Balancing the Scales

by Laura Carter

  I let my hands roam over her bare back and shift her forward, rocking her against my crotch. “Then we’d better make the most of this morning.”

  She gives me a cheeky lopsided grin. “After breakfast. Got to keep your strength up.”

  “Deal. Why don’t you go and pull something from my closet to wear? I’ll keep an eye on this stuff.”

  “This stuff is eggs Benedict, and if you mess it up, there’ll be bloody murder.”

  She ruffles my hair as she walks by. I spank her ass in return. I’m happy we had our friends-with-benefits talk last night because waking up like this with her is a hell of a lot better than waking up to an empty apartment.

  She comes back in a white T-shirt. Only a white T-shirt. My dick has suddenly come back to life and is standing at attention.

  I watch her bare legs move as she plates our breakfast and comes to sit on the stool next to me to eat, pulling one knee into her chest.

  She asks about my friends. She starts with Kit and Madge, then Brooks and Marty. I suspect she ends up where she really wanted to start—with Sarah.

  “You two are really close, huh?”

  “We’ve known each other for years.”

  “Have you…ever…you know?”

  “Sarah and I? No. Never. I actually used to know her husband well too. He was a great guy.”

  “Sarah’s married?”

  “He died in a motorbike accident.”

  “Wow, that’s awful. She never told me.”

  I shrug. “I guess some things are hard to talk about, especially when you’re getting to know someone. I think sometimes it’s easier for her to be single than widowed.”

  I could try for an eternity and still fail to read the look Becky gives me now. She eventually casts her attention down to her hands in her lap. “I can understand that. Sometimes, with these things, it’s all about timing, don’t you think?”

  I watch her twist her fingers around each other, waiting for more, but it doesn’t come. Whatever she holds inside is painful, that much I can take an easy stab at. “Timing and the right pair of ears listening.”

  She looks up to me and the somber air of just moments ago is gone. “Well, I’m finished my breakfast.”

  I guess today won’t be the day she lets me in. I gesture to my empty plate. “Would you look at that. Me too.”

  “So, how do you suggest we make the most of our morning, Mr. Harrington?

  “How about you tell me what you want?”

  “This old chestnut again?” Without the champagne courage she found last night, her shyness shows. “Maybe I would like to hold you to that steamy shower I was promised.”

  I lunge from my stool and hoist her over my shoulder. “You won’t ever have to ask me twice, Becky.”

  Chapter 19

  Drew

  Becky left around three to go home and change before her shift at the restaurant. It was strange to feel a sense of loss once she’d gone, as if she’d taken one of my limbs with her. My apartment seemed empty, lifeless and gray, even though nothing had changed. It was quiet, so quiet it started to get on my nerves. Usually, I like my apartment to be filled with silence, or music, but definitely not voices. Not when I spend so many hours a day in an office full of people. Today, it was too quiet.

  I was grateful for Jake’s Facetime call from London around five. He was getting ready to go out for the night. That’s my kid brother: go big or go home. He keeps the hours he likes, trading in stocks and shares during market hours, or until he’s made enough money for the day. Then he’s done. His free time is his, and he likes to fill it with drink and women. I can understand that.

  After his call, I made myself coffee and avocado on toast—courtesy of the shopping Becky did. I wandered around my penthouse. I put on some music and thought about Becky. That’s what I’m doing now. Sitting on the sofa, overthinking. How amazing we are in bed together. How well we get along—we can talk and she makes me laugh as not many people can. How nice it was to have her in my apartment, making us breakfast in my kitchen. I don’t get bored of her company.

  I know I’m starting to let her in. I can feel her slowly penetrating my walls, slowly working her way into my mind and my heart. I’d be lying if I said she didn’t already have some kind of hold over me. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether it’s a little more than friendship or a hell of a lot more.

  The problem is, I can tell if I have any hold on her. She smiles and laughs when she’s with me. I know we make each other happy. And the bedroom temperature is off the charts, she’s said as much. But there’s something in her distant looks, and in the way she stops short of telling me things, the way she did when we were talking about Sarah’s husband. I’m letting her in, no matter how scary it is to do so, yet her defenses are up.

  We promised each other we weren’t going to do this. To overanalyze whatever is going on between us. Just take it slow. Natural. But I’m afraid I’m going to let a woman in, let her put my heart in a vise, mess with everything I’ve worked so long and hard for, and she doesn’t feel the same.

  “This isn’t healthy,” I say into the empty room, exasperated with my clouded head, with myself.

  I finally leave the sofa and go in search of my laptop. Booting it up, I deal with low-hanging fruit in my inbox, then work on a few ongoing cases.

  By the time I’m done, it’s after nine. See, there’s no need to overthink. This works well. We see each other. Have a great time together. She goes to the restaurant, and I get my work done. I can do this—friends with benefits that isn’t detrimental to my partnership.

  At nine thirty I get a text message from Marty, telling me he’s headed out if I want to meet him for drinks. I contemplate it for only a matter of seconds before I determine I don’t want to go out and try to pick up women, not when I could have one amazing woman.

