by Cassi Carver
She snorted, wishing for a moment that it was a ploy, that her agoraphobia hadn’t destroyed every single relationship she’d ever attempted. But Kyle knew it was real. He’d sat with her countless nights, talking through her fears but not judging her—his limitless compassion and support crammed into a fifteen-inch screen.
“You know,” he said regretfully, “if you keep winning the challenges and keeping me up late, you might wear this old body out.”
Old? At twenty-nine, Kyle was only a year older than Rayna. But whereas she had the soft curves of a woman who spent eight hours a day at the computer, Kyle looked like his office chair was a treadmill.
“Wear you out? Maybe, but a deal’s a deal. You owe me, handsome.” She placed the flower in a water-filled coffee cup on the table and sat back on her tan corduroy sofa, splaying her legs suggestively. She’d chosen these shorts because there wasn’t much to them, and Kyle seemed to appreciate that fact.
His gaze flickered down, running over her bare thighs. “I always pay my debts. You know I’m good for it.”
“So you say. Show me.”
He stood, walking out of view of the computer cam for a moment before returning to the far left side of the screen. Pulling a vinyl record from its sleeve, he placed it into his vintage record player then pushed the cover out of sight. She knew from the past that although the player was old, the wireless speakers to the system were top-notch. Kyle talked of the simple life, but he seemed to have all sorts of expensive gadgets in his little studio apartment.
“So what do we have tonight?” She leaned forward, trying to make out the photo on the record’s sleeve before she remembered that she couldn’t see what the camera didn’t show her.
“A special surprise.” He lowered the needle onto the shiny black disc and a few seconds later, the slow, smoky sound of classic R and B drifted from the speakers. “Solomon Burke.”
“Oh. Cool.” She smiled encouragingly, but she wasn’t sure what was up. This wasn’t supposed to be a music night. She’d won the challenge, damn it. “He’s great. ‘Cry to Me’ is one of my favorites.”
He turned and grinned into the camera. Still standing by the record player, she had a full shot of his perfectly proportioned but overly clothed body. “A Dirty Dancing fan, huh? How did I guess that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Who isn’t?”
“True. Well, this song isn’t from the movie. This is a song from me to my West Coast girl…” He looked down and moved the needle a fraction of an inch, and when the slow, rolling notes poured out, his hips rolled with them.
“If you need me…” Burke’s deep, melodic voice sang, urging his woman to call him. When Kyle’s hands went to his shirt, undoing the first button as he swayed, Rayna swallowed and fisted her hand on the couch pillow. He wasn’t really going to do that for her, was he?
Again, the smooth voice admonished her to call if she needed him, and another button on Kyle’s shirt popped open, revealing a small V of his upper chest.
At the next verse, Kyle slid the lower half of his shirt up to expose his defined abs, and Rayna’s eyes went blurry. She was too mesmerized to blink.
Three more buttons. His long-sleeved shirt slid down his arms and his lips tilted into a half smile as Kyle started to sing directly to her about wanting. And in that moment, she’d never wanted him more.
His arms were long and lean, well muscled, like he belonged in the California surf, his arms cutting through the blue-green water as he paddled his longboard out to catch the next wave.
He took a step toward the camera, grinding his hips as he worked the catch on his belt, pulled it from the loops of his pants and dropped it to the floor. His mouth moved, telling her with the song not to wait, that he wanted to come to her.
Rayna raised her hands to her cheeks, not believing this was happening. Kyle Ford was stripping for her, right in the safety and comfort of her own living room.
Kyle regarded Rayna. “Have you had enough, sweetheart?”
“Please don’t stop,” she told him.
And when Kyle started mouthing words about love, staring straight into the camera as he slowly lowered his slacks, Rayna almost forgot they weren’t in the same room. The way he looked at her made her ache…not just smoldering and sexy, but vulnerable, like this meant something to him.
