by Misti Murphy
Then she wraps her lips around my shaft and starts to suck and lick and hum.
Afterward, I lift her to her feet and kiss her while I try to remember how to walk. I’m so wrung out it takes me a few minutes. Then I scoop up our bowls and wineglasses, depositing them in the kitchen as I lead her through the house. We have all night, hours of darkness, and she has my undivided attention.
We sleep a little when the sun rises, in a tangle of limbs and sex. The scent of her shampoo tickling my nose and the smell of sex heavy in the air. At some point I wake to the sound of a car, a knock on the door.
Chloe’s still asleep beside me, and I try not to wake her as I slip out of bed and make my way down the stairs. Opening the door, I eye my brother warily. Normally, his stopping by wouldn’t bother me, but then normally I don’t have a woman in my bed. A woman who would take one look at James in his suit, his power tie perfectly knotted around his neck, his Rolex on his wrist, and tick every single one of her boxes. “You, of all people, should know how to use a phone.”
“Apparently, you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or was it the desk?” James enters the foyer. “Since I missed your birthday, I figured I’d stop by, see if you want to grab breakfast or something.”
And give up this fun little sex bubble Chloe and I have going on? I was kind of hoping to devote the rest of the morning to it, actually, and no version of bacon and eggs could convince me breakfast with my brother is a better deal.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHLOE
There’s something to be said for a night of debauchery with one’s sexy, bad neighbor. Even if it was only one night. Because that’s all it was meant to be.
Even if I did spend the night in Paynt’s bed, with him wrapped around me like the softest, warmest fleece. As I dozed, right around dawn, he’d curled his arm around my waist, tucked me into his body, and swung a leg over both of mine. It had felt so right, so comfortable, I hadn’t even considered getting up and going home, which is what I should have done.
Nope, I spent the night. All night. And woke up in his arms. Wait, no, I didn’t, because he isn’t in the bed with me. His side of the bed is cool to the touch when I reach for him.
Stretching like a cat, I yawn so widely my jaw pops. Sleeping with Paynter was pure joy. Besides the vigorous nocturnal activities, the actual snoozing part was pretty nice, too. Early this morning, he kissed my shoulder and dropped his head to the pillow and almost immediately begun snoring. Not too loudly, though. It was more of a gentle breeze, with only a slight sound. Not loud enough to keep me from falling asleep.
Marcus snored like he was using a gas-powered chainsaw in an echoing cavern. I disliked spending the night with him because of it. If I didn’t fall asleep first, I wouldn’t at all, unless I got up and headed into the living room to curl up on the couch. And what’s the point of spending the night with your boyfriend if you’re not going to actually sleep with him?
Boyfriend. Paynt. Nope. One night, remember?
Sure, I can sleep through his snoring—in fact, I had no issues whatsoever with anything he did or did not do last night. And he strikes me as the sort of person who doesn’t hide a damn thing—what you see is what you get with him. So if I didn’t have issues sleeping with him last night, I probably won’t at any point in the future.
Still—he’s not my boyfriend. Last night was great sex—okay, phenomenal sex—comfortable conversation, amazing food, and probably the most domestic I’ve ever been in my life. But it was not the start of a relationship.
I can’t. There is too much at stake. I have something to prove, namely that I can reach the top of that corporate ladder without anyone’s help—especially a guy’s help. Extra especially one I’m sleeping with.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I wince at the slight tremor of pain shooting down my inner thighs that tells me last night was every bit as spectacular as I recall.
I know I just convinced myself this was a one-night stand, but what if we keep this purely physical … would he want to get physical again tonight? Or maybe all day today. I have nothing pressing to do this weekend. I planned to rake leaves, clean the house, maybe take a trip to Target to stock up on laundry detergent and other household supplies.
I’d much rather celebrate Naked Saturday with Paynt.
After rummaging around in his bathroom and coming up with a plastic-wrapped toothbrush—who doesn’t have at least one unused toothbrush from their last dental appointment?—I give Naked Saturday serious consideration as I stand in the middle of his bedroom and try to recall where my clothing might be. The basement. That’s where this whole shift in our relationship—no, not relationship—our friendship started. Well, it started the moment he paid that stripper to embarrass me, I suppose, but wanting to have sex with him and actually doing it are two very different situations.
Neighbors with benefits? Maybe he’ll buy that. We could go our separate ways during the day and come together for explosive sex each night. No strings, no expectations, just straight up pleasure under the cover of darkness. No one would need to know.
Grabbing the sweatshirt lying on the floor, I pull it over my head and smile a little. James and his recent lectures about my stress levels. I wonder if he’ll realize I got laid this weekend, when I see him Monday morning. Probably. He’s damned perceptive. Maybe now he’ll stop warning me of an imminent heart attack. Just last week he’d threatened to withhold my promotion to partner if I didn’t figure out a way to enjoy myself outside the office.
“Work gives me satisfaction,” I’d replied. “It makes me happy.”
“No, it doesn’t. You have some fucked up idea in your head that you have to prove yourself to someone, but there’s no one watching but yourself. And why do you need to prove anything to yourself?”
