I’m boneless and dazed when I collapse in his arms, our bodies slick with perspiration once again. He wraps his arm around me, keeping us connected. The smell of sex fills the room.
Best. Date. Ever.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elliot
I flip over a ten, hoping Madison has a face card or an ace. This is our fourth game of War and I’ve beaten her soundly each time. I keep wishing for the tide to turn and luck to be on her side. She tosses down a four, groans her annoyance.
“Seriously?” she chides in the cutest voice. “Are you cheating somehow? Because a run this bad is very suspicious.” She looks at the few cards left in her pile. “You have to be. The highest card I have left is a seven!”
Have I mentioned how cute she is?
I lean across the bed to kiss her, distracting her with my tongue while I swap our card piles. She’s been a good sport—a great one really—and I know she’s just messing with me, but I’ve got this urge to right her wrongs, no matter what they are.
“Kissing me does not”—her lashes flutter as I scoot back to sit—“does not…I forgot what I was going to say.”
“Magic mouth,” I say, pointing at my lips.
She bursts out laughing. “That…is…the…” She grabs her stomach, she’s laughing so hard. And I can’t help it, I laugh with her and watch her face as she notices one of her cards is right side up. It’s a queen. Oops. Still giggling, she checks all the cards, then tosses them at me with a sweet shake of her head. “That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,” she finally says. “And now every time I hear Magic Mike I’m going to think magic mouth. You’ve ruined Channing Tatum for me.”
I hope I’ve ruined all guys.
Selfish, but true. Yesterday and today have been the best days I’ve had in a long, long time. She’s definitely ruined me for other girls. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do come Monday when we’re back at work.
“Okay, you are the official card game champ. Now it’s my turn to pick something.”
Between rounds of sex, we’re spending Saturday taking turns suggesting things to do for fun. We don’t want to leave the house and this cozy, amazing sanctuary we’ve created. “I’m yours to command,” I say. I’d do anything for this girl, a thought I quickly tuck away before she notices that anywhere next to her, doing anything at all, is my happy place.
“Do you have any art supplies?”
I groan, but it’s halfhearted. “Not really. Paper and pens is all that I know of.”
“Hmm…how about hand sanitizer?”
“I think there’s some under the kitchen sink. Mateo bought a big container of it so whenever Zoe comes over her hands stay clean.” Zoe is our six-year-old next-door neighbor and she likes to show up on mornings after we’ve partied a little too heavily.
And shit. It’s the first time I’ve thought about my roommate and how I’ve ignored his warning to stay away from Madison.
Madison’s eyes roll. “Okay, let’s go investigate.” She jumps off the bed and I get a quick flash of her mouthwatering ass. Immediately I forget about Mateo.
My most comfortable dress shirt is all that separates that lush skin from my hands. The soft cotton hangs down to the middle of her thighs and I want her to keep it. I want her to think of me when she’s back in her own bed, and I’m here in mine with only Socks to keep me company. “Is hand sanitizer a secret art supply I don’t know about?” I ask as I follow her out of my room. In just twenty-four hours, she’s gotten very comfortable being here. Made herself right at home.
“It’s my turn to teach you something,” she tosses over her shoulder.
“What have I taught you?”
“A lot.” She bends down to retrieve the hand sanitizer, puts it on the counter, then starts opening cupboards in search of something.
I put my hands on her waist and bury my nose in her sweet-smelling hair. “What are you looking for?”
She stops moving and shivers. I love how she responds to my touch. “Food coloring,” she murmurs.
“I’m pretty sure we don’t have that.” I let go and take a step back. It’s difficult—I like breathing her in—but I remind myself I want this weekend to be memorable for more than physical intimacy. “But if it’s a requirement for whatever you have in mind, I could run next door and see if Abby has some. She and Zoe like to bake, and I seem to recall Zoe bringing over blue sugar cookies one day.”
“Would you?” she asks with hope so sweet, I’d run next door during a zombie apocalypse for her.
I kiss her cheek. “Be right back.”
“While you’re there, could you ask for a few paintbrushes, too?”
“You got it.” I quickly put on a shirt, then run out the front door. I’m in luck. Abby has a box of food coloring, as well as some paintbrushes. The always-curious Zoe wants to know what I’m making, and I tell her it’s a surprise. She asks who I’m surprising. I tell her I’m the one being surprised. Her cute little nose scrunches up at the same time her mom tells her to stop asking me questions.
Brushes and food coloring in hand, I bend down and whisper to Zoe that I’ll fill her in on the surprise the next time I see her. She wraps her short arms around my neck and says “thanks.” Zoe and her mom have lived here for a while now, but it’s the first time I look at this little girl with deep-rooted protectiveness. Her dad passed away a couple of years ago and my roommates—especially Mateo—have taken to doing things with her a dad might do and keeping a protective eye on her and Abby. At one time or another all three of us have commented on how hot Abby is, but Zoe is important to us, so we axed any MILF thoughts. Us. I’m not sure why I just realized that, but I’m glad I did.
