The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild

by Jessica Clare

  “Fine with me.”

  She grabbed his hand and led him to the sofa. When she got there, she pushed at his shoulders, moving him down to the couch so she could straddle him. Excitement was pulsing through her, and she slid onto his lap, her legs spread wide over him and her face inches from his.

  He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. His hands grabbed ahold of her hips and he pushed her down into his lap, grinding his cock against the vee of her sex. But he wouldn’t look at her.

  That was fine, she’d make him look. Brenna dragged off her top and tossed it onto the couch. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, since it was a loose top and there was no one around today. Her breasts bounced and jiggled an inch from his face.

  And that got his attention. Dark eyes gazed on the flesh she was practically shoving in his face, and he leaned in and lightly bit at the curve of one breast.

  Brenna moaned, her hips bucking against him. This was what she needed.

  “Take the rest of your clothes off,” he told her, his lips moving against her flesh.

  She nodded and slid off his lap, quickly shucking her pants. She was now naked of everything except her socks, but she didn’t want to bother with those. She just wanted to crawl back into his lap and feel his skin against hers. So she did, straddling him again.

  His hand slid between them and his fingers brushed between her legs, heading for her piercing, and began to toy with it.

  She moaned in response, arching against his hand. Oh God, that felt so good. Her fingers dug into his shirt and she clung to him, riding against his fingers.

  “Get undressed, Grant,” she murmured as he continued to finger her. “Want to feel you against me.”

  “Shhh,” he said, and rubbed hard against her clit.

  She cried out at the sensation, arching against him, and forgot about everything but his fingers against her flesh. He stroked her slippery folds, rubbing her, and then slid two fingers deep into her sheath. Brenna gave a startled gasp at the sensation. It felt incredible. His thumb slid to her clit even as his fingers stroked inside her, and then he began to work her, stroking deep and brushing against her clit with his thumb. She moved her hips in time with his strokes, lost to the feel of him. She buried her head against his neck, clinging to him, lifting her hips with violence and slamming onto his hand. She needed more, needed him, needed so much that she ached. “Grant,” she moaned. “Grant, please fuck me.”

  “Shh,” he told her again.

  He continued to work her with his hand until she could stand it no longer. A choked moan escaped her again, and then she was coming, shivers all over her body as she clenched and clenched around his pumping fingers. “Grant,” she panted. “Oh God, Grant. Yes.”

  Then his hand slipped from her thighs, and she was left clenching at nothing, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. The only sound in the lodge was the soft patter of rain and her own heavy breathing. Grant was utterly silent.

  She sat up, studying him. His expression was shuttered, impossible to read. Brenna ran a hand along the front of his button-up shirt. “Let’s get you out of these clothes—”

  His hand closed over hers before she could undo the first button. “No.”

  “No?” She blinked at him, surprised. “I thought we were having sex?”

  “You said you wanted no strings attached, right?” He shrugged his shoulders, a careless move so at odds with the Grant she knew. “Are you satisfied?”

  By a little heavy petting? Yes, and no. Yes, because it quenched the itch, but it also left her wanting more. Wanting him. She frowned at him. “That wasn’t really sex.”

  “That’s the only ‘no strings’ I know how to do,” he said in a cold voice. “Sorry. And if we’re done, I’m going to go change my clothes.”

  She reeled as if stung. If we’re done? “What about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Oh.” She moved off him—she couldn’t move off him fast enough. Brenna found her shirt and dragged it back on, then began to slide on her jeans. She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. A weird sense of humiliation was sweeping over her. He’d basically diddled her just to shut her up. How cold was that?

  She zipped her jeans and turned around . . . but he was gone. She was the only one in the lodge.

  Oh good. That meant she could cry now. Brenna burst into tears without really understanding why she was so upset, then grabbed her car keys.

  She needed to talk to someone. Maybe Miranda wasn’t busy at the library.

  • • •

  Grant shut the door to his cabin and leaned against it, groaning with pain.

  He felt like the world’s biggest asshole. The biggest asshole with the world’s biggest hard-on. What he’d done to Brenna was cold. He’d known it was cold, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted no-strings sex? He’d do his best to make sure she was satisfied and nothing more. Maybe then she’d see how much it hurt him that she didn’t want anything with him—even a casual relationship. Even sleeping in the same damn bed. They didn’t have to get married, but she also didn’t have to throw everything in his face.

  Just like the way he’d done to her.

  He leaned back, knocking his head against the door. Stupid. Stupid. Whatever he’d had with Brenna? He’d pretty much trashed it just now, and he was the only one suffering for it. His hand was still slick from her warmth, still smelled like her warm, wet pussy. The front of his pants was tight from his own erection and damp from her arousal. What exactly had he been trying to prove to anyone except that he was a jackass when his feelings were hurt?

  He tore at the waistband of his pants, suddenly desperate to free his erection. Jerking himself off after he’d had a sexy, willing woman in his lap seemed like a fitting punishment. He shoved his pants down, then his boxers, and his cock sprung free. He grasped it in his hand, and then paused.

  He lifted his fingers to his face and dragged them across his lips. Brenna’s salty, delicious taste filled his mouth and nostrils, and he groaned hard, stroking his cock. Within three beats, he climaxed, cum splattering on the hardwood floors.

