“Oooh, you dirty girl.”
I laughed in embarrassment. “It was an accident! I was daydreaming and not paying attention. My pen just sort of did its own thing and I didn’t realize what I’d done until Daniel asked me to read the dictation back to him.”
“Daniel didn’t see it, did he?”
“God, no! I’d have actually had a heart attack from sheer mortification.”
“But now Remington has your dirty sex dream drawing, and if you don’t see him tonight, he’ll look at it, and know how bad you want him.”
“Exactly.”
She pointed at me. “You’re not denying that you want him, I notice.”
I covered my face with both hands, sighing dramatically, and then I shook my head. “No, between you and me—no, I’m not denying it. I want him. He’s gorgeous. He’s sexy. He’s built like a god, and he intrigues me. He’s an arrogant, manipulative jackass with a filthy mouth and filthier mind, but even that is part of what makes him attractive, I guess. It’s infuriating, maddening…and sexy as hell all at the same time. Which is weird.”
Izzy laughed. “Honey, welcome the world of hyperdominant alpha males. Infuriating, maddening, and fucking irresistible.”
“You’re an expert, I imagine?”
“I can see why you’d think so, but no. Most alpha males get sick of me being so independent and stubborn, and I refuse to play along with or do anything that reeks of submissiveness, so nothing ever works out between me and an alpha.”
“Explain something for me, then.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll try.”
“You talk about blowjobs like they’re your favorite thing. Isn’t a blowjob by definition submissive?”
She grinned, a feral twist of her lips. “A common misperception. A properly administered blowjob puts all the power in your hands, pun intended.”
I frowned. “How so?”
“If there’s a chance of getting you to put your mouth on his cock, a man will do just about anything you want. You have to be careful, though, because men have fragile egos, and if you exert that power too much, or if you don’t follow through, it’ll backfire.”
“So, promise to blow him, and I have power over him?”
“Even tease him with it. Suggest it. Hint at it—and see what happens. But, I warn you—tease, hint, or promise too much without following through, and you lose the leverage.”
“Is that why you like do it so much?”
“That’s a big part of it,” she said. “The other part is that I just like being able to make a big strong man go all weak in the knees, I like being able to make him gasp and whimper and shake, all just with my hands and mouth. It’s not about the power or leverage, it’s…” She shrugged. “It’s just fun. Worth the taste and the mess, and the jaw ache, in my opinion.”
“How is that different from sex?”
She waved her hands in the air. “It’s totally different! Sex is mutual. For it to be good, it has to be mutual. You have to both get it good, or it sucks. Giving a guy a BJ? That’s all about him. You’re making him feel good. With sex, you can both do things to make the other person feel good, but a BJ? That’s all you. Just like him going down on you is all about you—all about him making you feel good. And that’s it’s own kind of very enjoyable power.”
I laughed. “Oh, Izzy. You’re one of a kind, you know that?”
She popped a hip and held out a hand palm up. “Well, yeah! The world couldn’t handle more than one of me! The world can barely handle the one of me there is!”
I hugged her. “Okay. I’m going to go.”
“Find Remington. Get your drawing back. And if he won’t give it back, bribe him with a BJ.”
I boggled at her. “Um, hello? Do you know me? I dated Chris for almost two weeks before I even kissed him.”
She rolled her eyes. “You went on, what, four dates with him?”
“Two the first week, two the second. We kissed at the end of the fourth date, and then the next one we messed around, and then the sixth time I saw him, we slept together. And then after that, we skipped the dates and went right to sleeping together. And then, the fourth or fifth time we hooked up, he invited his friend over and tried to surprise me with a threesome. Which I believe I’ve mentioned.”
“That’s still so weird to me. That’s the kind of thing you have to talk about and set ground rules for.”
“I thought you said you’d never done that?”
“I haven’t. But I know people who have, and everyone says you need to talk about it first and make sure everyone’s on board and cool with it, and that there are ground rules. Or it has to be with random people, and not your significant other.” She waved a hand. “I doubt I’ll ever do that, though. I’m too ADD to be able to deal with more than one person at a time.”
“You’re not ADD, Isadora,” I said with a sigh.
“Actually, I am. I saw a psychologist a few years ago, and he said it was likely I am—I never got diagnosed for it as a kid, but I have all the classic hallmarks—I was the bad kid, the spazz, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. Basically, my life has always been, okay I’m gonna study for this French exam—hey look at that new top I just bought, I should try it on—wait! I have to check my email—wait! My lip gloss should be refreshed, and look, my nails are kind of chipping, so I should just repaint them…and then I never study for the French exam.”
“You’re not actually that all-over-the-place, Izzy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes…yes, I am. When I forget to be all deep and philosophical and shit.”
I whacked her on the arm. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. There’s so much more to you than clothes and makeup.”
“Just like you have an inner sex goddess. You just have to find her, let her out, and give her the reins.”
I shouldered my purse and hefted my bag of purchases. “Okay, I have to go, for real.”
“I’ll expect details later!”
“There won’t be anything to have details about, but sure!” I called as I exited, waving at her over my shoulder.
