Going the Distance (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Cara Addison

  “Hey. How was your trip?”

  Austin smiled. “It was fantastic.”

  Callie studied her. “How was the convention? Did your novel do well?”

  “It was very successful. Shopping at Neiman Marcus, successful.” Austin wasn’t able to wipe the stupid grin off her face as she sat down in the brown leather chair. “Can I have a glass?” she asked, pointing to the wine bottle on the cocktail table in front of her.

  “Absolutely,” Callie responded, retrieving a goblet from the granite island a few feet away. She poured a generous glass of the Shiraz, and handed it to Austin. “The rest of the week, how was that? You look like you got some sun.”

  Austin glanced at her arms. “I did sit by the pool, did some sightseeing. Ya, I guess I did get some sun.”

  Callie sat back down. “Your words are telling me you had a nice time. Your face is telling me something completely different. Details, girl!”

  “I’d say that my time was equally divided between the hotel room and sightseeing,” Austin answered cryptically.

  “Why would you spend so much time in your hotel room?” Callie asked, refilling her own wineglass. “San Diego has so much to see and do.”

  “Well. Let’s just say that I wasn’t sitting around watching TV.” Austin watched her friend as she processed the statement.

  “You weren’t alone?” Callie asked, leaning forward.

  “I wasn’t.” Austin smiled. She leaned over and unzipped her suitcase and then her carry-on bag to retrieve her laptop. “He asked me to Skype him when I got home.” She stood, heading toward the master suite. “I’ll tell you all about it, later. In the meantime…you’ll want to check out the shoes and clothes I bought while I was away.”

  Austin walked into her room and closed the door before tossing her laptop onto the king-size bed. She placed her wineglass on the bedside table on her way to the en suite bath. She ran a brush through her hair and freshened her makeup before climbing onto the bed. She opened her laptop and signed into her Skype account before sending an invitation to connect to Brett’s account.

  He accepted the invitation immediately. The distinct ring sounded, notifying her that he had initiated a video call. She leaned back against the pillows. She took a sip of wine before answering.

  “Hey there,” she greeted him. Her heart skipped a beat, seeing his handsome face smiling back at her.

  “There are those beautiful blue eyes,” he responded, smiling as he stared at the screen. “Did you have a good flight?”

  She nodded, reaching for her wineglass. “I did. I slept the entire way. Apparently I had some sleep to catch up on. You?”

  He laughed. “I did fall asleep, but it took me awhile. I kept getting distracted by this photo.” He held up his phone.

  She covered her face with her hand, peeking through her fingers. “You really should delete that.”

  “Not a fucking chance that’s gonna happen.” He laughed. “Where are you?”

  “My bedroom.”

  “Give me a tour.”

  She held up the laptop and slowly panned around the room, past the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the waterfront, past the modern chair, past the door to the en suite bath, and back to her. She rested the laptop on her crossed legs.

  “It’s a one-bedroom?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Two-bedroom. I have a roommate. I think she’s in the living room drooling over my new shoes.” She smiled.

  “Looks nice, and it looks expensive. How long have you lived there?”

  “About three years, I guess,” she responded, thinking back. “Waterfront condos in Toronto are expensive, although not compared to New York. I got a real deal on this place, though. It was in foreclosure. A friend of mine works at the bank that held the mortgage. They listed it under a Power of Sale. She told me how much was owing on the mortgage. I offered them about twenty grand more, and they accepted. I think I got it for fifty cents on the dollar. Maybe less.”

  “In my world, we call that insider trading.” He laughed.

  She continued. “Callie had just separated from her husband at the time that I took possession. She couldn’t afford most rents in Toronto, so she moved in with me. I discounted her rent. She does all the cleaning and laundry. She’s a great wife,” Austin joked.

  “Life’s too short to do your own laundry.”

  “Your turn.” She spun her finger in the air. “Give me a tour.”

