DIRTY TALKER

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  The hands at my shoulders still and the conversation I wasn’t following stops, confirming that sort of needy, breathless gasp wasn’t isolated to my head.

  “You okay, Harlow?” Wade asks, shifting me to the side so he can see my face. And yeah, that knowing smirk has flames licking up my neck and into my cheeks.

  I fake-cough a couple times for my fake boyfriend and step out of his hold. “Sorry.” Cough. “Think I need some water.” Cough, cough. “Something in my throat.”

  His smirk ratchets up a notch. God, did his mouth always have that naughty slant?

  I blink, shake my head, and escape to the thankfully empty kitchen for the water I don’t need.

  But if I thought I was getting a reprieve, I was wrong. Because sure enough, a minute later, Wade follows me in. And there’s something about the way he closes the sliding glass door behind him—slowly, eyes locked with mine—that sets off another nervous flutter of wings.

  He’s just closing the door. Right?

  And that smile. Okay, the objective part of me knows Wade’s smile has been a class-five panty-melter from the start. But it didn’t melt my panties.

  Not right away.

  I swallow. It does now.

  Because now I know exactly what’s backing it up.

  “Feeling better?” he asks, strolling around the island and stopping in front of me. Too close.

  Those big hands he’s had all over me, inside me, move to my face. Rough fingers tip my head back with a touch so gentle, I have to remind myself not to lean in closer.

  “You okay?”

  “Y-yes. Yes. Needed some water. That’s all.”

  “Sure.” He’s not fooled. His eyes hold with mine for another beat before he lets me go. But he doesn’t move out of my space. “I’ll have some too.”

  Reaching past me to grab his own glass, he rests a hand at my waist. His chest brushes mine, his head turning so he can drop a low, rumbly “’Scuse me” at my ear.

  The air is thin, my skin hot. My voice unsteady as I ask, “What are you doing?”

  Hip propped against the counter, he fills his glass from the tap.

  Relaxed.

  Unaffected.

  “Faking it with my fake girlfriend. Same as for the last few days.” That smile tips to a new degree of naughty and his voice goes conspiratorially low. “Except for those few hours when I wasn’t faking anything at all.”

  Wade

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  But hell, if Axe is right and working my inner bunny gets Harlow thinking about my body, which leads to Harlow wanting me to get naked, and that leads to Harlow wanting me to order dinner in for a night of watching movies in my arms when we’re back in Chicago, then… yeah, I’m on board.

  I’ll lean into the eye contact, run my hands through my hair, and find a reason to touch my bottom lip over and over—which feels fucking ridiculous, but I gotta give Dina credit, that shit works.

  As evidenced by my mom having to say Harlow’s name three times to get her attention when we first got here.

  I maintain a steady flow of tips 1 through 17, mixing it up to keep things fresh. Figure out what works and what can’t really be adapted for my purposes.

  Tip 6. Nope.

  Tip 12. Never.

  Tip 13… Hello, little stutter Harlow just gave up followed by the breathy sound of my name. While we’re alone in the kitchen. Yeah, this isn’t for a crowd.

  Riding my high of success, I pull out Dina’s signature move. Tip 3.

  Hooking my thumb in the pocket of my jeans, I lean back against the counter and go for it. Cocking my free arm behind my head, I stretch. Hard.

  It actually feels pretty good and I’d bet I do some porn-free version of it without thinking twenty times a day. Just not while I’m subtly nudging my jeans down and arching enough to ensure I flash my happy trail when my T-shirt rides up.

  Yeah, I’m that guy.

  I’d be ashamed except it’s hard to be humiliated when Harlow does that double take, her eyes snaring on the stretch of skin I’m “accidentally” showing off.

  I’ve got that hard-cut vee thing going and the accompanying eight-pack because I’m fit as fuck and work my ass off for my career. But it’s nice to see it paying off in other areas of my life as well.

  Confident my jeans are low enough, I pull my hand from my pocket and go for the gold, adding a modified Tip 7 and doing this lazy, totally calculated back-and-forth rub across my abs. In its purest form, one would run their fingers over the swells of their tits. I’ve seen this one in action plenty of times and it’s another move that gets results.

  Jackpot!

  Harlow’s mouth drops open to a gratifying degree.

  I give my ego a mental fist bump. We’re blowing it up when I see the change.

  She blinks. Lets out this delicate noise that’s something between a laugh and cough. And then her eyes narrow as they coast up my chest, past the whole tight T-shirt show, to where they lock with mine.

  “Wade.”

  Uh-Oh. That was not her nice “Wade.”

  My arm is down in a flash and then my arms are crossing. Shit. Is that a breeze down south?

  Worried I’m not only busted, but worse, I look like some toddler with my shirt riding up my belly, I unravel my arms, smooth it down, and adjust my jeans.

  “Yep?”

  “Can I speak to you a moment. In private.”

  Considering we’re standing alone in Janie’s mom’s kitchen, I’m assuming private means really private, where no one will accidentally walk in on us and hear my fake girlfriend reaming my ass out for violating the boundaries of our fake relationship.