“Because I do,” I’d said and abruptly ended the conversation. He didn’t understand. Hell, recently, I’ve wondered if I even understand my own motives. But I can’t change my plan three quarters of the way through. That’s what happened last time, when Marcus stole my promotion. If I don’t succeed now, I probably never will.
Enough introspection. It’s time to find coffee. God, I hope he’s a coffee drinker or at least keeps a dusty old Coffee Mate for overnight guests.
I should probably seek out my sexy neighbor, too. I rarely partook in morning sex when I was with Marcus because I was too damn worried about what I looked like, but Paynt claims I’m hot with no makeup and my hair a disaster, so maybe it’s time to see if he speaks the truth. Last night, when he’d had me seated on his kitchen counter and his hands were all over me and his tongue was firmly planted in my mouth, I’d wanted him right then, right there on that cool, smooth marble.
I snag a couple condoms from where we’d deposited them on the bedside table last night—I want to finish that scene. Now. Or at least this morning. Maybe after the first cup of coffee, but still, I want to be seated next to the sink, him standing between my thighs … or maybe bent over, his face getting up close and personal with my pussy. That man can do things with his tongue that could shame the devil. Or make him jealous.
I’m practically skipping when I leave the bedroom and head down the hall, giddy with anticipation of the pleasure I’m about to experience—again. I could seriously become addicted to my hot new neighbor.
I am about to walk across the balcony overlooking that hideous chandelier and the foyer when I realize Paynter and I are not alone in the house.
“Since I missed your birthday, I figured I’d stop by, see if you wanted to grab breakfast or something.”
I pause before the wall opens up and shows me the men standing at the bottom of the stairs. That voice sounds familiar.
“Again, you couldn’t call?”
Wow, Paynt sounds annoyed. Because this guy interrupted our little bubble of sexual bliss? Maybe he was hoping for a Naked Saturday too.
“What’s up your ass? Did you party last night, too, and now you’re hung over? Actual
ly, you look like you haven’t slept.”
That voice sounds really familiar…
“Thanks a lot, even though you’re right. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. So I think I’ll pass on breakfast.”
“Well, at least give me the grand tour first. I haven’t got to see the digs yet—holy hell, what is that monstrosity hanging from the ceiling?”
I know why that voice sounds so familiar. Because it’s just like my boss, James. It’s a little creepy, actually. He has a pretty distinct tone, so it’s crazy to hear someone else with the same inflections.
“It’s called a chandelier, numb nuts.”
“It’s horrendous. Why haven’t you replaced it?”
“Actually, that is the replacement. The original was a bunch of antlers and shit.”
“And this is an improvement? This doesn’t fit your style at all. The antlers would have been better.”
I have to agree with him.
“It’s hers, isn’t it? She picked it out.”
Wait. She who? Not me. I’d never in a million years select something so gaudy and so incredibly phallic.
“Just shut up and go away, James.”
James? James? It’s a common name, but what are the odds? My boss—the guy standing downstairs, talking to Paynter—is it really a coincidence?
As carefully and quietly as I can, I slide to the edge of the wall and lean out, peeking over the railing at the two men standing in the foyer, one wearing nothing but plaid pajama bottoms and the other in an impeccably tailored three-piece suit. I whip back around and make a startled eep sound before slapping my hand over my mouth.
Why the hell is my boss visiting Paynter on a Saturday morning—or at all for that matter? How do they know each other? Okay, it’s feasible they know each other through the business world—but well enough to come calling on Saturday morning?
Running my hand through my dishevelled hair, I tug at the strands until my scalp prickles. It’s a habit I developed after Marcus stole my promotion. In one ten-minute meeting, he’d managed to alter the course of my life. I’d felt as though I had to start over—everything. My career, my plans for purchasing a home, my love life.
Now, in retrospect, I can admit that I deliberately purchased the home next door to this one when there were half a dozen other perfectly acceptable houses in this same neighborhood that would not have forced me to look at what I lost every single day.
But that reminder kept me going, like that morning I’d backed my car out of the driveway and prepared to meet James for the first time, to convince him he should hire me because I would be a damned important asset to his company. I’d pressed the brake and stared at the still-empty house, the one I could no longer afford, and vowed to never let another man interfere with my career again.
My first instinct is to run, but I know Paynter will come after me when he realizes I’m gone. Besides, I’m damned curious as to how they know each other, and why the hell my boss is calling on a Saturday morning. Paynter doesn’t know where I work—does he?
Shit. This isn’t a re-enactment of my relationship with Marcus—it can’t be. Paynter has no reason to sabotage my career. He’s a computer programmer or coder or whatever, for crying out loud. I broker corporate real estate deals. While computers are involved in every damn career on the face of the earth, I cannot see how stealing my promotion will make any difference to his own career. At least with Marcus it made sense; he and I did the same thing, had the same aspirations. It’s just that he’d lied and told me he didn’t feel he was ready for the promotion, when it turned out he needed me to smooth the way to him getting in front of the president and pleading his case. Sneaky bastard.
