”

  “Just give me a couple weeks to find someone to take Lucentio.” Sarah approaches the bed and takes the kitten from me.

  “Lucentio?”

  “Bianca’s lover from The Taming of the Shrew.”

  I roll my eyes. She’s such a drama teacher.

  “Or we could keep him…?” Sarah proposes, regarding me with big, hopeful eyes.

  “If it were up to me, I would say sure. But you know how allergic your sister is and this handsome fellow is going to have lots of fur.” I can already picture a fluffy gray cat with big aquamarine eyes.

  “Do you know how terrible it was to grow up without pets?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say, caving a little more.

  My family had a cat growing up. It spent its days in the shop and its nights sleeping in my bed. Henry died a year ago at age eighteen and we haven’t replaced him. Not that we could. He was special. But I think my parents have appreciated having the house all to themselves. I’m the one who misses snuggling a cat.

  “Think of how wonderful it would be to have a cat around again.” Sarah picks up on my nostalgia and goes in for the kill. “You could take him to the store. He could become the greeter the way Henry was. He has a great personality.”

  “But Lucentio?” The name has to go. I shake my head. What am I thinking? We can’t have a cat. We agreed. “He can’t stay.”

  “Any change in the house requires a majority vote.” Sarah’s expression comes alive with hope. She obviously thinks she’s discovered an ally in me. “Are you voting yea or nay?”

  “I’ll vote yea.” I tuck the still purring kitten under my chin and exhale in delight. “We both know Brynn is going to vote nay. Have you considered how Gabby’s going to feel about this? She was on your sister’s side when we originally agreed to no pets.”

  Sarah heaves a sigh. “She’ll probably say no.”

  That means it will be two for and two against. In cases of unbreakable ties, we flip a coin. Lucentio continues to purr madly. Not wanting to get any more attached, I set him down on the bed. He immediately walks back toward me and climbs up into my lap. I’m a goner.

  “See how sweet he is?”

  “That was never in question.” I scoop him up and scratch his head as I carry him toward the door.
<
br />   “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll take him over to the store to see what Mom thinks and to see how he does. Who knows, maybe my mom will change her mind about getting another cat.”

  Lucentio settles down in my lap, purring softly while I drive the short distance to the store. I’m already thinking how to pitch this to my mother. I’m sure she’ll be okay having another store cat. And I suppose we could leave him there overnight. It wouldn’t be a lot different than if he was home alone all day. All he’s going to do is sleep. And yet, the thought of him by himself in the antique store squeezes my heart.

  “What’s that?” My mother demands as I walk in with Lucentio.

  “It’s Lucentio.” I deposit the kitten on the glass display counter and scratch his back to make him start purring. “Sarah had him squirreled away in her bedroom.”

  “I thought you girls decided no pets.”

  “We did, but he needed a home and you know how Sarah is about saying no to people. One of her coworkers guilted her into taking him. She was thinking she could find a home for him. I thought maybe we could use another store cat.”

  “I don’t know. Cats are one thing. Kittens…” Mom shakes her head. “They are so much trouble. They get into everything. What if he knocks things off the shelves?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him. Can we at least see how he does?”

  “You don’t think keeping an eye on him could be a full-time job?”

  “He’s a kitten. Don’t they sleep like twenty hours a day?”

  My mom regards the kitten doubtfully, but I can see she’s weakening. I know it’s my dad who pushed for no more pets. Mom’s like me. She loves having a cat around.

  “Okay, let’s see how he does.” She picks up the kitten and rubs her cheek on his soft head. “He really does purr, doesn’t he? What did you say his name was?”

  “Lucentio,” I say. “Bianca’s lover from The Taming of the Shrew.”

  “Sarah named him, didn’t she?”

  “Obviously.”

  “It has to go. He needs something simple that people can remember.”

  I love that my mom is on board. “He’s kind of the color of pewter.”

  “That has a nice antique reference to it as well.” My mom nods. “Pewter it is.”

  We don’t get a lot done the rest of the day. Between waiting on customers, we play with Pewter and get him set up with a litter pan, food and water dishes, toys, and several cat beds. When six o’clock rolls around, I don’t have the heart to leave him at the store. After locking up, Pewter and I head back to the house where his fate will be decided.

  Brynn and Gabby are sitting at the breakfast bar with their backs to me when I come in the back door. Sarah is topping off their wine glasses. I’m not sure if alcohol is going to help things. She gives me a nervous half smile as I approach.

  “How did it go today?” Sarah asks as our two roommates turn to say hello.

  “What is that?” Brynn asks flatly, pointing at the renamed Pewter.

  Gabby’s eyes light up. “It’s a kitten.”

  “I can see that,” Brynn says. “What is it doing here?”

  “Sarah rescued it.” I relinquish the kitten to Gabby’s outstretched hands.

  “He’s so cute.” Gabby scratches the kitten under his chin. Pewter immediately begins to purr. “What’s his name?”

  “Lucentio.”

  “Pewter.” I catch Sarah’s eye and explain. “Mom and I changed his name. If he’s going to be a store cat he needs a name everyone can remember.”

  Sarah looks relieved. “So he’s going to be a store cat?”

  “He did a great job today. I think having him there will work out great.”

  “So why is he here?” Brynn is leaning as far away from the cat as she can without leaving the barstool.

