Brooklynaire

by Bowen, Sarina

  Apparently alternate universes are real. And there’s an alternate universe where you can slide your thumb over your boss’s cockhead and listen to him mutter a string of curses. I’m visiting it right now.

  “Fuck, Becca.” He pushes me down on the bed again and kicks away his trousers and boxers.

  Nate is a boxers man, my subconscious points out as he lies down beside me and dives into another kiss. But then I stop thinking entirely as his hands coast down my body, his touch lighting me up like a pinball machine at the height of play.

  It’s been so long since anyone touched me I’d forgotten how amazing it feels to be stroked and teased. The soft skin of my belly twitches as he brushes by it. The first slide of his fingertips past the elastic of my panties is exquisite. I part my legs, shameless. And, yes. I practically arch off the bed when he finally reaches my core. He makes a noise of shock to find me so wet.

  The word he gasps is, “Sweetheart.”

  It’s a potent, whispered oath. I wrap both arms around his neck. We’re skin on skin—all heat and friction. He fits the root of his cock against my pussy and grinds slowly against me, while I dive into his mouth, my kisses begging for more.

  We’re like a video on fast forward—grappling and writhing, our mouths in motion, kissing and nibbling everything within reach. I’m desperate. Desire pulses inside me. Throughout me. I’m made entirely of want.

  I fill my lungs with air and then ask for it. “Please,” I gasp.

  Nate smiles down at me. That fucker grins. I’m burning up here, and he’s…

  He’s yanking my panties down and tossing them away. He’s hovering above me, his eyes glittering with desire.

  He’s sliding inside me.

  Everything slows down. I dig my heels into the mattress, bracing myself, taking him. There’s a hush as we stare at each other in shock. I hear breathing and the glug glug of my own heart. He gives one last little push and seats himself fully. I’m pinned like a butterfly inside this moment, staring up at him in wonder.

  His smile is gone now. In its place is a face so serious that I have to reach up and touch it with one hand. He bends down, touches his tongue to mine and sighs into our inevitable kiss.

  Sweetheart. That word is still echoing inside me as he begins to move.

  He removes my hand from his face and kisses it as his hips take a slow rhythm. Both my hands are caught in his. He raises them over my head and holds them against the pillow.

  But I need to move. So I lift my knees to catch his hips and meet his every thrust. And we’re kissing again. I’m drowning in so much heat and desire. I don’t want it to ever end, but my greedy body feels otherwise. It starts as a heavy pulse between my legs. When I can’t hold it back any longer, I arch my back and cry out.

  Nate’s moan is a chorus with mine. Waves of pleasure wash over me as he curses against my lips. He lets go of my hands and wraps an arm around my thigh, yanking us more tightly together once…twice.

  He plants himself deeply inside me and bites the juncture between my neck and shoulder. Then he lets out a tortured groan and shudders.

  Holy…

  Wow.

  I…

  I can’t believe we just did that.

  It’s amazing and wonderful and so incredibly shocking. But all I want to do about it is run my hands over his skin again and sigh.

  13

  Nate

  My heart rate is several miles per hour over the legal limit, and my body is heavy with the weight of sexual gratification.

  Even my endorphins have endorphins.

  Rebecca relaxes beneath me, breathing hard. I heave my tired carcass over to the side, pulling her with me. She lays her head down on my chest and exhales as if stunned.

  And maybe she is. I know I am. Not only was that the most amazing experience of my life, but it’s also dumbfounding.

  I have never lost control of myself so completely as I did just now.

  Normally, I’m just about the most dedicated person I know. I get up at five o’clock every morning. I’ve run marathons. Keeping a tight leash on myself is the only way I know to stay sharp and stay on top.

  Tonight I gave a dangerous new meaning to on top.

  Jesus Christ.

  I push a lock of hair out of Rebecca’s perfect face. It’s damp from exertion. Her expression is half dreamy and half wary.

  No way to know which half is winning.

  “Nate,” she whispers.

