by Megan Hart
“Sure, I like him. I like lots of stuff.”
Katie laughed. “I know you do.”
With this laid out between them, Dean seemed satisfied. “So long as he’s not that douche from Connex. That guy was bad news.”
Katie laughed at the way Dean bristled on her behalf. “Umm…no. I wouldn’t even fuck him with your dick. C’mon, move that pretty ass. Time to shine.”
“We have a few minutes.”
Katie sighed again. An old argument. She liked to be prompt, even early. Dean preferred to make a grand entrance. She eyed his practiced pout. “I told you, that doesn’t work on me.”
“It works on everyone.”
This was very close to true. “Only because everyone else doesn’t know you like I do. All promise, no delivery.”
Dean leered, once more leaning so close Katie could get a full whiff of his delicious cologne. “Shut your mouth! The fuck you mean, no delivery? I deliver.”
Katie leaned, too, so her breath would tickle his earlobe. “No, babe. That ass and that smile promise a lot but Dean Manion only delivers to addresses on Penis Avenue. Vagina Street’s out of your delivery zone, remember?”
He turned his face half an inch so his lips brushed her neck. “Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I couldn’t.”
At this boast, so typical, Katie burst into laughter loud enough to make her happy she had her own office with a closed door. She pushed at his chest. “Puh-lease. You’ve never fucked a woman. Have you ever even kissed a woman?”
“I’ve kissed you,” he reminded her, letting her push him away but not making it easy.
“A New Year’s Eve kiss under mistletoe. Besides,” Katie said as she gave his tie a fond yank, “there was no tongue. Doesn’t count.”
“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t,” Dean repeated stubbornly.
Katie cast another glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes to make it from her office, down the hall, up three floors in the notoriously slow elevator, down another two corridors to get to the meeting room. “Look, your reputation as a sex bomb is safe with me. I swear I will never reveal to all the women crushing on you that you’d rather get a paper cut on your tongue than eat pussy.”
She laughed again at his outraged expression. “Don’t act like it’s not true. I’ve seen you with the girls in reception, the ones who always give you doughnuts. You can whore yourself for a bear claw all you want, but when it comes right down to it, you won’t put out.”
Dean was the part of their team who came up with the brilliant ideas; Katie figured out how to put them into action. Dean orchestrated the flash and bang while Katie made sure all the pieces fit into place. Yet it was Dean who fought the hardest to win the accounts, even when Katie’s careful financial summaries determined the risk wasn’t worth the effort. Dean who worked long hours ripping apart campaigns and sewing them back together until nobody could possibly offer something better. The same competitive edge that made him killer at racquetball drove him in his work, too, just as Katie’s intrinsically neat and tidy personality did in hers.
She’d just tapped Dean’s warrior nature. She saw it in his eyes and stance, so briefly fierce she’d have stepped back from it if the desk hadn’t already been under her butt. Any other man in the office–hell, anywhere–who gripped her hips and pulled her close up on his crotch that way, who ran his mouth along the curve of her neck to find her ear and breathe heat into it —any other man would’ve earned a knee to the nuts and possibly the heel of her hand into his Adam’s apple.
Instead, Katie tensed under Dean’s practiced touch, head tipping to give him greater access. There was no denying he was scrumptious. Probably more so because they were such good friends, and she knew his quirks. Now she closed her eyes while he ran his lips lightly over her skin.
“This is so out of the boundaries of appropriate workplace behavior it’s not even funny,” she murmured.
He moved away, not quite enough. “Since when have I ever been appropriate?”
“This is true,” Katie said, amused to hear the sex-syrup tone of her own voice. God, it had been too long since a man had put his hands on her. “However, it doesn’t mean you could make me come.”
Disgruntled, Dean stepped back. “You think it would be so easy to get me off?”
“I do, actually. Now c’mon, shake that oh-so-fine ass, please. We really have to move.”
Dean crossed his arms, still looming over her. “What makes you think that?”
“Because I’m looking at the clock.”
“No.” Dean shook his head. “That I’d be so easy to get off, but you wouldn’t. What makes you so sure?”
