Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies Book 1)

by Tawna Fenske

  When she draws back, she’s wild-eyed and panting. “Dean,” she says, thrilling me with the sound of my own name. “God, you’re good at that.”

  I laugh and kiss her again. “That’s Goliath,” I say between kisses. “Or He-Man.”

  “Or Waldhar the Wonder Penis Warrior?” She giggles, but it turns to a groan as I cup her breast through her shirt. “Oh, God.”

  “That works, too.”

  I can’t stop kissing her, laying claim to every inch of her flesh. Collarbones, breasts, that narrow trail down her abdomen as I unbutton her blouse and tug it from her skirt. The sight of her lacy pink bra fills me with a fresh wave of desire.

  Dropping a kiss into the hollow of her waist, I move to her belly button. I’m fighting to go slow, to give her a chance to catch up.

  “Dean. Don’t stop.”

  Thank God. Her moan fills my ears as I hike up her skirt and slip between her thighs. There’s a thin strip of lace barely covering her, and she gasps as I hook a finger and slip the fabric aside.

  “Please, Dean,” she begs. “I’ll do anything.”

  Slowly, I trace the tip of my tongue along her slippery seam. Vanessa cries out and clutches the back of my head. “Yes.”

  I smile and lick her again, drawing her clit into my mouth. “I take it this isn’t one of your turnoffs?”

  “Don’t stop,” she pants. “Please don’t stop.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” I lick her again, savoring the honey-sweet slickness. I slip a finger inside, groaning as her tight walls clench around me. “You taste so good.”

  “Dean.” There’s an urgency in her voice that wasn’t there a second ago.

  I lick her again, feeling her pulse around me. The instant I draw her clit into my mouth, she breaks apart beneath me.

  “Oh, God.” She screams, clutching the back of my head. Desire floods my system as I keep licking, keep fucking her with my fingers. She arches way off the bed, and I anchor her in place, wringing every last spasm out of her.

  Her screams subside as she comes back down. Roughneck trots in and cocks his head but doesn’t move to join us.

  “Go lay down, Buddy,” I tell him. “Everything’s okay.”

  He considers that, then flops down in the corner and instantly falls asleep. Vanessa angles up on her elbows. “I was reading to him from this book called Take a Nap, Change Your Life,” she says. “It’s written by a neuroscientist and sleep researcher.”

  “Good to see he’s taking it to heart.” I turn back to her. “You okay?”

  “More than okay.” She pushes her hair out of her eyes and grins. “Holy God. That was unreal.”

  I smile and move up the bed, kissing my way along her body the same way I got down here. She pulls me to her, kissing me deep and soft and hungry. When she breaks the kiss, she’s laughing. “You taste like me.”

  “That’s a turn-on,” I tell her, kissing her again. “For the record.”

  “Mmm.” She closes her eyes, but her hands have a mind of their own. She’s working my zipper, tugging it down as she shoves my pants down over my hips. It’s a marvel of science that she manages to remove them while I toe off my socks and shoes. She’s already got the condom in her hand, and I don’t bother asking where she grabbed it. I’m just grateful she’s rolling it on, touching and stroking and—

  “Need you inside me,” she pants as she pulls me between her thighs. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Still, I hesitate. “This is just to get it out of our systems, right?”

  She blinks once, then nods. “Absolutely.” She reaches between us and guides me to her warm center. Her heels press the backs of my thighs, guiding me in.

  I groan as I sink into the softest, slickest heat I’ve ever felt. “Vanessa. God.”

  She’s so tight, so wet, and for a moment, I forget it might be the only time I’ll ever feel this. I want to feel this a hundred times, a thousand, a million. I want to lose count of all the times I make her cry out and clench around me.

  I groan as she angles up against me. “Holy hell.”

  The sound she makes is somewhere between a sigh and a moan. “Jesus, Dean.” She opens her eyes and looks deep into mine with a little laugh that turns into a moan. “You’re—uh—big.”

  My ego swells as I push into her again. “You’re—uh—hot.”

