by JA Huss
“She’s kind of avoiding me.”
“How? She’s your secretary.”
“Executive assistant. Jesus, man. Stay woke.” Seriously, sometimes I don’t understand the guy at all. “She just,” he goes on, “she used to stay late, poke her head into my office to check in during the day, all that kind of thing. Lately, I dunno. She’s just been getting... Weird. So. You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”
I nod slowly and glance over at Eden once more. She’s trying to avoid our conversation and staring at the sculpture again.
“How soon can I nail her?”
“Nail her?”
“Myrtle. How soon before we can prove it?”
“Oh. Well, have you even confronted her about it?”
“Aw, come on, man.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Do you think she’d just come out and admit it? That she’s trying to eat off my idea? No way someone would just cop to that. We have to prove it.”
I nod yet again. Yeah. He’s a hundred percent right.
“You’re not gonna let me down, are you, mon frère?” he asks. I get a thousand-yard stare, looking nowhere in particular. “And?” he says.
“Sorry. Uh, no, no, of course not. No way. We’ll get her, man. OK? Don’t worry. You and Serilda just go off tonight and ... do ... I don’t care. And within a week we’ll have this sorted. Don’t sweat it. I got you.”
“Je t’aime,” he says, kissing me on the cheek.
“Yeah, yeah, moi aussi.”
“Eden,” he says, taking her hand and kissing it once again. “Eden,” he repeats.
“Yes?” she says, hesitantly.
“Just locking it in.” He points at his head and winks. He and Serilda take off. I don’t tell Serilda it was a pleasure. Because it wasn’t. She’s got good taste in nameless, faceless geniuses though. I’ll give her that.
“So,” I say, reaching for Eden’s hand. “You still good to get out of here and go pop the cork on that grown-up juice box?”
She sighs, heavily, says, “Yeah. Sure,” and starts to walk.
“Hey.” I pull her back to me, “What’s up? No bullshit. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just. I dunno.”
“Eden... I’m not gonna make a thing out of this. I’m really not. K? I promised myself I wouldn’t and I’m not gonna. But... is there anything you need to tell me?”
I bear down into her eyes with mine. She gets a little teary. Shit.
And then she says, “No. No. Just... I think maybe being around all this art has made me emotional.” I let out a breath and hang my head. “Is that weird?” she adds.
I take a long, long inward breath now, stroke a hair from her face, and finally, I tell her, “No, cupcake. It’s not weird. Art is an expression of the artist’s truth.”
I give her a small kiss on the forehead, pull her into a hug, and whisper over the thrumming heartbeat-like drone in the space...
“And the truth can do that to people.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - EDEN
My perfect night is blown. First the apartment mistake. Wow, how did I not see that coming? And my reaction at the door earlier? Totally batshit crazy.
Then the gallery. That was not the quiet evening I envisioned. Don’t get me wrong, it was super fun. But now Andrew is even more suspicious of me than he was before we went out.
Why is this happening to me?
Seriously? Why does my perfect guy have to be my sworn enemy out to destroy me?
It’s not fair.
“Well,” I say, unable to hide the fact that I’m now depressed. “This is me.” I fish around in my purse and find my key card, then look over my shoulder at Andrew one more time. It might be the last time I ever get to gaze at his beautiful face because I’m pretty sure my pink apartment covered in frosting is a dead giveaway that I’m the Sexpert.
The lock flashes green, but I hesitate.
“Allow me,” Andrew says, turning the handle and pushing the door open. But then he waits, waves his hand, and says, “After you.”
I sigh and enter, flipping the lights on as I throw my arms up and say, “Here you go. Me in all my teenage glory.”
Andrew enters, walks to the center of the room, then spins in place. It’s so small he can see everything in this one spin.
“That’s the kitchen,” I say. “The bathroom is behind that door. My closet. My living room,” I say, pointing to my mini loveseat and the coffee table in front of it. “And… bedroom.”
