That Man 1

by Nelle L'Amour

With no traffic on the freeway, it took a short twenty minutes to get Jennifer’s house. I pulled up to the curb outside a small Spanish cottage. There were two cars parked in the drive away—a Mini Cooper and a Kia. Obviously, she shared it with someone. Her fucking fiancé? My skin bristled, but then I remembered he was at work. So, someone else.

  “Thanks again for breakfast,” she said as she unfastened her seat belt. Her nonchalant tone irked me.

  “My pleasure. We should do it again.” And let me savor every part of you.

  The corners of those kissable lips curled up. “Maybe.”

  Man, I hated that word. I was a man used to hearing yes and who never took no as an answer.

  Before I could jump out of my car to help her out, she opened the passenger door and let herself out.

  “See you on Monday.” Her voice sounded cheerful but businesslike. She pivoted toward her house. Unbeknownst to her, I kept my eyes on her tight little heart-shaped ass and her thin, toned legs. She had a sexy little bounce to her stride. My dick hardened.

  I lowered the volume of the radio. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “What I always do on Saturday nights. I’m seeing my fiancé.”

  The f-word. I clenched my fists into hard balls while my dick softened.

  By the time she disappeared into the house, I’d totally lost my erection. But the ache in my balls was palpable.

  With the Lumineers singing “Ho Hey,” I peeled off the curb with a screech.

  Whatever stupid game I was playing, I was losing. Jennifer McCoy did not belong to me.

  Five minutes later, I made a sharp U-turn. Blake Burns did not lose at games. It was time to check out the competition. I pulled up to her house, jumped out of my car, and then knocked at her door.

  She came to the door quickly. Opening it, she was already freshly showered and sporting a short terry cloth robe. Her damp, shampooed hair hung loose, spilling over her shoulders. Fuck. She smelled delicious—all cherry vanilla—and beneath that robe, I knew she was pure silky flesh. Man, how I wanted to tear that robe right off her and take her in my arms.

  “Blake!” She seemed shocked to see me.

  I cupped my jaw with my hand and feigned pain.

  “Is something wrong?” She sounded concerned.

  I nodded with a grimace. Man, I was good. I deserved an Emmy. My modeling/acting days were good for something besides supermodel hook-ups.

  “I have a fucking toothache,” I moaned, rubbing my cheek.

  “Oh my goodness. Come in. I’ll get you some Advil.”

  “Thanks,” I said, stepping inside. “It started at breakfast but just suddenly flared up.”

  “You poor thing. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  Poor me settled into an armchair while she darted off. Before I could study her house, she was back with a couple of those red pain pills and a tall glass of water.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking them from her. I downed the Advil with a couple sips of the water.

  “You should see your dentist right away.”

  “I can’t. He doesn’t work on Saturdays.”

  “Then you should see my fiancé. He’s a great dentist.”

  Bingo.

  I moaned again. “Do you think he could squeeze me in?”

  “I’ll call him right now and make sure he does.”

  Reaching for her cell phone on the coffee table, she speed-dialed a number.

  I continued to feign pain while I listened to her conversation. She was obviously talking to the receptionist. She told whoever it was that a friend of hers from work had an emergency. Her brows furrowed while she waited for a response and then she broke into a smile.

  “Great. He’ll be there soon. Can I say hi to Bradley?”

  Pause.

  “Oh, all right. Just give him my love and tell him I’ll see him tonight.”

  I inwardly cringed as I watched her end the call. Placing the phone back on the coffee table, she found a pen and a cocktail napkin. She jotted something down on the paper napkin.

  Smiling, she handed it to me. “My fiancé can squeeze you in. His name is Dr. Bradley Wick and this is where his office is.”

  I eyed the address. Fuck. I had to go all the way to The Valley.

  “Thanks.”

  “Good luck. You’re going to love Bradley.”

  There was only one thing I was going to love about Bradley Wick, DDS. And that was making him disappear.

  My bud Jaime was right. Eliminate the competition.

  I mentally gave myself a high five. Operation Dickwick was about to begin.

