by Lauren Layne
I smile over Dolly’s head. “Did you just say ‘a bad ‘do’?”
He gently eases the dog from my arms. “Take care of your feet. I’ll take care of hers.”
I hesitate, not wanting to let Dolly out of my sight, but then I see the way she pants happily, managing to claw her way up his chest to give him a loving lick on the chin.
“Don’t think I didn’t see that smile just now,” I say, pointing a finger at him.
His face resumes its usual impassive mask. “Go. I’m going to wash her down here, where the sink’s bigger. Then I’ll bring her up.”
“For her blow-dry?” I ask.
He glares, and I blow him a kiss before gingerly making my way toward the stairs. Ranger runs back and forth, obviously torn between staying downstairs, where his master and his crush are, and going upstairs with boring old me.
I’m a little touched when he chooses me, bounding up the steps two at a time before turning at the top of the stairs and watching intently as I hobble my way up.
“Good boy,” I say, bending to kiss his head once I’m up. “You’re a good dog, such a good, handsome boy. Such a good, handsome, smart boy.”
“Quit trying to charm him,” Noah calls from the kitchen over the sound of the running water. “My dog.”
“Just like you have my dog?” I call back.
“Your dog, and I use the word loosely, bit me when I was trying to cut her free.”
“Probably because you gave her a bad fringe cut,” I yell.
“Those feet better be clean by the time I get up there, princess.”
I smile and head into my bathroom, where I run some lukewarm water. With a deep breath and clenched teeth, I force myself to put my ragged feet under the flow.
I hiss, but it doesn’t hurt as badly as I’m expecting. Once all the mud’s gone, I look closer, seeing mostly just a bunch of shallow scrapes.
Still, I keep my feet under the stream of water for a good long while as the events of the past half hour settle under me. I still feel as though my heart’s ready to jump out of my chest at any moment.
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
My head whips around, and my heart catches at the sight of a disgruntled Noah holding an even more disgruntled Dolly in a fluffy white towel, her fur all spiky and cute from the impromptu bath.
She starts to wriggle, and I hold out my arms, thinking she wants to see her mama, but instead it’s all about Ranger. The two of them chase each other around the playpen that is my bedroom.
“Tetanus shot?” Noah asks again.
“A couple years ago,” I say, turning off the water. “I’m good. Anyway, nothing’s that deep.”
I stand, but he’s beside me in two steps, scooping me up once more and taking me and my dripping feet into the bedroom before carefully depositing me on the bed.
Even with the sting of my feet and the lingering terror of nearly losing my dog, my mind flits back to the last time we were in this bed together, him commanding and intense, me writhing and wanting…
Tonight, though, he’s all business as he unceremoniously pushes me back onto my elbows, lifting one of my feet, then the other, inspecting them thoroughly but gently.
“You’re fine,” he says finally, carefully setting my leg back down.
“I know,” I say, maneuvering back into a sitting position. “That’s what I said.”
Noah glances over at the dogs, and I follow his gaze, smiling when I see that Ranger’s helped himself to one of Dolly’s bones—or maybe it’s one of his bones, left here, I don’t even know anymore. The two of them are nestled side by side, contently gnawing on their respective bones, Dolly small and wet and fuzzy, Ranger big and a little dirty and protective.
When I turn my head back to Noah, I find him watching me.
“You okay?” he asks gruffly.
I swallow. “Yeah. I am. And so is Dolly, thanks to you.”
He shrugs.
“No, don’t do that,” I say. “You didn’t have to help me. It was above and beyond the call of duty.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he comes to sit beside me slowly, as though he’s not sure he should or that he wants to. “Above the call of duty for whom?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Did you mean it was above the call of duty for a property caretaker? Or a guy you’re sleeping with sometimes? Or…”
I desperately want him to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t.
I’m not even sure how I’d want him to. Noah Maxwell is not my boyfriend. I can’t imagine him as anyone’s boyfriend, truth be told.
And yet he’s more than a freaking caretaker.
And more than a lover too.
He’s…
Crap. I don’t know.
“You never kiss me,” I blurt out.
He stills before slowly turning his head to meet my gaze. “What?”
We’re sitting close on the bed, our hips a few inches apart, but not so close that my shortness of breath is warranted.
Still, I’ve come this far.
“You never kiss me,” I say, my voice small.
He blinks. “I kissed you that day in Home Depot. Thoroughly.”
I smile. “I know. But that wasn’t really you kissing me. That was you trying to stop that wretched woman from taking a picture of me. And let’s not forget that you told me you’d had better.”
He turns away, leaning forward, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees, as he stares at his hands. “That may not have been entirely true.”
My heart soars, but only for a minute, because it doesn’t change the fact that the guy’s got zero problems tweaking my nipples and screwing me senseless but avoids kissing me.
I want to know why.
We sit in silence for a few minutes before he turns his head, looking at me over his shoulder with an amused expression. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, huh?”