  Chapter 16

  Wade

  My gut feels like a bucket of pucks just landed in it as I cross to the screen door off the back of the kitchen and hold it open for Harlow.

  Their backyard isn’t as open as my folks’. There’s a small stone terrace with a charcoal grill and a round table that seats two facing the wooded path leading down to the lake and their dock.

  This has always been a happy place for me. Lots of fun memories.

  Damn it, I don’t want this to be where it all ends.

  “Someone might come around the side,” she says, and I nod, taking her hand.

  “Let’s walk down to the water.” Only halfway there, I change my mind, stopping at the small boathouse built off to the side of the path.

  It’s set into an area that’s been cleared of trees and offers a rustic bench made of driftwood where we’d line up for Janie’s mom to put on our sunscreen when we were kids.

  As privacy goes, this is about as good as it gets. Something Harlow seems to have picked up on herself. Of course she did, because there isn’t much she misses.

  I’m such an ass.

  I expect Harlow to sit, but instead she turns on me, eyes flashing, her finger pointed in accusation.

  “What’s up?” I ask, underscoring the dumb in dumb jock.

  There’s a kind of energy coming off her that has a dangerous vibe to it. Dangerous and tempting.

  One shapely brow wings up. “That’s how you want to play it?”

  She takes a step closer, and I swear the air around her starts to pulse. I’m half expecting her hair to levitate in dark ribbons around her face.

  It’s hot.

  And suddenly, I’m not worried about how pissed she is. I want it. I want her to fight. I want her to lay into me for real.

  “What do you want me to say, Harlow? That one night was enough? It wasn’t. That I’ve been trying to work you up? I have. That I think we’re good together and this could be—”

  “No.” She takes another step into my space, eyes searching mine. “We agreed to one night, Wade. One. I thought we were on the same page. You said we were on the same page.”

  Jesus, the way she’s looking at me. Like I broke her trust.

  But that’s exactly what I did. “I lied. One night was never going to be enough.”

&n
bsp; She huffs, eyes turned skyward. “We’ve still got the better part of a week together. Don’t you think it would be smarter, safer, not to complicate a good thing by continuing to cross the lines?”

  “I think what happened between us was fun. I think it was hot and intense and the kind of good that casual doesn’t deliver.” And this time, it’s me stepping into her space. “I think the second we crossed that line, things changed.”

  “They can’t change. Even if I—” She shakes her head, hard. When her eyes come back to mine, I swear I see a flash of regret before she shuts it down. Shuts me out. “Neither one of us has room in our lives for a relationship.”

  It’s not true. I don’t have room in my life for another unwanted complication. I can’t afford any more messy distractions.

  But Harlow? Hell yes, I have room for her.

  “Don’t you remember all your rules for finding a date? There were reasons for them.”

  I stare. She has no idea.

  The rules went out the window the second she said she’d come.

  “I had rules too. With my own reasons for them. Wade, when I go back to work, it’s not like—poof—suddenly everything’s going to be different and magical, and I’m going to have room in my life for the things I didn’t before. This trip is an escape from my reality. Temporarily. But my priorities haven’t changed.”

  Jesus. How did I not see this?

  I may have broken mine, but Harlow has stuck to her rules from the start.

  What happened between us was her taking a break from her life, giving in to some fun. The kind she never lets herself have because it doesn’t align with her goals. She’s a dedicated workaholic and she likes it that way.

  Except that she doesn’t.

  Not really.

  What did she say to me? That being herself was exhausting.

  I’ve never once heard her say how much she loves her job. How satisfying it is to work fifteen-hour days seven days a week. How graduating high school two years early and finishing college in three gave her a sense of fulfillment like she’d never known. How the trade-off of everything she’s sacrificed in her life is so totally worth it.

  And whatever it is that happened back at the bank the day we met at the club—she’d been devastated by it. But that’s what she’s telling me she wants to go back to.

  A life where she never says yes. Where she doesn’t smile or laugh. Where the guys she dates care more about her old man than they do her.

  That’s—that’s a fucking travesty.

  It’s not my place to tell her how to run her life or what her priorities are. Who the fuck am I to tell her anything?

  But maybe… it doesn’t have to be over just yet.

  Maybe we can have this week. Maybe if I back off some, ask for less, she’ll keep letting me be the fun she so desperately needs for a few more days.

  And maybe it will be enough for Harlow to see that, even if she doesn’t want me, she wants more from her life than she’s been letting herself have.

  “Fine, your priorities haven’t changed. But your escape isn’t over. We’ve got the rest of the week. Why start saying ‘no’ to the good times we could have when there’s still time to say ‘yes’?”

  Her shoulders fall. “Because it can’t last.”

  It could. If she’d let it.

  “So what if it doesn’t?” I shrug like it’s no big deal, like there’s nothing to lose. I’m a damn liar. “We’ll have this week.”

  I take a step closer, let my eyes rake over her body. “I’ll have more of how wet you get for me, how hard you come, and the way you look at me when I’m buried deep and hard inside you. You’ll have more of what none of those fucking suits could give you.”

  Her eyes are wide, her breath pulling in slowly.

