by Sarah Cole
“Verity.” Hunter moans my name, pulling me back and out of my thoughts. “I love this. I love that you fit me so perfectly. You’re fucking perfect.” He says against my lips, each declaration punctuated with a sharp and deep thrust of his hips, sending me into a euphoric daze.
“Where have you been all my life?” he asks, bringing his eyes to mine, and I stare into his brown eyes seeing not mirth, but absolute sincerity.
“Babe,” I start, hating how easily that pet name rolled off my tongue this time, but his eyes light up as he slowly works in and out of me. “We’ve only been on one – well, technically two dates.”
“I don’t need a specific number of dates to tell me that this is right, sweetheart. That we’re right. I feel it, and I sure as hell hope you do too because otherwise I’m making an ass out of myself. Do you feel it, Verity? Do you?”
I don’t want to, but there’s no denying the pull I feel towards him, so I answer him honestly. Partly because I’m a total shit liar, and also because I want him to know and to make him happy. I nod my head, “Yeah… yes, I do feel it.”
“Good.” He answers with a playful smile. “Now feel this.” He says, picking up the pace and sending us both over the edge of orgasmic glory.
***
“Get over here.” Hunter says, pulling me closer to his warm body, and I like how it feels being wrapped up in a man’s arms. I like it too much, and this is how I get hurt…by letting my guard down. And as much as I like Hunter, I have to keep my eyes open because he has the power to hurt me. That is why I was so reluctant to go out with him in the first place. He’s everything I want, but I can see the unnecessary heartbreak of him finding someone better after I’ve already fallen in love with him.
“This is nice.” I say snuggling deeper into his broad chest where my body fits perfectly against his.
“Mmhmm.” He agrees, giving me a little possessive squeeze.
We lay there for a few minutes until I’m positively burning up and ready to start sweating. Just roll away, Verity. Rip it off like a Band-Aid. “I’m sorry, but it’s really freaking hot.” I say, rolling to my stomach and out of his embrace.
“Oh, thank fuck. I was losing feeling in my arm!” he laughs and I join in. “Verity, believe me when I tell you that holding you is becoming my favorite thing to do, but you are like a furnace.” He laughs.
“Yeah, I get hot when I sleep.”
“Well, just close your eyes and rest because for everything I have planned, you’re going to need it.” He says, and I swear my mind kicks into overdrive trying to imagine every single dirty scenario that could be played out here.
But instead of acting out those fantasies, I close my eyes and soak up the comfortable silence, letting it lull me to sleep knowing he’s right next to me.
HUNTER:
I throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, and take another long look at Verity snuggled up in my bed. She’s got a puddle of drool coming out of her mouth the size of New Jersey, but oddly enough, it doesn’t disgust me like it should. Instead, there’s this warm ache in my chest, and it’s fucking terrifying. Not even kidding. Initially when we were having sex, I thought I was having a reaction to something I ate or a stroke, but nope. It was just the feelings…all the feelings. That is precisely why I’m making a hasty exit now. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not a jerk, I’m going to get breakfast. That’s how you know it’s serious for me. The most I’ve done is hand a girl a coffee in a to go cup and let her take a banana before I push her out the front door in last night’s clothes.
I’m not going to lie, and say I’m not hoping that a little fresh air won’t clear my head and help me be a little less overbearing. The last thing I want to do is scare her off by acting too desperate and clingy. I put a baseball cap on and close the door quietly behind me. With any luck, I’ll be back before she even wakes up and realizes I’m gone.
The elevator door opens to Mallory, a woman that lives two floors up. She’s hot in a fake, centerfold sort of way, and she’s got lips that could suck a dodge ball through a tail pipe, but she’s a crazy clinger. And I regrettably had a very poor lapse in judgement about six months ago after a night out that resulted in a one night only sort of arrangement with her. She was wild… and not in a good way. It was really more of a fucked-up role play, but not the normal role play, kind of wild. It was the kind of wild where you need to conjure up a safe-word and an exit strategy before you end up pulling a muscle. Now, she seems to have the idea in her head that she and I are a we. There is no we. Never was, never will be- at least not with her. I’ve told her countless times that it isn’t going to happen, but somehow, she still doesn’t seem to get it.
Our eyes lock and I blink hard, hoping that when I open them she will have been only a figment of my imagination. Unfortunately, she’s very real, and I come to terms with the fact that I will indeed need to engage in yet another dead-end conversation with this man eater. It’s barely seven in the morning… give me a break!
“Hunter?” she calls my name impatiently.
“Yo.” Oh, for fucks sake. Did I just say that out loud? Good, maybe she will think I’m lame now.
“Are you getting on?” she asks like I’m a complete idiot, and I step into the enclosed space with the curvy brunette and I try to become one with the faux wood paneling of the elevator. I can’t seem to make myself small enough as her eyes roam over me.
“Are you alright, handsome?” she asks, edging towards me. Her sweet perfume is already causing me to break out in hives just reliving that night. I can almost feel the claw marks on my skin from her fake, pointy fingernails.
I shuffle a couple steps away and out of reach before answering. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“What brings you out this early? I was just headed to the gym to work on my flexibility.” She licks her lips, and I can’t help it, but I know my face is doing something odd right now.
