by Rosie Danan
She lay back down, feeling languid and wired at the same time.
“Are you sure about this?” He returned to the bed to pour his body over hers.
The adoration in his eyes, both vulnerable and possessive, made her heart clench. In answer, Clara wrapped her legs around his waist.
The muscles working in Josh’s throat highlighted his elevated pulse point as he positioned his hips. Clara sucked in air like someone had outlawed it as he entered her. The stretch of him was deep enough that she could almost feel it in her teeth. She had to breathe through her nose for a few seconds. Each time he exhaled the tiny movement felt like pressing her tongue against a live wire.
Josh kissed her temple. “Are you all right?” His voice shook as he held his body still.
“Yes.” Clara gasped his name, using the word please as punctuation. Josh tortured her with pleasure until she dug her heels into his back.
He brought his hand down to where their bodies joined, applying steady pressure like an art form as he began to thrust. The wet slap as his hips met her ass echoed in her ears.
Her peak was so close, so close, so . . . “Oh God. I’m gonna . . .”
“Yeah?”
Her pussy tightened around him as she whimpered.
Josh pulled her closer with two hands on her ass and buried himself inside her, holding the heavenly position. Every cell in her body burst apart and fused back together.
When she reentered reality, Josh’s pupils were dark as pitch and his forearms strained where he supported himself above her.
He was trembling, she realized, watching her face.
“Josh?”
“Give me a second,” he said between his teeth.
True to form, she didn’t listen. She trailed her fingernails over the damp skin of his bare back, hard enough to leave marks.
Josh flipped them so that she was the one on top with so much grace her jaw dropped. The change in position seemed to release any reservations he’d maintained because he brought his hands to her hips and ground her body down on his with vigorous intent. She recognized that figure eight. The new angle made her see stars. He was touching parts of her she hadn’t even known existed.
The intensity with which Josh thrust into her made her wild. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t fucking stand it.”
Clara reached up and cupped her breasts, taking her nipples between her fingers and mimicking his earlier ministrations. Josh’s eyes raked a path from her face down to her breasts to where their bodies came together. Until finally, he groaned, jerking his hips for a handful of final snaps.
Clara smiled, catlike, against his shoulder. He brought his hands to her back, tracing soothing circles across her shoulders until she sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes.
He reached up to brush her cheek, letting his hand linger along the side of her jaw. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment we met.”
“You said you thought I was a cat burglar.” Neither of them could quite catch their breath.
“Yeah.” Josh ran his hand down her spine. “I was gonna let you burgle me.” Bringing his palms to her waist, he carefully detangled their slippery limbs.
As she lay on her back next to him, Clara pointed and flexed her toes under the covers, testing to make sure this body still belonged to her.
“Are you hungry?” Josh sat up and playfully sank his teeth into the skin where her neck met her shoulder. “Because I’m starving.”
God, he’s hot. So hot part of her wanted to pause and take a picture so that someday when she was old and gray she could remind herself that she’d once gone all the way with such a veritable smokestack.
Somehow she’d earned this oasis with a man who made her feel divine. If only she could keep him. “I could eat.”
“Great. I know just the place.” He grabbed his pants off the carpet.
“But it’s almost three. Nothing’s open.”
He walked to her closet and tossed her a T-shirt and her overalls. “Oh ye of little faith.”
Clara caught the clothes and smiled, remembering his affinity for the outfit. “I have to be up for work in a few hours. Toni’s got a big fund-raising event and it’s all hands on deck.”
Josh’s hands stilled on his waistband. “Right. Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
The soda-can feeling returned. Bubbles of joy bloomed from her toes to the tips of her fingers. Tonight didn’t have to end. Not if she didn’t let it. “Let’s go.”
Someone else could worry about her future. About repercussions. About pain.
Clara had plans.
She loved this messy, sun-drenched life she’d stumbled upon. Suddenly words like destiny and fate didn’t sound so silly. Other people did things like this every day. Slept with a beautiful man, knew he didn’t owe her anything.
Josh wasn’t the man of her dreams.
He was something better, something more than she’d ever allowed herself to imagine.
What if L.A. wasn’t a mistake?
She had a cozy home. A good job. A rewarding, if surprising, passion project.
Hell, she was even making progress with Naomi.
Josh Conners and Clara Wheaton didn’t make sense on paper, but what if somehow, impossibly, two wrongs made a right? At least under the covers.
He dusted a kiss across her temple. “I think you might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Clara’s heart squeezed like a fist. The moment was too good. Too much. He doesn’t mean it. Not like it sounds.
Shit. She pulled on her clothes and toed on her sneakers. Had anyone ever managed to fall into bed with a pleasure professional without losing their heart?
chapter twenty-eight
JOSH ALWAYS WALKED out of Miss Dee Vine’s Corner Café with a full belly and glitter stuck to the soles of his shoes. About an hour postcoital, a celebrated drag queen greeted him and Clara with smacking kisses to both of their cheeks. Miss Dee led them to a table tucked in the back and winked.
