by Rosie Danan
“You didn’t think to use the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on?”
“I’m not sure Dingus Winslow would have gone over well.” Josh warmed at the memory of his beloved hamster.
“Probably not.”
“It was dumb luck that every time the director wanted me to lift my leg or whatever he would yell out ‘Josh, darling.’ The PA on set that day must have thought it was my stage name. They took it down, and the next thing I know the video comes out and there it is in the credits.”
“How did you . . . ?” She cleared her throat. “Why do you . . . ? That is to say . . . How did you find yourself in this particular line of work?”
Ah yes. The careful Clara version of How did you end up fucking on camera?
“I used to valet for big Hollywood parties in the Valley. One night, some guy caught me going down on his wife in his Maserati. I thought for sure he’d hit me, but instead, he offered me a job if I could keep going and keep my hard-on while he watched. I was twenty-four and a college dropout. The idea that someone wanted to pay me to have sex sounded a hell of a lot better than trying to get a real job.”
Josh tried to gauge her reaction. She hadn’t fled from the room or curled her lip in disgust, so he kept talking.
“It turned out I had a knack for it. Not everyone can handle the stress of all the cameras and having to perform on command, you see.” He refused to admit any shame in that moment. He’d never let anyone make him feel bad about his work and he didn’t intend to start now. So what if Clara didn’t approve of his choices? She could get in line behind the long list of other people. A line that started with his mother.
A tiny crease formed between her brows. “But you must have considered other occupations?”
“Oh, I see. You’re fishing for my secret pain.”
She tugged on the hem of her shirt again. “Secret pain?”
“Yeah, you know. What terrible tragedy occurred to force me to take up a seedy career in adult entertainment? Why would anyone undamaged fuck for money, right?” He clenched his jaw.
He’d participated in this conversation countless times, especially with women who wanted to redeem him. If Clara found his job distasteful, she could walk out at any time. He would even lend a hand as she packed her bags.
“That’s not what I meant.” Clara rubbed her throat with an unsteady hand.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have a sob story. I like what I do and a lot of other people like what I do. In fact . . .” Even when they were sitting down, she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.
Her sooty lashes lowered. It wasn’t fair that she could make bashful look sexy.
“I think you like what I do.” He returned his gaze to her nipples with obvious innuendo.
“Excuse me.” She put a hand on his shoulder and gave a little shove. “I’ll have you know that I was watching that video through a very professional, even artistic, lens.”
He had to hand it to her, a lesser woman would never have managed to convey righteous indignation in that nightgown.
But all the gumption in the world hadn’t saved her from falling into his trap. “Great, so what did you think?”
“Of what?” The sounds she emitted amounted to more squeaks than words.
He dropped his hands to his lap, intentionally drawing her eyes below his waistline. “You know what.”
Her throat worked as she gulped. Stray locks of her dark hair clung to the damp skin of her neck.
“Well, I thought the performance seemed very . . . well executed. I can see how your methods would prove effective.” Her face filled with alarm. “Not that I was affected. Because, you know, that would be inappropriate.” Clara’s eyes shot nervously to his forearms and then back to the carpet, her clear refuge.
What was it with women and forearms?
He couldn’t resist flexing them by making a fist. “Ahh, yes. Well, I’m looking for strictly professional feedback.”
“Like constructive criticism?”
“I’m always looking to improve my craft,” he said, his voice just serious enough that she would have difficulty discerning whether he meant the request. He draped his arm across the back of the sofa. “And you seem like the kind of girl who would take notes.”
chapter eight
CLARA CONSIDERED HOW much of the truth to withhold from the infuriatingly confident man sitting next to her. He’d already imprisoned her in this conversation. She ached to withhold any further satisfaction. Part of her wanted to tell Josh she found what he did degrading, if only to wipe the smirk from his mouth. She envisioned lifting up her nose to show him how far beneath her she found pornography as both an industry and an art form.
But she couldn’t do it.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, that video had achieved its desired ends.
She’d watched him have objectively great sex with a beautiful woman, and it had made her so hot her skin should have burst into flames.
Not because she wanted to sleep with him. No. It was because the words that best described her love life were tepid and careful.
In contrast, Josh had given the woman in that video pleasure that seemed shockingly wild and vivid. Now he wanted her to provide notes on his craft or, heaven forbid, his form? Lust still swarmed her brain like raging bees. She could barely think over the buzzing in her ears.
Sure, this was probably a mistake. Nothing more than a way for Josh to call her out on paying too much attention to a video of him having sex. But the lifelong student in her couldn’t pass up an opportunity for firsthand research.
The silence in the living room swelled, waiting for her reply. Finally, she let fly the words she’d held hidden under her tongue since he walked into the room. “You do that mouth thing a lot.”
His lips formed a perfect O—clearly, he had anticipated a different piece of feedback. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Clara desperately drew air past the vise around her throat. You’re a grown woman. You can do this. “Oral sex,” she said, taking great pains not to whisper it.