  “What?” I bury my face in her hair, and tighten my arms around her curvy body. My dick gives a tired but hopeful little twitch.

  She clears her throat. “At least I’m on the pill.”

  “I know,” I mumble. “They’re right there on the bathroom counter.”

  “Okay…”

  “I’d never endanger you,” I whisper. “I’m careful.” Until right now. Why would she even believe me?

  She hesitates, and I hope against hope that we don’t have to talk much yet. I need a few minutes to figure out what the hell to say. No—I need more time than that. A year doesn’t sound long enough. “So…” She lifts her head off my chest. “Why do you think we just…”

  “Bec?”

  “Yeah?”

  I pass my palm down her smooth arm, and give it a caress. “Don’t ruin it. Unless you really need to.”

  She lays her head on my chest again.

  I could offer to leave. Maybe she’d prefer it. But I don’t, though. I’m a stubborn asshole who just got the only thing he’s ever wanted and couldn’t have. So I close my eyes and doze, as her heartbeat slows against mine.

  But my subconscious won’t let me forget for too long that I’m naked in a bed with Rebecca. I wake up sometime later, still in the pitch dark. She’s stretched out beside me now, her back to my front. I run a hand down her side, because I can’t help myself. Her skin is incredibly soft, and I love the way the downhill of her ribs goes uphill again at her hip.

  So I do it again.

  “Mmh,” she says as I stroke her skin. And when I cup her breast, the nipple hardens under my fingertips. She clamps a hand over mine, encouraging me.

  Jesus. I’m not nearly as strong a man as I thought I was. One touch from her and I’m hard and ready.

  I drop open-mouthed kisses onto the back of her neck and let my hands wander her body. Soon enough she’s whimpering and pushing back against my body.

  So I roll us in her direction—pushing her face down on the bed, lifting her hips toward mine.

  “Yes,” she gasps as I push myself home for the second time tonight.

  Yes.

  I give it to her fast and hard, and she rocks back against me with breathy gasps. When I snake a hand under her body and stroke her, she sobs my name into the pillowcase.

  We shudder together before collapsing into a useless heap of tired limbs.

  Then sleep comes for good.

  * * *

  Rebecca

  Consciousness arrives slowly. The feel of a man’s hard body against mine is even better than discounted cashmere, and I don’t really feel like waking up. A big hand is stroking my hair, and I close my eyes against the sunlight that is entering the room.

  But then my dream man gives a very Nate-like sigh, and I wake up all at once. It’s a good thing I’m facing away from him, since I’m sure I’m wearing a stunned expression as the memories of last night’s events stack up in the cool light of morning.

  What the hell did we just do?

  Until you wake up naked with your boss of seven years, you haven’t lived.

  He makes a soft sound of impatience, and I stiffen.

  “Rebecca.” His voice is low and rough. “Are you okay?”

  I consider the question. The truth is that I really don’t know. “Yeah,” I sigh. “I can’t wait for the day when people stop asking me that.”

  “I know.” He squeezes the muscles in my shoulder. It feels awesome, too. “But I wasn’t talking about your head injury.”

  Shit. “
I’m good,” I say, ducking the question.

  “Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

  “Sleepy,” I grumble. But then I roll over, bring the sheet with me to cover my boobs. But that only makes me remember the hot look on Nate’s face when he swirled his tongue on each…

  Gah! All the parts of my consciousness are awake now, including the sexy parts.

  Slowly, I raise my eyes and find Nate studying me. His eyes are soft, but his beautiful mouth wears a knowing smirk.

  “What?” I demand.

  He drags one finger across the skin just over the sheet’s edge. “I wish we weren’t headed in separate directions today. I don’t want you to go home and brood.”

  “I won’t.” I totally will.

  He frowns. “Breakfast first?”

  “Well…” I hesitate. “I was going to have breakfast with Georgia. If I cancel, she’ll want to know why.”

  “Ah.” It’s a sigh. “Are you sure you’re okay.”

  “Totally good.”