  Her laughter becomes a moan as I slide into her and hit what I’m pretty sure is her G-spot. Our bodies move together like they were made to do this. Like we’ve been careening toward this our whole lives.

  My ears start to buzz, and my vision’s going fuzzy. I want to last forever, so I try to slow it down. My brain conjures the least sexy things I can think of. Shareholder expense ratios. The cost analysis of yield to maturity distribution rates. Anything to keep my mind off how good it feels to be inside her right now.

  “Dean.”

  She says my name on a gasp, and I’m too far gone to joke about Goliath or He-Man or whatever the fuck I said earlier. Her moans, they’re like tiny prayers, and I’ve never felt so much like a God. I’m going under, slipping past the point of no return.

  Only once. Just this once.

  I close my eyes, reminding myself this can’t last. We’re just getting it out of our systems, gaining closure.

  But this doesn’t feel like an ending. It’s the brightest beginning I’ve ever felt, and I don’t know how long I can pretend that’s not true.

  She clenches around me, and I know she’s there. “Oh, God!”

  Her slick walls spasm with release. I drive in hard as she arches up to meet me. My own orgasm chases hers, barreling along with no brakes. I hear myself shout, though I’ve never been noisy in bed. Something inside me snaps, and I’m gasping and moaning and murmuring words even I can’t grasp.

  Slowly, the pleasure recedes. As my vision clears, Vanessa goes slack in my arms. I roll to my side, pulling her against me as I fight to clear my head, my senses, my conscience.

  But there’s only one thing that’s clear as Vanessa curls up against me and burrows into my side.

  She’s not out of my system. Not even close.

  Chapter 12

  CONFESSIONAL 347

  Vincent, Vanessa: (CFO, Juniper Ridge)

  It’s funny, people make this big deal about how women can’t separate sex from love. Like a couple good orgasms rattle our brains so hard we hear wedding bells, while guys are just thinking about…I don’t know, sandwiches, I guess. Maybe that whole dynamic is supposed to be part of this show? Anyway, I don’t think it’s this across-the-board kinda rule. I’ve never had any trouble keeping my head and my heart and my…well, other parts from getting all tangled up together. I mean, what’s the big deal? It’s just sex, right?

  That was…

  That was…

  I don’t even know what that was except amazing.

  I’m lying snuggled against Dean, feigning sleep because I’m not sure how to deal with the fact that what just happened between us was so incredible, I can’t feel my toes. Or my fingertips.

  I can feel a lot of other parts, and all of them are humming a singular harmony: Him. This one. This guy. He’s the one.

  Which is nuts, and also why I’m pretending I’ve drifted into the stupor of a thoroughly satisfied lover.

  Eyes closed, I’m conscious of Dean stroking my hair, kissing the edge of my temple. He just lifted one of my curls and held it to his face, brushing it against his lips. I’m drunk with the thought he’s loving my scent the same way I do his.

  Maybe I can lie here forever. Eyes closed like this, not confronting the fact that I just slept with a guy I absolutely shouldn’t sleep with.

  “I know you’re awake, Vanessa.”

  His words startle my eyes open, and I look up to see him smiling at me. I blink a few times struggling to think of something to say. Something wise and cool and meaningful.

  “This doesn’t have to be weird, right?”

  That
wasn’t it.

  Dean laughs and tugs a curl at the edge of my temple. “Define weird. There was none of that pony play you mentioned. I don’t think you called me ‘daddy.’”

  “Small blessings.” I close my eyes again, not sure what the hell I said in the throes of orgasm. I’ve never been a screamer, but the ache in my throat tells me I delivered more than polite, ladylike moans.

  “Look, I just have to say that was unreal.” Dean’s voice makes me open my eyes again, and my heart seizes at the intensity in his eyes.

  I nod my agreement, not positive my voice still works. “It was pretty great.”

  Pretty great?

  Chocolate lava cake is pretty great. A trip to Greece is pretty great. Eating chocolate lava cake on the balcony of a Greek villa with Oprah Winfrey and Meryl Streep would be pretty great, and none of it compares with what just happened between Dean and me.

