I let out a gasp, but his groans and pants washed it out. The expression on his face was one of pure tortured ecstasy. And the one on my face was of pure, total shock. I couldn’t get my eyes off his cock. Holy cow! It was huge! A pink, veined, rigid monstrosity that seemed to have a life of its own. I’d never seen anything like it before. Bradley’s cock was the only other cock I’d personally ever seen, and it sure it didn’t look like this.
My mouth fell to the floor and a bolt of heat tore though my body as I watched Blake come in his hand. A loud feral grunt accompanied the explosion—a burst of creamy cum that seeped through his fingers. With a sigh, he opened his eyes. With one word, they met mine. “Fuck!”
Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, he scrambled to clean himself up while I stood there like a shell-shocked idiot, wordless. He hastily tucked his still semi-erect cock back into his boxers and pulled up his pants.
“I’m sorry,” I finally murmured as he fastened his belt buckle. Mortification raced through me. Doofgirl. Why hadn’t I knocked first? The door after all was closed.
Blake’s face was flushed. Probably the same shade of red as mine. He managed to get his mouth to move again.
“It’s just a cock. A wedge of flesh. You might as well get used to it because you’ll be seeing plenty of them in your new job.”
Okay, a cock is a cock is a cock. But this was no ordinary cock. It was totally beyond, in a league of its own, and it belonged to my boss. How could I ever face him again? Maybe I should just count myself lucky that he didn’t ask me to help him tuck it back in, though the thought of touching that pulsing pillar sent a chill of tingles skittering down my spine.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, almost as if it were an afterthought.
“Um, uh, I have to go.” Sheesh. I sounded like a five-year-old.
“Right.” He quickly washed his hands over the elegant porcelain sink. For the first time, I noticed how spacious and beautiful this guest bathroom was with its hand-painted chinoiserie wallpaper and rich bronze fixtures. My eyes stayed on him as he dried his hands with a monogrammed hand towel that was draped over an ornate bronze rack. God, his hands were beautiful with their long, manicured tapered fingers.
“I’ll see you back in the dining room,” he said as he headed toward the door. To my surprise, as he brushed past me, still motionless, he gave my ponytail a playful tug. “Wait till you taste my mother’s brisket. It’ll make you hungry for more.”
With that, he left me alone to pee and to ponder as I sat on the toilet why the tingles that had traveled down my spine were now gathered in the area between my thighs.
The rest of the Shabbat dinner transpired without a major incident. Blake was right—his mother’s tender brisket was delicious and could turn an herbivore into a carnivore as his father joked—but it took all my effort to eat it. I’d totally lost my appetite. My stomach was twisted and my heart was hammering. All I could think about was another hunk of meat—Blake’s mind-blowing cock and the explosive orgasm I’d witnessed. Why the hell hadn’t I just dashed out of the bathroom? Why had I voyeuristically watch him come? And soak up every orgasmic second of his orgasmic display? Maybe, this new job was doing a head job on me—no pun intended. Or maybe…
“My son tells me you’re getting married,” thundered Blake’s father, hurling me out of my perturbing mental ramblings.
“Who’s the lucky man?” chimed in his mother. “And what does he do, dear?”
I set my fork down. I could feel Blake’s eyes on me. “He’s someone I met at USC, and he’s a dentist.”
“I hate dentists!” shouted out one of the twins.
Blake’s sister shot him a dirty look. “That’s not a nice thing to say, Jackson.”
“Well, it’s true. They’re super mean, and they won’t even give me a lollypop.”
I stifled a laugh. I’d always hated going to the dentist as a child, and now I was ironically marrying one.
Depleting her God-knows-what-number glass of wine, Blake’s grandmother got in her two cents. “Dentist shmentis. Bubala, with your looks, you could do a lot better. Get yourself a nice rich man with a big shmekel like that Christian Grey—or my grandson.” She winked at Blake, who had turned crimson at the mention of the word shmekel, whatever that meant. Likewise blushing, I squirmed in my chair and accidentally brushed my thigh against his. He didn’t flinch.
