Ten Thousand Hours

by Ren Benton

  She stepped back into the glare and squinted at the mirror over the bank of sinks. Her nose was matte enough, but she’d left most of her lipstick on her glass. She was repairing her lips when the voluptuous blonde in the clingy black dress entered the ladies’ room and gave her a death glare upon recognition.

  Ivy responded with a smile. “Thanks.”

  The blonde’s glare intensified. “For what?”

  On second thought, she seemed kind of uptight and unlikely to suck a guy off behind a bar. Ivy hefted her bag over her shoulder and walked out without explaining the service provided.

  Griff stood when she returned to their table.

  Naturally, she checked for evidence of imminent brain dislodgement.

  “Don’t do that,” he warned.

  She blinked at him, doing her best to radiate innocence while possessed of the knowledge she wore absolutely nothing beneath her dress. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ll have to work harder on making my meaning clear to you.”

  “Try showing me. I’m a visual learner.”

  He closed his eyes as if pained. “Are you ready to leave?”

  The possibilities once they were alone caused a feverish throb between her legs. “Quite.”

  The waiter returned with Griff’s credit card. “It’s been a pleasure serving you, sir. We hope to see you at Stål again soon.” His cheeks turned furiously red when he glanced at Ivy. He gave her a head bob and hurried away.

  “What was that about?” She put a hand on her skirt to verify nothing was exposed. “I didn’t eat anything big enough to get stuck in my teeth.”

  Griff took her elbow and guided her toward the exit. “It could have something to do with the delicious way you said ‘fuck’ over and over and over again.”

  She cringed inwardly. “Do you think he overheard?”

  “The surrounding tables would have floated away if he’d refilled one more water glass. The way you linger over the F is the most generous tip he’s ever going to receive.” He bent close to her ear. “It makes your lips look like a pleasure to bite.”

  Heat corkscrewed through her at the thought of his teeth against her flesh.

  The valet fetched his car. Griff put her in it, got behind the wheel, and put the car in motion. He didn’t ask about her transportation. He didn’t ask where she wanted to go.

  Ivy didn’t object to his high-handed treatment. She wanted sex, with him, as soon as possible, and would happily go along with anything that achieved that goal. There was a place and time for consideration and courtesy. This was not it. The only gentlemanly behavior she needed from him was cooperation.

  The seatbelt followed her plunging neckline between her breasts, the stiff edges abrading bare skin. Her nipples ached with jealousy because nothing touched them. Covering them with her hands might ease her discomfort. “Would you think less of me if I sat over here and fondled myself?”

  “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.” His gravelly voice radiated sin. “Try showing me.”

  With a laugh, she nestled deeper into the leather seat. “Keep your eyes on the road. Get me where we’re going in one piece, and I’ll give you a hands-on demonstration.”

  The sweep of headlights afforded only a brief glimpse of shorn grass and the stone facade of a house before the car was swallowed by the attached garage. A second touch of the button on Griff’s visor closed the door behind them, sealing Ivy inside his lair.

  On the island, he’d offered to clean her garage. If his was a reflection of his organizational skills, she’d been wise to decline. The large space had room for two vehicles and then some, but it was packed to the point that only one car was left without room to open the passenger door.

  He stared at their surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. “Sorry about the mess.”

  Some of the machinery lining the perimeter had blades. “Is this where you cut up the bodies of women you pick up in the park?”

  “Of course not. There’s no drain in the floor out here.”

  “Silly me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I build furniture, remember? I have nothing but admiration for craftsmen who only use hand tools, but I’m too clumsy for that.”

  She hadn’t witnessed his alleged coordination deficit, but he did have a collection of scars to support his claims. “I’d think power tools would be more hazardous.”

  “But I’m less likely to damage the wood.” Her horrified gasp at his priorities elicited a slight lift of his shoulders. “Either I’ve been lucky so far or the few seconds it takes to run a board through the table saw isn’t enough time for me to lose focus and fingers.”

  He had such nice fingers, rough in texture, strong, but gentle when what he touched required care. Her chest constricted at the thought of them being lost. He’d never find them in all this clutter.

  But he wasn’t a child in need of her protection or lectures about safety precautions. He wasn’t even her man to fuss over. What he did outside of whatever time they spent together was none of her business.

  He looked at the tarp-covered mountain looming beyond her window. “The door might be a little crowded on your side.”

  She didn’t want to get out of the car, anyway. She didn’t want to go into his home and find out he had no vegetables, his tub was mildewy, and he threw his dirty clothes on the floor because then she would be compelled to be the responsible adult. She wanted to be his lover, not his mother. “That’s okay. I’ll get out on your side.”

  She climbed over the parking brake and threw her leg across his lap to straddle him.

  He said, “There’s a problem with this side, too.”

  She glanced out the window. The path over here appeared unobstructed. “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t want you to move.”

  She rested her hands on his shoulders, where tension lurked beneath the civilized veneer of his respectable businessman’s clothing. “That’s not a problem.”

  His hands drifted up her thighs, disappearing beneath her skirt. “I like this dress. It looks easy to remove.”