  “You know what I keep thinking about?” I should stop. Shut the hell up. But instead, I take another step into that charged space between us, leaving barely an inch for the air to crackle. “What you’ll taste like if we have another chance. Your fingers in my hair as I give you my mouth. Your knees shaking at my shoulders as you come on my tongue.”

  I can’t stop thinking about how limp she goes after I make her scream and how good it feels when I pull her over me and our hearts slow together. That minute when it feels like she’s mine. “You know it’s good.”

  Her teeth catch the full swell of her bottom lip, and she peers up at me through the thick fringe of lashes.

  I wait for the words I don’t want to hear. That I need to get over myself and there won’t be any repeats of Saturday.

  Her hands come up, and I brace for a shove back into my own space if I’m lucky, a slap for running my mouth if I’m not. She makes a fist… and a hot second later my brain registers that it’s in my shirt, and she’s not pushing me away.

  Harlow

  I’m crazy. That’s the only explanation for why I’ve got my hands in Wade’s shirt and my body pressed against his as I open beneath the crush of his kiss. Why I’m moaning around the possessive thrust of his tongue and melting into the strength of his hold.

  I should be telling him that what happened between us was a mistake. That it can’t happen again. But the only words finding their way from my lips to his are fractured pleas, increasing in desperation with every heated second that passes.

  The arms around me wrap impossibly tighter and my feet leave the ground. The world spins, and then my back meets the worn wood siding of the boathouse protecting us from prying eyes. My legs lock around his hips as Wade rocks into me, hitting the achy spot that has my belly twisting in on itself, hard.

  Breathless, I pull back to meet his eyes. “Wade, this can’t be the start of something.”

  He stares at me for a beat, the shadows in the fading light making it impossible to read his eyes. But then his head jerks in a short nod, and he’s got the door open beside us.

  Our mouths fuse in another hungry kiss, and holding me like I weigh nothing, Wade carries me into the relative darkness of the small building. The door latches and we’re all over each other. Frantic. Hands everywhere, breaths coming sharp and hard.

  He’s got both hands on my ass, gripping me with a sexy, possessive hold that has me moaning into his mouth. I’ve never kissed with such raw and unscripted desire. There’s nothing careful or deliberate about what’s happening here, and it’s incredible.

  Lowering me to stand, he guides me to the wall.

  “Lean back. Yeah, like this.” Then, eyes locked with mine, he goes to his knees.

  Big hands smooth over my calves and then higher up the backs of my thighs. “Lift your dress for me, Good Girl.”

  Achy need grips my center and, hands shaking, I do as he asks and lift it. God, there’s nothing good about what I’m doing here… except how it feels.

  His touch gentles as he helps me with my panties, pocketing them once they’re free.

  “Give me your leg,” he says, drawing it forward and draping it over his shoulder. He groans, licking his lips.

  And just when the heat from his eyes feels like it’s going to burn right through me, he leans in and kisses me.

  The first soft touch pulls a shocked breath from me, and my hands fly to his head, holding him back.

  What am I doing?

  Blue eyes meet mine. “No?”

  Heat blazes through me in a mix of embarrassment and desire. “We shouldn’t do this. What if—?”

  “What if I spoil you so good you never get off without thinking about my mouth again?” He drags his bottom lip through his teeth. “It’s inevitable. Go with it.”

  This man. “What if someone hears us?”

  “I’ll be quiet.” He winks. “Promise.”

  A huff of laughter escapes. “I’ll bet.”

  But he’s done waiting. “You’re gonna want to hold on for this.”

  And then he gives me the slowest, longest, most incredibly thorough kiss of my life.

  Licking his lips, he looks up at me with hooded eyes. “So f
ucking sweet.”

  I’m not breathing.

  He nuzzles into the slickness between my legs, kissing me again and again. Teasing me with his lips, his tongue. Soft and then firm and then, God, I don’t even know what he’s doing, but it’s—

  I gasp, my fingers closing in his hair.

  “You like that, Good Girl?” he growls against me. “You like my mouth on your sweet pussy?”

  I don’t know if I actually answer with words, but his rough chuckle tells me he understands all the same.

  His right arm loops beneath my thigh, his hand closing over my hip to pull me closer, open me more.

  My head rocks back against the wall, my eyes squinting closed as he works me with dirty praise and promises.

  “So wet for me… So hot.”

  Teases me with his lips, his teeth.

  “Could eat you for days… That’s it, Good Girl…”

  With deep, penetrating thrusts of his tongue and slow, swirling licks that have need spearing through me, sharp and sweet.

  This is amazing. So good.

  Drugging and addictive.

  I’m almost there. That needy coil so tight within me I’m mindless.

  So close.

  And then he’s circling my opening with the blunt end of his finger.

  “Please,” I gasp, rocking into the touch.

  He sinks deep and I stop breathing.

  “Feel so good, Harlow. So slick and soft.”

  Flicking his tongue against me, he pumps his fingers in time. “So tight.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “Never gonna stop.” He gives me another finger, stretching me so I clench and spasm around him. “Never gonna get enough of your sweetness.”

  “More,” I beg, my body so far gone there’s nothing but Wade and his mouth and this storm within me that’s about to break.