No More Mr. Nice Guy

by Amy Andrews

Josie watched him stride to the kitchen, his briefs pulling very nicely against toned buttocks and muscular thighs. He put his plate and silverware in the dishwasher, then called, “Night,” over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.

  Josie blinked, suddenly nervous and unsure.

  What did that mean? Did it mean he wanted her to follow? Or that he didn’t want her to follow? Did he want to be alone tonight? Or did he want her to go in there and make him forget, not only the events of the day, but possibly his own name?

  She didn’t know. She just didn’t know.

  How sad was that? She’d been intimate with this man, done things with him she’d never done with anyone else, been frank and honest in her desire, and given him as much satisfaction as he’d given her, held him as he’d cried out in pleasure night after night. Yet, she had no clue to who he really was.

  She glanced at Sal, who was chewing her lip and looking at her anxiously. Sal, she could read. Her friend was worried her predicted disaster, concerning their rebound sex, was about to come crashing down, and their friendship circle would be completely destroyed.

  “Friends reruns?” Josie said.

  Sal’s shoulders visibly sagged, and she reached across the kitchen bench and squeezed Josie’s hand. “Good idea.”

  …

  It was eleven when Mack heard the television switch off. It was another hour before he gave up listening for the click of the door as Josie entered his room.

  Tonight, when he needed some affirmation that the world was bright and good and tomorrow would be better, she wasn’t coming.

  Tonight, when he needed her the most.

  Well, screw that.

  He kicked off the sheets and rolled out of bed. After pulling open his door, he stalked out of his bedroom and down the hallway to Josie’s room. He didn’t knock; he just pushed the door open.

  A startled Josie sat bolt upright in bed. His eyes were adjusted to the dark enough to see she was wearing the baggy T-shirt she’d worn that first night. He hated that she wasn’t naked, and he wanted to tear it right off her.

  Just the thought made him rock hard.

  “Jesus,” she swore, her hand covering her heart. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

  “Why are you in here?” he demanded, his voice low but still plenty pissed off.

  She dropped her hand. “I didn’t know if you… I thought you wanted to be alone.”

  Mack shook his head. “I want you hot and wet and naked. I want you crying out my name when you come, and I want to be deep inside you when you do.”

  He could see the bob of her throat and just make out the beading of her nipples. He shut the door behind him. “Take that shirt off.”

  She lifted it off her head and tossed it aside without question. Her breasts swung nicely as she leaned back on her splayed palms. Half her hair fell forward over one shoulder, the ends almost reaching the mocha tip of a nipple.

  “And those,” he said, indicating her underwear as he pulled off briefs, which had barely contained his raging erection.

  He watched appreciatively as she shimmied out of her last item of clothing, everything jiggling. “Could we do that double decker position?”

  Mack frowned. “Page fifteen?”

  Josie nodded eagerly as she kicked the scrap of lace off her foot. He caught a glimpse of where he wanted to be most, and as much as he couldn’t be bothered with acrobatic sex tonight, he didn’t care as long as he could get lost inside her for a little while.

  “Sure,” he said, crawling onto the bed from the end, kissing her hard when he reached her, pushing her down against the mattress for long, drugging moments.

  She smiled up at him when he drew back, and before he knew it, she had pushed him playfully onto his back and had settled on top of him, her back to his stomach.

  “I’m not too heavy, am I?” she asked as she lifted her head and scooped her hair out of his way, settling into the crook of his shoulder.

  As his hard dick butted against the softness between her thighs, Mack sucked in a breath. “Hardly,” he said and slid his palms onto her breasts, her nipples already satisfyingly erect.

  “God, that feels so good,” she murmured, arching her back a little. “Now…” She reached between her legs and grasped his throbbing penis. “Just lie back and relax. I got this.”

  Mack shut his eyes. She did, indeed, have it. He stroked her breasts as she squirmed and positioned herself in such a way that she could guide him into her, and then she kind of sunk down onto him, and he groaned at the raw, delicious pleasure of it.

  So wet. So hot.

  His eyes flicked open as it suddenly occurred to him why. “Wait,” he panted, his hands clamping down on her hips. “No condom.”

  “I know,” she said, squirming free of his hold and rotating her pelvis again to take him in once more. “I don’t…care. Not…tonight.”

  Mack knew he should protest, but he just couldn’t muster any resistance. Her heat surrounded him, and it felt so damn good being this close. So, he shut his eyes and let the pleasure wash over him, let it take him away to a place where it was just Josie and him, and their intimate connection.

  And it did. For a while.

  But the day kept intruding, interfering with his drive toward climax, and no matter how hard he pushed it away, he couldn’t help but see Josie reaching out her hand and squeezing his. Josie staying with him, right beside him as he did the thing he hated most.

  And here they were, joined more intimately than any two people could be joined, and yet, he felt removed from her. She was having a good time up top, if her panting and gasping was anything to go by, and it wasn’t exactly torture underneath, but he felt completely separate from it all.

  Thanks to skipping the condom, their physical connection was absolute, and God knew his dick was not complaining, but he didn’t want just sex tonight. He understood she was after as much adventure as she could get. That she’d had a lot of boring, beige relations, and she was starting a new phase of her life, which didn’t include the missionary position.

