by Ember Cole
At least in my experience.
“Earth to Ryssa.” Kristen waves a hand in my face.
I flush, heat running up under my skin as I realize I’ve been sitting here in soaked panties daydreaming about fucking and debating myself out of it.
Oh my God, I really need to get laid.
“You really need to get laid,” Kristen echoes my thoughts. “Let me help you.”
Hottie McBusiness freezes with a turkey sandwich halfway to his mouth.
I ignore him, and Kristen. We’ve had this discussion way too often, and my answer is always no.
“I mean it.” Kristen isn’t letting this go. Her brow furrows as she inspects me across the table like I’m a specimen under a microscope. “You’re so wound up, if you were a cork, you’d pop. Plus, you’re gorgeous, even under all those prissy clothes and nerdy glasses. Any man would love to put his cock deep inside you—”
“I have vibrators.” As in plural, because my scientific mind is fascinated by all the options. Some work for me, some not so much. My collection probably rivals a porn star’s at this point. “Did you know the vibrator was originally invented in the 19th century as a way to reduce ‘hysteria’?”
Kristen lifts one eyebrow. “As much as I love your random science facts, you’re avoiding the subject.”
I ignore her accusation, even if it’s true. “That seems a little extreme, don’t you think? Didn’t they think about what might happen if women decided they liked vibrators better than men?”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Vibrators are fine for a few weeks, tops,” she continues. “But you need a man’s hands on you, and a hot, hard cock inside you to really hit the spot.”
Hot business guy groans and lurches to his feet, his sandwich forgotten. He quickly gathers up his things and exits the building, holding his laptop bag in front of his bulging crotch. No doubt he’ll need to stop somewhere for a quick hand job.
I’m halfway tempted to follow him and offer up myself as an alternative to his hand. A quickie in the alley just to relieve the tension. I ruthlessly remind myself of that last place I ruined. I can’t lose our deli. Mike knows our orders perfectly. That took months of training him.
But hell, I’m considering running home myself, because this conversation is only coiling things tighter inside me. I’m so wet, I might leave a mark on the seat.
Kristen grins in a way that means trouble. “I have an idea—”
“No.”
She sits forward and lowers her voice. “Hear me out. I can help you if you would just trust me.”
“I do trust you, Kristen. But I’ve considered all the options. There’s no way—”
“I know just the guy.”
“I don’t want to fuck one of your friends. I’ll be too embarrassed to look him in the eyes whenever we run into each other.” I shudder at the thought. Even now a blush heats my cheeks. I’ve been down the mutual friends road before and have the ruined friendships in the wake of the breakup to prove it. My stomach clenches at the memory.
“It’ll be totally anonymous.” Kristen slaps the table like she’s laying down a winning hand at poker, and a woman by the window jumps.
“Will you stop?” I hiss.
But the thought of anonymous slides through my mind, sinfully enticing.
“You wear a blindfold,” she whispers. “You won’t even know if you pass him on the sidewalk the next day, but you’ll always wonder whether any man checking you out is the one who fucked you into a coma…and wishes he could do it again. Talk about hot.” She grins. “So really, it’s win-win. No embarrassing morning afters, everyone goes home happy and well fucked, and your ego will get a much-needed boost.”
A blindfold. Anonymous. I wouldn’t have to worry about not being attracted to the guy; I could make him whoever I wanted in my head. I’d be safe, because my best friend would never, ever put me in a dangerous situation. I’d get to just lie back and feel what he does to me.
And she’s right. Knowing that somewhere out there, a hot guy knows exactly what I feel like coming on his cock and wants to give it to me again is pretty damn hot.
“Come on,” she wheedles. “You know you want to. I’ll make sure the guy is safe. You’d get to relieve some tension. Just think about—”
“Fine!”
Holy shit. Did I just say that?
Kristen’s jaw drops. “Did you just say fine?”
