“Oh, tell us, tell us,” Wyatt says, mocking Spencer as he chimes in like an excited kid.
“I don’t know . . . but I’d hate to see what they do with a saw,” he says, then slaps his palm against the counter to punctuate his joke.
I groan. “Really?”
“That’s the best you can do?” Wyatt asks.
Spencer points at my handyman friend. “I thought I nailed that one.” Then he turns to me. “But not as well as Chase would have . . . killed it.”
“Oh ha ha ha. I try to limit my kills,” I say, lifting my glass to take a drink.
Spencer preens and blows on his nails. “All right, assholes. That’ll be fifty dollars.”
“You’re cheap tonight,” Wyatt remarks as he takes out his wallet and pretends to fish around for a big bill.
“Just kidding. Your money’s no good here. For some reason, I let you two dickheads drink for free,” he says, then heads to the end of his bar to take care of customers.
Wyatt and I shoot the breeze for a few minutes as we work on our pale ales, and then he levels me with an intense stare. “What’s going on with Josie?”
I nearly spit out my drink.
The brother of the woman I’m trying desperately not to fall harder for laughs and claps my back. “Hard time holding your liquor?”
“Um, no, wrong pipe,” I lie.
“Seriously, man. I’ve been thinking about our talk at Joe’s Sticks. Is she doing okay on the whole dating scene?”
“Yeah. She’s doing great,” I say, fibbing outrageously and hating it.
“Dating any jackasses? Or have you weeded them all out?”
Briefly, my mind wanders back to the guy who made the gerbil comment, then to the idiot who tried to pry into her private life online, then to the one who started it all—Damien—by fooling my girl.
My girl.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. She’s not mine. I can’t think of her that way. I raise my glass. “You’ll be glad to know I’ve safely kept her away from any and all jackasses.”
I don’t include myself in the jackass count. I’m not like those other guys. I’m not hurting Josie by sleeping with her like this. We have a temporary arrangement, an understanding, a roomies-with-benefits deal. If anything, I’m the one on the faster track to get hurt.
Wyatt clinks his glass to mine. “Good. I knew I could count on you to look out for my second-favorite person in the universe.” Then sheepishly, in a lowered voice, he adds, “It’s weird that I can’t call Josie my favorite person anymore. She was for so long. For most of my life. But now that spot goes to the new Mrs. Hammer.”
“Natalie’s gotta be first, man.”
Wyatt clasps my shoulder. “Good thing I’ve got you to make sure Josie’s in good hands.”
“Yeah, I’ll definitely make sure of that,” I say, looking away.
Because Josie is in my good hands, and I hope that’s exactly where she’s going to be in about an hour.
We text on the way home. She’s on the express train. I’m on the local line. We laugh—over text—about how we’re heading home at the same time.
Then, as I head up the steps of the station and onto the bustling sidewalk, her latest text sends a burst of excitement through me because I’ll see her soon.
* * *
Josie: Want to do something crazy and, I dunno, walk the last few blocks together?
* * *
Chase: You are a wild thing.
* * *
Josie: I am. Especially when you learn what I have in store for you tonight.
* * *
A whistle rips through the warm early evening air, the kind a construction worker makes at a sexy woman. A familiar voice shouts at me, “Yo, Hot Stuff.”
When I stop and turn around, Josie walks to me, a little sway in her hips, a flirty grin on her pretty pink lips. She wears a short skirt with a swirly pattern on it, and a purple V-neck T-shirt. Her hair is cinched back in a ponytail, and her wrist is adorned with her silver bracelets.
She’s so fucking hot. And beautiful. And bold.
I glance around, as if I’m looking for someone else. Then I stab my finger against my chest. “You talking to me?” I ask in my best movie gangster tone.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you with the nice ass.”
I give it right back to her. “Turn around. Let me see yours.”