Paynter isn’t sneaky. At least, I don’t think he is. But I don’t really know him, do I? I hadn’t realized Marcus was, either, until he was shaking hands with the boss while I stood out in the hall, watching the entire thing from the sidelines and unable to interfere, to convince them they were wrong in their decision to choose him over me.
I can’t let that happen again. I can’t let a man get in the way of my goals.
For all I know, Paynt is ruining my shot at partner. I should make my presence known, stop him from destroying my life, but I can’t seem to move from where I’m glued to the wall, my heart pounding a million miles a minute, my breathing ragged, my head swirling with all the pent up frustration after watching my career handed over to my now ex-boyfriend.
And then there’s the sound of the door opening and closing and footsteps beating a path up the stairs. When Paynter sees me standing there, he pauses, his hand on the wooden railing.
“Hey. I was just coming back to join you. Sort of hoping you weren’t quite ready to get out of bed yet.”
I shake my head. I can’t speak.
“Something wrong? You look like you saw a ghost. Was it a spider? This house was empty for a while, so they’re all over the damn place. Do you need me to kill a creepy crawly for you?”
He’s trying to be funny and charming, and actually, he is. But I can’t do this. I didn’t see a ghost or a spider, just my boss, standing in his foyer. Which, really, is so much worse than either of the other two options, no matter how scared I am of arachnids.
I still don’t know why James was here or how they know each other, and suddenly, that’s far less important than it was a few minutes ago. With an agonized sound that I’m pretending wasn’t a sob, I flee, running from him, from myself, from everything I’ve been afraid of since Marcus screwed me over.
I won’t change who I am, who I want to be. I already did that once. I don’t have the energy to do it again. I shouldn’t have to. It’s my life, I should get to live it however I damn well please, so long as I’m following the rules set forth by my country and my homeowners’ association.
My heart and my body don’t get a say. They don’t get to tell me I can have it all—the guy and the career—because it’s not true. Marcus taught me that.
“Never trust the guy you’re sleeping with, babe,” he told me when I confronted him. “We’re all in it for ourselves. Most guys just want the orgasm, but me, I have bigger aspirations. I have a plan.”
Paynter shouts my name as I rush down the stairs, under that horrible chandelier, and out the front door. I don’t even bother grabbing my shoes before I run across the dew-soaked lawn, escaping to my own house. I lock the front door behind me and then hurry through to the back door to make sure it’s locked, too. I don’t know if Paynter is the type to stroll into someone’s house without knocking, but I don’t want to take the chance.
Fists are beating on the front door. I try to ignore it. I should go upstairs and shower. The sound of the running water will drown out the incessant noise.
“Open the door, Chloe.” Paynter’s voice bleeds through the thick wood as if he’s standing on this side of it. “I’m going to cause a racket, going to make the homeowners’ association come over and start asking questions.”
The man really doesn’t play fair.
Fuming, I stride through the house and jerk open the door. He’s standing on the doorstep in his pajama bottoms, no shirt, and bare feet. The woman from down the street who looks like she stepped off the set of Housewives of New Jersey prances down the sidewalk with her prissy Pomeranian. She waves and then narrows her gaze, staring at Paynter. I grab him and pull him inside and slam the door on her nosiness.
“You couldn’t get dressed before coming over here?” His outfit—or lack thereof—is distracting. His messy hair, the concern in his eyes, those kissable lips—everything about him is distracting. “Go away. Through the back door, if you don’t mind.”
“I mind.” He advances on me, the concern turning stormy. I back up and feel a sense of déjà vu, except this time we are not going to end up bouncing around naked on the couch. No matter how badly I want to.
Because I want my career, my future, more.
“What the hell is your problem? Why’d you run away like my house is on fire?”
“How do you know James?” I counter.
His brow furrows. “James? My brother?”
His brother? That cannot be. I can’t even… “Get out. Go away.”
“What the fuck is your problem? I know the sex didn’t suck. You looked too goddamn happy for that to be the case.”
“God, you’re so crude. Look, thanks for last night. Dinner and … everything else. But it was a mistake.”
“A mistake? You mean I accidentally stuck my dick into your pussy and gave you—how many orgasms was it again?”
Five. No, six. Oh Lord, why am I walking away from this? “My mistake. I shouldn’t have engaged when we were at that bar. I shouldn’t have involved you in corporate Taco Tuesday. I shouldn’t have talked to you when I found out you were my neighbor. And no, I shouldn’t have kissed you. Or responded when you kissed me. I’m not even sure who started it, and it doesn’t matter. All that matters is I have a life plan and you are not part of it.”
It’s like I flipped a switch or something in his brain. His face droops, his shoulders slump, even his hair seems less inclined to stick up every which way. I don’t know what I’ve done, but he is suddenly an entirely different person, and I have an almost impossible urge to reach out to him, to hug him, to comfort him.
“Fucking life plans,” he mutters, and then he shakes his head. “Fine. That’s what you want, I’m out. I’ll leave you the fuck alone, and you stay the hell away from me. I never asked for any of this shit anyway.”
He turns away and heads for the front door, and I swear I hear him say, “I can’t fucking win.” And then he’s gone. Exactly what I want.
So why do I feel so damn empty?
CHAPTER NINE