That Guy

by Kim Jones

  “The pregnant wife of one of my senior officers asked me to settle a friendly dispute between her husband and his assistant about whether they could determine the sex of the baby from an ultrasound picture. When I returned, you they were escorting Briggs out. I followed to see what happened. I’m sorry, Penelope. You didn’t deserve that.”

  I’m trying to quell my excitement at the beautiful woman being married. And pregnant. Nonchalance is hard for me in the moment, but I manage it like a pro. “Meh. It is what it is.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t disregard what he did. It was wrong.”

  “Maybe. But that’s not your fault.”

  “It is my fault. You’re with me tonight. It’s my job to protect you. And I didn’t. But I assure you he’s been dealt with.”

  I perk up at that. “Oh! How alpha male of you. What did you do? Rough him up in the parking lot? Break a limb? Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

  His brows draw together. “No.”

  Spin.

  Double spin.

  “Would you stop that? I mean it.”

  He ignores me. “This isn’t some juke joint or river bank in Mississippi. This is the corporate world, sweetheart. We don’t fight with our fists. We fight with our lawyers. It’s a lot more painful than a black eye. Trust me. I hit him where it really hurt.”

  “If you had hit him in the nuts, that would’ve really hurt. I’m just saying.”

  He grins. “Well the next time I have to defend your honor, I’ll try your approach.”

  Spin.

  Spin.

  Spin.

  “You’re gonna make me puke on your shoes.”

  “Nah.” His lips form a crooked smile. “I’ll just spin you toward Cam and let you puke on his shoes.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I like Cam.”

  I’m not sure if his frown is real or not. “I thought I was your That Guy.”

  “Yeah, but Cam told me I was pretty. He whistled at me. Twice. I’ve even been called a vision tonight. And stunning.”

  His eyes darken.

  Spin.

  “I want you to forget everything Briggs said to you tonight. Even that.”

  “Maybe I could if I had something better to remember.”

  He shakes his head. “So needy.”

  I shrug. I am needy. I don’t care that he knows it.

  He licks his lips. Gives me a solemn look. Just like he did the last time he almost said something nice to me. “Do you remember when we were sitting on my couch and you said I could have my pick of women? That you didn’t know why I needed to hire someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you were right. I could’ve chosen any woman in Chicago to accompany me here. Instead, I chose you. Do you know why?”

  “Because I was your only option. I’ve already told you this. Remember? In the car on the way here? When I said Cam told me and you said he had a big mouth.”

  “I remember. And Cam’s full of shit. That’s not why I brought you.”

  “So why did you bring me?”

  “I saw the dress.” His eyes sweep me from head to toe. “This dress.”

  Spin.

  Spin.

  I don’t scold him. I’m too anxious to hear what he says next.

  “While you were on the phone with your mother, Alfred brought it up. And I just couldn’t get the image of you in it out of my head. That’s why I asked you, Penelope. Because I had to see you in this dress. Then I did. And in that moment I knew there was no fucking way I was coming to this party without the most beautiful woman in Chicago on my arm.”

  Go away, weird feeling. Go away. Go away. Go away. Take them flapping ass butterflies with you. And get me some water for this dry mouth. And a tissue for my watery vagina.

  “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  Spin.

  Twirl.

  Spin.

  Spin.

  Stop….

  Dip.

  “Nothing, Penelope. You don’t have to say a damn thing.”

  I’m hovering above the floor. He’s leaning over me. His arm muscles stretched tight against the fabric of his tux. Those lips slightly parted and a hairsbreadth from mine. Gray/blue/green penetrating. His nose skims my nose. Our breaths mingle. Mine labored. His controlled.

  He straightens—pulling me with him. I’m lightheaded. More from his admission than the spins and awkward bent back position I was just in. I don’t let go of his arms. He doesn’t release me. He stares one second longer then turns toward the gathering crowd and smiles.

  I lick my dry lips. Try to control my breath. Slow my heart. Smile. Not look like a love-struck idiot. It’s harder than it sounds.

  Then a flash of color appears. And the strange feeling dissipates, replaced with overwhelming excitement at the sound of the Irish accented voice.