Helen’s lovely blue eyes, identical in color to Blake’s, widened. “Mother, you’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey?” Her voice registered extreme shock.
“Puh-lease. I’ve read them all. At my age, you have to get it anyvay you can. Blakela, sveetheart, you should make TV shows of those books.”
Blake’s father looked my way. “Congratulations, Ms. McCoy. You’ve just found your first viewer.”
With a smug, triumphant smile, I turned to face Blake. He smirked.
“Good luck, Ms. McCoy. But I’m still convinced your idea is absurd.”
“We’ll see.” The ratings war was on. May the best man—or woman—win.
Chapter 11
Jennifer
I had the worst night’s sleep. I tossed and turned, unable to get the image of Blake Burns’s giant glistening cock out of my mind. The same burning questions scrolled through my brain. Why did it have to be so big? Why the hell did I just stand there and watch him jerk himself off? How was I going to face him at work and not think about it? There was only one cock I should be thinking about—and that was my fiancé’s, Bradley’s. But truth be told, I never thought about his cock outside of it being inside me. Which lately wasn’t often.
Just as I finally dozed off, a cheerful singsong voice awakened me. My eyes popped open.
“Rise and shine. Come on, Jen. Get dressed. You promised to do the Santa Monica Stairs with me this morning.” Already dressed in sweats and running shoes, Libby yanked down my blanket before I had a chance to sit up. Consumed by my first week at work, I’d totally forgotten I’d committed to work out with her at this popular beachside hot spot.
I slowly rolled out of bed as Libby scurried out of my room. “I have coffee and bagels ready. Hurry.”
After a quick stop in the bathroom to pee, brush my teeth, and tie my hair up in a ponytail, I returned to my room and hastily donned my workout clothes. An oversized SpongeBob tee, a ratty USC sweatshirt, and a pair of black running shorts. As I tied my running shoes, I hoped this workout would release some of the tension consuming me.
Taking Libby’s Mini Cooper, we were able to find parking easily on the street in the tony residential neighborhood that surrounded us. The day couldn’t have been more beautiful—the sun was brightly shining and the temperature was unseasonably mild—likely in the low seventies. The fresh, salty scent of the ocean air was invigorating.
There were two narrow side-by-side stairs separated by about fifty feet. The ocean view at the top was spectacular though one couldn’t see to the bottom of the shrub-lined steps. Both stairs were already packed with people of all ages and builds. Many were galloping up and down them while others were taking two steps at a time. Only a few were leisurely taking their time. Never having done them before and not having worked out for a while, I was sure I’d be in that last group, slowly taking one step at a time. To my relief, Libby chose the less daunting of the pair—the one with widely separated wood plank steps.
After stretching my calves, I followed Libby as she sprightly skipped down the stairs. It took all my effort to keep up with her, made harder by the crowd, her conversation, and the fact that I’d forgotten my glasses. I kept my eyes on my feet, striving not to miss a step, while my roommate babbled away.
“How was your dinner at Saul Bernstein’s house?”
“Good.” Panting profusely, a one-word answer was the most I could muster. Mind-blowing was more like it.
“Was it big?”
“Yes.” Oh, God was IT big!
“What did you have for dinner?”
“Brisket.” An eyeful of Blake.<
br />
“Did Blake come?”
“Yes.” Oh did he!
“Did he bring one of his bimbos?”
Her jarring question made me almost miss a step. Gripping the railing, I found my balance and breathed out no.
“It’s no secret he’s got a new hook-up every night. Girls in the office call it his O.K. Corral because everyone’s name starts with a ‘K’.”
I felt my chest tighten. Why did this little tidbit bother me? At least, “J” came before “K.” A half-heartening thought.
