Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection

by Jessica Hawkins

  “They’ll only last a night.”

  My mushy brain doesn’t even know where to start with that. He’s not only going to ruin me, but my clothing too, and it’s going to be in the future. We haven’t even done this yet, and we’re making plans to do it again. I feel my breath moving through me, my blood circulating through my veins.

  With my eyes closed, I reach out for him. He complies, covering my body with his, and kisses me good and thorough. His fingers between my legs test me without entering. I groan and moan, arch and writhe, wanting him inside me any way I can get him. I don’t even know how it’s possible that I could climax already. He kisses his way down my sternum and parts my knees. I’m already at the edge, but he grabs me under the ass and pulls me onto his mouth so I’m practically hanging off the table.

  I put my feet on his shoulders. His appreciative groans vibrate against my pussy. My hips buck as he licks and tastes. He puts one hand on my stomach to pin me down, then grabs my knee with the other. Pushing my leg up, he bares me to him even more. After plunging his tongue in me a few times, he makes good on his promise to love my clit.

  As good as it feels, nothing sounds better than connecting with him in the most intimate way. I want to feel him, look into his eyes, come with him. “Please, Finn . . .” I beg.

  “I know what you want, but we can’t. You can orgasm like this.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “You first.”

  I don’t know whether to cry or come. It wouldn’t be the first time tonight I did either. His ministrations continue until my thighs shake around his head and my back arches off his kitchen table, and oh yes, finally I understand his joke about eating his meals here. I’m dinner.

  “Now,” he says, muffled by my thighs.

  Now? Now what?

  He digs his fingers into my skin and gorges on me. Aha—come. Now. That’s what I’ve been ordered to do. And like the good girl I am, I do, right in his mouth. He laps me up until I’m finished.

  When I come to, he’s standing over me. “You good?” he asks.

  My breasts rise and fall. “Amazing.”

  He picks me up from the table to cradle me in his arms. “It’s only fair you taste yourself since I did.”

  Another first for me, kissing a mouth covered in me. Finn somehow makes it sexy. “This is just the start,” he says.

  “I think we’ve gotten as creative as it gets without a condom.”

  “I look forward to proving you wrong. But right now, we should sleep.”

  Even when I messaged Finn, I never dreamed I’d be spending the night with him. I nuzzle into his chest. “Here?”

  “Yes. Well, not in the kitchen.” I hear the smile in his voice. “How’s my bed sound?”

  My skin prickles. I hope he can’t feel my goosebumps, how excited just the idea of his bed makes me. I try to play it cool. “That would be fine.”

  He carries me down the hall to his bedroom. It’s dark, but the open shades provide some moonlight. He lays me on the mattress and disappears. Either he’s only gone a few seconds, or I fall asleep, because next thing I know, he’s wrapping himself around me from behind. He squeezes me to him until I’m perfectly puzzled into his body. “You’ll be able to sleep with me crushing you like this, right?” he teases.

  I wear a smile on my face I doubt even the deepest sleep could erase. “I’ll manage.”

  “There’s so much I want to know about you,” he says, his mouth at my ear. “Earlier, when I said this was the start, I meant of us.”

  Us. How is it possible to make it all the way to twenty-five without ever having felt like part of an us? “You know more than you think,” I confess. “You probably know more than anyone else.”

  “Because of the journal?” he asks softly. “Are there others?”

  I don’t answer. I’ve bared enough of myself for one night. I’ve gotten the intimacy I wanted, and being with him has been just right. I don’t want to risk going any deeper.

  He seems to understand my silence, letting the question hang as we drift to sleep.

  13

  Finn’s bed is white, the brightest spot I’ve seen in his apartment. Snowy pillows and sheets match the frost forming on the glass outside. An indigo dawn yawns through the window. He’s no longer curled around me, but the mattress dips with his weight.

  I look over my shoulder. His face is shadowed, his silhouetted profile strong and square against the linens as he stares up at the ceiling. I want to go to him, but I’m warm and heavy where I am, glutted with him.

  “Hey.” My voice cracks.

  He turns his head. “Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”

  I check the clock on his nightstand. “Do you always get up at five?”

  “I’ll come back to bed when I’m done.”

  “You want company? I should shower before work.”

  “No.”

  I’m not entirely awake, but his rejection is harsh enough to sting. I turn back to my side of the bed. “Oh-kay.”

  He laughs and squeezes my shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. The thing is, I’m kind of dying over here.”

  “Dying?”

  “I want to fuck you so bad, Halston. More than I’ve ever wanted to do anything. I can’t believe I’m the idiot without a condom.”

  “You could’ve just gone downstairs to get one.”

  “Then I’d have to leave you. Anyway, I’m hot and hard and it’s not going so well for me. That’s why I just need to take a cold shower. Alone.”

  I bite my lip to keep from smiling over his discomfort. “But it’s like forty degrees outside.”

  “Yeah. I realize I sound like a sex addict. I should keep my mouth shut.”

  “I like it open,” I say, my voice raspy. “Your mouth.”

  “Yeah?” He kisses me on the back of the head. “I promise, I’ll do nothing other than buy condoms today. All day long. Or at least until you can get back here. When do you get off work?”

