Slowly, he withdrew his hand. A smear of blood coated the tip of his finger. “I believe it’s that time of the month, baby.”
He bought everything I tried on. With a cute shrug, he handed over his American Express card. “I can’t make up my mind.”
Two gorgeous lingerie ensembles and those pretty silk shorts. He also added fetish accessories: the exquisite lace blindfold and a black flogger made up of soft leather straps. We left the shop carrying a Clichy bag filled with fifteen hundred dollars worth of undies and kinkery.
We caught a cab on Houston. “Nineteenth and Irving Place.” Bradley slipped in beside me, placing the bag on the floor between us.
The thought of a gentle swat with the elegant cat o’nine tails got me all watery-eyed and aroused. I marveled at his ability to make me hot again, and so soon after that climax in the changing room.
I leaned forward to speak to the driver. “If you could take us up Third Avenue. There’s a drugstore on the corner of Eighteenth. I need to make a stop.”
When the cab pulled up to CVS, Bradley opened the door. “You stay here—tampons, right?
No boyfriend had ever volunteered for tampon-purchasing duty. I nodded, numbly. “Plastic glide applicator, heavy flow.”
TWENTY
BRADLEY WAS BACK In the cab in minutes.
“Are you sleeping over?” I asked.
He placed the drugstore sack beside the elegant black shopping bag. “Don’t expect me to lie next to you and not make love to you.”
A reference to my earlier booty call remark and I answered with a sultry lip curl as I tucked myself into his body. “You got me if you want me, Bradley.”
He snorted a soft laugh. “I always want you.”
The cab pulled up to my building, and he shoved a few bills at the driver. Upstairs, at the door, I handed him the keys.
He opened up the flat and sniffed the air.
“Cleaning service. The apartment always smells like Windex and floor wax on Tuesdays.”
“Looks like they do a good job. You’ll have to give me their number.” He removed his coat. “I’m getting serious about an apartment on Gramercy Park South.”
“Wow. Neighbors. I’ll have to think about that.” I shed my motorcycle jacket. “Lend me your hand, please?”
He quirked a brow, but readily complied with my request.
I took his hand in mine and rubbed my belly. “Helps my cramps if you don’t mind.”
“Aww, baby doll.” His moan of sympathy was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. He hitched up my skirt and stroked my belly. His large hand and tapered fingers worked their magic, warming me—turning me on.
“Would it help to fuck?” He whispered. “It helps some women.”
I blinked at him. “I’ll need to shower—”
“Clean up after.”
He kissed the top of my head and disappeared into the bathroom. He came back with a bath sheet and stacked two pillows on the edge of the bed, covering them with the towel.
“Lay back, Gracie.” He pulled my panties off but left the rest of my clothes on, pushing up the flirty skirt and positioned my hips on the pillows. “Something about you and these boots.” He opened my legs wide, gynecologist style.
What he did next blew my mind.
He dipped between my legs and kissed me. His groan permeated swollen flesh as he sucked my clit rhythmically.
“Bradley,” I moaned in partial protest, reacting to this new form of decadent arousal.
He came up for air. “Relax love, I want to experience the taste and scent of your wet cunt, your saliva—your blood.” He inserted a finger and pumped gently.
Straightening, he unzipped his pants and stroked his near ready cock. “Lift that pretty pink sweater.”
He reached around and released my bra, pushing the rose-colored lace over aching breasts, kneading their fullness. Gently, he rolled sensitive nipples into hard points.
“I gotta get inside you.” He pushed until every inch of his velvet-hard cock filled me. “Your cervix is sensitive, so I won’t go deep, but if you want more let me know.”
Elevated on pillows and perfectly in line with his cock, I felt like a high priestess being prepared to receive Zeus sperm. Bradley stroked exactly the right spot as he took slow, rhythmic thrusts. The vein in his neck throbbed in sync with his hips. “Finger yourself, baby girl.”
I reached below and arousal surged.
He held two fingers to my lips. “Wet.”