  Fuck this whole “sex without entanglements” thing. Why was it when he tried to give a woman issue-free sex, he ended up feeling more mixed up than before?

  • • •

  Brenna wandered into the Bluebonnet library a short time later, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes and shivering, her shirt plastered to her skin.

  “Oh my God,” Miranda said, hurrying out from behind the checkout counter. “Brenna! Are you okay?”

  “Just fine,” Brenna said, but there was a glum note in her voice. “It’s raining outside. Kinda cold.”

  “Well, you’re dripping water!” Miranda exclaimed. She fluttered closer, wearing a tight pencil skirt and a filmy white blouse and that damned purple bracelet. “Where’s your jacket?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Miranda gave her an odd look, and then gestured at her. “Wait right there and don’t drip on any periodicals.” She disappeared into her office and then returned a moment later with a fluffy gray cable-knit cardigan. “Here. I keep this at work in case the air-conditioning’s too cold, but you need it more than I do.”

  “Thanks.” Brenna took it and dragged her arms through the sweater and wrapped it tight around her. “I think I’m having a bad day.” And to her horror, tears began to streak down her face again.

  “Oh, oh no. Please don’t cry. I’m not good at comforting.” Miranda wrung her hands. “Do you want me to call Beth Ann? She’s better at this sort of thing than I am.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Brenna sniffed loudly. “Honest.”

  Miranda’s big brown eyes stared at her, frozen. Then, she glanced around the small, narrow library and then gestured at Brenna. “No one’s here. Come in my office and we can talk. I’ll make you a hot tea.”

  Bren
na shuffled behind Miranda, her canvas shoes squishing and wet. She sank down into the chair across from Miranda’s desk, which was stacked high with books. Miranda turned and pushed a coffee mug under the percolator and hit a few buttons. A long moment passed and neither woman said anything, the only sound that of brewing tea.

  “So,” Miranda said, finally handing her the steaming mug. “You want to talk about it?”

  Brenna wrapped her hands around the cup and sighed. Part of her didn’t want to talk about it, and part of her wanted to weep out her troubles. “Have you ever had a friends-with-benefits scenario?”

  “Friends with benefits?” Her eyes widened and Miranda twisted the pretty purple bracelet on her wrist absently. “I . . . well, not really? When I first started sleeping with Dane, I didn’t even really consider him a friend. Just a lay, you know?” Her cheeks pinked at the thought.

  “Yes, exactly!” Brenna set the mug down. “How did that work out for you? Just having sex?”

  “Not so well,” Miranda said with a laugh, grabbing a stack of books and flipping open the cover of the first one. She began to press stickers inside it and wrote something on the cover, clearly readying it for circulation. “I got all attached and mad at myself because I didn’t want to be attached.”

  Brenna frowned. That wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping to hear. The opposite, actually. “So what did you do?”

  “Do?” Miranda giggled and looked all lovesick for a moment. “We moved in together. Turned out I wasn’t the only one that couldn’t have sex without getting attached.”

  Brenna made a face. “But what if you don’t want to get attached? Aren’t men supposed to like not being tied down?”

  “Most men would,” Miranda agreed. “But we’re talking about Grant here, right? The man’s more loyal than a Doberman. He hasn’t dated since his wife died, remember? Why would you think he’d be a good choice for some no-strings-attached sex?”

  Gritting her teeth in frustration, Brenna did admit that Miranda had a point. When it came to choices for a quick shag, Grant wouldn’t have been high on anyone’s list. So why was she so determined to sleep with him? It couldn’t have been because she had feelings for him, could it? Ugh. She was so confused. “He asked me to marry him,” Brenna said sourly.

  Miranda gasped. “Oh my God. He did?” Her face lit up, and then she narrowed her eyes at Brenna. “You don’t seem excited about it.”

  “That’s because I’m not. It was the most unromantic proposal ever!” Brenna sipped the hot tea. “He came to my desk and went on and on about responsibility and safety and how he’d take care of me since it was clear that I couldn’t even take care of myself. So to do me a favor, he was going to marry me and make me his little woman.” She rolled her eyes at the thought and took another sip of tea. “He didn’t even bother to propose with a ring.”

  Silence. She peeked at Miranda over the rim of her mug. The librarian was watching her with a curious look, squinting as if she was trying to make out Brenna. Her long, straight brown hair slid over the shoulder of her cream blouse.

  “What?” Brenna mumbled.

  “I’m confused,” Miranda said, flipping the book shut and placing it atop a pile, and then moving to the next one. She opened it and then began to sticker it. “I thought you wanted no-commitment sex?”

  “I do.”

  “So why are you mad that he gave you an unromantic proposal and no ring?”

  “Because that’s not how you do it! If you’re going to crap things up with a proposal, you might as well make it a good one.”

  Miranda’s lips twitched. “But maybe the no ring, no emotions proposal is Grant’s way of being no strings attached. You never know.”

  Brenna considered this. “Or maybe the man just wants to be married again.”

  Miranda began to say something, then changed her mind, shaking her head. “I just wonder that this isn’t a conversation you should have had with Grant.”