  He was sitting in the spacious living room of his apartment. She could see that it was a tastefully decorated open-concept space as he panned past the kitchen before returning the laptop to the desk. “Which bedroom is yours?”

  He looked to his left and pointed. “That way.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Did you book a flight?”

  “Not yet. I just got in the door.” She smiled. “I’ll book it tomorrow morning and send you the itinerary. Assuming you still want me to come.”

  He ran his fingers through his thick, wavy blond hair. “I definitely want you to come. And when you get here…I want you to come. A lot.”

  She smiled, reading into his innuendo. “Me too,” she sighed.

  He paused before suggesting, “Take off your shirt.”

  She bit her lip as she looked at his piercing blue eyes. She pulled off her blouse and slipped off her bra, leaning back against the pillows. She could tell that he was reaching forward, his hand touching the screen. “I miss those, so much,” he murmured.

  “Six days. They’re all yours in six days.”

  He leaned back in his chair.

  “You’re hard, aren’t you?”

  “Fuck yes,” he exclaimed, glancing down at his crotch.

  She ran her fingers through her hair. “Five hundred miles. This is going to kill me.”

  There was a knock at her bedroom door. “Is that Callie?” he asked.

  “It is.”

  “Introduce me.”

  She quickly pulled her blouse on and stuffed her bra under a pillow. “Come in,” she invited.

  Callie peeked her head in the door. “This is stunning,” she exclaimed, holding up the garnet-colored sheath dress that he had picked out for her in San Diego.

  “She likes the Stella McCartney dress,” she said into the laptop. “Come meet Brett,” she said, looking up at Callie.

  Callie walked across the room and sat down beside Austin. Her eyes widened as she looked into the screen. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “He’s gorgeous.”

  Austin laughed. “It’s Skype, honey. He can hear you.”

  Brett waved at the screen. “Nice to meet you, Callie.”

  She looked at Austin. “This is who you met in San Diego?”

  Austin nodded.

  “I’m surprised you left the hotel room at all,” Callie exclaimed.

  “I managed to drag her out into the light of day, every now and then.” Brett chuckled. “Of course, even then she sometimes had trouble keeping her panties on,” Brett added.

  Callie laughed. “I’ve read the book. I can believe it.” She looked suddenly at Austin. “I’m sorry. He knows about your book, doesn’t he?”

  “Well, if he didn’t before, he does now,” she quipped.

  “I’m intimately familiar with the book,” he assured her. “Speaking of which, bring a copy of your second novel with you this weekend. I’d like to read it.”

  “I’ll e-mail it to you. It’s only available in e-book form right now. If it does well, then the publisher sends it to print.”

  “I’ve read it,” Callie interjected. “It’ll make it to print. And Brett, you’re going to love it. It’s even more fun than the first novel.”

  “Send it over,” he said anxiously. “And the sequel.”

  “On that note, I’ll leave you two. Nice to meet you, Brett.” Callie left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Austin pulled her blouse over her head when the door had closed.

  “Fuck,” he
whispered.

  “Take off your shirt,” Austin begged. He pulled the black polo shirt over his head. “And your shorts,” she begged.

  “Christ, Austin.” He stood up and unzipped his beige Peter Millar shorts, tugging them down over his hips. His hard cock pressed against his designer briefs.

  “Those too. I want to see you.” He dropped his briefs. She moaned quietly at the sight of his long, hard cock on the screen in front of her. “I miss you,” she whispered.

  He slowly sat down and stared at the screen. “This is killing me.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “Me too.”

  He looked at the clock. “It’s late. I’m going to go shower and…take care of this,” he added, looking down at this crotch.

  She whimpered. “I wish I could take care of it for you.”

  “Me too.” He blew her a kiss. “Goodnight, kitten. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight.” She blew him a kiss, reluctantly disconnecting the call.

