The Sex Bucket List

by Lane, Prescott

“Oh my God, you picked me up!” I say, half in shock and half laughing. I look down at the floor quickly moving under me. “You’re carrying me!”

  “Don’t you remember what I told you in the hallway outside Poppy’s office about me taking care of you?”

  “Well . . . I . . . um . . .” Apparently I’m incapable of stringing two words together.

  “It starts now.”

  The intensity in the atmosphere shoots up—his words, my hands on his arm, the way he’s looking at me. It’s overwhelming, and I’m grateful when we arrive on the eighth floor landing. “I can take it from here,” I say.

  He puts me down, opens the stairwell door, and follows me to my office to make sure I get there safe and secure. As I turn the knob on my office door, I hear him call out my secretary’s name. I peek my head out and see her nodding, making notes, mouthing “Yes, sir.” She glances my way. I’m sure she’s wondering why Mateo is suddenly so interested in me. I’m kind of wondering the same thing myself. But I’m kind of loving it, too.

  * * *

  “You do a disservice to pole dancers everywhere,” Poppy laughs out.

  “Some of us weren’t born with your skill,” I say.

  “Your secretary asked me to bring you this,” she says, handing me a takeout container of salad.

  This is Mateo’s doing. “That’s sweet,” I say, as Poppy hands me another sack. “What’s this?”

  Poppy shrugs as I reach inside and find a pair of fluffy slippers. This is Mateo’s doing, too.

  “Did Layla do that?” she wonders.

  “I don’t know,” I lie.

  “I’m sure it was her. She makes me look bad.”

  I’m not sure how to thank him. Well, my dirty mind has a few ideas. We could spend some more time in the stairwell. I could knock some things off my list. But let’s face it, knowing me, I’ll end up writing him a thank you note and leaving it on his desk.

  “By the way,” Poppy says, “why didn’t you tell me right after you slept with Ryan?”

  “Honestly, it was so terrible that I just wanted to forget it happened.”

  “That bastard didn’t make you come, did he?”

  “Shh!” I say, half giggling. “Maybe it’s me.”

  “Maybe you should go to an orgasm class. There are workshops you can take to teach you how to orgasm.” Part of me wants to know if she’s been, but I can’t bear to ask. “There’s also orgasm meditation.”

  “Is that why people chant Om—for orgasm meditation?” I ask, laughing.

  She rolls her eyes. “No, you go there to get your pussy stroked.”

  No more laughing. She’s dead serious. “You do that with a stranger?” I ask.

  “Yeah, the man stays dressed. It’s all about you.”

  “Nothing is all about me.”

  “That’s why you should go.”

  “I can do that at home for free.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PUBLIC DISPLAY

  It’s been a long day. Maybe I should try Poppy’s orgasm meditation to reenergize myself. That girl is hilarious, and she does make the workplace a lot more entertaining. Sitting in my office, I take my list from my purse and lay it flat on my desk. Looking at it, I wish I’d made more progress. My cell phone rings and I roll my eyes, thinking this is exactly why I haven’t got more stuff checked off. Something always pulls me away. This time it’s my brother Gage. He needs me to bring some file back to Savannah. He tells me where I can find it in his office, and I head down the hall.

  I don’t know why he just doesn’t have it faxed or scanned, but I don’t bitch too much about it because I know he’s feeling torn between work and family. I fetch the file, hang up, then walk back to my office. I step inside to find Mateo standing in front of my desk, his fingers on the list.

  “Oh God!” I cry out and cover my face with my phone, quickly trying to come up with an explanation, or lie, about what he’s holding—it’s just a joke, it belongs to a friend, it’s from the internet, it’s Poppy’s fault.

  Suddenly, he’s right in front of me, taking my phone and placing it on my desk. Then he pushes the door closed and pulls me into his body. I have no time to explain, let alone think before his lips crash into mine, his tongue claiming me.

  Our kiss is hard and rough, and it has my legs clenching together. His hands go to my ass, pulling my dress up slightly, lifting me up onto the edge of my desk, grinding against me. Wearing a wrap dress today was a good call. I usually wear wrap dresses because they are no fuss, add a nice cinch to my waist, and feel like pajamas. Easy access wasn’t one of the reasons, but I’m thankful for it now.

  Wrestling with his shirt, I yank it out of his pants, desperate to feel his skin under my fingertips. His tongue finds my neck, and he kisses a path along my collarbone. I thrust against every hard inch of him. He pulls on the tie of my dress, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Picking me up, he pushes me up against the floor-to-ceiling window.

