by Mari Carr
Justin didn’t get to finish his joke as Ned punched him in the arm.
Chloe laughed, grateful for their timely interruption and the welcome distraction. She spent the next hour plotting with Ned over possible locales and poses, while Justin cracked jokes at both of their expenses and made a general nuisance of himself.
It was exactly what she needed.
For now, it was her turn to escape.
Chapter Four
Chloe had postponed her dinner date with Blake, putting him off for four straight nights. She hadn’t intended to skip out on him, but she’d been knocked down by a killer case of the flu. The illness had put her in bed for two days before she graduated to resting on the couch for two more. As a result, she was days behind on her shooting schedule and scrambling to make up for it.
Blake had offered several times to take care of her, but she’d refused, claiming she didn’t want him to catch what she had. Even so, that hadn’t stopped him from making little deliveries outside her apartment door. One day, he’d left flowers, the next a quart of homemade chicken soup. Two days ago, she’d found an erotic romance novel. Inside Blake had written an inscription, telling her he hoped it would inspire her for the next time they went out. All it had done was leave her hot and bothered. And she’d been too worn out to use her vibrator to nip the problem in the bud. She’d read him the riot act for that after he called to see if she’d gotten his gift. Asshole had just chuckled and told her to hurry up and get better.
Chloe ran a comb through her damp hair and sighed. She’d gotten a shower first thing this morning, hoping it would wake her up and give her some sort of energy. She was tired of being…well…tired.
She dragged herself to the kitchen counter, fired up the coffeepot, then sat down to look at her calendar. If the models could be a bit flexible with their schedules, perhaps she could double up on shoots and still hit the publishing company’s deadline. She hated missing deadlines and refused to see the fundraiser lose even a single dollar due to her illness.
She picked up her cell and for the next hour, rearranged everything until she managed to fit in every single model. While Chloe was laid up in bed, her mother had managed to find guys for the last two months, so they had a full year’s worth of hotness ready to roll. All Chloe had to do now was dash from one end of New Orleans to the other every day, then spend her nights choosing the best photo for each month and enhancing it.
She looked at her schedule. Eleven photo shoots and twelve portraits to touch up in less than two weeks. She was screwed.
Her phone rang. She glanced at the number and sighed. Her last model. Blake was the only man who hadn’t answered when she’d called. “Hey, Blake.”
“Back in the land of the living?”
He’d called her every day since their impromptu hook-up on Tuesday afternoon. It was strange how easily they’d fallen into familiar patterns. Blake called her as soon as he got off duty and then again before bedtime. Their conversations had only touched on safe subjects—like their jobs, the weather, sports—but they’d become the highlight of each day for her.
She hadn’t questioned him about his disappearing act ten years earlier and they never addressed what his return in her life meant.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I’m back and sort of wishing I could crawl under the covers and hide again. There’s no way I’m going to hit this calendar deadline.”
Blake didn’t sound concerned. “Of course you can. I’m around if you need help.”
“Uh, thanks, but no thanks. I tried to give you some photography lessons a long time ago. All you managed to master was dark and blurry.”
Blake chuckled. “That was before I got my iPhone 5. Now I take great pictures.”
Chloe groaned.
“Besides, I wasn’t offering to take the photographs, just to lug your equipment, help you set up the shoots, stuff like that.”
“And you’re doing this all out of the goodness of your heart and not because you want to play chaperone while I’m taking pictures of the shirtless, hot guys, right?”
“Absolutely.” His tone was pure innocence, but she knew him better than that.
“Forget it. You’d just clam jam me.” She restrained her giggle at the silence that followed her comment, then he gave into curiosity.
“I give,” he said. “What the hell is a clam jam?”
“Female equivalent of a cock block.”
Blake snorted with laughter. “God. There is something seriously twisted and wrong with you. I blame it on all those brothers you grew up with.”
She leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the one across from her. She was smiling and happy for the first time in days. In less than five minutes, Blake had found a way to make the stress she was feeling over her work vanish and the tension in her shoulders subsided.
“So I see I missed your call. You putting off our date again?”
She had called him for that reason. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m wicked busy.”
“I understand.”
“Hey listen, I need to try to find a time to do your photo shoot. Are you still determined to take the pictures on your Harley by the lake?”
“Yep. And you’re riding with me.”
“I told you, Blake, my equipment—”
“Downsize it as much as you can. I borrowed a big-ass motorcycle bag from a friend of mine. We can put your cameras and stuff in there.”
“What if it rains? My equipment costs—”
He cut her off. “It’s waterproof.”
“Why do you want me to get on that bike again so badly?”
“Why are you so resistant?”
Chloe wasn’t sure how to answer. They’d spent that entire summer so long ago on his motorcycle. It was the last time she’d felt carefree, wild, over-the-moon happy. He’d also driven off into the sunset on that motorcycle. While it wasn’t logical, it was easier to forgive Blake, the cop, the man who didn’t exist all those years ago, and hold on to her anger toward his bad-boy biker persona.
