by Staci Hart
I headed out of the apartment, pulling on my cardigan and wrapping my scarf around my neck as I headed across the hall to West’s. I knocked and waited. We all had keys to each other’s apartments, though I still felt weird using mine to get into my brother’s place. Patrick would have answered within a second — his hearing was ridiculous — so when he didn’t, I unlocked the door and headed inside.
Their apartment had the comfortable, easy feel of a couple of guys who didn’t give a crap about interior design, but their hobbies lent their own charm to the place. Patrick’s art hung all over the walls, and the shelves were piled with West’s books. He had so many, shelf after shelf, from the classics on up, hardbacks and paperbacks stacked in front of each other, slipped into the free spaces. Shakespeare was his favorite, the topic of his proposal for the doctoral program at Columbia.
I made my way to one and quickly scanned the shelves, settling on Stardust by Neil Gaiman, another one of West’s favorite authors, and then I bounded out of the building.
I popped in my earbuds, smiling in the crisp spring afternoon, feeling like a legit New Yorker as I set out to walk the mile to Cooper’s place by way of Central Park. I knew exactly where I was going without needing to check a map. My MetroCard was in my bag, which somehow felt like an official token of my authenticity, whether I needed it or not.
You know what it was? I felt like I had my shit together. Like this new, improved, cosmopolitan Maggie had shed her old skin and left it in Jackson where it belonged. New Maggie was just that — shiny and new and indifferent to everything that had happened before. I wanted to reinvent myself. No, reinvent was the wrong word. I wanted to redefine myself. And I had.
My whole life, I’d lived in the same town, known the same people. Do you know what it’s like to run into everyone you went to high school with every time you went to the grocery store? Or the post office? Well, it sucks. No one forgot that time in first grade when you sat on a brownie and had chocolate on your butt all day. They don’t forget about the time Shawn Cross spit gum in your hair on the field trip to the zoo and Miss Jaret had to cut it out with a pair of safety scissors. And they definitely don’t forget that one time you caught your fiancé nailing your maid of honor on your wedding day. In a church, no less.
But in New York? No one knew and no one cared. And that was a gloriously freeing thing.
The day was spectacular — that kind of day that you live for all year, where it’s the perfect mix of blue sky and clouds, the air just crisp enough to be comfortable, carrying the promise of change. I made my way across the park with my eyes on the blooming cherry blossom and magnolia trees. I walked the path past the joggers and couples and around the Central Park Lawn, which was blanketed with people reading books, just sitting in the middle of the park, soaking it all in.
Once I hit the Met, I headed down 5th Avenue and to The Compass.
It was beautiful, the old, Deco feel of the 20s in every column, every angle, and I looked up, craning my neck as I tried to guess which windows were his from the outside. I smiled to myself, winding up my earbuds as I approached the awning to his building.
The doorman smiled at me. “Miss Williams?”
I blinked, startled that he knew my name. “Yes?”
“Mr. Moore added you to his permanent guest list. He told me to send you up.”
I blushed. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure. Allow me.” He opened the door, and I stepped into the lobby, feeling a little fancy and a lot strange.
I’d been there almost a dozen times, but Cooper was usually with me, and we always came through the back entrance. But as I stepped into the elaborate foyer, I felt like a hayseed in my sneakers and jeans. To fit in there, I would have needed to be a little more Dior and Louboutin and a little less H&M and Converse.
I followed the doorman into the elevator well, admiring the golden compass on the floor between the two elevator doors. It always caught my eye, the elaborate starburst that made the compass rose, colored in alternating matte and shiny gold. It was like the cherry on the design sundae in such a brilliant building.
The elevator door opened, and I stepped inside. The doorman ducked in and waved his key fob over the sensor pad before hitting the P1 button.
He tipped his hat as he backed out. “Have a lovely time, Miss Williams.”
