A knock came on the door. Before he could call out, Jacob entered with the usual tray of his morning espresso and yogurt, which he placed on the bedside table before he opened the curtains. Then, Jacob saw the figure of Harley. He took the tray and instantly backed out. No doubt he’d send in Vanka in fifteen minutes with two coffees and an assortment of coffee cakes. This is what Jacob was trained to do when Wilder had company spend the night. Hell, he had it down to a science. Coffee, scones and then the door. How often had Jacob had to actually see women off? Into cabs or Ubers while Wilder sprinted off to work? But he didn’t feel like doing that this morning. He knew Lucinda wasn’t done with her coup, but he didn’t want to leave his bed. Or Harley’s side. For once, he wanted to stay right where he was and inhale the flowery scent of her hair.
Harley stirred, though, yawning and sat up. She blinked at him sleepily and smiled. Her hair was a mess, her mascara smudged a bit and her lips were swollen from kissing. A faint pink remained on her cheeks, though. He’d never seen her look more unkempt—and more damn beautiful ever. That was the look of a satisfied woman. He felt a kind of perverse pride in that.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said and dipped down to kiss her nose.
“Morning,” she murmured and then kissed his bare chest. A delicate gesture that sent a shiver straight down his spine. “What time is it? Is it even morning?”
He picked up his phone from his nightstand and glanced at it. “Technically. It’s 11:50.”
“Oh, geez. We slept in.”
“That’s because we were busy, very late.”
She laughed, and he felt her belly’s vibrations in his own. “Yes, we were.”
He sat up a little and so did she. Her eyes roved around his massive bedroom. They were surrounded with one of the most impressive views in Manhattan. They were high above the other people, so no fear of spies, and outside the city sprawled out in all directions. A kind of steel manmade landscape that never ceased to take his breath away.
“That’s an amazing view,” she said, sounding awestruck.
“It should be.”
A knock sounded at the door. She stiffened in his arms, eyes warily trained on his door.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “It’s just breakfast.”
The door creaked open and Harley, for her part, ducked under the covers, hiding half her face. Vanka, wearing her uniform of a white suit, came in, carrying the silver tray of various kinds of pastries, a silver pot of coffee and two cups. Down to a science. He almost laughed. It had been a year since he’d had a woman in his bed, but his staff was so amazing that they knew what to do.
“Thanks, V,” he said and the woman gave him a nod and a smile. The servants knew of his problem. How could they not? They had ears and eyes everywhere. But no one had ever mentioned it, though the satisfied gleam in her eye told her she was happy for him. He had no doubt the servants were probably celebrating. What an insufferable bastard he’d probably been this last year, unable to let off steam, constantly worried that he’d somehow lost his man card. When, as it turned out, all he really needed was the right woman. He gave Harley a squeeze, but noticed she was still stiff and quiet, waiting for Vanka to set down the tray and leave. She placed the tray at the foot of the bed and then turned to leave, quietly and discreetly. He made a mental note to give all of them bigger bonuses this year. They deserved it.
“She’s gone,” he said and Harley emerged, again, dark curls in a riot over her head, and swiping at a smudge of mascara under her left eye.
“Do you always have breakfast in bed?”
“It’s a perk of being a billionaire.” Harley sat up and blinked at the tray, her eyes silently counting the two cups and two plates of pastries.
“How did they know...?” Then her cheeks flushed a deeper pink. “Oh, God. Were we that loud? Does everyone know? Jacob even?” Harley buried her face in her hands. He found her modesty completely adorable.
“They’re discreet. And their NDAs are even stricter than yours. Besides, I trust them all with my life. They’ve worked for me for decades.” He reached for a coffee cup and poured Harley a cup. “Sugar? Cream?”
She shook her head.
“Ah.” He appraised her with care. “You’re just like me. You crave unadulterated coffee.” He handed her a cup of steaming hot black coffee and she took a tentative sip.
He could see that Harley was still coming to terms with the idea of having other people so personally connected. He’d almost forgot that for most people, servants weren’t an automatic asset.
“Don’t worry. It’s their job to anticipate my needs. And they don’t judge. Believe me, once, Jacob came in and saw two completely naked—” He stopped, mid-sentence, because Harley looked stricken. What the hell was he doing talking about other women with her in bed with him? God, he’d lost all his manners. He was a complete ass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”
“No. That’s okay.” She sent him a weak smile. “We’re casual, right?” The way she said it made him think she was trying to convince herself more than him. And why did the word bother him so much? That’s what this was, of course. Casual. No strings. A mutually agreed upon exchange: she craved experience and he needed her to jumpstart his body. It was the perfect agreement. So why wasn’t he happy that she’d reminded him of it?
She took a deep sip of her coffee and looked away from him. He could feel an awkwardness settle between them and he didn’t like it.
“Well.” She stretched and set down the coffee on the tray. “I guess I’d better head back to my room.”
Now, panic struck him. “Why?”
“Shower, dress. You know. What people are supposed to do with themselves on a Friday morning. And don’t you have to get into the office?”
“I’m taking the day off.” He hadn’t realized he was until right that moment. But he wanted to spend the day with Harley. The weekend, too. He wasn’t done with her. Not by a long shot.