  “So I hear someone has some pretty bad ass dance moves.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “No, Cam. This isn’t cowboys and Indians. You don’t make the pew-pew sound when you pull out the finger guns. You can make that clicking sound with your tongue and wink, but that’s it.”

  We’re in the back of the limo. Me and Victoria—Cam’s date—on one seat, Cam and Jake on the seat across from us.

  Cam shoots me with his finger guns. He makes the pew-pew sound. Blows the smoke off his revolvers. Holsters them. Then tips his imaginary hat. “That’s how it’s done, little lady.”

  I laugh so hard my side hurts and I lean against Victoria. She cringes and edges away from me. I laugh harder. Cam laughs too. I guess he’s confident he’s getting laid tonight no matter what he does, since he paid for it. Jake on the other hand? He doesn’t laugh. Actually, he hasn’t said or done a damn thing since we got in the car other than fuck me with his eyes.

  At the party, he was a completely different person. We both had too much to drink. But Jake handled it better than I did. Where I’m carefree and charismatic and awesome all the time, it took him an ungodly amount of fancy liquor to get that way.

  After Ed’s performance, I’d shown him my river dance moves. He showed me some of his own. Jake seemed proud to introduce me as his date. We laughed. Danced. Joked. He kept his arm around my waist when I was near. I leaned against him just to feel his grip tighten. Then I’d watch as he ignored whomever he was talking to, to look down at me and see if I was alright. When he discovered I was, he’d smile. Sometimes he’d wink. And I’d get that feeling.

  But now that he’s gone silent and brooding and all sexy-eyes, I have another feeling. It’s not warm. It’s hot. Fire hot. Horny hot. Crotch-about-to-set-the-seat-on-fire, hot.

  I shake it off and turn back to Cam. “You ready for the next one?”

  “Yep. If it’s good, you get the guns.” He shows me his finger guns. “If it sucks, you get the fingers.” He flips me both his middle fingers.

  “Put those away, cowboy. This is a pistol shooting rhyme if I’ve ever told one.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Are we almost there? I’m getting a headache.”

  I turn to Victoria and level her with a look. “Victoria. Are we giving you a headache?”

  “Yes,” she deadpans.

  “Well, lucky for you, I have something that will help.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She straightens in her seat and holds her hand out to me.

  I shake my head and tsk her. Downside of me drinking? My mouth loses its filter. “Laughter is the best medicine, Victoria.” I hold my hand up. “And before you start getting splinters from that stick in your ass, just hear me out. If you don’t laugh at this one, I won’t say another word the rest of the ride.”

  She looks doubtful. “Really?”

  “Scout’s honor.” I give her the Vulcan hand signal. She doesn’t know the fucking difference.

  “Fine.”

  “Are your finger guns ready?”

  She heaves a breath, holds up her finger guns and gives me a sarcastic head jerk. “Happy?�
�� I almost lose it when she actually holsters them. Cam turns his head to hide his smile and even Jake’s lips curl.

  “Yes. Thank you. So…There once was a man from Gent. Whose dick was so long that it bent. To save him some trouble, he folded it double and instead of coming he went.”

  Cam shoots up the car. Jake lifts a glass. I look over my shoulder at Ross who gives me a thumbs up. Victoria is trying like hell not to laugh. And failing. With a resigned breath, she shoots her finger guns.

  Me and Cam cheer. He points at Victoria. “Your finger guns are so fucking sexy.”

  Then Victoria gives him a dreamy look and says, “I can’t wait to swallow your cock.”

  Wait.

  What?

  Just…where the hell did that come from?

  Awkward silence.

  Even Cam doesn’t know what to say. He does shift. And groan. Which makes it even more weird because now everyone in the car knows he has a hard-on.

  “Mr. Swagger.” Ross announces our arrival and quickly closes the partition as the car slows to a stop. Poor guy. It’s going to take forever to drive across town to Cam’s place in this weather.

  “Don’t fuck in my car, Cam. I mean it,” Jake says, just as the door opens. I think I hear Ross mumble a thank you, but I can’t be sure.