“Thank you again,” I called as the doors closed, and I leaned against the elevator wall, all of a sudden nervous, or intimidated maybe. Like I didn’t belong. When the doors opened a moment later to his black and gold foyer, I felt even less sure of myself. But I walked across the space and knocked on his door anyway. And the second he opened it and I saw his smiling face, it was like nothing before that moment had ever happened.
BOSS
Cooper
HER FACE LIT UP WHEN she saw me, and I smiled down at her, the little thing in my big, imposing entry. I dragged her into my apartment before either of us spoke — all she could do was giggle as I pulled her into my chest.
Her blond hair was so curly, all I wanted was to bury my hands in it as she looked up at me, smiling.
“I only wanted to send Bobby so I could get you here quicker, you know.”
Her cheeks were flushed, and my eyes followed the trail of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “It’s a gorgeous day, and I’m glad I walked. But thanks, bossypants.”
I moved her hair from her face, slipping a big curl through my fingers. “There’s only one thing I’m the boss of, and right now, it’s in your pants.”
A laugh shot out of her. “Oh, my God, Cooper.”
I chuckled and bent to pick her up, my hands on her ass¸ and she wrapped her legs around my waist, bringing her almost eye-level with me. One corner of my mouth pulled up in a smile. “Tell me it’s not true.”
She laughed, her arms hanging loose around my neck. “Nobody’s the boss of what’s in my pants but me.”
I leaned into her. “Let’s see about that.”
Her eyes closed, our lips only millimeters apart for a heartbeat before I closed the gap. Her lips were soft and sweet, mine strong and insistent, and I swept my tongue against her bottom lip, urging her to open her mouth. She did what I wanted.
The kiss was everything it always was with Maggie — a mix of recklessness and decision, playfulness and sincerity. Her kiss always told me more than she would admit with her words.
She tightened her arms around my neck, and I deepened the kiss, squeezing her tighter. I spun us, and she squealed, smiling against my lips as I walked blindly to my bedroom. I laid her down on my bed and arched over her, pressing my hips into hers.
My lips found her neck, and she sighed, slipping her fingers into my hair. I trailed a hand down her ribs to the hem of her tank and under. Up her hot skin, to her breast. The thin lace was a tease — I cupped her, thumbing her nipple that peaked under my touch. She sighed again, and I smiled.
“I can’t get enough of you,” I whispered against her skin, closing my lips to kiss her delicate collarbone.
“I know,” she whispered back as I lifted her shirt.
My eyes were on my hand as it traced the curve of her breast, my fingers as they hooked the fabric and pulled, exposing her to me. Her hips rolled gently against mine, and I brought my lips almost to her nipple. I let out a breath, teasing her, and she arched her back, begging me with her body. So I waited a second longer, my lips still inches from her, knowing full well what I was doing to her.
I squeezed and closed my mouth over her nipple, sucking gently.
Her fingers twisted in my hair.
I spent a long moment right where I was, with her soft breast in my hand and tight nipple in my mouth. My fingers skated down her stomach, to the button of her jeans that I popped open with one hand, to her zipper that I dropped. I kissed down her body until I reached the V of her open pants, laid a long, hot kiss just above the waist of her black panties before backing away. My eyes connected with hers, and when I smiled and sh
e blushed, I felt like a god.
I reached for her heels and pulled off her sneakers, grabbed the band of her jeans and tugged until they were off and out of my way, then her panties. And all the while, she watched me, blushing like that with her bottom lip between her teeth.
I ran my hands up her thighs and pushed her legs apart, skimmed the tip of my nose up her thigh and spread her open. I licked up the line, pausing when I reached the top to suck, rocking my face against her as she whispered something unintelligible, her fingers roaming to her bare breast. Her legs tightened when I slipped a finger inside, then another, hooking them to press the sensitive spot inside, squeezing in time with my tongue.