I sweep Madison into my arms the moment I step back into the kitchen. Fuck, she looks gorgeous in my shirt, the material rumpled and only a few of the middle buttons fastened.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“No reason. Here you go.” I hand her the supplies.
“Yay! Okay, so what we’re doing is making body paint.” She steps over to a muffin tin sitting on the counter. “I’ve filled each muffin cup with hand sanitizer and now we’re going to add some color.”
“Did you say body paint?”
“Uh-huh.”
I whip my shirt off. “I’m ready.” She can paint me from head to toe if she wants.
“Not so fast. We have to mix our colors first. For example, combining yellow and red gives us orange.”
“And mixing red and blue gives us purple.”
Madison’s gaze jumps from my chest to my face. “That’s right.”
“Don’t look so surprised. Just because art isn’t my thing doesn’t mean I don’t know my colors.” Socks wanders into the room and rubs against my leg, so I pick her up.
“Sorry. You’re right. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you don’t know. And oh my God.”
“What?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “You need to stop that.” She’s staring at Socks cradled in my arms.
“Holding my cat?”
“Shirtless, yes. It’s distracting.”
“I like distracting you.” I pet Socks so she purrs. And okay, maybe flex my arm muscles while I’m at it.
Pulling a face that I think is supposed to convey annoyance, but is damn cute instead, Madison gets back to work on our homemade paints.
“Do you like to do all kinds of art, or just painting and drawing?” I ask.
“I like to sew, too. I’ve made a lot of my handbags.”
“Wow. That’s awesome.”
She shrugs a shoulder in modesty. “It’s kind of therapeutic, and I don’t know, makes me feel accomplished at something that no one can take away from me. Auggie asked me to make her one, and I was so surprised and happy about it. She insists on paying me, but I told her no way.”
I set Socks down on the floor. “You’re a pretty cool person, Mads.”
“Thanks,” she says to the muffin tin.
I
reach across the counter and gently lift her chin between my thumb and index finger. “You constantly steal my breath in the best possible ways,” I confess, staring into her eyes.
“I could say the same to you.”
“Go right ahead,” I tease to lighten the mood. Serious talk will get me in serious trouble. Not that I’m not already waist-deep in complications with this gorgeous girl.
“And risk your head getting even bigger?” she teases back. “No, thanks.”
She’s smarter than I am. All this playful banter is a direct link to deeper feelings I can’t afford to even consider.
“Would you like to mix a color?”
“Sure.” I make green and then purple. A quiet minute later, we’ve got all the colors of the rainbow.
“Would you like to go first?” she asks.
“No. I think I need to study the master before I try anything.”
“Okay. Have a seat at the table.” She brings the muffin tin, paintbrushes, and some paper towels with her, putting them down on the tabletop. “Can I paint something on your chest?”
“You can paint wherever you want on my canvas.” I spread my arms wide and give a slight jerk of my hips.
She steps between my legs. “There will be no penis painting.”
I mock gasp. “Of course not. I’m shocked you even thought that.”
“Shut up. You were totally insinuating that with your little hip thrust.” She dips a brush into the orange.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. But now that you mention it, you know how much I like my dick stroked.”
“Stop,” she reprimands around a tiny smile. As she starts to paint on my skin, I put my hands on the outside of her thighs.
The bristles tickle for a second before I close my eyes and focus on keeping my shit together. Having her close like this, doing something she loves to me, has got my dick’s attention. I mentally go to the one place sure to cool my jets: work. When we’re working intently on something together, I’ve noticed she slips the tip of her tongue out of her mouth. It’s sexy as hell, and fuck, this isn’t helping me at all. I open my eyes, and sure enough her tongue is peeking out between her lips.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Fine.”
“Your skin isn’t feeling irritated from our paint, is it?”
“Nope. You’re good to keep going.” Just ignore the growing bulge in my pants.
She totally knows it’s there, but she keeps working. She’s focused, painting around my left nipple. The colors change to red, yellow, brown. I hadn’t noticed her mix brown. I drop my head to take a peek, but she quickly catches my chin and instructs me not to look until it’s finished.
I close my eyes again. She smells like my body wash. The side of her hand is warm as it brushes over my pec. Every so often I catch a whiff of her wintergreen breath. This innocent activity now ranks very high on my list of favorite entertainment.
“Done.” She takes a step back. I look up at her for permission to see the finished picture and find her mouth stretched wide and her eyes sparkling. She’s amused with her artwork.
It’s impossible not to smile before I’ve even taken a glance. If she likes what she sees, then I will, too.
I look down. It takes me a few seconds to figure out what she’s drawn, not because it isn’t amazing, but because it catches me completely off guard. I pictured her drawing a horse or a sun or a tree and flowers—something girlish. But not my Madison. “Is that what I think it is?” I ask in awe.
She crosses her arms, still grinning at what she did. “What do you think it is?”
“A slice of pizza.”
“Yep. And your nipple is a piece of pepperoni. Or as I like to call it, nipperoni.”
We crack up. I’ve laughed more in the past six weeks than I have in the past six months.
“All right, genius, it’s my turn.”
“Where do you want me?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
She pushes me on the paint-free side of my chest. “Later.”