  Chapter 13

  Blake

  It would figure that Bradley’s office was in the fucking Valley. Burbank, no less. With the traffic and construction on Laurel Canyon, it took me almost an hour to get over the hill and then across the 101 to the Barham exit. It was hotter than balls outside so I had to drive with the air conditioning on and the top up; my Satellite radio didn’t make the journey any better. I fucking hated going to The Valley. But I was going to make this trip worth it.

  Seething, I pulled into the driveway of a white colonial-like building complete with Tara-like columns located off Pass Avenue. While located close to the media district, there was nothing chic about the building or the address. I whipped my Porsche into the first available spot in the small parking lot—right next to the spot reserved for Dr. Bradley Wick, DDS. Wouldn’t you know it—he drove a Prius. A white as bleached teeth 2012 model. I hated guys who drove Priuses. Have you ever noticed they’re a breed? All self-righteous, environmentally conscious, and fucking anal. Do-gooders who never broke a rule. The type who was always the teacher’s pet or the perfect Boy Scout. I already had a handle on Dickwick.

  The waiting area of his office was for sure a reflection of his penis—I mean, Prius. Small, compact, and energy efficient since it seemed to have the barest amount of air conditioning allowed by human labor laws. An oppressive cheapskate. Except for an unattractive matronly woman on her way out, I was the only patient. No wonder he could fit me in so easily. Business was not as good as Jen made it out to be. I signed in with the buxom redheaded receptionist, who made goo-goo eyes at me, and then took a seat in one of the burnt-orange tweed armchairs that looked straight out of an Office Depot fire sale. Cupping one hand on my stubbled jaw to feign pain, I randomly picked up one of the anally arranged magazines on the coffee table. Dental Life Today. Man, he was a dweeb.

  I tossed the magazine back onto the table (deliberately making a small mess) and pulled out my iPhone from my shorts pocket to check my messages and texts. Only one warranted my attention. The one from Jennifer.

  Blake~I hope your toothache feels better. Bradley is an amazing dentist.~Jen.

  I shot her back a smiley face emoticon. Dr. Wick was about to find out that I was an amazing patient. When the receptionist called out my name, my secret evil plan sprung into action. Phase One of Operation Dickwick was about to begin.

  “Mr. Burns, Dr. Wick can see you now. Just go through the door and head down the hallway to Room 3.”

  “Thank you,” I moaned with faux-pain. I felt her lustful eyes on me as I headed through the door. Don’t hate me. I couldn’t help that I had that effect on every woman.

  The examination room was nothing to write home about. I anchored my body into the leatherette examination chair, stretching my longs legs out in front of me. I had to admit it was quite comfy, and took in my surroundings. A sink, x-ray machine, and the usual array of scary looking dental instruments on a cart next to me. Littering—I mean lining—the walls were numerous awards and diplomas he’d earned throughout his wretched life—from being named “Little Mr. Good Behavior” at nursery school to his honorary degree from USC’s prestigious dental school. Jesus fucking Christ. There was an even a Boy Scout award along with a photo of him wearing all his badges.

  Another photo grabbed my attention. It was a recent one of him at some dental convent
ion, posing with an ugly plaque. Los Angeles’s Most Promising Young Dentist 2013. He looked even dweebier than I’d imagined. And what was with that fucking smile? Was Dickwick some kind of walking advertisement for his practice? I’d never seen such monstrous teeth on a human being. Well, maybe a horse.

  My eyes shifted to another photo taken at the same event. My skin bristled and my toes curled. Standing next to Dickwick was a beautiful young woman. Jennifer McCoy. About the same height as Bradley in her modest heels, she was wearing a simple ivory sheath and a smile. A small smile but nonetheless a smile.

  I wanted to rip the photo off the wall with my teeth. Maybe I could dump it in his toxic wastebasket. There was time. He still wasn’t here. Just as I was about to slide off the dental chair, I heard footsteps at the door. In walked 36-24-36 in a mini-skirted white uniform and shiny white platforms. This must be Bradley’s nurse or dental hygienist, I thought as she bounced my way. And I’m not talking about her gait.

  “Hi, I’m Candace, Dr. Wick’s hygienist,” she cooed. Her cartoony voice went with her name—saccharine and seductive. She had all the makings of a porn star. Blond, buxom, beautiful. She clipped one of those blue paper bibs onto the neckline of my tee. Her tits were so big they grazed my chest.

