by Evie Claire
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for starters, my taxes went up thirty percent this year. I now owe twenty thousand dollars. On top of that, one of my former bartenders sold alcohol to an underage cop, which carries a fine of ten thousand dollars. So, all in all, I owe thirty thousand dollars to the city of Atlanta and don’t have the first clue where that money is coming from.”
“I know exactly where it’s coming from.” Phebe laid a hand on the countertop between them.
Brody only raised his eyebrows.
“First of all, I know people.” Phebe emphasized the point again. “I can make a few calls and see if we can get that fine lowered.”
“Is that really how things work for people like you?”
“People like me?” Phebe’s eyes flared and she recoiled from him. Had he really just said that?
“Come on, Phebe, I may not be Wharton educated, but I’m not an idiot. Life is easier in the boardroom than it is in the barroom.”
“Fuck you. For your information, I’m completely self-made. I got my first job when I was ten years old. My Wharton degree?” Phebe threw air quotes around Wharton for good measure. “I was on scholarship and I worked my ass off to afford living expenses. Nothing was handed to me. Don’t you dare sit there and act like you’re better than me because you think I didn’t work for what I have.”
“Stop.” Brody put a hand up between them. “You’re the one who just implied you could waive a fine with a phone call.” Brody leveled a hard glare her way. He wasn’t backing down. “Don’t you think I would’ve done that had it been an option for me?”
Phebe exhaled and leaned back in, seeing his reason. “I guess.” The anger left her voice. “I simply meant I would make a call to see if anything could be done. If the fee can’t be waived, we could possibly roll it into the loan. I’m just saying, those are excuses, not reasons. You should know the difference.”
Brody nodded. Nodding was good. Phebe encouraged it, taking a pen and scribbling some numbers in the margins around his crossword puzzle. When she was done, she slid the paper closer to him.
“If you give me the month to get things started, I can have tenants in your building within three months, and this…” She circled a number for effect. “…is a low-end estimate of the revenues you’ll see.”
“Yearly?” Brody asked.
“Monthly.” Phebe corrected.
Brody’s eyebrows quirked up like she knew they would. People with inherited assets usually underestimated their true value. Not everyone was into the industrial chic vibe of an older building. The people that were paid top dollar for the real thing. Which is exactly what Brody’s building was.
“So, what do you propose I do?”
“Nothing. All you have to do is say yes. I’ll take care of everything from here.”
“Easy as that?” Brody tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and biting his lip. “A simple transaction.”
“A simple fucking transaction,” Phebe corrected, and smiled when realization dawned over his face. He pushed off the counter in one fluid motion and came around to her side, taking her hand in his.
“Well, how could I ever say no to that?”
Inches from each other, she could smell peanut butter on his breath and the hot promise of sex in the air. Electricity flew between them, heating her skin until sweat prickled at the nape of her neck. The adrenaline spike of facing a truly exceptional challenge always did that to her. Staring into his honeyed-hazel eyes, she suddenly realized Brody was the only thing she’d ever wanted so badly.
“Weren’t you going somewhere?” Phebe asked, teasing, tempting, waiting to see if his move would come first.
He nodded. Mischievously. Slowly. Oh. So. Slowly. He stood. Grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. Muscles rippled across his chest, over his abdomen, and down his arms. Not the kind of muscles that scared a girl. The kind that made her tongue tingle for a taste.
“You won’t take me very long, Love.” There it was again. That damn endearment he insisted on using with her. And while it had annoyed the hell out of her the first time it came out of his mouth, after she found out what his mouth could to do to her, she fucking loved it.
He lifted her off the kitchen stool and into his arms like she was weightless. Which was exactly what her brain became the moment her cheek brushed against the smooth warmth of his shoulder. She never let go. She never gave over the reins of life. But in Brody’s arms it was all she wanted to do.
Turning in to him, a small sigh escaped her, and her lips met the rugged divide between his beard and neck. Nerves charged through her, the fizzy feeling they stirred through her insides bolstered by the anticipation of what he was about to do to her. He had promised, after all. And she already knew what he was capable of. With her arms around his neck, she first kissed, then gently tasted, the salty sweetness of his skin.
His bedroom was blessedly dimmed by floor-to-ceiling blackout curtains. A silver sliver of sunshine breaking past the edge provided barely enough light to see him, but it actually was enough. Because truth be told, she didn’t want to see him, she wanted to feel him.
He laid her over the bed and caught her face in his hands, gently—but urgently—holding her still enough for a kiss while he kicked off his shoes. Their lips met timidly at first, with all the anxiety of a first sober kiss. When they realized the chemistry was still very much there—hell, maybe even more so than the night before—gentle was no longer enough. With a shared need, their lips met in a feverish way. Working over each other like waves meeting the shore.
It was passionate. It was endless. It was hot. Further confirming everything Phebe already knew. It was a physical need that drew them together. A painful one that refused to be ignored. Something wired from within they couldn’t possibly satisfy by themselves alone. Strangely, it wasn’t something she’d ever wanted any other lover to satisfy, either. Like her innate desires had been waiting on Brody. Even though it was only the second time they’d made love, his arms were familiar in a way no others ever had been. Why was that?
