“You told your friend about me?” Her tone pitches up like she’s intrigued, maybe delighted, by this fact.
“Hell, yeah. Told him what an incredible first date we had. He’s wise beyond his years. Honestly, he keeps me more centered than he probably knows. He’s a good dude.”
“Sounds like my Olive. She and Emery are my rocks—my diamonds really. We all went to college together, and I’m so happy they both live here. They’ve made settling in LA so much easier for me.”
“Here’s to friends.” I lift my can to hers.
“Not for the many, but for the true.”
“I like that,” I say, then take a drink.
“Thanks,” she says. “Although, I can hear Olive whispering in my ear right now telling me friendships aren’t everything. Friendships are there so you have someone to talk to about your awesome sex life, she’d say.”
“So is it? Awesome?”
Her eyes glint. “It’s been showing real promise recently. I met this adorable guy,” she says, using the same word she did on our sushi date.
“I hear adorable is actually quite sexy.”
“You heard correctly.” This conversation has taken a welcome turn away from Shouldn’t City and toward Why Notsville. Her voice is pure sex, and her eyes are smoldering. I set my can on the table, and she does the same.
“You know what else I heard?” I ask playfully.
“What’s that?”
“Adorable guys are great kissers. It can be proven in the adorable-guy challenge.”
“Challenge accepted. Lay it on me.”
“With pleasure.” I lean in, gently remove her glasses, set them on the coffee table, and steal one long kiss, claiming her mouth, savoring the taste of her.
My head swims with desire, and I let out a low groan. She pulls back, eyes hazy. “I think you’re right. About us focusing on the job.”
“Right,” I say, deflated, even though her eyes haven’t lost any of that fire.
“But I think we’re probably okay to focus on different kinds of jobs. Like, say, blow . . . jobs.” She gives a hint of separation between those last two words, and it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard.
“That sounds like a great job to focus on,” I rasp as she inches closer to me and lays her hand on my stomach.
She slides her fingers between the buttons of my shirt, teasing my abs. I curl a hand around the back of her head, drawing her to my mouth. Losing myself in London. Giving in to this moment that feels so right. She feels right. And I want that. I want more of her.
She takes over the kiss, flicking her tongue over my lips while she unbuttons my shirt, caressing my chest. Part of me wants to stop her—it’s after hours, but someone still might come into the studio. But she seems into it, and hey, it’s just a shirt.
“Mmm. Nice chest. Nice pecs. Nice everything,” she whispers in my ear as she parts the material, dips her head, and presses a kiss to my chest. I shudder from her touch, running my fingers through her hair as she feathers kisses on my pecs and nipples. Her soft lips on my skin send shock waves rushing through my body. My cock throbs in my pants as she scrapes her fingernails down my abs.
Then, in one smooth motion, she unclasps the button at my fly and tugs at my zipper. She slides effortlessly off the couch so she’s on her knees in front of me, just as I was for her last night. She’s a sensual goddess, a lustful contradiction. Submissive on her knees, but powerful in her eyes, the desire to please me shining in those irises. Part of me wants to toss her on her back and fuck her so we can experience that pleasure together, but something else tells me to relax, to enjoy this.
Her hand plays with the waistband of my boxer briefs, and her eyes dart to the door. She seems aware of the distant possibility of us being found like this, and instead of pulling my pants down, she reaches inside and grabs my length. The feel of her soft hand on me for the first time draws out a groan from deep within.
An appreciative smirk plays on her face as she runs her hand down my shaft to cup my balls, freeing me from my boxers, exposing all of me to her. She licks her lips as her eyes focus on my dick, and I swear I almost come from the look on her face alone.
“This is a pretty nice cock too,” she says.
“Nice?” I tease.
Taking her time, she whispers in a voice like smoke, “Incredible.”
If I thought I was going to blow from the heat in her eyes, her dirty words have me at the edge of desire. With her hands on my thighs, she drags her soft tongue up my length, teasing me from balls to tip. She plants firm, sucking kisses down the throbbing vein as her hand grips the base. Her lips and her touch have my cock jumping against my stomach.
“Now that’s incredible,” I murmur, as she pumps up the length of my shaft, stopping to thumb the pre-come off the tip. She brings it to her lips, her eyes going hazy as she licks off the taste of me.
I heat up as I get to know London’s deliciously dirty side, fire sparking across every inch of my body.
Her hand smooths down my dick until she’s cupping my balls, driving me crazy with her teasing touch.
I let out a low growl that sounds like a warning. I’m dying for her to take me in her mouth, but London has other plans—plans to make me beg, it seems.
Her mouth travels the length of my shaft as her eyes stay locked on mine.
“Your mouth is amazing,” I grind out as her tongue reaches the tip and she swallows the head of my dick in one decadent motion.
A motion that sends lightning racing up my spine.
She takes her time, exploring my dick with her lips. And I’m all too happy for her to get to know my favorite body part.
As she sucks the head, her tongue laves my dick in an intoxicating swirl.
I’m not above pleading.
