Getting Off

by Abby Green

  Caitlin Ryan has never had an orgasm—and she wants one! So does she

  (1) Date lots of Mr. Nice-but-Wrongs and keep faking and hoping?

  (2) Do a little DIY with a battery-operated friend and a lot of imagination?

  (3) Go to NYC and have a wild night with a totally hot stranger?

  When (1) and (2) don’t work, Caitlin goes for (3). But even with motorbike-riding sex god Liam, old habits die hard, and yet again she has to fake it. Only he notices—and is not happy! Could things get any worse? Well, yes, when Liam becomes her new boss. But when Caitlin reveals that she’s never climaxed, Liam rises to the challenge, offering a weekend of hot sex with the only goal her pleasure. Will letting him take control work? Caitlin can’t resist finding out….

  This is for all the smart, beautiful, amazing Cosmo girls everywhere. As a friend of mine used to always say: the world is your lobster.

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve always been a compulsive magazine buyer, and still am. I can distinctly remember purchasing my first Cosmopolitan magazine and feeling as if “This is it! I’m a grown-up now.” My dedication to Cosmopolitan went as far as India, where I was backpacking as a wide-eyed culture-shocked twenty-two-year-old. My friend and I were on a tight budget, but as soon as I saw an import copy of Cosmopolitan, I had to have it. Even if it did cost the equivalent of a week’s dinners, and even though it was months out of date. I still have the photographic evidence!

  I loved reading about deliciously illicit things like favorite sex positions—when I hadn’t even French-kissed yet! And then, after I’d finally French-kissed and more, getting answers to those niggling doubts we all had, like: Is it normal not to orgasm, and will he know?

  My heroine, Caitlin, is a Cosmo girl through and through, fiercely independent and looking forward to the future and all the adventures to come. Yet she has her insecurities like everyone else, and unfortunately for her, she happens to tangle with a hero who sees right through those insecurities straight off the bat.

  Liam, my hero, is straight out of every fantasy I’ve ever had of an American Boy. Growing up in Ireland, American men were the ultimate sexy guys, our fantasies fed by a constant diet of films, TV and music. They were, and still are, unbearably cool and confident with their ripped bodies and white smiles and that lazy accent that just curls around your nerves and sets them alight. Think Matthew McConnaughy and Bradley Cooper. I know I did when I wrote this.

  I hope you enjoy reading Caitlin and Liam’s story as much as I did writing it, and here’s to many more years of Cosmopolitan rearing and informing generations of strong young women!

  Cheers,

  Abby Green

  ABBY GREEN

  Getting Off

  Sexy, contemporary romance stories

  for today’s fun, fearless female.

  Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Harlequin

  www.Harlequin.com/Cosmo

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter One

  I couldn’t see his face, and that frustrated me but then his head dipped and he kissed me again, his mouth firm, tongue stabbing deep, stroking mine, and I forgot all about that frustration to concentrate on the other one, growing between my legs where I was swollen and slick with arousal.

  My entire body was pulsating. I’d never been so turned on, so hot, so ravenous for this man who loomed over me now, huge and awe-inspiring in the dim shadows of my bedroom.

  Jesus, would he just start fucking me already? Before I died completely?

  A dark chuckle told me I’d spoken out loud. ‘Easy, sweetheart. We have all night.’

  My heart tripped and he teased me then, settling his body more firmly between my legs, his hard erection nudging against where I ached, where I was wet, making my back arch, struggling to get closer, to force him to impale me more.

  Another dark chuckle, ‘You’re impatient aren’t you?’

  His accent was indeterminate, kind of an East Coasty smooth American burr. So deep that I felt the vibrations in my body where I wanted him to be touching me right now.

  Impatient? He had no idea. A wave of heat washed through my core. My body spasmed in anticipation. The tips of my breasts were so hard they hurt when they scraped against the rock-hard wall of his chest, the smattering of hair a delicious abrasion. I bit back a moan, almost delirious now with want, a fine sweat was breaking out all over my body.

  And then, the answer to my incoherent prayers...he slowly fed himself into me, inch by inch. I looked down between our bodies and gasped. He was so big. But he felt so good, touching every sensitized cell in those secret inner walls as he thrust in with ruthless intent. Filling me. Finally.

  I would forgive him everything if he just kept going.

  I was panting now but didn’t care about trying to pretend to be remotely in control. He started to move in and out, hair-roughened thighs forcing mine apart even more, making my muscles burn. I lifted my legs and locked them around his lean hips, feet digging into muscular buttocks, forcing him to go deeper.

  He cursed. I smiled, glad to be making him feel the burn, too. He ground out, ‘Baby, you feel so good.’

  I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on the spiraling tension in my body, wrapping my arms around his neck. My breath was coming in jerky gasps now. I was so close.

  Feverishly I circled my hips against his, urging him on, making him curse again. Please, I begged silently. Please, let me come.

