The Hard Sell

by Wright,Lulu

  I pull my hand away from him, but otherwise I stand still, frozen halfway out of the kitchen. “What?”

  “You know how I always have my clipboard with me at work?” He waits for me to nod. “I’m not taking notes or anything. I’m drawing Bart Simpson.”

  “You’re scribbling in that thing like a hundred times a day,” I reply with a frown. Not buying it.

  “I know,” he says with a grimace. “I can’t stop drawing him. All the time. I’ve even posted a couple of comics online …”

  “Seriously?” My anger starts to fade. I side-eye him to see his ears turning red again. Okay, maybe I can forgive him. Because his thing is just as silly as mine, and I am a little bit tempted to laugh.

  Unlike him, however, I’m not a big enough jerk to actually laugh. “Why Bart?” I ask.

  He bites his lip and chuckles. “I don’t know, it relieves tension to draw him, I guess? Bart’s the misbehaving kid I couldn’t be when I was in school.”

  He catches my wrist again, gently this time. “Forgive me for laughing?”

  I am sure he can see my jaw trembling at his touch, so I smile to hide it. “Maybe.”

  He leads me back to the kitchen, before the grin breaks out again. “Seriously though, what sort of Harry Potter fan fiction …”

  “Forget it!” I shout as I take a big gulp of delicious wine.

  “It’s just, I don’t know, I never pictured you as the nerdy type.”

  “That’s Queen of the Nerds to you, Mr. Jock,” I sass.

  He catches my sarcasm and laughs. “Oh please. I was the guy with the straight As who voluntarily took about a million extracurriculars.” He takes a sip of his wine and leans on the counter toward me. “All work and no play. No time for friends, either.”

  He says it lightheartedly, but there’s something in his stare that makes me sympathize. Maybe he regrets being a little too wrapped up in his work. “I would have been your friend,” I assure him. “You’d have fit in nicely with my crew.”

  “We could’ve written a Bart / Hermione slashfic.” He winks, and dammit if my cheeks don’t immediately flood with heat. Luckily, he doesn’t tease me for it, but just raises his wine glass in a toast. “To the Queen of the Nerds.”

  I raise my glass to clink his. “And to Mr. Excellence.” Toast accomplished, and the ratatouille now thoroughly spiced, Jack slides the pans into the world’s most enormous oven and sets the timer. “In 45 minutes, I’ll be pleased to serve Your Majesty a perfect dinner to go with that wine. In the meantime, I’m going to clean off.” He gestures at his bare chest, still glistening, now with a speck of oil that splashed onto his abs while he was cooking. I watch it drop along his washboard stomach. Am I drooling? Crap. I yank the band out of my ponytail and twist it around my fingers furiously.

  “Make yourself at home,” he adds with a smirk. His eyes dart up and down my body in one last lingering look. “Or join me, if you like.”

  Before I can even recover from my shock—my mouth is straight-up hanging open—he leaves the room. I’m alone with the rest of the wine and an arousal like I’ve never experienced before.

  Or join me.

  I sit at the breakfast nook and take deep, slow breaths into my wine glass. I got this. I’m OK. I will not be controlled by my naughty box. I will not cave in to his flirting.

  Remember what Brenda would say. She’d flat-out fire me if she knew I was even here right now.

  Remember Crystal. That psycho would probably poison me if she heard what he said just now.

  I will sit here, behaved, and wait for him to finish showering. Then Jack and I will chat about the Men’s Basics floor over dinner. After that, I’ll go home and wear out my vibrator.

  But then I hear the shower running.

  I think of Jack naked. No more shorts. Just those glistening abs, that hard-cut V leading straight down to the hard cock that I felt pressed against me in the store when I dressed slutty for him.

  His naked body is all wet and soaped up by now, steaming in the heat.

  Join me, if you like. I can practically still hear him saying it, his voice low and forceful, almost a growl.

  I rise from my seat and drift towards his bedroom, moved by the irresistible force of my own horniness. I peek around the door frame. Steam billows out of the bathroom door across the room.

  I should leave.

  I know I won’t.