“That’s…nice. I’m actually just going to go get some breakfast for my girlfriend and I.” Whelp. There it is folks. That rolled right off the old tongue. No idea if it’s true or if Verity is willing to make it the truth, but I hope she does soon because I kind of love saying it. Plus, the baffled expression on Mallory’s face kind of makes me want to do a little dance.
“Girlfriend?” she hisses on a whisper like it’s a dirty word or something.
“Yes!” I hiss back with a goofy ass smile on my face.
“When did this come about?”
“It’s pretty recent.” I’ll just refrain from telling her how recent.
“Hmmm.” She seems to mull that over for a moment.
Thankfully the elevator finally reaches the ground floor, granting me release from what can be logged as one of the most awkward elevator rides I’ve ever encountered.
“You have a good day, Mallory.” I call over my shoulder as I practically sprint out into the lobby. I don’t even wait for a response before pushing through the revolving door and out into the busy sidewalk.
chapter 12
LESSON #12: When hot cops show up somewhere unexpectedly, someone automatically will assume they are strippers.
VERITY:
I roll over, only to feel nothing but cold sheets and an empty spot beside me. I roll out of bed and pad out into the living area, but am met with an empty apartment. I grab my oversized purse where I happened to pack a light pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved cashmere t-shirt and undies. You know? Just in case. I take them to the bathroom and wash my face and pull my hair back. I change quickly and use my finger with his toothpaste, which just so happens to be children’s bubblegum flavored with superheroes on the front, to rinse my mouth out.
Just as I’m finishing up, I hear the front door open. I find Hunter strolling through the door with a paper bag and a coffee carrier in his hands. When his eyes fall on me, his entire face lights up with the warmest, most perfect smile.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He says in a low voice, and suddenly I feel the
heat rush through my body.
“Morning.”
“You brought extra clothes?” he quirks an eyebrow, taking in my ensemble.
“Yep! You can never be too prepared!” I say cheerfully as I watch him stalk towards me from across the room. He sets the bag and coffee on the counter, but doesn’t stop until we’re chest to chest and his lips meet mine.
“Take off your pants and lay on the table.” he commands against my lips, only pausing our kissing briefly so he can pull my top over my head. As I comply and begin to sit on the table, I’m launched into a Vietnam like flashback, and suddenly I’m back at the day spa with the mighty Jang-Li ripping at my lady bits.
“You ok, sweetheart?” Hunter asks sweetly, resting his forehead against mine, and I gather that I’m just sitting here cupping my treasure chest in my hands. It may be a bit much, but the memories have me cringing.
“Fine. I just remembered something…unpleasant.”
“Oh, god!” he hops back as if I burned him. “Is this not ok? Did someone hurt you?” he asks, and I realize what he’s thinking. He’s so cute with his concern.
“No! No! Nothing like that… it was just the bikini waxing yesterday…Jang-Li might have said those exact same words to me.”
Hunter stares at me with a relieved yet very confused look, and I have to explain.
“She told me to take of my pants and get on the table… but let’s just say that everything that happened after that was fifty percent pain and fifty percent embarrassment that should never be mentioned again.”
“Gotcha.” He smiles and closes the distances that he put between us only seconds ago. “So, it’s alright if I do this?” he kisses my lips, and I nod. “What about this?” his lips trail down the side of my neck.
“I think that is allowed.” I say breathily.
“How about this?” he asks, sliding his hand into my bra.
“Yep, that’s ok too, but what about breakfast?” I ask glancing at the paper bag again, because the heavenly smell of bacon is now assaulting my senses.
“Fuck breakfast, woman. I have mine right here!” he says pulling me closer as he works his way down my body. Damn it, I want the bacon, but I’m pretty sure he wants me more, and what kind of person would I be if I denied a man his breakfast?
***
The past few weeks have been nothing short of amazing with Hunter. Now, I won’t go as far as saying he is perfect, because that is simply not the case. He’s nothing like how I pictured my dream guy to be – other than the looks department, but he’s a guy’s guy, a bro, a complete man through and through. He yells at the sports on TV, he belches out loud, he drinks domestic beer, and he most definitely isn’t the type of guy that you invite to couple’s yoga. He’d spend the whole time cracking jokes and probably get us kicked out, but none of that detracts from the fact that somehow his faults compliment my own and it makes me addicted to him. He makes me feel good about myself, even on my worst days. And while he may not be the picture perfect man I had in my head, he is trying to be and it makes it that much sweeter.
Since he took me to the poetry club that night, he’s been checking things off my list one by one. That includes not turning off the ASPCA commercial, even though I feel that nearly killed us both. That commercial had to have been at least three minutes long, and in the end, I’m the one that ended up changing it because I couldn’t take it anymore. And believe me, I caught hell for it. He teased me relentlessly for a full half hour.
I smile at that memory. That was the night he invited me to go volunteer with him at the youth center that he mentors at. No, the man isn’t perfect, but he’s compassionate, considerate, and has a big heart.
“Verity, she’s ready for you.” Tally’s British accent cuts though my Hunter haze as she taps me on the shoulder.