  But then, just as his movements became faster, less controlled, I felt myself approaching that wall I knew so well. The one I’d never broken through. He, however, was oblivious to my growing despair. I ground my hips into his desperately, still hoping...pleading silently, but it was too late. He thrust one, two times and shouted out his release...and I felt nothing. Cheated. All that heat and desperation trickling away, leaving me aching with dissatisfaction...

  I finally woke up from the dream, heart racing—as it always was. A low humming noise broke through the familiar fog of disappointment and frustration, and the device between my legs told me that I’d now added a prop to my far-too-frequent nighttime excursions.

  My vibrator. Which I had been using earlier to little effect. And which I’d obviously reached for in the throes of the dream. Disgusted, I threw it across the room, where it continued to buzz mockingly.

  A week later

  Dublin airport

  ‘Kitty Cat, I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘Don’t get all emotional on me or I’ll start crying, too, and you know how it makes my face puff up as if I have some kind of contagious disease.’ I looked around at the other passengers filing into the security line and hissed sotto voce, ‘And stop calling me Kitty Cat. I’m twenty-three now.’

  Mary, my older sister by five years, rolled her eyes, ‘Fine. Caitlin Ryan, I’m going to miss you.’

  I gave her an approving look and bit back a smile. ‘That’s better.’

  We were both just expelling hot air, avoiding the elephant standing beside us. Johnny. So I took a deep breath and voiced my fears. ‘What if I find him and he doesn’t want to talk to me?’

  My sister went pale and I wanted to throttle my brother all over again. She didn’t deserve this. Not a
fter everything we’d been through since our parents had died ten years ago and she’d become our parent overnight.

  ‘He would be ecstatic to see you. He’s just making it harder for himself now by leaving it so long...’

  Johnny, almost four years my senior, had left for New York a couple of years ago after a huge row with Mary. Since then we’d only known he was okay from the deliberately timed middle-of-the-night messages left on the answering machine. Short and curt: I’m fine. I’m safe and working, don’t worry about me.

  Mary took my shoulders in her hands then and looked at me sternly. ‘Don’t worry about Johnny, he can take care of himself. This is your time, Caitie. Don’t think I don’t know how much responsibility you felt to keep the peace between me and Johnny. You’ve just graduated with a first-class-honours degree, you need to blow off some steam and have fun...’

  When I’d taken my seat on the plane a couple of hours later, Mary’s words came back to me. Blow off steam...have fun. I’d been a student for the last four years, so I knew all about blowing off steam and having fun. Within reason, of course.

  But...Mary had hit a nerve. I’d never really...let go completely. I’d never had one tiny rebellious moment. Never been really crazy. One rebel in the family had been enough and Johnny had filled that role to perfection.

  My most debauched night out had ended with me waking up sandwiched between two male friends from college, on a small double bed.

  For a heart-stopping moment that had definitely veered more to the excited end of the scale than disgusted, I’d wondered if we’d had a threesome. But just as I was realizing that I was still far too dressed for sex to have been part of the equation, one of them had woken up and said blearily, ‘You weren’t too well after all those cocktails last night, so we brought you home with us in case someone took advantage of you in your inebriated state.’

  Instead of feeling relieved to have such caring friends, I’d felt slightly miffed that I’d failed to inspire in them the desire to even think about taking advantage of me. Not that I would ever condone such irresponsible behaviour, of course, or that I even particularly wanted a threesome...but the thought of two guys ravenous for me was a surprisingly persistent fantasy for a while...

  The fact that the two guys in question came out as a couple in our final year was little consolation.

  I sighed deeply and put the memory out of my head and watched the green, rain-soaked land of Ireland fall away beneath the plane. A sense of optimism and excitement made my belly clench at the prospect of New York’s endless possibilities. Mary was right. I was more than ready for fun, freedom and adventure. And more than ready to turn that irritating recurring dream into a reality...with a far more satisfying ending.

  * * *

  Liam Sullivan was in a dangerous mood. He’d just had another frustrating argument with his old man and had left him sitting in a sea of empty beer and whiskey bottles. He unconsciously rode his bike even harder, coming to a screeching halt when the lights ahead turned red.

  He needed to calm down before he did something stupid. Like cause an accident. This was his father’s modus operandi—fall off the wagon, go back on the wagon. Like clockwork. Two months on, one month off. Liam reassured himself that his father’s neighbour had promised to keep an eye on him. Dusk was falling over Manhattan and the late-summer air was muggy, heavy.

  He was almost home but was loath to go back to his apartment over the bar right now. He had given himself a rare night off and wasn’t in the mood to see anyone he knew.

  The lights went green and he let the bike roar underneath him again, relishing the power surge between his legs, wishing perversely that he could just keep going, right through the Lincoln Tunnel and out of this state altogether. All the way down to Mexico. But of course he couldn’t.

  What did appeal right now was the thought of losing himself in a woman. A no-strings hookup. His speciality. No way was he ready to look for a “long-term partner” like his oldest buddy, Mike, who was settled out in trendified Brooklyn, walking around with a baby plastered to his front in a sling and a big sappy grin on his face, giving Liam the heebie-jeebies.

  Liam was twenty-nine. He had eons before he had to think about all of that, and even then...he shuddered lightly. He wouldn’t. Flashes of his own fractured family threatened to put a downer on his mood again.