I sucked both fingers as if they were his penis. “Christ, you’re such a turn-on.” He brushed my hand aside and circled my clit exactly the way he’d seen me do it.
Bradley loomed over me like a primitive deity, penetrating with that divine phallus, arousing his all-too-human goddess bitch.
His eyes glazed over. “Fuck, Gracie—”
He bucked and shuddered from a powerful climax which triggered my own. Pure pleasure swelled up and ripped through my body. For one or two precious, ethereal moments my connection to the world severed and I was lost to oblivion.
There are no words to describe this kind of Bradley fuckery. You just have to remind yourself to breathe. I sucked in air and focused on his gorgeous, made-for-sex mouth—lips smeared pink with the stain of my fertility.
He continued to pump slowly, coaxing out a bit more post-orgasmic pleasure. He’d unloosed a more primitive side of himself tonight and he wasn’t about to let the beast go.
Not quite yet.
We showered together, washing a day of big-city grime off each other’s bodies. I used plenty of soap on Bradley’s blood-crusted penis, mostly just to see his head roll back and hear him groan. Likewise, he carefully washed all my female body parts.
We toweled off and he ripped the wrapper off a heavy days applicator.
“Open, love.”
I widened my stance and he inserted the tampon. We had gone beyond the sensual tonight, into a form of physical intimacy I never thought possible.
“Tampon foreplay?” I teased, opening the medicine chest. I got out toothpaste and brushes, presenting one to Bradley.
“His and hers.” I grinned, rather proud of myself. Having never purchased a toothbrush for a man in my life, I waited for his reaction.
Bluer than blue eyes sparkled as he took the brush. “Raunchy, bloody period sex, followed by a thoughtful hygienic moment.” He applied toothpaste and winked. “We’re getting serious.”
Alarmed, I narrowed my eyes and synced my tooth-brushing with his. We had begun to coordinate well together in the bathroom, sharing the sink, working around each other quickly and efficiently.
“Did you drink all my beer?” A stark naked Bradley left for the kitchen.
“Would you like a robe?” I asked.
He hesitated. “No—do you want me to wear one?”
I checked him out. Gorgeous, sinewy muscle, without too much bulk. A body that Michelangelo would have loved to sculpt. I shook my head. “No.”
He grinned. “Finish your hair, curly top.”
I wasn’t used to this. A man who was so relaxed and present, so easy to be around. It also felt pretty wonderful to be cared for. He had stuck by me, even pampered me through my premenstrual moodiness.
Everything about this relationship was comfortable and familiar and yet slightly scary. Like there had to be a catch. And fuck if I didn’t keep looking for one.
Yes, he was controlling and possessive. But then, so was I—even as I pretended not to want what I so obviously wanted. A real partnership.
Happiness had always been a fleeting thing for me, especially when it came to men. But somehow, this felt different. I had never been so physically and emotionally attracted at the same time. Usually, it was one or the other, never both.
Like I said, scary.
Bradley sat on the edge of my bed, TV remote in hand.
“I’ll set the alarm for five, so you can run home and change.” I leaned over and kissed the naked Adonis searching for sports scores.
“While you were making pretty curls, I called Laurent, my mother’s chauffeur—or bodyguard. I’m not sure what he is, exactly. He’s bringing over some clothes in the morning.”
I pushed back the duvet and climbed into bed. A small black shopping bag with tasteful gold lettering sat on a chair seat by the nightstand.
“I love my new lingerie and naughty accessories.”
He crawled in beside me. “Worth every penny. I get hard just thinking about you in that blindfold.”
“And what about you with that whip—all those soft leather straps.” I imagined the sting of leather on flesh and the very thought snapped and tingled.
He feigned a menacing squint. “You’re not the least bit afraid?”
Shifting to my side, I propped myself on an elbow. “Maybe a little—in a good way. You excite me, Bradley. And I trust you more than I have ever trusted any man.”
His finger toyed with a corkscrew of curl. “I want to do things to you—with you. I’ve only just begun to excite you, Gracie.”
