by Natalie Wrye
“Oh yes, I can. Miss Invisible is going to give me a blow job. And prove once and for all that the opening act of oral sex is sometimes as important as the actual show.” He closes his eyes. “Miss Invisible…if you wouldn’t mind doing the honors?”
He places his hands on top of an invisible head, his lips curving.
“You see, it’s not so much about giving control as it is about getting it. You might be on your knees. But you’ve got your date by the balls. Question is: When you engage in something like head, did you get involved to be polite? Or did you come here to get fucked?”
The question is dirty, degrading in ways that would normally have me heaving in disgust.
But on an afternoon like this where my heart is already in my throat, where the mere act of getting caught could jeopardize my job—hell, every single thing I’ve worked for, I suppress my scoff, skin prickling, the hair on my arms standing on end as Sawyer simulates having oral sex performed on him, threading this hands through an invisible woman’s hair.
Good grief. This is not what I came here for.
The mere thought that I have to be here watching this is making my blood boil for reasons I can’t explain. But when Sawyer starts narrating, when he starts talking about how a woman wraps her mouth around her date’s cock, stroking it slowly.
When he mentions how her head starts bobbing between her date’s hips, my blood starts boiling for another reason entirely.
Heat swarms under my skin, touching at the base of my throat and rising into my face as I watch the invisible woman give Sawyer a blow job, and it is all I can do to keep myself from squirming where I sit, the jeans-covered area between my thighs tingling in tune with Sawyer’s muffled words as I watch his little act.
And it’s not Miss Invisible’s see-through ass who’s sending flames across my skin.
It’s Sawyer.
Like a chiseled god, sculpted from some Italian artist’s skilled hand, he stands there, posed and irritatingly perfect, one hand soothing and pulling, prying and pushing through the invisible woman’s hair as he guides her like a pro.
He is almost masterful at what he does. The taking of his own pleasure.
As gentle and menacing with his movements as he is encouraging and berating with his fingers, he talks about guiding a woman’s mouth over and on to his thick length with increasing speed. He talks about how to take the dick, swallow around it like a champ.
And I can’t take my eyes off him. Couldn’t tear my gaze away if I tried.
I’m utterly entranced by the time the woman begins working his (theoretically) long cock into a frenzy, her throat guiding skillfully over his thickness with his guidance.
His words are low—so low they’re almost guttural. His instructions are a mere rumble if anything, and even at this distance, they shake the air with their vibrations, causing the very air around me to heat as I watch, my chest tightening, throat closing, desire pulsating heavy between my legs.
I press the back of my knuckles to my bottom lip, stifling a groan when I watch Sawyer’s muscles stiffen, head tilting back by mere inches as he pretends to finish, emptying his release into Hollow Woman’s mouth.
He slides a hand through his thick hair.
He says something to me, but I’m too entranced to hear it. It isn’t until he takes a step towards me, snapping fingers near my face that I finally come out of my lust-layered coma.
I glance up at him, blinking. “What? What did you just say??”
“I said ‘This is why you don’t need any notes. You’ve got a visual.”
I’ve got a visual, alright. Two eyes full.
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.
“I’m guessing by your silence now that means you enjoyed the show?” He sits on the edge of the bench, his sculpted shoulders shrugging. “We’ll cover more tomorrow when I pick up a few cucumbers for practice.”
I stiffen. “Cucumbers? Practice? Tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a full schedule in the morning, doll.” He kisses below my ear, making me shiver. “Tomorrow’s another tough game for the Cougars against New York, but if I ever want a prayer at playing back on the team after this suspension, I’ve gotta practice. If I don’t get an early workout with my trainer, I’m not sure I’m going to be at my best by the time these two weeks are up. Tomorrow, more blow job lessons for you. And you—” he stands to his feet, “you can help me figure out how to turn them down. Does that work for you?”
My pulse is racing, teeth tightening as he starts walking away, handing my glasses and pen back, clearly amusing himself.
Me? I’m still trying to decide if I can stand. If I do, I know my legs will give out, completely betraying me.
Having Sawyer as my sex teacher is ten times harder than I thought. God help me, I knew the man would take pleasure in toying with me, but simulating a blowjob is a new level of low.
Dirty low. Filthy low.
The kind I could get used to, even though I shouldn’t.
I could walk away right now. No harm. No foul.
But I’m not sure I can.
Sawyer already knows I need him. Or he wouldn’t be having so much fun.
Or I can put on my best acting face, push through. I can put on the mask I’ve been using since the day I stepped foot in Chicago over two years ago. Since the day I decided to play personal assistant to Sevin and secret admirer to Sawyer, the type of man a woman who’s never given blow jobs shouldn’t fall to her knees for.
Literally.
I run a palm over my face, sighing softly, wanting to kick myself.
Because I already know what choice I’m going to make.
Checking the locker room corners for naked men, I make a quick grab for Sevin’s autographed picture, sneaking out the way I came in from the steam tiled hallways, running fast before anyone can see me.
I’m sure there’s a hidden metaphor in the act of scurrying out of a Men’s Only Room itself. But I’m too freaked out right now to find it.
