Loverboy

by Bowen, Sarina

  “Oh, fuck yes,” Gunnar growls. His hand curls around the length of my hair.

  Who knew that being a vixen was so easy? All I have to do is lean down and taste the salty tip of him. Gunnar makes a sound of shock that lights me up inside. I work his briefs down a little bit and pull his cockhead against my tongue, weighing it. Caressing it.

  Gunnar braces his hard body against my sofa and yanks his trousers down a few inches, making my job a little easier. “That’s a girl,” he says in a low voice. “See what you can do now.”

  So I do. It turns out you can easily forget your insecurities when the object of your pleasure is practically throbbing under your touch. I get busy licking and kissing and sucking with all I’ve got. Gunnar is loving it, too. You can’t fake this level of enthusiasm. Whispered encouragements and dirty curses fall from his lips, until he lets out a grunt and tries to nudge me aside. “That’s enough, honey. I’m close.”

  But I’m a very goal-oriented person. So I hollow out my cheeks and give it to him good. Gunnar makes a deep sound of urgency, so I brace for victory. But instead, I find myself lifted off his dick and onto his shoulder. Somehow he rises from the sofa, holding my waist in one hand and his trousers in the other.

  A squeak of terror leaves my throat as I am hoisted into the air. That’s twice in two days. I’m not sure it’s dignified for a grown woman to be hauled around like this.

  Ten seconds later, though, I realize that dignity is overrated. Gunnar has tossed me on the bed, and then ripped off his clothes. He kneels down and pulls the two halves of my bathrobe apart like some kind of sex-starved superhero. He lifts my sleep shirt, dips his head down and finds my breast with his hungry tongue.

  “You—” he says, breaking off to torture my other breast. “Are a good time, Posy Paxton. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  My heart soars to hear it. And then Gunnar recommits himself to pleasuring me, and pretty soon other parts of me are soaring, too.

  24

  Gunnar

  The Company is perfectly capable of watching Posy’s building for signs of trouble. There’s no practical reason I need to spend more nights in her bed.

  But there are plenty of less practical ones.

  The next night, I take Posy out for a romantic dinner. When we get back, Ginny and Aaron are already downstairs for the night. So we don't even have to keep up the ruse that I’m sleeping on the couch.

  I walk her right into her bedroom and unzip her dress. Let the games begin.

  This quickly becomes part of our routine. I work in the pie shop most mornings, leaving Posy’s apartment before Aaron is out of bed. After my shift, I take off for a workout or a meeting with Max. But by evening time, I'm back in Apartment 4-5, dining with Posy and sometimes Ginny and Aaron. I’m thirty-six years old, and this is the only moment I can name where my life had so much routine. And I think I like it.

  One night I cook my favorite dish for them: fish tacos with lime and cilantro. I even make homemade sangria to go with it.

  “Why can't I taste the sangria?” Aaron asks.

  “It's a grown-up drink,” his mother says, giving me a sideways glance. Ginny was perfectly happy to see me show up here a few nights ago. But with each passing day, she seems less happy to see me.

  Posy is the opposite. Even now, as her sister gives me a death glare, Posy smooths the arch of her bare foot over mine. She gives me a soft smile and takes another sip of sangria.

  I pick up the pitcher and refill her glass. I’d do anything to get another smile from her. This is new for me—all this domestic tranquility. I like it more than I expected to. “Have another taco,” I say, offering her the platter.

  “Do you cook for your wife?” Aaron asks suddenly. He takes another taco, too.

  “Nope. I don’t have one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Some men don't want a wife,” Ginny says quickly. “They're not the marrying kind.” The look she gives me implies that she's put me firmly in this category.

  “Maybe I just never got around to it yet,” I argue. She thinks she's got me all figured out. “I travel a lot. My job is hard.”

  “Your job making coffee?” Aaron asks.

  Ginny snickers into her sangria glass.

  “I’ve worked many jobs,” I clarify. “I move around a lot. It’s very distracting.” I can’t really explain to him that my job is dangerous. That I need to keep my focus on the work.