I lift my eyebrows, and he laughs, then looks back at his hands. “Fine, it’s like this. I got out of a relationship. Recently. And not the good kind.”
This is…not what I expected.
“Wait. Am I a rebound?”
“No,” he says quickly. “Maybe. I don’t know what this is. Fuck, do you?”
Good point.
Noah rubs his hands over his face before sitting up and turning his body to face me. “That night when I wanted to go down on you, you wouldn’t let me. Why?”
“Because it was too intimate,” I say, the answer rolling right off my tongue.
He stares at me, not saying a word, and abruptly I realize what his steady gaze is trying to tell me. “Wait—are you telling me that’s why you won’t kiss me? Because it’s too intimate? What are you, Pretty Woman?”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“Julia Roberts?”
Still nothing.
Men. Honestly.
“Never mind,” I mutter. I start to reach a hand toward him, but pull it back. “Noah, I…Crap. I really don’t know what to say right now.”
“It’s like this,” he says, running a hand over the back of his neck. “And fuck if I don’t feel ridiculous saying this, but you know how I’ve been telling you all along that I’m not here to stay? That there can’t be anything between us?”
“No, not at all,” I deadpan. “You’ve been super subtle about it.”
His mouth lifts a little. “Well, let’s just say I’ve been needing to convince myself. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
“Sex?”
“Casual sex,” he clarifies. “I need to do it my way.”
“With no kissing.”
“Not with a girl who’s leaving in a couple of weeks, no.”
I freeze. “What makes you think I’m leaving?”
His face is solemn. “Movie premiere, right?”
Crap. “How did you know about that?”
“Google.”
“You’ve been Googling me?”
He lifts
two fingers with a small bit of space between them. Li’l bit.
I huff out an annoyed breath. “Well, that’s not fair. What if I Googled you?”
“Nothing worth seeing,” he says slowly. “But you are leaving in a few weeks, right?”
I want to tell him no. That I’m staying right here, and that he should absolutely kiss me senseless and watch Harry Potter movies with me, and that we should be making steak dinners together instead of eating frozen dinners alone.
But I can’t.
Because deep down I know I’m going to that movie premiere. Not because I have to, not because Barb will chew me out if I don’t, but because I want to.
I want to live my life to the fullest, milk my career for every ounce while I still can.
But I also want him. I want both. The guy and the career.
I want it all.
Even if I have to move in baby steps.
“I’m leaving in a couple of weeks,” I say, inching closer to him, my palm finding his knee and then moving up his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath my touch. “But I’m here now.”
“Jenny.”
My hand slides up over his fly, and I feel him harden. I close my eyes in relief, relishing the knowledge that it’s not just me who feels this instant connection. That I’m not the only one who can go from confused to frustrated to aroused at the smallest touch.
Noah shifts toward me, one hand sliding around behind my head. He tilts my face to his, and for a breathless moment I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, and I’ve never wanted anything so badly.
I feel his breath on my lips.
But at the last minute he shifts, just slightly, his lips barely brushing my cheek before sliding down to my neck.
I tell myself I’m not disappointed. But even though his mouth on my throat feels amazing, even as I feel my body respond, my heart is disappointed.
Noah pushes me gently back onto the bed, his palm running along the front of my tank top before skimming back up again, cupping my breast through my bra as he bends down and runs his tongue along the skin above the scoop neckline.
My disappointment is no match for my desire, and I make a contented noise, my hands sliding into his hair as his mouth moves over my chest, his hands skimming over my torso, my arms, my hips, and finally under my shirt.
I arch up, giving him access to the back clasp of my bra, letting him pull me into a sitting position so that he can peel off the shirt and bra, tossing both to the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my shirt land on Ranger, who gives us a disgusted look before scooting closer to Dolly, who allows it.
Then I forget all about the dogs, because Noah’s lips are on my breast, my nipple in his mouth, and his tongue is flicking, swirling in delicious strokes as he eases me back once more, his deft hands easily removing my shorts and thong.
Some part of me registers that I should be embarrassed about being completely naked while he’s completely clothed, but it doesn’t feel embarrassing.
It feels exactly right.
“I like the way you taste right here,” he says quietly, running his tongue along the underside of my breast. “Sweet. A little salty.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “Salty? Really?”
In response he slides up once more, his mouth fastening on the tip of my breast as he reaches down and strokes himself over his jeans, his eyes locked on mine.
It’s oddly erotic, me naked, him playing with himself as he licks me.
But after a minute or two, it’s not enough. I need to see him. Feel him. I tug at his shirt. “Off. All of it.”
There’s no playing coy tonight, and Noah stands, kicking off his shoes before stripping down, completely unembarrassed by each new bit of skin revealed to my hungry gaze.
He has a great body. I know this already, of course, but tonight it seems extra perfect, with its thick, corded muscles, the rough hair of his chest and arms catching the light from my nightstand.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Like what you see, princess?”
“Still deciding.”
He puts one knee on the bed as he leans toward me, palm skimming up my leg, stopping at midthigh. “Anything I can do to help the decision-making process?”
