Easy Come (Plaything Book 1)

by Tess Oliver

  "I'll make sure you're the first to get one since you came up with the theme."

  "Thanks. I think." I dropped back the rest of the drink and pointed at the shaker. Trey poured me another drink, then I followed him into a room with soft leather couches, a fireplace, a wide screen television and a view of the entire city.

  It was impossible not to notice that some heavy duty panting and porn action was happening on the television. At least half a dozen DVD boxes were strewn out on the glass coffee table. Two women, a curvy red head and a thin brunette were assisting a cowboy in a hayloft. The grunts and moans coming through the speakers sounded so manufactured, it was hard not to laugh.

  Trey grabbed a remote and turned the movie off. "Yeah I was laughing too. I'm trying to find a good one to include in the next box. So far, they are all the same."

  "What, you mean no unique plotlines?" The liquor had already helped calm my nerves some, and I was feeling slightly more relaxed.

  "Nothing that stands out as Academy Award material yet, but you never know." He motioned toward the couch and I sat down. He sat several cushions away. I was slightly disappointed. It seemed he was planning to stick to his promise not to be included in my sexual self-awareness experience. This was strictly business for him, a chance to get his company talked about in a national publication. I swallowed back the second drink to wash away the unexpected bitterness that realization left me with.

  Trey turned toward me and rested his arm along the back of the couch. "Another drink?"

  "In a second. I'm just letting this one percolate first."

  He laughed.

  "Am I still babbling? I'm having a hard time hearing myself over the buzz forming in my head."

  He shook his head. His gaze stroked over my body and legs before lifting back to my face. "You're not babbling. Excuse the phrasing. I don't know any other way to say it, but you're fucking adorable, Georgie."

  My face warmed, and it wasn't just the Manhattan. "I'm not sure if this plan will succeed. I'm not exactly the wild, uninhibited type."

  "How do you know? Maybe you just haven't had a chance to test that theory yet."

  "Good point. Are you always so logical and scientific?"

  "Only when the situation calls for it." His hazel eyes seemed to darken as his gaze dropped to my breasts again. "And when other situations don't call for it . . ."

  A heated silence fell between us, and it seemed we were both brazenly checking each other out. I was sure if thought bubbles popped up over our heads, the words inside of them could give the porn flicks on the table a run for their money. Yep, the booze was getting to me. And suddenly, the demure dress was feeling warm. I fanned myself.

  "If you're warm, I could find you something a little less—well a little less—to wear. It might help shake loose some of those steadfast inhibitions. In fact, the Easy Come box has something the women at work picked out for this month. They said it was—and I'm using their words—'super comfortable'." As he spoke, he'd taken hold of my glass and went back to the bar. He returned with another drink, which I quickly sipped. I was feeling the effects of the alcohol, the main effect being that Trey was making my head spin even more. Did he always have that incredibly sexy scar next to his eye? It's like everything about the man was coming clearer into focus through my boozy haze. Holy shit was he hot.

  "You know, I think I will change into the super comfortable . . . thing. What did you say it was?"

  "Follow me." He reached for my unfinished drink, but first, I snagged one more big sip. He placed the glass on the wet bar as we walked past it. With three Manhattans sloshing around my brain, my balance was off just enough that I managed to trip when the floor changed from wood to carpeting. My right foot went forward, then gravity kicked in and pulled the rest of me along with it. Not surprisingly, Trey had quick reflexes. He grabbed hold of my arm to steady me.

  "Maybe two drinks was enough," he quipped, but as he gazed at me, the light moment turned much more serious. His brows flattened and he stared at me, taking extra time on my lips. He released his grip as if my arm had suddenly turned glowing hot.

  The edge of his jaw looked set in stone and he was clenching it as he dragged his gaze away. His broad shoulders were set hard and rigid in the tight black t-shirt. I followed, feeling a little less giddy than a few minutes earlier. By the time we'd traversed the entry and walked down another hallway, his mood seemed to have eased again. Or at least it seemed he was no longer gritting his teeth.

