by Abby Green
He heard me and turned around. I could see the sweat making his muscles glisten and forgot about my intention to leave, asking faintly as I looked around, “This is where you work?”
He put down the hammer. “This is my workshop.”
I walked in and couldn’t help trailing my hand over an exquisitely carved small dresser. I stopped. “What is this?”
Johnny came closer and said gruffly, “It’s a drawing room cabinet. Made out of American black walnut.”
I looked at him. “How long did it take you to make?”
He shrugged. “A few months. It’s for a client. This is what I’m doing, making bespoke furniture. I’ve been lucky enough to be spotted and have gotten a few lucrative commissions. I’m building a clientele, slowly but surely.”
I shook my head. “It’s beautiful.”
Suddenly Johnny was too close, and I remembered last night and where I was. I avoided his eye, feeling a little raw to have seen this, and him working. It felt ridiculously intimate. “I, ah...I’m sorry. I meant to leave last night, but I fell asleep. You should have woken me.”
“I almost did...” His voice was rueful, and I looked up. Some expression I couldn’t read was on his face and it made my heart beat faster.
“But you looked dead to the world. And I needed to do some work anyway.”
That last was said too lightly, and I didn’t believe him for a second. He’d wanted me to go, yet he hadn’t woken me. That sent those conflicting emotions through me again. I stepped back. “I’ll go now.”
But suddenly Johnny reached out and grabbed my arm. “Wait.” He tugged me toward him and any indecipherable expressions were gone and replaced by a much more recognizable one. Desire.
“You’re here now. Seems an awful shame to head back so soon.”
I forced down the sudden urge to run and keep running. My libido was wide-awake and panting. “Does it now?”
He put both hands on my waist now and tugged me into him. “Yes,” he growled softly. “It does.”
And then he bent his head and kissed me until I was straining against his big body, craving him all over again. He took my hand and tugged me back upstairs with him, and when we were naked again and he was poised over me on the bed, something incredibly tender moved through me. In a bid to force it back down I moved so that Johnny was under me and I was straddling him.
His hands came to my hips and I could feel the hard thrust of his erection at my buttocks. I saw something out of the corner of my eye and grabbed it. The silk tie.
I wrapped it around my hands as Johnny had done a few hours ago and pulled it taut. His expression changed from hot to wary and I welcomed it because it seemed to help dilute the sudden intimacy that had cocooned us since I’d found him downstairs.
Smiling sweetly I said, “I think it’s about time you had a taste of your own medicine.”
Johnny scowled. I could see the reluctance on his face and could well imagine that he preferred to be in control at all times. Right then I wanted to see that control slip. Properly slip.
I yanked the tie between my hands. “Whaddya say, Ryan? Are you too chickenshit to let a little bitty girl tie you up?”
He just smiled then, and it was wicked. “Bring it on, Sullivan.” And like the sexiest sacrificial lamb in existence, he lifted his hands over his head and curled his fingers around the wooden slats. I don’t know how I stopped myself from coming there and then.
* * *
“Okay, Sullivan, take me somewhere I’ve never been,” Johnny said a couple of hours later.
I had to force my gaze up from Johnny’s mouth to his eyes. I still felt a little raw after that last session in the bedroom. His jaw was clean shaven. He’d let me shave it after our shower, and by the time I’d finished there had been more shaving cream on us than on his face or in the sink, which had meant taking another shower and inevitably more...
We’d just had a late breakfast in an achingly hip Williamsburg diner and had walked back to his apartment. We’d agreed to take a sightseeing tour en route to work. I’d tried to argue that Johnny didn’t have to come back to work at the bar but he’d quelled me with one dark blue look.
I wrinkled up my nose to think for a second and then said, “Have you been to the High Line yet?”
He frowned. “The high what?”
“It’s an old disused railway line that runs above the ground on the west side for a few blocks, around the Meatpacking District. They’ve turned it into a city park.”
“Nope, sounds great. Let’s go. I want to feel you up while you ride the bike.”
I looked at him, ready to deliver some witty rejoinder, but my mind went blank as a voice screamed at me, What the hell are you still doing here? But the inner rebel that had come back to life as soon as I’d stepped over a line and decided to sleep with Johnny was back in force and helped me ignore the annoying voice.
This was just sex. Amazing, earth-trembling sex. Nothing more. And soon it would be over and I’d move on with my life.
I handed Johnny a helmet and said sternly, “Put this on and no touchy-feely, Liam loves this bike more than me and quite likely Caitlin, too, so if anything happens we’d have to go into the witness protection program.”
I got onto the bike and Johnny climbed on behind me. The design of the bike meant that his crotch was right up against my ass.
“Close enough for you?” he asked innocently.
“Just fine. Hang on and behave.” I started up the powerful engine and of course the vibrations and throttle went straight to my groin and overly sensitized pussy.
Johnny’s hands came around my waist as I moved off. There was something incredibly sexy about a guy who was happy to take a backseat with a woman riding a motorbike. That he wasn’t one of those assholes who felt emasculated by such a thing.