I could have fucked him again for that remark. Instead, I climbed on top of him. “Would you like to bring some clothes over?”
There was no other way to describe his grin, but devilishly cute. “I get a drawer?”
I nodded. “And a bit of closet space, if you want.”
“I want.” He turned me under him, and kissed me hard—and then softer, extending the kiss with a languid, sensuous tonguing. “You’ve just made me a very happy man, Gracie.”
I ran my fingers through his tousled hair. “I feel you, Bradley.”
Let’s just call it Madhouse Wednesday.
Everyone had lost a day on the street survey, and now we were all scrambling to catch up. After lunch, in the copy center, I lined up behind Bradley and leaned in close.
“I like the way you handle that copier.”
Without saying a word, he took the pages from me and dropped them in the document feeder. “Stapled?”
I read the menu in a breathy whisper. “Top left, center edge, saddle-stitch…fold and bind…”
His mouth twitched, as he selected top left and pressed the copy button.
“Oooh, Bradley—don’t stop.” I moaned softly. “I need two copies.”
He stared at me. “Keep this up and I’ll take you into the supply closet.” He handed me my pages.
“Put that one on the list.” I winked at him and left the room.
No contact again until late in the day, when I received a text message: Noodles at 7:30?
I texted back: Whoever gets there first, Hannah, party of three.
I grabbed my messenger bag and made my way toward the elevators. I was looking forward to starting a new dance routine. Shawn G. had promised something chill and sexy. Maybe I could use a modified version for Bradley’s lap dance. What number was that on the list? I’d quickly lost track of our growing inventory of sexual escapades. Mostly because we added to the list as fast as we ticked them off.
I pushed through the revolving door and got my first hint of dampness.
Rain.
I took the stairs down into the subway and thought about the do it list all the way to Chelsea Studios. Ten sexual encounters had quickly turned into twenty or more.
I exhaled. God, I hope so.
Shaun G. demo’d the moves to a chill new song by Snoop Dog. “This next eight is all about smooth moves and clean lines.”
He broke it down. “Step with me now. One and two, push-out—three, four—open five, six. Girls, I want a slow wobble—all melt. Guys, keep it strong.”
We worked hard on the new routine and by the end of class I was ready for steaming hot noodles and a good night’s sleep.
Hannah and I scored a window table at Noodles on Nineteenth. My niece had been moody since the dance studio, and I was hoping a few potstickers would mellow the munchkin’s temper. We ordered an iced green tea, kid-sized smoothie, and a Kirin beer.
“Did something happen at school today, Hannah?”
Avoiding eye contact, she pressed her nose to the window. “I’m looking for Bradley.” She covered her fist with her sleeve and wiped away breath fog.
“Hannah, you know you can tell me anything.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Crissy and Madison don’t like me anymore.”
“I thought you didn’t like them. You said they were assclowns.”
“Assclowns are A-clowns. Butt monkeys are B-monkeys. I’m not allowed to say bad words.” Hannah’s pain poured across the table. “Remember?”
I stared at her. “Are you still friends with Shelby and Hunter?”
Her eyebrows crashed together, but she nodded.
“And what about Liv, Bradley’s daughter?”
Hannah sighed. “Her mother is always interrupting.” She raised her voice, not unlike the high-pitched cackle that emanated from Bradley’s phone. “‘Who are you talking to, Liv? Remember you have homework to finish’.” Hannah rolled watery eyes. She was putting on a brave front. And even though I didn’t want to believe it, Bradley’s ex appeared to be discouraging the friendship.
This wasn’t the first time Hannah’s abandonment issues affected me. I understood how childhood fears ate away at a young person’s self-esteem. Hannah was too young to have lost her mother, and even though Mitch loved her dearly, he practically lived at the hospital these days. I helped, his family helped, but we could never replace her mother.
I held my breath and prayed that Hannah would not end up like me, afraid to trust and make friends.
“Sorry, I’m late. Believe it or not, I had a hard time finding the place.”
“Noodles on Nineteenth on Twenty-Third Street. It’s tricky.” I teased.