His hands whispered down her sides to the hem of his shirt. Reclaiming the tee she’d borrowed without permission, he ripped it over her head and threw it to the floor. In the very same way his boxers disappeared from her bare ass. Naked and exposed, she drew her arms into her chest, hiding what lay beneath as best she could. It was the soft spot in her armor. While she could go toe-to-toe with the biggest set of balls in a boardroom, she could never get completely comfortable with her own nakedness.
“Don’t you dare hide yourself from me.” Brody took her wrists in his hands and placed them firmly on either side of her face. Phebe turned to the side, searching for sanctuary in the pillow. Brody dove into the exposed flesh at the side of her neck. Then slowly moved down to the parts of her that waited—so very impatiently—for his kisses. “You’re fucking gorgeous, and I’m about to devour every inch of you.”
And as if to prove his point, he took Phebe’s nipple between his lips, slowly releasing her wrists and teasing his fingertips over her ribs. She bucked off the bed. Her inhibitions melted by the warmth of his kisses. And his hands. Those damn hands of his. Ones that were slowly working their way to the part of her that wanted him most.
Her hands found their way to his shoulders, and she pulled him down. His lips curled into a smile against her breast, and he said his goodbye to that part of her with a soft kiss.
If she questioned his magical powers before, he confirmed them when he managed to remove his pants and at the same time find his way to where her thighs parted.
She chanced a glance between her legs, only to see him slowly lick a finger, smile wickedly, and then disappear behind her wiry blond tuft. Oh, god! She braced when he teased her with tongue and fingers. Found breathing hard when he lay the tip of his tongue at the tip of her. She w
asn’t sure how much more promise she could take. She needed action. And she needed it now.
Sensing she was about to break, he let his tongue and fingers find her depths at the same time. Licking, pressing, rubbing, coaxing an orgasm out of her with an alternating pattern of hard and soft. She loved the way he negotiated. First soft and sweet. Next minute, hard and demanding. What she could do herself in five minutes, he was proving himself capable of doing in way less time. And not wanting to ruin a perfectly good orgasm with fingers and tongues, she once again showed where she wanted him…buried as deeply inside her as he could possibly go.
Because while she loved an orgasm that came from the clit, rarely did she get the Holiest-of-Grails-G-Spot kind of come. Those were enough to earn a girl’s utter devotion. Because, let’s be honest, most men needed turn-by-turn directions to find that. But Brody, that boy had committed to memory the map that led to hers.
So much so, he knew exactly how wide to spread her legs, exactly how to move her hips ever-so-slightly to the right, exactly how high to guide her left foot over his shoulder so she could enjoy every inch of him she’d committed to memory. His heat radiated against her inner thighs. Patience proved a virtue her hips didn’t possess as they bucked and rolled under the strain of waiting, especially when her calf slid past the wiry strands of his beard, splitting her so wide and vulnerably bared to him that her entire body blushed…and then dampened at the thought of what came next.
He took her hand. Laced their fingers together. She saw little against the darkness except the faint line of a bad-boy smile he had more than earned the right to wear. Gently, he splayed her fingers, drew them toward that line, and licked the inner palm, leaving one warm, wet trail down the middle of it. Guiding it back to his shaft, he closed her fingers around it, and used her to roll a condom down the pulsating length of everything she wanted. She beheld the beauty in her hand, gripping it tightly, jaw coming unhinged at the sheer girth of it. It was hot. It was hard. It was the only thing she could ever remember wanting so badly.
A disappointed moan left her when she finally freed his dick, hating to part with it, but knowing there was another part of her that anxiously awaited its arrival. She fell back against the pillows, giving herself over to him. He stilled in place. Lowered his torso until the flat expanse of his abs met the lower curve of her own belly. An arm slid up her side, the hand gripping under her shoulder for added leverage. Holy hell, how much more could she take? She placed the sole of her free foot on the cool sheet, dug in her heel, and readied to take him.
Biting her lip against the exquisite torture of his tip, she quickly realized it might be all she could take. He wasn’t even all the way inside and she was nearly undone. Wet as she was, the friction they created against each other was infinitesimally everything. The sheer pull of her insides forced way beyond their normal limits was a kind of torture she’d be willing to endure every second of her life. Her head lolled against the pillow, fighting what she was helpless to stop, only because she thought she should. Would it be horribly obvious how rarely she did this…with anyone present? Did she actually give a fuck?
Licked as close to orgasm as she was and with her senses fresh and sober, it took only one slow stroke—one gentle sliding push to the very top of her, and then an exit every bit as measured—to rip the remaining resistance from her depths along with it. Her orgasm flew into the room with one long, ecstatic moan that clenched every muscle she possessed around the only muscle he possessed that could do such naughty things to her.
“Phebe?” Brody stilled, hovering over her, asking everything in the tone of her name.
“Don’t stop!” Phebe cried out, wrapping her free leg around his ass and pulling him back into her.
Yes, she’d just come from a single stroke.
And she was only getting started. Because if he could do such wicked things to her with one sober stroke, she couldn’t wait to see what an entire morning’s worth would do.
Or a day’s worth.