As we rode over the Williamsburg Bridge and into Manhattan, all I was aware of was Johnny’s powerful thighs around mine and those big hands resting far too close to that place between my legs, which was getting more and more slick against my underwear. Or Johnny’s underwear. I’d had to borrow a pair of his smallest boxer briefs in place of my own ruined panties, and they’d looked like shorts on me.
It didn’t help now to have that imagery of my swollen slick folds pressing against the boxer briefs he’d worn close to his own body.
We finally made it to one of the entrances to the High Line in one piece. When I got off the bike I was seriously horny and jittery and turned on. Johnny looked the same. His jaw was tight with tension, his eyes burning. But I was determined to be the tour guide and not give in to the compulsion to find the nearest enclosed private space.
I put away the helmets and said grimly, “Come on.”
When we emerged at the top of the steps onto the High Line itself I heard Johnny breathe out in admiration, taking in the old disused railway track as it wound its way through several blocks. We walked, with the Hudson River sparkling in the bright autumn sunshine on one side and the very hip Meatpacking District below us on the other.
Plants and foliage were strategically placed all along the High Line in and among reclaimed and restored slats. Johnny bent down to touch one, clearly appreciating the work.
There was a mini sunken amphitheater and little cafés and restaurants. He took my hand. “This is seriously cool.”
I was absurdly aware of my hand in Johnny’s and felt like a stuttering teenager all over again. I was also proud of my city and so glad to be back. “Yeah, it’s nice.” I ignored the impulse to pull my hand away.
We came out from under an old tunnel into the sunshine again, and in the near distance a tall building with hundreds of windows dominated the raised railway line. It looked like a cross between a sixties’ Eastern Bloc office building and a futuristic design, straddling the High Line on two
massive concrete blocks.
“What is that?” Johnny asked curiously.
“It’s a hotel. A very hip and cool hotel. The Standard.”
We walked underneath it and Johnny stopped to look up, clearly fascinated by the design. When we walked on again, I spotted an empty seat and we went over to sit down. It was partially hidden by tall bamboo growing nearby.
Johnny pulled me in front of him between his legs, and we were looking straight out at the sparkling Hudson. His hands rested almost indecently between my legs and he exerted a little pressure. Enough to get me tingling and very horny again.
“What are you doing?” I rasped.
“Look, up there.” He’d lifted a hand and was pointing up to the hotel.
I squinted to see and when I could make out what we were looking at my breath stalled in my throat.
It was a woman, full frontal and naked with her arms raised and palms spread on one of the hundreds of windows. I could make out hands on her hips and a man behind her, forcing her hips forward and back as he thrust powerfully in and out.
My mouth went dry as I said weakly, “I forgot about the little shows some of the guests like to put on.”
Johnny’s head came close to mine but I could sense he was still looking up at the couple, too. “Liar,” he breathed into my ear. Both hands pressing against my crotch now, exerting stronger pressure.
I wriggled my ass slightly and heard him suck in a breath just as I felt the unmistakable hardness of his own arousal.
Jesus. This was so erotic. Sitting on a bench in broad daylight with Johnny all but sliding his hand right down between my legs, his thumb pressing against my clitoris. My breasts got heavy and achy, nipples hardening against my bra.
The couple in the window had moved now so that the woman had her back to the window. The man lifted her leg up and hooked it around his hip.
I bit my lip. And just then a child ran around our bench. I panicked and closed my legs on Johnny’s hand, trapping him. Luckily the child was just a fast-moving blur, oblivious to us.
“What time do we have to be at work?” Johnny’s voice sounded rough, slightly breathless.
My pussy tightened. I looked at my watch, feeling slightly dazed. “In three hours.”
He muttered something indecipherable and then he was standing up and all but dragging me back down the High Line, under the hotel and retracing our steps. Between my legs was indecently slick.
I gripped his hand, “Where are we going?”
He barely glanced at me. “You’ll see.”
And then we were going back down the iron-girded stairs to the street level and Johnny was looking around for something. I only got an inkling of what he was doing when I saw the discreet entrance of the Standard hotel appear ahead of us down a cobbled side street.
Struck dumb I could only follow as Johnny greeted the doorman jauntily. We went into the hotel, going up to the reception level. And then I watched, gobsmacked, as he charmed the knickers off the stunning receptionist. The shock dissipated and my excitement spiked to hear him ask for one of their best corner rooms.
I couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, even when the receptionist sent me an obviously envious glance as she checked the credit card, and then Johnny was pulling me in his wake to the elevators.
We were alone inside the lift. I turned to him, still in shock. My clit wasn’t in shock, though, it was way ahead of me, pulsing with anticipation.
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
He smiled at me wickedly. “You’ll believe it in about ten minutes when your legs are wrapped around my waist and we’re giving a mile-high show to everyone across the river.”
Johnny led the way down a corridor, looking for the right room. Then he was opening the door onto an impressive corner room with spectacular views over the Hudson.
Oh my God. This isn’t a dream.
No guy, ever, had done anything so spontaneous. Steve had wangled his way into my apartment on the basis of little more than what—I’d thought—had been the best sex of my life and an intense interest in everything about me. For the first time, that memory didn’t sting. I was too distracted.