Chapter 13
SAWYER
Friday evening
I had to get out of there. Or I would have done something I shouldn’t do.
Something I can’t do. Not anymore.
Not for the next two weeks. And probably not ever.
Not with Naomi.
I’m shitting all over our pact. The one with Sevin. The one with the only brothers I’ve ever known.
Agreements like these were made for a reason.
They were meant to keep teammates and friends from fucking up their friendships. They were meant to ensure the blood bond that happens between two men when they each share a pint of their own on the baseball diamond stays intact.
And right now, a full twenty-four-hours (and then some) after leaving Naomi back in the men’s locker room, every ounce of my patience is being tested.
Brewing myself another shake from the ruined bananas we used for practice, I cross over the wide windows flanking my living room, searching for her.
A warm July rain starts to kick up, painting the glass in rivets, as I swing around, seeing Naomi nowhere in sight.
From my bedroom doorway, I call out, putting my lips to her glass. “Alright, kitty. You’ve got four seconds to get over here and claim a shake, or I swear to God I’m inhaling them both. My trainer kicked my ass this morning, and I need the sustenance. Even more than you.” I smirk. “But not much.”
She emerges from my closet, a small grin on her face. The glasses are gone this time—my doing, of course, and without them I can see the full expression, every inch of humor in her dark eyes.
She walks closer. “You don’t have to remind me: I know I worked up an appetite.” She takes her drink, holding it. “I don’t know how the blowers of the world do it. They’ve gotta be superheroes. I nearly gagged today’s lunch all over that last banana. And in my defense,” she holds up a tiny hand, “that last one was bigger than the others.”
I grin. “Just be glad I didn’t find th
e cucumbers I was looking for at the farmer’s market this morning. Heard this year’s crop has been exceptionally, uh…juicy. For lack of a better word,” I say, winking as she blows out a harsh breath. “Stick with me, kid.” I raise my glass. “By the time I’m done teaching you, you’ll be the best cocksucker in the land.”
“I don’t think that’s a compliment, Sawyer.”
“Don’t be modest,” I say, smiling even harder. “You should be. The way you deep-throated that Mr. Del Monte brand back there, I promise you are going to make some guy really happy someday.”
“Some guy?” She snorts. “If I ever do find a guy… Because, to be fair, it’s not like I have them hanging from the rafters, anyhow. And even if I did, I can only see myself practicing that technique I did back there in the kitchen on a select few.”
“A few lucky few, you mean.” I lean against the doorway, enjoying looking at her. “Being good at sex isn’t easy. If it was, more people would be. Truth is: It takes time and practice to get good at it.” I push off the wall. “Luckily, we’ve got the next two weeks. Unless I pass out from the lack of sex before then.”
Naomi smiles, looking more adorable than I’ve ever seen, her pink lips full and bright.
She’s been playful tonight. And I must admit I’ve been loving it.
Her short dark hair is actually down and not in a tiny bun, brushing her small shoulders. Her glasses are off, contacts on, revealing her big brown eyes, and in the middle of her face, right near her top lip is the cutest freckle in the fucking world.
Weird the things that you miss when other items seem to be in the way.
Without the spectacles and tightly pulled hair, I can see the woman beneath. A sensual, now oral-sexed proficient woman.
A woman I have no business on earth wanting.
I head towards my open closet, peeking inside the huge double doors.
“Looking for something?” Naomi asks, glancing over.
“Just wondering if you were done putting itching powder in my jockstraps. Since you made the joke about it a couple days ago, thought it might be a good idea to make sure.”
“Hardy-har-har,” she laughs, perching on the edge of the bed, one jean-covered leg crossing the other. She peers over her glass at me.
“So, are you actually going to ask me what I was doing in there?”
“Depends. Are you actually going to tell me?”
She shrugs for a second. “I was looking to see if you had any women items hanging up in there.”
I freeze. “Does something about me give you cross-dresser vibes? Because you can tell me if it does.”
She laughs out loud. All teeth. And pink tongue. And lips that were made for kissing things more appropriate than a banana.
I grit my teeth.
“No, you don’t,” she answers at last, pink lips twisting. “It’s just… I realized I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend. You never keep the same woman around more than one night. Are you allergic to monogamy?” She tilts her head. “Break out in rashes when women say the word ‘girlfriend’? What is it? I’m actually dying to know.”
She seems genuinely curious, those dark brows of her folding together. Her small pointed chin cocks in my direction, and I am sure she won’t like this answer.
I’m sure she won’t like it one bit. No one does.
But if any woman I know deserves to hear the truth, it’s her. The strait-laced personal assistant has somehow turned out to be one of the most ballsy women I’ve ever met, and besides the fact that she’s regularly threatening my own set of balls, I think I actually like her.
Actually appreciate her sense of humor.
I turn, dawdling in the closet doorway, one arm coming to rest on the frame. I lean against it.
“I guess…” I start, stumbling over the words. I weigh each carefully. “I guess I just don’t believe in marriage. I find the whole entity outdated. Devoting yourself to someone for the rest of your life? Staying true to only one person? It leaves you open for misery, for disappointment. Eventually, things will end either by death. Or divorce. So why not cut out the middle man? Enjoy your life…sans the bullshit?”