  Standing in his private space makes my excitement rise even higher. I glance around his bedroom. Unlike the rest of the apartment, there’s not a scrap of art to be found. The walls are empty and white; the linens uncomplicated solid colors. Like Jack, the room is cool and elegant. No fuss. I feel like I am surrounded by him and that sensation drives me to walk toward the steam.

  I stand in front of the bathroom door and let the steam kiss my face.

  Join me, if you like.

  I push the door open. At first the steam is as dense as London fog. But it thins out to reveal Jack—all of Jack—in his shower, a naked man in a glass box. He has his eyes closed, so I watch him rinse his hair under the stream of water. The soap slides down his muscular body in tantalizing patterns. He might be even more lathered up than me.

  On second thought, I’m not sure anything could match the weight that seems to hang between my thighs right now, the gathering pool of desperate need in my panties. Everything about me right now is throbbing and moist. My breath comes faster, and my heart hammers in my eardrums.

  I kick off my Nikes in silence, unable to tear my gaze from Jack’s body. After the world’s deepest breath, I summon every ounce of desire and courage in my body, and reach for the shower door. The rush of cooler air catches Jack’s attention, finally. His eyes meet mine in surprise, then his mouth twists into a scowl.

  I’m half a second away from apologizing and nope-ing right out of there, when he tuts. “You wear your yoga gear even in the shower?”

  In response, I step into the hot gush of water, yoga pants and all. The scowl on his face melts into an amused smirk, but I don’t care. All my anxiety washes away with the water, replaced by the heat in here. I reach for the bar of soap still clutched in his limp fingers, and slide it out of his grip, up his arm, then down his chest and stomach, slowly tracing the ridges of his abs, the long lines of his hip muscles, then back up his obliques to circle his nipples with the soap.

  His skin is warm and hard making me aware of how cool and soft I am. As I lift my other hand to rub the soapy residue into his chest in a circular massage, I glance up at him. His face would give nothing away, if you didn’t know him like I do. But his eyes tell another story. They’re hooded with desire now, his gaze as steamy and unfocused as the hot, hot water pouring around us. I drop my hands down to his hips again, letting the soap fall to the floor of the tub. But my hands keep moving, inching toward his groin, and the hot, hard dick between his legs, standing straight upright, pointed at my stomach like an arrow.

  I meet his eye again, waiting for a sign, but he only arches one eyebrow devilishly. So I wrap both hands around his cock and draw him toward me by it, until his chest bumps into mine, and his cock is poised between us, wrapped in my firm grip.

  “You are being inappropriate again, Miss Brook,” he whispers. His eyes are penetrating my soul and his breath comes hard and fast beside my ear. “So terribly inappropriate.”

  I loosen my hold a little, stroking his shaft with the tips of my fingers, just grazing with little whispers of touch. He throws his head back and lets out a heavy sigh as I kiss his throat and chest. “So beautiful,” he murmurs. When I glance up at him, he’s gazing down at me, eyes all over my face. He combs his fingers through my hair under the spray of water. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  Hot water streams down our faces as he presses his forehead to mine and wraps his arms around me tight. “You’ve been trying to drive me crazy,” he says, those eyes still locked on mine. “I know it’s on purpose, admit it.”

  I admit nothing, but start to p
ulse his cock in my hands in time with the fluttering of my own arousal. Cupping my face in his hands, he casts those green eyes on me and I forget to breath. “Admit you want me,” he says. He pulls my face toward his, catches my mouth in his and kisses me desperately. Electricity surges through me. My whole body feels like a live wire plunged into a pool of water. “Admit you want me,” he whispers with his lips still brushing against mine.

  As I continue stroke his manhood, I shrug my shoulders like I don’t know what he’s talking about. “I just came in here to take a shower.” I bat my eyes up at him.

  He grins. “Well. For someone trying to clean up, you are acting like a very dirty girl.” His voice deepens. “Get on your knees, Miss Brook.” He places his hands on my shoulder and presses me down. For a split second, I’m torn between telling him not to order me around, and begging him to do just that.

  “Open that red mouth of yours,” he commands, and my knees cave in of their own volition.

  Shivering in desire, I kneel before him and part my lips.