  “Because he’s still a baby and I don’t want to leave him by himself in the store. And…” I look at Sarah and give her a reassuring nod. “Sarah and I want him to be able to live here when he’s not at the store.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Gabby turns to Brynn. “Why not?”

  “Have you forgotten that I’m allergic? Deathly allergic.”

  “We won’t let him go up to the third floor,” Sarah suggests. “And since you don’t spend any time downstairs except for the kitchen, you probably won’t even notice.”

  There’s no ignoring the hurt in her voice. Since her engagement ended, Brynn has really isolated herself with tons of overtime and lengthy workouts. And when she’s home, she spends her time alone, in her room.

  “Fine,” Brynn says. “Keep the kitten.” She picks up her wine glass and heads for the stairs, leaving us staring after her.

  .

  12

  Zach

  For the last couple hours I’ve been sitting at the desk in my condo, staring at my computer monitor without comprehending what’s on the screen. In ten minutes I’m supposed to be giving a webinar and the words that usually slip off my tongue are stuck like glue to the roof of my mouth.

  The reason I’m so out of sorts is that I’m pondering that age old question: what sort of gift does a guy send to a woman who gives him a blowjob in the middle of a hallway as a thank you for his heroism and ends up blowing his fucking mind along with his dick? Flowers? Candy? A carefully worded text saying…what? Thank you? That was nice? When can we do it again?

  I don’t usually go the romantic route with women. That’s not to say I don’t treat them well. Expensive dinners. Concerts. Pro sports events. Clubbing. That those sorts of evenings often end in sex is a nice perk, but that is not the sole reason I ask women out. I like to have fun, and most of these activities are better with company. Sometimes we go out again. Sometimes we don’t. It’s all just fun.

  Now all my former experience with dating is out the window with Emma. For the first time in a long time a woman has me twisted into knots. I don’t want to come on too strong and spook her. At the same time, I feel like I need to follow up with something tangible that speaks to how incredible I think she is.

  I’ve been debating the problem for three days now. In the meantime, I’m having trouble focusing on work. It’s like I’m a dopey virgin who’s never had a woman’s lips wrapped around his cock before.

  Sure, the whole thing caught me off guard. I mean, as hot as things got between us in the kitchen, I pretty much figured we’d end up naked and going at each other. What I hadn’t planned on, however, was the way things went down. Or the way she went down on me.

  I can’t figure out why it’s not sitting comfortably on my conscience. I’ve been known to be selfish from time to time. Maybe more often than I’d like to admit. What guy wouldn’t be overjoyed that a woman happily—I might even say eagerly—sucked his dick without expecting anything in return? So why is it different with Emma?

  Because she’s a snowflake. Uniquely perfect. Perfectly unique.

  “Zach?” My technical assistant’s voice comes through my earpiece, warning me there’s less than a minute before I go live. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.” Fuck no. What the hell am I supposed to talk about today? I peer at the screen and blink several times to focus on the words. Making money with webinars. Oh good. One of my frequent fliers. I should be able to do this one in my sleep.

  An hour later, I have no idea what I said but from my assistant’s enthusiastic thumbs up, it looks like I managed to make some sense. If only I could put my love life on autopilot as well. I should call Paul and get his advice. He’s getting married. He should be able to tell me how to start a relationship with someone you have strong feelings for without scaring them off. After all, he’d been in love with Julie long before she and I broke up. On the other hand, he’d waited nearly six months before starting to date her and I’m too impatient to wait six days.

  If I ask for his advice, will that lead him to ask questions I can’t answer? How complicated would it be for Emma and I to starting seeing each other? Would
everybody just assume it’s a wedding thing? You know, best man and maid of honor hooking up, a major cliché? Is that what Emma thinks we’re doing? Is that why she was so cagey about making sure we were alone in the house? Because she doesn’t want anyone to know about us?

  Well, her cousins certainly know something’s going on.

  Is Emma trying to keep us quiet because of her sister?

  It never felt odd that Julie started dating my best friend. But is it different when the situation involves two sisters and a guy? Even when it’s been over for eight years?

  It’s times like this when I wish I had a sister to get advice from. But I’m an only child and most of the women I know don’t fall in the friend category. Fuck. I’m being such a girl about this. Just text her and see if she’s busy tonight.

  Got any plans later?

  I do.

  Of course she does. And even if she didn’t have plans, she isn’t going to let me think she’s available on such short notice.

  When can we get together?

  When half an hour goes by without a response, I start to sweat. And then I text, The b/b party isn’t going to plan itself.

  I’m not sure why I don’t just admit that I’m dying to see her again. Less than a minute later, I’m rewarded with a response.

  I’m not working Friday. I can come your way for lunch. Shall we meet at Coastal Vibe? What time is good for you?

  With memories of our last lunch encounter dancing through my mind, I start typing a confirming text before I remember that I have a consulting interview scheduled Friday for two o’clock. It’s with the company I’ve been pursuing for quite a while, and it’s not something I can reschedule. So, no long afternoon sojourn with her in my bed. Damn.

  My day is booked solid. Why don’t you come here for dinner instead?

  I’m wondering if it’s going to take her a while to decide how to respond. She surprises me by shooting a text back immediately.

  You cooking?

  Sure.

  Ha ha ha. I’ll bring the wine.

  What is so funny about my cooking? I can grill a steak with the best of them.