When the song ended, he stood naked before her, his long shaft standing away from his body, almost gleaming in the dim light from the tight stretch of his skin. He took another step closer, and Rayna felt lightheaded. Would it be uncool if she swooned?
“Kyle…” she said when the record advanced to the next song.
No more smiles. “Well, what do you think, Ray? Was it worth it?” She glanced at his hand, saw his fist tighten around his shaft. “All this—” he slid his hand down his considerable length then back up again, “—is from wanting you.”
She moaned and leaned back on the corduroy sofa. She wanted her clothes off—wanted him inside her. She settled for cupping her heavy breast through her T-shirt and rolling her rigid nipple between her thumb and index finger. “You’re so worth it…”
“That’s right, sweetheart. Touch yourself. Let me imagine I’m there with you.”
When she brought her left hand to the other nipple, he tsked and shook his head. “No, take off your shirt. I want to see you.”
“Like this?” She pulled the V-neck over her head and squeezed her breasts through the lacy lavender fabric of her bra. Her pulse was thready, her panties growing damp. She teased him like that for a while, then unhooked her bra and let it slip from her fingers.
“Oh shit.” His face was flushed and his expression fevered. “Those pretty pink nipples were made for my mouth. I’d suck them past my teeth and savor how supple and sweet they’d be against my tongue. I bet you taste so fucking good.”
She pinched her nipples hard, envisioning he was doing to her just what he’d said, then another moan escaped her parted lips and her hips shifted involuntarily against the cushions.
At first, she’d been embarrassed to show Kyle her body. She wasn’t exactly a size zero with perfect everything, but he’d done a great job of convincing her that he liked what he saw. Her skin broke out in goose bumps, and she couldn’t take her eyes off his slow strokes. She knew he could last a while like this, but she wondered what it would be like in real life if she ever had the chance to meet him face-to-face…to touch him and grasp him in her own hands.
His gaze locked on her breasts, and his hand froze for a moment as he watched her. “Lick your fingers,” he told her. “Think of my tongue over your skin.”
Smiling, she slowly dipped her middle finger into her mouth and sucked it hard, envisioning it was his cock. “Oh fuck…” he murmured—the gesture not lost on him.
She made a lazy circle around her nipple, her body needing him more than she’d ever needed anything. “I’ve been going crazy with wanting you, Kyle. Every night I touch myself and wish it was your hand.”
“Show me, sweetheart. Let me see you imagine it just as I’ve imagined making love to you.”
His expression was tender, but his body seemed wound tight enough to do damage. Sharing this with him felt so right. She trusted Kyle beyond all others, and each day she wanted him from the minute she awakened to the second her restless body finally succumbed to sleep.
She trailed a hand down her bare stomach and fondled herself through her shorts, her breathing picking up as she watched his eyes turn molten. He stroked himself a little harder now, a little faster. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she said, splaying her legs and continuing to rub out her ache.
He stepped closer, and his ass was clenching now as he thrust. He looked raw and on the edge. “Take off your shorts, and let me see that pretty pussy. Are you wet for me, Ray?”
She slid the denim down her legs but left her lavender thong in place. She wanted this so badly. Wanted him. She felt like she might explode with a few well-placed strokes. She brought he
r feet up to the edge of the sofa, spreading her legs wide. After a moment of enjoying the feel of her hand over her silk-covered mound, she slipped two fingers into her wet heat and gasped, churning her hips toward the contact. “Mmmm,” she whimpered.
She heard the deep rumble of his voice, felt the vibrations of it over the speakers. “Fuck yes. That’s right, sweetheart.”
How fast was too fast to come? She wanted to simply close her eyes and rub her clit until this ache finally eased. Instead, she dragged her fingers along her inner thigh, leaving a shiny streak on her skin. “I’m so wet for you.”
Even in the dim light, his brow glistened with sweat, his face a study in fierce concentration. “Take off those damn panties. I want to see you when I come.”
She discarded the panties and stroked two fingers over her clit. It was good enough to make her pant, but it wasn’t enough. She needed Kyle near her. She needed to know what it was like to feel his breath on her skin and his mouth on her tender flesh.
