by Paige North
We’re hinged on a moment, unspoken words between us like static electricity.
One more second, and I’ll reach out to kiss her. But she pulls away, and it’s back to business.
“So…” She clears her throat, pushing her hair behind her ear. If she had a legal pad, she’d pull that out, too. And a pen. “When did you want to collaborate? This week, next month? I have to work out a schedule with my job.”
All business and no play makes Elena a dull girl.
I want to collaborate with you every night, Shortcake. And every day. And mornings, especially, when our bodies are still warm under the sheets, and sunlight just starts to seep in through the curtains. Before worries get into your head, and I can fuck your sweet pussy wide awake.
Her arched eyebrow reminds me I haven’t answered her yet.
What was her question again? Ah, yes. Schedules. “Starting Monday would be great,” I say. “I’m at Bluebird every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from one to ten. So, whenever you can come in, we’ll get started.”
“Am I free to compose any music or lyrics, or will we use all your material?”
Damn, what’s with this woman? “We can use my material,” I tell her, even though what I heard on her videos was good. I lean in to soak in her sweet aura. “But I have an idea. Since what I want is a duet, I was thinking… Maybe we should test our chemistry. See if we’re right for each other. For the song, of course.”
Elena chews on her quivering lip. “Jayce, this is supposed to be about business.”
“It is.”
“Good, because I promised myself, my family, pretty much everyone who matters to me…that I’d succeed in this business on my own. I don’t want a reputation for sleeping my way to the top.”
“But you do want a reputation, right?” I smile.
“Yes. I mean, no.” She shakes her head. “Not that kind. I want people in the biz to know me for my hard work, for my music, because…my music is good.”
“I know it. Trust me, I know. I can see how you might think I’m not serious about your talent, because of the shitty job I’m doing of controlling myself around you, but I wouldn’t have asked you to collaborate with me unless you were amazing.” It just so happens that she’s hot, too, so I’m losing my mind.
“Then, this is really hard for me, because I’m definitely attracted to you, but…” She closes her eyes and sighs. “I’m going to have to ask you to keep things separate. This is a business meeting, not a date.”
Wow.
Pretty fucking impressive. In four years, I haven’t run into one woman (single or married or otherwise), who wants me to stay professional with them. Most women make their attraction clear.
But I’ve got to taste those lips before this night is over.
“Elena, I gotta say, your professionalism is refreshing. But you’re also driving me insane. So I’ll make you a deal.”
“What is it?” Her nostrils flare in that soft way when a woman is having trouble controlling her breath. It’s sexy and primal and daring me.
“It’s more of a challenge actually,” I say in a low voice, staring at her lips. “ “Which is?” Her voice trembles. It’s like she already knows my idea without having heard it.
“One kiss.” I hold her chin in my hand and swipe my thumb across it. “If you can walk away tonight and honestly tell me you’re not affected by it, then I leave you alone. We collaborate on the song, what’s done is done. But if you feel something—anything—I get to see you again outside of the studio. Deal?”
In the club, Quincy’s taken the stage. The opening notes of his guitar tell the story of a man and a woman and a long, lonely night.
Elena’s lips part, and her eyes close. She takes in a deep, shuddery breath. “Deal.”
“Good.” Dipping my thumb into the honey whiskey, I run it across her bottom lip and lean in.
4
Elena
The kiss is not what I expect.
It’s not soft and sweet, the way first kisses tend to be. The way they’ve always been for me, even though I don’t have much to compare to. Jayce cups my face, begins with one touch of his lips, then invades my mouth with a slow, sensuous command of his inviting tongue and lips. Hot, imploring—an alarm to wake my senses.
It’s so intrusive, it should turn me off. But it doesn’t. Because in his kiss, he communicates a message—this is what I need. Whatever I’ve known before this moment, toss it away, because Jayce just told me what my brain and body want.