“I just don’t think they’re safe.”
Blake snorted at her obvious lie. “What day did you leave open for me?”
“Let me see. I’m popping over to Justin’s office this afternoon to take the pictures of Ned.”
“No box of chocolates in bed?”
Chloe thought she detected the slightest trace of relief in Blake’s voice. “He wouldn’t go for that. The most he would agree to was an open shirt with a tie hanging around his neck. We thought it would look cool if he was sitting at the head of a conference table. Set it up for today because none of the employees will be in the office since it’s a Saturday.”
“Sounds very tasteful.”
No doubt she and Justin had given him a bad impression of what the calendar was about. Truth was all the pictures would be PG with none of the men exposing more than their chests and arms. Her musician had been sitting sideways on his piano bench, shirtless, in a vest and simple black pants as he toyed with a couple of keys. While she’d selected the shot she wanted to use, she’d come down with the flu before she could tweak the print.
“It’s going to be a classy calendar.”
“Of mimbos,” he added.
She frowned, then a light went on. “You were eavesdropping on my phone call with Mama that first day.”
“Yep.”
She grinned wickedly. “Well, if you’re expecting me to take it back or revise my opinion, I won’t.”
Blake chuckled. “You will. Eventually. I’ll make sure of it.”
His deeply spoken threat was laced with just a hint of sexual malice. Chloe grew wet and warm at the thought of it. She pressed her legs together, suddenly annoyed at the way Blake could turn her into a raving sex maniac in mere seconds.
“In fact, what are you wearing right now?”
Chloe wanted to ignore his question, but that damn dirty book he’d given her had fired up some needs she really wanted taken care off. She hadn’t bothered
to get dressed after her shower, just donning her robe.
She decided to play hard to get. “Why do you want to know?”
“Tell me, Chloe.”
“Just a robe.”
“Nothing under it?”
She shook her head, trying to ignore how hot his questions were making her. “Nothing.”
“Slip it open, but keep it on.”
Chloe rested her phone between her shoulder and head as she untied the belt around her robe.
She heard Blake chuckle softly. “There’s this feature on cells called speakerphone. Turn it on and put your phone down where you can still hear me. You’re going to need both hands.”
“Blake,” she started.
“Just do it.”
“Where are you?” she asked, suddenly worried about him initiating phone sex with her in the middle of the precinct.
“I’m at home. On my couch. Just got off-duty.”
She turned the speakerphone on and placed the cell on the table. “Okay.”
“Where are you in your apartment?”
“My kitchen table.”
“Nice. I want you to do what I tell you. Follow my instructions completely. If I suspect you’re cheating, I’ll come over there, toss you over my knee, and paint your ass red with my hand until you learn to obey.”
The feminist part of her was outraged and tempted to hang up on him, but, at the moment, her libido was currently making all decisions.
Blake appeared to have interpreted her silence correctly. “We both want the same thing right now.” His voice sounded more distant. Apparently he’d put her on speakerphone as well.
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
“Unzipping my jeans.”
She licked her lips, sorry she hadn’t suggested postponing her meeting with Ned and inviting Blake over.
Before she could make the offer, Blake took charge. “Cup your breasts. Lift them up and squeeze them.”
Chloe dragged her hands along her stomach, surprised by the sudden sensitivity of her skin. How could Blake get her to this point with no more than a few words? She held her breasts, her nipples budded, ready.
“Squeeze them hard. There’s no point in denying you don’t like your pleasure laced with pain.”
Her face flushed, the response caused by embarrassment and need. She’d tried to hide her darker kinks from other lovers, always feeling slightly strange for her desires. She’d never had to do that with Blake. He’d just seen what she wanted and given it to her. No questions, no qualms. Hell, most of the time it seemed as if he wanted it even more than she did. Something she didn’t think possible.
She applied the pressure to her breasts, pinching her nipples roughly. Her breathing grew heavier.
“Are you touching your nipples?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Pinch them hard. Let me hear that pretty whimper of yours.”
She tightened her fingers, suddenly self-conscious of her sounds.
Blake’s voice when he spoke again, seemed breathless. “You can take more pain. Stop holding back.”
She gave in to the desire, pinching her nipples harder than she’d ever dared. The sharp sting sent zings of pure pulsing arousal straight to her pussy. She pressed her legs together to capture the heat and moisture.
“Are you wet, Chloe?”
“God.” She felt lightheaded with need. “Yes.”
“I’m so hard right now. My hand is wrapped around my cock, but it’s not the same as being inside you.”
“Come over.” The invitation was out before she could consider why she shouldn’t issue it.
“I can’t. You have to go to work soon. We’re just going to have to let this be enough for now.”
This was nowhere near enough. Chloe fought to restrain her brief flash of temper, a disposition her mother said she’d inherited from Papa Lewis. Like her father, she was prone to impatience and while their tempers ran hot, they usually only blazed hot for a moment before they were able to rein it back in. “Dammit, Blake.”