  But the inner turmoil turning my brain to mush doesn’t seem to be affecting him. “It was amazing, really.” He laughs, stroking my hair again. “I mean, if we were aiming to get it out of our systems, we sure as hell went out with a bang.”

  I nod against the pillow, reminding myself that’s what we agreed. One and done, that’s it. “Yep.” I lick my lips and notice they’re kiss-swollen. “Totally got it out of my system.”

  As if.

  Dean looks at me for a long time, and I pray I was more convincing than I was when faking sleep. I wish I could read his mind as easily as he seems to read mine. Is he as cool under the surface as he appears to be?

  He clears his throat, and I brace for him to say something about getting home. For him to clarify this was a one-time thing. Amazing and great, but we definitely shouldn’t do it again.

  We shouldn’t, right?

  “You’ve got a lightbulb burnt out up there.”

  “What?” I blink and realize he’s pointing at the bar above the bathroom vanity. The light’s on a sensor, which must mean Roughneck’s in there drinking out of the toilet again.

  I let that unromantic image fill my brain, doing my best to kill the silly glow infusing my whole body.

  “It’s been out since I moved in,” I tell him. “I bought a spare bulb yesterday. Just haven’t had time to put it in.”

  “I can get that for you.”

  He starts to move, but I put my hand on his chest. “No, I’ve got it. It’s okay.”

  “I don’t mind.” He drops his chin down to kiss the tips of my fingers. “The maintenance guys are off tomorrow, so it’ll be a couple days before we can get someone in here.”

  “I can change my own lightbulb, Dean.” My voice comes out snappish, so I soften and try again. “I like doing my own chores.”

  He looks at me for a long moment, and I brace for an argument. Instead, he plants a soft kiss at my temple. “Whatever you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  What I want has nothing to do with lightbulbs and everything to do with Dean. I want to lie here forever in his arms. I want to find a way for this to be uncomplicated and normal, even though I know that can’t happen.

  For God’s sake, he’s the CEO at the company where I work. He’s been in charge of everything from TV shows to zillion-dollar business deals. He’s an oldest son, a Hollywood tycoon, a self-admitted control-freak. Every one of those details makes Dean Judson an excellent leader, but they also make him the wrong man for me.

  He’s watching me like he’s trying to read my mind. The thought sends a shiver down my arms.

  “You want dessert?” I don’t know why I’m offering, since it’s not like I’m going to get up and bake a batch of snickerdoodles. “I think I have some Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer.”

  He laughs and sits up. “Tempting, but I’ll pass. I should actually get going.”

  “Oh?” My brain teeters between ‘thank God’ and ‘please stay here with me all night.’ Between all that, I know it’s best to usher him out. “I mean, yeah, we have to work early, right?”

  “Right. Second interview with banking candidates. You still feeling good about the last candidate?”

  “Absolutely.” And now I’m talking shop while naked with the CEO. I take a few deep breaths to push back the rush of shame. “She has the strongest resumé, and I like that she’s done some television work. I think she’d be great in the role.”

  “I agree.” He kisses me again, softly on the lips. As my eyes flutter open, I see his silvery-hazel ones searching mine. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

  “Me, too.”

  But as Dean gets up and dresses, casual and nonchalant as a guy who has no-strings flings all the time, I know we’re nowhere near the same page. We’re not even in the same library. He’s just finished a short little tidy coffee table book while I’m diving deep into an epic romance novel. I know I need to nip this in the bud, but I’m not sure how.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” I sit up, pulling the sheets over my breasts. “Want to meet in the coffee shop or the conference room?”

  “Conference room,” he says. “The PI wants to do another bug sweep later this week, so we’ve only got a couple days to make use of the conference room. We can spread out our notes and take a look at what we’ve got.”

  Pre-sex, I might have made a joke about the conference table and the TMI story we heard earlier today. Post-sex, I…well, I can’t stop thinking about sex. Which is the opposite of what was supposed to happen.

  “Great.” I try a nonchalant hair toss, but I end up with a curl stuck in my mouth. I spit it out and clutch the sheets tighter around my breasts. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Fantastic.”

