by Cat Carmine
“You know, in a bun. With ketchup.”
“Interesting. I’ve never tried it that way, but hey, if it works for you ...”
“You’re incorrigible. I see your sense of humor hasn’t evolved since high school.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Suit yourself.”
We stroll over to the barbecue and Wes orders two hot dogs and two cans of Coke, then pays the woman holding the metal cash box. He drops an extra twenty into the donation jar beside her, and I bite back a smile. We take our dinner over to an empty picnic table and sit down.
“This is fun,” Wes says, cracking open his soda.
“Thanks for coming with me. I always feel awkward hanging around these things by myself.”
“I’m having a great time. So you said they’re one of your clients?”
I nod, taking a bite of my hotdog and trying desperately not to glob ketchup down the front of my dress. “Yeah. We’ve done a few things for them — website design, a social media campaign. They can’t afford much, but who can say no to all those smushy little faces?”
Wes shakes his head. “Not me, that’s for sure.” His eyes crinkle up when he grins. “It’s great that you do so much for these clients. They must love you.”
I shake my head. “Well, I have to thank you again for the job. This one project for GoldLake is going to give us the freedom to take on a lot more charity clients. Honestly, if we had our way, we’d just work with non-profits all day, all pro-bono.”
“And smushy dog faces, of course.”
“Of course.” I grin.
“Rori, hi!” A voice calls from over my shoulder. I turn around to see Mary Ellen, the Bulldog Rescue coordinator I’ve been working with.
“Mary Ellen! Hi!” I stand up and give her a hug. “Great turnout!”
She looks around proudly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her denim overalls. “Yeah, not too bad. Thanks again for your help with the flyers.”
I wave off her comment. “No problem at all. Happy to do it.”
She peeks over my shoulder at Wes, and I smack my forehead.
“Sorry, Mary Ellen — this is Wes. Wes Lake. He’s actually another one of my clients.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says, reaching out to shake Wes’s hand. “You a dog lover?”
He smiles warmly. “I am. Though if I wasn’t already, Mabel would have convinced me.”
Mary Ellen laughs, her face lighting up in pleasure. “Yes, she’s a doll, isn’t she? Can you believe we just found her roaming the streets last month? A gorgeous old girl like her? Such a shame. Unfortunately, it’s pretty hard to find homes for senior dogs, but she’s had a lot of attention tonight, so you never know. Fingers crossed.”
She holds up two crossed fingers and Wes and I do the same.
“Anyway, I won’t keep you,” she says. “I just wanted to come and say hello. Make sure you check out the auction before you head out.”
We promise we will, and then watch as she disappears back into the crowd.
“She seems nice,” Wes observes after she’s gone.
I nod, finishing off my hotdog and brushing my hands off on a napkin. “She’s really sweet. We’re really lucky — all our clients are amazing.”
He grins. “Present company included, I presume?”
“Of course,” I stammer. My cheeks redden.
“Good.” He catches my eye and smiles warmly, and my stomach does a fluttering thing that rivals the feeling I had watching Wes loving on Mabel.
“Should we check out the auction?” I say, to change the subject.
“Sure.”
We stroll over to the other side of picnic area, where a few more tables are set up. There are items on each table, with sealed bid boxes. It’s all very informal — you just write your name and your bid, and stuff it in the appropriate box.
We browse the items up for auction, from the little I Heart Bulldogs keychain, to a certificate for ten free pet spa days, to a pet photography session.
“Ooh, I’m going to bid on that,” I say, pointing to a yoga mat with paw prints on it.
Wes raises his eyebrows. “You know I’m picturing you in downward dog right now, right?”
I groan. “Stop!”
“I can’t help it.”
I push past him playfully and scribble my name and a bid on a slip of paper, then shove it in the box in front of the yoga mat, while Wes goes to the table with the bulldog keychain.
“Fingers crossed,” he says, holding up his two crossed digits again, after he’s shoved his bid into the box.
“I’m feeling good about our chances,” I assure him. “I think this is our lucky night.”
He starts to say something, but I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand, both of us laughing.
“Don’t even say it.”
“Say what?” he says, his voice muffled behind my palm.
“Whatever dirty thing you were about to say.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” he says, still muffled.
I laugh as I lean against his chest, but then he pries my hand away from his face. Gently, he turns my arm, kisses the inside of my wrist.
I gasp. The touch is so intimate, so unexpected. The rest of the park melts away. Everything in my body is laser focused on Wes. My entire being hums in his presence.
“I’m not ready to say goodnight yet. Maybe we could go for a drink?” His voice is hoarse. Gruff.
I nod. I don’t trust my own voice right now.
He kisses my wrist again, and even though I see him doing it and am prepared for the feel of his lips on my skin, I still squeak.
“Maybe we could go for a drink … at my apartment?” His blue eyes have gone dark.
I nod again. I know it’s wrong, but the magnetic force between us is pulling me again, straight into Wes’s orbit.
He grins, then turns my arm down, so that he’s holding my hand again, and leads me out of the park.
Twenty
“So this is your place.” I scan Wes’s penthouse apartment and try to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.
“It is.”