  “Dr. Wick will be here shortly,” she breathed against my neck. Her overpowering sugary scent was nauseating.

  “Well, hello, hello, hello.” A chirpy, nasal voice sounded on cue.

  He was in my face before my head could swivel around. Dr. Bradley Wick, DDS . . . a twenty-six-year-old replica of his former Boy Scout self. But instead of a blue shorts uniform with all his do-gooder badges, he was now wearing a white, monogrammed lab coat over a cheap-looking gray suit and tie—the kind they advertise at the Men’s Wearhouse for ninety-nine dollars—and his hairline was receding. I eyed him up and down. He couldn’t be more than five foot nine. For sure, Jen couldn’t wear stilettos with him without towering over him. His small hands and feet told me something else was small too. My poor Jen! My elimination mission had, in an instant, become a rescue mission.

  He glanced down at the clipboard anchored in his hands. There was a piece of paper with scribbled notes attached to it. “Hmm . . . so, I understand you have a sudden toothache.”

  I did the moaning, hand-to-cheek thing again and nodded. God, I was good. My modeling/acting days had really paid off.

  “Call me if you need me, Doctor,” Candace said breathily before sashaying to the door. She sure knew how to move that piece of ass.

  Dickwick’s eyes fixed on it. Despite being engaged to Jennifer, he looked like he wanted to take a bite. I suppose most men would. Oddly, even though my type, she rang no bells for me. Not even a tiny testicular tingle.

  “Thank you, Candace.” That big horsy smile spread across Dickwick’s face. A shudder ran through me. Shit. Did he use those teeth on Jennifer? I had the sudden urge to knock them out.

  His grating voice hurled me out of my mental—or should I say dental?—ramblings. “Refresh my memory . . . how did you find me?”

  “A referral.” I groaned out the words.

  “From whom? I’d like to reward whoever it is with a free oral exam.”

  The words “oral exam” made me cringe. Is that what he did with Jennifer’s pussy?

  I breathed out her name. “Jennifer McCoy.”

  His eyes widened. “Really? How do you know her?”

  I knitted my brows. That was interesting. He had no clue who I was. Jennifer had obviously never mentioned my name to him. Cautiously I said, “We work together.” And soon, Dickwick, we’re going to fuck together.

  “Ah, so you work for Conquest Broadcasting too. In the children’s programming division?”

  Hmm. Is this what Jen had told him? Wondering why she would hide working for SIN-TV, I merely nodded.

  “Wonderful. Let’s get started.”

  Placing the clipboard on the sink counter, Dickwick prepped for my examination. I watched as he donned a paper mask along with a pair of latex gloves and telescopic glasses. He leaned into me.

  “Open wide.”

  Is that what he said when he wanted Jen to suck his little dick?

  Mentally slapping myself, I parted my lips and opened my mouth as wide as it would go.

  Holding a mouth mirror, he peered inside it. “Where exactly is the problem? I don’t see any inflammation.”

  A pool of saliva gathered in the base of my mouth as he continued to explore. I grabbed that little spittle vacuum and pressed my lips on the tip to suck up the excess spit. For some crazy reason, I imagined Jen wrapping her lips around my cock and making me come in her mouth.

  Poking my gums with the fingers of his free hand, he catapulted me out of my fantasy. I relaxed my jaw.

  “It hurts like hell in the back by my molars. Can you feel any swelling?” I asked before opening my mouth wide again. My evil plan was now officially in action.

  He reached two fingers—his index and middle ones—into my mouth. I let out a loud, faux moan of pain and then I did it. I chomped down on his fingers as hard as I could. So hard that my cuspids tore through his plastic gloves, and I could taste the copper of his blood on my tongue.

  “OWWW!” he screamed out at the top of his lungs. Music to my ears.

  Well done, Agent Burns, I mused as he yanked his hand out of my mouth and stared down at the blood-filled glove with disbelief. Well, at least I had spared him his two fingers. Well, barely.

  “Why the hell did you bite me?” Pain and terror filled his eyes as he struggled to pull off the bloody glove.