I could totally backpedal; tell Kristen I was messing with her. But dammit, my friend is right. The situation is dire. My toys just aren’t cutting it anymore, and my work schedule means dating is out. I mean, when a girl gets to a point where she’s fantasizing over coffee and pastrami on rye, it’s time to do something about it.
The ever-present mental image of dark hair, steel-blue eyes, and a firm jaw with just enough scruff tugs at me. Zach. I can picture him over me, and in me, and the sounds he’ll make with that low, sexy voice of his, all growly.
Yum.
Maybe I’ll picture him during my night of anonymous orgasms.
I take a deep breath, my heart thundering away because I’m about to let loose a side of myself I’ve never allowed into the real world. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Kristen’s grin could light New York City. “Absolutely.” She’s nodding. “Whatever you say.”
My mind kicks in and cranks through the scenario. Hell, I’m quivering just thinking about it, picturing how it’d feel to be bent over the arm of my couch while some unseen man fucks me hard and long…and hard.
Kristen interrupts yet another fantasy threatening to drag me under. “How about this: one night only. Your apartment. I’ll let him in, and he leaves when you’re…done.”
Am I really going to do this?
The way my clit is throbbing between my folds sells me on the idea. Yes, I am. I’m taking this sexual bull by the horns…or the balls.
I have a few rules of my own to add. “Kissing is off-limits. Too intimate. Absolutely no talking on his part.” Fantasizing about a hot guy remembering fucking me is totally different than accidentally recognizing him. I’d die of embarrassment on the spot. “Everything else goes.”
“Everything else?”
I hesitate. This is Kristen I’m talking to. “I’ll make a list.” After all, I have all kinds of lovely scenarios that have only happened in my mind. So far. Maybe I can make a few happen for real. Not my kinkier ideas, because they take more trust than an anonymous guy can give me. But some of the fun ones…
If I’m going to do this, I want to do it right. I want to be thoroughly, gloriously fucked. Put that rich fantasy sex life to good use for once. But on my terms.
I pick up my sandwich and take a big bite, feeling more in charge than I have in a long time.
Kristen nods eagerly. “Let’s do it tomorrow so you can sleep off the effects all weekend.”
Whoa. I almost choke on pastrami. “That soon?”
She gives me a sly smile. “Before you can think yourself out of it? Yup. Just keep picturing a long, hard cock fucking your brains out until you are mindless, limp, and oh, so…”
“Satisfied,” I supply again, shaking my head but smiling.
“You are not going to regret this.”
I sure hope not.
2
ZACH
I drag myself through my apartment to the kitchen, where I stare at the bare cupboards of my pantry, too tired to think of cooking but already home and not interested in going back out for food.
Today was rough, even by my jaded city cop standards. My partner and I had to deal with an abusive husband whose neighbors had called us out, but whose battered wife refused to press charges.
I’ve seen it before. Doesn’t make it any easier. Partly because of memories I’d rather blank out.
I might look like someone born to the life I lead now, but that’s far from the truth. I grew up in a rough part of town, orphaned at eight, in juvie by ten. Nothing serious, or I couldn’t be a cop now. The officer
who took an interest me—the reason I work the beat now—turned me around before I hit a point of no return. Got me to enlist in the army to get my head on straight, then put in a good word for me when I decided to join the police force. But that was fucking luck. I know plenty of kids who didn’t have that.
Still, I’m a kid from Hell’s Kitchen, and being part of the NYPD is rewarding because of that, too.
A soft knock at my door is as good an excuse as any to stop standing here in a daze. Not like food will magically appear and cook itself anyway. And if it did, more than likely it wouldn’t be edible. Not with me involved.
I check the peephole to find my neighbor standing outside and sigh. Usually Kristen’s showing up means she needs something. I’ve become her de facto handyman. Still, better than hanging around with my thoughts. I swing the door open. “What did you break this time?”
“Hey there, Officer Hot Stuff.”
I grit my teeth and stare at her, eyebrows raised in question.
She tsks. “Can’t a neighbor just be neighborly?”
I cross my arms. “Not you.”