  Trey opened a door. It led into a massive bedroom, with floor to ceiling windows. A modern four poster bed with clean, straight lines sat in the center of the room. A white linen bed canopy was drawn back with gray ropes. A mound of pillows were pushed up against the headboard.

  My eyes flitted around at the manly, expensive looking furniture in the room, including the sitting area with a couch and television that was bigger than my entire apartment. "It's a bedroom," I said, lamely.

  "Yes, the bed sort of works best in a bedroom." His lighter mood hadn't returned yet. His jaw was no longer clenched, but there was still something harder about his tone than earlier.

  I followed him to a sleek, dark wood dresser. The Plaything box was sitting on top of it. He motioned toward it. "Go ahead and check it out."

  I lifted the top off the box and was greeted with a variety of items, including a tube of lubricant, a mini book featuring—of all things—vintage erotic photos, some perfume and a music CD.

  I reached in and lifted a silky blue bag out of the box. Beneath the bag was a folded cotton shirt that resembled a man's undershirt, the tank style that had at some unfortunate point in its history been nicknamed the wife-beater undershirt.

  I placed the silk bag on the dresser and reached for the undershirt. I flicked my wrists to unfold it. "Is this it?"

  "The super comfortable clothing item? Yep. They had all sorts of frilly, lacy lingerie to pick from, but they unanimously decided that since the theme of this box was the female orgasm, frilly and lacy was too itchy and uncomfortable." Trey picked up the bag. "Which brings us to the star attraction of this month's box."

  I took the bag from his hand, our fingers brushed lightly against each other and I could have sworn he sucked in a quick breath as I touched him. But then I'd had enough liquor to make walking without tripping a chore.

  I reached inside and felt something that was as soft as it was solid. And I knew, from the distinctive shape, what it was before I'd even removed it from the bag. I hesitated while waiting for the extreme blush to finish warming my neck and face before removing the vibrator from the bag. It was long and thick and bright pink with a curved tip and a softly rounded protrusion jutting out about halfway along the shaft. Two silver buttons were located on the flat end. A nervous giggle shot from my mouth. I held my breath for a moment to keep any embarrassing hiccoughs away.

  Trey's eyes never left mine as he waited for me to recover from my amateurish reaction. Jeez, I really was a noobie at this sexual self thing.

  "I've seen pictures and heard my friends talking about these devices, but I've never actually held one."

  Trey lifted the shirt off the dresser and handed it to me. "Well, Georgie, you're about to get very intimate with this device. And I think you're going to become fast friends. This is a chance for you to discover all your own pleasure points."

  "I left my notepad in my bag downstairs. I'll just run down and get it."

  He stepped to the side effectively blocking me without touching me. "No notebook right now. You can write down your experiences later. I have no doubt they will still be fresh in your mind . . . and in other places . . . by the time you pull out your pen and paper."

  Chapter Eight

  Trey

  I opened the panel on the nightstand and pressed the button for the automatic blinds. The lights dimmed to a warm glow and soft music hummed from the overhead speakers. The drinks had eased Georgie's nerves but something told me my sexual awareness student was going to need a
calm, quiet ambience to help her along.

  I'd left a robe in my bathroom, knowing that Georgie was highly likely to pull it on over the tank. I was thinking of her modesty at the time, but now I realized it was for my own self-preservation. A mere stumble and touch in the hallway had sent every form of dirty thought through my head. I'd had to grit my teeth just to keep my control.

  I had been so damn cocky about this plan, thinking it would be a fun and easy way to get some publicity for the company, but the center of the plan, the incredibly hot woman, was making me rethink the whole fucking thing. I'd told my plan to Zane, one of the owners and our marketing genius. He thought the whole idea was awesome, but gave me a strict warning not to touch her in any way. The last thing we needed was our already semi-deserved reputations as playboys to explode into something even more salacious and gritty.

  But now that Georgie was here with me, in my bedroom, it occurred to me that I was doing this not for the company but for myself. I wanted her. Badly. It was going to take a hell of a lot of restraint, and I wasn't sure I had enough. I could just call the whole thing off and tell her I decided it was a bad plan.