  Jake helps me out and holds my hand as we enter the lobby. But he releases me once we’re inside. “We got it, Alfred.” He lifts his glass to him and Alfred nods.

  “Have a good night sir.”

  Jake’s voice is gravel. “I plan on it.”

  Holy shit.

  What does that mean?

  He keeps a respectable distance from me on the walk to the elevator. Once inside the box of death, I stand in one corner while he stays in the other. I hum my elevator song. It’s all off key because I’m so distracted by the sexual chemistry thrumming between us and all the sexy questions in my head.

  Is he going to fuck me?

  Will we do it all night?

  Like six times?

  Just like in the books? Even though we’re both buzzed and nobody wants to wake up at four in the morning with a hangover and sticky thighs to satiate their insatiable desires?

  I follow him to the door of his apartment. He opens it and steps back, motioning me inside. My hands fidget with the fur on my coat. Afraid I might pluck the damn thing bald, I take it off and lay it over the chair. Then I walk to the windows. Because I need a distraction. That doesn’t help. I just feel like I’m in a bubble.

  Bubble.

  Bubble gum.

  Juicy fruit.

  Winterfresh.

  Doublemint.

  “That’s the statement of the greatment in doublemint gum.”

  I river dance a one-eighty until my back is to the window. I had a great finishing move but Jake isn’t wearing his jacket. His bow tie is off. The first three buttons of his shirt open. And thank you, tuxedo gods, he’s not wearing that weird back brace thing.

  “So it wasn’t just the hallway, I see. You say weird shit all the time, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I kinda do. That. A lot. Especially when I’m nervous.”

  He walks toward me. Slow. Predatory.

  Breathe.

  Swallow.

  Pull it together.

  “Are you nervous, Penelope?”

  My back hits the wall of glass behind me. He cages me in. One arm braced on the window beside my head as he stares down at me. I can smell the whiskey on his breath. My eyes fall to the glass and he lifts it to my lips. I take a sip.

  “That’s disgusting,” I say, trying to keep from choking on the liquid fire scorching my throat.

  His lips curl. “I asked if you were nervous.”

  “N-no. I’m not nervous. Uh-uh. Nope.”

  “Your pulse tells a different story.” He traces my throat with his finger.

  “Must be the whiskey.”

  Heart! Stop beating so hard!

  “Did you like when I kissed you, Penelope?”

  Why does he say my name like that? Like it’s dirty talk. Like we’re in the bedroom and he whispers in my ear, “Take your panties off.”

  I shiver.

  “I’m going to assume that is a yes.”

  “Yes. It’s a yes. I liked it. It was good. Great…good. Yeah.”

  “Hmm.” He drags his finger down the center of my chest. The bottom of the glass in his hand sliding over the side of my exposed breast making me squirm. He finishes off the last of the whiskey and sets the glass on the table beside us.

  He leans in. His eyes move from my eyes to my lips. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Can I kiss you?”

  I nod so hard the back of my head hits the glass. I don’t even feel it.

  “Say it.”

  Um. Okay.

  “Kiss me, Jake.”

  And he does. His kiss is soft. Sweet. Sensual. Erotic. He deepens it and the whiskey and everything Jake and everything me mixes in the most delicious flavor I’ve ever tasted.

  He kisses me stupid. Kisses me careless. Kisses me into another universe. Until Chicago is no longer at my back, but worlds away.

  “My, my, my, Penelope.” He breaks away from my mouth to whisper the words against my lips. “What a sweet mouth you have.”

  “Thank you.” That sounded so stupid. Why did I say that?

  “For what? The compliment or the kiss?” he teases.

  “Both? Mostly for the kiss though. I mean, the compliment was nice, but that kiss was really nice.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” His voice dips. “But that wasn’t the kiss I asked for.”

  Hands.

  They’re sliding down my waist. Over my hips. Under my dress. Up my naked thigh. He lowers his body in front of me—dropping to one knee in the slowest, most seductive way imaginable. Eyes on mine the entire time as he grabs the lacy strap of my panties and inches them down my legs. He lifts my foot to free one side, then the other before tossing them over his shoulder.

