by Lexi Ryan
“I’ll choose my question more carefully next time,” he says. He’s running kisses down the side of my neck and he still hasn’t released my hands. “Tell me about the first time you touched yourself.”
“What?” I’m so distracted by the way he’s kissing me. I rock my hips, trying to get him to slide into me. God, I’m ready. I should be sore. Tired. Over it. But I’m not. I don’t think he could ever bore me. With him, I’m perpetually aroused.
I tug at my hands, trying to get free from his grip, and he tightens his hold and groans. “Tell me about it,” he murmurs. He slides down my body and skims his lips over my nipple.
“About what?”
“Tell me about the first time you touched yourself. The first time you put your hand between your legs. That’s a first time I want to hear about.” He opens his mouth over my breast and licks my nipple before sucking hard and making me cry out.
“I don’t . . . remember,” I manage.
He chuckles against my breast. “Now I don’t believe that. I think every girl remembers the first time she lets herself . . . explore. Were you in high school?”
My breast goes cold when his mouth leaves it, wet and exposed. “Please,” I murmur, arching toward him and tugging at my hands. “Just . . .”
He holds me tight, refusing to release me or give me what I need. “I’ll make you a deal, Rowdy. You tell me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.” He’s grinning at me, as if this is some kind of game, as if I’m not going to dissolve into a puddle of lust if he doesn’t put his mouth back on me soon.
“I was in college,” I say.
He groans. “A late explorer. I guess I can see that from the Catholic girl.” He drags my hands to hold them at my sides, kissing my stomach as he works his way down my body.
Please, yes.
He stops at my navel and lifts his head. “Where did you do it?”
My cheeks burn with a combination of embarrassment and arousal, but I understand the game now and I want to play. I need his mouth—more, lower. “I was in bed napping.”
He rewards my response by circling my navel with his tongue then tasting me there. My body shudders in response. “You couldn’t have been napping if you were touching yourself,” he says.
“I was half asleep. I had a sexy dream and I wanted . . .”
He waits patiently, and when I don’t answer, he rolls off me.
“Come back here.”
“Show me,” he says. He takes one of my hands and settles it between my legs, and only then does he release it. “Show me what you wanted. What you did.”
His voice is rough, that low, gravelly rumble he gets when he’s fucking me and close to coming. Only he’s not fucking me. He’s propped up on his elbow next to me, his eyes trained desperately on my hand resting between my legs.
I lick my lips. I don’t know why I want to do this for him. I’m not even sure why he wants me to. All I know is that the feel of my own fingers resting against my slick flesh has never been so arousing. All I know is that I want this as much as he does.
I roll to my side, facing him, but I don’t remove my hand from between my legs. “I was on my stomach,” I whisper. “Do you want me to roll onto my stomach or stay like this?”
“Stay like this.” The command is rough, scratched out against a throat full of need. I want to kiss him, to tell him this wouldn’t be so hot to me if he weren’t here. If he weren’t looking at me, talking to me. “You were having a good dream,” he prompts.
I lick my lips and begin moving my hand between my legs. “It was easier that way,” I say softly. “Being half asleep, I mean. It’s not like I thought there was anything wrong with masturbation, not . . .” My breath catches as my fingers find my clit. His eyes go dark. “Not intellectually.”
“Let go, sweetheart. Just ride with it. Don’t worry about me.”
I watch him for a while, captivated by the way his eyes lock on my fingers as they work between my legs, the rise and fall of his chest, his audible swallow as he holds himself back. His fingers are locked around my other wrist, trapping it, adding pressure from time to time. Otherwise, he doesn’t touch me at all. It’s by my hand alone that I ride to that summit. I stroke my clit, pinching it lightly before softening my touch and simply rocking my hips to rub against my hand.
I let my eyes float closed and take myself there, guided by nothing but my own pleasure and the sound of his breathing.
When I come back down, I roll to my back, muscles loose, body satisfied. He kisses my collarbone.
“Thanks,” he whispers.
“Thanks?”
“Yeah, that was one of the best things I’ve seen. Ever.” His grin is so charming, and it sends a buzz of warmth all the way through my sated body.
“You know some guys don’t like the idea of their woman touching herself.”
He cocks a brow. “I am firmly not in that category.”
I bring my hand to his lips. “I noticed.”
Grabbing my wrist, he draws two fingers into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around them and sucking hard.
All that sleepy warmth tingles at the attention of his mouth on my fingers, and my body starts to wake.
“Let’s just say that, even if it took you until college, I’m glad you finally came around.” He winks. “What do you think changed?”
I snort. “I was frustrated. I’d get close when I was with guys, but they could never quite get me there. I guess I finally decided if you want a job done right, you’ve gotta do it yourself.”
My eyes flick up to his and I watch him as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Connor didn’t . . .”
“Most girls don’t their first time, silly.”
“I would have made sure you did.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t there.”
“I would have made sure,” he repeats.
“Okay, Mr. Confidence, how would you have made sure?”
He lowers his head on the pillow and stares at me for a minute. I like this—Sam and me, naked in bed, bodies turned toward each other. It’d be too easy to get used to something like this.
