“A few days, right?” I tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his pants and slipping my fingers underneath to stroke his abs before working at the buttons.
“A few days,” he murmured into my neck, the words vibrating into my skin as he ground his hips up to meet me.
I tried to think through the situation, but with each bump and rub of Jake’s body against mine, my mind reset. No one has to find out. God, his hands.
When I sat back and pressed both palms to his neck, Jake’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and his breath was coming fast and heavy. “A few days,” I repeated, losing my words as his hands drifted up my ribs, his thumbs caressing the sides of my breasts through my dress.
Jake nodded.
A few days of this, a few days of him, and then back to real life.
“Take me to my bedroom.”
Do something reckless. Check.
Fourteen
Jake’s gaze swept over my exposed skin after my black dress fell to the bedroom floor and I stood before him in bra and panties. The way his eyes roamed the length of my body was like he was memorizing me.
“So, this is me.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and glanced away as his eyes reached my face.
“I like you,” Jake murmured while walking me backward toward the bed. “I can’t decide where to start.” One hand slid down my back, stroking the sensitive skin above my hip.
Splaying my hands over his chest, I pushed his shirt off his shoulders. The pressure of his thighs against mine reminded me of dancing with him on the pier. One, two, three. I reached back and unhooked my bra, letting my breasts tumble free as the lacy fabric fell. His appreciative stare made me want to giggle, but then his hands were cupping and squeezing my breasts, and circling my hard nipples with his thumb. A low groan escaped my mouth.
“I want you.” His lips trailed down my neck with soft, wet kisses punctuating his words. “I’ve wanted you since I first touched you.”
“Me, too.” I didn’t recognize my voice; it was throaty and bold. “Get on the bed.”
Jake tossed a condom on the duvet and pushed down his pants and boxer briefs, and then my handsome stranger lay in front of me naked and ready, his erection thick and rigid, his gaze intent on me. I hooked my thumbs into my black satin panties, pushed them down my hips, and climbed onto the bed.
He slid deft fingers between my legs, stroking and teasing, but I wanted more.
I placed my hand over his and met his eyes. “I want you inside me.”
He nodded, and the sound of the foil tearing was like music, and Jake rolled a condom down his length.
It was anticipation and not fear or anxiety that pulsed through me. I was going to be on top, in control, and he was okay with it. This is actually happening.
“You’re incredible,” he said, his eyes traveling over my body as he gripped my hips. He met my eyes again. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready, though.”
Him asking, making sure I was on board for everything happening, was beyond sexy. It made me feel safe, and I rested my palms on his chest. “I’m ready. I want this.”
He pressed against my entrance, and then he was filling and stretching me.
As I sank down, I panted his name repeatedly and ground against him. My body lit up as he bucked, reaching deeper and hitting the perfect spots. Seeing his expression, feeling the way his muscles flexed under me and the growing friction—I was overwhelmed, truly, for the first time in my life.
“You feel so damn good,” he panted, drawing me down to suck on one of my nipples, teasing it with his tongue. Flickers of pleasure moved across my chest and out to my fingertips, the tension pooling in my spine.
We slid against each other, building to a steady and maddening rhythm. My climax blossomed deep within my body.
I pressed my hands to his chest for balance and rocked against him, seeking my orgasm. With him, like this, our bodies glistening with sweat, I wasn’t thinking; I was pure sensation.
His thumb made a slow circle over my clit, and I let out a cry, further excited by his blue eyes on me, his neck muscles straining.
My nerves all sparked as my back arched and an incomprehensible string of words left my mouth.
His expression changed to intense concentration, and his breath grew labored. With a loud groan, his body jerked under me with the power of his own release.
We both lay damp with sweat, naked, as the air-conditioning blew over us. Heat radiated between our limp bodies as we sank against each other. I tried desperately to catalog the moment, but brief tremors of pleasure still rolled through me as I caught my breath, and my thoughts went fuzzy. Minutes passed in silence—for me, it was the silence of satisfaction and disbelief.
“I’ll be right back,” he finally said, easing off the bed to dispose of the condom in my bathroom. I lolled to my side and admired Jake as he returned. His hair was matted with sweat, and I followed the lines of his neck muscles down over his shoulders.
“Were you checking me out?” he asked with a crooked smile as he climbed back into bed.
“You’re not bad to look at.”
He wrapped his arms around me, our faces inches apart.
“I hope that’s not too forward,” I joked.
“I think under the circumstances, it’s acceptable.” He planted a sweet, slow kiss on my waiting lips. Jake stroked my hair behind my ear and slowly combed his fingers through the strands. “Naya like a papaya . . .” He said it wistfully, stretching out the vowels. “I love your name. Where does it come from?”
“It’s Arabic. Means ‘new.’”
“Is your family from the Middle East?”
A chord of realization thrummed somewhere in my body. It had taken him three days to ask about my ethnicity. Three days! “What are you?” was almost a standard greeting after “nice to meet you.” I hated that before people knew anything about me, they needed to know how to classify my ethnicity.