  Work. Shit. It’s warm and perfect in here, cold, crowded and loud out there. I have to see Rich. And my dad. Maybe I can avoid them . . . the arguing . . . the attempts to change my mind . . . and come back here.

  My new happy place.

  Finn’s warm, soft bed.

  “What?” Did he ask me something? Oh, yes. Work. “I’m done at six . . . ish.”

  “How about five-ish?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Four?” His laugh sounds distant. “Sleep. I’ll be right back.”

  I nuzzle into my pillow, but just as I’m drifting into a dream, I’m jolted back to reality. I have to see Rich today. And no, there’s no avoiding him or my father. They’ll want answers. Rich will blame the break-up on my change in treatment. I’m not even sure I can defend myself. The two things may be linked some way or another.

  I’m wide awake now, and the sky is lightening to sapphire. A wispy layer of snow fleeces some bare branches outside. Work problems aside, there’s romance in the air. I’m supposed to leave Finn alone, but I think it’s because he’s so turned on, he can’t sleep. He didn’t come a second time last night, and after the way he ate me to orgasm, I owe him. I salivate just remembering him in my mouth. Maybe I’d be welcome if I showed up to finish what I started.

  I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. The cold wood floor has me scurrying to his bathroom. The door is cracked, and I push it open just enough to see his reflection in the mirror. His back is turned to me, his ass firm and delicious enough to take a bite out of.

  Leaning one hand against the tile wall, the muscles of his other arm bulge.

  He’s touching himself.

  No, he’s jerking off.

  His arm moves faster. He drops his head back, then turns slightly to grab the showerhead. He repositions it to beat right on his hair. Since there’s no steam at all, he must not’ve been exaggerating—the water’s
cold.

  I should return to bed, but I’m riveted and aroused by his grunts. The pained expression on his face. The tightening of his back muscles. His broad shoulders. My eyes travel down his body. His cock. It’s at least twice the length of his massive fist. He pumps his hand back and forth as water slicks his hair back from his face, its golden color turning his wet skin bronze. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and visibly holds in a groan, probably so he won’t wake me.

  I could help him. Get down on my knees in front of him and offer hands and a mouth. I’ve never swallowed a man’s cum, but I’d do it, I would. I don’t move, though. I watch until the end. Until he curls one hand into a ball and paints the tile in front of him.

  As turned on as I am, I hope this is the last time I see this. I want to be that hand, that lip, even that wall. I’d let him come in my mouth, but also on my back, my tits, my face—wherever he wanted.

  My throat goes dry when a chilling realization hits me.

  Maybe I’m the sex addict in this relationship.

  I love the office break room. My assistant could easily help maintain the steady stream of coffee into my mouth, but I look forward to my morning, late-morning, afternoon, and late-afternoon trips from my office to the break room. I mean, for God’s sake, it’s a no-work zone that’s lousy with my absolute favorite smell. Yep. Coffee.

  Rich never comes to the break room, so my first mistake is assuming I’m safe there.

  When he walks in, he glances at the mug in my hands. “Can you excuse us?” he asks Benny.

  She grabs an apple. “I’ll be at my desk.”

  I wait until she’s left the room to address Rich. “She doesn’t know. Nobody does. I don’t want to do this here.”

  “Your dad wants to see us in his office.”

  “Is it about business?”

  “It’s going to happen, you know it is. Unless you change your mind about us, your dad’s going to get his two cents in.”

  I put my mug down and walk past him. “It doesn’t help your case when you run to him first chance you get. This isn’t Three’s Company.”

  We walk through the maze of desks. “I was worried,” he says in a hushed tone.

  I don’t respond. Already, people at this company are too invested in my personal life since I’m the daughter of the founder and the girlfriend of the top-performing account manager.

  In the elevator, Rich hands me the mug I just put down. “You’ll want this.”

  I cross my arms to prove I don’t need looking after, but my rebellion only lasts one floor. I take the coffee and mutter, “Thanks.”

  The doors open to the executive floor. My dad’s office is front and center. His secretary glances up as we approach. “He’s expecting you.”

  My dad’s on the phone, pacing the length of the window in his office. He takes his eyes from Fifth Avenue to watch us enter. “The bottom line is, never date a woman who knows what you drive before she meets you, and a mouse in a cheese commercial will kill your brand, so forget about the rodent, would you?” he asks, completely serious, as if those are two perfectly normal statements to string together. I sit in a chair across from him, and Rich follows suit. “Uh-huh. Sure.” Dad laughs. “We’re happy to make that contribution, Bob. See you next week.”

  Dad flings the phone aside as his smile flips upside down. That doesn’t tell me anything. His bullshit always clears the room as soon as we’re alone.

  “He won’t give up the mouse,” I say. “We’ve all tried.”

  “Sure he will. It’s all about approach with a man like that.” He sits forward and plants his elbows on the desk. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “We broke up,” I say.

  “She broke up,” Rich corrects. “I haven’t agreed to it.”

  I shoot him a glare, the brown-noser. “That isn’t how breakups work, Rich.”