  I tell him I’m not up for it tonight and receive a barrage of insults in return—not unkindly meant, I’m sure.

  Becky won’t be done until late tonight. Maybe even the morning. I pull on my sweatpants and take to the streets, pounding the sidewalk until sweat is running from every follicle of my skin.

  It’s after eleven when I get back to my apartment. The most ridiculous buzz takes me over. She’ll be done soon.

  After showering, I run some product through my hair and pull on a pair of jeans, my staple plain T-shirt—black today—and my leather jacket, then take my Aston Martin out for a drive. The whole time I’m out, my excitement is building. My stomach is tying itself in knots.

  What in the hell is wrong with me? I’m a grown man, for Christ’s sake, not a kid going to see Santa Claus.

  I pull up to the sidewalk outside Edmond’s place shortly before midnight. Through the glass windows, I can see there are only a few tables of diners left, and none of them are eating. Becky must be done for the night.

  I get out of the car and lean back against it, my hands in my pockets, despite the warm breeze. I once read somewhere that men put their hands in their pockets when they’re thinking about sex. Well, I most certainly am. I’ve been thinking about sex with Becky since I last had sex with Becky. That’s pretty much all I’ve thought about for seventy percent of my day.

  God, I’m winding myself up now, just imagining the curve of those hips, her perfect ass, those inviting mounds I want to push my dick between.

  Saving me from my own rogue thoughts, I see Becky leave the kitchen and make her way through the restaurant to the outside door. It’s a shame the sexy mini-dress has gone, but the figure-hugging jeans and shirt she has on do just as much for me. She’s talking to two men who are vaguely familiar to me from times I’ve been seated at a table by the open kitchen.

  She stops still outside the restaurant doors when she sees me. The change from shock to happiness on her face actually makes my insides leap.

  “Good
evening, Mr. Harrington,” she says, her British accent in full tilt, her eyes alight.

  “Becky.”

  The two others say their goodbyes and she comes toward me, carrying a large bag. There’s already charged energy between us, and we’re standing a yard apart. She takes a step toward my black Aston Martin and runs her fingers along the roof. “Nice wheels.”

  “I like to get it out every now and again.”

  “Are you here to take me for a ride?”

  I chuckle. “The ride of your life, babe.”

  Laughing, she hands me the bag she’s been carrying. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought clothes for tomorrow this time.”

  I raise a brow as I take the bag from her. “I wasn’t aware you Brits are quite so presumptuous.”

  “Hopeful. And, of course, do tell me if I read this situation incorrectly.”

  Shaking my head with a grin, I walk around the car and hold open the passenger door, dropping her bag into the back almost-seat.

  When I pull out into the road, she’s still looking around the interior and touching everything on the dash. “I’ve never been in a car like this. I feel like a Bond girl. Can we drive a while, James?”

  “Why yes, Vesper. Where do you want to go?”

  “For the record, if that was an attempt at James Bond’s English accent, it was terrible. To answer your question, I have absolutely no idea.”

  She has me laughing, again. I wonder if I have a quota of happiness in a year because she’s probably used it up in less than three weeks. I drive us out toward Long Island. Becky takes in everything we pass—people, buildings, street names. The way she views everything has me seeing the city in a different light, even seeing it for the first time. It reminds me how great the place can be.

  When we reach Long Island, she’s sitting back in her seat. I feel, rather than see, that her focus is on me. “I know I shouldn’t say it, but you look really sexy driving a car like this.”

  I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She gets more brazen, more open, every time we’re together. I fucking love it.

  “It’s so powerful.” I swear I almost swerve right off the road when her hands slide down her thighs. “Fast.” She moves her fingers to the button of her jeans. I drag a ragged breath through my teeth, trying to focus on not crashing the car. “And you’re completely in command of it.”

  She slips her hand into her jeans and lifts her hips up on a whimper.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” I can see this playing out, and I can’t do a thing about it. I reach over and cover her hand with mine. Her fingers are moving across her clit, and my cock is as stiff as an iron rod.

  I drive through the torture, my skin heating as I watch her, until I can pull onto a quiet suburban road. I kill the engine and the lights and give my cock a stroke, letting it know I fully intend to relieve it very soon.

  “I like this confident version of you. It’s such a fucking turn on.” My voice breaks, giving away my insatiable need to have her.

  She leans her head against the seat and turns to face me. Even in the darkness, her look is drenched in sex. I can feel it. I can smell it. And I want every delicious minute of it. “I’ve heard car sex can be pretty hot.”

  “You’ve heard? God, Becky, let me show you.”

  She licks her lips and nods, continuing to work herself. I’m so hot for her right now I could explode. “Take off your jeans.” As she wiggles her jeans to the floor and pulls them over her feet with her shoes, I do an assessment of the area. Confident we can’t be seen, I unbuckle my jeans and take them down my thighs. I locate a condom from my wallet and quickly draw it down my length. “Move over to my side. Face the windshield and straddle me.”

  She scoots across the car, kind of expertly despite this being her first time and the fact my car isn’t made for adult entertainment.