“Oh. Well. I still should shower.”
“But the thing is, I have the best shower in the house.” He nodded to the open door across the room to his huge white-marbled bathroom, complete with Jacuzzi tub and walk-in shower. The damn thing had more showerheads in it than tile practically. With that thing, no angle went uncleaned. “Besides, I have to ask, have you had shower sex before?”
“I actually have had shower sex,” she admitted.
“Well. I guarantee you. It’s not like this.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WILDER HAD BEEN RIGHT. Sex in the shower with him was not like the one awkward time fumbling with her college boyfriend, when they’d knocked over the body wash and also lost hot water halfway through. They’d had to race to the finish, so they could escape the cold drizzle inside the tiny and less than pristine tub in his college apartment with the faded, mildewed shower curtain sticking to their legs. No. Sex in the shower with Wilder was a completely new experience. First of all, the shower itself was the size of her bathroom in her own place, and it had a bench, six different showerheads and an endless supply of hot water. He applied rich smelling soap on a soft loofah and rubbed her from head to toe, careful to give her most tender spots extra care. He soaped her nipples and she moaned, unable to help herself. They were tender from all his attention the night before, and he seemed to instinctively know that. He was gentle, but the touch still excited her. In fact, she wasn’t sure if it was the spray of water or her own slick want between her legs.
She couldn’t believe that she still wanted Wilder, even after all the many times the night before, but here she was, devouring his mouth beneath the hot water of the pizza pan–size showerhead, the water and his hands delicately stroking her naked body. Her heavy breasts were lifted up by his hands as he seemed to weigh them with a gentle squeeze. She pressed her wet body to his, amazed again at how quickly he came to life, how he seemed to be hard and full
instantly, ready for her. That nearly tilted her over the edge, just their two bare bodies in the shower. The anticipation was killing her. She wanted him in her, she wanted him in all the ways he’d have her and she wanted him now. He turned her around, and she went, pressing her hands against the glass, her back to him, and he followed the ridge of her back down across her ass with the soft soapy sponge and she nearly went wild. The monster of need in her grew savage in its desire, as it clawed viciously inside her, wanting out.
Palms flat against the glass, she felt vulnerable, exposed, but ready for him. Each nerve ending of her body vibrated with anticipation. Yes. This is what she needed. His body. His attention. His everything. She felt him big, and hard and heavy against the curve of her backside. He was ready for her, and he was bare, the hot water dripping from him, down her hips and the backs of her thighs. She wondered, fleetingly, about a condom, wondered if he had them stashed here, too, in the shower, where he probably took hundreds of other women. How many other women had stood where she was standing, palms against the glass, legs spread-eagle, waiting for him to enter her? To make her his? She banished the thought. Now was not the time to be jealous. Now was the time to want. Just pure, unadulterated lust. She’d deal with jealousy later.
She reached behind her and felt the long thick length of his cock, finding it without latex, just his smooth, perfect skin. She squeezed it, hard.
“I want you,” she told him, voice rough. “I want you like this.”
Because that’s all she’d ever wanted, she realized. Him inside of her, skin on skin. She knew it was risky. Hell, she’d never had a stranger before, much less one who wasn’t wearing a condom. But she was on the pill and she already knew they’d both been tested for STIs. What was the true risk after all? But in that moment she didn’t care. She wanted him in the basest possible way, and she wanted him now. He hesitated, and for a devastating second, she thought he might turn her down. Instead, he gave a single, deliberate thrust and was inside her, moaning with the pure pleasure of it.
“Yes,” she moaned, feeling as if she’d won some kind of victory as he began to move, slowly at first, as if he were delicately exploring every centimeter of her. He pushed against her, and her breasts flattened against the cold glass, sending a sensation of new delight through her body. The cold glass, the hot steam around them from the shower and his hard hot body behind her, pressing against her, burying himself in her deepest places. This wasn’t just shower sex. This was fucking amazing sex. How had she lived so long without having sex like this? Is this what truly amazing sex was all about?
She suddenly felt silly for trying to give advice about a thing she realized at this moment that she’d truly known nothing about.
“Harley... God, I can’t...” And in a hard thrust Wilder came inside her, hot and heavy and seemingly endless. Yes, she thought. This is what I want, you in me. She felt pride that he couldn’t hold it, that somehow she’d been so much that he’d had no choice but to explode. She almost felt that she’d stolen the come from him and that made her smile. Who was the teacher after all, she wondered. “I couldn’t hold it. I tried, but you tore that out of me,” he murmured in her ear. She almost didn’t care that she herself hadn’t come, that her own body was still taut with want. She’d be satisfied with the fact that she’d made him lose control. How often had he made her wild with desire? Dizzy with need, and now she’d done the same.
“But now it’s your turn,” he said, and turned her around slowly, kissing her as the hot water of the shower trickled down between her breasts.
“Mine?” she asked him, surprised. She couldn’t imagine he’d get on his knees and use his mouth. After all, he’d drown. But he seemed to have a different idea. He reached for the small gold-handled handheld spray, untangled its cord from the wall. He pressed a button on the side and a small spurt of water came out. He grinned. “Time for another lesson,” he promised her and her body tingled with anticipation. What was he going to do with that?
