Amused, he said, “Where do you want me?”
“What?” Alarm and excitement punched through my body.
“For my payment. A Fiona’s Finest. Seems like the bed would be the most comfortable.”
“No!” I practically shouted. No way I was strong enough to resist the temptation of him in a bed, especially the bed we used to share. I needed to move this conversation to safer grounds. “I mean ... come on, Jake, be serious. We’re friends. You can’t demand physical contact as payment.”
“I think we already had the discussion about a contractor setting his own rates. But you’re right, we’re friends. So even though we had an agreement, if you want to back out, I understand. I’ll just check the going rate for plumbing house calls. Let’s see ... it’s Friday evening, that has to be at least time and a half ...”
“Don’t be an ass. You know I can’t afford that. The house payments are killing me.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have kicked me out.”
And you shouldn’t have left at the first sign of trouble, I wanted to say. But I didn’t want to have that conversation right now. Or ever. Anything was better than that, including—
“The living room floor.”
“Huh?”
“For your back rub. Take off your shirt and go lie down. I’ll get the oil.”
A curious expression stole over his face. He looked half excited and half resigned. “I just spent an hour on the floor,” he grumbled.
“Then you should be used to it,” I said sweetly.
Chapter Three
I HADN’T QUITE counted on muscle memory. The moment I straddled his prone form, settled myself on his ass, and gazed at the tan skin of his back, I knew I was in trouble. I’d been here many times before, and my body knew what to do. It longed to do it. Stupid muscle memory. Or maybe it was the sight of his firm muscles that was bringing back memories.
I tried to channel my inner masseuse. Masseuses were professional with clients. I could be like that. Even though I could feel the heat of his body through his jeans, through my shorts, and then through my thin panties, straight to my—wait, that wasn’t a very professional thought. Keep it together, I told myself sternly.
After warming some massage oil between my palms, I started with his shoulders. No matter how things stood between us, I could still soothe his sore muscles. Jake was one of the hardest workers I’d ever met. He hadn’t just been whining before about how sore he was after a long week at a building site.
I continued kneading his shoulders, feeling some of the tension in his muscles seep away. I’d always liked giving and receiving massages, and I’d once taken a course at a community college on how to give them properly. Jake had told me many times over that he wanted to nominate the teacher of that class for a Nobel Prize.
Jake groaned as I worked at the knots in his shoulders and upper back. He had his arms folded under his head, his face to the side. He looked relaxed. I moved my hands from his shoulder blades to his biceps and back again. And then back to his biceps. He had the best arms of any guy I’d ever dated—not that I’d dated that many. I couldn’t help shifting my hips as I dragged my hands up and down his powerful upper arms.
He had his eyes closed. He said nothing about my undulating hips, but he did raise an eyebrow. Amazing how someone could be a jerk just by raising one brow. “I’m just trying to get comfortable,” I said, trying to make it seem like I hadn’t been grinding against his ass. His only response was to raise the other eyebrow. Smug bastard.
I spread more massage oil on his back and really went to work. I used my thumbs along his spine and focused on the pressure points on his lower back. At first, I tensed every time my hands went near the waistband of his jeans, but eventually I relaxed enough to concentrate on doing the job right. Jake certainly seemed to think I was. Every few minutes he’d give a sigh or moan of contentment.
“You have no idea how good that feels,” he said, his voice sounding as if he’d just finished a two-week vacation. “You were always so damn good at this.”
“I’m glad you like it.” And I was. For all his irritating traits, Jake was a good man. He just wasn’t my man anymore. I’d be okay if I kept that in mind. “How do you feel now?”
“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven. That’s amazing.”
“Good. Do you have any other muscles that are tight?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized my mistake.
Jake’s eyes flew open, and a grin lit his face. So much for his relaxed zen-mode from the moment before. “Now that you mention it … ”
“Very funny,” I said, sitting up and resting my oily hands on my thighs. “I think we’re done here.”
“No, we aren’t,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what he meant.
“I somehow don’t think that in the past three months you’ve forgotten how a Fiona’s Finest always ends.”
No, I hadn’t, but I’d been trying not to think about it. “We aren’t together anymore, Jake.”
“I think we’ve established that. But we also established that you were going to give me a genuine Fiona’s Finest. Plus, I think you want to.”
There wasn’t a whole lot I could do to deny that since my thighs had been clenching around his body for the last minute and a half. Maybe part of me did want to, but again, it was just muscle memory, right?
I expected Jake to press his point, to be an ass about it, which would have made it easier for me to turn him down. But he was silent underneath me, letting me decide.
Finally, I sighed. “You’ll stay face down the whole time, right?”
“Of course. Though face down isn’t quite as relaxing as it was a few minutes ago.” He shifted his hips under me, and I grinned. I couldn’t help but grind myself against his ass again. “Comfortable?” I asked, innocently.
“Shit,” he said, with a reluctant chuckle. He raised his hips off the ground, lifting me with him, and reached a hand under his body to reposition what I imagined was his hardening cock. “I’d be more comfortable if you’d let me flip over. I think you remember what kinds of things I can do to you when I’m face up.” Oh yes, I definitely remembered. I’d spent the last few months trying to forget.
