Joy Ride

by Lauren Blakely

“A lot of things make you crazy. You should get that head of yours checked out. Maybe you’re going mad.”

  “So who’d you dance with tonight, Miss Salsa Girl?”

  “The instructor.” She arches an eyebrow. “He’s this tall, gorgeous, Latin-lover type, and he can dance like you’ve never seen.”

  I narrow my eyes and breathe fire. “When’s your next class?”

  “Friday.”

  “At the Hudson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going with you,” I tell her as I rope my hand in her hair, tugging it back. She gasps, that sexy, needy sound she makes when I get rough with her. “You’re going with me?” She knits her brow in question.

  “You need a partner. I need to not have anyone else’s hands on you while I’m fucking you.”

  She shoves her palms against my chest, and I let go of her locks. “What makes you think you’re screwing me?”

  “The fact that you like making me jealous. The fact that you’re here at this hour. The fact that I’m wearing nothing but a towel, and I’m rock-hard, and you haven’t left. That’s why.”

  “That’s presumptuous.”

  I shrug. “This is presumptuous.” I lift my hips, take off the towel, and toss it on the floor.

  Her breath hitches. “That’s not fair. I mean, seriously.” She flings her arm in the general direction of my lap. “How did that happen?”

  I chuckle. “How did what happen?”

  She pushes my chest again, her eyes straying to my crotch. “How do you get to be six foot three, with these arms, and have a gigantic dick, too? It's ridiculous.” She crosses her arms. “It’s a completely unfair distribution of male assets. It’s like you got the portion reserved for three other guys. It all went to you.”

  I smirk. “I was good in a past life?”

  She stares at me and shakes her head. “And those eyes,” she says softly as she gazes at me. Then, her voice is even more faint. “Those eyes.”

  My skin warms. I press my forehead to hers, slowing down. “I could say the same about your eyes.”

  The moment speeds up again. She darts out a hand, surprising me as she wraps it around my dick. I hiss in pleasure. I do like this kind of surprise. A lot.

  “I can’t help it,” she says with a shrug. “It’s like a stick shift calling out to me.”

  “A joystick.”

  She laughs and strokes my hard-on, and then I stop laughing. I sink back into the couch, spreading my arms over the cushions behind me, stretching my right arm around her. I grip her shoulder, drawing her near, as she busies herself with fondling me. I shudder on an upstroke. “Fuck, that’s good.”

  “It was so good last night,” she murmurs.

  “So fucking good.”

  She licks me again, sliding her tongue along my neck, flicking it against my earlobe. Her hand glides down my shaft, and she cups my balls. I open my legs wider, giving her access to the goods. “Sleeping with you again would be a terrible idea,” she says as she explores my erection.

  Her actions say it would be anything but terrible.

  “It’s the worst thing we could do,” I say, holding back a groan.

  “Sleeping with the competition is foolish,” she adds. “We might be working together now, but you’re still my rival.”

  “You’re still mine, too.”

  “It’s too risky. I’d be”—she nibbles on my earlobe—“distracted.” She drops her face between my legs and licks the head of my cock.

  My whole body jerks in pleasure. “Jesus. That’s fucking distracting for sure.”

  “Is this, too?” She paints a line down to the base with her tongue.

  “Yeah,” I grunt.

  “Then we should just get this out of our system.”

  I nod. I’d agree to anything right now. “Yeah, we definitely need to get this out of our system.”

  “One more time,” she suggests, then licks her way back up. I’ve become her ice-cream cone.

  “That’s all we need,” I say on a broken breath.

  “Then we’re done.”

  “Completely done.”

  “So done.” She moans as her mouth travels, and that sound sends a dark thrill through me. I brush her lush hair away from her gorgeous face and watch her play with my dick. This is the side of Henley that messes with me. That teases. That flirts.

  Right now, she’s flirting with my dick.

  Her hair spills across my lap, and as she licks, she lets the strands trail over the hair on my legs. The ends tickle my thighs. She flicks her tongue in a long, lingering line going up, up, up. She stops at the head then draws a luscious circle with her tongue.