“Apparently.” Bradley scooted Hannah over and sat down beside her.
The very act of moving Hannah dislodged a few tears. “Uh oh—what’s wrong, baby doll?”
He reached out to her and she buried her face in his sweatshirt. The same hoodie he’d worn last week, the one with the Fight Klub UK running up one arm. He rubbed her back and looked across the table at me.
I shook my head in warning. “School troubles. She’s lost a few friends.”
“They’re not my friends, they’re G-D, A-wipe, B-monkeys!” Hannah’s muffled words poured out between sobs. “They called me Little Orphan Hannie.”
I swallowed. Normally, Hannah was fairly clever at thwarting bullies. And she had always been reasonably popular, even with her personality defects. But this time the girls had gotten to her.
Bradley held on and rocked her while I ordered for the three of us. Gradually, the tears subsided. He held a paper napkin to her runny nose.
“Blow.”
A slightly sheepish Hannah peeked out at me, and I reached across the table for her hand.
“Let’s visit the ladies’ room, shall we?”
As we left, the waiter brought drinks—including a beer for Bradley, who took a long swallow.
Hannah scrubbed her hands, and I wet a towel and washed her face.
“I always feel better after a good cry.”
She reached for the towel dispenser. “Bradley is going to think I’m a cry baby.”
“He thinks nothing of the sort. And if you ask nicely, he might have some advice. Liv may have been tormented a time or two. Bullying, name calling, student cliques, can’t be all that different in London.”
Between the potstickers, chicken lettuce wraps and spicy shrimp noodles, Bradley entertained us with a number of tales from his boarding school days at Harrow.
“There’s a practice, for the most part, abolished, even though it lives on in the form of underclass hazing called fagging—not fag as in gay.” He paused abruptly. “Is this conversation too adult?”
My gaze moved from Bradley to Hannah, who rolled her eyes.
“Finish your story.”
“The younger boys did the older student’s chores—mostly light duties. Running errands, bringing tea to the fagmaster’s study, f
agging for him at cricket or football.”
Hannah released the straw in her smoothie. “So the younger ones—they’re like the older boy’s bitches.”
“Hannah!” I scolded.
“Sorry, I forgot to use the b-word.”
Bradley dipped a potsticker in plum sauce. “I was subjected to a good deal of errand running, name-calling, and the occasional fist fight.”
I imagined Bradley as a young boy, left to fend for himself while his parents lived and worked a world away. He had learned to be a scrapper, just like Hannah.
“I remember a skinny lad—picked on mercilessly. You could find him in the loo every morning warming toilet seats for the older boys.”
Hannah slurped her noodles. “What about Liv—has she ever had to…you know…?”
“Deal with G-D, A-wipe, B-monkeys?” He teased her with a look that was part scold, part grin. “Liv went through a rough patch at school. A few girls formed a sorority circle and excluded her for a while. You might ask her about it. She ended up making other friends.”
I scooped up a shrimp from my noodle bowl. “Hannah mentioned that Liv isn’t able to talk much, or for very long.” I had to be careful how I broached this subject. I didn’t want to put Bradley in an awkward position with his ex.
He swished a dumpling in plum sauce longer than necessary. “Since…I foot the bill for both Claire and Liv’s unlimited phone minutes—domestic and foreign—there shouldn’t be an issue about length. And I personally worked out call times for the girls.” He checked my expression for any nonverbal messaging, the kind of communication adults use in front of children.
I delivered a friendly neutral shrug. “The girls really enjoy the calls. Please don’t say anything if it will cause trouble.”
Bradley nodded. “Who wants my last potsticker?” He popped the dumpling in his mouth.
“Too late.” He winked at Hannah.
TWENTY-ONE
I HIT THE snooze button a second, third and fourth time until I remembered. Fuck, it’s Thursday. I sat straight up in bed.
While the French Roast dripped, I pulled out my two best apparel choices for tonight’s dinner party.
The Do It List (The Do It List #1) Page 18