I’d better do this fast before I chickened out. When he’d settled back into position, I arched my back, grasped the edges of my shirt, and pulled it over my head. I tossed it down on the floor next to his head.
“Thank god,” he said.
I took off my bra, too, before I lost my nerve, and added it to the pile. Then I looked at his face suspiciously. “You can’t see me, can you?”
“My neck doesn’t spin around one hundred eighty degrees like an owl’s—even though I’d like it to.”
"Okay, but stay there. No peeking,” I said. I reached down and picked up the bottle of oil again.
“I don’t need to peek,” he said, his voice smug. “I can visualize exactly what this part looks like.”
“Oh really? When did you get a photographic memory?” I said, rubbing oil between my palms.
“It’s only photographic when it comes to boobs,” he said, and I laughed in spite of myself.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I can picture you right now. Your hair dipping over your shoulders as you lean forward. Your skin pale and perfect as you rub your palms together. Those adorable little freckles across the top of your breasts.”
Damn. Someone should invent a magnet that women could wave over their ex-boyfriends’ heads to make the memories of them naked disappear.
“And then when your hands are coated, you lightly touch yourself, circling around your nipples. Then you cup your boobs, lifting them.”
As he spoke, I realized that I was unconsciously doing exactly what he was saying. I lifted my breasts, spreading the oil around as Jake continued.
“Then you squeeze them together, creating the best cleavage ever. You slide your slippery palms up, letting your boobs fall back in
to place with the sexiest little bounce. God, I wish I could see it.”
Jake had his eyes closed, and I knew he was visualizing everything he was saying. Everything I was doing. Even though it was my hands on my body, it felt like his. He was the one telling me to do those things, and it made it almost as good as being touched by him.
“And when your boobs are completely coated in oil, your fingers move to your nipples, tweaking them. Making sure they’re hard, even though you know they already are.”
I looked down and saw that he was right. I squeezed my nipples gently, imagining that it was his fingers tugging on the stiff peaks. I knew that my hips were going in little circles, too, rubbing against him, but I couldn’t help it.
“And then …” he paused, drawing it out for both of us. “Then you lean forward. You lift your hips so that you can control the angle, and you lower your nipples onto my back. I love the moment I can first feel those twin light touches just like … ahhhhh. You have no idea how hot that is.”
The firm muscles of his back felt hard against my nipples, but I loved the feeling of mashing myself against him. My breasts slipped easily over his well-oiled body. I couldn’t help moaning as I rubbed against him, but maybe that was okay because he wasn’t able to keep silent either. “That feels so fucking good, Red.”
It really did. And it felt right. Like at any minute, he’d move underneath me, turning over and taking me into his arms like he used to. I wanted that so much. But yet … I didn’t. Because if we were going to be together again, I wanted us to truly be together. As a couple. And that wasn’t going to happen. He’d moved out. Gotten himself a new place to live. Clearly, he’d moved on, and I needed to, too.
But just for now, I could allow myself a few more minutes of bliss. I rubbed myself up and down his back, running my fingers through his hair and across his shoulders as I did so. And when I finally slowed down, I ended up laying on top of him, my head tilted to the same side as his. We were breathing in unison, and it almost felt as if he’d never moved out.
“That felt so good.” His voice was quiet now. I wondered if he’d also been thinking about how things had been between us before, or if he was only living in the moment.
I stayed that way for another minute or two, then sat up, feeling a little shaky by how intense that had been. But it was over now. “Stay there until I put my top back on, okay?”
“Of course,” he said, with a grin I didn’t understand until I looked around. My bra and shirt weren’t where I’d dropped them. I spotted my bra about five feet away by the sofa, the shirt even farther.
“Real mature, Jake,” I said. I covered my breasts with my arms and rose to my feet.
He chuckled and sat up. Clearly he thought it was okay to look as long as I had my back to him. I reached down, grabbed my shirt, and pulled it over my head. Once it was on, I felt less exposed, but I immediately wished I’d put the bra on first. The shirt was already pretty tight, and with the oil on my skin, it was clinging to every curve.
When I turned back around, Jake was on his feet, but he hadn’t put his shirt back on, thankfully. Why did he have to look so damn hot when he wasn’t mine?
He was still giving me his intense look, too. And his eyes were glued to my breasts.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pig?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“If I were a pig, I’d offer to fix that squeaky screen door in exchange for you doing ten jumping jacks right now.”
I rolled my eyes and fought back a smile. He wasn’t really a pig—he was just very interested in sex. Which had been a good thing when we were together, but was annoying now that we weren’t. Especially since he was now free to explore that interest with other women.
“I’m going to ignore that,” I said.
“Probably best you do.”
“Thanks for fixing the garbage disposal.”
“Thanks for your prompt payment.” He went in the kitchen and reappeared a minute later with his toolbox. He bent down and scooped up his shirt but didn’t put it on.
I moved to the front door and opened it. He was right, the screen door was pretty noisy. Not that it was a very high priority right now. “Well, enjoy the rest of your weekend,” I said.