  Just then he spotted a bar out of the corner of his eye and following the gut instinct to find some kind of distraction to dark thoughts, he found himself crossing three lanes of traffic to a parking spot.

  * * *

  ‘Mary, everything worked out great, I got the keys to the apartment, I’m reviving Aunt June’s plants and she’s bent over like a pretzel at the ashram—it’s all good.’

  Suddenly I spotted a bar that looked friendly and trendy. I was not the kind of person who relished drinking alone, but at that moment I fancied sitting at a bar savouring my arrival in New York, enjoying my independence and contemplating the untold adventures that lay ahead of me. I’d been looking for jobs all week since I’d arrived, with no luck, yet.

  I cut my sister off midflow, ‘Gotta go, sis, I’ve just spotted a guy in a balaclava with a gun, I’m going to ask him what he’s doing. Talk later!’

  I left her sputtering and cut off the connection. It never got old, freaking Mary out. Chuckling to myself, I tucked my phone into my back jeans pocket and walked into the bar. It was dimly lit, achingly hip. Funky electronic music. Along with a very cool-looking crowd. After all, this was the Lower East Side where hipsters prevailed.

  I saw an empty stool at the bar, and as nonchalantly as I could, walked over and slid onto it. The bartender was there right away, ‘What can I get you, miss?’

  Flustered, I thought quickly, ‘A beer. Please.’

  He was back in seconds. ‘That’ll be five dollars.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I gave him the five dollars and he was already taking another order.

  I took a long sip of the refreshing cold beer and put the bottle back down. I was aware of people on either side of me and snuck a look to my right. A girl had her back to me, talking to someone else. And then I heard a voice from my left.

  ‘You should leave a dollar down as a tip.’

  Instantly, for no reason, I prickled at the slightly censorious tone. And then another part of me registered how deep the voice was and prickled with awareness.

  Slowly, I looked to my left and blinked. Holy. Mother. Of God. Heat slammed into my gut. The guy sitting right beside me was ridiculously, crazily gorgeous.

  Dark blond hair, curling, messy. Slightly overlong. Tanned skin. Gorgeous face but with an edge of ruggedness that cancelled out any prettiness. Even if he did have cheekbones that would make a woman weep with envy. A wide mouth, firm lips. His jaw was stubbled with a day’s growth.

  But it was his eyes that dominated his face. Daniel Craig blue eyes. Piercing. Mesmeric. And looking right at me.

  He quirked a brow, a small smile playing around that mouth. ‘You’re not from here, are you?’

  I shook my head, still feeling as if someone had just hit me with a bat. How on earth had I not even noticed him? I could see that he was broad and powerful, even though he was sitting down. Faded T-shirt. I wanted to look down but didn’t. I was already imagining soft worn jeans highlighting powerful thigh muscles.

  I found my voice. ‘No. I’m from Ireland. Dublin.’

  ‘I thought I recognized the accent. My family came from Waterford originally.’

  ‘You’re Irish?’ He didn’t look like any Irish guy I’d ever seen in my entire life. Ever. They must have infused the blood along the way, introducing a hefty dose of gorgeous Italian...or maybe Spanish. Maybe he was descended from the Vikings who had pillaged Ireland...I was losing the plot.

  He grimaced. ‘Well. A few generations removed.’


  No shit. More like eons.

  He leaned back slightly, angled his body more toward me and something went properly on fire in my pants when I saw how broad his chest was. I imagined my clitoris vibrating gently in appreciation. His blue gaze dropped and then came back up. My nipples hardened into two stinging points just like that. Jesus wept. I was going to melt all over this stool.

  ‘So...what’s your name?’

  ‘Caitlin.’

  He held out a hand. ‘Liam. Pleased to meet you, Caitlin.’

  His voice saying my name curled right through me. I was almost afraid to touch him, but I put my hand in his and it was dwarfed. A hum of electricity seemed to shoot right to my clitoris, which was definitely vibrating now.

  ‘Nice to meet you, too, Liam.’

  With a ridiculous sense of reluctance I took my hand back.

  His voice seemed to get even deeper. ‘So what are you doing here? Holiday?’

  Looking for you! I almost blurted out, because the realization was shocking and swift. This was my Faceless Dream Lover. In all his hard-packed muscled glory.

  Chapter Two

  As much as Liam wanted the distraction of sexual oblivion, he hadn’t actually come into this bar to pick up the first girl who sat down beside him. But then she’d walked in. Caitlin. Bringing with her an intoxicating scent of roses and musk.

  The minute he’d looked at her, taking in the petite lithe body on the stool beside his, his brains had migrated southward so fast his head had spun.

  Her small pale hands were on her bottle of beer, pulling at the label. He jerked his head toward it and tried to ignore the increasing pressure in his crotch against the unforgiving denim of his jeans. ‘You know they say that’s a sign of sexual frustration?’

  Wide almond-shaped eyes of the deepest velvet brown went to his and she blushed. Blushed! He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had blushed in front of him.