“I would have made damn sure you got off before I ever slid inside you. I would have played with you until you had no choice but to come. And I’d have only let myself fuck you after I’d felt your pussy squeeze around my fingers. It’s not rocket science.”
I laugh. “Is that going to be part of your proposed pussy class for young men?”
His brow wrinkles in confusion, and I feel as if an invisible fist has punched me. Because it wasn’t Sam who’d talked about a “pussy class.” It was River. And I just confused them.
“What pussy class?”
It’s not rocket science. Hadn’t River said something similar? And for a minute, I forgot Sam isn’t River. For too many weeks, I believed he was, and now I’m all screwed up.
I swallow hard and force a smile. “I’m thinking of someone else. Sorry. That wasn’t you.”
He rolls onto me and pins my hands above my head. “You’re thinking of someone else while you’re naked in bed with me?”
“What are you going to do about it?” I say in my best show of bravado, but he’s already kissing his way down my body, showing me exactly what he plans to do.
Chapter Twenty
Liz
“You’re here early.”
I’m setting out pastries and coffee from Hanna’s bakery on the table in the conference room when I turn and see Mr. Bradshaw leaning in the doorway. “First time in my life I’ve had a job that made me excited about Monday morning,” I say. “It’s an odd feeling.”
“Smells amazing,” he says, nodding to the table.
“It is. My sister is the absolute best at what she does.” The smile falls from my face when I see his serious expression. “Is everything okay, Mr. Bradshaw?”
He tucks his hands into his pockets and steps into the room. “I couldn’t help but notice how happy you were on Sam’s arm on S
aturday.” He grabs the Indianapolis Star from the table and opens it to the politics section, where there’s a picture of Sam and me together. “You make a beautiful couple. The camera loves you.”
Then why do you look so unhappy? “But . . .?”
He lifts his gaze from the paper and meets my eyes. “I don’t want there to be a but, Liz.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Connor told me that it was more than a photo op. He said there’s something going on between you two.”
My stomach goes sour. “Connor?”
“He’s just worried about you. And I guess I am, too. Sam doesn’t exactly have a reputation for long-lasting romances, but eventually he and Sabrina are bound to end up together.”
Sabrina? Mr. Bradshaw’s words are a punch in the gut, and my mind fills with the image of Sam and Sabrina dancing at the gala. Was there something between them?
Mr. Bradshaw gives me an apologetic smile. “Some things are just inevitable. I don’t want your efforts to help his image resulting in you getting hurt.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.” I force a smile. “I know there’s no future for me and Sam. It’s not like that between us. We’re friends, and sometimes we go to weddings and political events together.” And other times we fuck like bunnies into all hours of the night.
He nods, satisfied. “You certainly impressed the governor.”
“You think so?”
“I think she’s going to try to steal you away from us.”
“Would you forgive me?” I ask. “If I got the opportunity to work on her campaign, that is? I mean, I don’t presume that I will, but if I did . . .”
“You keep doing such good work here,” he says, “and I’ll make sure she finds a spot for you.”
* * *
To: Elizabeth Thompson
From: Something Real Reminders
Subject: You Have a Message Waiting for You
Just a reminder that Riverrat69 sent you the following message and you haven’t replied:
This is me not buying you a dog. You said you want a man who knows when you need a dog. And I know you don’t need a dog right now. You need a man. One who knows exactly what you like in bed and isn’t afraid to deliver. One who can satisfy you. You need me. And I’m here. When you’re ready.
“Liz?” Nix says. “I was at the bar and didn’t see you come in. Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I was waiting for Nix to meet me at Brady’s when I saw the email alert flashing on my phone. Like an idiot, I opened it without thinking, and now I’m paying the price in the form of guilt, and stomach-gnawing fretting. “I’m fine. I just need a drink.”
“I recommend the tequila,” Nix says, holding up her empty shot glass. “It’s been the best part of my day. Seriously, let me go get us a round.”
“I’ll take two.”
She goes back up to the bar, and my eyes settle on the woman by the pool tables with Sam. Sabrina Guy. She’s a dead ringer for her mother, as if the governor managed to replicate instead of procreate. The fact that Governor Guy seems to have the secret of youth doesn’t hurt either.
I’m tucked into a booth, and Sam hasn’t even noticed I’m here. Seeing them together makes my chest ache like it did two years ago when I saw him kissing Asia. It’s been a couple of years, but I’ll never forget how much it hurt to see Sam being so tender with someone else right after he’d spent the night using my body in every conceivable way.
Déjà fucking vu.
Except not. Because while Sabrina’s hanging on his arm tonight, he doesn’t look tender, or happy, or even amused. He looks pissed.
I let him take me to the gala last weekend. I told myself it was more about work than pleasure, but he proved me wrong—multiple times. Then there was his dad’s warning this morning, on top of my own dumb mistake remembering a conversation I had with River as one I had with Sam.
I’ve earned this tequila.
“Two shots,” Nix says, setting the glasses in front of me. “Drink them quick and get that scowl off your face.”
