by Sarina Bowen
Holy. Fuck. My mouth goes dry, and I watch helplessly while she rolls her nipple. She swallows, and her throat ripples.
* * *
And, Jesus. Now I know what people mean when they say, be careful what you wish for. This isn’t exactly what I’d pictured. I thought I could talk Ash onto my side of the bed.
I’ve underestimated her. Now she’s shucking off that old T-shirt and taking both breasts in her hands. Her back is arched as she plays with her tits.
And I’m dead. Dead!
“Oh,” she whispers. “Yessss…”
Kill me already. It’s not just that I’m as hard as concrete and my balls are throbbing. Physical discomfort isn’t my real problem right now. It’s the look on her face and the fact that she’s only two feet away. And I’m not allowed to touch.
Every muscle in my body is locked up tight, and I have the urge to sob. Ash has beaten me at my own game.
With one long, sleek leg, she kicks the sheet away and then reaches down to flick her panties off her body.
I’m in agony as she puts a hand between her legs and strokes slowly. Just once.
My chest heaves, and I barely prevent a sound from escaping my lips. It’s a close call, because whatever that sound was, it wouldn’t be very manly. I close my eyes for a second and take a deep, calming breath. I call upon my inner resources. My super power is staying cool in a crisis, right?
When I open my eyes again, Ash’s fingers are moving in a sweet little circle. My cock twitches, but I’ve mastered him again. So I’m able to speak in a mostly normal voice when I ask, “Are you very wet?”
She nods, her eyes closed in concentration.
I reach over to the bedside table and take the condom. I tear it open.
Ash’s eyes pop open. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, honey bear. Just imagining how you’d feel bouncing on my dick.”
She lets out a shuddery breath, her hand stilling between her legs. “You wish.”
“I do.” I put the condom on the tip of my cock and slowly roll it down. I’m super-sized right now. The condom barely fits.
Her gaze follows my hand, as I knew it would.
“You only had one piece of pie tonight,” I say, taking my sheathed cock in hand.
“W-what?” she breathes.
“Pie. You had one small piece. Not two? Why not?”
She blinks at me helplessly. “Didn’t need two.”
“I saw you eyeing it,” I say, stroking myself. I roll my hips a little, leaning into the pleasure. Two can play at this game. “But you didn’t partake. Is that because you didn’t want the second piece? Or because you didn’t want to be the girl who eats two pieces of pie?”
“Get out. Of my brain,” Ash says. “Maybe I wasn’t hungry.”
“Like you’re not hungry for it right now?”
She whimpers. We are no longer talking about pie.
“I don’t believe in guilty pleasures, Ash.” My voice is a rasp. I stretch on the bed, tucking my hands behind my head again. “Pleasure shouldn’t make you feel guilty. There’s nobody here but us. Think of how good you could feel over here on this side of the bed.”
Her body goes still, and I know she’s considering it. I’m playing it cool, but every inch of me wants to have her. I mean, every inch.
She rolls, leans up close to me, whispering in my ear: “I’ll tell you what, Braht. Let’s make a deal. I like to be in charge. Can you hold still while I do you?”
No way. “Yes, of course.”
“You’d better. Just stay right there. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Be as silent as you can. If you can do that, I’ll join you on your side of the bed.”
I blink twice. Because one blink means “yes” and two means “get on my dick before I burst.”
Her eyes gleam as she rolls over and silently straddles me. There’s more tension in my body than I ever thought possible. I have been wanting this since...forever, and I still don’t trust that she’ll follow through. I’ve tasted her, but I’ve never been inside her.
The bed gives a single, low creak, and I look up into her pretty face and pray.
At dinner tonight I told a story about spying during her first job interview. Ash thinks it was a fabrication, but it was a hundred percent true. Okay, ninety-five percent. It wasn’t a stack of copy paper crates that I hid behind. I stood on the other end of the bullpen at the copy machine, sneaking looks at Ash as she spoke to the owner. She turned my crank the very first time I laid eyes on her, with that regal posture and her long neck.