  She sat there for a moment, her eyes closed. Her pelvis ached with want for him. She finally made her way to the en suite, running a hot bubble bath in the large soaker tub in the middle of the bright-white bathroom. She lit a dozen candles and dimmed the light, before placing her glass of wine on a stool. She shed her clothes and stepped into the water, slowly sinking into the warm liquid, reluctantly washing off his scent. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, replaying their final encounter in her mind.

  Her hand dipped beneath the water and between her legs as she thought of his hands on her breasts, kneading and squeezing before pulling a nipple into his mouth to suck and twist the hardened flesh with his tongue. She gently moved her finger against her throbbing pussy, circling against her clit. A moan escaped her lips as she envisioned his hard shaft pounding into her aching core. She could hear herself begging for him to thrust deeper and deeper, bringing her closer to the orgasm that she desperately sought now. Her breathing grew shallow as her fingers moved, increasing in intensity and pressure. Within minutes, she let out a long, loud moan as her body shuddered under the water. The ache and her motion subsided. She sat, finally at peace. “Six days,” she whispered to herself, taking a sip of wine. “Six long days.”

  Chapter 7

  Sunday was spent catching up on her online correspondence with fans of the book, along with preparations for the launch of her second novel. Austin prepared a brief marketing plan and editorial calendar to guide her through the first few weeks of the book’s unveiling.

  She took a break, stepping out for groceries. Austin loved to cook, enjoying the opportunity to prepare a meal whenever it presented itself. She stopped at a neighborhood bakery and then a cheese shop before visiting the local fishmonger. She finished up with fresh fruits and vegetables before returning home to make a light shrimp and vegetable stir-fry.

  After a nap, she resumed writing on her newest manuscript. She had started writing it two weeks earlier, and had made only minor progress during her time with Brett. She scanned over the existing chapters before scribbling out an outline for the next two chapters. She’d conjured up some sexy new content for the main characters to experience, and quickly set to writing the detailed sex scene that was sure to have readers pausing to reach beneath the sheets. She was well into the chapter when her phone rang, notifying her of a new text message. It was Brett.

  They checked in with each other every day, either by text or by Skype. On Thursday evening, she Skyped with him while she packed, making plans for their weekend together.

  On Friday afternoon, she left the office early, arriving at the Billy Bishop airport in time for her four o’clock departure to Newark. Her flight was on schedule, touching down precisely at five thirty. She found her way to the train that would take her directly to New York’s Penn Station. She sent Brett a text, letting him know that she would be arriving in just under thirty minutes. Her heart pounded as she stepped off the train and weaved her way through the crowds. She took a deep breath as she rode the escalator to the main level where they had arranged to meet. She saw him instantly, even though the main building was crowded with commuters. His head was down, reading his smartphone. She was halfway across the hall before he looked up. A grin crossed his face as she walked toward him. She stopped a few feet in front of him. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on hers. She loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his strong arms around her waist.

  He leaned in and kissed her. “Hey, kitten. How was your flight?”

  “Comfortable,” she sighed. “But not as comfortable as this.” She snuck another kiss. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” He hadn’t realized he’d left them on, quickly pulling the black Armani frames from his face to stuff them into his suit pocket.

  “Whoa, what’s your hurry?” She smiled, pulling them out of his pocket. “They look good. Really good.”

  “I hate them,” he muttered. “But I need them for reading,” he explained, taking the glasses from her hands and putting them back in his pocket. “I spent the day reading a two-thousand-page prospectus, and my eyes are tired.” He distracted her with another long kiss. “I’m so glad you’re here.” He stood back and looked at her. She was wearing a cranberry-red sheath dress with allover ruching. The asymmetrical neckline added a touch of dramatic flair. “This is beautiful,” he whispered, running his hand down her side and over the curve of her hip.

  She ran her hand over the slim and sleek sleeve of his designer suit jacket and up the crisp white panel of his white shirt. “So is this.”