He was, Katie saw with genuine surprise, seriously wounded. She tugged his tie gently. “Because you have a penis, sweetie, and penises are notoriously easy to please. And I like sucking cock. I’m sure if you closed your eyes, you’d never know my mouth was attached to a set of breasts and a cunt. On the other hand, the fact you’ve never made love to a woman and aren’t turned on by women, would probably mean that providing me with the same favors wouldn’t be as successful.”
She paused, deciding to go for the truth simply because Dean was a friend and a good one, at that. “And because I have a hard time getting off with straight men who are into me. I think managing an orgasm with a guy I knew was cringing the whole time would really be impossible.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. No.”
Dean gave her the full force of his flirting grin, the one she’d seen slay the girl who brought around the bagels, random guys on the street and everyone in between. “You’re afraid to take me up on it?”
“Are you suggesting I…fuck you?” Katie didn’t even look at the clock this time. The idea was intriguing. Tempting, even. It wasn’t like she’d never wondered what it was like to get in Dean’s pants. And to be the first woman to ever have him?
Fucking delicious.
“I’m saying we should fuck each other. We’ll see who gets who off first.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. “And fastest.”
“Sex is always such a game to you.”
“And that’s wrong…because…?”
“Because we’re late, for one thing,” she said sternly. “For real, this time. Let’s go. If you want this account–”
“Say yes, Katie.”
She looked him up and down, taking in every detail. She knew every inch of Dean already, having spent so many hours with him, and suspected he was probably as familiar with her. She looked at him with new eyes, now. She’d gone to bed with men she was less attracted to than she was to Dean, so really, where was the issue? Sex was with him was unlikely to lead to one of those three-in-the-morning talks about what it all meant, and if it did, both of them would be fools. At the very worst, she’d be proven right, and even with that, how could getting a full serving of the delicious, deep-dish pie of gorgeous that was Dean be wrong?
“You’re on,” Katie said.
Chapter 2
“You did what?” Jacob, standing at the sink and rinsing a pot of steaming hot pasta, turned so fast a few strands of limpid spaghetti slopped over the sides.
Dean leaned against the counter, bottle of beer he hadn’t yet tasted in one hand. “You heard me.”
“Oh, I heard you.” Jacob turned back to the sink and ran cool water over the pasta before dumping it all into the bowl. “I just can’t believe it. You’re going to have sex with a woman?”
Now Dean drank. “Yeah.”
He watched Jacob’s shrug, wondering whether that meant the other man was dismissing the possibility or expressing jealousy. Or maybe Jacob didn’t give a shit, Dean thought, tasting the richness of the beer. Would he have cared if Jacob had told him the same thing? What would Dean have said?
Jacob turned again and brought both Dean’s bottle and Dean’s hand to his mouth to drink. He licked his lips, then mirrored Dean’s stance against the counter, both hands gripping the
marble at his sides. “And she agreed to it?”
“Of course she did.” Dean drank again and set the bottle on the counter to grab Jacob’s wrist and pull him closer. Jacob stood just an inch shorter, his sandy hair cropped in a buzz cut shorter than Dean usually liked. Eyes bluer, ass just a little too flat. But a mouth made of perfect, one Dean had no trouble kissing or fucking.
Jacob opened his mouth when Dean kissed him. Their tongues teased languidly until Dean slid a hand down to cup Jacob’s crotch. Then Jacob drew in a hitching breath and pulled away enough to center his gaze on Dean’s.
“I can figure out why she agreed to it, but why did you?”
Dean tasted Jacob on his lips but didn’t go in for another kiss. He shrugged. “Because she thought I couldn’t.”
“Ah.” Jacob tilted his head. “Well, I guess you can’t let her get away with assuming that just because you like cock that makes you, oh, I dunno, GAY or anything.”
“Hey!” Dean didn’t like the insinuation, especially since Jacob didn’t know him well enough to judge him that way. “She knows I’m queer. I never pretended otherwise.”
Jacob gave an exaggerated shrug and made a face. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, sugar. Just wondering if you need to prove it to yourself or something.”