She twirls once, then stops in front of me. “Hey, Doctor McHottie,” she says in a softer but still sexy voice. She rises on tiptoe and gives me a peck on the cheek, and my heart races. Dumb organ. I need to remember that the heart’s purpose is to pump blood, a body fluid that ferries nutrients and oxygen to cells. Its goal isn’t to make me feel light-headed and dopily dizzy around her.
Even so, I clasp her jaw in my hand, and kiss her hard on the lips. If she’s going to drop little whispery kisses on my face in public, I’m going to claim her naughty mouth with mine.
She moans lightly as I kiss her, and I swallow that sound. When I break the kiss, a soft sigh escapes her lips. I roam my eyes over her. As I catalogue her ridiculously cute outfit, an abhorrent thought pops into my brain. “Were you on a date after work?”
A tornado of jealousy sweeps through me. But I have no right to feel envious, since she’s not mine. I better revise my jackass tally since I clearly belong on it now.
She shakes her head. “No. I went to dinner with Lily. To a little sandwich shop on the East Side,” she says, as we walk through the New York night toward our building.
“How is she?”
Josie smiles. “She’s finally giving Rob the boot. I hate to say it, but I’m so glad. He was no good for her.” She hooks her arm through mine, and I tamp down a smile because right now we seem like a hell of a lot more than two roomies heading home together.
I flash back to Wyatt’s comments about dates, to Josie’s remarks about not dating, and to the gift certificate I shoved out of my mind all day. “Is there any chance you’d want to take an Enticing Appetizers and Alluring Desserts class with me?”
My voice sounds dry as I ask the question, as if I’ve never asked a girl out before. As I wait, the thumping in my chest has the audacity to reappear. I hope she’ll say yes.
She quirks up one eyebrow. “The sensual cooking class?”
I blink. “That’s what it is? I just thought it was a fun desserts class, and I know you like to try those out.”
She nods. “I’ve heard it’s amazing.”
“Want to go?”
She nods eagerly. “I’d love to.”
Guess that means I have a date with Josie now.
There’s a spring in my step as we reach the building. But I remind myself it’s not a date. She’s just a friend. She’s just a girl I live with.
When the elevator door closes I’m ready to pounce on her. Cage her in my arms. Kiss the hell out of her. But a weather-worn woman with silver streaks in her hair follows us in, her husband behind her.
I raise my chin, recognizing them as fellow residents in this building. “Hey there. How’s your evening?”
She tuts and shakes her head. “It was a good one, until I checked the mailbox.” She holds a stack of envelopes in her hand. “I’ve always detested the mail. Bills, bills, bills.”
Her husband nods sagely.
“Mail can have a way of bringing you down,” Josie chimes in. “Unless someone sends cookies, money, or candy.”
The woman laughs. “Now, that would be a good mail day.”
They exit on the fifth floor. When the elevator slows at our floor, I return to Josie’s last text. “What did you have in store for me tonight?”
A flirty look is her answer as she exits and leaves me with this enticing command: “Come find me in ten minutes and you’ll see.”
25
A lustful kind of anticipation camps out in my body. This is the adult equivalent of waiting for Santa Claus. And I was one hell of a fan of the jolly man in red. But right now, as I knock back a glass of Scot
ch in the kitchen and check the time, I’m confident that whatever is waiting for me under the tree that is Josie’s bedroom will be better than any bike, Star Wars toy, or game of Operation I’ve ever received.
And I did love Operation.
But I love sex way more.
Let me amend that. I love sex with Josie way more than any gift. More than nearly anything.
The sound of a slow, sexy song drifts through the apartment. I close my eyes, listening. It’s low and seductive, and I can’t make out the words from here, but I recognize an invitation when I hear one.
I finish the amber liquid, set the glass on the counter, and follow the sound of the honey-voiced singer.
Our place is small. It doesn’t take me long to reach Josie’s room. The music grows louder. Sounds like one of those female crooners with voices that ooze sex appeal. The words and lyrics do the same, too. Joss Stone maybe, singing about the higher you take her.