He takes it all in, slowly studying everything. The couch, the pink fuzzy pillows, the bed and princess mosquito netting. And then… yup, he sees the cupcake picture and walks over to it to get a closer look. Like he can’t see the four-foot-by-four-foot dessert from six feet away.
“Interesting choice of art,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder. “And it’s the only thing you have on the wall.”
“I have more,” I say.
“Yeah? Where?”
“In my closet.”
“Let me guess. Is it a picture of strawberry shortcake with whip cream on top?”
“No,” I say, getting irritated with him. I want to scream at him. I mean, he knows it’s me. He knows! And right now this whole night feels like… like he’s just waiting for me to admit it.
But I don’t scream at him. I don’t have the energy? Fight? Whatever. I just walk over to the closet and pull out the small picture frames I didn’t have the time or patience to hang up. “See?”
He takes the stack of small frames from my outstretched hands and laughs. “Kittens?”
“Yeah, so? I like kittens. I was like, fourteen when I bought these, OK? This is my first apartment! I was living with my father a week and a half ago. And I had to save up for two years to afford to move to the TDH. I didn’t want to dip into my savings to redecorate so I just brought my childhood bedroom with me. Sorry if I’m not up to your level of sophistication.”
He softens a little because that was harsh. Then hands the pictures back. I tuck them away in the closet and close the door.
When I turn to face him again, he’s looking at me weird, his head tilted to the side a little. “What?” I ask.
“Where’s your office?”
“Office,” I huff. “It’s a studio apartment. There’s no office.”
“Where do you keep your computer?”
I point to my tote bag on the floor. “In there.”
“There?” he asks.
“I mean… when I want to use it, I put it on the coffee table. Or prop a pillow on my lap and sit it on top of that.”
“Hmmm,” he says.
“What’s that mean? Hmmm.”
He rubs his hand over his face, absently feeling the delicious shadow of stubble on his jaw. “OK.”
“OK?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s not you.”
“I told you it wasn’t me!” I say that too loud. And I’m pointing my finger at him.
He walks across the room towards me. It’s such a small apartment, it only takes him a few steps. He reaches for my pointing finger, wraps it up in his warm hand, and says, “I’m sorry. It’s just… you’re just so…”
“So what?” I ask, moving towards him. Into him. Because he smells good, and he’s so handsome, and I really, really, really like him.
“So fucking Sexperty sexy.”
“I’m really not. I’m just…” I shrug. “I’m just a simple girl, Andrew. That’s all. I like pink, and kittens, and cupcakes.”
“You’re killing me.”
I pout a little, kinda confused. “I don’t get it.”
He leans in and kisses me. He’s warm and his soft lips are like a gentle touch. I get lost in them as I open my mouth and our tongues do that sweet little dance I’ve come to love. And then he whispers, “The fact that you don’t get it makes it so much sexier,” right into my mouth.
And then I stop caring about what he’s talking about. I don’t care about cupcakes or kittens or how I turned a trendy
TDH apartment into a pink princess palace, because his fingertips are playing with the string tied at the back of my neck.
I shudder a little as the soft silk tendrils brush against my bare back, and then his hands come around to squeeze my perfect, perky, braless breasts.
He lets out the sexiest breath of air, so soft and filled with desire, I want to die.
“Jesus,” he says, his hands squeezing tightly. He places his mouth on one of them, over the fabric, and bites at the erect nipple that’s been stimulated to attention, making itself known.
I run my fingertips through his hair. And my heart is beating so fast right now, I think he probably hears it.
He lifts his head up but I can’t bring myself to stop playing with his hair, so my arms lift up, stretching my breasts into their fullest, most perky position, the sides of my boobs peeking out from the curve of the dress where it arcs its way down my body, and he just… shakes his head as he gazes down at them.
“You kill me,” he says, walking me backwards, his hands lifting my hem, his fingers tracing the seam of my black stockings and the garters holding them up. He nibbles on my earlobe and whispers softly, “Kill me dead,” as he bites at the flesh and I groan from deep in my throat.
