Asking For a Friend

by Lauren Blakely

  Ping-Pong Lover said he was new to town.

  Linc’s new to town.

  Ping-Pong Lover believes the book is better than the movie. He likes to walk and read. He loves all books. He’s an omnivore just like me. Everything adds up perfectly.

  But the part that makes the most sense is this: I always felt like I was talking to Linc. Or the idea of him, at least. My conversations with Ping-Pong Lover Dax had that same rhythm, the same sense of verbal volleyball. We talked nearly all night, and that’s how I’ve always felt with Linc.

  I rinse away the conditioner and body wash, then turn off the shower.

  In and out in five minutes. Not too bad. Still plenty of time to slather lotion on my legs, put on panties and a bra, and blow-dry my hair.

  A little gloss, some mascara, and I’m good to go as soon as I grab a skirt and top.

  I gather my other clothes from the hallway floor, drop them into the hamper, and appraise my reflection, including my light-blue matching bra and panties. Of course they match. I like to be ready for anything, but I’m not expecting him to put out.

  Even though I definitely want him to.

  Because I like this guy so damn much.

  Scurrying to my bedroom, I yank open the closet, sort through my dresses, and grab a cute little black-and-blue miniskirt with pockets for my phone and lip gloss. Pulling on a black short-sleeve blouse, I laugh out loud, thinking about murses and fanny packs, banana bread and bad ideas, Christian Grey and Paddle Me Please, life goals and everything.

  Everywhere.

  A shiver runs through me, and nothing about tonight feels like I’m crossing my own lines, though it should.

  Everything about it feels right.

  So damn right that I text Peyton as I leave and tell her where I’m going.

  * * *

  Amy: Guess what? In the most random of fantastic coincidences, the guy I’ve been chatting with is the guy from the office. And I’m going to meet him right now.

  * * *

  Peyton: Shut the fuck up.

  * * *

  Amy: I kid you not.

  * * *

  Peyton: Are you made of good luck? Did you just stumble into a pile of gold? Come across a winning lottery ticket on the street?

  * * *

  I laugh at her assessment, and even though it sounds unlikely, it’s also incredibly likely.

  * * *

  Amy: Actually, it makes perfect sense. The dating app we used matches you by location and mutual interests. We’re two book-loving nerds a few miles away from each other in Manhattan who’ve chosen to meet on Boyfriend Material rather than Tinder.

  * * *

  Peyton: Fair point, but still. Also, OMFG. You’re going to see him tonight? What about not getting involved with someone at work?

  * * *

  Amy: It’s a bad idea, right? You said that last night.

  * * *

  Peyton: I said that, didn’t I? I’m sure I felt that way at the time, but now, is it wrong to want a dirty, salacious, and super-romantic report about your night? Asking for a friend.

  * * *

  Amy: When you put it like that, how can I deny you?

  * * *

  Peyton: You cannot deny me. Also, if you deny me, you deny you. Don’t deny either one of us!

  * * *

  I arrive at Tristan’s on time, feeling like I’ve been chewing on tablets made of adrenaline and Pop Rocks. I stare at the door—and this is the moment of truth.

  The line I’m crossing.

  I take a deep breath, ask what Betty Boop would do, and decide she’d have her cake and eat it too.

  Damn straight.

  That’s what I’m doing tonight. Screw the consequences.

  I walk into the restaurant, and he’s seated at the bar, his phone in front of him, a glass of beer next to him. The second I’m past the doorway, his gaze turns to mine, and he flashes a sexy, dimpled grin just for me.

  He’s more casual than I’ve seen him at the office. In jeans and a Henley, he’s so Dax Powers but so Clark Kent too.

  And all Linc Silvers.

  The guy I want.

  The man I like.

  My date.

  I walk over to him, shedding a coat of nerves behind me. I don’t look back.

  “So I hear you play a mean game of Ping-Pong,” I say when I reach him.

  “I am indeed a Ping-Pong player, but never a ponger,” he replies, all delicious smirk and twinkles in his blue eyes. “And how’s Christian Grey?”

  “He’s probably hogging all the pillows on the bed as we speak.”

  He smiles like he can’t quite fathom this is us, that we are Betty and Dax. I smile the same way, then say, “I can’t believe it’s you. And I might also need to give you the world’s greatest detective badge for putting two and two together.”

  “I couldn’t believe it, but it also makes perfect sense.”

  I nibble on the corner of my lips. “All the sense in the world.”

  “Also, I got your email. I can’t wait to hear the hygienist story, and I’d love to talk to you about Tiffany, and I’m more than borderline starving, but I have to do this first.”

  He lifts his hand and runs his index finger over my Betty Boop pendant, leaving a hot trail of goosebumps across my chest. Then he captures my lips in a kiss.

  And I swoon.

  18

  Linc

  I didn’t lie when I said I was ravenous.

  But the second my lips touch hers, I know.

  I’m not eating dinner first.

  My appetite for food can wait.

  I can’t wait any longer for her.

  Her lips are so soft. Her taste is so sweet that my brain is going haywire with lust.

  My thumb slides across her jaw, stroking her face as I sweep my lips over hers, softly at first, then a little harder, a little more insistent.