“That hurts.” She squeezes past me before I can stop her, deposits two plastic bags on my kitchen table, and fishes around in one. “But true. You have Ryssa to thank for this visit. I was just on my way up to feed her. She mentioned that you love pad thai, so I brought you some.”
I accept the container Kristen holds out on autopilot. Ryssa remembered that? I barely mentioned it a few months ago when I bumped into her at the mailboxes and she had some takeout with her.
My dick goes semihard as a mental image of the Norwegian beauty, all buttoned up in a sexy, nerdy package, fills my mind.
For over a year, pretty much since the day I moved in and spotted her leaving Kristen’s place, I’ve had a thing for my neighbor’s best friend. The ache in my body at just the mention of her gnaws at me. Okay, maybe I have more than a thing. I’ve pictured doing so many things to her, imagined the noises she’ll make as I fuck that gorgeous body in a hundred different ways, making her come over and over and over.
Tall and slender, with long honey-blond hair and the palest, softest-looking skin I’ve ever seen, the woman is a knockout. But she is more than that, too. She’s smart, and kind, and funny, and sweetly naive. She pulls this weirdly protective instinct from me. One that dictates my not making a move on her. If it were just about my dick, I would’ve sunk into that lush body months ago. But it’s not, because I’m not the guy for her.
That protective thing raises its head now, competing with my dick raising its little head up at the same time. “Ryssa needs feeding?” I ask, trying to play it casual. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah.” Kristen wanders my living room, poking around at my photos and the award plaques on my wall. “Work is keeping her crazy busy. I mean, it was bad before, but it’s getting worse. I’m going to make sure she eats and try to help her crunch some numbers.” She holds up a picture. “Who’s this?”
I glance at what she’s holding. “I’m in the mentor program at work for underprivileged kids. That’s my buddy, Jonas.”
But I only answer with half my mind; the other half is occupied with what Kristen said. I’d seen the dark circles under Ryssa’s eyes the other day in the lobby, and knowing she was suffering in some way or another had pissed me off. Knowing this is a regular thing only sharpens my anger. “Ryssa works too hard.”
“Tell me about it.” Kristen rolls her eyes, replacing the picture. “But I have a cure for that, or a tension reliever at least.” She pauses and looks closer at one of the framed pictures. “You skydive?”
“Yeah.” Most weekends when I’m not on duty. It’s a rush.
“Ryssa’s always wanted to do that. I think she’s nuts.” She turns to face me. “You both are.”
Seriously? I had a hard time picturing the quiet, sweet, straitlaced Ryssa jumping out of planes. Interest stirs. “Is that your cure? You’re going to send her skydiving?”
Maybe I could take her. Spend some time with her…
She shakes her head. “Nah. She needs to get laid, so I’m helping her out.”
Everything inside me freezes. What. The. Fuck? “I didn’t know she had a thing for girls,” I say slowly.
Kristen laughs. “Not me, doofus. She wants a night of no-holds barred, anonymous sex. With a man. I’m setting things up for her.”
“The fuck you are!” The words explode from me, totally unexpected and way more forcefully than they should have, but I’ll be damned if I apologize or take them back.
I know Kristen runs on the wild side, and with her creamy-brown skin and light eyes, she’s brought plenty of men to their knees. She’s never come on to me, though. She told me once that cops are off-limits and neighbors are too close, and that’s totally fine with me, but I’ve yet to see her with the same guy twice. I’ve never seen Ryssa with anyone. I have a hard time believing something like this is her style.
Which means somehow Kristen has convinced her friend to do something totally out of character.
The thought sets my anger boiling.
Kristen blinks and holds up both hands. “Calm down, Officer. It’ll be fine. I know the perfect guy—”
“No,” I snarl, stepping into her space, probably scaring the shit out of her, but I don’t care. I’d never touch her and she knows that, but no way in hell am I letting this thing with Ryssa and some random asshole happen.
Not that I have an alternative solution. I can’t have Ryssa, even if I thought she’d want me. I’m not good enough for her, not educated like she is, and the way I like to fuck…I would be too much for her. Too rough.