We reached the bottom of the steps and began our ascent back to the top. I was totally winded and going back up was exponentially harder. By the time we got halfway up, I was a sweaty panting mess. There must have been close to two hundred steps, but their steepness made it feel like I’d climbed for an eternity. Totally out of breath, I told Libby I needed to take a break. She rolled her eyes and told me while I was resting, she was going to do the other, more challenging set of cement steps. While she jogged over to them, I bent over, clamping my knees, and inhaled a big gulp of the fragrant air to revitalize myself. I wasn’t a quitter. Fortified, I marched down the wooden steps once more.
Going down them wasn’t too bad, but coming up was pure hell. The temperature felt like it’d risen ten degrees—although it could have just been me—and my calves were burning. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and tied it around my waist. Focusing on each step, I kept my head bowed. At the halfway mark, I smacked straight into someone heading down. He was none too pleased.
“Hey, watch where you’re going.”
Oh my God. That voice. I lifted my head and gawked. It was him. My boss. Blake Burns!
“Hi.” An embarrassed but adorable smile spread across his face.
I quirked a little smile back. In tandem, we did a mutual once-over. His eyes traveled down my body, mine his. I’d never seen him out of a suit. Now, before me stood a god—six-foot three of sheer sculpted leanness in short white athletic shorts and a SIN-TV tee. A fine layer of hair coated his arms and legs, drawing attention to every finely honed muscle. His beautiful face glistened with sweat, and his eyes sparkled blue. My already rapid heartbeat sped up, if that was possible, and my already heated body rose another ten degrees, if that was possible.
“Go down with me and then we’ll come up together.”
His words twisted in my head. “Go down on me and we’ll come together.” Geez, what the heck was wrong with me?
“Sure,” I said without thinking. I certainly was not looking forward to having to make the climb back up yet again.
As we descended, he brushed against me, sending a rush of goosebumps to my heated body. “How come I’ve never seen you here before?” he asked. “I come here every Saturday morning.”
“This is my first time,” I spluttered, concentrating harder on each step.
“It’s a kickass workout,” he said upon reaching the bottom of the steps.
“For sure,” I panted as we pivoted around to hike back up. The steps had gotten even more crowded, making them a bigger challenge.
My calves—and lungs—were killing me, but I said nothing as I struggled to keep up with his pace. This man was fit.
Then suddenly without warning, an intense cramp gripped my right calf. I gritted my teeth and winced. Doubling over with pain, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Blake steadied me with his strong hands before I collapsed onto the step. “Are you okay?” There was genuine concern in his voice.
“I have leg cramp,” I gasped. “I don’t know if I can make it up.” I clutched the railing.
“Hold on to me.” Having no choice, I wrapped my other arm around his broad shoulder. He was all glistening skin and powerful muscles. Clinging to him, I took a step but almost crumpled to the ground on a loud groan. The pain was agonizing. I took another step with my good leg and then tried hopping up the next step. Forget it. The step was too steep, and I didn’t have the muscle-power to get up it. I fought back tears as insensitive pedestrians, determined to get in their workout, brushed past me and told me to get out of the way.
“This isn’t working,” growled Blake. In a heartbeat, he scooped me up in his sculpted arms and threw me over a broad shoulder. There was a new spectacular view—his gorgeous, tight ass.
Gripping the area just below my buttocks, he bounded up the stairs effortlessly. My breasts pressed against his rippled back, and beneath the damp fabric of my tee, I could feel my tender nipples peek. A trail of tingles traveled down my spine and spooled between my legs. When we got to the top, he carried me across the street where there was a sidewalk and no crowd. He gently set me down on the warm cement.
Squatting beside me, he asked, “Which leg?” His eyes burnt into mine.
I grimaced. “The right one.” Keeping my good leg bent, I stretched it out.
Wordlessly, he began massaging my calf. As he kneaded my flesh, I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh of relief. The firmness of his soft, manly hands felt divine.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Sooo good,” I responded, my voice breathy.
“Do you want me to go deeper?”
“Oh yes!” Yes, yes, yes.