I am also sorta thinking about how wearing stockings and garters was in the Have Your Cake video and I really nailed that tip. But then again… sorta not.
Because who gives a fuck?
I take one more step backwards, kneel down a little, and look up at him.
I know that’s a tip in some video I’ve made as well, but that’s not why I do it.
I just want to look up at him as I unbuckle his belt, pop the button on his pants, slide the zipper down, and take out his cock.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - ANDREW
“Oh, my God.”
“What?” she asks. “Is this OK?”
“Yeah, cupcake. It’s more than OK. I was just thinking... You actually should take up rock climbing. You’ve got the grip strength for it.”
She giggles, and I grab her by the ass, lifting her back up and pulling her to me. I want my mouth on hers. She begins pumping on my shaft as we kiss. I want to take her hard, in exactly the same way you want to tear into some kind of delicious dessert, but I also want to savor every bite of her. I decide quickly that both things are achievable.
I let my tongue land on her pouty lips and trace them in full, sliding inside her mouth once I’ve completed a perfect ‘O.’ Something about the hardness of her teeth juxtaposed against the softness of her lips reminds me of the sculpture that we saw. Soft sensuality and sharp edges blended together and becoming a part of each other. Dichotomy incarnate.
She continues stroking my cock and my hands reach down, grabbing folds of her dress and lifting until my hands land on her ass. My fingers slide under the lacy fabric of her panties so that I can tease her asshole. I have no idea how she’ll react, but I’m not thinking a lot about it. Like scaling a mountain or painting a picture, I’m just reaching out, throwing caution somewhat to the wind, and trusting that the end result will be something glorious.
The moan she makes into my mouth lets me know I’m on the right path to the summit.
I pull on the dress more to lift it up over her torso. Up. Up. Up. And those breasts are in front of my eyes again. They are a sculpture themselves. A perfectly rendered example of living art.
I tug the dress up over her head and...
I tug the dress up...
I tug the...
I tug...
Shit. I think I needed to, like, unsnap something around the back of her neck. It’s stuck over her head.
“Um,” she says, muffled by the fabric.
I’m standing three feet away from her, tugging at the dress, my cock sticking out through the zipper hole in my pants; she’s bent forward, black, backless dress pulled up around her head, wearing nothing else but a thong and heels.
We’re like a living version of a Chinese finger trap.
“Andrew...?”
“I know. I... Hold on.”
For whatever reason, I choose not to do the logical thing and pull the dress down her body. Not sure why. I just walk it toward her, inside out, and toss it over the back of her head like a cape.
For a second, seeing her faceless, naked body distracts me for a couple of reasons and I just kind of stare at her.
“Are you still there?”
“Shit, sorry.” I swing around behind her to see if I can undo the clasp in the back.
When I get back there and step in to reach her dress, my cock kind of... Well... It kind of pokes her in the ass.
“Oh!” she yelps.
“Yeah, sorry, it’s just... There.”
And then suddenly she gets very still, turns her still covered head, and muffles out, “I don’t mind.”
Fuck unclasping.
I grab the neckline with both hands and rip it at the seam, tearing it off her. It falls off her head and to the ground. She looks down at it pooled around her ankles and then looks at me and says, “I just got that cleaned.”
“I’ll buy you a new one.” And then my hands are fisting her hair, pressing her mouth against mine again and she’s fumbling for my belt.
I have the thought, instantly, that there’s a very good chance that she’ll manage to catch her finger in the buckle, snap it back, breaking her wrist, and at the same time somehow succeed in tightening my open zipper with the torque of her pull and wind up chopping my dick off. Yes, it’s crazy, and yes, it’s implausible, but then again...
“Hold on, hold on,” I mutter into her kiss. Stroking her arms to gently pull her away from my belt, I step back and look at her.