I followed Johnny into the room as he prowled around it. He went to the floor-to-ceiling window and beckoned me over. I slipped out of my leather jacket and let it drop to the ground.
I felt reckless and wild. And free. The past was dropping away and I welcomed it.
Johnny’s mouth quirked as he gestured to the view that favored the river rather than the High Line. “I thought it best to try to not scar any children for life.”
I thought of the child running along the High Line and something in me melted at his consideration, even as he was about to do something unspeakably pornographic with me.
“You’re wearing too many clothes, Ryan.”
He arched a brow. “So are you.” We efficiently stripped within seconds until we were both naked. Jesus. I was so ready after that bike ride and watching the explicit show in the window.
Johnny’s hot gaze dropped down over my body. The huge windows around us heightened everything. I stepped up to him and took his cock in my hands. It was already hard and got harder as I stroked it in my fist. He put his arms around me and lifted me up on tiptoe, kissing me deeply and so thoroughly that I got even wetter.
Within minutes he had me facing the window, arms spread wide. He pressed against me, his erection an enticing hard length just above my buttocks. His hands explored me thoroughly, coming around to reach between my legs, fingers parting my slick folds and thrusting deep into my pussy. I groaned and swiveled my hips, as if I could ride his fingers.
His other hand cupped a breast and tweaked a nipple to stinging hardness. And then he put his hands on my hips and dragged me back toward him, making me bend forward slightly as the head of his cock found my entrance. He seated himself deep in one smooth move, making me groan loudly.
I gasped. I was so turned on and wet that he glided in and out easily. I tightened my muscles around him, and this time he was the one who groaned.
A tourist sightseeing boat chugged past along the river. We were far enough away that we couldn’t make out the people, but as if reading my mind, Johnny said gruffly, “Imagine if they have binoculars, Ash... They’re probably looking up here right now...”
I moaned, the thought making my muscles clench around him even tighter.
He moved so that I was more upright, closer to the window, his arms wrapped around me, one hand down between my legs, close to where he was thrusting in and out with remorseless precision. His thumb found my clit and rubbed against me rhythmically, sending me into orbit.
My head went back, leaning against his shoulder. Every muscle in my body was tightening. I reached around behind me to clasp his thrusting buttocks as if I could make him go deeper, harder. Back arched. Breasts bared and thrust forward wantonly.
“Look, Ash, look.”
I opened my eyes and felt dazed. The boat was closer now and we could see small shapes. People were obviously taking pictures of the High Line and the hotel. And that was when I came in a blinding, leg-trembling rush, just as the flash of a camera went off and I imagined our carnality caught forever on some unwitting person’s holiday snap.
Chapter Ten
An hour later we were spent, on the bed, limbs entangled. My breathing was only just beginning to return to normal, skin dewed with sweat. I felt as undone as I had last night, and my mind boggled at what had happened in just the past twenty-four hours. I also felt more sated than I’d ever felt in my life. It was disconcerting.
This time yesterday I had been vowing not to let Johnny near me again. And look how well that had turned out, a voice said frigidly. I comforted myself with the thought that this was just the crazy initial rush of lust. Surely somet
hing that burned this bright would fizzle out just as quickly?
Johnny moved minutely, and as his arm shifted slightly from around me, something caught my eye. Without thinking I reached across his chest to stop his arm and turn it toward me. It was a tattoo, inked into his skin just on the underside of his biceps. “What’s that?”
Immediately I could feel him tense. I reached out and traced the line of Celtic script. “What does it say?”
He took his arm back down. “Ah, nothin’. It’s just something I got done a while back.”
Now I was wide-awake. Johnny was being evasive. Perversely it made me feel on a much more even keel. I pulled at one of his chest hairs.
“Ow!” He glared at me.
I smiled sweetly. “What does it say?”
He glared at me some more and then finally lifted his arm again. I stretched across him, very aware of my breasts pressed against his chest. I traced the joined-up words with a finger and read out loud, “‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.’”
“W.B. Yeats,” I mused aloud. “My dad’s favorite Irish poet to quote whenever he gets blind drunk, which is about every couple of months.”
I looked at Johnny and he was just staring at me. “Sorry about your Dad. That’s rough.”
I shrugged. “He won’t get help. He thinks it’s under control because he goes back on the wagon periodically. It’s probably the only thing saving his liver. Liam’s had to deal with it more than me. I had my own issues with our mom.”
Johnny’s hand drifted up my back, keeping me in place sprawled across his chest. “What happened in LA?”
His eyes were so dark, so blue, that I felt like I was drowning. I rested my chin on my hands.
“Mom was busy working. She’d always been ambitious, which was part of the problem with Dad, who was much more traditional. She got some high-powered job in an actor’s agency. And I...hit puberty and went off the rails. I missed Liam and Dad. New York. I was gangly, insecure. I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. Smoking dope, joyriding, petty crime...”
My mouth twisted. “I’m lucky I didn’t get addicted to something or wind up pregnant.”