He gently sprayed her neck and then the rounded top of her breasts, before landing on her nipples. She groaned with the delicate pleasure of the soft water running down her chest. He flicked the head of the mini showerhead and the pulse of the water changed, from soft to hard. She gasped and arched her back into the spray. She’d never had a shower with a handheld spigot, never been in one where the massaging channels were so varied. Then he pulled her against him, so her back was against his stomach once more, and began slowly moving the showerhead down her body. It felt like a hundred fingers on her at once, a hundred delicate massaging touches. He went slowly, deliberately, rinsing what was left of the soap off her body, and then he hovered between her legs. She spread her legs a little wider and he pointed the water there, the deliberate massaging stream, and it felt like a hundred delicious tongues.
“Do you like this...?” He clicked the setting to soft. “Or this?” And then to hard, a deliberate pulse.
“That one,” she said, feeling the vibrations exactly where she needed them, her legs spreading of their own will, her pelvis arching into the stream. Her want grew, her need growled inside her. God, how he could make her want. He gently moved the small head in time with her own hips and then, suddenly, the water stream overtook her. Pushed her over the edge and she was crying out, gripping at the smooth shower wall, desperate to hold onto something, fearing she’d drown in her own pleasure.
“That’s it,” he murmured in her ear, his voice smooth like melted chocolate. “Lesson complete.”
* * *
The next two months passed in what Harley could only call simple perfection. Eventually, Wilder did go back to work, but they settled into a routine where he’d come home to her at night and on the weekends and show her things she could never have imagined. She realized that what she didn’t know about sex could fill her dissertation and more. She dove into her “graduate” studies in a way she’d never done before. She was the eager student, he the teacher, and she loved every damn second of it.
Their arrangement was crazy, impossible, even. She was a professional woman with a PhD in human sexuality, and yet, still, there was so very much she didn’t know. Not about sex. Not about how it truly worked. He showed her that every day. They barely slept, they sometimes ate, but they absolutely devoured each other’s bodies in all the ways possible. Harley never wanted it to end. She also felt herself falling harder for Wilder. With each amazing come, each new discovery about his body or hers made her fall even deeper.
She knew this was supposed to be casual. Told herself that the day would come when they would part ways, and that this was not a man to fall in love with, but she also knew that she was in so deep already, that when he did rip off the Band-Aid, she’d be devastated. So, she made herself a cozy little nook of denial in her brain. She refused to think about parting with Wilder. Refused to think about what would happen the day she woke up and he didn’t want her in his bed anymore. When he was at work, she busied herself looking for jobs, revamping column ideas and finishing the first few chapters of a couples’ advice book that she hoped to pitch to publishers. The advice book almost wrote itself. Hell, every night she plowed through hands-on research with Wilder only to add in another chapter about spicing up your sex life in her new book. She kept herself busy, and she kept herself focused on her career, when she wasn’t focused on Wilder’s magnificent body.
And she never ever once talked about the future. She didn’t want to know the answer. Didn’t want to hear Wilder tell her that eventually their “agreement” would end. Eventually, he’d take his amazingly rock hard body and move on to another woman. Because, she reminded herself, that’s what she was here for. She was here to jumpstart him, to help him get back to his old life. Not start a new one.
Even as she knew she was falling in love with him, she knew she couldn’t admit it: not to him, not even to herself. Wouldn’t that mean she’d failed the ultimate test? Wasn’t the final lesson
in all this how she could do casual?
* * *
Wilder sat at his desk in his corner office and frowned at his computer. He glanced at the clock. It was already six o’clock, and he wanted to be home. With Harley’s legs wrapped around him. But, no. He was stuck here, furiously answering emails and dealing with another mess Lucinda had made. She’d failed in her bid to take over Lange Communications, but now she was threatening to report them to the FCC, to try to get one of her cronies on the board to investigate them for being a monopoly. Or, more likely, it was her senator friend at work. She’d bought him with hefty donations to his campaign. Lucinda just never quit. It was infuriating and exhausting. If it wasn’t one tactic, it was a hundred others. If she won with the FCC, then the government might demand they break up into smaller companies. He was sure her play was to snatch up one of the smaller ones. Apparently, she’d given up hope on the entire pie, and was now just eyeing a slice.
He’d be damned if she’d get it.
Wilder had no doubt they’d win. Lange Communications was no monopoly, but it would be a protracted battle. And being scrutinized by the Feds was never good. Or cheap.
He could feel the walls closing in on him again, and he was suddenly so deathly tired of fighting Lucinda. A faint headache pulsed behind his temples. The woman was a walking migraine. He clacked away on his keyboard, sending out instructions to his attorneys. He thought of the coming weekend, of all the ways he could intensively relieve his stress with Harley in his bed.
His phone dinged, announcing an incoming text message.
Home soon?
Harley had read his mind. He wanted to be home, more than anything. He wanted to be there now. But he had at least another hour’s worth of work. Maybe more.
The Sex Cure Page 12