  Too late. The bathroom door opened, and Georgie walked out. She wasn't wearing the robe.

  "Fuck," I muttered under my breath. At least I hoped it was. I knew she was hiding something wickedly hot under her conservative wardrobe but seeing her curves highlighted by the thin, clingy fabric of the undershirt was almost too much. The neckline scooped low enough to expose the rounded mounds of her breasts and sucked in at her waist, a waist I could probably wrap my hand around. The shirt was long enough to hug the erotic contour of her hips. She had it pulled down extra low, apparently more modest about her panties than the puckered nipples pressing against the flimsy cotton fabric. Her sweet attempt at hiding her panties only succeeded in making the fabric more transparent.

  The women who worked for Plaything were nothing short of brilliant. They'd opted for something comfortable and settled on a simple tank shirt that was so fucking sexy, it was nearly destroying that restraint I'd just lectured myself about.

  Georgie's creamy shoulders lifted shyly. She crossed her arms, apparently noticing that I couldn't drag my attention away from her nipples.

  "I confess, I'm not sure this will work." She glanced over at the vibrator. "I don't—well, easy come—isn't exactly easy for me." She'd removed her glasses, and the blue of her eyes was even more vibrant when not muted by the lenses. "And since I've never used one of those toys and because I'm standing in front of a man I only just met, who I'm sure has been around women, many, many women, I assume. I mean, I don't really know, but I'm sure—"

  I walked over and during those few short steps, I repeated don't touch her over and over in my head. My cock had a whole other thing going on though. It was pushing hard against my fly. I was thankful for the long hem of the shirt I was wearing.

  Georgie lifted her face to me, and it almost seemed that she was silently hoping I would touch her. But I knew a touch, even a simple one like my finger trailing down her arm or pushing her hair back off her face, would set off a chain reaction that I would not be able to stop. As it was, I was practically breaking molars in the back of my mouth, keeping myself in check. But the one thing that was readily apparent was that Georgie was going to need a little help to move this along.

  I stuck my hands behind my back to show her that, as promised, I wouldn't make any physical contact with her. Her bottom lip pushed out slightly in disappointment. At least that was what I was telling myself.

  "Georgie," I said quietly, "if I were going to allow myself to touch you—" I leaned down and placed my mouth just an inch from the smooth curve of her neck. She smelled like a mixture of honey and flowers, and it took me a second to remember my words. I spoke just above a whisper, making sure to pronounce each word so that my breath would tickle her skin. "I would kiss this silky, smooth spot on your neck."

  My suggestion produced the slightest shiver. It raced through her body, and a small gasp followed. I could only fucking imagine what it would feel like to hold her body against me as she shivered and trembled with a mind blowing orgasm. Fuck, how badly I wanted to be the one to give her that mind blowing orgasm. I pushed myself to continue. I needed to keep divergent, erotic thoughts at bay or risk scaring her off for good.

  I moved my face so that my mouth hovered so close to her lips, I could feel her warm breath. "I would kiss you, parting those lips with my tongue to taste you. And I'd take the lightest little bite of that bottom lip. A kiss on this pouty bottom lip should always end with a teasing bite between my teeth." I kept my voice low and steady, but it took every ounce of my control.

  Her eyes widened with surprise as I knelt down in front of her. I kept my hands down at my sides, as if they'd been chained there and thought, this would have been easier if they had been. My gaze was directly in front of her nipples as they pushed against the fabric. I looked up at her face. She peered down at me with a look of need, her brows pushed together and her lips parted.

  "And these glorious fucking nipples, Georgie . . ." I gazed at them for a long moment and a breathy sigh floated over my head. "My tongue would dance circles around them before sweeping along that deep sensual valley between your breasts."

  I sank down on my knees. My face was directly in front of the pussy she'd been working hard to hide from view. The pink flush covering her skin assured me my teasing narration was helping. It sure as hell was bringing me along.