And now she’s staring down at me, her silky hair barely covering her nipples, and with a naughty gleam in her eye. “Don’t move,” she whispers. “I mean it.”
“Okay, I…”
She shuts me up with a kiss. Her mouth is hot over mine. And the glide of her tongue is so distracting that I’m already half out of my mind when she begins slowly lowering herself on my length.
Yesssssss!
Without thinking, I push my hips off the bed to take more of her. My punishment is swift and cruel. She lets out a gasp of indignation and pulls off me. “Did you not hear me when I said to hold still?”
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“No moving.” Her eyes flare. I’ve never met any woman so beautiful in her determination. That spark is why I’m a fish on her line. I fight the hook, but she always reels me in.
“Got it.” The words are calm, but my heart is trying to beat its way outside of my body. “Fuck me, honey. Use me up.”
Luckily, my dirty talk has encouraged Ash. Her beautiful tits rise and fall as she takes a deep breath, then lowers herself all the way onto my aching cock.
For a moment, once she’s taken all of me inside her, we both freeze. My world has teetered on its axis. She’s so tight and so gorgeous looking down at me that I can hardly believe we’re finally here. And then she moves. Good god. I feel every clutching inch of her. I want to reach up and touch her so badly I can’t stand it. I bite my lip. Hard.
She moves around, grinding my cock, feeling for the best angle. Or maybe she’s just torturing me. If so, it’s working. I actually see the moment when she finds what she’s looking for. She takes a shuddery breath and bites her lip. Her hips swing in a slow circle while I die of blue balls.
Totally worth it.
“My tits,” she whispers, and I take that as permission. I slide my hands up her silky body and cup her breasts, flick the nipples. She moans, and then I just can’t hold back anymore. I pull her to me, fusing our mouths while she pistons on top of me. My hands find her delicious ass, and I squeeze her tight.
Suddenly she stops and we freeze again. I’m so busted. She doesn’t punish me this time. She gasps instead. I can feel her pussy tighten around my cock as she comes.
The next bit happens in a fever. I quickly roll her over so she’s under me. I don’t care if I’m making noise. I can’t hear the bed creaking because there’s a rushing noise in my ears as I claim her, thrusting through her orgasm.
She clenches against me again and again. We are so good together, surely she must feel that with every thrust of my hips. She runs her hands down my back, to my ass, pulling me deeper. The cool breeze off the beach rolls over my sweaty torso. I lean down to kiss her one more time and then my body jerks as I have an orgasm so intense I see stars.
8 Afterglow…Gone
Ash
Goddamn Braht and his fucking amazing bratwurst and sensual skills.
I’m ashamed to admit that after I broke every one of my own rules we still don’t go to sleep. By three a.m. I’ve been kneaded and pawed and licked so much I feel like a cat.
I really like feeling like a cat, and I really don’t want to feel anything for Braht.
But maybe I don’t have to feel. Perhaps this slightly nauseous sensation I have while watching him sleep will pass.
It’d be easy to date him. Picture perfect even.
And that’s the thing I can’t have. Picture perfect isn’t re
al. Nobody’s life is a magazine spread. All those beautiful people in real estate brochures aren’t real. Those cups of perfectly brewed coffee beside freshly baked croissants are all staged. That’s just marketing. Those rooms have been carefully styled and edited to look that way.
You don’t see the darkness behind those pictures. You can’t see that there was a couple fighting and swearing at each other on that white sofa an hour earlier. And the perfect cup of coffee is really cold and bitter. That croissant has as much flavor as the pages in a book.
I’m lying here beside Braht and free-associating life’s miseries because I’ve seen the chasm that lies between pictures and reality. And that reality is my ex, Dwight.
Cue the shudder I always experience when his beady eyes show up in my thoughts.
Braht doesn’t have beady eyes, though, my subconscious whispers. They’re clear and blue.
Still.
The thing I can’t figure out about Braht, though, is, what’s he selling? How can he be so charming and GQ-beautiful and fucking fantastic in bed? What’s he hiding? There has to be something. Nobody's that perfect. I learned the hard way. There are worse things than a broken heart.