  I wonder if Dean hears the strain in my voice. If he knows this is way outside my comfort zone, and I’m not sure how to handle it.

  Unfazed, he zips up his pants and bends to kiss me one more time. “Call me if you see any more balloon-covered snakes.” He tugs on his shirt. “Or badgers or wolves or lizards or—”

  “Okay, got it.” I laugh as Roughneck jumps up on the bed, snuffling at my face until I scratch his ears. I rub him to keep myself from asking Dean to stay. To prevent me from blurting something dumb. “Have a good night.”

  “Good night, Vanessa.” He grins at me a moment, then bounces back on the bed making Roughneck woof. “One more,” he says, dropping a last kiss on my lips.

  I kiss him back, making it last, making the memory imprint on my brain. If we can’t do this again, I’m damn well making it count.

  And then he’s gone. I listen for the door to shut, then I look at my dog. “So that’s it.”

  “Uff,” says Roughneck and licks my face.

  “Just the one time,” I tell him, hoping I’ll believe it. “That was enough.”

  My dog tilts his head to the side, accepting my words at face value. Or maybe calling bullshit, it’s tough to tell.

  I take a deep breath and swing my legs out of the bed. “We should go lock the door. There’s creepy people out there who leave snakes on the porches of unsuspecting women.”

  Roughneck wags his tail, possibly understanding the word “go” and not much else. I slip out of bed and grab my robe off a hook by the door. Tiptoeing through the living room, I notice the blinds are wide open. I haven’t closed them the last couple nights, but knowing someone was on my back porch sends me on a mission to shut every last one. Then I slam home the deadbolts and hustle back to bed.

  Roughneck joins me, dragging his purple tiger. The naked patch around its neck is a little wider, and the remains of its stump tail is just a gummy wet nub.

  He plunks it on the pillow beside me, then plants his big head down next to it and looks at me. I reach over and stroke the bare flesh around his neck. Will the fur ever grow back? I meant to ask Tia.

  Some wounds don’t ever heal completely. Sometimes, no matter how you try to move beyond something, the old scars still show through.

  As I trace a gentle finger over the bare ring on his
neck, my dog sighs. “Me, too, buddy,” I say. “Me, too.”

  ***

  So “one and done” didn’t exactly happen.

  I know, I know. I know, okay?

  But really, it depends on how you see it mathematically. The first time we did it was this huge, mind-blowing jump from zero to one, which is like an infinite percentage increase. Then the second time—also amazing—we only increased the number of times by half, and the next was just an increase of one third.

  Now I know that’s a harmonic sequence that diverges and would get big eventually, but it’s also important to consider how the guilt, the awkwardness, the hesitation—all those things are actually decreasing. Like, it was half as weird the second time, and half as weird again the time after that, and if you look at that series, it’s monotonically decreasing toward zero. And guess what? The sum of that infinite series is only two!

  In other words, the more we do it, the better it gets, the less guilty I feel about it, and we’re still only approaching the prospect of doing it twice.

  It’s possible my math geek brain has gone overboard in justifying this fling with Dean. It’s also possible I don’t care at all. I like having sex with Dean, and I can’t seem to stop doing it.

  I’m mulling this when Dean strolls out of my bathroom buttoning his shirt cuffs. He’s humming quietly and sporting sex-rumpled hair that looks like he spent an hour rubbing his head against my couch cushions.

  That’s exactly what happened, and I smile remembering how damn good it felt to have him moving between my thighs, hips thrusting as he—

  “What are you so smiley about?” He grins and pulls me into his arms, planting a kiss behind my right ear.

  “Your hair.” I run my fingers through it, knowing that’s not even a tiny fraction of what’s racing through my mind right now. “You think anyone’s noticing we’re not in our offices right now?”

  “Nope.” He kisses me again, then steps back to grab his keys and wallet off my coffee table. “Are you kidding? Everyone’s been working crazy hours. Gabe and Lauren were in the editing room until three a.m. Everyone knows you and I have been burning the midnight oil to get the budget nailed down.”