Her back arched, thighs trembling, and I moved faster, steady, giving more pressure, matching the rhythm of my mouth and hand as her hips rolled against me. She came closer, closer as I spurred her on, on and on until she dragged in a breath, squeezing around my fingers once, tight, then in pulses. Her breath slipped out in a sigh, and she dragged in another, shallow, ragged as she came.
I slowed as her body relaxed, rolled my tongue gently against her, hands still splayed across her ass and hips. She ran a hand through my hair, and I broke away to kiss her thigh again.
Maggie mumbled something, and I looked up at her. She looked sated, fresh, her face soft and lips smiling, fingers absently stroking her breast.
I climbed up her body. “Hmm?”
She opened her arms, and I filled them, settling in against her. “I said, you win.”
“Won what?” I laid a kiss on her neck.
“You’re the boss of what’s in my pants.”
I smirked. “I know.”
She ran a hand down my chest. “Why do you have so many clothes on?”
“I had a point to prove.”
Maggie smiled and pressed, urging me back. I rolled over, taking her with me. “You’re never naked enough,” she said softly and sat, straddling me.
She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, leaving her curls bouncing. Her bra was next — I watched as she reached behind her and unhooked it, slid it down her arms and tossed it away. My eyes roamed her naked body, the soft curves of her breasts and stomach, her hips, her thighs. I slid my hands up her thighs as her fingers found the buttons of my shirt and unfastened them one by one, and she slipped her hands underneath, up my abs, my chest, my shoulders, so my torso was exposed.
Her eyes were on her hands as they trailed across my skin, fingers grazing my nipples as she dragged her fingers down to my pants and unfastened them. She grabbed the band of my pants, sending a shock through me when her nails grazed my skin, and my eyes locked on her bottom lip, caught in her teeth. My heart thumped as she moved between my legs and pulled my pants and underwear down my thighs, down my calves and off.
She settled between my legs, eyes down, lips parted, her arms around my waist, breath hot against the length of me. Every nerve in my body focused on her — she was close enough that I could feel her mouth, millimeters away. Her nose brushed the sensitive skin next to my shaft, and I closed my eyes, sucking in a breath when she licked the very top of my thigh, her cheek brushing against me.
I slipped a hand into her wild hair.
She ran the tip of her tongue up the length of me and kissed my crown, softly, sweetly. And when she closed her hot mouth around me and dropped down, I sucked in a breath, watching as I disappeared in her mouth. Her hand worked my base when she pulled out, her tongue rolling before she dropped down, again and again until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I wanted the rest of her. I wanted all of her.
I whispered her name — it was all I could manage — and when she let me go, I rushed to meet her halfway, taking those swollen lips for my own.
My fingers shifted in her hair, and I broke away. “Lie down,” I said, my voice rough.
I guided her to lay on her stomach, lifting her hips, angling her to me. Her cheek pressed against the bed, and her eyes closed as I stripped off my shirt. I touched the wet length of her, circling the bundle of nerves, and her lips parted again with a sigh.
God, I loved that sound.
I guided my crown to stroke up the line and back down, gripping her hip with my free hand when I hit the dip, flexing my hips and pulling her onto me until I filled her, felt her all around me.
I couldn’t breathe.
Her thighs trembled as I pulled out slow and flexed again, harder. I hit the end, and she jolted forward with a moan.
My hands found the bend in her hips, and I pushed her away, pulling her back down onto me with a soft pat.
“Yes,” she whispered and slipped a hand between her legs.
Every motion, every thrust, every moan from her lips and quake of her thighs sent my pulse racing faster. And when she came again, I couldn’t hold on. I slammed into her, my heart stopping for a long moment, and when it started again, it was all I could hear, my fingers squeezing her hips like I’d fly away if I let her go.
I drove into her a final time before leaning forward, pressing my chest against her back as she stretched out onto her stomach.
Her lids cracked open when I kissed her bare shoulder. “That’s my favorite.”
I brushed her hair from her face and smiled. “I know.”
“I used to hate it from behind. It always felt so cheap … but not with you.”