  I lifted my gaze to her face. "Georgie, lift the shirt," I said firmly.

  She paused but only for a second. From her unfocused gaze, it seemed she was responding fully to my little game. The hem of the shirt inched up, exposing a lavender pair of panties, panties that I would never have expected under the funeral dress. The itsy bitsy lacy panties caught me off guard. I swallowed hard and reminded myself that none of this was for me. As badly as I wanted to rip the frail panties right off of her and press my mouth against her pussy, she wasn't here for me.

  I blew warm air against the skin above her panty line and another frisson passed through her body. Even though I wasn't touching her, I could feel the tremble all the way through my own body. My cock pushed urgently at my fly, begging to be freed.

  "If I were going to touch you, Georgie," I continued in a low voice. "I'd slip that tiny lace crotch aside and push my tongue through the folds of your pussy, tasting every inch of you, drinking in the moisture. I'd lathe my thumb over your clit until I drove you straight over the edge. Driving you wild until you came against my mouth." My dirty words and the nearness of my mouth to her pussy caused her to sway a bit, but I kept my hands away. I knew if I reached up and took hold of her, every bet would be off and this whole plan would unravel.

  I pushed to my feet. Georgie's lush lashes had grown heavy over her eyes. Her head looked heavy on her slender neck, and she looked as if she might just melt into a puddle at my feet.

  I lowered my mouth close to her ear. "Walk to the bed."

  She was nearly in a trance as she shuffled to the bed. I took a few second reward and watched her ass, covered only by a small triangle of lavender lace. She climbed onto the bed and crawled to the middle, seemingly forgetting that I was standing behind her watching, wanting, going out of my fucking mind. Or maybe she wasn't nearly as innocent and inexperienced as she wanted me to believe. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing. Somehow that thought, the idea of her teasing me right back, made me smile.

  I pulled my eyes from her curvy form as she stretched out in the center of my bed. I wondered how I would ever sleep in that bed again without being kept up all night with visions of fucking her, right there in the center of the mattress.

  I walked over to the dresser and picked up the vibrator and the lube. I rubbed my thumb over the button and the toy came to life in my hand. The protruding clit massager bobbed back and forth as the shaft made my hand tingle with vibrations.

  Georgie stared up at me, her breasts rising a
nd falling with each quick intake of air. I poured some lubricant on the tip and placed the vibrator next to her. "This curve at the tip can reach that elusive G-spot, that magic inside button. At least that is what my female coworkers have said. I can stay in the room. In case you have any questions," I added quickly, even knowing that it was a flimsy excuse. "I'll stretch out on that couch, turned away from the bed. I won't watch . . . unless you ask me to." I knew it would be nothing short of torture, but I badly hoped she would ask.

  Her eyes rounded at the suggestion.

  "Some women," I stumbled over my explanation, not wanting to scare her off with my greedy offer. "For some women, they like it. They like to be watched."

  Georgie didn't answer. She waited for me to walk over to the sitting area. I stretched out on the couch, faced away from the bed and waited.

  Chapter Nine

  Georgie

  The music sounded familiar. But with the way my head was spinning, I couldn't remember the name of the song or the band. The lighting in the room had a warm, romantic glow, and I thought, what a perfect bedroom. And what a perfect man. Experience had obviously given him great skills. He'd only just met me, yet he knew exactly what to say. He brought me to the height of arousal with just his words and his breath. All I could think was—damn it, take me in your arms and finish the job. But he was a man of his word. He'd promised me from the start that he wouldn't touch me and he kept that promise. Unfortunately. Of course, it was entirely possible that he had no real desire to touch me.

  I needed to push that disappointing notion out of my head. I was there, after all, to find a provocative angle on a story for the magazine. The sexual awakening of Georgie Dempsey, I thought wryly. I hadn't even known I needed awakening until I stood in Trey Armstrong's bedroom. Even though Trey never touched or kissed me, it dawned on me that somewhere along the way, throughout my lackluster relationships which consisted mostly of quickies in between binge watching a science fiction or thriller series, I'd been missing out.