  Because that’s what she does to me.

  Makes me want more.

  This Smarties SweeTart of a woman who came here tonight for me, who wants the same things I do.

  She tastes like candy and sex. Like desire and need.

  And I need more.

  Our mouths collide as my thoughts go foggy and my body heats up from a druggy, delicious kiss.

  We both pick up the pace at the same time, shifting from a gentle exploration to a hotter one full of teeth and tongues and dirty promises. I have to know her, have to have her. I’m getting drunk on these kisses, on her peach scent, on her brazenness.

  The way she kisses back is a massive turn-on. She gives as good as she gets, and it’s not a surprise at all.

  It’s who she is. She’s fire and spark.

  My hand slides into her hair, and I tug gently on the strands.

  She gasps, breaking the kiss. “If you do that again, I can’t be held responsible for the sounds I’ll make.”

  A bolt of lust shoots down my spine, and filthy curiosity takes over. I grin wickedly, giving a quick tug.

  “Ohhh,” she moans.

  “Why, yes, I think I will do that again,” I whisper.

  “Get a room!”

  It’s Tristan, calling out from behind the bar, shaking his head.

  “Thanks for the tip,” I say to him.

  Amy looks embarrassed but not for long. She waggles her fingers in his direction. “Hi, Tristan. Bye, Tristan.”

  She grabs my hand, and I don’t need to be hit with an anvil to know what’s happening next.

  Out on the street, I gesture to the bar. “You know him?”

  “He’s friends with Peyton.”

  “The one you were asking for?”

  “Yes. Enough about him. And them.” She grabs my neck. “Kiss me again, Dax Powers.”

  “Gladly,” I say, and on the street, I kiss her hard.

  This is not a romantic-comedy kiss. This is not the kind of kiss where the hero says good night and walks down the street in the rain smiling because they had such a great date. We haven’t even
had a date.

  This is the kind of kiss that goes one direction only.

  And Amy Summers is making it damn clear that this train is the express tonight.

  I’ll take a ticket, thank you very much.

  I break the kiss, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to assume anything, but I’d really like to take you back to my place right now and work on all the different ways to make you moan like that again. How does that sound to you?”

  Her fingers tap-dance up my chest. “Dishy. It sounds dishy.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And how about my place? It’s across the park, but my dog will appreciate it.”

  “Anything for that dom,” I say with a grin, then I hail a taxi, and I’m pretty sure it’s taking us to Bone Town.

  Her dog jumps on me. He leaps up and down. “Did he swallow a pogo stick?”

  “No. He’s part kangaroo.”

  Bending, I scratch his chin as she shuts the door. “Hey, Inspector.”

  “Oh, just call him Attention Whore. He’s not usually this nice to strangers though. Are you wearing dog biscuit cologne?”

  I pat my neck as I stand. “My aftershave is made with kibble.”

  She laughs and grabs my shirt, jerking me close. Her humor fades, and her expression shifts to pure honesty. “Just to be clear, I really wanted Dax to be you,” she says, putting on a whisper.

  I slide my hand down her bare arm, shedding everything and giving her the bare truth. “I was hoping it was you, Amy.”

  She smiles at me, her grin a cross between giddy and give-me-some. Mine’s probably made from the same mix of emotions. The only thing absent is regret.

  Thankfully.

  Because though these confessions are making a mockery of my one big rule, I’m embracing being a rulebreaker. I savor every second that I flout my self-imposed guideline.

  I may have test-driven Boyfriend Material to take my mind off her, but my mind never strayed far at all.

  Hell, my thoughts were always on her. And even though I’m listening intently for that little voice that’ll tell me to stop, that’ll warn me that this might be a mistake, I don’t hear it at all.

  Besides, she’s not my direct report or vice versa. We aren’t shepherding any books together, and we don’t work side by side on the same projects. This is manageable, even with that little old matter of disclosure that Baldwin warned me about. But I’ll deal with that at another time.

  For now, it’s full speed ahead.

  I seal my lips to hers once more as my hands explore her body, travel down her back. I make mental notes as I go, recording everything she likes. Her shiver as my palms coast over her lower back. Her moans when they slide along her waist. That sensual gasp when I cup her breasts. I nearly lose my mind as I squeeze and knead the beauties, stroking my thumbs over the pert nipples that poke through her blouse.

  She wobbles then breaks the kiss, her hands clamping down on my hips. “You have to know I’ve thought of this so much.”

  My chest puffs out. Obviously. “Tell me all your filthy thoughts about me.”

  “They started from day one. You were so handsome, so damn sexy when I saw you in the break room,” she says, like she’s savoring the confession. She’s injecting me with so much masculine pride.

  “Yeah?” I take a step, walking her backward.

  “So hot,” she whispers. Another step. “I figured you had to be some sort of sexy motivational speaker-slash-author. Or Henry Cavill.”

  Laughing, my hands roam down her waist. “Right now, I have only one motivation.”

  “What might that be?”

  “To get you naked. Which might have crossed my mind the day I met you too.”

  “You dirty pervert,” she says.

  “And the other thing that crossed my mind was that you were going to be trouble.”