  He glanced up at the clock. “I’ve made dinner reservations. Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed her suitcase with one hand, and held her hand with the other. They walked through the maze of people and onto the streets of New York. There was a long line of taxis waiting. He gently tossed her suitcase into the backseat and helped her into the car, sliding in beside her. He gave the driver the address before pulling her in close. He kissed her again, running his hand up the ruched fabric on her leg.

  “Maybe we should cancel the reservation,” she suggested. “We can order in.”

  He looked at her and smiled, giving the cab driver his address on Fourteenth Street. He called the restaurant and cancelled the reservation, instead requesting they deliver one order of sea bass and one eight-ounce filet mignon. It seemed to take forever to weave through the crowded streets. They finally arrived at the five-story building that looked like it had been constructed in the thirties. They entered through a key-locked elevator directly into the open-concept living and dining area. She recognized it immediately from the tour he’d given her on Skype. The room was larger than she had expected for New York, and offered a gas fireplace, exposed brick, soaring ceilings, and oversized windows. He watched as she gave herself a quick tour around the living room and kitchen. A bell sounded, signaling that dinner had arrived in the lobby. He pulled a bottle of Chianti from the wet bar, along with a corkscrew. “Can you open this? I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the elevator.

  She studied the bottle, an Antinori Badia A Passignano from 2007, before opening it and pouring a few ounces into the long-stemmed glassware hanging from the bar. She placed the glasses on the island, moving into the kitchen to source the flatware and dishes they would need for dinner. There was very little cupboard space in the elegant kitchen. She found that the majority of space that did exist was vacant. She opened the fridge. It contained a carton of cream, a carton of orange juice, and three bottles of beer.

  He startled her when he stepped from the elevator, carrying a bag of food. “Smells delicious.”

  “It will be. I eat there two or three times a week.”

  “You eat out every meal?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Pretty much.”

  “You have a beautiful kitchen at your disposal. It looks like it’s hardly ever used.” She moved about the open-style chef’s kitchen, which was appointed with all top-of-the-line appliances including double gas ovens, a high-end fridge and free
zer, a Miele dishwasher, and a wine cooler, all of which was finished with a warm walnut cabinetry, and limestone counters.

  “I use the dishwasher,” he responded, justifying his meager use of the space.

  She leaned over and kissed him as he emptied the take-out containers onto the island. “Is it okay if I go and hang up some clothes?”

  “Absolutely.” He pointed her in the direction of the bedrooms. “End of the hall on the left.”

  She found her way to the master bedroom, admiring the hardwood floors that appeared throughout the unit. The earthen, leathery scent of his cologne greeted her as she entered the room. She found the bedroom to be surprisingly quiet. The king-size bed was raised, and situated against the back wall of the unit made from a combination of exposed brick and warm wood. She placed her suitcase on the thick white duvet and pulled out two dresses. She found her way to the massive en suite bath with a deep-soaking whirlpool tub, double sinks, and a steam shower. The closet was opposite the tub. She open one of the many doors, and stepped back to admire the extensive collection of casual clothes. She opened another door, and then another. She finally found a few empty hangers and room for her dresses behind the forth door. She unpacked her toiletries and placed them on one side of the vanity of the bathroom.

  “Dinner’s ready,” he called.

  She slipped off her shoes and padded back to the kitchen.

  “Where are your shoes?” he asked as she approached.

  “I didn’t want to mark the floors.”

  He scoffed. “Leave them on. These floors are more than weathered. Besides”—he kissed her as he placed the plates on the elegant glass dining room table—“they look spectacular on you.”

  He held the chair for her, before sitting. “Bon appétit.”

  “Ça sent merveilleux,” she added. “Cheers.” She held up her glass.

  “Cheers.” They took a drink. “You speak French?”

  “Je parle un petit peu de français.” She watched his expression. “Yes,” she clarified in English. “I speak a little bit of French. I’m Canadian. It’s a compulsory subject in school.”