“No,” I said with a small laugh. “My dad read it in a book or something. He’s Black, and my mom is Irish and Mexican.” Growing up multiracial, I sometimes didn’t know where I fit. I remembered Felicia’s sister telling me I had “good hair,” which I thought was a compliment until I realized that meant my best friend’s hair, thicker and kinkier than mine, wasn’t good. My high school boyfriend told me his mom was fine with us dating because I wasn’t like other Black people. My life had been filled with those moments, reminding me I was different. Jake didn’t seem thrown, though.
Jake traced a lazy pattern over my shoulder. “Must have been something to grow up with multiple cultures.”
It could have been a swirl of traditions, but my parents wanted us to blend into our small town, so I grew up with no real cultural traditions at all. I didn’t speak Spanish, I was fair skinned, and I “sounded white” according to my Black cousins. Davis told me once I was lucky to be so racially ambiguous that no one had to know I wasn’t white. He’d even encouraged me to publish under my middle name, which sounded “less urban.” I’d hated myself for letting him say that without challenging him. I wanted to do something to reclaim the parts of myself I’d allowed him and so many others to make me think were unfavorable. I wanted to be able to talk to my grandfather in his native language before it was too late. To do: Learn Spanish.
I shrugged. “Sometimes, when I was a kid, I wished they had named me Jessica or Heather.”
“I think Naya suits you better.” Jake looked down, catching my eye as his palm skimmed my lower back.
“Just once, I want to find my name on a novelty pencil.”
“Huh, I guess I never thought about that.”
“Any story behind your name?”
“My grandfather is named Jacob. That’s why I’ve always gone by Jake.” He traced his fingers over my shoulders, lightly kneading the muscles between my back and neck.
“Were you close?”
“When I was little, I wanted to be just like him. He taught me how to fish and that women were trouble, but the good kind. He still tells me that, actually. He’s pretty busy these days as the Casanova of his assisted-living facility.”
“So, you come by your charm genetically, huh?”
Jake laughed softly.
“My dad always told me boys were trouble, but he didn’t mean the good kind.”
“You think I’m the bad kind of trouble?”
“You’re not so bad,” I said, settling against him.
Our chuckles subsided, and we lay in another perfect, loose-limbed silence for several minutes.
My palm resting on his abs, I took in his face. “You look like you’re thinking. Want to share?”
He trailed his hand up my arm. “I wish we had a little more time.”
I can’t let myself think about having more time. “I was thinking I can’t move after that.” I smiled, expecting him to have a joke ready, but he continued to look into my eyes the way he did when I tried to change the subject. His penetrating gaze made me wonder if he could tell I was avoiding something.
“You know, you’re so beautiful when you get there,” he said. “I could watch your face in those moments for hours. It’s like you give up control and your features relax, even as the rest of your body is tensing.” His voice was quiet and gravelly, and he grazed his thumb over my lips as he spoke. “Then, at the moment right before you come, your mouth opens, just a little, and you bite the corner of your lip. It’s perfect. It might be my new favorite image.”
“You’re the only one who’s ever seen it,” I said, resting my cheek into his palm.
“What?”
Oh crap, why did I admit that? I’m pretty sure that’s on the list of things not to say after sex or, you know, ever. “It’s embarrassing.”
“What did you mean?”
“I’ve never, you know . . . with someone else.”
“Ever?”
Kill me now. “I just never . . . got there, and the guys never seemed to . . . um, I don’t know, notice or care, I guess.”
Gently, he pulled my hands from my face. “You’ve been with selfish men.”
Understatement.
He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Am I a bad guy if I’m kind of proud to be the first?”
“Not in my book.”
“I like the bossy side of you. And you’ll tell me if you want something different, right? Harder, slower, to the left.” He grinned, swiping his thumbs in slow circles at the nape of my neck. “Or just . . . keep going.”
I laughed. “I promise to be as bossy as possible.” Though, so far, he seemed to know exactly what I wanted.
I tucked against him and he rolled so we could slide under the sheet and comforter, creating a cocoon around our bodies. “Stay with me tonight?”
“I was really hoping you wouldn’t kick me out.” Jake pressed in behind me, his arm wrapping around my waist.
A few days. A few days. A few days. Enveloped in his warmth, I had to remind myself what this was, because he felt like safety, like home, like more.
Fifteen
A streak of sunshine traversed my small room, leaving my face in a warm smattering of light. The blissful, bold euphoria of the night before, that magical state of sexual release, floated around me until that moment and then hurtled to the ground. I looked at the closed door to my bathroom, where the sound of running water emanated. What was I thinking, putting my career at risk for sex? Admittedly, it was really good, did-I-dream-that sex, but still.
I had to find some clothing. I needed to think clearly, and being naked wasn’t helping. Jake’s shirt on the floor was closer than my dresser, and I snatched it up, pulling the buttons closed and rolling up the sleeves. I paced by the window, biting the side of my thumbnail.
I could tell him I changed my mind. Maybe I’ll just ghost him after he leaves.