“Order whatever your heart desires,” she said as she handed them menus and a can of crayons, and then, in a conspiratorial whisper, “but we’ve got the best waffles in the Gayborhood.”
Clara ran her palms across the brown wax paper covering the table. Josh tried not to openly stare at her. In the dim fluorescent lights, she looked like everything he’d ever wanted. Every toy that was too expensive at Christmastime. Every sports car he’d ever salivated over. Every ounce of approval he’d never earned.
He sat on his hands to avoid reaching out and caressing her face. The very impulse made him wonder if he’d gone off the deep end. Words left him. Usually having sex with someone made him feel more comfortable around them. He’d successfully used intercourse as an icebreaker in awkward or unfamiliar social situations on more than one occasion.
Somehow tonight he’d walked through a doorway to an alternate reality. Only in another dimension would Clara have let him hold her and kiss her and touch her without a list of reasons on hand to justify the intimacy. His molecules had rearranged to give him this shot at loving her. His seven years must be up.
After a server took their order, Josh focused on making eye contact with the shiny buttons of Clara’s overalls. Oh shit. What if she thought he was staring at her tits? And now, of course, his eyes had strayed to her tits and yep, they were still amazing.
Clara reached across the table and patted his forearm. “Everything okay?”
“What? Me? Sure.” That sounded too casual. He didn’t want her to think tonight didn’t matter to him. That he considered all sex the same. Josh covered her hand with his own. “I mean, I’m good. Really good. I’m happy.” Happy was too generic. Happy was commoditized. He needed a better adjective. One that spoke of transformation. The elation of reaching a summit. Damn, he was in trouble.
“No.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts.
“Are you freaking out because you think I’m going to freak out?”
“Now I am.”
“Well, don’t. I promise I’m really happy too.” But he could see something sad in her eyes. Clara rearranged the condiments on the table so that the Heinz bottle stood front and center. “Now, please tell me the ketchup story.”
“No. It’s embarrassing.” Josh dropped his face into his hands.
She straightened the sugar packets so that they all faced the same direction. “That reaction is not making me want to hear it any less.”
“It’s dumb.” But at least it gave him something to think about besides how much he liked the smell of her perfume and how he wanted to spray it across his pillow. Did they have a hotline for this shit?
Dolly Parton crooned through the café’s speakers and half the patrons at the counter twanged along. Clara swayed side to side and twirled her hand at him expectantly.
“Fine,” he said, resigning himself. “Growing up, all my cousins and I used to rag on one another. Just dumb pranks. As the youngest, I was both very devious and very good at talking my way out of trouble.”
Clara propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “No surprise there.”
“One night when I was seven, my cousin Fred had taken the blame for something I did, maybe melting a Tonka truck, I can’t remember. Anyways, in retaliation he waited until I went to sleep, filled both of my palms with ketchup, and then tickled me with a feather until I had rubbed it all over my face.”
“That’s it?”
She didn’t grasp the severity of the situation. He’d made his dad burn his favorite superhero pajamas. “I woke up in the dark with globs of the stuff dripping into my eyes. The vinegar burns like you wouldn’t believe.” His throat clenched as the memory of the overwhelming odor threatened to suffocate him. “I was scared shitless. I thought my face was peeling off.”
Clara hid the ketchup bottle behind two stacks of jelly and the small pitcher of syrup. “That sounds traumatic.”
A sound suspiciously close to a giggle escaped her mouth before she brought her forearm up and smothered it.
Josh smiled self-deprecatingly. “I told you it was dumb.”
“You were not kidding.” Clara’s smile was so bright, he expected all the fuses in the kitchen to blow at any moment. His chest tightened.
Talking to women had always been easy before. He liked them. They liked him. The math was simple.
Until now. There was nothing simple about Clara.
“You better take that story to your grave. No one outside my family knows, and they’re all gagged by extensive threats of blackmail.”
“You can trust me.”
With startling clarity, Josh realized that he could. This woman who never should have given him the time of day had arrived on his doorstep. His heart climbed into his throat.
“I scared you again,” Clara said. “I have to admit, if I had to guess which of us would go skittish after sex, I never would have picked you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this.” Josh’s shoulder drooped. He had a reputation as a respectful bedfellow, sure. His partners counted on him to deliver a good time and a few laughs, but even with Naomi, no one expected any more of him.
“Tonight feels important.” He shook his head. “That sounded weird.” Any second she’d go running.
“No. I know what you mean.” She smiled shyly. “It felt like we caused some kind of cosmic shift by acting out of character.” Clara exhaled and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Let’s put these crayons to good use, shall we? Whoever draws the best caricature of the pair of us gets to assign the other the chore of their choice.”
“How loosely are we defining chore?” Lurid visions of Clara folding laundry in lingerie entered his mind.
Clara picked up the crayon closest to her and began to draw. “Use your imagination.”