“On her or on me?”
“On her.” If the floor could open up and swallow her right about now, she would really appreciate it.
“And?” The blank look on his face said he was trying to follow the situation but not grasping her point.
“I found all your . . .” She prepped the next word on her tongue. “. . . mouth attention surprising.”
Josh looked around the room as if the lamp or coffee table might offer a translation of her feedback. “I’m not following you.”
Clara believed that he wasn’t being purposely obtuse. “It’s not really my cup of tea, I guess. Although the woman in the video certainly seemed to enjoy it, so I think we can mark it down as a matter of personal preference.” She folded her hands neatly in front of her.
Josh’s eyes narrowed. “How do your partners usually get you off?” His tone lacked all traces of lechery. She expected him to pull his glasses from his pocket at any moment.
Their conversation had taken an unexpected and dangerous turn toward her less than stellar track record of sexual experiences. Clara trailed her foot across the carpet in front of her and watched the fibers fold back.
“Wait a minute.” Realization must have dawned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Josh placed an urgent hand on her arm. “Clara Wheaton, please tell me that a man has brought you to orgasm.”
Clara wished for a white flag to wave. “It’s not that some of them didn’t try,” she said, wanting to stand up for a couple of the sweet, well-meaning men she’d dated. “It just never happened, and I could tell that, after a while, they felt bad about it. It seemed more efficient and less awkward for all parties involved if I took care of things myself.”
He shook his head so vehement
ly, she wondered how it didn’t snap his neck. This time, when his eyes swept over her body with blatant heat, she knew he didn’t do it to embarrass her.
“What a waste.”
She didn’t know what to make of his reaction. He seemed almost angry, more bothered than she’d seen him since she moved in. Perhaps he felt sorry for her. Well, she didn’t need his pity. She gave him the withering stare she usually reserved for people who made snide remarks about her family.
“Excuse me.” She sat up as straight as possible. “I happen to bring myself to very satisfying orgasms.”
His eyes blazed at whatever image her confession conjured. “I’m sure you do. But it’s not the same. Doesn’t the thought of losing control excite you at all?”
When he continued, his voice ran like honey over her body, slow and sweet and sticky. “Don’t you ever ache for someone who doesn’t care how bad you want it? Someone who doesn’t grant you release until you’re begging for it?”
Clara clenched everything below her waist. She had to remind herself that his voice was full of promise, not because he liked her, but to prove a point. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn’t keep her from wishing he’d press his tongue against her racing pulse point.
“Haven’t you ever let someone learn your body? Let them taste every inch of you until the line between pleasure and pain blurs because it feels too good? Too much?”
Clara couldn’t stop her mind from playing back lurid images from the video she’d just seen with herself in the place of Josh’s co-star.
“Don’t you want someone who gets so. Fucking. Hard. Watching you squirm and pant and arch your back as you get close?”
Clara’s eyes fell shut. Josh had transported her to a place both splendid and wicked.
Nothing mattered except that he kept talking, kept using that voice that was more potent than any kiss she’d ever been offered.
But he didn’t. Instead, Josh snapped the invisible thread of tension hanging between them. When she opened her eyes, he’d sat back against the sofa.
“Jesus, Clara.” He ran a careless hand through his hair. “You’ve dated a bunch of lazy assholes if they let you get away with that shit. Sex isn’t about efficiency.”
“Maybe not for you,” she said under her breath.
Josh’s gaze bore through her for a moment, so deep she wondered for a ridiculous instant if he could see through not only her clothes but her skin as well, to the yawning chasm of insecurity underneath.
He got to his feet. “You know what? No.”
She followed the movement of his arms as they crossed in a show of defiance.
“No?” Clara licked her bone-dry lips.
“No,” he said again as if even more convinced of what needed to be done. “This is unacceptable.”
“It is?”
Josh shook out his neck and shoulders, like a swimmer preparing to dive before a race.
“Take off your underwear,” he said, his voice calm and deadly serious.
Clara’s eyes went heavy-lidded at the conviction in his words, but then her mind caught up with her body. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I’m going to rectify this situation,” Josh stated simply. “Right now.”
“You can’t be serious.” She tried to laugh but couldn’t in the face of his stoic determination. “This is insane.”
“Look. I don’t have delusions of grandeur, but at this point in my life, I’ve made it my singular mission to help women get off more and better. Your existence as an outlier throws off the entire curve.”
“Well, when you put it that way it sounds so sexy,” she deadpanned.
“You want sexy?”
“No!” His appeal was already potent enough to stun. She threw her arms up in front of her. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly the kind of girl that has casual sex.”
“You don’t say.” He waited expectantly. When she didn’t move to act as instructed, he had the audacity to wave two fingers to the side in a let’s hurry this along gesture.