  I can’t remember the last time a guy banged me up against a wall, or a window, for that matter. This is a perk of being with a younger man. Am I really going to do this? In my office? In the middle of the day? He must feel my hesitation because he lowers my legs to the ground, flipping me towards the window, his hard dick pushing up against my ass, his warm breath tickling my neck.

  He whispers in my ear, “Number 19. Orgasm in a public place. I’m saying this counts.” I look down the few stories to the busy Atlanta street, the neighboring building. Roughly, he forces my legs apart with his foot then reaches his hand between my legs and pushes my panties to the side. “Your list belongs to me,” he says, his voice hard.

  “Yes,” I say as his finger invades me.

  I want to cry out with each thrust, but I know I can’t—not here in my office, with the walls and floors so thin, and because I think the passersby outside would hear me, too. I bite down on my tongue, my lip, my cheeks, trying not to make a sound. But Mateo’s making it almost impossible. Pushing against me, he’s got me so needy, his finger thrusting in and out of me, over and over again.

  I can’t believe this is happening. We’ve been flirty with each other for a while, but I never thought this would happen. Honestly, I thought most of the flirting was only in my head. I was wrong, so very wrong.

  He clearly knows I’m about ready to explode and starts moving faster, deeper. I’m almost there, digging my nails into the window, and he grips my ass hard. A few more thrusts, and I clench around his finger and push back against his hand.

  “Hey, Emerson, can you . . . Oh shit!” My office door slams shut, with Poppy inside.

  “Fuck,” Mateo curses, shielding me.

  “Poppy, get out,” I cry, struggling to get my dress tied back.

  “Uh, we have a meeting in here to go over the layout for the new ad campaign,” Poppy says. “There’s like three people outside the door waiting right now.”

  “Take them to the conference room,” I say, motioning with my hand. Poppy winks at Mateo before opening the door just wide enough to slip out.

  Frantic and frustrated, I straighten my dress then search for my glasses and notes for the meeting, trying not to make eye contact with Mateo—my employee, my brother’s friend, the man who almost made me orgasm. He captures my hand, slowing me down, gliding me back into his arms.

  “I have to go,” I whisper, pulling away.

  He cocks a little grin and swipes the list from my desk. “I’m keeping this.”

  * * *

  The meeting should’ve been done in an hour, but with my mind in a faraway place, it took twice as long. When it’s finally over, Poppy follows me back to my office and stops outside my door. “You’ve totally been holding out on me.”

  “Not now,” I say, unable to make sense of it myself. I’m not ready to talk about it. Besides, it’s late, and I need to head home. I tell her good night then open my door to grab my stuff.

  I gasp at the sight of Mateo sitting with his feet propped on my desk, and I quickly
close the door behind me. “Have you been waiting in here the whole time?” I ask.

  He nods, then gets to his feet, towering over me. “We’ve got some unfinished business, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I . . .”

  “Relax,” he says, taking my hand. “I just meant we should talk.”

  This must be the first time in the history of the universe a man ever suggested a talk. “We should,” I say breathlessly. “But I need to catch my flight to Savannah.”

  “Stay over,” he says. He must see the look of shock on my face, because he clarifies. “I’m sure Layla and Gage wouldn’t mind you crashing at their place here in Atlanta.”

  Ryan has the kids until tomorrow. There’s nothing stopping me from staying, but something inside tells me not to. “Gage needs a file,” I say, grabbing it off my desk and starting for the door.

  He doesn’t try to block me, but instead gently says, “Emerson.” There’s a certain magic in his voice. He says my name so sweetly that I stop in my tracks. Any man can control with his actions—a real man dominates with his heart.

  I feel him come up behind me, his fingers lightly combing through my hair. It’s a light touch, but it makes me feel safe, calm. Turning to face him, he cups my cheeks in his hands, and my eyes are drawn to his.

  I may be seeing things, but he looks worried, even a little sad. “Thank you for my slippers and lunch today,” I say.

  A soft smile graces his perfect lips. He’s got the best lips, full and soft, and when he kissed me, it made me feel things. And I’m much better at thinking than I am at feeling. Feelings get me hurt every damn time.

  “I won’t be back in Atlanta for a few days,” I whisper. “Call me.”

  * * *

  I didn’t expect Mateo to call that night, but he did—a FaceTime call, no less. Why would he do that? That really ups the stakes. Still, he timed it perfectly, just when I’m crawling into bed. I don’t want to answer too quickly and seem desperate. But I don’t want to wait too long and risk him hanging up. Three rings seem the right number, and his handsome face appears on the screen. He’s in a blue t-shirt, but it’s his brown eyes that light up the darkness.

  “You’re not supposed to FaceTime a woman without warning,” I playfully scold him.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t help it. It’s strange to have a smoking hot guy compliment me.