“Get them wet,” he told her.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. She would have done it anyway, but she liked it more that he’d said the words. “Like this?” she purred, opening her knees wider and letting him see her body swallow her fingers. She moaned aloud, half because she was so ready and half because she wanted to drive him insane.
“Exactly like that.” His voice was hoarse now, his movements jerky and rough.
She stroked her clit and then inserted her fingers into her slick channel again, letting her eyes flutter open and shut as she rode her hand. “Oh, Kyle. I want this to be you.” Her skin was covered in prickly heat and pressure was rapidly building low in her belly. Her skin felt damp all over.
“Just say the word and it will be,” he panted, staring straight into the camera as his lip curled and his grip tightened.
When she came, it was so strong and so fast it almost took her by surprise. She tried to keep her eyes open until the last second, watching as white heat jetted from Kyle’s thick shaft, but at last her eyes squeezed shut and she screamed—probably his name, but she wasn’t sure if she was even forming words.
She sat still for a moment, her lungs sucking in deep breaths, and her pussy contracting powerfully around her fingers. With her eyes closed, she smiled, listening to the happy growls coming from Kyle’s chest.
“Sweetheart,” he said a minute later, and Rayna opened her eyes to see him staring earnestly back at her. “You were…amazing.”
She grinned. “And you, sir, make imaginary love the likes of which mere mortals cannot fathom.”
“Why, thank you,” he said through a laugh. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”
“I could eat.”
“Good. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if you’d think my attempt at dancing was a fitting reward, so I ordered some Italian for us earlier, just to be safe.” He cleaned his hands with a cloth and pulled on some wrinkled boxer shorts he’d snagged from a pile of laundry on the couch. “It should arrive at your house in about five minutes, so as much as it pains me to suggest it, I’d get those shorts back on if I were you.”
She gave him a stern look—as stern as she could manage in her current blissful state. “Another dinner? I told you, you can’t keep spending money on me like this. You’re gonna go broke. Besides, I thought date night was tomorrow—dinner and a movie, right? I have a dress picked out and everything.”
“And we’re still doing date night, dress and all, because what I ordered tonight isn’t dinner. It’s just a little bit of lasagna. And this—” he slid a box out from under the coffee table, “—isn’t a movie—it’s a board game. Upwords, to be exact. Think my favorite author has it in her to go head-to-head with her biggest fan…or is she scared?”
Rayna laughed. Authors and spelling? Wouldn’t he be disappointed. That was what spell check was for. “Scared? Me? Now you’re going to feel my writerly wrath, sucker. Bring. It. On.”
Chapter Three
To the incomparably brave and beautiful Rayna Sommers:
Your mission for today, Agent Sommers, should you choose to accept it, is to walk until you find a lost coin. Pick it up and show it to me tonight. I will be rewarded. I mean, you will be rewarded.
Kyle
Rayna sighed. And it was one of those pathetic, dreamy sighs that let her know she was in trouble. Last night with Kyle had been amazing. They’d eaten what could only be called dinner—seeing as the “little” lasagna had been accompanied by a huge Caesar salad and a small variety of desserts—and then they’d stayed up way too late laughing and arguing over what constituted a real word for their board game and what didn’t.
He’d said it was only fair that anything she’d put in a novel counted as a real word. Damn it, she shouldn’t have let him read the rough draft of her latest manuscript, but she was beginning to really value his opinion. And that’s how he’d won the game. He’d been down to mostly useless Rs and had slapped G-R-R-R down on the board like a gunslinger in an Old West quick-draw contest.
He’d been prancing around his living room in his boxers doing some sort of obscene victory dance until she accused him of cheating. After all, he’d been drawing the tiles for her and holding them up to the camera. How did she know he hadn’t slipped the best ones to himself? Of course, he’d said he was going to make her pay for that comment tomorrow night—which would be tonight. And she couldn’t wait.