  He swipes the head of his penis on my lower lip and I flick the tip with my tongue. Wanting all of him inside my mouth, I grab his shaft and suck. God, he’s fucking delicious. I could suck his dick all day. A hard throbbing starts up between my legs as I work his cock with my mouth, trying to take him in deeper with every thrust. I peek up at him and enjoy the look of his head thrown back, his muscles taut with strain as I work him. He groans, and I suck harder, squeezing my lips tight around him.

  “Ah, ah …” He catches my racerback tank straps and gently draws me off of him. I pout when his cock slides out of my mouth, but he only grins at me. “You’re too ambitious for your own good, Miss Brook.” He guides me up beside him.

  When I am standing, he tightens his grip on the tank top straps and in one hard yank, rips it off. I hear the wet slap of my tank on the shower tile and feel the welcome heat of the streaming water on my exposed breasts. He teases my nipples with his knuckles as his mouth moves towards mine. I expect, want, need him to kiss me, but our lips barely touch, his kiss feather-light before he backs away again.

  “Put your hands on the wall.” There is no smile on his face anymore. He sounds stockroom stern, but I’ll do anything he says.

  I feel the shocking cool of the tile on my palms and I stare at one square in front of me and, with a pounding heart, wait for what he’s going to do next. When he tugs at the waistband of my yoga pants, I shiver with anticipation, because, yes, get them off, get them off NOW.

  “I’ve been waiting to tear these off you for the longest time.” He bunches the waistband in his fists and rips them to mid-thigh. I can’t even protest. It’s not like I don’t have a dozen other pairs just like them.

  Behind me, he’s already smirking at what he’s found. “A black thong? I expected a little more from the queen of underwear.”

  I feel his fingers knot the back string of my thong. He tugs them up, so the thong bunches around my clit. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing—he tugs on the straps, raising them tighter and tighter, rubbing against my clit to the point where I’m about to go ballistic.

  But then he stops. “Like I said. Too ambitious.”

  Another yank, another sound of ripping lycra, and splat, my thong hits the tile. The hot water—and Jack’s hungry gaze—touch every part of me now. I watch over my shoulder as he leans back to appreciate my prone body. His hands run up the back of my legs, his fingers graze and tease my outer lips from behind making me actually coo. As I press my back against him, he glides a finger onto my clit and swirls around it. A tingle surges throughout my entire being, building toward a roar. I rock my hips backwards, against him, again and again, as his finger rubs me faster, faster …

  I am getting close and let out a shout which echoes off the tile. “Jesus!” I gasp.

  “It’s Jack,” he murmurs, right into my ear, before he pulls his hand away.

  Shit.

  My whole body vibrates from the tease. So close to the climax, and yet so far. My pussy aches for release, my clit throbbing, but all I can do is watch as he snatches a soap bottle. He squirts a palmful and works the soap into a rich foam in his big hands. He massages the thick lather on my breasts, my back, my arms and down my stomach closer and closer to my pussy …

  Almost there … Almost …

  But his fingers stop centimeters shy of my clit. I glare over my shoulder and open my mouth to demand he seal the deal, but he smiles and puts a finger to my lips. “Shhh,” he says as he rinses me off. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  He turns off the water and grabs my hand. “Come on.” Dripping water all over the blond wood floor, he guides me straight to his bed. Cool air finds every inch of my skin, raising goosebumps all along my wet body as I watch him drag the duvet cover off the bed and knock the pillows to the floor. He’s got to be chilled too, but he doesn’t show it. He only grins at me.

  “Get on your back and spread your legs for me, Miss Brook.”

  I crawl onto his bed with my ass toward him. Then I ease myself onto my back and I spread my legs as I hold his gaze, unfolding one leg at a time.

  He kneels at the side of the bed like he’s bowing before me. With light motions, he catches my left leg, then kisses the sole of my foot. It tickles, but I let myself ride the thrill as his mouth works his way up to my knee and inner thigh. The wicked man skips right over my pussy and runs his mouth up to my stomach, then my breasts. My neck. My throat.

  He traces my lips with his fingers and sighs. “Ask me for a kiss.”