  He doesn’t believe me. But he kisses me once and then gets up. I watch as he puts on last night’s tux. And I wonder how many people he’ll run into between here and his own room. It’s not like I expect him to stop and say, “Hey, guess whose room I just came from!” But still, the idea of being caught unnerves me.

  I just became that girl who sleeps with her boss.

  “Are we going to talk later?” he asks, doing up his shirt buttons.

  “Don’t we always?” I ask, ducking the question.

  He gives me another frown. “Don’t leave for home without saying goodbye, okay?”

  “Okay.” Although everything just got weird. I had sex with Nate. Twice. When I repeat it in my mind, it isn’t easy to believe.

  A few minutes later the door clicks shut behind him, and I actually heave a sigh of relief. I pick up my phone and text Georgia to cancel breakfast. And I ask her to fetch my manicure kit from Lauren’s room. Because if I go up to the executive suite level and Nate is standing there looking sharp in his suit, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep the confusion off my face.

  What have I done?

  * * *

  There’s a brand new soundtrack running through my brain. It sounds like this: Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

  My whole life, people have been telling me I have a good head on my shoulders. I leave the crazy, risky behavior to other people—my sister, for example. I’m the smart one who never screws up.

  Until now. I’ve thrown away my sanity for a single hot night with the boss.

  Although it was a really great night.

  On the plane home, I sip my watery airline coffee and wonder what just happened. I can still feel his hands on me. I can still taste his kisses. By the time I roll my carry-on out to the baggage claim, I’m delirious from both exhaustion and stress.

  Ramesh—Nate’s driver—is there waiting. “Hello, Miss Rebecca,” he says with a smile. “I have instructions to take you to Pierrepont Place. Is that where you wish to go?”

  Yes and no. “I do need to go to Nate’s, but only for about five minutes. Could you possibly wait while I run inside? I need to get some things and then go back to my apartment on Water Street.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Excellent. I’m officially running scared.

  It only takes a few minutes to pack up my things at Nate’s and then leave again. I can see questions in Mrs. Gray’s eyes. “Stay for a cuppa?” she invites as Ramesh carries my suitcase down the stairs.

  “I can’t this morning,” I lie. “But I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

  Though I’m not at all sure.

  Ten minutes later Ramesh has carried the suitcases up the narrow stairwell of my apartment building. I thank him as graciously as possible. Like Mrs. Gray, he’s probably wondering what the heck I’m up to.

  Go ahead and wonder, I think as I shake his hand goodbye. Because I don’t even know myself.

  My little apartment is quiet for once. Renny is asleep in my sister’s room, but Missy and the baby are out somewhere.

  I ease the bedroom door shut and then get busy with my luggage. I unpack everything and put it away. I remove the portable baby crib from my bedroom and then tidy up.

  Moving around feels good, so I keep on cleaning. I attack the cluttered living room, sorting baby gear from my sister’s detritus.

  Meanwhile, panic churns inside me like a storm. And—like a real hurricane—it’s sometimes not easy to know where the danger lies. What’s the worst-case scenario of having slept with Nate? It’s hard to say. If anyone finds out, the office gossip will be brutal. It makes me cringe to think Hugh Major might look at me differently now. Like I’m that girl, the kind who fools around with the boss on trips.

  But that’s really just the tip of the iceberg. When I think about seeing Nate again—and traveling with Nate again—I feel a little insane. What’s he going to say? If he pretends like nothing happened, how will that feel?

  Because something absolutely did. At least to me.

  On the other hand, I don’t expect him to turn it into something serious. He confessed to crushing on me. And I guess I gave him the opportunity to get that out of his system. Twice.

  Holy hell. I’m standing in the middle of my living room, a bag of diapers in my hand, feeling seriously aroused. When he put his mouth on my nipple, I…

  Whew. Maybe I should open a window and cool this place off.