And hell, maybe another night’s worth, too…just for good measure.
Chapter 12
Phebe
Sunday meant three things in Phebe’s world—The Handmaid’s Tale, heavy-handed pours, and Lorie Braddock—the tenant and friend Phebe hadn’t known she needed.
“Is it medically possible to break your vagina?” Phebe lobbed the question gently as a hand grenade toward the statuesque blonde occupying the other end of the couch. Distracted by building plans and a preliminary financing application for Brody’s building while also watching Offred, Phebe wasn’t sure if she’d asked the question aloud or not. Until her friend’s head turned fast as a whip crack down the length of the couch. Yep, she’d said it out loud. Phebe kept her head down, waiting on an answer. Lorie remained silent at first, clearly having questions of her own.
On first impression, Lorie looked like the kind of woman who should be cloaked in Chanel and diamonds, chasing her offspring around the Piedmont Driving Club’s pool. She was that kind of blonde. Legs that stopped at her throat, and naturally fucking gorgeous, with a smile that practically snake-charmed people into making them forget every conscious thought they had. Phebe was certain Lorie’s smile played a part in their instant friendship. But tonight, Phebe had other distractions.
Like her vagina. Was it possible to have too much sex? Lorie sold drugs—legitimately, of course—which gave her a professional edge Phebe related to. It also meant she knew medical things. A subject matter Phebe’s brain wasn’t built to comprehend.
“No, the vagina is a muscle. Penile fracture is a thing. But it’s actually…” Lorie’s rote recollection of medical facts stopped cold. Her face went slack in a knowing way. “Why are you asking me that?” She didn’t try to hide the suspicion in her tone. When her eyes caught the mischievous smile Phebe was helpless to hide, she exploded off the sofa like a firework. Had it not been for the grin, Phebe could’ve gotten away with it. Certainly, she wasn’t the first to wonder if all of Offred’s sex could break the thing. “The bartender?” Lorie clapped her hands excitedly. “That was quick.”
She then grabbed the remote, paused the TV, and placed every ounce of concentration she could muster squarely on Phebe. Of course, she wanted every gory detail. Gorgeous as she was, Lorie dated even less than Phebe.
“Uh-huh.” Phebe nodded and tapped a nail on the base of her Riedel glass. She’d wanted to spill the beans since they first started cooking. But before she could, her phone vibrated on the coffee table.
Even though she hadn’t seen Brody in almost a week…okay, five days if anyone was counting…their daily sexting had put a serious dent in her data package and left her only increasingly desperate for Brody’s package in the flesh.
BRODY: What are you wearing?
Phebe picked up the phone and replied without even thinking. The days away had put her back in touch with her sexy side—pulled it out of hiding and blew the dust off. It felt good.
PHEBE: A smile…now
BRODY: and…
PHEBE: And what? It’s a *really* naughty one.
“Hello?” Lorie snapped her fingers to get Phebe’s attention. “Don’t leave me hanging. When did this happen?” Lorie asked, bringing her back to present. Phebe put the phone down to focus on her friend.
“Monday. Right after my morning from hell.”
“That’s why you haven’t been crying in your cuvée over the asshole boss.”
“Ex–asshole boss.” Phebe’s eyes instinctively narrowed at the thought, and she waited for the red-hot rage that normally followed. Only it didn’t come, and she had to wonder if it was because she was finally giving him exactly what he deserved—a harassment lawsuit. “And, no, I’ve got zero fucks left for that feckless bastard.” As she uttered the phrase she loved to use, she realized it was the first time she actually felt it, too.
“That bartender fucked it right out of you, huh?” Lorie readjusted on the couch so she fully faced Phebe. A naughty brow wiggle and pelvis gyration only Lorie could manage without spilling a single drop had Phebe dangerously close to snorting wine from her nose. Until something flipped in her stomach. Like her giggles—innocent as they were—betrayed the respect she owed Brody.
“Brody,” Phebe said his name softly, correcting Lorie, though she wasn’t exactly sure why she felt the need to do so. He was just a hookup, after all. “Have you ever had a legit fuck buddy? Not like your favorite last-call booty call. Like had a conversation with someone and you both decided, ‘Yes, we’re going to fuck each other’s brains out until something better comes along’?”
“Oh.” Lorie’s excitement deflated. “The sex isn’t great?”
“Hot as fucking fire.” Phebe volunteered her answer quickly, taking a calming breath at the memory of it all.
Lorie studied her friend a bit more closely, then sighed and looked into her glass, somewhat defeated. “No, I haven’t ever had a fuck buddy. I couldn’t do that without expecting it to eventually be more.” Lorie smacked her lips and shook her head, clearly disappointed at the thought.
“No chance of that happening here,” Phebe assured her.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Phebe turned back to the plans in her lap, thinking. Then thinking harder, because until she’d been asked the question she’d never really thought about the answer. Truth was, he was kinda perfect so far. Except all the late nights he had to work. And the tiny fact that he was obviously commitment phobic. “Nothing, really. No red flags. Just neither of us is looking for that right now.”
Lorie’s eyes widened with wisdom and she pursed her lips. “My granny always said to be careful who you date because you can’t help who you fall in love with.”