  “I’m not talking to him right now. I’m actually pretty mad at him.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  Brenna considered, wondering how much to share. Beth Ann and Miranda were close friends and had been since grade school. Brenna felt a bit like an outsider when the two of them were together, but they were also her closest girlfriends since moving to Bluebonnet. How much did Miranda want to know? “You sure you want details?”

  Miranda gave a firm nod. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. And you’ve been crying, which makes me want to go and kick Grant in the nuts on your behalf.”

  “Okay, but you can’t tell Dane.”

  That made Miranda pause and she gave a heavy sigh. “Fine. I won’t tell Dane.”

  Brenna fiddled with one of the sleeves of the sweater, adjusting it so she wouldn’t have to meet Miranda’s knowing gaze. “Grant proposed to me a few days ago and when I said no, I started sleeping apart from him. Today, I told Grant I wanted no-strings sex, right? So I approached him for sex and he said it was fine. Except all he did was finger me until I came, and then asked me to get off him.”

  Miranda’s jaw dropped.

  Brenna felt a little better about things at seeing her reaction. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t crazy for feeling all hurt and emotional. “He wouldn’t even kiss me. Didn’t come, either. Just told me that if I wanted unemotional sex, he was more than willing to lend me a hand, but that was the only involvement he wanted.” She frowned in memory. “I wanted sex, not a human vibrator.”

  Miranda was quiet for a moment, and then said thoughtfully, “Unless he was shaking all over, he’d be more like a human dildo.”

  “Har de har. You know what I mean.”

  “I do, and wow. That was kind of cold of Grant. I’m honestly surprised. He seems like the least likely type to pull a douche move like that.”

  “I know,” Brenna said, and her tone was miserable. “And now I feel like shit. He’s ruined everything. Even orgasms.”

  Miranda thought for a long moment, toying with the ends of her long hair. Then she glanced over at Brenna again. “You want my opinion? Honest, no holds barred?”

  “I think I do? Unless you plan on making me cry, too.”

  She chuckled. “Not my game plan.”

  “Then go for it.”

  “I think he probably doesn’t realize how much he hurt you.” Miranda’s voice was soft, as if she were reluctant to deliver bad news. “You have to remember that Grant’s been wallowing in five years of self-torment and misery because of how Heather died. He’s always going to think that he’s the problem in a relationship—any kind of relationship,” she added quickly when it seemed as if Brenna would protest the state of their “friendship.” “And here’s the thing. You’re so happy and nonchalant most of the time that you probably come across as not caring about anything. And I don’t think that’s true. I think you care, but I think you try to hide it. Maybe you don’t want to care, but it’s clear to me that you do. You need to show Grant how much he hurt you and I think you’ll see him falling all over himself to apologize.”

  “So basically, go to him and start the waterworks?”

  Miranda laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. But you could always try to just have a sensible conversation about how you do have feelings and he trampled all over them because you turned down his proposal. His rather impromptu proposal, I might add. I mean, you said that you two have been sleeping together for a while, but still . . . that’s kind of moving fast.”

  “Really fast,” Brenna muttered. So she might have told a little white lie about the timeframe. Miranda would definitely not understand Grant if Brenna confessed the truth and that they’d only started sleeping together when his parents had come into town. She felt weird about defending him, though. He kept messing things up for them. And yet . . . what if he honestly thought he was giving her what she asked for?

 
It was a mess no matter how she looked at it. Brenna rubbed her forehead. “Jeez, all I wanted was to pretend to be a guy’s girlfriend and have some kinky sex. Is that too much to ask for?”

  “Apparently.” Miranda’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Did you want to check out the library’s copy of the Kama Sutra?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “Actually, yes. I think I would.”

  ELEVEN

  Grant’s car wasn’t in the parking lot when she pulled up to the lodge. He must have been visiting his family. That suited her just fine. She avoided the main lodge and headed straight to his cabin, letting herself in. She found a fluffy stack of towels and a bathrobe, so she took a shower and then wrapped herself in his bathrobe and toweled her hair dry. Then she sat down on his couch to wait for his return, idly flipping through the pages of the Kama Sutra. Who knew that a picture book would have so many words in it?

  Her hair was almost dry when she heard the sound of steps on the gravel path, and she opened to a specific page, then glanced over at the door.

  When Grant walked in and saw her in his bathrobe, reading a book, he looked momentarily dumbfounded. Then he frowned. “What are you doing?”

  She held up the book. “Reading.”

  “No, I mean . . . what are you doing here? I thought you moved out.” He set his keys down on a nearby table and approached her.

  She shrugged. “My grand plan of living in the main lodge didn’t involve a shower. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. You know my home is open to you.” That husky, affectionate note had returned to his voice, and just hearing it made her skin prickle with awareness. He moved forward, and then paused. “What are you reading?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” Brenna waved the book idly. “Just brushing up. Did you know there’s a position in which a man windmills around while the woman bounces on his dick? I can’t say I’d ever want to try that one, but I’m open to a few of these others. I’ve bookmarked a few pages.” She held it up and showed him several dog-eared pages, and then added in a silky voice, “Not that you care about that.”