“Shh. It’s time to get serious. Keep one hand on your breast, while you drop the other lower. I want you to tell me how hot and wet your pussy is for me.”
She obeyed his request, opening her legs. She drew her fingers along the seam, gasping at the sensations provoked by that simple touch. “Oh,” she cried.
“You sound so sexy, Chloe. God, baby, you have no idea what you’re doing to me. The head of my cock is seeping come and my balls are tight. We’re going to have to move fast. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold off.”
The gruffness of his voice told her he was telling the truth. Chloe wasn’t worried. It wouldn’t take much to push her over at this point.
“Rub your clit. Push your fingers against it hard and fast.”
Chloe did as he asked. She groaned then released her breast, using her free hand to grasp the edge of the kitchen table. She needed something to hold on to, to keep her grounded.
“My cock is going to explode. Are you close?”
“Yes,” she hissed, her fingers familiar with this motion. She was no stranger to masturbation and she knew all too well how to get herself off. Even so, this was way faster and so much hotter than anything she’d ever done. Knowing Blake was on the other end of the phone, imagining his hand stroking his own cock, his head thrown back against his couch with his eyes closed. It was as if he was sitting right in front of her, each of them performing their shows in person.
“Push two fingers into that hot cunt. Shove them in deep and fast.”
Chloe knew what would happen if she did that. Her climax would be inevitable.
“Do it. Now, Chloe.”
She pressed her fingers deep, thrusting them, pretending it was Blake’s cock that was pounding inside her.
“Add another finger, baby. Make it bigger, thicker.”
She obeyed, not bothering to slow her rhythm. She released the table and added her other hand to the game, fingering her clit, touching that one spot…that one place that made her…
She cried out loudly. “Oh my God. Blake.” Chloe doubled over, her head flying toward her lap as her orgasm racked her frame. It was potent, powerful. Overwhelming.
She could tell from Blake’s rough grunts that he was with her. She closed her eyes, letting herself see the jets of come erupting from his cock, landing on his shirt as the stroking of his hand slowed.
For several long moments, the phone line was quiet except for the soft sound of Blake’s breathing. He was obviously listening to the same thing from her.
“You still there, baby?”
She grinned, dragging her fingers from her body, struggling to sit upright once more. “I’m going to need another shower.”
He chuckled. “Wish I was there to scrub your back.”
“That’s all you’d scrub?”
“You ready to go again? So soon?”
She groaned at the thought. If he were here, she’d definitely give it the college try, but the truth was she was zapped. While the flu had passed, she suspected she was still a few days away from full-strength. “No. Unfortunately, I’m not.”
He seemed to understand. “I’ll take a rain check for the shower.”
Damn man kept making these grand assumptions about their future. Granted, her actions weren’t helping to dissuade him. Even so, she still had too much pride for her own good.
“You may be waiting a damn long time to collect on that. I’m still not planning to see you after the photo shoot.”
Blake wasn’t deterred. “You will. So when are we meeting to take the pictures?”
She glanced at the clock. She really did need to shower and dress then gather up her stuff for the shoot with Ned. She was in serious danger of being late. “What does tomorrow look like?” She hadn’t scheduled anything for Sunday, pretending it was so she wouldn’t miss Sunday dinner. Now that she was asking, she knew it was because she’d intended to give Sunday to him.
&nbs
p; “I’m on-duty.”
Chloe tried to ignore her disappointment.
“But I’m off next Sunday.”
So it would be another whole week before she saw him again. Silently, she chastised herself. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be over Blake Mills, not counting the minutes until she saw him again.
She tried to chalk up her weakness to the flu. Clearly she was still sick and not thinking clearly. “How about next Sunday afternoon after dinner at Mama’s then? We’re usually finished eating by two, so we’ll have a few hours of good light.”
“Is that an invitation to dinner?” he asked.
“Are you sure you really want to push your luck and step into the lion’s den again?”
“Mama Lewis will protect me. She likes me.”
Chloe wanted to deny that, but he was right. Her mother had always had a soft spot for Blake. Chloe blamed it on her Mama’s tendency to root for the underdog.
“You know the drill. Table is loaded with food by noon. Get there by then or we’re starting without you.”
Chloe clicked off without saying goodbye, hoping that would make it clear she didn’t want to see him between now and then. She rolled her eyes.
Sure you don’t.
There was no way to ignore how excited she was about next Sunday.
By the following Friday, Chloe was regretting agreeing to help out with her mother’s damn calendar even more than before. If she never saw another shirtless, beefcake, prima donna asshole again in her life, it would be too soon. With the exception of Ned—whose photo shoot was a blast—and a lovely pediatrician, the last five guys had run the gamut from God’s gift to women to more demanding than J. Lo on tour.
Today’s shoot was the one she’d been dreading the most. With good reason. The manhandler had arrived in full-force.
Javier Ramsey was one of New Orleans’ premiere chefs, his restaurant in the French Quarter winning national acclaim from all the critics and making it a local hotspot whenever the rich and famous came to town. Reservations for dinner were booked months in advance.
