by Raquel Belle
“Maybe I’ll dance for you after a shower. I’m all sweaty.” He doesn’t say anything but I feel his eyes on me as I walk off in the direction of his bedroom.
After my shower, I step into the bedroom and freeze. Laying on the bed is a black half-bra and a lacy thong. I frown because they weren’t there before. Peeking around the ajar door, I take up the scraps of lace and finger the soft material with a smile. What is Nick up to? I slip into the items and check myself out in the floor-length mirror, doing a few twirls. I have to make sure I look good. Fluffing my hair around my shoulders, I go in search of Nick. He’s still in the living room, but this time, he isn’t engrossed in work. He seems to be waiting patiently for me with a refilled glass in hand.
Clearing my throat to announce my arrival, I ask, “Is this why you demanded I come over? So I could model lingerie for you?”
Amusement brightens his eyes. “I didn’t demand anything. I requested.”
“Grace, I want you at my place after your fun with the girls,” I quote his earlier statement. “That was a demand.”
He smirks as his eyes run over my body. “Guilty as charged. And admittedly, it’s one of the reasons I wanted you to come over.”
“One of?”
“Well, I’m not planning to just admire you in that sexy getup, Grace,” he purrs. “It’s coming off eventually. Plus, you owe me a dance.”
My smile broadens. I like Nick like this. Laidback, teasing, flirting. It’s a nice change from the serious, workaholic I’m accustomed to. Maybe this little fling we’re having is good for him. It certainly isn’t good for me, but I can go along with it for now. It is fun. Giggling, I approach him and do a runway twirl. If I’d known we were going to play this game, I would have slipped back into my rhinestone studded black pumps. I’ll just have to work with this barefoot. “Like what you see?”
With an arm draped on the back of the sofa, he takes a sip from his glass. “I do. Very much. I bought those today,” he says, nodding to the underwear I’m ‘modeling’.
“Random. Any particular reason?”
“I wanted to…recreate a memory.”
My steps falter and I turn to him with furrowed brows. I rack my brain and come up blank. “What memory?”
“You were wearing something very similar to that bra and the barely-there thong four years ago when I got my first taste of you.”
My breath hitches. “Oh.” He’s right. I do recall having on underwear almost the mirror image of what I have on now. “You remembered that?” It’s such a trivial thing to me—I mean, it’s just underwear. I’m amazed that he remembers what I wore so long ago.
“Let’s just say…I fell in love with that image of you. I had to see you like this again.”
My heart stutters and I gulp. I wish I’d heard the words I fell in love with YOU instead, but I guess that’s not going to happen. A girl can dream. Pushing aside the sadness threatening to creep in and ruin the eroticism, I saunter closer to him. “It’s about time for me to dance for you, isn’t it?”
He smiles and nods. “Just about.”
I bet he’s never done anything like this with anyone else. Why can’t he see that I’m perfect for him? I almost sigh aloud but swallow it and proceed to entertain him with a dance. I mimic the moves of the girls I saw on stage that one time Cara and I decided to be extra adventurous and go to a strip club. It was about five years ago and we’d wanted to do something we’d never done before. I learned a lot that night, including the fact that men aren’t that hard to please. You just need to be half-naked while busting a few sexy moves.
Nick seems to be enjoying the hell out of my attempt to move like a stripper, even though I doubt I’m doing it justice. I dissolve into a fit of giggles that I’m sure is upending my sexy dance, but I just can’t help laughing. “How am I doing so far?” I ask, striking a pose.
His eyes—which were moving over my breasts and hips and legs—climb to meet my gaze. “Exceptionally.” His voice is gravelly, almost like a low growl, and he has that look in his eyes that promises deliciously carnal things. My chest starts to rise and fall rapidly. I can’t dance anymore. I need him to touch me—to relieve me of the sudden ache in my core. As if seeing the need in my eyes, he orders. “Take the bra off.”