  My throat makes a deep, rumbly sound, signaling my lust. But I don’t push her head down. I don’t ask for more. I let her set the pace and just play with me. The next thing I know she’s kissing my cock. She’s leaving lipstick marks on my dick. Smooches and pecks, and then deeper, throatier kisses. My skin sizzles and pleasure tightens incomparably inside me.

  She brings her lips to the tip and gently, so fucking gently, draws me in. I shudder, and clasp my hands around her head, holding her in place as she kisses my dick.

  God help me. I’m not sure I can withstand this slow-burn blow job.

  “Henley,” I rasp out.

  She looks up, the tip of my dick still in her mouth. Those brown eyes shine with gold specks. They twinkle with mischief as she slowly puts my entire dick in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat.

  Holy fuck. I will come in seconds if she does that again.

  I tug her up. I gather her close, pulling her onto my lap. I run my hands through her hair, marveling at how soft it is, how pretty she is, and how many times I’ve thought this about her. Countless. And countless times I’ve locked those thoughts up tight. Awareness bursts in me. I’ve never told her. I’m nearly ashamed that I haven’t said this, so I say it now. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  Her smile is radiant. It lights up her entire face. She glows. “Really?”

  My voice is hoarse, and I’ve no idea why. “So. Incredibly. Beautiful.”

  She drops her face to my neck and nuzzles me. “So are you,” she whispers.

  Warmth rushes over me, and something else, too. Something unnamed. But then there’s a familiar sensation—a deep and powerful desire, jostling every other emotion out of the way as she kisses my neck, and I run my nose across her hair.

  I need her.

  I untangle her from me, setting my hands on her slim shoulders. “I need you to take all your clothes off.”

  “Why?”

  “Last night I didn’t get to admire you. I want to see all of you. I need you naked. I need it so fucking much.”

  “Then you can have it.” She stands and strips for me, and when she’s down to nothing, I can’t take my eyes off her, nor can I decide where to stare—the swell of her breasts, the softness of her belly, or the curves of her hips. I stare for a long time at the thatch of dark hair between her legs, then I drag my rough hands along those lovely, strong legs.

  But her face is where I land. I stand and cup her cheeks. “Every inch of you is beautiful. Now, I’m thinking I’d like you to head over to the window, so I can watch your gorgeous face and admire your perfect ass while I’m fucking you.”

  “I like the way you think,” she says, with a wink. She walks to the window and presses her palms against it. As she breathes out, the glass steams up.

  So does my blood.

  The edge of Manhattan twinkles in the windows, a collection of fireflies in buildings that reach for the sky. Just beyond, the East River seeps its inky dark waters across the night. Someone working late in the skyscraper mere blocks away could grab a pair of binoculars and zoom in on a man brushing a woman’s hair off her shoulder then sliding his lips across her neck. The show would be impossible to turn off.

  It’s my peep show. My fucking perfect night.

&
nbsp; Henley’s back arches. She shudders. I press my chest to her, caging her in with an arm across her breasts. I map the soft flesh of her stomach, playing with the curls of her hair between her legs.

  My fingers travel to the slick heat between her legs.

  Her lips part, her eyelids flutter, her hips grind down on my fingers.

  I growl against her neck as I slide my fingers deeper inside her. She grips me as she rocks back, her hips swaying and swiveling.

  It’s obscene.

  It’s wanton.

  It’s exactly how a woman should feel when a man touches her. A man she wants. A man who wants her.

  “One last time,” I whisper, then I break contact to grab a condom from my wallet on the coffee table.

  She whimpers while I’m gone. “Max, get back here now.”

  I expect her to stomp a foot. “I’m not exactly lollygagging,” I say, laughing.

  “I know, but I’m dying for you.”

  I rip open the foil, slide the condom down my erection, and then grab her delicious ass. My palms cover her, my thumbs digging into the crease where her butt meets her thigh. She rises on her tippy-toes. I spread her open, raise her rear higher, and notch the head of my cock against her slick entrance.