  I finish decluttering the living room and attack our tiny kitchen. There are dishes in the sink. I suds up the spaghetti pot while trying to strategize. There are two possibilities. A) Nate ignores the whole episode. The next time I see him will be at work. And he’ll say, “Hey, Bec! Do you have the ticket sales numbers? And how about sushi for lunch today?”

  That will sting, but I guess it’s better than choice B, which is the world’s most awkward conversation. “Well, Becca. Once every seven years or so, whether we need it or not. Right?” Cue the awkward chuckle.

  No, the conversation could easily be worse. “Becca, hey. I’m so sorry I let things get out of hand. Please accept this gourmet fruit basket as an apology. By the way, Lauren will be traveling with me from now on.”

  Yikes. And to think I was so eager to go back to work.

  Eventually I hear my sister’s key turn in the lock. “Wow, Bec! It looks so great in here.”

  I bite back a snarky reply about why that is. But Missy has no time to clean. She’s got to finish her semester and then one more semester at school to get her degree. I want that for her. And I made it possible for her to live here so that she could get the college education that I never finished.

  “Thank you,” I say. Because this is what’s important in my life—my family, and the job that supports us. I can’t lose sight of that. Sleeping with Nate was so stupid of me. Why on earth would I make things more difficult for myself right now? I have a head injury and big-time obligations.

  “Everything okay?” Missy asks as Matthew begins to babble in his baby carrier.

  “Sure. I’m good.”

  To prove it, I keep cleaning. I vacuum and dust every surface. Then I attack the bathroom, rearranging the medicine cabinet to give away most of the space to my sister, so she has somewhere to put all the pacifiers and nursing pads.

  By the time I get out the mop to tackle the bathroom floor, Missy is ready to stage an intervention. “I’m worried,” she says from the doorway, staying out of harm’s way. “I mean, stress-cleaning is something I’ve always valued about your personality. But this is a little extreme.”

  My response is a grumble. Missy and my mother depended on my stress-cleaning habits to kick in every semester at exam time. Less work for them.

  “Did you lose your job? It’s okay, you can tell me. We’ll be all right.”

  “No.” But the idea makes me wince. Because it’s occurred to me that with a different boss, losing my job wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility. Nate’s a good guy. He’s not goi
ng to fire me out of embarrassment, or make a big deal about it.

  “But you might?” my sister pries.

  “I probably should.” I know I’m being overly dramatic. But everything seems up in the air. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been to my desk in weeks.

  “What did you do?”

  “I slept with my boss.” Yikes. It sounds worse out loud than it does in my head.

  Missy wrinkles up her nose. “Really? You slept with Hugh Major? He’s old.”

  Like I’ve said before, my sister is a few peas short of a casserole. “Bite your tongue. He’s old and married. I would never sleep with Hugh Major.”

  Missy waits.

  “I slept with…” I almost can’t say it. “Nate.” And I immediately experience a little shiver. His name doesn’t feel the same in my mouth anymore. For the rest of my life I’m going to be able to picture naked, panting Nate, his sculpted pecs moving above me, his long fingers pressing mine down on the bed…

  “Whooooa.” Missy’s mouth makes a perfect O shape. “So he finally got up the nerve to admit he has a thing for you?”

  “Missy!” I squeak. “Don’t say that.”

  “Please.” She rolls her eyes in that way sisters have, and it makes you want to punch them. “Exhibit A.” She points at a giant basket of very dead flowers I’ve set beside the door. I’m hoping Renny will notice them and take them down to the garbage compactor.

  “They’re just flowers,” I grumble.

  “Was it good?” she asks.

  “Hmm?” I’m scrubbing the tiles as if there will be an inspection later.

  “The sex. Was it good?”

  I feel a flush on my chest, just hearing the question.

  “Did someone have sex without me?” Renny asks, emerging from the bedroom, Matthew in his arms.

  “Rebecca did!” Missy announces. “With her boss.”

  “Oh, sh…innicock,” he says. Apparently we’re working on cutting out the curse words this week. “You made the beast with two backs with Hugh Major? Isn’t he a little old for you?”