I stroke the stubble on my jaw. I’m the worst artist on the planet but really want to do something she’ll remember. “Can I paint on your chest?”
“Sure,” she answers quickly without any qualms. That she’s eager to agree to all my suggestions is mind-blowing. There’s a wild girl inside her. She’s just needed to trust the person she was with to let loose. That I’m the person she trusts is a responsibility I don’t take lightly.
She takes off her shirt, sits on the edge of the table, and places her hands in her lap, covering herself with the cotton material. “So you don’t get any extra ideas,” she says, wiggling her shoulders and straightening her back.
I’m stuck on her tits, so no worries there. What I have in mind is nowhere near as creative as her pizza, but I think it’s a drawing I can manage with my very limited skills.
I dip a brush in the red paint and start work on her right tit. She shudders, her nipple stiffens. “We should finger paint next time,” I say. I swear her boob gets heavier at the suggestion.
She closes her eyes while I work. I finish her right side and then move to the left, switching to blue paint. She sucks in a breath when I brush the underside of her tit. I’ve been holding my breath the whole damn time, touching her like this arousing as hell. Once I’m done, I step back to examine my work. In my haste to finish, the two sides aren’t a perfect match, but close enough to be respectable.
Madison waits for me to give her the okay.
Instead, I clasp her hand and lead her to the bathroom, so she can look in the mirror. I stand behind her as she takes her first look at the five-point stars I painted on her breasts, her nipples the center of each one. “I call this American Dream because I seriously want to fuck your celestial body, between those stars if you’re willing.”
She smiles. “I’m definitely willing.” She reaches back, slides her hand inside my sleep pants, and grips my cock. “Excellent job, by the way.”
I grin back, and for the rest of the weekend we readily please each other in every way we can think up.
…
Being out of the office for two days last week cost me. Monday and Tuesday are insanely busy. Wednesday morning is the first time I’m able to take five minutes at my desk and stare out the glass wall at my assistant.
That’s a lie.
I’ve checked her out one million eight hundred fifty-four thousand times, but that’s between you and me.
She and I agreed we wouldn’t talk about the weekend. We agreed there wouldn’t be any repeats. When I kissed her goodbye on Sunday night, we settled on keeping what happened in my house out of the office.
Being swamped has helped us transition back to coworkers after the most intense, amazing weekend two people could have. I know she feels the same way about our three days, because before lunch even hit on Monday, we started leaving notes for each other.
Mr. Sax,
Just because you overheard me tell Auggie I had an amazing weekend does not mean you had anything to do with it. If you listened carefully, I told her it was because of a new art project I did, which led to a discussion on handbags and an idea I have for a new one. So there was no need for you to look smug. FYI: you actually look constipated when you smile like that.
Sincerely,
Miss Hastings
Miss Hastings,
You’re looking very tired today and I have to ask: too much exercise? I know you don’t normally work out, so if you need a break at any time today, please let me know. I’d hate to be accused of overworking my assistant. By the way, I noticed the purse you carried this morning looked like it was very well made.
Sincerely,
Mr. Sax
Not my best note there, but I couldn’t think of anything really negative to say so soon after being inside her and feeling like I’d found exactly where I belonged.
Mr. Sax,
How many wrinkles does it take to make a finance manager look
like an amateur? Take a look in the mirror. Honestly, did you pull your clothes out of the laundry basket today? I almost want to shield you from anyone’s notice. Almost. I’m not sure I’d be very effective anyway, since you’re almost double my size. There is a dry cleaner just down the street I recommend you look into.
Sincerely,
Miss Hastings
Miss Hastings,
Your smile made my day today. Thank you.
Fondly,
Mr. Sax
I’ve got nothing. I can’t even make shit up like she does. I’m so screwed. We need to talk and figure out a new strategy. What the hell was I thinking when I invited her to stay the weekend? She’s an invaluable assistant, and I’ve jeopardized everything—our working relationship, our friendship. Maybe more.
Because as I look up from my desk, I see she’s leaving for the day without saying goodbye for the first time ever.
“A heart worth loving is one you understand, even in silence.”
—Shannon L. Alder
Sax/Hastings
Workplace Strategy
Scorecard
Sax – 3
Hastings – 6
Chapter Twenty-Two
Madison
“He changed our plan of action without asking me,” I say semi-softly. “He can’t do that. He can’t start writing nice notes at work and think that’s okay. I was totally unprepared. I’d been busting my butt trying not to look at him as Sex God Elliot and only Boss Man Elliot. I was perfectly capable of continuing with our normal strategy, albeit I had to think for a long time to come up with something even halfway decent. But the point is, I didn’t break our deal. He did. And I’m really pissed at him. So, now that I think about it, I guess you could say his note actually worked better—”
“Shh!” a lady near me admonishes.
“Miss,” the yoga instructor says, cruising around the studio like she’s floating on air, “there’s no talking.”
Sorry, I mouth. Then I whisper, “—than mine” to Teague and Harper. They’ve dragged me to six a.m. yoga boot camp. I’m not even in the right pose. How in the world do people bend like that?
Too Hard to Resist (Wherever You Go) Page 20