Fingers shaking with anticipation, brought on by his soft, sexy demand, I manage to free myself from the bra and drop it to the floor. When I hook my thumbs into the waist of my thong to slide it off, he says, “That stays.” He sets down the glass in his hand. “Come here.”
It’s a wonder I don’t sprint toward him like I’m going for the gold at the Olympics—that’s how eager I am to feel his hands on me. I straddle him and go in for a bone-melting kiss, my palms running over his bare chest. Kissing him always brings out my most primal desires. I just want to free him from his sweatpants and have my way with him, but his hands are on my hips, holding me in place. When I finally pull away to take in a few gulps of air, he groans, “Only you can tempt me like this, Grace,” and of course, I wonder if that means anything major. Can he ever develop deeper feelings for me—if I’m that special? Realizing I’m doing it again―overthinking―I reach for the waistband of his sweats and tug it down. He eases up to kick it off, leaving his cock jutting and begging for my attention. I lick my lips.
“If you do that, I don’t think I'll last,” he rasps. “Not right now. That dance of yours was...too much.”
“Next time then,” I whisper and his nostrils flare with a sharp intake of air.
“I want you on your hands and knees.”
His words send a thrill sparking through my entire body, making my inner muscles tighten. Quickly, I scramble off of him and position myself just the way he wants, glancing back at him with yearning. I expect him to peel my underwear off but he just pushes it aside to stroke my quivering flesh with skillful fingers. My pussy muscles clench in response and I let out a moan. “This back view is incredible,” he says stroking a cheek with one hand.
I push back, begging him to give me more. All I get is a light circling of my clit that sends pleasure shooting through me, but it’s not enough to get me off. “Nick,” I whimper. I have a love-hate relationship with his teasing. The foreplay is marvelous and gets me so wound up I usually erupt as soon as he enters me, but sometimes I just want him to get right to it and relieve me of the fire burning deep inside. Right now, I’m at the point where my arousal is almost painful. I’m dying to come!
“So impatient.” His hands disappear from my body for a few seconds and I hear the rip of a condom wrapper. We haven’t made the same mistake of forgetting protection since Paris. It's a good thing he’s prepared and had it nearby because I don’t think I can wait another second. I don’t have to. Without warning, he pushes my underwear to the side again and slides between my wet folds. I think I see stars and I’m left a little dazed for a few seconds.
“So. Good,” I moan between ragged breaths. My arms and legs begin to quiver, threatening to give out. “I can’t—”
Hit with an intense wave of pleasure, I don’t get to finish my words before I’m completely robbed of breath. I tumble forward, but I’m held upright by an arm sliding around my midsection. Nick pulls me up so that my back is flush against his front, and the new angle nearly sends me over the edge again. “I love how easily you shatter for me, Grace.”
The whispered words in my ear along with the ebbing waves of my release make me shiver with delight. Yeah, it doesn’t take much work to send me over the edge, but I think it has more to do with his skills than anything else. He just always knows what buttons to press to send me careening into a quick orgasm. The leisurely pace he set gradually becomes more urgent, the friction of my walls tightening around him make us both sigh with satisfaction.
My arms wind around his neck and I tilt my head to give him better access when his mouth finds my shoulder. He kisses his way upward, until his lips press against my ear. “I don't know how this gets better every time,” he murmurs throug
h his heavy breathing.
Neither do I. It’s like each time we make love, the sensations, emotions, everything is like the first time. One powerful thrust later, I spiral again with a cry. His hold on me tightens as he mutters a curse and loses himself too, with a guttural rumble in his chest.
Breathless, floating on a cloud of bliss, my arms drop from around his neck. “Need to lay down,” I slur, absolutely exhausted. “A night of dancing and drinking, followed by hot sex is too much for a girl.”