  She narrows her eyes, taking another step. “Why would I be trouble?”

  “Trouble for me. Trouble for my plans. Trouble for my head.” I sweep some loose strands of hair off her cheek then run the backs of my fingers across her face. “Because you were irresistible from the start.”

  She struggles to rein in a grin, then stops trying as we stumble in our two-step toward her bedroom. She jerks at the hem of my Henley, and I help her along, pulling it over my head. But we don’t make it down the hall. As she flicks open a button on her blouse, she pulls me to her couch.

  Sitting, I grab her waist and position her over my legs so she’s straddling me.

  I remove my glasses, setting them on her end table, and she does the same with hers.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her without them. “Your eyes are spectacular.”

  Trembling, she whispers, “Yours too.”

  I hold her face, and for a few seconds, neither one of us speaks. We just look at each other, the intensity of the moment a taut line between us. There’s certainty too—the knowledge that we both want all the same things.

  And those things require no clothes.

  I return my focus to her blouse, unbuttoning her shirt, spreading it open, and savoring the fantastic sight of her perky breasts in a light-blue lacy bra—a sight that makes my throat go dry.

  She leans back, giving me room to explore her body, but there’s one thing I need to know. I pull at her skirt and peek at her panties, finding the answer when I see matching blue.

  “Amy,” I say, low and smoky.

  “Yes?”

  “Your bra and panties match.”

  It’s her turn to grin wickedly.

  I meet her gaze, asking in a rough voice, “Did you come to dinner planning to fuck me?”

  She laughs, then she grinds against my hard-on, and I groan so damn loudly.

  “I did,” she admits, with an owning-it shrug. “Like I said, I’ve had my eye on you since I heard you say you were faster than a family of honey badgers at demolishing a cake.” Her honesty is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s such a turn-on. I grab her hips, pull her down harder against the outline of my cock, and bring my mouth to her ear.

  “Honesty will get you everywhere,” I say.

  “Good. Because I kind of want to be everywhere with you.”

  I thread a hand in her hair, wrap a chunk of it around my fist, and tug. Her lips fall open in an O, and her eyes float closed as she moans the most deliciously dirty sound.

  “But you know where I most want to be right now?” I ask.

  “Where?” Her voice shakes as I tug again.

  With every ounce of the filthy intent I feel, I tell her, “Inside you.”

  “Oh God. Yes, please. Now.”

  We are speedsters, shedding jeans, skirt, boxers, and those beautiful scraps of lace.

  After finding a condom from my wallet, I roll it on, and Amy positions herself over me, taking the reins as she rubs the head of my cock against her wetness. Rubbing and stroking and driving me wild.

  She’s so damn wet, so fantastically slick, and I want to feel that heat surrounding me. Want to feel her on me, chasing her pleasure, coming harder than she has before.

  But she’s content to play with me.

  To toy with my dick.

  With her fist wrapped around the base, she keeps up the game. Slide, play, tempt.

  I close my eyes, groaning. “You’re going to kill me.”

  “Death by a Sex Tease?” she asks, taunting the fuck out of me.

  “If that’s another one of your book ideas, you better get plotting this second . . . plot it while you ride me,” I grit out, grabbing her hips, and looking her straight in the eyes. “Because I want you so fucking much that you really need to get on my dick right now.”

  “As you wish,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows then sinking down.

  As soon as I fill her, the naughty vixen act ends, and she shudders.

  Just shudders.

  Beautifully.

  She gives a full-body tremble then a rough breath, like she can’t believe it could be this good.

  Because it feels elect
ric.

  “Linc,” she moans as she starts to move, “you feel incredible.”

  “We feel incredible.” Then I clasp her hips, helping her find the rhythm she wants, the pleasure she seeks.

  She rides me like a woman who knows her mind, who knows her body. She’s shameless and bold, owning her pleasure.

  “Use me,” I murmur. “I want you to feel so fucking good.”

  “I do,” she whispers, rising up and down, up and down.

  My hands slink around, and I squeeze both cheeks. She yelps in pleasure.

  That’s a clear order if I’ve ever heard one, and I know how to follow directions. I squeeze again, gripping the soft flesh, kneading her ass as she rides me.

  I lift a hand and swat her cheek.

  “Yessssss.”

  I smack the other one.

  “Ohhhh God.”

  She leans her head back, her hair spilling past her shoulders, her tits bouncing, and holy fuck, I’m in dirty heaven with this girl. She’s smart, funny, pretty, and fucking loves sex.

  She’s made for me.

  “Get yourself off on me, Amy. I want it. Want it so badly. Want you.”

  My words seem to unravel her, because in seconds she’s riding me harder, grinding and fucking and chasing, and it’s the most alluring sight I’ve ever witnessed.

  No.

  I’m wrong.

  When she comes on me, her lips parting; her eyes squeezing; her voice hitting the ceiling, bouncing off the walls, and sending her dog running to the other room, that’s the sexiest image in the whole damn world.

  Seconds later, I flip her to her back, thrust into her, and tell her to wrap her legs around me.

  She does, and I drive into her, desire and lust barreling down my spine, making my legs shake, radiating into every corner of my body as I seek my own release.