  The friction of his callused palms against her skin made her a little mindless. “I grabbed it off the rack at work at the last minute.”

  His brows elevated.

  Oops. Pilfering an outfit from the funeral home warranted a few degrees of censure, she supposed. “Relax. It doesn’t go on the corpse until right before the service.”

  He grinned, and she knew he didn’t believe she worked in a funeral home any more than he believed she was minor European royalty. As long as he was willing to go along with roleplaying, there was no harm continuing the ruse.

  His hands cupped her bottom. His grip tightened when he encountered no further fabric obstacles. “You gave this some thought.”

  “One might even say an obscene amount.” He, however, was obstructed by far too many textiles. She tugged his shirt from his pants.

  His fingers traced swirling patterns on her skin while she undid his fly. “Is there anything I should know to help me live up to your expectations?”

  She freed his cock, already thick and stiff. Stroking the underside with the back of her fingers proved he had even more to give. “You seem well prepared.”

  Was there anything she should know before this went any further? The last time they were together, she hadn’t thought outside the insulated bubble of her fantasy. Now, real life loomed outside the flimsy shell of a car, ready to crash down on her if she made a misstep. Her marital status might not be of interest to him, but Other Woman was one part she didn’t want to play for him. “Are you married?”

  His breath huffed against her neck. “Never.”

  Whether he meant never had been or was warning her he never would be, the relevant data was that she wasn’t knowingly participating in someone’s betrayal tonight.

  The timer on the overhead light expired, plunging the garage into darkness.

  Withou
t the threat of an audit of her physical flaws, her inhibitions clocked out and went to happy hour. They would just have to rely on touch to find their way around each other.

  She loosened his necktie, threw it into the backseat, and hoped a passenger found it in the future and asked about it.

  She hoped Griff remembered what happened here tonight, whether he was a pig about disclosing it or not.

  He pulled the zipper tab between her shoulder blades, but it descended only a few inches before sticking at the Empire seam. He tried pulling the zipper taut and working his finger along the teeth to keep fabric away from the slider — revealing he was no amateur at dress removal — but the closure refused to budge.

  “Oh, dear,” she commiserated as the buttons of his shirt slipped effortlessly from their holes. When all his fasteners had been dispensed with, she flattened her palms against his abdomen and let them plane up his exposed chest. “If you can’t get me out of the package, how will you ever play with me?”

  “Where there’s a will.” He peeled the dress down one shoulder, trapping her left elbow by her ribs in the process of freeing her breast. His knuckles brushed her straining nipple before he caught it between two fingers and flicked the captive tip with his tongue. “Get my wallet out of my pocket.”

  Security-conscious men these days kept their wallets in their front pockets, she reasoned, so she began her quest there, thoroughly exploring the locale on each side until confident Griff was not anxious about the threat of pickpockets. Then she investigated the one back pocket accessible with her mobile hand, tracing the outline of what might be a wallet, but she couldn’t positively identify it as such until she slipped her fingers inside to make sure it wasn’t attached to the firm buttock beneath.

  It became firmer when he lifted his hips to aid her search. “If you don’t pull that out of there, I can’t put anything in here.”

  He indicated where here was with the slow, deliberate circling of a finger around her labia.

  “Fingers.” She rocked her hips to facilitate following through on that suggestion.

  “I could.” He pressed at her entrance to show he knew the way — then took his touch away. His hand settled on her calf. “But I won’t.”

  That was just cruel. “Bully.”

  “I can be meaner.”

  He plumped her exposed breast with his hand... and let only his breath caress it.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and squirmed. “You win.”

  “What was that?” Each warm puff struck her tender nipple like a lash.

  “I give up.” She pulled out the wallet. “I’ll do what you want. Be nice.”

  “Like this?”

  His teeth scraped skin that should have been too sensitive to tolerate any amount of rough handling, but when deprivation was the punishment, any touch meant relief.

  She leaned into his mouth. Her reward was a strong suck that drew pleasure all the way from her core.

  She opened his wallet and felt for the telltale edge of the condom wrapper. He had two stashed in a compartment on the left — prepare and a spare, a practice of which she heartily approved.

  The wallet went the way of his tie.

  “Put it on me.”

  Something in her purred at being bossed around by him, but she couldn’t let him be one of the people who knew her as a doormat. She issued a token complaint. “Do I have to do everything?”

  He curled his fingers in the hair at her nape and tilted her head back. “Last time, you put your head down and moaned into the mattress while I did all the work. It’s your turn.”

  And last time had been so, so good, but if he intended to deny her what she wanted for every act of noncompliance, it was in her best interest to be cooperative.

  There was freedom in being unseen, but condom application was serious business for which she required illumination. She groped for the dome light and flipped the switch to the on position.

  She concentrated on unwrapping the packet and extracting the contents. She did her best to ignore her exposed breast, though the support of his hand did give it a pretty boost. She did her best to ignore her exposed everything else when he bunched the fabric of her skirt around her waist and let it fall behind her, but it was impossible to ignore his fingers splaying across her upper thigh while his thumb pressed against the soft flesh cushioning her sex, wringing an uncontrollable undulation originating from the base of her spine.