The thought of anyone making Maggie feel cheap made me want to find the asshole and explain a few things to him. With my fist. “I’m happy to make you feel expensive any day.”
She chuckled and shifted, and I rolled over, propping my head on my hand.
“What’s the rest of your day look like?” I asked.
She mirrored me. “I was going to go read in the park.”
“Great. I’ll come with you.” I smirked, knowing she’d resist and knowing I could talk her into it anyway.
One eyebrow rose, and she shook her head. “That sounds like a date.”
“How so? I won’t buy you anything or even touch you. Just a couple of young New Yorkers, reading in the park on a perfect afternoon.”
Her cheeks flushed, even though she was trying to look resolute. “Don’t you have a thing to go to?”
“Not for hours.”
“I’m sure you need to prep for that instead.”
I shrugged. “Nothing to prep for. It’s just some photo shoot I regret agreeing to.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, I do photo shoots all the time. Totally normal. Why do you regret it?”
“Because they want to shoot on my boat, and I don’t think they’ll respect my boat.”
Her brow quirked. “Is it for a sailing piece?”
I hesitated. “No.”
“What’s it for?”
I eyed her. “I’ll only tell you if you swear not to tell anyone, especially not West.”
Her interest was piqued, eyes a little wider, the corners of her mouth turned up. “Well, I’m keeping everything else from him, so why not add to the list?”
I hesitated again. I hadn’t spoken of it to anyone but Jules, and I was suddenly embarrassed. I thought about talking my way out of telling her, but part of me didn’t mind that she knew. I took a breath. “I was chosen for W’s twenty-five most eligible bachelors.”
Her mouth popped open. “Are you serious, Coop?”
My cheeks flushed, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. “Yup.”
She glanced away, shaking her head and said, half to herself, “I just banged one of the twenty-five most sought-after men.”
“According to W.”
She pushed me in the shoulder, smiling. I grabbed her hand and pulled her a little closer. She smirked at me. “I can’t believe that. No wonder you don’t want West to know. He’s going to have a field day.”
“Yes, he is. Which is another part of the reason I’m regretting agreeing to it. But I’m supposed to meet the photographers t
his afternoon. I’ve still got a few hours.” I slipped a leg between hers and squeezed until her body was flush against mine.
She bobbled her head, eyes on the ceiling, and I knew I had her. “I dunno. I have some very important solo reading to do in the park.”
“Come on, Mags. It’s not a date. In fact, it breaks none of the rules. But if you really don’t want me to go, we could always stay here.” I squeezed her tighter.
“I just had two orgasms, which no one besides you has ever done to me, by the way. I don’t think I could go another round if I wanted to.”
“Is that a challenge?” I brushed my lips against hers.
She laughed. “You really are impossible.”
“I know.” I kissed her again. “Let’s go.”
“All right,” she said with a sigh. “But it’s not a date.”
“Whatever you say, Mags.”
She rolled away from me, dropping her legs to the floor to stand. “Whoa.” She wobbled and reached back for the bed to steady herself. “I think my legs are rubber.”
I headed into my bathroom, feeling nine feet tall. “Then my work here is done.”
Maggie
I paused with my shoe in my hand when Cooper walked out of his closet looking like a freaking model — black jeans and oxfords, a grey Henley half-tucked into his pants, body long and lean, a jaw that could cut stuff. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at me.
Bastard didn’t even have to try. It’s like he just existed on some separate plane of sexy than the rest of the world.
“You ready?”
I blinked, smiling back as I pulled on my shoe. “Ready.”
I followed him through his apartment as he collected his things, first his dark messenger bag, then a blanket that I thought might be cashmere. He folded it into a neat square and slipped into his bag, and I watched him, wondering absently how much it cost. It was so strange when I thought about it, which oddly wasn’t all that often. Just moments that reminded me how different our lives were. But Cooper was just … Cooper. I mean, he was superhuman in bed and had the bone structure of a Michelangelo, but he was just a man.