Dwight nearly broke me.
Braht stirs in bed and moans this deep kind of animal moan. I shake the dark thoughts away for a second and just laugh. Because Braht, naked, asleep, and making that sound, is just funny…and I want the picture perfect for a few minutes more.
“Good morning, Beth and Stuart!” Braht says when we finally go downstairs for brunch the next morning. I look at my mom and dad, horrified one of them is going to say, “Oh, just call us Mom and Dad!” because they would. I can see it in their eyes.
Mom hands me a mug of coffee, already mixed with cream. “You want some coffee?” she asks Braht. I swear, she’s avoiding my eyes.
Huh.
“Of course I do!” Braht says in a voice so chipper I want to smack him. “But I’ll get it myself. You sit. How do you take yours?”
Mom practically flutters she’s so pleased by his manners. “Oh, anything is fine. Just black.”
“She likes it with cream,” I say and slurp my coffee.
Dad is at the stove making crepes. It’s our post-Thanksgiving tradition, which we’ll do all over again next month. We love Thanksgiving so much we have it twice. But the intensity with which he’s regarding the crepe pan is a little weird.
There’s tension in the kitchen. Or is there? Maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe my parents heard sex noises last night, and they’re embarrassed. When I feel Braht’s hand moving up and up my thigh under the table, my body reacts with tingles, but my hand pushes him away.
“Are you two headed home this morning?” Dad asks, his voice cautious.
“Well…” Braht hedges, and I just know he’s going to suggest Bloody Marys on the beach or something.
“Yes, we are!” I say. “We’ve got paperwork to wrap up, and I’ve got a house to show.”
“You do?” Braht asks.
“Yes. I always have a house to show.”
He gives me a smug little smile. “Sure you do, honey bear. Let me make a phone call and I’ll have two to show later today.”
That competitive jerk! Who says things like that? And goddamn it, why are my nipples hard?
I pull my coffee cup closer to my chest and frown while Dad pours another crepe into the sizzling pan, then tilts the pan to spread the batter.
Mom sips her coffee. Then she sneaks a glance at me over the rim of the mug. I see my father look over to catch her eye. And then I realize that Braht has distracted me from something important.
“What is wrong?” I ask, maybe a little more loudly than is necessary. Mom looks at Dad and I just know. Every October we worry about the same thing. Every fucking October.
It usually doesn’t actually come to pass. Now I’m afraid that it has.
Dad moves the crepe off the stove, even though it’s not done yet. He reaches for an envelope propped up beside the toaster. He hands it over to me and then stands behind Mom, his hand on her shoulder.
Fuck.
The envelope is from the Michigan State Board of Corrections, and it’s already open, which is fine with me. I’ve asked them to do that, because otherwise, I don’t think I could survive this moment.
“It’s different this time, honey,” Mom says.
I don’t even have to read it now. I can tell by Mom’s tone of voice that it’s the worst possible news. Dwight has finally made parole. He’s going to be released from the penitentiary, and all I want to do is run. Fast and far, far away.
9 Naughty Things Office Supplies Do
Braht
“I don’t get it,” Tom says, shoveling another forkful of sausage into his mouth.
“Exactly,” I agree and take a bite of my own food.
I know Tom is trying to say that he doesn’t get what happened at the cottage with the letter and all, but I’m thinking more big picture. I don’t get what happened after I finally had the most incredible sex of my life…
Why can’t Ash admit that we are perfect together? I mean, I saw stars. Literally. And I swear to god the way her toes curled she must’ve at least seen a comet. A moon.
Something.
I take another bite of my healthy, low-calorie meal. I’m having an egg white omelet with spinach and tomatoes, not because I really like egg whites, but because Tom thinks healthy food is a sacrilege, and I like to push his buttons.
He gives me a thoughtful stare and then finally says, “She got an envelope from her mother. It had been previously opened…” He’s still confused.
“Yup. Her mom hands her a letter. Something official looking. I think I saw a government seal.”