Holding his gaze, I reach down, taking his hand in mine and easing it up my thigh until his palm is cupping me. “Touch me. Like you did that first night.”
He groans, coming to lie alongside me, one arm slipping under my neck so that my face is nestled against his shoulder as his other hand nudges my legs farther apart, leaving room for his questing fingers.
And questing they are, dipping down slightly to my moisture before slicking back up again to rub at my clit.
I moan, spreading my legs farther, as the hand that was behind my neck comes around to cup my face, holding my head immobile as his fingers dip and explore.
“That’s it,” he whispers as I start to move against his hand. “Use me. Use my fingers to make you feel good.”
I bite my lip, wondering if he means what I think he means. I decide to go for it anyway, sliding my hand down to where his strokes me. Resting my hand on the back of his, I show him what I want. When I want him to sink a finger into me, when I want him to tease lightly, when I want him to circle.
“Jesus, Jenny,” he says as I grind myself against the heel of his hand. “How’d you get so hot?”
My only response is to grip his hand harder, pushing it into me as I arch my hips up, moving harder, faster until I explode with a sharp cry against his hand, spilling onto his fingers.
I’m not sure how long I flit there in that space in between orgasmic ecstasy and post-orgasmic bliss, but when I finally open my eyes again, he’s watching me. Quietly. Patiently.
I start to turn toward him, my hand sliding down his body, but he stops me, catching my hand with his, bringing it back up and trapping it between our chests.
“You didn’t sleep with that pop douchebag, did you? You couldn’t have. One night you told me you hadn’t slept with anyone in over a year.”
Wordlessly I shake my head.
“And none of the other guys that claim to have slept with you either.”
Another shake of my head.
“How many?” he asks softly.
I look away, but he uses his knuckle to nudge my chin back to him. “How many, princess?”
I lick my lips nervously. “Two.”
His eyes glitter with something fierce. “Who? When?”
“This is embarrassing,” I whisper.
He merely stares at me.
I sigh. “My high school boyfriend. Senior year. We broke up when he went to college and I pursued the music thing.”
“And the other?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I was nineteen. Maybe twenty. Went out with my friend to a club. First time, fake IDs, the whole clichéd bit, right down to too many tequila shots. Woke up in a guy’s bed, and…” I shrug. “That was number two.”
“Do you remember it?”
“There was a lot of tequila,” I admit, not feeling particularly proud of that night, but refusing to be completely ashamed of it either.
“So you’ve slept with one guy that you remember.”
I nod.
“And how was that?”
I laugh into his chest. “Oh my God, could you be nosier? I’m not asking you about how many women there’ve been.”
“Was he good?” Noah asks, his tone both curious and possessive.
“Not really,” I whisper. “It was at his parents’ house when they were at a dinner party. Neither of us really knew what we were doing. He was sweet, but it was…unremarkable.”
His fingers drift over my arm, his eyes trailing the motion. “No wonder you’re so fucking tight.”
“From curious to crude in two seconds straight,” I say. “Impressive.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says softly, looking as tender as I’ve ever seen him. “I meant that you feel good. Right. Mine.”
&n
bsp; He looks as stunned by the last word as I feel, and he glances away before I can read any more into it.
“I don’t care if you’ve slept with a hundred men,” he says gruffly. “You know that, right?”
I smile, trying to disguise how much his words mean to me. How much I needed to hear them. “If you say so. Is the inquisition over?” I ask.
“It is,” he says. “I have all the information I need to make my decision.”
“What is it that you’re deciding?”
“Whether or not to do this.” He pulls back, sliding down my body, slowly, kissing every part of me that he passes in his downward descent.
I’m no dummy. I know where he’s going, and my brain orders me to stop him, yet the words don’t come out.
But then he passes my throbbing center, lips skimming over my thighs, brushing the inside of my knees before moving back up again.
He looks up at me, his eyes so full of promise, so full of need, that my intention to tell him to stop dies on my lips.
“I won’t if you don’t want me to, Jenny,” he says. “I won’t move even an inch closer if you don’t say the words.”
My breathing quickens as I realize both the gift and the tremendous torture he’s handing me. It’s my choice. I can cross this line with Noah, a guy I’ve known only a few weeks, a guy I might never see again after I resume my normal life.
Or I can wait for…
For who?
For what?
Somewhere in my heart, I know that it doesn’t get better than what I’m feeling right now. Not just the physical pleasure, although that’s certainly there, in a major way. But the way he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking, the thoroughness with which he takes care of me and Dolly, the quiet goodness of him…
I want this. I want it all with him, no matter how short our time together.
“I want it,” I say, my teeth digging into my bottom lip so hard I think I might draw blood.
“You want what?” he says, his breath warm on my core.
“Noah.”
He pulls away. “It’s got to be your choice, princess. I’m not taking anything you don’t want to give.”
“I want to give,” I say, a little desperately. “I’ve wanted it since that day you told me to imagine your tongue on me.”