“I’ve known I was queer since the eighth grade,” Dean said flatly.
Jacob’s gaze dropped to Dean’s crotch. “Uh-huh. Like I said. You don’t have to prove it to me. I had your dick in my mouth this morning, remember? Then again…”
“Then again, what?” Dean looked at the door, thinking how he should’ve walked out on this conversation ten minutes ago but hadn’t, and not quite willing to ponder why.
“Even straight guys can be convinced getting head from another dude isn’t gay.” Jacob grinned, showing white teeth just a tiny bit too crooked.
Dean snorted lightly. “Yeah? The fuck you getting at, Jacob? You want me to suck your cock?”
Jacob rubbed at his crotch without breaking the gaze. He knew just how to work this, that little bastard. He’d known Dean all of two weeks and already had his number. Not that Dean was going to admit it, hell no. No guy got under his skin, not that he’d let on. Ever.
“Sure,” Jacob said with a raised brow.
In answer, Dean grabbed Jacob’s belt. Undid the buckle. Then the zipper. He freed Jacob’s dick, stroking it from half-hard to full-on wood in half a minute after that. Jacob swallowed hard, eyes getting heavy-lidded.
“You think I don’t suck cock?” Dean breathed, voice husky in anticipation.
“Well,” Jacob said, feigning a nonchalance made obviously false by the tremor in his tone, “you haven’t sucked mine.”
Dean laughed at that, still stroking until Jacob pushed his hips forward. “Your spaghetti’s going to get cold.”
“I…like…cold spaghetti.” Jacob’s voice broke on a gasp, and that was all the impetus Dean needed.
He went to his knees and yanked down Jacob’s jeans at the same time, baring the other man’s body and gripping his tight ass. Jacob’s cock was thick and hard, bobbing upward at the release from tight denim. Dean captured it at the base with one fist. His mouth found it next, and he slid Jacob’s cock deep into the back of his throat.
Dean closed his eyes.
Not because he didn’t want to see what he was doing. He liked watching, as a matter of fucking fact, but this was different. On his knees, giving head, was different than looking down at someone in the same place. On his knees, Dean liked to lose himself in the smells and sounds, the taste of whoever he was fucking. He let go of Jacob’s ass to put Jacob’s hand on the back of his head, curling Jacob’s fingers into his hair. Urging him to guide the pace, if he wanted.
Yeah, Dean liked being on top. Fucking. But he wasn’t averse to giving pleasure, either, and it was always, always better when the other person felt comfortable enough to say what they liked. Or show him. Dean wasn’t above admitting he could be an asshole, but never let it be said he was a selfish lover.
“Fuck.” Jacob’s fingers tightened in Dean’s hair and his hips pumped. “Fuck, baby, that’s so fucking good.”
Baby?
Dean paused at the endearment, his fist sliding up to meet his lips as his mouth came down. Jacob didn’t stop moving, fucking into Dean’s hand and mouth. And after the barest moment, Dean went on. Sex talk didn’t mean anything.
Then it didn’t matter what Jacob said, because Dean unzipped his own jeans and pulled his cock free. Now came the complicated dance of hands and mouth, stroking and sucking at the same time. He had to catch up–Jacob was already making the low sound in the back of his throat Dean had come to recognize as his prelude to coming.
“Wait, wait.” Jacob tugged harder on Dean’s hair until Dean looked up.
It took Dean a second to understand Jacob wanted him to stop. Who the fuck ever wanted him to stop when he was blowing him? Dean looked up, one fist still pumping Jacob’s dick, the other his own. “What?”
“I just…want…” Jacob licked his lips and swallowed, then cupped Dean’s cheek. “Stand up.”
Dean did with a quizzical laugh. Two men, pants around their ankles, cocks hard. His laugh slid into a groan when Jacob pulled him by the back of the neck to kiss him. It was a hard kiss, but not punishing. Jacob sucked Dean’s tongue as his hand curled around Dean’s dick.
“Use your hand on me,” Jacob said as he stroked. “I want to make you come. I want your mouth on mine when you come all over my hand.”