  “I’m sorry. It was an accident. You hit the sore spot. It was just an involuntary reflex.”

  “Fuck,” he moaned as he peeled off the glove. Bright red blood was dripping down both fingers, covering the back of his hand and making its way to the edge of his sterile white lab coat sleeve. Panicking, he reached for some gauze and held it tightly to his wounds.

  “Man, I mean Doctor, I’m really, really sorry,” I apologized. That you won’t be sticking those two pathetic fingers up Jennifer McCoy’s pussy anytime soon . . . or anywhere near it,” I silently added with a wide mental grin.

  The blood seeped through the gauze. He looked horrified. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “You’re going to have to come back or see someone else. I think I need to go to an emergency room. I may need stitches.”

  “Want me to drive you? It’s the least I could do. I drive fast.” Like a maniac.

  Pressing the gauze to his fingers, he dashed out of the room before I could say another word.

  A cocky smile lit up my face. Did I ever mention I was a biter as a child? My biting skills had only gotten better with age. I couldn’t wait to use them on the warm, silky flesh of the delicious Jennifer McCoy. And make my mark.

  Mission accomplished.

  Chapter 14

  Jennifer

  I spent Saturday afternoon with Libby at Chaz’s downtown studio—a large, high-ceiling, exposed beam loft located in the heart of the Fashion District. Chaz had invited us to pick out dresses from his All That Chaz line for the exclusive art gallery gala he’d invited us to later in the evening. It was an opening for a painter who went by one name that rhymed with his—PAZ. He’d scored the invitation through the co-owner of the gallery, who was one of his major clients. After much leg-pulling, I’d convinced Bradley to come along. He hated these kinds of things, so I promised him we wouldn’t have to stay long. His idea of an exciting night out was a boring night in—ordering takeout from his favorite vegan restaurant, watching reruns of nineties shows on Netflix, and going to sleep early with a quick fuck thrown in. We were barely engaged but acted more like an old married couple.

  Sunlight beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. As I ploughed through the racks of dresses, each one more dazzling than the one before, my mind was distracted. I couldn’t stop thinking about my boss. I could barely eat my breakfast this morning. I was too roused up from his sensual massage that affected hi
m as much as me, and when he told me my lips were kissable, I almost jumped out of my skin. The drive home was painful. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. The whole way, I had to keep my legs crossed to quell the throbbing between them, and my eyes anywhere else but on him. Oh, that heart-stopping, gorgeous face with that cocky dimpled smile and those piercing ocean-blue eyes that burnt holes through me. If it wasn’t for the seat belt, I might have jumped him and gotten us into a major accident.

  Visions of him naked danced in my head. Those long muscled legs and chiseled arms. His broad shoulders. I hadn’t actually seen his chest or ass, but in my mind’s eye, they were sculpted male perfection just like the rest of him. And then there was his cock. That magnificent tower of sexual power. Fuck. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. My pulse was in overdrive, and the lingering ache between my legs wouldn’t go away.

  When he’d texted me earlier to thank me for the referral to Bradley, my whole body lit up. Not just my eyes. I’d longed to hear his voice, that sultry, manly voice. How badly I’d wanted to call him back. I’d fought back the urge by convincing myself he might still be in a pain and not be able to talk. Despite his cockiness, I’d found myself caring about him as much as I wanted him in forbidden places. There was something seriously wrong with me. Here I was engaged to be married to the man I’d been with for over five years, and I was melting over another I’d known for less than a week. A deep pang of guilt knotted my stomach and sent a chill all over me. Was fantasizing a form of cheating? I couldn’t focus on picking out a dress.

  “Darling, let me help you find something,” offered Chaz, coming to my rescue. “You seem distracted.”

  That was a fact.

  I continued to listlessly scour through the dozens of dresses. “They’re all so short, Chaz.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “That’s the point, Jenny-Poo. They’re fuck-me dresses. You know, you seriously need to change your look. Sometimes you dress like someone’s mother.”

  I cringed. He was right. I was not very adventurous when it came to fashion. And I definitely didn’t dress with sex appeal in mind. I lifted a sparkly pink number off the rack. My size—four. “What about this one?”