She snagged her lower lip between her teeth. Things were getting kind of complicated. She more than liked Kyle. Besides her writing, he was the best part of her day and her night. But how could an Internet fling go on forever? The answer was—it couldn’t. And she knew he wanted to come visit. When his hints had fallen flat, he’d come right out and told her that he wouldn’t pressure her, but that he wanted to see her in person.
He might like her books—he might get a kinky thrill out of messing around with a woman who wrote what she did—but the day he met her would be the beginning of the end. Normal people didn’t enjoy being tied to people who were afraid of leaving the house. It was in the normal-person handbook somewhere. It must be, because no other man had wanted to stick around after it became clear that Rayna’s issue was more than just a cute little quirk.
But she had Kyle for now. And life didn’t have any guarantees. Wasn’t now all anyone had? So could she find a coin? How far would she have to go to find it? And what would happen to date night if she failed to even try?
She eyed the coin jar on her kitchen counter. Nah. She’d give it two blocks and her best effort before she resorted to that. She poised her fingers above the keys and typed in Kyle’s two favorite words: Mission accepted.
She put on her black trench coat, and real shoes for today, then went in search of Bratty when the hen didn’t come to the call of promised treats. Maybe the bird was smarter than she looked. Rayna finally found her in her nesting box, sound asleep.
That was weird. The bright sun was practically bleaching the color from the carpet, and Bratty was still in bed. Rayna smoothed a hand over the hen’s poofy-feathered head. “You tired today, baby? How can I find that coin without my wingman? Ha! Get it? Wing-man…”
Bratty simply murmured an odd growl in response.
Rayna shrugged and plodded toward the door as the butterflies began dive-bombing her gut. A two-block search for a lucky coin, and if she came up empty-handed, she was tossing quarters with her eyes closed and finding one of those.
Kyle was adjusting his tie in the mirror, still smiling over last night’s events, when the cleaning staff entered.
“Pardon me, sir. I thought you’d gone for the day.” Mary’s gray uniform was still crisp and clean, even though she had a caddy of chemicals and supplies in one hand and had clearly been at it for a while. Her two assistants trailed behind her, also looking similarly mortified to have come upon a member of the Ashford family.
Kyle smiled to ease their minds. “No, it’s fine. You can get started. I’m leaving in a minute.”
> Mary nodded and turned to collect the clothes from Kyle’s hamper. “Oh…Mary. I almost forgot. Can you leave the clothes that are draped over the back of the sofa, please?”
Mary nodded. “Of course, sir.”
One of Mary’s assistants—Jerry something—glanced at her with wide eyes before he realized what he was doing and blinked, then he quickly turned away to start on the kitchenette.
“Will there be anything else?” Mary asked.
Kyle rolled his shoulders, getting ready for his big day. “No…just, you know. You don’t need to clean up too well. I want the place to look lived in.”
She smiled. Mary was a very smart lady. You didn’t get a job in the main residence of the Ashford family without an impressive resume. In this case, she was smart enough not to ask why. “Absolutely, Mr. Ashford. Jerry, please leave a dish or two in the sink. Claudia, you can pack up the board game, but please leave the box on the coffee table.”
“Thank you.” He wanted to hug the woman, but he didn’t do it.
There was a strict no-touching policy in effect with the household staff. Too many gold diggers had tried to file suits over the years for abuse, sexual harassment and other assorted complaints—all of them unfounded. Last year, a cook from the kitchen staff had tried to sue them for a million dollars because she’d scalded her chest with hot coffee—her own cup that she’d prepared in the staff lounge on break.
But that’s what billions of dollars did to some people. He knew it wouldn’t happen to Rayna, though. He knew when he told her—and he was going to very soon—she would process what it meant for them, and she would be okay. Five years from now when their kids were running through the halls, zipping past world leaders taking tea in the garden, Rayna would be running barefoot through the halls after them, laughing and probably carrying that snaggle-toothed chicken.
