by Amy Andrews
Sharing her was one of them.
She studied the list, and a little frown drew her brows together. “Which ones?”
“I’m fine with bondage and role play and screaming orgasms—just as soon as Sal’s not around, of course—and the Kama Sutra and the vibrator, and I swear I will talk so dirty to you, you’ll be in a state of constant arousal. But I’m not doing a sex tape. Or a threesome. Sex tapes have a habit of finding their way out in the world. And I don’t play nice with others.”
“So,” she bit down on her lip, “those are your conditions? Eight out of ten?”
“Eight out of ten ain’t bad.”
“Six, if you consider we’ve already done two of them.”
Mack grinned. “Right.”
After returning his grin, she sobered a little. “Okay. But while we’re defining the parameters of this—”
“Strange, surreal, ill-advised, crazy fling?” he supplied.
She smiled. “I was going to say situation, but yeah, that fits I guess.”
It was crazy. It was ill-advised. But he didn’t want to stop.
She folded the list in half and then half again before she continued. “We need to make a pact that what happens in these two weeks isn’t going to change us. That when it’s over, we’ll go back to being friends because your friendship is one of the best things in my life. We have to promise each other we won’t lose sight of what’s important. This”—she pointed back and forth between them—“is just physical. Just two weeks of sex. A temporary aberration. We’ve had fifteen years of friendship, and that’s got to count more.”
Mack nodded. She was right. He’d hate to lose their friendship. He was male and having rebound sex. That was the very definition of temporary.
Of moving on with no regrets.
He could do two weeks and then go on as normal, especially with Josie on the other side of the world. Couldn’t he?
“I agree,” he said. “Not to mention how many different ways Sal would kill us if things got weird between us.”
She chewed her lip. “She’d have to take sides.”
“Or just wipe both of us.” He grimaced.
Josie snuggled down a little and propped her chin on his shoulder. “I couldn’t bear it if she hated me.”
He sifted his fingers through her hair. “She loves you. She could never hate you.”
“Cynthia was one of her closest friends, and she hates her with a passion.”
At the mention of his ex, he tensed. It had been the first time in six months he’d gone a day without thinking about her. “You and Cynthia have nothing in common.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Yeah, we do. We have you. And Sal would defend you with her life.”
Mack conceded Josie’s point. There were times when he felt that Sal’s rage far outweighed his. Especially six months down the track.
“Which is why we don’t tell her,” he said.
“There’s another reason not to tell her.”
“Oh?”
“She might just get all…match-makey on us. You know how she loves seeing people together.”
“True.” It was as if Sal used other people’s happiness to replace her own. As if she was living vicariously, which was sad, in and of itself, but particularly fraught for their situation.
Sal would be two hundred percent invested in Josie and him.
“And then,” Josie continued, “she will be pissed at both of us when I get on that plane in a couple of weeks.”
His hand stroked absently up and down the small of Josie’s back as he contemplated the number of ways things could go south with Josie if Sal got wind of it. “Yes. We may have to find an alternative location for your screaming orgasm in that case.”
Grinning, she turned her cheek to rest against his shoulder. “Mmm. That’s nice.” She sighed as she traced her fingers around his nipple again.
His hand strayed to the cheeks of her bottom, and he felt the unmistakable roughness of goose bumps buzz his fingertips. They lay there for long moments in silence, enjoying the pleasure of touch.
She stirred and turned her head to look at him. “Why are you sleeping on a mattress on the floor?”
“I got rid of my bed the day I found out about Cynthia and her ex. Dragged it out to the back yard and burned it, to be precise.”
Josie blinked. “Really?”
“I was kind of mad at her at the time.”
Mad was an understatement—he’d been gutted. The thought of lying down in his bed—the bed where they’d made so much supposed love—had been more than he’d been able to bear.
“Fair enough, but why haven’t you bought another one yet? Why just get a mattress?”
“It’s Sal’s mattress. She’d been meaning to get a new one for ages, so she gave me hers as a temporary thing and bought herself a new one.”
“Temporary? It’s been six months.”
“Yeah, I know. I just haven’t been in the right…head space.”
Cynthia’s betrayal had pushed his entire life, not just his sex life, into a holding pattern. He’d been merely going through the motions. Treading water. Existing.
But not now. Now, he was wide awake. And ready for adventure.
Her eyes locked on his. “Don’t you think it’s time?”
He smoothed his hand over a perfect round butt cheek and gave it a squeeze. Heat stirred low in his belly. He grinned at her. “Oh, it’s definitely time.”
And in one smooth movement, he’d flipped her onto her back, ignoring her muffled yelp as he yanked her down the bed a little, straddled her thighs, and pinned her arms to the mattress in question.
“I didn’t mean that,” she protested.
She twisted her arms against his bonds but not very vigorously. Had she not had that gleam of excitement in her cat eyes, had her chest not risen and fallen just a little too quickly, had she not moistened her lips with such lascivious thoroughness, she would have been more convincing.
Mack caught his breath—she was magnificent completely naked, breasts bouncing slightly as she pushed against his hands, her hair like a halo around her head.