Hell, just now I’d beg, borrow, and steal for her to swallow me whole. When I groan so loudly that I wonder if the engineer who left long ago can hear, she takes mercy and, at last, at long fucking fast, goes deeper, moaning around me.
Her murmurs, those sexy, dirty sounds, shoot pinpricks of pleasure through my body.
I lay my head back against the cushions, savoring her magnificent touch. “Your mouth . . . so good,” I croak before my mind can no longer form any thoughts, overcome by the buzz of pleasure, by the promise of blissful torment.
She sets a languid rhythm, taking her time, traveling the length of my cock, her lips and hand moving together. On the next stroke, her mouth relaxes, and she takes more.
Her hand travels lower, massaging my balls, as her lips draw me impossibly deeper in her throat. That sensation of her mouth full of me has my thighs crackling with energy, my head swimming with desire. She is intoxicating, and I’m high on her and ready to explode.
“Gonna come,” I grunt. She sucks harder, squeezes my balls just a little tighter, and lets out one more delicious moan.
My cock pulses inside her mouth, the first wave of euphoria crashing into me. As my hips thrust, my orgasm overtakes me, and a series of pulsing spasms shoots the length of my body. The release gives way to a floating sensation as I glide on a cloud of pleasure.
She slows her movements and swallows in flawless rhythm with my body.
We spend a few moments suspended in this blissed-out state. As I come down from my high, she lets go of me with one final mind-blowing lick.
Our eyes lock.
“Un. Fucking. Real,” I mutter, trying to catch my breath.
“Mmm. I’m glad you liked.”
“Oh, I liked. I fucking loved. Jesus, that was . . .” And I finish the thought by sighing happily.
She rocks back on the floor, but I grab her arm gently and pull her up to me, making room for her to nestle into my chest on the couch. She rests her head against me as I wrap an arm around her and kiss her hair.
“That’s got to be the best work meeting I’ve ever been a part of,” I offer, as real-world thoughts return to my mind—most of them working out ways to reconcile the sex we
want to have with the relationship we need to avoid.
26
Sure, I have theories. About fate, about luck, about great sex.
But never once did I speculate that an excellent sexual encounter would sate me.
Not once did I dream of thinking, That’ll be enough.
But what I didn’t anticipate was how, despite feeling so satisfied, I could want her so insanely much again.
Like, immediately.
Maybe, say, right now.
Well, okay, after I recover. But that’s simply a matter of time, not will.
I hope, though, that she wants all the same things I do.
More connection, more closeness, more of this night that feels like an escape. That feels like it exists out of the calendar, out of time.
After I pull up my boxer briefs and zip my jeans, I run a hand along her hair. “What the hell are we going to do next?”
It’s as much a rhetorical question as a practical one.
She tap-dances her fingers down my chest. “I have some ideas.”
I wiggle my brow. “I bet your ideas would like my ideas.”
“Do your ideas involve both of us getting naked?”
I groan. My dick is going to be showing off for her again. Soon. “Yes, they do. But the big question is, can we really do this?”
Her expression goes serious too. “I don’t want the night to end. I heard what you said earlier. I get it. This is what it is. But I like this too much to put any brakes on.”
“I’m afraid somebody may have cut my brakes when it comes to you,” I say, then I brush a kiss along her cheek. “And I mean that in every way. Not just the physical. You know that, right?”
Her lips curve into a soft grin. “I think I do know that.”
I squeeze her hand. “I mean it. I meant everything I said earlier. But I mean this too. Being with you is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done, not just in ages, but ever. Talking to you, laughing with you—everything with you. It’s kind of crazy.”
“It’s kind of crazy good.”
“Kind of wild that twenty minutes ago, I was telling you that things would be different if I had a different job and how I don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past . . . and now all I want is to spend more time with you.”
Her smile is sweet and sexy. “I guess the blow job worked, then.”
I don’t return the joke. Instead, I tuck her hair behind her ear. “No. It’s not the blow job. Though it was spectacular. It’s you. Just you. Nothing about this feels like a mistake.”
“I know,” she whispers softly. “I feel the same.”
I press my forehead to hers, my hand brushing over her soft hair. I’m savoring this moment. It feels like we’re teetering on the edge. Of saying more. Of admitting hearts and feelings and all those other things.
But the last twenty-four hours with her have simply been a bubble, and I’d do well to remember that.
We separate, and I do up the buttons on my shirt. “I want to taste you, touch you, feel you. Slide inside you. Watch you melt. Make you come a second time and then do it again,” I say. “Which we really shouldn’t do in here.”
She laughs, breathes out hard, then waves a hand in front of her face. “Okay, you make me laugh and you turn me on at the same time. Is that your special skill?”
“Why, yes, it is.”
“But the trouble is . . .”
“Barking pumpkin dog.”
“Nailed it,” she says a little sadly.
“Well, if we were dating, what would you do?”
“If we were dating?” She asks the words as if she’s tasting them. As if they’re cherries or ice cream and she likes the way they feel on her tongue.
Hell, I like the way they sound on her tongue.