I walked home, set the bag of new outfits on my bed, and debated on what to do next.
I was legitimately worried that if I saw Remington again, something would happen. And if anything happened, I just knew, deep down, that there’d be no going back.
He’d seen my tattoos.
And now Izzy had—and I was going to show Kitty the next time we were home alone together. And I knew it was only a matter of time before everyone else in my life found out too, and then the cat would be out of the bag, and everything would change, and I hated change.
All because Remington Badd, that stupid, too-sexy-for-his-own-good bear of a man, had seen my tattoos.
And my boobs.
Gah.
Should I take Izzy’s advice?
Not about bribing him with a blowjob, of course—that would NEVER happen in a million years. But about making things happen in my time, under circumstances of my choice?
If something was going to happen, why shouldn’t I make sure it was on my terms?
I laid out both of my new outfits—the one I’d normally wear, and the one that could be said to represent a potential new me.
Problem was…I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
Did I want something to happen between Remington and me?
Did I want to risk further change to my status quo?
If I did try to make sure whatever happened was on my terms…what were my terms?
Wear the conservative Juneau outfit, and politely request he give back my drawing, and possibly agree to something I knew he’d demand? Because if I showed up to claim my sketch, there’d be some sort of demand—that was a given.
Or, go in with my new outfit, hypnotize him with my cleavage, demand he return the drawing, and go my way without agreeing to anything?
I laughed out loud. That second option sounded nice, but it wasn’t me. I
wasn’t like that.
But if I could show off my tattoos, why couldn’t I summon a little alpha woman of my own?
Find my inner sex goddess, as Izzy put it.
Maybe I could.
And maybe I should.
9
Remington
My brothers and I had spent just about every waking moment over the last three days going through the list of things Sebastian wanted us to do in order to get Badd Kitty Saloon up and running. He had spent a majority of that time with us, actually, and he made it all look so easy and simple and obvious that I felt kind of stupid.
I know Rome did, too, which had us all on edge.
Plus, Bast being here meant Kitty was over at Badd’s managing the place. Which meant Rome wasn’t getting sex, because we’d been too busy to do anything but sleep and work—these days even eating happened on the go. And Rome without sex is a cranky little baby of a man.
I’m not sure what excuse I have, though, because no, I’m not getting sex either, but I don’t have a girlfriend, and I’ve been focusing on other stuff since moving here. Which means I haven’t had sex since leaving Oklahoma.
Okay, so there’s my excuse.
Or, I’m just a cranky bastard because I hate working at the bar, and I never got the tattoo I wanted because of the whole scene at the parlor with Juneau.
And, to be totally honest, Juneau is part of the reason I’m cranky.
I keep having wet dreams about her, and then I wake up horny, and I look at the picture I drew of her and imagine getting my hands on those big beautiful tits of hers, and I jerk off to thoughts of her, and then I feel sleazy.
And it’s a vicious cycle, which has me cranky, off-balance, and snapping at my brothers.
So, by the time Sunday evening rolled around and the list was finally done and Bast had gone home, Rome roared off in the truck to pick up Kitty for a long overdue date, and Ram hung around just long enough to get pissed at me for snapping at him about something dumb, and then took off on foot for who-knew-where, leaving me alone in the bar with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to be an asshole to.
I found myself debating whether to just get hammered alone and watch porn, or admit defeat and head to my cousins’ bar for company and drinks; I was leaning toward the latter simply because I knew getting hammered alone was a bad idea, and porn would only lead to pining after Juneau and those tits and those eyes and that musical, expressive voice and that long black hair and that exotic dark skin with its hypnotizing gallery of illustrations…
A quiet knock on the front door of the saloon shocked me out of my inner debate.
Who would be knocking on the door of a not-yet-open-for-business bar at six in the evening on a Sunday?
Expecting drunk tourists, I unlocked the door and yanked it open with an irritated snarl. “We’re not open yet. Come back in a week or two.”
“Um. Okay?” the most unexpected voice greeted me. “If that’s what you want, fine by me.”
I blinked, finally seeing the person who stood on the other side: Juneau Isaac. “Sorry, sorry.” I stepped backward and gestured at the interior. “Come in, please.”
“So you don’t want me to come back in a week or two?” she asked, following me inside the bar.
“That, too.” I closed and relocked the main entrance to the saloon, moved to lean in what I hoped was a casually cool pose against the bar. “So. What brings you here?”
She shifted uncomfortably, nervous and unsure. Now that she was inside, and I was over my surprise, I found myself openly and brazenly perusing Juneau as she stood in the middle of my bar. She was wearing a floor-length sweater buttoned up from waist to neck, which I understood, as it was pretty cold and wet today. It wasn’t entirely shapeless or figure-hiding, like some of the stuff she’d worn around me, but I wouldn’t call it sexy, either.
“I…you know why I’m here.”
“Because you couldn’t hold out against the need to finish the kiss we almost had?”
She narrowed her eyes at me, crossing her arms over the top of her chest. “No, definitely not that.”
There was a glint in her eyes and a shifting of her feet and a quick glance away that told me she maybe wasn’t telling the whole truth.