Clara fidgeted with her hem. “I appreciate the sentiment. I think. But I can’t take off my underwear out here. I barely know you, and while I get that you’ve got a lot of experience in this area, it seems really unlikely that I could, well . . . you know what I mean.”
She rubbed her arms, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn the night had taken. She never should have Googled her roommate.
“What’s the big deal? There’s no non-asshole way to say this, but I get about fifty women a week asking me to do this. It’ll be totally clinical. Scout’s honor.” He saluted her with three fingers.
“Yeah. I’m going to go out on a limb and say this conversation is not sanctioned by the Boy Scouts of America.” She couldn’t help imagining the havoc he could wreak with that hand.
“If it makes you feel better, we can do it over your underwear.”
“We can?” He was volunteering to take a lot of handicaps here.
He nodded, easy smile back on. “Don’t think so much. We’ll get this pesky problem taken care of and then the next time you have sex with some Melvin you meet at the library, you’ll be prepared to demand what you deserve.”
Clara almost slipped off the couch. Something must be seriously wrong with her because she found herself considering his crazy offer. Women like her didn’t get many indecent propositions. Apparently, Clara liked them. She’d traveled across the country for a taste of love and adventure, and while this encounter might not strictly qualify as either, the idea did make her heart pound in a way her old life never had.
Think of it as a scientific experiment.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Her words trembled with the force of her fear. “What if I’m the problem?” She’d heard it before. Too controlling, too in her own head, too prudish to enjoy sex like everyone else.
Josh didn’t waver in his conviction. “If I can’t get you off with my hands,” he said, his voice soft and incredibly kind, “that’s my problem. Not yours. And if that’s the case, we’ll figure something else out. Every body is different, but none of them are wrong.”
Clara wiped her hands on her traitorous nightgown and gathered her strength.
She could do this. She could be the kind of girl who did things like this.
“Okay.” Her voice sounded far away to her own ears.
Josh’s eyes gleamed with a new kind of triumph. “You’re saying yes?”
“I’m saying yes.” Her stomach churned with mutinous nerves. “So, what should I . . . I mean, where do you want me to . . .”
For once Josh didn’t heighten her discomfort by teasing her. His eyes locked on her mouth as he crowded her on the sofa.
She could map his freckles at this range, but the constellation of dots barely registered. God, kissing him must be heaven. But when his mouth came within inches of hers, she chickened out, instinctively leaning back until her head hit the wall behind the sofa with a thunk.
His soft chuckle was almost a purr. “Don’t worry, Wheaton. I won’t forget the rules.”
With deft movements, Josh guided her into a reclined position. He approached her more like a skittish animal than a lover. His every touch careful. Controlled. A reminder that he saw this engagement as professional. Not pleasure, but his job.
He guided her knees apart, creating enough space for him to kneel between them. “You can close your eyes if you want.”
Clara gratefully accepted the opportunity to detach. Tonight might turn her into a cautionary tale, but she’d wasted enough chances to recognize a once-in-a-lifetime offer.
She slid an inch lower on the couch, letting her body open further, the tiny movement the closest she’d ever come to a deviant act.
Josh brushed his thumb across the tender skin of her upper thigh, making her shiver. �
�Good?”
Clara opened her mouth to respond but the words died, nervous, on her tongue.
“It’s all right,” he said in a rough voice, as if someone had taken sandpaper to his vocal cords. “You don’t have to answer.” The heat of his breath across her already hot skin was decadent torture. “I’ll learn what you like.”
As Clara tried desperately not to think, Josh kissed along the line where her panties met her leg. The contact shot through the lower half of her body like a current. It had been an embarrassingly long time since anyone had touched her with sexual intent.
Josh employed his mouth and hands like a maestro as he made his way down one leg and then the other with devious patience, but he didn’t follow any discernible routine. He tempered his touch across various pressures and patterns, never lingering on one spot for long and avoiding the most pertinent areas of her anatomy entirely. Each maddening stroke made Clara more indignant, more desperate.
Finally, his knuckles brushed against the front of her underwear, the barely-there friction against the cotton leaving her breathless. But just when she thought he’d finally give her some relief, Josh did the opposite, moving away and starting another round of openmouthed kisses down her leg.
“Oh, come on.”
“Excuse me.” Josh nipped her lightly behind her knee and Clara let out a tiny, wholly involuntary squeak. “Was there something you wanted?” He had the nerve to sound innocent.
Clara clenched the arm of the sofa and bit back a groan, not knowing how much more of this slow-burn stuff she could stand. Was it rude to politely ask him to cut to the chase?
It wasn’t that she couldn’t appreciate his technique. The slow, tender touches loosened her limbs, making everything languid and hazy. But she’d been promised an orgasm and no matter how talented he was, Josh wasn’t going to deliver one by kissing her thighs. Clara raised her hips, offering him a helpful hint.
Instead of following directions, Josh removed his hands altogether, giving her nothing but the wet heat of his mouth as he kissed the cotton covering her core. “I’m not gonna let you rush me.”