  “Can we play Go Fish after dinner?” Aaron asks me.

  “What about your reading?” Ginny asks.

  “I could read to Gunnar,” Aaron says. “And then play cards.”

  Yup. Sometimes my job takes many forms. “Sure, pal.” I don’t mind the little guy’s company. He’s awfully cute. “But I have to clean up the kitchen first.”

  “I’ll clean up,” Posy says. “You cooked.”

  “I guess that's a yes, kid.”

  Aaron slides off his chair and runs to get his book. “I hope the men never finish painting your apartment,” he says. “I like it when you're here.”

  Ginny rolls her eyes. “They'll finish all right,” she says. “Men always do.”

  Yeah, I’m not touching that one. It’s obvious that Ginny has some baggage. Her boy’s father is in prison for passing bad checks. That can’t be easy.

  I feel like a heel for lying to the child about my presence, but the truth isn't a good option. I don't want to explain why we're taking extra precautions with building security. And I really don't want to explain that I never actually use that blanket and pillow we've left each night on Posy’s sofa.

  Thank goodness the kid’s room is a floor below, and Posy’s bed doesn't creak. I'd hate to try to think of a passable explanation for all the noises Posy makes when the grown-ups have their bedtime.

  Aaron returns with a book and beckons me over to the sofa. And I listen to him read a pointless story about a snail, while Posy smiles at me over the rim of her wine glass.

  And Ginny glares.

  * * *

  Two hours later, I’ve got Posy mostly naked and whimpering into my mouth as I kiss her senseless. When I break off the kiss, she looks up at me with trusting eyes. Her cheeks are pink and her lips are swollen from my kisses. “Why aren’t you naked yet?” she asks, reaching for my fly.

  “Because I like to torture you a little bit,” I say, leaning down to kiss her neck.

  She shoves at my zipper, then tries to push down my trousers. “Off,” she says impatiently.

  “And people say you aren’t fun in bed,” I tease her.

  “Don’t mention him,” she grumbles. “That’s not a turn-on.”

  “I rest my case,” I say, kicking off the pants. “You’re always fun, Posy. If a little impatient.” I lean down and drag my tongue across her collar bone.

  She squirms beneath me, her legs wrapping around mine. She’s begging me with her eyes to hurry up.

  Naturally, that means I plan to go even slower.

  I kiss my way across her chest at a languorous pace. She’s still wearing a bra, though, along with some little red panties. So she reaches back to unclasp her bra.

  “Hey now,” I say, gasping her hands and stopping their business. “We’re doing this my way.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because my way is fun.”

  She groans. “I’m beginning to wonder whether men and women have the same idea of fun. Your way takes too long.”

  “Says you.” I remove my T-shirt and toss it off the bed. “Let’s play a game to work on your patience. Do you have a couple of silk scarves?”

  Her eyes widen. “What for?”

  “I’d like to restrain you, if you’re game.”

  “Why? Is that …” She licks her lips. “… Fun?”

  I hesitate for a moment, because fun is completely subjective. “It is for some people.”

  She swallows hard. “There are scarves in the top drawer. Get them.”

  Again, I hesitate
. Because it was never my goal to force Posy to do something that didn’t interest her. But now she’s watching me with clear, curious eyes. So I stand up and open the top drawer of her dresser, pulling out two silk squares in different colors.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” she asks as I kneel once again on the bed.

  “Trouble, that’s what.” It comes out sounding cocky.

  “Okay. Teach me,” she says, offering her hands. “Where do you want me?”

  Anywhere, sweetheart. “How about you grab one of those central rungs on the headboard?”

  She lifts her hands over her head and does as I ask. But when I lift one of the scarves up to tie around her wrists, she flinches.

  “Sweetheart,” I say gently. “There’s no earthly reason we have to do this. It’s just a game. It’s not important.”

  “I hate the idea of having my hands restrained. It’s just …” She shivers. “I’m sorry, but that isn’t fun for me. I have nightmares about having my hands tied behind my back.”

  “Hey, don’t apologize. In fact, sit up for me.”