I kept playing dumb. “So…is it because you just can’t help but to want to spend as much time as possible around me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Ummmm…no. Pretty sure it’s not that.”
“You wound me,” I said, clutching at my heart. “For real. I might cry. I thought I had a winning personality.”
“Enough messing around, Remington. Where is it?” She held out her hand. “You said I had three days—it’s three days on the dot, and I want my note back.”
“Just like that, huh?” I smirked, crossing my arms in a way that I knew made my biceps look good. “Just…show up and I’ll give it back?”
“You said it was insurance that you’d see me again. You didn’t say anything about blackmail.” She gestured at herself. “Well, here I am. You see me. Now may I please have my note back?”
I shrugged and held my hands palms up. “I don’t have it with me.”
She huffed in frustration. “Yeah, sure. Quit stalling. You’re not getting anything else out of me.”
I held up my fingers in the Scout symbol. “I don’t! I swear. It’s at our apartment, in my room.”
“Remington. Just give it to me, please.”
I held both hands palms toward her. “I’m telling you the one hundred percent God’s honest truth. I put it in my wallet the day I took it from you, brought it home, and took it out. Right now it’s currently in my underwear drawer.” I winked at her. “If I carried it around with me, I’d be too tempted to actually read it.”
“What, like you haven’t?”
“In the immortal words of Peter Quill: ‘I may be an asshole, but I’m not one hundred percent a dick.’” I drew an X over my heart. “I haven’t looked at it, cross my heart and hope to die.”
She couldn’t resist a smirk. “You just quoted Starlord at me.”
“I sure did.”
“You really haven’t opened it, and it really isn’t here?”
I nodded. “Absolute truth. And, to be clear, I have been tempted to open it every single moment since I took it. It’s a curse, actually. I wish I could just go over the line into being a hundred percent a dick, just so I could sate my curiosity, but I can’t quite do it. I do have the tiniest bit of decency hiding somewhere inside me.” I held my fingers about a quarter inch apart. “It’s about this big, and it’s very well hidden, but it is there.”
She gave me a look that was equal parts droll, amused, and irritated. “You’re not that bad, Remington.”
I winked at her. “Glad you agree, babe.” I jutted my chin at the door. “So. You want to pop over to my place real quick? I’ll give you the note back.”
She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. Just to prove I do have that sliver of decency I mentioned.”
“I’m skeptical there won’t be further manipulation, but…sure.” She held up a finger. “But—no funny business. No coercion, no seduction. You give me my note, and we go.”
“We go?” I pounced on her slipup. “We go where?”
“Me. I mean…I—I go. You give me my note, and I go home. Alone.”
I stepped closer to her, giving her a smoldering grin. “I’ll agree to no funny business and no coercion. I can’t agree to the other one, though.” I tugged on her braid, sidling closer yet; she stiffened, staring up at me with a set jaw and blazing eyes. “Being seduced is just a chance you’ll have to take, Juneau.”
“That sliver of decency is quickly dwindling, I see.”
I stared into her eyes, meeting her bold, fiery brown gaze. “You have that effect on me.”
“I turn you into a manipulative asshole?”
I snorted a laugh. “You make me a slave to my baser urges.”
; “Yeah…there’s this thing called self-control. You may have heard of it.”
“Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re hysterical.”
“For real. Where you’re concerned, my self-control is…pretty much nil. I wish I could explain it better, but you just…you have that effect on me.”
“So…I turn you into an impetuous moron?”
“I would say more of an impetuous horn-dog, but yeah. Basically.”
“Wow. So flattering.”
I grinned. “I mean, it should be. I’ve been through some of the most grueling physical training on the planet. I can cover myself in a fire shelter and stay still while a fire rages right over top of me—can, and have. I can run uphill at a sprint in full gear. Read a forest fire and anticipate where it’s going to go. But resist you? Not a chance in fucking hell.”
This softened her a bit—against her will, it seemed to me. “You can’t resist me?” She said this with a suspicious frown.
“Nope.”
“So, when I ask you to please, please, pretty please just give me my note back?” She said this with a slow blink of her beautiful brown eyes, staring up at me pleadingly.
I almost bit straight through my lip in an attempt to not groan, kiss her stupid, or rip that sweater off buttons and all—or all three.
“I’d say come with me to my apartment, and I’ll give it to you.”
She turned away with a blush, snickering. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I barked a laugh. “That’s not what I meant! That one’s all on you, sweetheart. You made it dirty, not me.”
She lifted her chin. “I can’t deny that one.” Letting out a deep breath, she smiled at me. “To your apartment then.”
“Okay, let me just shut off all the lights.” I hurried around shutting things down, and then led her out, relocking the door behind me. “We’re about two blocks down.”
“Okay.”
I eyed her sideways, hoping for a glimpse of whatever she was wearing beneath the sweater. Unfortunately, I was out of luck, as the garment covered her completely—which was a good idea as a sharp wind blew, carrying with it spattering drops of rain, making her shiver into the sweater, and me wish I’d worn more than a T-shirt.
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