I tear my gaze off Sabrina and take my first shot. It hits my empty stomach like a ball of fire.
“Good girl,” Nix says. “That’ll cure what ails you.”
“You’re the doctor.” I raise the second in mock salute. She sinks into her side of the booth and joins me for the second shot.
“I thought we were celebrating how well your speech went over the weekend,” she says. “But you don’t look very happy.”
“I’m fine. This looking-for-Mr.-Right thing is exhausting me. Maybe I’m meant to be a spinster.”
“I refuse to accept this as my fate or yours.”
“What about you?” I ask, eyeing the empty shot glasses in front of her. “What’s driven you into the loving arms of tequila?”
“Shit from home. It’ll be fine, but I’m not looking forward to the holidays. If I had a husband here, I’d at least have a good excuse not to visit. What about you? Does that scowl have anything to do with Mr. Sexy over there?”
“I don’t understand him,” I admit. “He’s this consummate bachelor, but then sometimes . . .” Sometimes he gives me sweet speeches that make me believe we could have a future. I shrug. “It’s stupid and it doesn’t matter. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Any dates lined up for this week?”
“Not yet.” I’ve been so distracted by River and then Sam that I haven’t even logged into my multitude of dating sites lately. “I miss River.”
Nix chokes on her drink. “I’m sorry, what?” she manages after an impressive round of hacking.
“I miss him.”
“The anonymous stranger who wants to tie you up? Who may or may not be a serial killer? Who may or may not be a married man with a newborn baby at home? You. Miss. Him?”
“He’s not a serial killer. He’s . . . Whoever he is, he was a friend to me before any of the other stuff.” I shrug. “Connor’s a big idiot, I guess. But I miss my relationship with River.” I miss Hanna and Cally, too. Now that they have babies, they can’t come out much. It’s lonely being the single girl.
“What’s really bothering you?”
“Mr. Bradshaw told me he doesn’t like me seeing Sam. He all but said Sabrina Guy is his betrothed.” I roll my eyes. “God, I didn’t know people even did that crap anymore.”
Nix cranes her neck to look over her shoulder at Sam and Sabrina at the pool table. “It doesn’t look like he’s into her.”
“I still haven’t told him about River,” I confess. “Until I come clean, I have no right being jealous of Sabrina.”
“You could tell him now,” she says. “He’s coming this way.”
“Hey, ladies,” Sam says, sliding into the booth beside me, his hip pressed against mine. “How’s it going tonight?”
“Good,” I say, but Nix says, “We’ve been better.”
Sam frowns and then gives me the full attention of those honey-brown eyes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Not exactly. I don’t think your dad . . .” I swallow. “I don’t think he approves of us dating.”
He grunts and takes a sip of his beer. “Well, that’s because he didn’t think of it first. You may not know this, but my father’s a bit of a control freak.”
I shrug. “I don’t want to get in the way of family matters, Sam.”
He shifts his attention to Nix. “Do you think you could excuse us? I need something from her, and I think I might need a few minutes to talk her into it.”
Nix quirks a brow at me, but then she slides out of the booth and leaves us alone.
“Do you have plans for this weekend?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“How do you feel about fresh seafood, candlelight?”
“Well, I—” I stop. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“Isn’t that what a guy does when he has a crush on a girl?”
&nbs
p; “A crush?”
My confusion seems to sap his bravado, and he shifts. “I like you, Liz. I know we’ve done this backward, but I want . . .” He drops his gaze to his beer, then back up to my face. He looks different. Younger, somehow. Maybe because the cocky man is gone, replaced by the unsure boy. “I want to do this right. I want to cook for you and take you to fancy dinners and hold your hand.” He cups my jaw and his gaze drops to my lips. “And then I want to get you naked. I really like you naked.”
I smile, and for a second, I’m just a girl looking at a boy she’s kind of always loved. For a second, it’s not complicated by secretly broken hearts and online affairs.
He leans forward and his lips brush my ear as he speaks. “Let me try this the right way, and if you hate it, we can go back to our annual wedding hookup. Though, to be honest, I think we’re going to need to go to more weddings, because once a year isn’t gonna cut it anymore.” He pulls back so he can study me, then he grins, kryptonite to the lady parts. “What do you say, Rowdy? You, me, some alone time?”
“I shouldn’t,” I whisper. “I know that your dad really wants you with Sabrina, and it’s obvious she likes you too.”
“Fuck Sabrina. I’m not interested in her. Not at all. This weekend. Say yes.”
“Where are we going?”
“Two nights,” he answers, surprising me. “In Chicago.”
“But your dad said—”
“This isn’t about my dad. It isn’t about his campaign. This is about us. One weekend, two nights, just you and me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Liz
“I could get used to this.”
Sam kneads a knot under my shoulders, and I moan. I could get used to all of it. The sex, the long baths, the breakfast in bed, walks along Lake Michigan, the wind stinging my cheeks, and lots and lots of naked Sam.
Tonight, we didn’t even go out for dinner. We ordered room service and watched a movie on the big-screen TV at the foot of our bed. And as if my heart wasn’t already in his hands, he told me to roll over so he could rub my back.