Tom chews. There is a bit of ketchup in his beard, but I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts to tell him. “And then Ash stopped talking to you?”
“Pretty much. She looked really freaked out. Scared.” I put down my fork, just picturing her face. I hated that look of fear in her eyes. I want to punch whoever put it there. Right in the throat. Our drive back from the lake cottage was somber. Ash was kind to me, but I knew her mind was elsewhere.
“Let’s see,” Tom says, scraping his plate. “Maybe it was an audit letter from the IRS? That would be enough to make me pee myself. Taxes are terrifying.”
“Good to know.” I make a note to avoid Tom on April fifteenth. “But Ash isn’t the sort of girl to be fazed by a business letter. She would kick some IRS ass and make it cry.”
“I can picture that,” Tom says. “I’m a little afraid of her sometimes.”
“That’s because you don’t know what makes her tick.” I feel some blood flow toward my Burberry boxer shorts just thinking about making Ash tick. And moan. And scream my name…
Suddenly there’s a big fist snapping its fingers in front of my face. “Whoa, there, Brahtty. You’re zoning out again.”
“You would, too.” I let out a sigh of longing.
Tom whistles under his breath. “Holy shit. You’ve got it bad. Actually, you’ve always had it bad for this girl. Now you’ve got it worse.”
“It’s true. Our night together is seared onto my brain.”
Tom snorts. “Your brain, or your bratwurst? Same difference?”
I show him my middle finger and then finish my omelet. It’s not just the sex that’s made me crazy. It’s the disappointment. We were so good together. So blazing hot. I thought it was a turning point.
There was this one moment at about two in the morning. We were making love for the third time. She looked deep into my eyes and whimpered “Sebastian” before she came. Just like in all my fantasies. Hardly anyone calls me by my first name. It’s always Braht, the name I invented to keep my parents safe. Ugh. What Ash and I had, what we did, was epic.
And now she’s barely speaking to me.
“I need to figure out what was in that letter,” I say for the tenth time.
“Or, here’s another idea.” Tom slurps his
coffee. “You could just leave the girl alone and wait until she asks for your help.”
“Like, do nothing?”
Over the rim of his coffee cup he gives me a look that says, yes, dummy. Butt out.
I hate this idea. “There’s ketchup in your beard,” I tell him. I am transfixed by his beard. It’s new and he looks like Paul Bunyan.
“Stop staring at it,” he says. “I like it. More importantly, Brynn likes it.” He picks up his napkin to wipe at the glistening fur on his face. “You’re hoping I’ll call Brynn, quiz her, and find out what Ash is hiding, aren’t you?”
Of course I am. “What a great idea! Thank you. I accept.”
Slowly, Tom shakes his head. “I’ll tell her you’re worried. But I’m not going to pry. If she wanted you to know, she would have told you herself.”
I hate logic.
“You know,” I start. “All you need is a…what do Canadians call it? A toque? You need a hand-knitted hat and you’ll look just like you’re about to cut down some trees along with your big blue ox.” I smile. Got him.
“I’m always ready to cut things down. With. My. BIG. Ox.”
There’s a pause and then we just both start laughing.
The moment I gallop back into the office, my gaze shoots over to Ash’s desk.
Empty.
Damn.
Yesterday she was in and out showing her new listing. And running errands. And meeting with clients. We are neck and neck in this year’s competition for the huge end-of-year bonus. It’s right there on the whiteboard. So while it makes sense that she’s out hustling, I’m also pretty sure that it’s an easy way of avoiding me. What I don’t understand is why.
Even when I called her honey bear, she didn’t glare at me. It’s like she’s not deigning to give me attention.
I fucking hate it.
So now I wander over to her desk again, looking for signs of life. It’s neat as a pin, of course. There are a few listing cards arranged on the desk, and I can tell that she’s color coded them. The listings with three bedrooms have orange dots and four bedrooms have green. The pens she uses are arranged in ROYGBIV order (thanks, eighth grade science teacher!) So naturally I pull out the red one to rearrange them. But violating science isn’t really enough for me, so I take it a step further.