  With just his fingertips, he makes his way back up my leg. Caressing my ankle. My calves. Knees. Behind my knees. Higher. Taking my dress with him until it’s fisted in those big hands at my waist.

  He can see everything.

  I think he likes what he sees.

  He sure is staring at it hard.

  I’m blushing everywhere. Wiggling with insecurity because his perfect face is positioned right in front of my bare sex.

  Thank you, wax chick. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  Those green/gray/blue eyes lift, hazy with lust and nearly hidden beneath his long dark lashes. When the corner of his mouth lifts in a sexy smirk, I want to eat his face.

  “Tell me the truth, Penelope. Have you ever been kissed…” his eyes dart back to my sex a moment then back to me, “here?”

  Oh my God.

  What do I do?

  Lie?

  Tell the truth?

  Bladder check….

  Okay, I’m good.

  So what do I do?

  Say something snarky?

  Say nothing at all?

  Tell him to quit wasting time and just do it already?

  Truth. I’m going to tell him the truth. And I won’t be ashamed. “No.”

  “No, what?”

  I swallow hard. I know what to say here. I read books and shit. “No, sir.”

  He gives me a devilish grin. “I meant I want you to say the words, Penelope.”

  Fucking hell…Perhaps that isn’t a playroom behind that locked door after all.

  “I—” I close my eyes and take a breath. The fact that my vagina is still centered in front of his face doesn’t relax me or make me think any clearer. “Could you please repeat the question, sir?”

  I did not just do it again.

  “So respectful. That’s never really been my thing, but I think I like hearing that word on your lips.”

  I crack open one eye to see him peering up at me. He’s clearly entertained. I’m thoroughly humiliated. And he hasn’t
even licked me yet.

  His thumbs draw a circle on my inner thigh. My body jerks and I whimper in the most woeful way. I’m embarrassed. Shy. Nervous. All these things I’m not used to feeling. And he must notice because he takes pity on me.

  “Look at me, Penelope.” The grin is gone. There is no humor in his eyes. Only feral desire and raw possessiveness. “Has any man ever kissed you here? Yes, or no?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  His eyes drop and he growls. “Well that’s a goddamn shame.”

  My head falls back. Fingers claw at the window in search of something to latch onto. Vocal cords open up and a cry erupts from deep in my chest.

  His mouth is on my vagina.

  His tongue is on my vagina.

  Licking the seam of my sex.

  Sliding between my lips.

  Exploring.

  Tasting.

  Devouring.

  He shifts beneath me. Lifts one of my legs to rest on his shoulder. It opens me up. Gives him full access to—everything. I moan so loud it drowns out the pounding in my ears. Whatever he’s doing to my clit, is making me a shameless, horny, crazed maniac who selfishly just wants more of this…tongue-circle-mouth-suck-lip-kiss-repeat thing he’s doing.

  My hands find his head. Fingers thread through his hair. I hold him steady. Right where he is. Pleading loudly, “Yes. That. Just like that.”

  He groans.

  I vibrate.

  My knees almost buckle.

  His grip tightens.

  Have mercy.

  This man is on his knees. Making me feel what I’ve never felt. Kissing me in a place I’ve never been kissed. No restraint. No teasing. Just sucking and licking and bringing me higher and higher and higher.

  I never imagined it could be this good.

  Never knew what I was missing.

  But even if I did have experience in this type of kiss, I doubt any man other than Jake Swagger would know how to touch me like he does. How to give me exactly what I need. How to take what he wants because he knows I want it too.

  You can paint it pretty and call it beautiful, but there is only one true way to have an orgasm.

  With reckless

  fucking

  abandon.

  So I do.

  I don’t hold back. I can’t. It’s not physically possible. But even if it were, I wouldn’t. Because Jake Swagger not only expects me to give it all to him, but the man fucking deserves it. He’s earned the right to know what he’s doing to me. What he’s done. How he’s taken me from everything I know, away from where I am and everywhere I’ve ever been and transported me to a place where the only thing that matters is his mouth.