  But tonight, he needed more. He needed to look into her eyes. They never looked each other in the eyes. They were always too busy with absurd hanging-from-the-rafters acts.

  He needed that connection tonight.

  He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he hadn’t put an animal down before. But having Josie with him today… It had meant something.

  “Josie,” he said. “Stop.”

  She didn’t stop, another soft moan leaving her throat as she took him deep inside her, her feet flat on the mattress on either side of his thighs giving her maximum pelvic tilt and traction, which she used very well indeed.

  He clamped down on her hips. “Josie. Stop.”

  This time she stopped. She turned her head to the side. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t… I can’t…”

  He didn’t even know how to express it, so he shifted instead, pulling out of her, displacing her gently, and then rolling over on top of her. Placing his forearms on either side of her head, he planted a thigh between her legs, parted them, and settled himself in the cradle of her pelvis, the head of his penis nudging the slick heat of her.

  Josie frowned. “What?”

  “I don’t want to do the double decker tonight. I don’t want to attempt the hanging lotus, the crouching tiger, or the magic mountain. I want to look into your eyes for a change,” he said. “I want to watch you come, damn it.”

  And in one quick thrust, he was inside her again.

  …

  Josie gasped at the sudden intrusion—thick and hard and oh-so-good. She grabbed hold of Mack’s shoulders, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation shimmied through her belly like the promise of an illicit drug.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She fought hard against the desire drenching her, drugging her, leadening her eyelids, and opened them with difficulty.

  “Look at me, Josie,” he panted. “Look. At. Me
.”

  He punctuated each word with a slow deep thrust of his hips, rocking her hard, making her moan, making her dig her fingernails into him.

  Making her want him.

  The heated command reminded her of the time he’d masturbated in front of her and had made her watch, but it was different this time. This time she looked deep into his eyes as she locked her legs around his waist, and what she saw there frightened the bejesus out of her.

  It was crude and messy and compelling. It was raw and real and shocking.

  And she couldn’t glance away.

  She saw the toll this day had taken. His anguish, his compassion, and the conflict between the two. She understood his strength and his power and the empathy that was his Achilles heel.

  She saw his soul.

  Mack had told her missionary could be intense, and he was right.

  And as he rocked her higher and higher, sliding relentlessly in and out, pushing her toward an unbearable pleasure, gasping with the effort, looming over her on his elbows, relentlessly building and stoking, his eyes boring into hers, holding her to account, she knew that she wanted it for herself.

  Needed him for herself.

  Craved this man, who had shown her the meaning of fun and pleasure and excitement. Who had opened her to a whole world that she’d been denied. Taught her that enjoying sex was okay. Demonstrated that a man could be good and strong, compassionate and worthy, and he could be nice. But he could also be sexy and dirty and get-down-on-your-knees-for-him filthy. He could look at you with eyes that stripped you naked, whisper obscenities straight into your ear that gave you tingles right between your legs, smile in a way that dissolved underwear, and then look at you wickedly because he knew it.

  And she was in love with him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Josie gasped, the realization hitting her at exactly the same time as her orgasm broke, roaring up and out of her with all the intensity of a volcano, drowning her in lust as fiery and viscous as molten lava.

  She cried out his name, bucked and arched, dug her fingernails harder into his shoulders, drummed her heels on his buttocks, and dropped her head back, shutting her eyes as pleasure popped like lava lamp globules behind her lids.

  “Look at me,” he barked, and she did. She opened her eyes and stared right into his, hoping he didn’t see what she couldn’t hide from him in this moment.

  She’d fallen in love with him. And it was a disaster. Just like Sal had predicted.

  A beautiful, horrible, wretched disaster.

  But right now, it didn’t matter, not when he cried out her name as he came, too, his eyes fully open, locked on hers as surely as his spine locked, and his thighs locked, and his buttocks locked as he stiffened and groaned, his chest heaving, grabbing in air as he called out to her.

  “Josie. Oh dear God…Josie.”

  And then his hips were pumping again, and he pounded in and out of her, not stopping, just driving her higher and higher, his green gaze melding with hers, refusing to let her look away and give her this truly raw moment to herself, denying her the privacy she craved even as the lust and the all-knowing depravity in his stare fed her orgasm, prolonging its intensity.

  In the end, she couldn’t keep it up. He’d know. So, she closed her eyes. He couldn’t ever find out that rebound sex had turned into something so much more for her, that she’d gone and done the unforgiveable.

  That she’d been a fool and broken their agreement.

  The one thing she wasn’t supposed to do in a relationship that existed purely on a physical basis.

  She’d fallen for rebound guy.

  “Damn it, Josie,” he grunted, his hips still rocking her into the mattress. “I. Said. Open.”

  But she just couldn’t. She shook her head from side to side, knowing now that this was why she’d avoided missionary with him for so long. Not because it was grindingly familiar or boring, but because it was so damn intimate. Too intimate. Being with him like this wasn’t sex, it was making love, and she knew in her heart of hearts that hadn’t been a risk she’d been prepared to take. She’d needed to keep it light and impersonal because this was Mack, and they had a deal.