The door opened, and Jake emerged, all tan muscles and piercing eyes. His black boxer briefs rode low on his hips, revealing his flat stomach, and he flashed me a sweet, playful grin.
“Good morning, Bossy. I like how you look in my shirt.” His eyes skated up my body.
Well, my career might not mean that much to me, after all.
“I’m not sure I love that nickname. Do you really think I’m bossy?”
He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me into his warm embrace for a soft kiss.
“I like that you say what you want, but I can pick another name.” He rubbed his chin and let out a thoughtful “hm.”
“I have to weigh my options,” he said, sliding a hand down my back. “I could call you Fear Factor, if you prefer? I’m assuming you’ll be digging into my psyche to figure out any other phobias and how else to test my mettle.”
I rested my hands on his shoulders. “Hmm, what are your other fears? Clowns? Snakes?”
“No way I’m telling you. Who knows what you’d have me doing before I flew back to North Carolina.”
Subtle reminder: He is leaving. “Wow. North Carolina. That’s so far away. There’s so much I don’t know about you.” I gazed around the room, playing with the ring on my right hand.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Naya like a papaya. Are you nervous?” His hands settled at my waist. I hadn’t realized I’d been shifting from one foot to the other. “Work?”
“How did you know?”
He shrugged. “Just a guess. It is a little dicey, ethically, but I’ll talk to our HR person.”
I inhaled slowly and willed my hands to stop fidgeting. “Do you want to change the plan?”
He shook his head, and a mixture of relief and more questions flooded my chest.
“Isn’t it a conflict of interest for you? Besides, what would you tell HR? ‘I screwed the brains out of one of the faculty members at the school, but it won’t impair my judgment’?”
Jake chuckled in response, and I cracked a smile, despite my anxiety—his humor was contagious. “Our HR director is my mother’s age and kind of reminds me of my fourth-grade teacher, so I won’t say I screwed your brains out . . .” His grin widened. “Unless you prefer I give her the full play-by-play?” He slid his fingers under the shirt to tickle my ribs, and goose bumps prickled as his palms skirted up my bare skin.
I rolled my eyes, but my body responded to him without my permission. “Seriously. What do you actually do, Jake? How bad could this be?” To do: Google management consulting.
“We determine which areas of the university are contributing and which are draining, financially or otherwise, and then we offer recommendations. It’s a lot more complex than that, but essentially, that covers it.” He fixed me with a pointed gaze, his hands sliding to rest at my waist again, thumbs making small circles on my hips. “Carlton is the front man on this, anyway.”
“I don’t think this is right,” I insisted.
“I’ll bring it up when I get back to the office. I promise.”
“All right,” I murmured, imagining the worst but resigned that I couldn’t do anything that morning. Still, his thumbs made wider and wider circles, inching closer to where I wanted to feel him again.
“I’ll give Muriel a hypothetical—”
I cut him off with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Muriel? Not Gladys?”
Jake’s face cracked into a grin, and he pulled me closer, dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose. “You’re beautiful.”
“When I’m giving you shit?”
“Yes.” His voice softened. “But the rest of the time, too.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but my heart thumped wildly.
“Now,” he added, his breath against my neck and his palms wandering, “will you come back to bed so I have more juicy things to confess to HR?”
Sixteen
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I filed the last email into the proper folder.
Is there anything as satisfying as an empty inbox?
I clenched my thighs as I had been doing all day. The slight ache there reminded me of the night before and that morning. Maybe a few things are better.
Campus was quiet enough that I could savor the feeling of having made it through the year. A definite upside of my job was having control over my summers—I didn’t have to be in the office and could spend my days writing. That’s what I did ordinarily. Maybe this summer, I’d try a few other things.
My phone buzzed, and I smiled before I flipped it over.
Jake: How did work go today after Flip’s announcement last night?
The warmth that spread through my chest had nothing to do with the sun beating through the windows from the cloudless sky or even the memory of multiple orgasms. I reread the message. He was thinking about me, and he thought to ask about my work. I reminded myself this was a fling. I told myself that, but I grinned as I typed a reply.
Naya: Good. Boss is freaking out like everyone else, but I am celebrating the end of the year.
Jake: How are you celebrating?
I snapped a photo of my empty inbox, making sure my email address and last name didn’t show on the screen.
Jake: You don’t know this, but that image is equivalent to pornography for me. So sexy.
Naya: How are the wedding preparations?
Jake: We’re on hour three of decorating the reception hall. Apparently, we should be done with things by five . . . with an hour to spare before the rehearsal dinner.
Naya: That’s brutal.
Jake: I don’t know if I’ll get to see you tonight until late.
Naya: I’m sure we’ll figure it out.
My phone pinged with a photo message from him. It was a selfie, his skeptical expression in the foreground and behind him, a petite woman in a white T-shirt with Bride spelled out in glittery pink script. She was surrounded by women in neon pink T-shirts that read Bridesmaid in a matching font. They were in one of the hotel ballrooms, and the bride appeared to be scolding the leftmost woman.
How to Fail at Flirting Page 9