“Well…” Naomi shifts on the edge of my white sheets, glancing up at the ceiling, her pretty mouth pursed.
“Well what?”
“It’s all just so kind of…dark. Not like you at all. I mean, come on, Sawyer,” she continues, cutting me a look. “You’re the least serious man I know. But when it comes to the idea of sticking with one woman, one relationship, one partner, you’re all gloom and doom and despair?” She shrugs. “It just doesn’t sound like you.”
“Oh, it is me. It’s exactly like me. I don’t need the complications. I’ve seen what happens when things go wrong, and I have no interest in any of that…”
And suddenly, I know I’ve said too much. Naomi’s eyes narrow, glancing me over.
“Seen all what happened with who?”
I don’t want to get into this conversation. To talk about my parents.
Tilting my shake to my mouth, I drain the rest of it, setting the glass aside. “That’s enough practice, I think, for one night. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow.”
Tomorrow…when I’m not thinking of things I’d rather forget. The fucked-up life I had back in Buffalo.
Tomorrow, when I’m better equipped to handle Naomi’s questions and more prepared.
Because right now? She’s getting too damn close. Too damn curious. Too damn cute gazing up at me in my bed, her brown eyes peering me over.
I shift on my feet as she watches me, tilting her head. Her gaze softens at me. Almost as if in pity.
But when her expression shifts, the pity disappears, replaced by something much sexier. Almost sinister.
She looks at me as if her stare alone might peel away my clothes. And I let her, feeling a rush I know I should be pushing away.
Under the low gold glow of the nearby lamp, I swear I watch the prim personal assistant I've come to know transform before my eyes.
The sound of rain and rumbling thunder outside my wide windows doesn’t help.
And it's as if I’m watching this self-reserved assistant become a seductress, a switch settling in the room as she stands to her feet.
Jesus Christ, am I seeing things?
I know I’m not because her heated brown gaze stays stuck in my direction, and she ambles closer to me, crossing the length of the bedroom, her glass still in her hand.
She smirks. “You’re nervous.” She sets the glass on the nearest nightstand, still walking, and I frown with every second she moves closer, the expression darkening.
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re practically shaking…”
“With fatigue. My muscles are tired. The long day at the gym.”
“You’ve been teaching me about giving head all damn evening…” She glances up at the ceiling, feigning innocence. “But as soon as I bring up a conversation about intimacy, then boom. Conversation’s done. ‘That’s enough practice.’ ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’” she mimics me, affecting a deeper tone as she laughs. “Unbelievable.”
“I don’t think I can show you to suck better dick, Naomi.” I glare. “So our lesson, for all intents and dirty purposes, really is done.” I push off the wall, facing her. “What more do you want?”
“I want to teach you.” She tilts her head up at me, not intimidated in the least, her cocoa irises shimmering in the subdued light. She wets her bottom lip. “You asked me to help you, too. Well, this is what it entails. So, intimacy makes you nervous? Big whoop. Blatant sexuality makes me nervous, but that didn’t stop you from coaching me on how to deep-throat a long piece of fruit, now, did it?”
“Naomi…”
“No, I’m not finished, Sawyer.” She holds up one tiny hand, hushing me, her fingers almost on my lips. “You were the one who asked for my help first. My suggestion? You let me help you. Or this little two week suspension could easily turn into something more if you d
on’t open the hell up. Let someone in for a change. Stop joking and dicking and sexing your way through life…alright? Because it’s not going to work!”
She’s yelling at me now. She never yells.
Never gets excited enough. At least from what I’ve seen.
I’ve never been more turned on in my fucking life.
And I don’t have time for this. I should be focused on keeping my pact with Sevin. On keeping my distance.
I should be focused on keeping my cool to stay on the team…instead of staring at Naomi’s lips.
But I don’t think God himself could stop me.
Naomi opens her mouth, presumably to scream at me some more, but I grab her before she can finish, closing my mouth over hers within an instant, pulling her in.
I press her body into mine for something I never do, never give.
A kiss.
Warm and frenzied.
It’s full of anger, frustration and all the stupid damn things I can’t say. But it’s so goddamned good.
In fact…it’s the best kiss of my fucking life.
I don’t know why it’s so damned good. But I instantly want more.
I’m like a fourteen-year-old fucker touching his first woman, my hesitance only making it much better. And Naomi?
Holy hell, the woman takes advantage of it, slipping her tongue between my angry lips, as I lick her disapproval away. The pressure she applies is almost perfect, touching nerves inside me from head to toe.
There’s a sweetness in the way she touches her lips to mine, a slow seduction that takes place the moment our mouths start moving against one another’s. And against all good sense, against every inch of rationale I have left, I drop my defenses, and commit the worst act I have in a long time.
I keep on kissing her.
The thought that she’s my best friend Sevin’s right-hand and a woman who hates me goes right out the door.
Two years’ worth of jabs and simmering tension disintegrates in seconds, and all that is left is the quiet curiosity that I’ve been having about the curvy, overly-sensible brunette all this time.
For a time, I secretly wondered what lie behind that icy professional facade. And now I’m experiencing it first-hand.