I needed him to tell me what I feel. For an hour, I’ve been on the fence, not sure if I should give in or stay away, witnessing his cockiness dominate the conversation, while all I can do is marvel that I’m even with him. I can’t believe it. Jayce Owens has lured me in, and I can’t believe I’m letting him. I can’t believe how delicious he tastes, how the Tennessee Honey whiskey intensifies and heightens the kiss, turns into a work of art, a piece of music I don’t ever want to stop listening to.
What other secrets does he know about that I don’t?
How could I be so strong one second and so weak the next?
I never stood a chance.
His kiss overtakes me, molds me. I’m on autopilot, a puppet giving into the master, and he’s pulling the strings. We kiss hard and strong, and thank goodness for his cowboy hat partially obstructing our faces, or else I might be embarrassed to be making out in a public place. We’re in our own private bubble. Doesn’t matter that there’s a whole club outside this room, that only a pair of silky curtains separates us from full view, and the twangy music continues on as if we weren’t here. He’s got me. Lock and key.
Mouth—warm, moist, and laced with alcohol—dizzying.
My arm instinctively wraps around him, and for the first time since I met him, I get a real sense of how big he really is. Jayce is a tall man with strong, wide shoulders, perfect for melting into. Something tells me, if I left this place and got into a load of trouble out in the alley, he would come smashing in to rescue me. As much as the intellectual side of my brain warns me to stop, I can’t resist.
How did he break down my walls? He won, fair and square.
When he pulls away, he presses his forehead into mine, and I’m left panting. “Well?”
I can’t remember which way is up, down, or out the door. Well? Ah, yes, I remember there was a bet of some kind. Well, there’s no way I can call it off now. How can I look him deep in his dark eyes and honestly tell him I wasn’t affected by his kiss? When I grew wet the moment he leaned into me and now I’m beyond a good soaking?
“It was alright.” But my voice is shaking, and you can always see the truth in my eyes. I’m a terrible liar.
“Liar,” he says, his voice laced with lust. He gives me a smile. A devilish, handsome smile that will echo in my memory tonight when I lay in bed thinking about this night.
I can’t take my hands off him. They feel so good wrapped behind his neck. I lean back, giving into his body which pushes me slightly against the plushy seats, and then his mouth is on my neck. I’m on fire. On fire, and the burn never felt so good.
I could stop if I wanted to. At least this is what I tell myself. I could push him away and impress myself with my fortitude, but I can’t, nor do I want to. Here’s the deal I’m striking with myself: I will allow myself to enjoy this moment, savor it for what it is—a moment—then return to normal tonight.
Tomorrow, I will tell him I had a temporary lapse of judgment, or better yet, I was in full control of the situation all along, and the joke will be on him when I tell him we can’t kiss anymore. He’ll be disappointed, but I’ll win back this battle.
Full control of my life.
Problem is, Jayce’s mouth consumes my neck and earlobe, hair and cheek. It expertly finds its way back to my lips to drink me in like strawberry wine, and who the fuck am I kidding? I’m losing all scraps of control. I never had it to begin with. Things speed up significantly when I feel his arm wrap around my back and slide down t
o my ass, kneading and squeezing and pulling me closer to him. I’m nearly sitting on his lap, so crossing the line.
It was supposed to just be one kiss.
I should’ve known it would never be enough.
Now, I desperately want him closer to me, want to kiss him so deeply that I can seep into his body and mind to discover his secrets. I want to know what he’s feeling, and most of all, I want him to feel what’s building up inside of me like a soda bottle that’s been shaking in the trunk of my car’s heat all summer long. Pressure builds in my lower stomach, culminating between my legs.
I love his big hands squeezing my ass through my dress, and after a while of kissing inside this private alcove, I want to throw caution to the wind and say “fuck it.” Fuck those curtains and those people out there. Fuck anyone who might walk in, any cameras who might be looking for Jayce “Tennessee” Owens at this moment. Fuck all rationale and common sense. He’s with me. You can have him when I’m finished.