“It’s ... nice.” Nice is the understatement of the millennium, of course. It’s a two-story apartment, bigger than my parents’ house, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. The space is open, and from where we stand I can see a modern kitchen, with black lacquered cabinets and stainless steel everything. Low-profile furniture is elegantly arranged around the main room and huge pieces of art cover the white walls. What looks like a gas fireplace is nestled into one wall opposite a deep grey sofa.
“I didn’t have much to do with it. An agent found the place for me, and someone else decorated and furnished it. I just kinda sleep here.”
“Must be nice. Remind me to never let you see our place. I could probably fit the entire thing in one of your bathrooms.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sure your place is lovely.” He scans the apartment. His expression looks ... not sad exactly, but lost, almost like he’s wondering how in the world he ended up here.
“If you like parquet floors and cracked plaster walls,” I joke, trying to keep the mood light.
He smiles. “I do, actually.” His expression changes again, slipping back to his normal confidence. “Can I get you a drink? A glass of wine?”
“That sounds great.”
I follow Wes into the kitchen and watch as he opens a bottle of red and pours out two glasses. My heart is thumping at the reality of standing in Wes’s apartment for the first time, but it feels good to be here with him. Easy. Natural.
I take one of the glasses from him, and clink it against his when he holds it up to me.
“What are we toasting to?”
He thinks for a minute. “Bulldogs,” he answers with a grin.
That makes me smile, and I feel another happy rush as I swallow the first sip of wine.
Wes watches me, and then he takes a step towards me. Even though he’s
just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, he still seems as imposing as he does when he’s wearing a suit. His nearness undoes me. The smell of him, the warmth of him, the hardness of him. I sway slightly, already feeling light-headed after only a sip of wine. Or maybe that’s just the effect of Wes.
He sets his glass down on the stainless steel countertop and then wordlessly tips my chin up. I swallow, but my lips are already parting in anticipation. He leans his head in and kisses me slowly. So slowly that it’s maddening. His lips, pressing against mine, nipping at my skin. His tongue, teasing itself gently over mine. I let out a soft moan.
Part of me is still insisting that I should be fighting this. That I should tell him no. And not just because we have a deal, but because I know that once we do this, we can’t undo it. You can’t unring a bell.
But God, I want to ring that bell. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Wes reads my mind. He grabs me suddenly, lifting me up. I swing my legs around his waist automatically, trying to find purchase, as my heart races and I laugh breathlessly. Wes growls and kisses me harder. My arms are wound around his neck and I cling to him, kissing him and breathing him and wanting him.
Wes carries me like that, all the way through the apartment and then up the floating staircase. His arms flex around me, holding me tight. His body is hard against mine, his shoulders taut under my hands.
He shuffles us into a room and then sets me down gently on a bed. His bed. I look around the room, trying to get a glimpse of the man Wes is now, who he is when he lays down to sleep, but the walls are as white as the ones downstairs. They give nothing away. The bed is low to the ground, and covered in a white duvet that’s as blank as a sheet of paper. There’s one piece of art on the wall, a huge triptych over the bed that’s done in abstract whites and grays. It gives nothing away either. Nothing but the fact that he has money and can pay someone to buy him pieces like this, that is.
I press my fingertips to his jaw, studying his face. Trying to understand who this man is, who he’s become. His blue eyes are bright, but the half smile he wears feels more like a mask sometimes. I kiss him again. At least I know who he is then, when we’re kissing.
We tumble onto the bed, a clash of arms and legs and tongues. I can feel his breath against my skin, his erection pressing into my thigh. I run my hands under his t-shirt, where his skin is warm and stretched firm over perfect washboard abs.
He tugs at my dress, yanking it easily over my head, and then pulls me against him. For a long time, we lie there on his bed kissing. The same way we used to do when we were teenagers. God, we could kiss back then. We’d spend hours and hours in the backseat of his Sunfire, just kissing. I knew every inch of his face, every quirk of his lips. My legs resting over his, his hands wound up in my hair. Windows so fogged up that no one in the world could see us, and we couldn’t see the world. It was perfect.
But somehow this is too. Wes’s broad shoulders under my palms, his hands, so much bigger now, splayed against my bare back, inching under my bra strap. With a quick flick of his wrist, he unclasps it.
I giggle. “You’ve always been good at that.”
“What can I say, it’s a useful skill.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Like knot-tying.”
“Knot tying?”
“Or fire-starting. Identifying poisonous mushrooms. In fact, I’m starting a petition to suggest they teach it in Boy Scouts.”
He grins and I kiss him just to make him be quiet. He strips off his own shirt and then his arms are around my back again, pulling me to him and crushing my breasts against his chest. My nipples bead at the warmth of his skin, at the firmness of him.
We tumble over each other. I reach for the waistband of his jeans, fumbling with the button, the zipper, trying to push them off his body. He does me the favor and kicks them off himself, his lips never losing contact with mine. I stroke my palm over the bulge of his boxer briefs, moaning in need as his cock twitches against my hand.
“Oh God, Roar,” he groans. His hands skim over my hips, pushing against the soft lace fabric of my underwear. I tug at his at the same time and then suddenly we’re both naked, nothing between our skin but a fine layer of sweat.