The door is ajar. A sliver of light shines into the hall. I rap lightly.
“Come in.” Her voice is smoky, like this song.
When I push open the door all the breath rushes out of my lungs. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan, as my cock thickens.
Josie rests on top of the white covers, her brown and pink hair fanned out on a pillow. She wears pink lace panties and one of those bras that cover only half her miraculous tits. Demi-something, I think it’s called.
Actually, I don’t give a shit what her lingerie is named.
I’m renaming this ensemble the most arousing thing a woman has ever worn. Though, what makes the sight such an immense turn-on is the location of Josie’s hands.
One cups her right breast, kneading.
The other? Dear God in heaven. The other hand plays between her legs. Her busy fingers stroke the wet panel of her panties.
My dirty reel has come to life. She meets my eyes, and the glint in them beckons me.
I swallow dryly. My throat is parched, and I grab the tail of my shirt, tug it over my head, then unzip my jeans in a flash. I set a new record for undressing when my briefs come off a nanosecond later.
“You,” I rasp out, as I get on the bed at her feet. “You’re so fucking sexy we’re going to need a new word for it.”
She smiles at me, her finger rubbing the outline of her swollen clit. Breathily, she asks, “Is this the kind you like to watch?”
I set my hands on her knees, opening her legs more as I stare at the gorgeous, erotic, beautiful sight in front of me. My girl in pink, her panties wet, touching herself because she can’t help it.
I shake my head. “I don’t like this. I fucking love it, Josie.”
Kneeling, I take my throbbing cock in my hand, running my palm down the length.
Her hips shoot up. “Oh God, that’s so hot,” she moans.
“Yeah?” I do it again, stroking my dick as she watches me.
“That’s what I was picturing before you walked in.” Her fingers move faster. I can’t look away from her. Not that I would. I’m not insane. I am, however, insanely aroused because she’s so fucking wet. She’s become my greatest fantasy. “You jerking off on me,” she says.
Jesus Christ.
I was wrong.
This is greater than my hottest fantasy.
Because she’s not just getting off—she’s getting off to me.
“Take these off now.” Reaching for her panties, I tug them down her hips, along her luscious thighs, and over her ankles. Her fingers immediately return to her pussy, but I shake my head.
“I want you naked. Bra, too,” I tell her, and as she unhooks it, I press my hands to her thighs and part her legs farther.
My dick is so hard right now, it’s fucking aching for attention, but this—her bare pussy is the stuff dirty dreams are made of. She’s slick and wet, and so wildly turned on by thoughts of me.
I’m floored—fucking floored—by the utter dirty perfection of this woman.
Now that her glorious tits are freed and she’s as naked as I am, I tip my chin in the direction of her pussy. “Now resume doing the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her nimble fingers return to her wet center, and the second she touches herself, she moans. Lifting her hips, she seeks out her own pleasure. Her eyes float shut again as she strokes all that delicious wetness.
“Oh God,” she murmurs, and that sound is like a bolt of heat straight to my dick. Wrapping a fist around my hard-on, I stroke.
“This is how we were the other week,” I say as I move my hand up and down my erection. “Jerking off to each other.”
She opens her eyes, her green irises hazy with lust. “I thought about you so many times, Chase,” she moans as she rubs her sweet little clit with abandon.
“Did I make you come every time?”
She nods as she rocks her hips. “Every time. All the time. You fucked me so many times.” Her pace quickens and her breathing turns erratic.
“Josie,” I say on an upstroke that sends a hot tremor through me. “Fuck yourself with your fingers.”
Her eyes widen, and then her fingers get to work. She slides one inside her pussy, then another, all while she works the delicious rise of her clit with her thumb.
And hell, if the sight in front of me isn’t enough for me to come right now, I don’t know what is. But I grit my teeth and call off the dogs, because I’m not firing before she does.