He readily obliged, digging his deft fingers deeper into my muscles, and then worked both hands up my thigh to the edge of my running shorts.
He was dangerously close to my sex. I was drenched and heated as it was from the steps workout, but as he stroked the tender, damp flesh of my inner thigh, the area between them grew hotter and wetter. I was practically on fire.
“How does that feel?” His voice was soft and sultry.
My eyes blinked open. I caught his smoldering eyes in mine. I couldn’t get my mouth to move.
A smile curled on his lips. “Well, I hope it feels as good for you as it does for me.”
His words swirled around in my head and then they hit me like a tidal wave. My eyes jumped to the crotch of his shorts. Holy shit! He’d gotten aroused. My heart galloped at the sight of the bulge, knowing from last night what was beneath.
“I think I’m okay now,” I sputtered. That was so far from the truth. I was a hot, sweaty bundle of nerves.
He helped me up. “Let’s see if you can walk.”
I took a few steps forward and then turned back. My calf no longer throbbed, but the throbbing between my legs was so intense I couldn’t walk straight.
“Does your leg still hurt?” asked Blake, his eyes riveted on me.
“Nope. I’m good to go.”
“Are you sure? You look like you’re walking a little funny.”
“Really, I’m fine. Just a little stiff.”
He smiled wryly. “I’m a little stiff too.”
A breath hitched in my throat. I gulped it down and kept my eyes on his face.
He held my gaze in his. “I always get breakfast at this great place on the beach after doing the steps. Come with me. We’ll make it a business meal.”
I needed to get away from him. ASAP. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m with someone.”
His brows furrowed—that special way they did whenever he heard words he didn’t want to hear. “Oh, your fiancé?”
I nervously shook my head. “No, he’s at work. Saturday is one of his busiest days. A girlfriend.”
His frown morphed quickly into that dazzling, dimpled smile. “Text her and tell her you’ll see her later. I’ll drive you home.”
My eyes met his in a standoff.
“Just. Do. It.”
I pulled out my cell phone from my shorts pocket.
Five minutes later, I was cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway in Blake’s convertible, soaking in the magnificent view of the ocean and one equally magnificent profile. Not once did my eyes look down.
Back on the Beach was the perfect name for the restaurant Blake took me to. Located adjacent to the popular Annenberg Community Beach House pool that was now closed for the winter, the restaurant literally sat on the sand and enjoyed unobstructed views of th
e white-crested waves. We had a choice of eating indoors or outside, but there was no decision to make. With the perfect summer-like weather, we opted for a table outdoors. The place was crowded, filled with both couples and families. Close to the seating area, was a small playground where children could play. A cheerful, tanned waiter, who looked like he could be a surfer, came by with coffee and then asked for our order.
Ravenous, I ordered a mushroom and cheese omelet while Blake ordered huevos rancheros. It was a hearty breakfast that included three eggs, salsa, and beans—so different from the flaxseed protein shakes that Bradley always ordered. Blake consumed his food with gusto. My eyes trained on the way his mountainous biceps flexed when he lifted his fork to his mouth, and his lush lips sensuously wrapped around his Mexican-styled eggs. God, he was gorgeous!
“Where are you from?” he asked me, after swallowing a biteful.
A safe enough question. “Boise.”
“Ah, a Midwesterner. I should have known. What brought you to California?”
I cut into my omelet. “FYI, Idaho is not in the Midwest. And the answer to your question is I needed to get out of my shell. And USC has one of the best film and television schools in the country. I won a merit scholarship.”
“Why did you want to get into television?”
“Because I’ve always loved TV. It was my means of escape. I lived a very sheltered life; my overprotective parents homeschooled me.”
Blake took another bite of his eggs. “I’ve never understood people who homeschool their kids.”
“My parents had me late in life. After believing they could never have kids, I was a miracle baby. They wanted to keep me insulated from the world—out of harm’s way.”
“So, no peril or heartbreak for Calamity Jen.”
THAT MAN: Holiday Box Set Books 1-5 Page 6