“What?” she asks, nervously, rubbing her knees together shyly. “Did I do something wrong?”
It breaks my heart and turns me on at the same time.
“No,” I whisper. “No. You didn’t.”
Slowing things down, I unbuckle my own belt. Sliding it out of the belt loops, I keep both eyes on her only. I toss off my jacket and kick my shoes off at once. I pull off my socks, still staying focused on her, then begin unbuttoning my shirt. She bites at her bottom lip in the way she does that makes my dick jump. And my dick jumps.
I discard the shirt, tuck my cock back into my boxers long enough to slip my pants and underwear off, and then stand in front of her, naked. Her legs twist a bit at the knees and she kind of shimmies in place. I don’t even think she knows she’s shimmying. In fact, I realize now that she hasn’t been kidding or playing coy even a little bit. She has genuinely no idea how sexy she is. Which is also part of what makes her so goddamn sexy.
She goes to kick off her shoes and unfasten her garters, but I stop her. “Leave ’em on.”
She glances down at her feet and then lifts her eyes to meet mine again. “OK.”
I take two steps to reach her, lift her hands, and kiss the backs of both of them. She places them on my chest and steps in closer to me so that our bodies are tight together, my cock pressed between our stomachs.
“What now?” she asks.
In my mind I think to say, I dunno. What would the Sexpert do? But I don’t. I don’t want to fuck this up. And in not asking the question, I think this is the moment I decide that this girl means something to me. Something special. Or, at the least, she could. She stands the chance of being. I wasn’t looking for her at all and she fell into my life like an avalanche. I want to see what that brings with it.
I’m not sure how I’m going to avoid getting crushed by the next avalanche that I’m certain is going to come, but I’ll figure that out when it happens.
“Now?” I respond. “Do you have a condom somewhere?”
“I... Yes. I mean. I think so. They’re the same ones I’ve had for a while, but I don’t think they have an expiration date. They’re in my nightstand. Why?”
Why? “I wanna make balloon animals.” She furrows her brow. “I wanna have sex with you! Is that something you’d be into? Because I’m u
sually pretty good at reading signals and this”—I make a circular gesture, encompassing our bodies—“feels like a pretty clear signal.”
She gets a small smile, nods, and says, “Yes, I’d like that very much, please, thank you.”
Kills.
I grab her up in the air. She wraps her high-heeled ankles around my waist and I carry her to her nightstand. My cock presses against the ornately patterned silk of her panties as we step over. She feels warm. Damp. And that’s when I realize for the first time that the panties aren’t sewn completely shut in the front. There’s a slit. A point of entry. A convenient opening in the wrapper covering her milky sweetness. Fuck me.
“Condom, condom, condom,” I say three or four times, a little loudly.
She giggles, reaches down, opens a drawer, and inside are about a hundred condoms. My eyes widen.
“The fuck are you planning?” I ask.
“I didn’t buy them all. Some were, like, party favors. Some my friend Zoey gave me. A few were on sale when I was buying orange juice, and I’m always looking for a deal... I dunno.”
I shake my head. Then, “Do you have any magnums?”
Her lips press together tightly, trying to stifle a grin. She nods. “Uh-huh. I think so. I bought some one time because I had it on my vision board.”
“You had ‘guy with a big dick’ on your vision board? You had a vision board?”
She nods again. “I guess that manifesting shit works, huh?” She fishes around until she finds a magnum, pulls it out, rips open the packaging with her teeth, and then I lower her to the floor so that she can slide it on me.
She drops to her knees and kisses the tip of my cock. It sends something like electric ice through my spine.
“I’m... I’m not sure it’s gonna fit,” she says.
“You mean the condom?”
“Yeah. Did you think I meant...?”
“I didn’t wanna presume.”
“No, I mean, I’m not sure about the other thing either, but we’ll make it work.”
I laugh a little and the muscles in my stomach tighten, causing my dick to jump again. And as she stretches the condom out to fit around me, she says...