He rolls me onto my back, his hand dipping down between my thighs, parting my cleft, stroking my clit with his thumb. I buck against him, whimpering against the side of his neck and pulling him to me. My hands explore his body while he touches me, finding all the plains and angles and crevices, the ones that are so familiar and the ones that are brand new. His body is a jungle, a mystery, a fevered dream.
I pant against him as he strokes me. His hands are practiced, confident. None of the fumbling of when we were young. He turns small circles around my clit, pressing against it with just the right amount of force. My hips move automatically towards him, wanting to feel more of him.
“Oh, God, Wes. This is so wrong.” My words are muffled against his chest.
He pauses his ministrations and I almost sob.
“Do you want to stop?” He looks down at me, tilts my chin so that he’s looking in my eyes. Those eyes. I could get fucking lost in those eyes.
“God, no,” I breathe. “I want more. I want it all.”
“Good,” he growls. He pushes my thighs apart then, almost roughly. He kneels between my legs and dips his head and I nearly scream when his tongue glides over my clit. I clutch the blankets instead, pulling them this way and that, while my body rocks back and forth. Wes works some kind of ungodly magic on me, turning me into a screaming banshee. When he plunges two fingers deep inside me, I buck again, my body nearly bending in half.
Wes holds me in place, licking and sucking and kissing my pussy. His mouth is so warm and wet and every nerve ending in my body buzzes with his touch. He keeps going until the orgasm rips through me, like hot molten lava, liquifying everything inside me. My legs collapse limply onto the bed as Wes crawls up to find my mouth with his.
“Good?” he asks, kissing the line of my jaw.
“Oh yeah.”
“Good.” He grins proudly and I have to laugh.
“Come here.” I pull him to me, pressing his lips with mine. I can taste myself on him, and even though I should find that weird, I don’t. It feels intimate and erotic and well … hot. Wes seems to enjoy it as well because he kisses me with even more force now, pushing me backwards against the fluffy pillows and climbing astride me. His thick cock bobs heavily above me and the ache inside me intensifies. His cock is bigger and more magnificent than I remembered, than I even could have imagined. Perfectly shaped, and just the right length and girth. He grips the base and strokes it with his fist a few times, making me groan.
“Okay, now you’re just toying with me.”
“Never,” he murmurs.
He reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a square silver packet. Sheathing himself quickly, he runs his cock over my pussy, coating himself in me and making my clit tingle.
“God, Rori, you’re so wet. I could drown in you.”
His eyes are blazing and every word sends a lick of fire through me.
“You make me that way, Wes. I want you so bad.”
“I’ve waited so long for this.”
“Me too. Forever, it feels like.”
His cock is against my entrance now, and slowly, slowly, slowly he starts to push forward. He stretches me, fills me. My pussy starts to clench down around him and I have to remind myself to breathe. When he’s finally all the way inside me, he pauses. For a minute it feels like all we do is breathe. Breathe and stare into each other’s eyes. I graze my fingers along his jaw, feeling the thick stubble that always seems to be the perfect length. Not quite a beard, but more than a five o’clock shadow. Just the. right amount of manly facial hair.
I breathe in and out as his cock pulses inside me and then, without words, we start to move together. My hips rise to meet his, and he bucks against me. We find a rhythm, but every thrust comes harder, faster, more frantic. It’s
like we’re desperate for our bodies to be joined together, to try to capture something we thought was lost forever.
It doesn’t take long before I’m already cresting towards my second climax. I grip Wes’s shoulders, digging my nails in, as my body bucks and arches against him, as his name falls from my lips over and over again. He groans as I clench and then slams his hips against mine, driving his cock deeper than I ever thought possible. I feel him twitch inside me, and then he’s tensing, groaning, and unleashing everything.
We collapse into a spent heap and I curl my body against his. Even though I’m hot and sweaty, I want nothing more than the touch of his skin against mine. I crave it. I need it.
Wes pulls me against him. It feels like … he needs this too. Our chests rise and fall together as we remember how to breathe.
“Stay the night?” he says. His lips are in my hair, close to my ear.
My heart skips a beat as I think about the deal we made, the way I was so determined to protect my heart. Then I think of the way he made me feel just now, the way I felt when my hand was tucked inside his.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll stay the night.”
Twenty-One
Waking up next to Rori Holloway is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and then some. Looking down at her sleeping form, curled sideways on my white sheets, duvet twisted around her long shapely legs, I feel a pang of something I can’t even name. It knocks against my heart in a way that feels foreign and scary.
“Good morning,” she murmurs, without even opening her eyes. As if she can sense me staring at her.
“Good morning, beautiful.” I push a lock of hair off her face so that I can see her better, admire the rosiness of her cheeks, the soft line of her jaw, the curve of her neck. My eyes drift lower, to her bare shoulders, the soft flat plane of her solar plexus, the rise of her breasts under the sheets. It immediately gives me my own rise under the sheets.
Rori smiles, again as if she knows what’s happening without even looking. She finally opens her eyes, her pupils dilating at the sudden infusion of sunlight. She’s still smiling sleepily at me, and I lean in. I can’t keep my lips away from hers for another second.