His warm breath brushes my neck when he laughs. Feathering a kiss just below my ear, he eases out of me and swings me into his arms. Giggling like a fool, I hold on to him, feeling dizzy with elation. “Oh, Nick,” I sigh. “I…” My eyes snap open and fortunately, my sex muddled brain experiences clarity due to the shock of almost making a fool out of myself yet again. How many times am I going to come so dangerously close to uttering those three words I know Nick doesn’t want to hear? I’m afraid one of these days it’s going to come right out and I’ll feel like a complete fool.
Nick is looking at me expectantly, still effortlessly carrying me to bed. “I’m so tired,” I finish and will myself not to blush.
“Good thing you can sleep in tomorrow.”
He deposits me on the bed and disappears into the bathroom. Moments later I hear him return even though I’m dozing, and then I feel something sliding down my legs. “I imagine this isn’t too comfortable to sleep in,” he says, holding up the thong between his fingers.
“Bless you,” I murmur with a smile. He adjusts the covers and slides into bed beside me—another thing that I’ve been feeling uneasy about. I can’t get too accustomed or comfortable sleeping with Nick. The sex is one thing, but spending so many nights wrapped in his arms only to be torn from them eventually is going to destroy me.
Agitation on the rise, I stir and come fully awake, all traces of my sexual haze clearing from my mind. Turning to face him, I say, “I should go home.”
I feel him tense and then he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at me in the semi-darkness. “What? You’re not going anywhere.”
“You’re doing that lord of the manor thing again.”
“Pardon me for wanting you safely inside at one a.m. Why do you want to leave? You seemed comfortable a minute ago. You were practically asleep.”
“It’s just that...Well, I’ve been spending a lot of nights here.”
“When did that become a problem? Tonight? Because you seem to have been fine with it for the last three weeks.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to keep getting so close.”
His brows elevate. “You’re kidding right? I think that train has long left the station, sweetness because we’ve been plenty close since Paris.”
“Now you’re mocking me.”
“No, I just find your comment amusing because we were more than close five minutes ago. You know when I was balls deep in your—”
“Since when do you speak to me like this?” I scoff.
“Since you started picking a fight out of nowhere.”
A hushed silence falls over us like a thick suffocating blanket. Nick lays motionless, while I’m busy experiencing all sorts of troubling emotions―anger, uncertainty, apprehension, wondering what turn this is about to take. I hate it when there’s too much tension sizzling between us.
Nick sits up and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry if you feel like I was mocking you. I wasn’t. You have to admit, us getting close is a done deal. We’ve been close for years.”
Sitting up too, I gather the sheet around my breasts, my rising anger seeping away. Why does he always have to be such a gentleman? Always the first to apologize to me. He’s unapologetic to everyone else. He sure makes it hard for me to stay mad at him. Sighing, I agree, “Sure we’ve always been close as friends and co-workers, and when we’re physical not…” Emotionally. In the way that I hunger for.
He turns to me then, our eyes meeting and I see understanding dawn on him even though I didn’t finish. “Grace, I told you—”
“You can’t offer me more. I know. This isn’t me pressuring you for anything, Nick. I know how you feel about relationships and I know why.”
“You’ve always feared that us being intimate will ruin our relationship. Well, I fear that anything deeper than friendship might ruin us even worse. Sometimes it’s best to keep things how they are. We’re working just fine, aren’t we?”
For him maybe. I’m going out of my mind with wanting more and not getting it. Again, I shove my feelings aside for the sake of keeping the peace. It’s bad enough that we’re arguing and we’re not even a couple. We hardly argue…not at this magnitude anyway. “Sure,” I say. “And you’re right, leaving now makes no sense. It’s late and I’m tired.” Giving him a little smile, I lay down. “Let’s get some rest.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nick
Grace is at her desk typing away, and I’m sitting at mine staring at her, worrying about losing her. I feel like that’s where things are heading. After our spat, she left that Saturday morning, totally disregarding our plans to spend the weekend at my place, indulging in each other. We actually fought. I’m being dramatic. It was a little argument that fizzled out quickly, but it took me by utter surprise because Grace and I don’t argue. Of course, we’ve had several disagreements over the years but we’ve never argued like that.