  “Ready?” I growl.

  She sways back against me. “So ready.”

  “You sure?” I rub the tip against all that lush wetness.

  “Max . . .” It’s a needy, wild whimper.

  “Tell me you—”

  “I want you,” she shouts. “I want you inside me. I want you jealous. I want you to have me one more time.”

  I part her lips so I can ease in, but once I’m there, I don’t go gently. I shove inside, and we both groan in unison as I sink deep into her. Electricity crackles over my skin, and Henley melts into me. I band my arm around her stomach, gripping her tight as I rock into her.

  I watch her in the reflection. She’s never been hotter than she is right now. I’m fucking her in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, Manhattan is at our feet, and the sexiest woman I’ve ever known is giving herself to me.

  “I’m just getting this out of my system,” I say roughly.

  “Please, please, please get me out of your system.”

  Heat rushes through my veins. It’s addictive. I crave more of it. I want to feel this pleasure everywhere. And as much as I fuck her, she fucks me back. She grinds her sweet little ass against my cock, taking me deeper, her arms braced against the glass.

  “Someone could see us,” she murmurs, like that would be the height of scandal.

  “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care who can see me naked?” She’s taunting in her playful way, riling me up.

  I cup her tits, squeezing them as I fuck her fast and hard to make my point. She cries out a nearly ear-splitting oh God.

  “It’s my hands that are on your tits,” I say roughly. “It’s my cock that’s buried so far in your sweet pussy. You think I care who sees?”

  I slam my lips down on her neck. I suck the delicate flesh between my teeth. She shivers, and a wave seems to roll through her.

  “My mouth is on your delicious neck. Ask me again if I care who sees me fucking you,” I say, seizing her jaw as I thrust.

  “Do you care?” she says in a feathery voice as I bury myself deep inside her, locking my gaze with hers in the steamed-up glass. She’s lost—dazed, glossy eyes, heady expression, features twisted in pleasure.

  “I don’t care. Want to know why?” I jerk her closer.

  “Why?” she asks, as if she’s begging.

  I run my index finger over her bottom lip. “Because it’s my name on your lips when you come.” I thrust. “Say it.”

  She trembles, a full-body shudder. A quake rumbles through her. I wrap a hand tighter around her hip, and then she shakes. It’s almost violent. It’s certainly erotic. And it’s soundless at first, as her lips open in the most sensual O I’ve ever seen.

  Then the noise comes. A long, sexy howl of ecstasy.

  Of falling apart.

  “Max,” she moans, and my name is the sound of her bliss.

  That trips the switch in me, and my own orgasm rattles loose, tearing through me as if it’s redefining the very notion of momentum itself.

  And when we’re nothing but sated, tired, drugged-out sex hounds, I toss away the condom then scoop her up and carry her to the couch. I grab a warm, wet hand towel from the bathroom and clean her, then settle in with this naked beauty in my arms.

  She’s smiling, all limbs and soft hair.

  Like a lovely foal.

  Like a happy little clam.

  She closes her eyes and wiggles against me. “I should go.”

  “Yeah,” I say, bringing her closer. “You should go.”

  31

  Henley’s To-Do List

  * * *

  —Leave.

  32

  She snuggles closer as if she’s trying to press every inch of her warm skin to mine.

  I feel like I’m living in some alternate state. There’s nothing else in New York City but us and the twinkling lights beyond the glass. She reaches for the blanket, the same one I covered her with after the ferry trip. She tugs it up to her breasts, then under her arms, making sure I’m beneath it with her.

  I spoon her, kissing her neck as she burrows into my sofa like a little animal, making a couch-nest for the night.

  “I really should go,” she murmurs as she brushes her fingertips along my forearm, outlining the veins.

  “You absolutely should leave,” I say as I rope my arm tighter around her.

  “Staying would be bad.”

  “It would be awful.”