I need to watch every second of the hottest X-rated video I’ve ever seen. I won’t miss a frame.
Her other hand spears into her hair, and she turns her head to the side, her lips parting, her panting loud. Then it becomes a chorus of oh God and oh God, I’m so close.
And she fucks herself.
With abandon.
With intensity.
With a wild need to come.
I see it in her features, in the torment on her face as she nears the edge, in the mad speed of her fingers as she thrusts in and out, in her thumb as she strokes and strokes and strokes until she hits that high note.
She calls out a last oh God, and her hips rise up.
And then she trembles.
Like a full-body shudder. I swear, I can see her orgasm move through her. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed—the way Josie comes. She doesn’t hold back. Not her mouth, not her body, nothing. “Oh my God, oh my God, fuck me.”
I don’t mind if I do.
My own release isn’t far off, but I don’t slide into her since I don’t have a condom close enough. Instead, I climb up her, straddling her waist as I jerk my cock harder.
Pleasure rattles through me and I groan.
She blinks open her eyes and seems to register where I am. She pushes her breasts together, and that’s all I need to know.
I slide in and fuck her tits, bracing my palm on the pillow by her face.
Now this? This is a whole new realm of heaven. My dick is in my favorite place, and I’m seconds from coming. She pushes her tits even tighter, creating a warm tunnel for my shaft. On an upstroke, Josie sticks out her tongue and flicks the head of my cock.
It feels magnificent.
And it flips the switch.
“Gonna come,” I grunt, and with a loud groan I shoot jets over her chest. I shudder, my shoulders shaking as my climax thunders through me.
“Holy fucking shit,” I mutter. Because it was so fucking good.
Because of her.
When I come down from my high, I reach over to her nightstand and grab some tissues. “Let me clean this.”
I wipe me off her chest as she murmurs, “I liked it, though.”
“Yeah? Were you going to wear my come all night?”
She laughs lightly and shrugs. “I like it when you come on me.”
I stand and toss the tissues in a trash can, then return to her, gathering her in my arms. “You do?”
She nods and tilts her chin up, meeting my eyes. “It’s my favorite thing—making you come,” she says softly, then runs a finger down my ch
est. Her touch is electric, and even though I just finished, I’m getting hard again. “I like when you come inside me.” Her fingers trail down my pecs. “And in my mouth.” Then to my abs. “And on my body.” Over my hip. “I just love it when it feels good for you.”
I’m so stunned by the sheer sensuality of her words and by the gorgeous honesty in them that I barely know what to say. Instead, I drop my mouth to hers and kiss her softly, then harder still, because the taste of her lights me up, and it shuts my mouth.
That way, I won’t slip and say the words she doesn’t want to hear. Words that clog my throat and fight to come out. Words that I have to shove back down because they’d reveal everything.
I barely understand how she can say something so raw and sexual to me, and not only does it turn me on beyond any and all reason, but it also hooks into my heart and makes me fall harder for her.
When she breaks the kiss, I wriggle my eyebrows. “I love it when you come, too. So let’s make that happen.”
I move down her body, kissing her beautiful breasts, her soft waist, the curve of her hips, then I bury my face between her legs, licking her until she comes again. My name is on her lips with every shudder, every tremble, every cry.
And it kills me.
It kills me how much I want her in every way.
And later, when I put her on her hands and knees and fuck her until she groans, I groan, and the bed groans, I revise my earlier sentiment about her chest being my favorite place.
She is my favorite place.
And I’m ridiculously glad I have a date with her, even though I doubt it’ll be the first of many, like I want.
The clock ticks on this thing between us. The more we spend nights in bed, the harder it’ll be to carry on as just friends when this ends.
26
If I thought Josie was into playing mood music the other night, she’s got nothing on Ivory.
The teacher of the sensual cooking class pipes in a constant stream of Sade at the cooking school in Soho on a Friday night.
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