One of my worst fears would be to hurt the one constant in my life, my best friend, and I think I have. She hasn’t looked at me the same since she left my place. She didn’t even call through all of Sunday to ask if I’d eaten anything or to lecture me about working too hard. She always does things like that. And her smile wasn’t as bright this morning. Those dark circles under her eyes speak volumes and I feel horrible.
Her feet catch my attention and my eyes widen. She’s wearing flats―dull brown ones that don’t match her black dress. I was so preoccupied with what happened between us on Friday night, I hadn’t noticed. She’s wearing flats and full black. Since when does Grace Peterson do anything less than bold, vibrant and high heels? Oh, my God, I’ve ruined her. My cold, damaged soul has dragged her down with me. My internal panic would have been comical at any other time and in any other situation…because I realize I’ve turned into Grace. She’s the one who freaks out like this and she’s the one who tends to be a tad melodramatic. I always find it adorably amusing, but I can’t even crack a smile now. Not when I’m terrified that I really have ruined us.
Fuck, maybe she was right. We shouldn’t have started sleeping together. Blowing out a breath, I call, “Grace!” It’s much too loud and with unintentional urgency.
She jumps and spins in her chair to glare at me. Clutching her chest, she says, “You scared me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I need to speak with you.”
She frowns, glances at her computer screen and begins, “But, I’m in the middle of responding to a very important cl—”
“Forget the fucking client. Just get in here.” Her mouth falls open and I immediately regret my tone and language. Great, I’ve ruined Grace and now I’m losing my mind…and maybe her right along with it. “I mean, can you step into my office, please?”
There’s a moment of hesitation and she worries her lower lip, eyeing me warily. “Nick, are you alright?” Of course, I’ve somehow hurt her and she’s still concerned about me. Typical Grace. As she steps in and closes the door, something hits me in the chest—the flicker of an emotion that I’ve run from almost my entire life. No fucking way. I’m not in love with Grace. I can’t be. I mean, I love her to an extent as a friend. She’s one of the people I care deeply about. I’ve always had a thing for her from day one, and we have potent sexual chemistry, but I’m not in love with her.
If I do something as stupid as to fall in love, our great camaraderie is as good as dead. Every relationship ends...so it seems. I’ve seen so many people in my circle—including my parents—claim to be
in love, only to completely destroy each other. And everyone I know is divorced—I’m not exaggerating. I swear, everyone. I can’t think of one happy couple still standing today that I know personally. So, no. I am not in love with Grace. What I’m feeling is concern and remorse for whatever I did to have her looking so down this morning.
“Did you call me in here to stare at me, Nick?” Grace’s lips are twisted wryly. “Or is there something I can do for you?”
I want to kick myself when I realize I haven’t said a word since she came in. I’ve just been staring at her like a mute. “I just wanted to apologize.”
She tilts her head to the side, confusion clouding her features. “For what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever I did and said Friday night.”
“We already talked, you already apologized and I haven’t been dwelling on it.” Her eyes dart away. She’s such a terrible liar.
“Then why do you look so…” I stop before I say something that will offend her. Women can be sensitive about their looks.
“So what?”
“Uh, well…you’re not as colorful as usual today and you seem...tired.”
Eyes that may as well be shooting fire land on my face. “Are you saying that I’m not pleasing to your eyes today, Nick?”
Crap. I rush to do damage control. “No. Never. I mean you look beautiful as always. It’s just that certain things aren’t…” Why did I even open my mouth?
There are a few beats of silence before Grace starts to laugh and I stare at her with surprise. “I know what you’re trying to say. I know I’m a little off today. It was just satisfying finally seeing silver-tongued Nicholas Parker grasping for words in an effort to avoid offending a woman. It’s satisfying and…oddly sweet.”
I direct a glare at her and she laughs harder. “Not funny.”
“Oh, it is.”