He moved close to me, and I couldn’t help staring at his smooth chest. I would never get used to seeing that much muscle definition on a guy outside of the movies. It made me want to—
He caught me looking and smirked. Jeez, I was as bad as he was. But then he took another step closer, and I remembered that he was much, much worse. And what he said next confirmed it.
“Two things I want you to think about, Red.” His voice was husky and intimate, and his being that close was nearly overwhelming. He really knew how to get to me.
“One,” he breathed. “I think you got pretty into that massage.” He saw me start to protest but didn’t pause. “You must’ve had your eyes closed and you must’ve really been enjoying yourself if you didn’t even notice me tossing your clothes out of the way.”
I frowned. He had a point, dammit. “And what's the second thing?” I asked, both wanting to know and afraid to find out.
“The second thing is that the next time you need a repair, the price goes up.”
And while the effect of those words was still rippling through my body, he left.
Chapter Four
AT WORK ON Monday, all I could think about was Jake. How good his body had felt under mine. We’d felt so right together. But also about how damn smug he’d been. Why did guys with such good bodies always know it? Why did they always know how to drive a girl crazy with it? It wasn’t fair.
The good thing about working at a library was that it was quiet and gave me time to think. But today that counted as a bad thing. While I was working on the electronic catalog, I wished I were allowed to slip my earphones in, use music to overpower my thoughts.
Again and again, my mind returned to Stacie, Jake’s possible girlfriend. I’d met her a few times. She’d been on the fringes of the group Jake and I used to hang out with. It was mostly couples. Stacie was single, but she sometimes hung out with us at clubs. She’d usually worn a microscopic skirt and a tank top that barely covered her breasts. Her huge wavy hair screamed ‘bottle blonde.’ Good thing Jake preferred redheads—or at least he used to.
I refocused, refusing to follow that train of thought. Instead, I wondered how our old group was doing. I hadn’t seen them very much in the months since the breakup. I kept up with Alison and her fiancé, Drew, on Facebook. And I’d had lunch with Lisa a few weeks ago. But I hadn’t seen her husband Mike or any of the others for quite some time. I missed them. I wondered if Jake and Stacie went out with them now. It was a painful thought.
That evening, I turned on the music the minute I walked through my door. Though I couldn’t drown out my thoughts at work, I certainly could at home. After a few hours of loud music, I was feeling much better. Maybe it was the way I’d danced my ass off while making dinner. Or maybe it was the fact that dinner had been a sinfully delicious Caesar salad and half a calzone.
The only trouble was, by bedtime I was still revved up. Good music did that to me, so I decided to take a bath before trying to sleep. I placed some candles around the tub and dimmed the lights. I stepped out of my clothes and turned the tap all the way to hot. Five minutes later, when the water filling the tub was still ice cold, I knew I had a problem.
* * *
I tried to fix it. I really did. For the first time in my life, I attempted to tackle a home repair project on my own. I went online. I read articles. I got some DIY home repair books from work. I located the pilot light, determined it was off, and after watching many videos online, tried to re-light it myself. But it wouldn’t stay lit up. After another round of research, I tried adjusting the gas valve, but that didn’t seem to be the problem. Damn.
Bathing was a nightmare. On Tuesday morning, I heated some water on the stove and did a sort of sponge-bath. On Wednesday
morning, I took a ninety-second cold shower that was pure agony. On Thursday morning, I went over to Lisa’s house to shower and wash my hair. And on Thursday night, I made the call.
Or, well, I didn’t quite have the nerve to make an actual phone call. Texting was a reasonable alternative in this day and age, right? I sent the message and then sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. But instead of focusing on it, my mind went straight to the issue I’d been avoiding all week. I knew Jake would demand more as payment this time. The question was, did I want to do more with him?
It’d been so hot last time. One of the best Fiona’s Finests we’d ever shared. If it had happened when we were living together, we would’ve been all over each other for hours after that. But now everything was different. He wasn’t mine anymore.
That made me think of Stacie. Was he with her? Although that thought had haunted me for months, it was seeming less and less likely. Jake was many things: a cocky bastard, a guy fully capable of forgetting his mom’s birthday, and a man completely unable to lower the toilet seat after using it. But he wasn’t a cheater. I knew that as well as I knew my own name. So if he had been with her, and I still hoped he hadn’t, I very much doubted that he was with her now.
The phone rang in my hand. “Hey, Jake. Thanks for calling back,” I said, a little amazed at how calm my voice sounded. Mind over hormones, I supposed.
“Calling back implies that you were brave enough to call me instead of texting in the first place,” he said, sounding amused.
His being a jerk made it easier to talk to him. “I was trying to be polite. You did have a point about me calling you about this stuff a lot. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“More like you were afraid to find out what my going rates are this time.”
“I’m not afraid,” I said, which was only half a lie. I was afraid, but also a little excited. “It’s like you said, you set the rates, and I decide if I want to pay them.”
“How long has the hot water been out?”
“Since Monday night.”
I Need A Bad Boy: A Collection of Bad Boy Romances Page 93