“I think we’d go to my house,” she continues, “pick him up, and take him to yours.”
“So that’s what we’d do if we were dating?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll do that.”
And it feels like we are dating. This is a dating conversation. This is a few days with a woman I’m falling for. These are the type of days I’ll remember two, three, four years down the road when we talk about how the two of us started to fall for each other.
Or maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.
“The very puppy-friendly pooch Sir David Bowie and I extend a most humble invitation to Mr. Darcy for an evening in our home,” I say in an over-the-top British accent. “Would you like to bring Mr. Darcy to my house?”
“Mr. Darcy accepts your invitation. However, he is a horn dog.”
“He will be in excellent company, then.”
* * *
A little later, London pulls up at my house in her cherry-red VW bug. She parks the car, unbuckles her dog, and steps out with Mr. Darcy in her arms.
Little dude wags his tail when he sees me waiting with Bowie, so I scratch the small pooch’s chin, then give him a kiss on the head.
She sets him on the ground, and the dogs greet each other.
I waggle the dog bags in my hand. “I got the dog bags. Please try not to get too excited.”
“Oh, that is so sexy,” she says.
I take her hand and we walk our dogs and they do their business. It’s not romantic, yet it’s ridiculously romantic because the stars are out, the night air is cool, and we’re wandering through my neighborhood like we would if we were dating.
If we were together.
Everything about tonight feels like it could be repeated for the next week and the next month and the next year. Everything about this feels like this could be how we are.
I squeeze her hand.
She smiles in my direction. “What’s that for?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.”
She laughs too. “I feel the same way.” She nudges my elbow as we round the corner on my street. “Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how great have the last twenty-four hours been?”
“Five hundred,” I say.
“C’mon. I was thinking a thousand.”
“We haven’t even had sex yet. Let’s wait for the sex till we give it a thousand.”
“That’s my point. It’s amazing with you even if we don’t sleep together.”
I groan—a groan of happiness. I stop in my tracks, my dog by my side, her dog by her side, and I cup her cheek. “You’re right. It’s a thousand already.” I press a kiss to her lips. When we separate, I say, “I like hanging out with you. I liked it last night, and I liked it today. I like working together. I like all the things.”
“What do you know? I like all the things too. It’s all pretty damn good.” Her tone goes wistful again. There’s a note of sadness that makes me feel like a jackass. What the hell am I doing? I know this can’t go anywhere. Not anywhere I want it to.
But I’m doing it anyway.
I sidestep the us and focus on something that I can say with absolute certainty. “By the way, I think your dance is going to be incredible. You’re going to nail that portfolio, and you’re going to do great things at the club.”
“Thanks. I’m pretty happy with it. I think we created a cool thing together. I’m going to put the finishing touches on it tomorrow. Also, you’re a pretty good deejay. I’m sure your new business will boom.”
“I’m nowhere near ready yet to go out on my own. But someday.”
I tell myself the same could apply to her and me. Maybe someday.
Maybe someday when things change at the job.
Maybe someday when I sort out what I’m doing.
Maybe someday when I get a better handle on things and figure out my life. Maybe then I’ll be able to have that maybe-someday with her.
But for now, I’m going to relish tonight for all that it is.
As we return to my building and head upstairs, I adopt a TV informercial voice. “Have you ever considered how amazing the hedgie toy is?”
“As in the greatest dog toy ever invented?”
“It is indeed the best toy in the history of dog toys. Whoever invented it deserves an award.”
“All the awards,” she says as I open the door to my condo, and we unsnap our dogs’ leashes.
I toss a hedgie to Bowie and another to Mr. Darcy. They take them to opposite ends of the living room. As they focus on the utter amazingness of their toys, I take London to my bedroom, she removes her glasses, and we undress each other.
None of this feels like we’re messing around. None of it feels like we’re hooking up. None of this feels like it’s going to end soon.
All of it feels like we’re just starting.
27
Here we are.
In my bedroom.
Stripped bare.
Ready.
Her eyes glimmer with desire as we lunge at each other. I tug her onto the bed, on top of me. Our bodies crash together, and the feel of skin on skin makes my head hazy.
She moans, low and throaty. I thread my hands in her hair, bringing her mouth to mine.
We kiss, needy and hungry—the kind of kiss that’s both desperate and a prelude. A kiss that won’t last long, because we both need more.
More than kissing. More than mouths.
We need connection.
Hell, I crave it.
We kiss recklessly, unchained. Our mouths saying words that extend beyond maybe someday.
I grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back roughly, and slam my lips to hers. I’m kissing her everywhere, devouring her, consuming her. Her lips, her cheeks, her chin, neck, and ear.
She tastes like heaven as her tongue tangos with mine. My hands glide down her smooth back, clasping her ass—her gorgeous, fantastic ass that I want to spank, bite, kiss. I squeeze her flesh, letting her know with my touch how much I want her.
With a soft but sexy laugh, she pulls away from my mouth. “You trying to tell me you like my ass?”
How To Get Lucky Page 14