  “Why?” She sits up anyway. “Now I’ve ruined the mood.”

  “Nah. Pay attention for a second. Instead of restraining you, I’m going to do the opposite. I’ll show you how to break out of restraints.”

  “What?” She laughs. “I thought we were going to do wicked things to each other.”

  “Oh, we are.” I toss the scarves onto the bed. “But I know lots of tricks, Paxton. The things I learned at spy school are fun in a different way. And if this is a trigger for you, I can teach you how to defeat it. Let’s pretend someone is going to zip tie your hands together.”

  Posy shivers again. “That literally figures into my nightmares.”

  “Then don’t ever get arrested by the NYPD. But if you do, here’s how to get out of a zip tie. The first method is to brace your hands into fists. Try it. Show me.”

  Posy brings her hands together, making two fists.

  “Yes, but brace them end to end. Like this.” I arrange her fists in the right way, and then draw a gentle finger across her wrists. “See this? Believe it or not, you’re creating just enough extra space that afterward you can make prayer hands ...” I rotate her palms together. “… And you could wriggle one hand out.”

  “Good to know,” Posy says with a smile.

  “Now, if the cops notice your setup and make you place your hands in a tighter position, you still have two more options. You can wear away the plastic on a rough surface, like a brick. Or you can tighten the zip tie with your teeth.” I mime this action. “Then pull ‘em tight and—” I whack my wrists against my knee. “Split them apart.”

  Posy leans forward and kisses my chest with soft lips. “Have you ever had to do that on a mission?”

  “Oh, sure. I once had to do it twice in one day.”

  “Is it wrong that I find this topic very hot and manly?” She trails across my pecs with her wicked mouth.

  “Not at all. Feel free to express your enthusiasm for my—” I clear my throat suggestively. “Manhood.” I wind my hand in her hair and guide her head toward my cock.

  “Mmm.” She tortures me with little licks and kisses down my abs. Then she nuzzles my cock.

  “Yes, baby. Do it,” I pant as she finally takes me into her tight, wet mouth.

  I’m in heaven. And is it terrible for me to hope that the Pie Shop perp is never found?

  When it’s time to go back to California, I’m not going to want to go.

  25

  Posy

  I make sure to give Gunnar a dose of his own medicine. I tease him mercilessly with my tongue and my hands.

  My ex’s complaints still weigh on me. I don’t know if that will ever go away. So I put everything I’ve got into pleasuring Gunnar, until his breath comes in desperate gusts, and his powerful thighs clench with need.

  And then I abruptly stop.

  “Hey,” Gunnar rasps. “What’s the hold up?”

  “Hey, being a tease is your idea of fun. I’m just learning from the master.”

  He groans. “You always were a good student, Paxton. Fine, fine. On your back. It’s time for your next lesson in fun.”

  That sounds okay to me, and I lie back on the bed. Gunnar’s eyes travel over my lingerie, and I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical force. He’s awakened the sensual part of my personality, and I hadn’t even known it was sleeping.

  “Try this for me—reach up and hold onto the headboard slats,” Gunnar says. “And don’t let go. I’m asking you to restrain yourself, if you can.”

  “All right,” I agree. “Do your worst.”

  He stretches out between my legs, his mouth dropping lazy kisses near my navel. There’s nothing better than the sight of his powerful shoulders bunching as he teases me with soft kisses and scruffy cheeks.

  His hair looks so soft, and I have the urge to run my fingers through it. But I leave my hands where he’s ordered me to put them. And he was right. This is fun.

  Then Gunnar picks up one of the abandoned scarves, and I wait to see what he’ll do. First, he holds it up and drags just the corner across my belly. The touch of cool silk is so light that I get goosebumps immediately. “You’re giving me chills.”

  “Yeah?” he says, dragging it across my skin again. “Well, you’re giving me some big ideas. Let’s try one more thing.” He lifts the scarf and gently covers my eyes with it. “Can I tie this?”

  “Sure, as long as my hands are free.” I’m happy to give one of his ideas the green light, even if I feel silly as he ties the silk behind my head.