Except she looked far from angelic.
She looked thoroughly wanton, and he was only just beginning.
“Got you where I want you now.” He grinned down at her.
“Oh, yeah?” She stopped twisting her wrists. “You planning on number two-ing me?”
“Oh, no. When I get round to number two, there will be props.”
“Props?”
Mack chuckled as her eyes widened and her nipples hardened before his eyes. “Hell yeah.”
“So, which number will it be?”
He liked the breathy little hitch in her voice. Liked knowing that she was as turned on as he was. He released her arms. “What makes you think I’m done with number ten?” he asked.
She gasped, and he watched her face intently as he slowly shuffled backward on his knees, all the way down, until his ankles were hanging over the end of the mattress and he was kneeling at her feet. He dropped his gaze then, meandering it slowly along her body until he got to the juncture of her thighs, taking long moments to enjoy the sight. The lamp light bathed her skin in a warm, golden hue and settled over the red curls like an aura.
He flicked a glance up to find her watching him, her mouth parted, waiting for his next move.
She wanted dirty?
She was getting dirty.
“Spread your legs. I want to eat you.”
He kept his voice low but deliberately injected a hard edge to it. He didn’t want her mistaking his words for anything other than a command. And her response was gratifying. Her swift, harsh, indrawn breath sounded like a hurricane in the silence. Her hands clenched the sheet at her side, her engorged nipples scrunched into tight mocha berries.
And she did his bidding.
A bolt of lust slammed into his groin as she opened her legs a little, flashing a glimpse of the slick folds between her legs, and his dick
did some engorging of its own.
But he wanted more. “Wider.”
He was aware of her watching him intently, could hear her husky breath as she spread her legs further, but it still wasn’t enough
“More. I want to see all of you.”
A soft whimper fell from her parted mouth as she opened before him as wide as any non-Olympic gymnast could possibly manage. Light played across her breasts and shone in the red-gold highlights of the downy hair between her legs. It glistened in the moisture there.
His pulse thrummed in his ears. His belly clenched hard. His dick bloomed to an excruciating tightness.
He looked up at her. “You’re very wet.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Yes.”
“I did that to you.”
“Yes.”
“You want some number ten from me?”
Another small whimper grabbed at his groin. “Yes.”
“You want some cunnilingus?”
She gasped this time, her golden-yellow eyes flashing, her back arching as if she could meet him halfway. “Yes. God, Mack…yes.”
“Good. ’Cause I’m going to make you come so hard with my tongue, you’re never going to want it any other way.”
And then he leaned forward, settled himself between her legs, and lowered his head.
Chapter Ten
Josie stumbled out the next morning on less than two hours sleep to find Sal and Mack sitting at either side of the breakfast bar, chatting over coffee and toast. He smiled at her—a very knowing smile—and for a second, she didn’t know how she should act.
But she didn’t have time to feel awkward or embarrassed, because Sal looked at her disparagingly and exclaimed, “Good God. You don’t look like you slept a wink. Here.”
She poured coffee from the nearby pot into a mug, added milk and sugar, and plonked it down on the bench in front of the empty stool.
Next to Mack.
“Get that into you.”
Josie hid her blush as she sat on the stool and made a big deal out of picking up the mug and taking her first fortifying sip. She may look tired, but she didn’t feel it—not yet anyway.
She felt…invigorated.
“I think I’m just getting used to a”—Josie was conscious of Mack’s thigh suddenly rubbing against hers, of the smile he hid behind the rim of his mug—“different bed.”
Warmth flared where his leg touched hers and crept higher. She fought the urge to close her eyes and revel in the heat. They were supposed to be keeping their tryst from Sal, but Mack wasn’t exactly making it easy. He hadn’t been kidding last night when he’d said no more Mr. Nice Guy. What was happening under the counter was far from nice.
Her fingers trembled at the illicitness of it.
Sal snorted. “Your bed’s like a cloud compared to Mack’s horrible mattress. Toast?”
“Yes, please.”
“The best thing I ever did was ditch that sucker,” Sal said as she crossed the kitchen to the toaster. “I don’t know how he stands it.” She busied herself with the toast.
“Yes,” Mack murmured in her ear as Sal prattled on about how bad it had been for her back. “How did you stand it?”
Goose bumps marched along the side of Josie’s neck and all the way down her arm. She nudged her thigh against his in warning, which was difficult when all she really wanted to do was lean in closer. He smelled like soap and aftershave, and his damp hair curled nicely around his collar. She longed to push her fingers into it.
“It’s time you got a proper bed, Mack,” Sal announced, turning back to face them, her arms folded. “You need to move on, and it starts with the bed.”
“I thought it started with me getting lucky?”
Josie choked on her coffee, and Mack helpfully patted her on the back, leaving his hand to linger a little too long after her coughing fit.
“If you build it, they will come,” Sal predicted sagely.
“Okay. You’re right,” Mack agreed. “I think I’ll go buy one today on my lunch break.”
Sal was temporarily stunned into silence. The toast popping brought her around. “Really?”
Mack grinned. “Really.”