He senses what I’m thinking, because his other hand slides along my arm and cups my breast, almost as though I told him to go there with my mind. Squeezing, pinching my nipple through my dress and bra, Jayce kisses the top curve of my tits, using one hand to squeeze them both together. One hand. My back arches, forcing myself closer to this mouth. My hands grasping his neck pull him closer into me. Amazing how our bodies betray us despite our best efforts.
But, God, I just want to feel the fiery heat of his lips on my body.
Right when I think he’s going to pull down my dress straps to search out my nipple, the hand firmly holding my ass slides underneath my dress, just like I want him to. He lowers his mouth and softly bites my nipple through the dress, just like I want him to, and his rock hard cock presses against my thigh, just like I want it to. Everything my body aches for come to fruition, even as my mind screams, stop, stop, stop!
There is no stopping.
There is only Jayce’s complete takeover of my being, his hand slipping between my thighs, and the voluntary opening of my legs ever so slightly, both a beautiful but terrifying feeling that I’m giving up my most precious secrets to someone I don’t even know. And yet he seems to know what I want even better than I do.
“Damn, Shortcake,” he whispers huskily against my chest, “I can feel your heat.”
I can’t argue with him, dispute anything he’s doing to me, because I want it almost as badly, if not more, than he does. But I make one last attempt to save face. “Jayce…”
“Elena…” His tone is husky and raw. “Take my hat.”
“What?”
“My hat. Take it.”
“Why—”
“Just do it, and cover my hand.” As he pushes my thighs further apart, his request dawns on me. Reaching up, I pluck his hat right off his head, keeping one arm curled around his shoulder, sliding into his thick brown hair. Bringing the hat down and under the table, I hold it over his hand, and my legs begin to shiver from the anticipation.
My body is a giant wad of potential energy waiting to leap over the edge of sanity. Jayce has completely unraveled me. And as I pull his face up and kiss him deeply, openly, tasting his tongue and sucking his lip, I full commit to not giving a shit that we’re in public and only a Stetson hat shields my open legs from the world.
His hand slides between them, resting in the V of my panties, pressing down softly with two fingers to seek out my clit. Any harder, I’ll come undone too fast, and I don’t want to yet. I want to feel so much more before this moment is over.
“I love how wet you get, Shortcake,” he whispers against my cheek, his soft whiskey breath fueling me on further. True to his word, he loves it so much, he has to feel it, because just then, he slides his fingers underneath the edge of my panties. Fingertips graze over my core and dip into my slickness. He pushes one then two fingers in, holding them there. “Squeeze for me.”
I can barely breathe, much less squeeze.
I can barely think, much less do what he’s asking me, but then I squeeze, my muscles automatically gripping him, and he smiles against my lips. “There you go. Now, that’s fucking sweet.”
It is fucking sweet, and before I can even consider stopping, he begins to slide his fingers in and out, slowly at first then a little harder. Jayce Owens is fingering me under the table, and the only moment I don’t push against his hand is when the shadow of a server walks by, pausing outside our curtains. They don’t come in. Maybe they know better. Maybe this is an everyday thing for Jayce to come here and use this booth to bring women to the borders of ecstasy, but I’m too far gone to care, and all I want at this point is the sweet release.
As his thick fingers plow into my pussy, the palm of his hand bangs my clit, stopping every so often to rub in circles. My hand holding the cowboy hat searches for his arm to hook onto, and his face buries into my neck, biting and breathing me in, saying things to encourage me. “Come on, Shortcake. You want this. I want it. Explode for me. All over my hand…”
Yes. Explode for him. He’ll get his wish.
I grab a hold of his hand and grind into it, as he takes my cue and fingers me harder, banging against me every time with that wide, manly palm of his, and I can’t take it. The room around me turns brighter, as the pressure builds, and I feel myself push over that slippery edge.
“That’s it. Come for me, Elena.”
Come for me, Elena. As much as he likes calling me Shortcake, it’s my name on his lips that does me in. I come hard and fast like a bullet train destined for Doomsville. Doomed, because I will want this again. I can almost guarantee it.