  Heat from her body radiates into mine. I pull her closer. I want to press every inch of my skin against hers.

  “If I stayed we’d probably talk,” she says softly.

  “About all sorts of things. Like how much you love girlie stuff.”

  “I do,” she says, her laugh a soft jingle.

  “You like sparkles and unicorns,” I say, tracing lazy lines along her belly.

  “You’ve caught me. It’s true.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re the antidote to my grease-monkey days.”

  “Ah. I had a feeling.”

  “I spend all day long in this hyper-masculine field. I’m surrounded by guys and testosterone, and when I leave the cars behind, I want to be a woman again.”

  “So that’s why you turn to dancing at night?”

  “Dancing, and hot chocolate, and Belinda Carlisle blasting in my ears, and wishing upon shooting stars.”

  “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

  “Wishing on a star?”

  I shake my head, as I draw a line down her back. “Being a woman in our field.”

  She nods vigorously. “Um, yeah. You know exactly how I feel about that.”

  I draw a sharp breath, recalling the words she flung at me before she left five years ago. “I do.”

  “You didn’t move me up because I was a woman,” she says, like this is part of the public record of our work breakup.

  I sigh. “No, Henley. That’s not it.”

  She swivels around in my arms, spreading her palms over my chest. “It kind of was.”

  I don’t want to go down the path of ancient history. The present has been hard enough. This is the first occasion since the ferry ride that we’ve managed time together without breaking out our ninja stars and nunchucks. “I swear, tiger. I was a cruel bastard, but not a sexist one. And if it makes you feel any better, I’m amazed at what you’ve done. You’ll open your own shop in no time.”

  She clears her throat like that surprises her. “You think so?”

  “Hell yeah. You’re fantastic. You’re fast, creative, and focused. You’re sharp and clever. I can see you running your business. Can’t you?”

  She stares at my hair. “I hope so.”

  I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. “Bet on i
t. Next year at this time.”

  “Ha.”

  “You’ll kick my ass.”

  Her hand darts around my waist and squeezes my butt. “Damn straight.”

  “With that attitude, you’ll be hanging up your shingle sooner. Maybe even sooner than a year.”

  She smiles faintly but looks away. Her breath hitches. She’s silent, and it seems as if she’s alternating between fiery and melancholy.

  “Hey,” I say, turning her shoulder so she faces me fully. “Are you sad about something?”

  She drops her face into her hands and grumbles. “Ugh.”

  Worry jolts through me. “What’s wrong, Henley?”

  She talks into her hands. “I want to be taken seriously, but look what I did. I slept with you. Twice.”

  I pry her hands from her face and raise her chin. “Newsflash. We’re not blasting this across the trade mags. I’m not putting it on Snapchat. I’m not even on Snapchat.”

  She huffs. “Someone will know. I’ll look like a harlot going into work. Someone will look at me and whisper . . .” She deepens her voice. “Hey, isn’t that the chick who bangs Summers?”

  “That’s not how you’ll be known in this business.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ll get pats on the back for nailing the chick builder on top of the Dodge Challenger,” she says, and I wince.

  When she puts it like that, she’s right to some degree. Unfortunately. I wish she weren’t, but there’s still a boys’ club mentality when it comes to getting laid. For better or worse, banging the hottest woman under the sun on top of a muscle car is brag worthy. But I’m not that guy. My private life is just that—private. “We’re not broadcasting this. What’s between you and me is between you and me.”

  “Thank you. And look, I’m not saying we should sneak around and be all cloak and dagger. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  I nod. “Nothing wrong at all, but we’ll be cautious and careful.”

  “And we won’t lie,” she adds, and I’m grinning because clearly we’re not out of each other’s system. But I’m also impressed that she’s so level-headed, especially since I know how hotheaded she can be. “I can live with your terms.”

  “Ha. Glad you approve. I’ve been working on my negotiation skills.” Then her tone shifts. She sighs heavily. “I’ve tried hard to not get involved with anyone in the business. Ever. The only time . . .”