Josh scooted farther under the table to hide his body’s reaction to the promise in her tone. His imagination was wicked.
Ten minutes later he dropped his own drawing implement. “Okay. Moment of truth.”
Clara added a final flourish and then came to sit beside him. “Which one is me?”
He quickly added green boobs to Clara’s stick figure.
She laughed and her arm brushed against his. Josh’s mouth went dry.
“I see you’ve gone for anatomical accuracy.”
He pointed to some key details in the illustration. “We’re on an adventure. You’ve got a telescope and a map. I have a sword because you’re the brains of the operation and we can’t afford to lose you to bandits.”
She bent closer to the table covering and her hair brushed along his forearm. “It looks like you’ve got two swords.”
“No. The one in my left hand is a baguette. In case we need a snack.”
“I have never met a man who loves baked goods as much as you do.”
Josh tapped his chin with his index finger. “And yet you still gave my body a ten out of ten.”
Her cheeks turned the delicate pink of cotton candy.
Kiss her, you idiot. You’re allowed now.
But what if she pulled away? What if the reason she was unusually calm was because she’d gotten a taste of him and decided not to go back for seconds?
He stood up abruptly and Clara straightened to follow suit. “Let’s see yours.”
They both shuffled over to her side of the table.
Her picture made his breath catch. She’d managed to use the broken crayons to create something beautiful.
“Are we swimming?”
“No.” She pointed to the blue swirls surrounding their cartoon images. “That’s the sky.”
“So we’re flying?” He took an embarrassingly large gulp as he reached out and traced the way she’d drawn herself tucked under his arm.
“I modeled it after Chagall. Often when he draws . . . lovers . . . they’re floating in each other’s arms. Caught somewhere between awake and dreaming.” She cleared her throat. “Like tonight.”
Josh’s pulse thundered in his ears and his voice came out reverent. “I’ve never heard of Chagall.”
Clara passed him a crayon. “This shade of blue reminded me of his work. It’s the crushed velvet of the night sky.”
“I have to tell you something,” he said, now holding his beating heart in his hands. Ready to confess that he wanted to be with her more than he’d ever wanted anything. The word love hovered on the tip of his tongue. He’d never done this before. Not when it mattered so much.
Her brows drew together and fear flashed across her face.
“Here you go.” Their server arrived with two plates brimming with waffles.
Josh awkwardly returned to his seat, his courage snuffed. He would tell her tomorrow. If she still wanted him in the morning light.
They finally left the café as Clara’s blue velvet sky broke to reveal the vivid orange of dawn. As the woman of his dreams waited by the door, Josh hastily ripped her drawing from the brown paper covering their table, tucked the folded square into his back pocket, and made a wish.
chapter twenty-nine
WHILE CLARA HADN’T become immune to the shock of watching writhing naked bodies, at least she could now do so without hiding behind her fingers. The teaser clips on her screen ranged from studious to steamy, with Josh and Naomi alternating narration. As moans of pleasure poured through her headphones, she crossed her arms over her nipples and hoped no one realized just how well their latest segment for Shameless worked.
Naomi’s videos always piqued her interest, but every time Josh’s voice came on Clara began to pant. When th
e man himself walked over to her makeshift desk at the studio, Clara’s stomach fluttered at the memory of the last time he’d caught her watching something steamy, the Googling that had started it all. As she hit pause, she resisted the urge to minimize the window on her computer.
“Is that the promo footage Naomi sent through? What do you think?” Josh pulled up a chair next to her. He had rolled up the sleeves of his button-down and the sight of the golden hair peppered across the sinewy skin of his forearms made her salivate. Had a human being ever looked so . . . edible? Sleeping with him last night had sent her body into an endless cycle of craving. She’d run around Toni’s event all day replaying memories and fanning herself before finally ducking out early to meet Josh at the studio.
“Clara?” Josh waved a hand in front of her. “Did you hear me?”
“Oh yes. Sorry. You did a great job describing the use of biting in the tutorial about oral nipple stimulation.” Her face heated to approximately the same temperature as the surface of the sun. Couldn’t she have picked something less explicit to comment on? Like the background music?
Josh tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Thank you. I’m . . . uh . . . glad you approve.” The air between them smoldered as her body wavered closer to his. “If you need any additional consultation on the matter, don’t hesitate to ask.”
It was all Clara could do to keep her tongue inside her mouth. “I think a practical demonstration would be helpful. For my professional understanding of the choreography. As a business leader.”
Josh lowered his voice so only Clara could hear. “I jotted down three new scene ideas while you were at work today. For some reason, I woke up particularly inspired this morning.”
Clara hid a smile behind her lips. She had some scene ideas of her own, but . . . Who was she kidding? She’d never pull off casual sex with Josh, of all men. Her only option was an honest conversation about what they meant to each other. Clara thought she’d seen hope in his eyes last night that reflected her own. It was agony, holding back from letting herself consider a future with him, and she didn’t know how much more she could take. “I actually wanted to talk to you about last night.”