But still, as a cop and as her friend by default, thanks to Kristen…just fuck no.
Kristen puts her hands on her hips, staring me down. “You don’t get to say no or anything else. This is something she wants. She’s going to be blindfolded, so it’s totally anonymous, and she’s going to let him do all sorts of things—”
“Let him?” I yell. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I want to hit something. Instead, I put that energy into pacing. “What if the guy is a fucking serial killer? Do you know how many creeps are out there? I fucking do. I deal with them every goddamn day.”
“Ryssa needs this,” she says softly.
I snap my mouth closed so hard pain lances through my jaw. Ryssa needs to get laid so badly she’d risk her life to do it with some stranger? Anonymously?
Kristen pats my shoulder like I’m some child. “She has no life outside the lab, and she’s so tense a soft breeze could snap her in half. And not just ‘I have a headache’ tense. She needs to be good and fucked.”
The very idea of Ryssa lying on a bed, blindfolded and naked, while some guy pounds into that lush ass… I cross my arms and set my feet to keep from punching the damn wall. But then the image changes, morphs to one where the faceless guy is me. My dick thickens, hardens, pushing against the zipper of my standard-issue uniform pants.
All those nights jacking off to images of her spill through my mind. In my head, I’m buried balls-deep inside her while she moans and writhes beneath me. In the shower, against a wall, on the floor, on a table. Different positions. Her mouth around my cock—
My dick jumps at that picture, throbbing now. Fuck, I’ll need to take a cold shower after this.
Meanwhile, Kristen has no idea the turn my thoughts have taken. She’s still talking. “Seriously. I’ve got this. The guy I have in mind isn’t—”
I shut her down. “I’ll do it.”
Kristen stares at me for a solid ten seconds. I happen to know it takes a lot to shock her, so I can’t get a read on what she’s thinking.
“You can’t,” she eventually says. “She wants it to be anonymous.”
I run a hand through my hair and tug at the short strands. “She doesn’t have to know.”
She doesn’t object, so I keep going. “You said she’ll be blindfolded. I won’t speak so she can’t recognize me.” My thing for Ryssa might h
ave been a secret, but I’ve talked to her. She’d definitely know my voice. “At least I’ll know…” Wait, that’s way too possessive-sounding. I switch it up. “At least we’ll know she’s safe.”
Kristen gives me a speculative look. “You’d do that for her?”
Guilt tugs at me, because when it comes to Ryssa, separating my own pounding need from this strange compulsion to protect her, even from herself, is damn near impossible. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
That was for damn sure.
Kristen rocks back on her heels, and her lips quirk. “Noble sacrifice, Officer. Do you think you can get away from the throngs of women desperate to fuck you?”
I return her teasing remark with a glare.
I’m not a total moron. I’m well aware that I’m a good-looking guy, in top physical condition thanks to regular workouts and training with the force, and I’m a cop. Some women just have a thing for uniforms. I’ve had my fair share of propositions, but I’m not that type of guy. “I don’t sleep around. I’m clean and healthy. She’d be safe with me.”
Besides. Ryssa is different. She’s something special. Way the fuck out of my league, but definitely special. She has this brainy, sexy-librarian look that drives me mad, wanting to undo all those buttons and see if she’s hiding a wild side under her seemingly innocent facade. She’s a scientist working in an actual lab. The woman has brains to go with the looks. Even more, she’s kind—like remembering how I like pad thai.
Yeah, the whole package that is Ryssa Leikvold turns me the fuck on whenever I see her. Even now, I’m picturing her blond hair in a messy ponytail with wisps falling into her face, those glasses that are forever sliding down her nose, and the way she always chews on the end of a pen or bites her plump pink lips when she thinks…
All that chewing and biting. Does it extend to the bedroom?
Again, images bombard me. Ryssa opening those gorgeous lips and taking me so deep into her mouth I see stars. Ryssa swallowing as I pump rope after rope of hot come down her throat…
I hold in a groan. I’m so hard it hurts.