This was not what Dean had expected but fuck, Jacob was jerking him just right and the kiss went on and on, getting hotter by the second. Nothing to do but stroke Jacob’s cock, too. They fell into mutual rhythm.
His balls got heavy, his cock impossibly harder. The kiss stuttered and broke as Jacob gasped. Dean didn’t have the breath to gasp. He was going to come....
Jacob came first. Heat and slickness filled Dean’s palm. Pleasure exploded out of him. He found the breath to groan.
Panting, Jacob kissed him again. Soft, this time. He still cupped Dean’s cock, but his other hand came up to hold the back of Dean’s neck. Forehead to forehead, he smiled.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Dean said.
Jacob looked between them. “That was hot.”
Dean laughed, shaking his head. “It was definitely not what I was expecting when you told me you wanted me to suck you off.”
Jacob reached behind him to grab up a dish towel, wiping his hands and handing it to Dean. “Baby, I am not what you are expecting.”
Dean wiped his hands and put himself back in his jeans before stepping back. “Is that so?”
Jacob licked his forefinger and drew a “one” in the air. “That. Is so.”
It was a good cue to leave. After all, they’d both already gotten off. Dean’s stomach was rumbling, but dinner was cold and he could pick up something on the way home. He’d already spent last night with this guy. And the morning.
Jacob looked over his shoulder at the sink and the pot with the now-cold pasta. “This will only take a minute to warm up. You staying?”
Dean leaned to kiss him, relishing the taste of salt and beer on Jacob’s mouth. “Sure.”
Chapter 3
Late-night conversations. Katie loved them. Darkness and distance provided by the phone made intimacy, and she loved that, too.
Jimmy was good at late-night talk. Jimmy had a voice like melting butter, all warm and soft and sweet. Rich. It didn’t matter what he was saying, really. He told stories like some men built houses, layer by layer and piece by piece, until Katie realized hours had passed and dawn was breaking.
He’d make love like that, too.
Katie wondered if she’d ever find out. She’d met Jimmy weeks ago. He’d flirted with her right away. Asked for her number. He’d actually called, too, something that had surprised her since guys like Jimmy always said they’d call but never did.
Katie wasn’t sure just
how they’d fallen into late-night discussions about old movies, art, books, music. About their favorite colors and foods. All she knew was that she told Jimmy things she hadn’t told any guy in a long time, and nothing she said ever seemed to put him off or be too much. Katie had spilled her guts about a lot of things from her most embarrassing moment to her secret fetish for knitted slippers.
They had become friends, and that was great, but Katie was beginning to wonder if that’s all it would ever be.
“You stand in front of three doors,” Jimmy said. “What color are they, what is behind each, and which do you pick?”
Katie laughed. “Where do you come up with these?”
“I have a book. Two hundred and seven of the most obscure questions to ask a beautiful woman.”
At least he’d said she was beautiful. Katie cleared her throat. “Let me think about it. You go first.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve had time to think about it longer than you have.”
“Tell me anyway,” Katie told him and settled deeper into the blankets.
“The doors are red, blue and purple. I pick the blue one.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Jimmy said, “blue’s your favorite color and I bet you’re behind it.”
Heat twisted through her. “And what about the other doors?”
“I don’t open them,” Jimmy told her, “so I have no idea what’s behind them.”
“Good answer.”
“Your turn.”
Katie couldn’t begin to think about doors and colors and what was behind them. Or rather, she could think, but every door she imagined was glass, each had Jimmy behind it, and no matter how hard she tried, she could open none of them. She sighed. “Tell me something else, Jimmy.”
“Like what?”
“What’s your favorite poem? Do you have one?”
Jimmy laughed softly, and Katie imagined the brush of his breath against her neck. “Unless you count Jim Morrison lyrics as a poem, no, I guess I don’t. What’s yours?”
“I like e.e. cummings. My favorite starts off ‘the boys I mean are not refined.’” Katie thought of the girls who bucked and bite, the boys who shake the mountains when they dance. She recited it to him from memory, and Jimmy was quiet for a moment after that.