  I don’t ask. Weaving my fingers into his blond locks, I crush his mouth to mine. He kisses me deeply, roughly, and ignites my arousal further. His tongue rolls inside my mouth and reminds me what I really want inside me, so I grasp his arm and pull him on top of me. His hard dick brushes up my inner thigh, and I angle myself beneath him, trying to position his cock right in front of my pussy. But he leans away from me still, torturously.

  His hands are everywhere and it’s like I don’t have enough hands and I am this scratching, moaning, throbbing ball of red-hot desire. He licks and sucks my nipples until my back arches against him. I wrap my legs around his firm waist and dig my heels into the back of his thighs. Positioning his hips back, he circles the tip of his cock against my clit and arches his eyebrow at me with a grin. Then he reaches for his night stand and removes a condom from the drawer. He takes his time rolling it on his beautiful cock and as much as I admire the show, I’m about to slap him for his teasing.

  “Dammit Jack, fuck me,” I order and if it sounds like I’m demanding, it’s because I am. I dig my nails into his ass cheeks so he knows I’m serious.

  He enters me, slowly, and with each inch, a more intense pulsing pleasure overtakes me, until my whole body burns with it, on fire. But once he has filled me, he stops moving. “Look at me.” He strokes my face with one finger. “Lily.”

  It’s Lily now; not Miss Brook. I look up at him and feel powerless from need. I ache for more, and only he can give that to me. Keeping eye contact, he slowly rocks his hips and all I know is his amazing cock sending electric bolts of bliss shooting right through my fingers and toes. Moaning, I give in to the sensation. He starts to thrust faster, that thick cock of his filling me completely, leaving no inch to spare. With every thrust, my hips rise up to meet him, our hips colliding. His breath comes hot and fast against my ear as he grabs me and half-lifts me off the bed toward him. Digging my nails into his back, I grip him so tight, but neither of us care. We’re both moaning, and the sound of his voice close to the brink makes me gasp with pleasure. At least I drive him as wild as he drives me.

  Without warning, he presses his thumb to my clit and the world disappears. I shout something about God, I think. I’m not sure I’m moaning real words anymore, just senseless groans. I come so hard I can’t see, but I can feel tears of relief in my eyes and his hot kiss on my mouth. As my nerve endings catch fire, and my body writhes in pleasure beneath him, Jack groans my name
into my ear, his hands tightening around me, gripping my ass so tight he’ll leave marks as he thrusts into me once, twice, three times, then loses himself in his own orgasm.

  He collapses on me and I swear I hear our heartbeats syncing. For a long time, neither of us move, just savoring the aftershocks of pleasure that roll through us. I clench my pussy muscles, and enjoy the feeling of his cock twitching inside me. He grins down at me, then kisses me once more, long and hard, before he rolls on his back. I curl up to him, resting my head on his chest. We lie naked, sweaty and spent; the sheets damp from shower water and sweat. I drift off into a deep sleep, utterly relaxed and satisfied.

  When I wake up, the sun is setting. Jack is still asleep beside me. I wake him by tracing the skull and crossbones on his bicep. His eyes blink awake, and he smiles down at me.

  “How did you get this?” I ask, leaning in to kiss the outline of the tattoo.

  He bites his lip. “Ugh. It’s so …”

  I kiss the tattoo again. “You can tell me.”

  He sighs. “Between college and grad school I had a crazy year and this …” he scratches at his tat. “This is the stupid result.”

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the pirate tattoo type.”

  “Me neither. But at the time I was just feeling rebellious. I wanted to shock people.”

  “Did you?”

  He frowns. “My father didn’t speak to me for a year.”

  I blink. “That’s a pretty extreme reaction to a tattoo. Even a Captain Hook one.” I snuggle in closer to his chest. “How are things with your dad now?”

  Jack closes his eyes. “Better,” he sighs. He opens them and gives me a sad smile. “But then, I’ve fallen back in line, so.”

  I kiss his forehead because it’s the only thing I can think to do. Then I cast around for a quick change of subject. I want happy Jack back. “Looks like a pretty nice sunset out there.” The room has lit up with the pink otherwordly light of twilight.