  So, he couldn’t have that.

  He’d asked for her total submission, and she’d given it to him, but he couldn’t have that.

  …

  Afterward, their orgasms over, their bodies spent, Mack collapsed on top of her, his forehead pressed into her neck. They were breathing hard, and Josie held him, cradled him, savoring it, enjoying the hot rush of his breath fanning over her throat, yet, knowing it would probably be the last time.

  She was in full-blown panic mode, and there was no way she could stick around.

  She’d fallen in love with her best friend’s brother, and she was just rebound girl.

  Nothing proved that more than when Mack needed comfort earlier, and he’d sought it from Sal, rebuffing Josie’s attempt to soothe him. He only came to Josie later—much later—for the comfort of her body. For sex.

  Eventually, their breathing settled, and Mack moved off her and stared at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he said, rolling his head to the side to face her, “I know missionary position wasn’t supposed to be in our repertoire.”

  Josie gave a half smile, but she couldn’t look at him. “It’s fine,” she said. “It was pretty…intense.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that, too.”

  She looked at him then. “That wasn’t a criticism.” What had happened just now had been beautiful. Terrifying but beautiful.

  He smiled at her, and Josie’s heart lurched. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll make it up to you with page eighty-six, the thigh master.”

  Josie smiled back, but knew she couldn’t risk making love with Mack again. And not, least of all, because she was thinking of it now as making love.

  The bigger problem was she didn’t trust herself not to say something in the throes of passion. Just blurt it on out.

  I love you.

  Damn it. Mack was supposed to be rebound guy. List guy. And then she was going to London for some adventure. Travel, have fun, meet people.

  Meet guys. Have sex. Lots of sex.

  Falling in love in under two weeks was something her mother did. Not Josie.

  “It’s okay,” she said and made herself roll on her side, deliberately turning her back to him. “It’s been quite the day, and I’m exhausted.”

  Josie held her breath as she waited for Mack to say something. She could tell he was watching her. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back like a hovering brand.

  His hand slid onto her shoulder. “You want me to go?”

  Josie shut her eyes against the temptation of it. Against the urge to snuggle into his side, slide her thigh over the top of his, glide her hand onto his warm, flat belly.

  “Whatever.” She shrugged and his hand fell away. “I don’t mind either way.”

  Josie waited again, barely breathing, her heart breaking as it banged against her ribs, tearing in two, imploding in her chest.

  “Okay,” he murmured, and she felt the mattress dip, and heard the sheets rustle as he got out of bed. She was conscious of him looking down at her, his stare like a laser beam centered in the middle of her back.

  “Good night,” he said.

  It almost killed her to stay still. To not roll over and throw open her arms to him and beg him to stay, beg him to make love to her again.

  “Night,” she said, forcing a light, upbeat note to her voice, despite the sudden welling of tears in her eyes.

  The door clicked quietly shut as the first tear spilled down her cheek.

  …

  Surprising even herself, Josie pulled out an Academy Award-winning performance at breakfast the next morning, considering she’d had practically zero sleep. Mack had looked at her warily when he’d appeared in the kitchen, but she’d smiled and kissed him on the mouth. Sal joined them, and they slipped into their usual banter.

  It was a r
elief to see him more like his normal self. He’d been so bleak, obviously deeply affected by Bella’s death, and she’d been worried about him last night. But, as Sal had predicted, he appeared to have bounced back.

  Which made it easier to do what had to be done.

  When Mack and Sal left for the day, Josie got down to work. After a few phone calls, she’d managed to change her flight to three this afternoon. She booked a taxi for twelve-thirty, packed, had a shower, and got ready.

  Just after midday, she watched out the window as Mack’s truck pulled away for his afternoon house calls. He usually bounded up the stairs just prior to his calls for some quickie action, but she’d told him she was going to be in the city doing some shopping today.

  Five minutes later, with trembling fingers, she rang Sal, who picked up on the third ring.

  “Can you spare a minute?” Josie asked. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Josie hastened to assure her friend, despite the fact that everything was decidedly not fine.

  “Give me five,” Sal said and hung up.

  She made it upstairs ten minutes later, and Josie knew it took Sal all of two seconds to figure out what was happening as she glanced at the bags lined up at the door. “You’re leaving?”

  Josie drew a deep, calm breath as she prepared to act her arse off again. The last thing she needed to show her friend was any sign of wavering or indecision. “Yes.”

  “But you have another three days.”

  “Mum rang,” she lied. “There’s trouble in paradise. She’s kind of falling apart. You know how she gets. She needs me. I changed my flight.”

  “Really?” Sal didn’t look convinced.

  “I’m sure she’s blowing it out of proportion, that’s what she does best after all, but”—Josie waved her hand airily—“it was easy enough to change my ticket.”

  Sal frowned and crossed her arms across her chest. “Does Mack know?”

  Trust Sal to nail her with one question. Josie looked at her boots. “Not yet.”

  Sal shoved her hands on her hips, doing her best furious pixie impersonation. “Damn it. I knew it. I told you so,” she said. “Please tell me you’re not going to leave the country without telling him?