  “Sit first. Let me make sure you’re ready.” She sits on my lap, and I move one hand to her pussy. I tug her hair with the other hand, turning her face so I can kiss her and work her simultaneously. My tongue showing her exactly what I’d like to be doing to her sex.

  “You’re so wet, Becky.”

  “I’m so ready.”

  I nip her shoulder in my teeth. “Are you bossing me around, baby?”

  The idea seems to ramp up her excitement. “Just telling you want I want.” She squirms against my crotch. If this is what she needs—confidence, control—I’ll happily give it to her.

  I lift her hips. “Slide down on me, baby. Ah, fuck, yeah. Like that.”

  She rolls her hips against me, taking me as deep as I can go, until I can feel the end of her. “This is going to be fast, Becky.” To see how she likes the idea, I tell her, “Someone could come at any time. We can’t get caught.”

  She grinds harder and her back bows. Oh, yeah, she likes the thrill of it. And, damn it, so do I.

  I work her clit as she takes the lead in pleasuring us both. “Drew, I’m almost there.”

  “I want to come with you. I want to feel your tight little pussy squeezing me when I come inside you.”

  The words take her to the edge. “I can’t wait, Drew. I. It’s. Oh, God. Drew!”

  Watching her unravel, feeling her insides contract around me, I let go. I hold her waist and ram up into her until my orgasm hits me like a train, propelling me to the end. “Becky. Fuck. Fuck.”

  She slides off me and works her way back to the passenger side. I only feel it, because my head is pressed back into the seat and my eyes are closed, wondering how, in thirty-five years, I’ve never had orgasms like the ones I have with her.

  When I open my eyes, she is back in her jeans, her head resting on the seat and looking at me. She smiles, a sated, sleepy kind of happy, and reaches out to stroke my temple. “You’re showing me a whole new world. Thank you.”

  My heart constricts in my chest. She has no idea that it’s my world that’s been turned upside down. I want to tell her that, but I know it crosses the invisible line we’ve drawn between us. Only, I’m not sure how much longer I can fight to keep it in place. I’m not convinced I even want to anymore.

  Chapter 20

  Drew

  Waking up with Becky in my arms, or catching her looking down at me when she’s been watching me sleep, are officially my new favorite things to do. That’s what I’m thinking as I’m waiting in the courthouse for my hearing to begin.

  Since we declared whatever is going on with us as something we won’t overthink or label, life has been pretty damn good. For two weeks we’ve spent almost every night together. It’s easy. It’s hot. And it feels…right.

  If she’s working the night at the restaurant, I pick her up. If she isn’t, she’s waiting at my place for me, generally with something cooking, sometimes already in underwear on my bed, showing me what I could have been enjoying instead of working late.

  The thing is, every day, I fall deeper for her. I know what we said—friends with benefits or whatever. But that’s not how it feels. When we’re together, I can’t get enough of her. When we’re not, I think about her. And I’m managing work fine, mostly, except the occasional desire to stay in bed with her rather than get to the office. Who am I kidding? That’s every morning, but I mean the mornings when I let lust take over my willpower.

  I can do it. I can have roots and wings.

  Now, I want both.

  The problem with that is Becky is still holding back. She drifts to a distant place sometimes, at the smallest provocation. Yesterday, I joked that I liked having a woman in my life to cook, and it was like she went into lockdown. I admit it wasn’t the best joke, but she knew it was a joke Christ, I’d tell her not to cook at all if it meant she wouldn’t put up her walls. It’s times like that, I know she still doesn’t want a relationship.

  So where in the hell does that leave me?

  “Drew.
”

  I follow the voice along the courthouse corridor to Ben Granger, my client. He’s a young guy in his early twenties, and he’s an absolute tech genius. I told him in no uncertain terms he had to wear a suit, rather than his usual college style get-up, for the hearing. He’s done it, and the kid cleans up all right. His ordinarily messy hair, which looks like some dude took a pair of shears to it, is tamed with product and combed. He looks like someone a judge might actually take seriously, as opposed to booting right out of the courtroom.

  “Ben, how are you feeling?”

  “Nervous.” His fingers tell me as much as they tremble when he reaches out to shake my hand. I don’t generally get affectionate toward my clients but I feel for this guy. That’s new to me.

  “You have no reason to be nervous.” I move my hand to his shoulder. “Trust me. I’ve got this. You’re on the winning side.”

  He nods too quickly, as if he’s spent the morning on a caffeine drip. “I trust you.”

  We’re called into session. I take my spot at one of two wooden tables opposite the judge’s bench in the courtroom. The attorney for the other side—the Goliath of software companies, Codaware Technology—stands behind an adjacent table. Ben—or David, if you will—takes a seat beside me, and I pour him a glass of water, genuinely wondering whether the kid will be able to maintain consciousness for the entire hearing. His face is gray-white, and his breaths are coming quick and shallow.

  The CEO of Codaware looks across with a supercilious grin at Ben’s state. A big company like that preying on a kid and his invention, I’ve half a mind to jump over there and beat the shit out of the guy.

  Meet sentimental Drew. I’m just getting to know him myself.

  I bend to Ben’s ear. “Hey, you need to try to calm down, buddy. Can you do that for me?”