  Only deeply ingrained diligence prevented her from being diverted her from her task. She grasped his rigid penis in one hand and swirled her thumb over the swollen head because she liked the feel of taut silk slick with desire. Then she capped it with latex and began to unroll. It was like putting a form-fitting garment on any shape — it seemed like there was no way it would fit, but with patience and care, the job could be done without ripping and ruining everyone’s fun.

  Mission accomplished, she flipped off the light.

  Griff’s arm stretched up to turn it on again.

  She grabbed his wrist and pinned it by his head. He’d seen too much already. “Can’t have you exerting yourself.”

  He easily slipped the manacle of her fingers. “If I can’t see you” — he cupped her ass and boosted her forward — “I’m damn well going to touch you.”

  She agreed to those terms by clasping his cock and guiding it between her legs, gliding the tip along her slit until it was slick with her arousal. She opened to him and slowly took him in.

  His thumb found her clit. When she whimpered, he stopped rubbing. “Is this too much for you?”

  She shook her head in furious denial before remembering darkness required her to use her words. “No.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “You can live there if you want.”

  “I might.” His other hand applied pressure to her lower back.

  She angled her torso forward at his urging and took advantage of the better leverage to get a good, long stroke.

  He wrapped his hand in her hair to keep her in that position. His mouth found hers, sucking, biting, invading with his tongue.

  She continued to move over him, riding his cock and the relentless motion of his thumb until he braced his foot against the dashboard and thrust into her, changing the workload.

  She sighed against his lips. She loved the feel of a man striving to get deeper inside her, like there was treasure buried there and he wasn’t leaving until he’d claimed it all.

  Pleasure stretched her thin and tight, compressing her lungs, making her pant. She squeezed him inside her, and the orgasm hit suddenly, startling in its intensity, like a popping balloon. When the explosion passed, her limp, ragged pieces draped over his chest.

  That chest heaved with labored breaths. In case she was misreading the signs of a medical emergency, she asked, “Doing all right, bud?”

  “Like you care, you selfish beast.”

  She laughed against his throat. He spoke the truth, and recognition was delightful. She’d gotten what she wanted from him. Nursing him through his recovery wasn’t part of the deal.

  She sat up and straightened her bodice. “Now I don’t have to get out at all. You can just start the car and drive me home.”

  His hands slid away from her as she returned to the passenger seat. “It would be dangerous to drive in my condition. Dizzy. Weak. Dehydrated.”

  “Are you telling me to call a cab?” Well, she hadn’t asked for consideration and courtesy. She supposed she deserved to wait at the curb.

  “I’m telling you to come inside for a minute. I need your opinion on something while I have you here.” He got out of the car. When she made no move to follow him inside, he bent his head to dangle an enticement other than his pretty face.

  “I’ll feed you.”

  Griff plucked his drawings from the workbench on his way to the connecting door between the garage and the house. He left Ivy to come or go as she pleased. She would tell herself no — aloud so he could eavesdrop — because she wasn’t That Kind of Girl. If he offered ev
idence to the contrary, gathered from just about every minute they’d spent together, she would counter with a lifetime of examples of her unimpeachable character.

  She was so entrenched in that carefully constructed good-girl image, she couldn’t acknowledge the woman she showed him as a part of her. He knew what it was like to stifle desires because the consequences outweighed the satisfaction, but he’d never ventured so deeply into denial that he told himself or anyone else the desires weren’t real.

  She might not be a duchess or mortician, but the woman who spent all evening preparing him to be wrung dry and left for dead was not imaginary.

  He cleaned himself up in the half bath tucked between the laundry room and the basement stairs, straining his ears for sounds of pursuit. The lack thereof didn’t worry him yet. Historically, when he pretended to accept her diagnosis of dullness and walked away, she showed up in his hotel room or across the dinner table from him and did everything but bore him. If the pattern held, she’d be in his home next.

  He hoped she wouldn’t wait hours to come to him this time.

  He turned on lights to lead the way to the kitchen. He couldn’t imagine a lifetime on the straight and narrow path from which Ivy had never strayed. Six years trying to redeem himself after what his family referred to as his rebellious phase — otherwise known as the first twenty-eight years of his life — felt like serving a prison sentence knowing there was no parole in his future, but at least he could say he’d had fun before his incarceration.

  Ivy had been born in a cell made of well-mannered expectations. Now she was ready to make a break for it and experience the sins for which she’d been preemptively penalized, and he intended to assist her in any way she would let him. Apart from the obvious ways her freedom benefitted him, he was sick of confinement, too. Realistically, he couldn’t run from his responsibilities anymore, but he’d like to feel the sun on his face again, even if only its reflection from her.

  And damn, she reflected it hot. Every part of him she’d touched felt scorched.

  A flip of a switch turned on the pendants above the island, shedding the perfect amount of light to work by but still keep the kitchen intimate.