His sister whooped and danced a little jig, punching the air triumphantly. “At last,” she crowed. “Success. See? I know what I’m talking about.”
“I just can’t stand the nagging anymore.”
“I’ll take that.” Sal retrieved the toast and brought it over to the breakfast bar. She looked at Josie speculatively. “What are you doing today? I can’t go with him. I have a small-animal clinic that goes for hours.”
Josie looked at Sal, ignoring the rub of Mack’s thigh. “You want me to go with him?”
“He can’t go by himself. He’ll spend a fortune on something no-frills. Utilitarian. You know what he’s like. All about function rather than style. The man’s got no flair.”
“Mmm,” Josie said. Normally, she’d have agreed with Sal. Mack had a long history of buying expensive, practical, ugly things. But one thing she knew for sure after last night—Mack had flair to burn.
Sal pushed the toast toward her. “The man’s been celibate for six months. He needs a little debauchery in his life.”
Who didn’t need a bit of debauchery in their life? Josie was fast becoming a convert. And God knew Sal could compel anyone to do anything with those expressive, blue eyes of hers—she really should have been leading a cult. But Josie didn’t want to seem too eager, either. “Mack’s not going to want his bossy little sister’s friend along for the ride.”
“I don’t mind,” he said cheerfully.
Josie glanced at him. Amusement sparked in his olive green gaze, and she narrowed her eyes slightly to warn him.
“Sal’s right. I could do with a woman’s perspective. You know…for all the debauchery.”
“Atta boy,” Sal said.
Josie rolled her eyes. But inside, a delighted thrill squirmed from her belly to her throat like a firework launched into the night sky. “Okay.”
“Come on down at twelve. I’ll drive.”
Josie was about to add something else inane, in case Sal could see the giddy jig happening inside her, but her friend suddenly swore under her breath as she checked her watch.
“Come on, brother dearest,” she said, taking a gulp of her coffee. “We’re late.” She shoved half a piece of toast in her mouth as she reached for her bag. “It’s a bit hard to justify when we live upstairs.”
Mack stood, and Josie immediately felt the loss of his nearness. The press of his thigh, the rub of his arm. “Right behind you,” he said. “Just gotta grab something from the bedroom.”
Sal nodded absently as she headed for the door. “You and me,” she threw over her shoulder in Josie’s general direction as she turned the knob. “Tonight. Out.”
“Okay. Sure, if you want. I’ll—”
But Sal was already disappearing out the door, and as soon as it clicked shut, Mack was stepping between her thighs and placing his hands either side of her, crowding her back. “You and me.” He lowered his head until he was growling in her ear. “Tonight. Naked in my bed. Fucking. Begging me for more.”
Everything inside Josie turned to putty. Just the bald statement alone had caused a rush of heat and wet between her legs, and she bit down on her lip to stop the whimper as her senses infused with the smell of Mack.
Without a doubt, she’d put Oliver Twist to shame tonight.
And then he kissed her. Hard. Uncompromising. Josie held onto his hips and opened to him. Heat and lust and raw primal need slammed into her belly and squeezed hard.
She was never going to last until tonight. She wanted to beg right now. Don’t go to work. Stay here.
Fuck me now.
He pulled away abruptly and took a pace back, which was probably just as well. Josie’s senses reeled as she dragged air into starved lungs. It was gratifying to see him equally breathless.
“See you at noon,” he said.
…
Mack strode into the specialist bedding shop, Josie trailing in his wake. His gaze flicked over the selection of beds in the huge warehouse-type space as he zig-zagged past them. A member of staff scurried toward him smiling. She was young and blonde and perky.
“Can I help you, Sir?”
“I’ll have that bed,” he said, pointing to the one just behind her. He had absolutely no idea how much it cost, but it fit the bill nicely.
It was low and sleek and black with metallic legs and padded rolled edges. Sal would definitely have described it as utilitarian, but then there was the headboard. Made out of intricate iron lacework, it broke up the overwhelming masculinity.
Of course, there was also a certain depravity about it, reminding him of garter belts and places where all kinds of kinks could be indulged. Plenty of places to thread through some silk rope or attach a pair of handcuffs. Things stirred inside his underwear.
Yep. He had plans for that headboard.
“Mack.”
He turned and smiled at the exasperation in Josie’s voice and on her face. It was hard to concentrate on anything when he was with her in a shop full of beds.
“You haven’t even lain on it yet,” she said.
He didn’t need to lie on it to know he wanted it. All he really cared about now was how soon he could get her out of this shop and into the store two doors down. That’s what this trip was really all about.
Vibrators trumped beds as far as he was concerned.
“You definitely need to lie on it first, sir,” young and perky confirmed.
“It’ll be fine,” he said.
“The mattress could be too hard or too soft,” Josie said, shoving her hands on her hips, which added a delightful stretch to her T-shirt. A stretch that had been driving his peripheral vision crazy with every pothole they’d hit on the way over. “It might be too low. Your feet might hang over the edge. You need to lie on it.”
He folded his arms. “You lie on it. I’ll watch.”
Josie’s gaze slid sideward to the assistant and then back at him. “Mack.”