My body unleashes its stored power and control to this beautiful man with the beautiful deep voice, and when I finally stop shaking, I open my eyes to see his mouth slightly parted and grinning, brown eyes intently focused on me.
I can only bask in the glow and close my eyes again. Never in my life have I felt anything so intense, and for a moment, I have to wonder if I’ve ever been experiencing orgasms all these years at all. Compared to this, past climaxes seem so tame, so weak. Something about this booth and being in public and the idea that someone could enter at any moment, could find us in such a compromising position, amplifies things considerably.
Jayce slides his fingers out, takes his hat back, while I straighten my legs and pull down the edge of my skirt. I fight a tiny rush of shame for what I’ve done, reminding myself that I wanted it, practically begged for it.
“Holy shit,” I mumble.
His only reply is a bad-boy, shit-eating smirk.
Pulling my face into his hands, he lays another kiss onto me. Then, sliding out of the booth, he leaves a gaping cold spot where his body was a moment before. Wait, is he leaving? He can’t be. I hold onto myself with arms crossed.
Then, gathering his wallet and shoving it into his back pocket, he brings his fingers up to his face, inhales the musky aroma he’s stolen from me, and sucks the juices right off. “Mmm, thanks.”
I’m horrified. He is leaving. And he totally played me.
Oh, my God, I fell for it. I did nothing to stop it.
“See you at the studio Monday?” He tips his hat, an angular shadow slicing his face into light and darkness.
There are no words, though I can think of many. Yes, sir? Fuck off, you smug dickhead? I love you, please have my babies? I say nothing, just seethe in my spot.
A new table server splits apart the curtain when she sees Jayce coming out. The gorgeous brunette smiles at him, then looks at me like I’m a fresh dish who just got served. “Another shot of whiskey, Mr. Owens?” She gives us both a smarmy look, as though this happens all the time.
“Nope.” He twiddles his finger at me, and I blush so hard, I’m almost positive everybody in the club can tell what happened. “Got the last taste I wanted right here.” He winks at me and then he’s gone, curtain billowing after him like an F-5 tornado just blew through Nashville.
Bastard.
Fucking cocky bastard.
5
Jayce
I can’t stop thinking about her.
I’m jerking off at least three times a day, hoping the release will keep me from bothering her again too soon.
I’m going out of my mind with torture, wanting to see her again, but I distract myself with songs, like the one I wrote this weekend. One that’s not total crap either.
Maybe it’s crazy, but Elena is my new muse.
I haven’t texted her.
Besides being busy composing this weekend, I wanted her to have that “professional space” she claimed to need. But make no mistake, I haven’t stopped thinking about Shortcake. Her kickass body, the smell of her sweet skin, how fucking wet she gets—proof positive that she wants me—and damn, could that girl get wet. Felt good sliding my fingers into her. Took everything in me not to fuck her right then and there. I had to leave.
At work all morning, I only hear half the shit Rick says. I’m in my own world. But then, when Dorian announces that Elena’s arrived, I’m on high alert.
Elena is gorgeous, but it’s more than that. It’s the way I’m drawn to her. Her goodness. Her sweetness. Her dedication to her beliefs. She’s un-fucking-real. Kissing her Friday, I could tell she might’ve had some experience but never done anything in public before, which triggered my desire to show her more, protect her from anyone else who might want to get to her first. If she’s into it, I have so many things I can show her, but I’ve never found that right girl who loves what I love.
“Elena Wallace to see you, Mr. Owens,” Dorian chimes at the studio door.
“Let her in, please.” I’m going over lyrics I wrote for the new song over the weekend, something we might be able to spin into a ballad, when Elena walks in looking for a place to set down her purse.
Wearing a pale yellow sundress and sandals, her long hair over her shoulders in soft waves, she looks proud, professional, and I can see she’s going to be a tough nut to crack.
“Well, look at you, ray of sunshine.” I smile my practiced smile for photo ops, but it doesn’t work.