I roll my eyes and huff out a breath. Ashley wants a solid copy of next month’s Between the Sheets column and a preliminary outline of the Valentine’s Day feature, and I’ve got… (drum roll)… nothing. Between the sheets? I’ve got that in spades. Turns out my sexual twenty questions game unleashed a sexually creative beast that was hibernating deep within me somewhere.
“Verity!!!” I startle, spilling my hot coffee down the front of my blouse as the Feminazi’s office door swings open ricocheting off the wall and she pins me with a stare.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I screech, bolting out of my seat, fanning myself.
“Fuck! Was that vintage Chloé? Tally charges at me with a box of tissues, going straight for my boobies. She doesn’t hesitate going for a good old grab as she tries to soak up the extra liquid from the expensive fabric.
“I swear, you two…” Ashley struts over to us with a roll of paper towels she seemed to conjure out of thin air. “Give it a rest, or you’re going to give Steve a heart attack. We can’t lose him; he makes the floors shine and he doesn’t try on the sample dresses like the last guy!” she hisses, and Tally and I stop fussing over my soaked boobs long enough to find Steve lurking in the corner with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open. He’s gripping the mop handle so tightly his knuckles are turning white.
“Talitha, be a dear and grab Verity a blouse from closet C, and Verity, go to the restroom and wait for Tally. Your nipples are visible. Meet me in my office in seven minutes.” Ashley orders us around as if she is already bored of this situation. Tally mimics our boss as she walks away and I choke back a snort as I fold my arms over my chest and practically sprint to the bathroom.
A few moments later, I’m sporting a clean blouse as I gather the things off my desk and get ready to walk face first into the fiery gates of hell, and have a meeting with Satan herself.
“Thank you for cleaning up.” I tell Tally, and she gives me a sympathetic look.
“No problem, but good luck. I have no clue what crawled up into her knickers and died, but she’s being even more of a miserable bitch than usual. Just don’t make direct eye contact, and for fuck’s sake, do not ask where the mail is.” She tells me, handing me my notebook, planner and pen as if she’s prepping me for a battle. I nod sharply, taking a deep breath and once again make the perilous journey into my boss’s office.
“Shut the door.” Ashley snaps, not even bothering to look up.
“Okay.” I drawl out, shutting the door gently so as not to rile the beast.
“Where’s Between the Sheets for the December/January issue? We go to press in eight days.”
“I emailed you a copy for proofing this morning before I came into the office.” I reply taking a seat in the uncomfortable chairs that are positioned in front of her desk.
“You know I like hard copies.” Her eyes pierce into me like I’m her personal voodoo doll.
“Here, you can have mine.” I search through my planner to find the copy I printed off this morning and she snaps her fingers and holds out her hand impatiently. Seriously…? She’s always difficult, but this is a whole new level of bitchdom. Yes, I made that word up, but it works.
“I know it really isn’t any of my business, but are you alright?” I ask her.
“You’re right. It isn’t your business, but I’ll survive. Life goes on, even if I’m destined to do it alone.” She sighs, throwing her forehead into her hands. Dramatic much? Right. Who am I to judge? I’m the girl that not even a month ago was crying into a large pizza eating her feelings because I was single. Was single? Well, even though Hunter and I haven’t really discussed it, I’m pretty sure we’re official. I mean the guy at Baskin Robbins smiled at me and he growled the word, mine, over the protective glass shield. That’s as good as calling me his girlfriend, right?
“Well, if you need someone to talk to. I’m here…” I’m not exactly sure what I’m offering up right now because let’s face it. I don’t exactly have a stellar win record when it comes to relationships, and I don’t exactly see Ashley, Tally and I drinking martinis on a regular girl’s night. It just seemed like the right thing to say, I suppose.
“Well, what would you su
ggest, Verity? What do you think men want?” she asks, and I honestly didn’t think she’d want to talk, let alone right this instant.
“Umm…” I hesitate, completely unprepared. “Maybe you could be a bit more approachable? Maybe be a little nicer, and try to engage in some of their interests as well as your own?” She stares at me for a second, blank faced, and my armpits begin to sweat, like they always do in these situations. Did I overstep?
“Nicer?” she asks, incredulously. “God damnit! I am fucking nice! If I was any nicer, I’d get eaten alive! I can’t get eaten, Verity! I do the eating! I am the mother fucking shark; not the chum!” She suddenly transforms into Samuel L. Jackson, and what a shocking transformation it is. Her face is red, and her eyes are a bit wild. I sit paralyzed, hands gripping the chair’s armrests, unsure if I should make a break for the door, or just nod in agreement. I choose option number two and not emphatically.
“I shouldn’t have asked you…Nice?” she barks out a laugh, like my advice was the most ludicrous thing she’s ever heard.
She absentmindedly flips through my article and tosses it back across the desk at me, scattering a stack of papers in the process. “It will do.” That’s all she gives me, and I know for a fact she didn’t just read a four-page document on roll play fantasies in thirty-seven seconds. I mentally curse this woman.
“Now, for the February feature. What do you have?” she asks, pushing her Prada frames up the bridge of her nose and leveling me with her scrutinizing gaze.