  “No need for the sarcastic tone,” my dad says to me. “We can do this like civilized adults. What’s the problem, honey? Is he working too much? I can arrange to cut back on his hours.”

  “I don’t want that, sir,” Rich says. “I love my job, and I want to do my part.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know, Rich. Nobody’s as dedicated as you.” He steeples his fingers and looks at me. “But relationships are work, and you guys are getting to the point where you either commit or move on, and I’d hate to see you end this over something that could be fixed.”

  “It’s already ended, Dad,” I say. “Moving on is my choice.”

  “Let’s not be rash,” he reasons. “This isn’t something you just decide overnight.”

  “It wasn’t overnight.” Maybe a little. Was it really less than twelve hours ago that Finn nearly fucked me fully clothed? Pushing me up against the wall, unable to keep his hands to himself? I suck in a breath and try to push the scorching memory out of my mind. “It was . . . I . . .” I try to remember the point I was about to make.

  Dad and Rich exchange a look. “Rich, will you give us a second?”

  Rich hesitates but stands. “Sure.”

  When we’re alone, my dad looks suddenly tired. “Why are you doing this to me, Banana? Why now? You know how December is.”

  As if I need a reminder of the time of year. Using that in combination with the nickname given to me as a yellow-haired toddler is enough to make my throat thick. “I admit, it isn’t ideal timing.”

  He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’ve lost three clients since summer, and the ones I have are twice as demanding around the holidays. I can’t be worried about you on top of work.”

  And work comes first. That isn’t anything new, but it never feels good to hear, even if he doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings. “I thought things were going well,” I say.

  “They are, and if anyone around the office asks, even Rich, business is great. But the economy’s unstable with this political climate, and clients are hesitant to pay for premium work. It’ll pass, it always does, I just don’t need more stress.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “Rich says you’ve stopped seeing Doctor Lumby and you’re taking on your own treatment. I don’t believe him.”

  I close my eyes. I knew this conversation would come, but I’m not feeling as bold as I was last night. “It’s time, Dad. It’s been ten years—”

  “Ten years.” He looks at the desk. “Don’t I know it.”

  I allow us a moment of silence. “I’m sorry, but wouldn’t you rather I figure this out now instead of later, when we’re all more invested?”

  “Figure what out?”

  “That I don’t love him. If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to.”

  “That’s because you don’t understand the definition of love. Your generation thinks everything’s easy. Love is commitment. It doesn’t come like that.” He snaps. “It’s an investment of time and energy.”

  “Is that how you felt about Mom?”

  “Damn right it is. We worked on our marriage every day and to let her go at any point would’ve been like tanking a business I’d spent years investing in.”

  Even though my dad refers to my mom as an investment, I know he means it as a compliment. He was even more dedicated to her than this company. “Not every business can survive,” I say.

  “You don’t think we had our problems in the beginning? Two years in? Ten years in? Shit, twenty years? Of course we did.”

  Guilt weighs on my shoulders. If not for my mistakes, he’d have been able to say thirty years soon. “But Rich and I aren’t married.”

  “You could be. Do you know what a weight it would lift off my shoulders to know you were happy and taken care of?”

  “How can I be happy with something I don’t want?”

  “You work at it. That’s what I’m telling you.” He stands and comes around the desk to perch on the edge in front of me. “What’s wrong with this picture?”

  I blink at him. “What?”


  “I’m asking you,” he says. “What’s wrong with it? What haven’t I done for you? You don’t have to struggle like I did. I’ve kept you safe, and I’ve tried to make you happy. Rich is a nice, smart young man, and he’s on track to take over for me when I step down.”

  “Because he’s good at what he does,” I say.

  “No, Halston. Rich is a good kid. Hardworking. But he’s not a natural businessman. I can get him there, to a place where he’ll be the right man for my position. It’s an investment I’m willing to make. For you.”

  He has it all figured out. I could walk out the door back to Rich, ask for a ring, stand by his side as he moves up in the company, raise his children. I have stability at my fingertips. And maybe with a little more effort, I could fall in love with him.

  The room feels suddenly smaller. I close my eyes and think of Finn, of being comfortable in his white bedroom and his arms. “No.”

  “No what?”

  “You’re manipulating me. This is what you and Rich do.”

  “If trying to give you a good life is wrong,” he raises his palms, “guilty.”

  “A good life would be my life. Not the one you decide for me.”

  “Do you know what I would’ve given to have all this handed to me?” he asks. “Or to even get my good life back?”

  I hear what he doesn’t say: the good life I took from him. I’ve never stopped feeling guilty for my role in my mom’s death, but it’s especially sharp now, when the anniversary of it is around the corner. When my dad and I are on opposite sides. I see the pain in his face. Sometimes I forget it’s there until something makes him genuinely smile or laugh. To others, it looks like stress or anger. Dad doesn’t show weakness. Except to me, because we’ve seen each other at our worst.

  What do I do? Give him the peace and reassurance he wants so he can rest a little easier? Or fight this battle for myself and for a man I just met?

  “I can’t stay on these drugs,” I say. “I just can’t. It’s not fair to ask me to just because you don’t want to deal with me. You don’t even know what I’m like without them.”

  His face darkens. “Yes I do.”