  “If you change your mind, just knock it out of the way, baby,” he says.

  “Got it.” The silk blocks my view of his rugged face, which is a crying shame.

  But then Gunnar kisses me suddenly.

  Oh.

  Oooh.

  Ohhhh.

  Wow. So that’s why blindfolds are fun. I can’t see his approach, so each kiss is a surprise. I find myself arching off the bed, hungry for more. But I don’t let go of the bed to reach for him.

  “Good girl,” he whispers, and the sound is unpredictably close. His breath in my ear gives me chills. All my senses are dialed up to eleven. All I can do is lie still and experience this.

  And what an experience it is. I receive another kiss, but it’s over before I’m ready. His mouth wanders sweetly down my neck, and my goosebumps redouble. I toss my head to the side to give him better access. But I can’t predict where that tongue will land next.

  It’s thrilling.

  Gunnar goes on to pleasure me in random, delightfully unexpected places. One nipple gets a kiss. Then my hip bone. The other nipple is sucked suddenly but firmly into his mouth, which makes me gasp.

  “So sexy,” he whispers, smoothing his hands down my body, as if I’m a fine object he’s inspecting. I can feel his gaze on my nakedness, but I can’t see it. My body has become his plaything, and it feels extra dirty in all the best ways.

  I arch my back, putting myself on display for him. I’ve never felt so wanton in my entire life. Or so beautiful.

  My ex was dead wrong. I’m a whole lot of fun, and I’m about to be even funner. Because Gunnar chooses that moment to brusquely grasp my legs and part them, his big hands repositioning me for his pleasure. A series of light kisses lands at my inner thigh, climbing toward bliss. I feel the heat of his breath just shy of where I need his mouth. And then …

  Nothing. Gunnar waits, without touching me. I let out a huff of frustration and hear his answering chuckle. My thigh muscles clench. The expectation I feel is almost unbearable.

  He clicks his tongue with a soothing sound. Then a roughened palm sweeps up my leg, and one thumb strokes me casually right where I need him.

  With a moan and a roll of my hips, I seek more contact with his naughty hand. He strokes me sweetly, making soothing sounds. It’s lovely, but it’s not enough. And when his tongue finally flattens between my legs I cry out in happin
ess.

  This is a revelation. Good sex has nothing to do with technique, does it? It’s all about desire and connection.

  I have so much desire for Gunnar Scott. And miracles must be real, because he has so much desire for me. Every shocking little thing he does makes me moan—every lick and kiss and sneaky puff of air against my sensitive flesh. (Fine—maybe technique matters a tiny bit, because who knew I wanted someone to blow on me right there?)

  Then, just when I’m feeling so desperate I could scream, and more than ready to rip off this blindfold, he abruptly fills me with his cock. The motion is so firm and sudden that my breath stalls in my chest and every muscle in my body tightens around him.

  “Fuuuuck,” he says on a gasp. “So good. Every time.” The mattress depresses under his weight as he plants his hands on either side of me and finds his rhythm.

  I can’t speak, because I’m overwhelmed by the multifaceted assault on my senses. But now we’re in perfect sync. I can’t see a thing, but this time his kiss doesn’t surprise me. I’m ready for the sensual slide of his tongue into my mouth and the friction of his heated skin against my aching breasts.

  We strain together. It’s fast and rough and a little bit wild. I’m still hanging on to the bed, but not because Gunnar told me to. It’s a matter of bracing myself so I’m not pounded into the headboard.

  And just when I think I can’t take any more, the blindfold is swept away. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen is looking down at me with heat and yearning in his green eyes. And that’s it for me. All my own yearning comes to a rapid, heated crest, and I let out a cry of happiness as I shatter into a hundred pieces.

  Gunnar lets out a guttural moan and thrusts his hips a few more times, slowing down with each one. And then he shudders mightily and makes a sound of deep satisfaction.

  I’ll never get tired of that sound. Years from now, when he’s long gone, I’ll still hear it in my dirtiest dreams.