  “Open your eyes,” he says again, but I squeeze them tighter. “I want you to look at me when I tell you how sexy you are.”

  With that, I toss the phone on the bed like it’s going to burn me, and I make sure it’s facing down. Compliments are a dangerous thing. If you hear them too much, you take them for granted. And if they ever stop coming, it can really hurt. I’ve known that hurt.

  I hear a muffled laugh coming from the phone, Mateo chuckling out my name. Carefully, I pick up the phone and ask, “What’s so funny?”

  “How can a woman with a sex ‘to do’ list get so embarrassed?”

  “You don’t understand the list,” I say.

  “Explain it to me.”

  “One night Poppy and . . .”

  “I knew she had to be involved.”

  I give him the background on the origin of the list. “I didn’t make the list because I felt sexy. I made it because I didn’t.”

  For a second, I wish I could take those words back. I really shouldn’t open my mouth sometimes. And now Mateo’s not saying anything.

  But then I see his finger on the screen, as if he’s trying to reach out to me, touch me, soothe me. Relieved, my heart twinges with a little pain—not bad, not sad, almost like a growing pain, a hurt with a purpose. I snuggle down into my pillow and flirt, “Are you looking to be on my list?”

  “I own that list,” he says.

  How he manages to make cocky sound sexy is beyond me, but it’s working for him. He can be my list master. “I’m just getting started with it,” I say.

  “I only see one thing checked off. What have you done?”

  “There was sort of foreplay to the list,” I say.

  “Like?”

  Shouldn’t a woman have some mystery? Something tells me Mateo isn’t going to settle for intrigue. He wants the nitty gritty. “I started how most women start new phases in their lives—with a little shopping. This time for lingerie.”

  “When will women learn guys don’t care if your bra and panties match? I mean, it’s nice, but not a deal breaker.”

  “When will men learn that women wear sexy things for themselves sometimes and that everything is not about them?”

  “Point taken. Did you make any other purchases just for you?”

  Oh God, did I give him an opening to ask that question? What can of worms did I open? Here’s the thing—if I’m trying to recharge my sex life, I guess I just have to own it. I’ll just be honest. I mean, what’s the point of holding back when the man had his hands all over me a few hours ago? “A vibrator.”

  I’m not sure how he’s going to take this news. Some men would like it, thinking it’s hot and a little kinky for a woman to control her own orgasms. Other men might feel threatened, like they aren’t needed anymore. Still others, like Ryan, might be relieved. It takes the pressure off their performance.

  The sparkle in his brown eyes looks almost proud. He’s definitely in the category that finds it hot and kinky. “Does the color match your lingerie?”

  I start laughing. “Hey, don’t make fun. I did a lot of research.”

  “Of course you did,” he says, laughing.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I know you. You make a list for everything. Case in point, you made a sex list. So of course you’d do research on a vibrator.”

  “Well, you’d be surprised how many kinds there are. They even make one that’s disguised as a necklace.”

  “Wonder if it could get through TSA?”

  “You’re head of security,” I say. “You should know these things.”

  “I’ll have a full report for you next week,” he says and gives me a wonderful smile.

  “Mateo,” I whisper, “thanks for not judging me about the list.” He doesn’t say a word. His smile turns to something wickedly dirty. “What’s that look about?”

  “I’m thinking about all the things I could add to it.”

  “Really?” I ask, my voice low. “What did you come up with?”

  “It’s not my list. This is about you. You tell me what you want.”

  My body tingles. “I want to go back to my office, the window, your fingers and hands.”

  “Let’s go back to that moment,” he says. “I want to watch you come.”

  On instinct, I hesitate. I can’t do that. I’m too shy. I’m not dressed in sexy lingerie. I’m on camera. And what does he want me to do anyway? Stick the phone between my legs? My excuses are endless. Besides, this isn’t on my sex bucket list.

  But maybe it should be. “Your face,” he says, “Make sure I can see your face.” Ah, sweetness in the middle of my upcoming porn moment. How refreshing. He cares about me. He wants to see the real me. I reach to my nightstand and grab my new toy. Holy hell, I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this!

  I place the phone on my pillow. Part of me wants to pretend he’s not watching, but a bigger part of me wants to watch him, pretend it’s him under me. That’s what I’m going to go with. As soon as I turn it on, all bets are off.

  It feels too damn good to worry about how I look, what he’s thinking or doing. I swear my body is trained to get turned on just by the buzzing sound. Plus, I’m still frustrated from earlier. Either way, I’m getting off in under a minute.

  I collapse down on my pillow, waiting for my breath to slow. When I finally open my eyes, I see his face right in front of me, his eyes lowered, his hand pulling slightly at his hair. He doesn’t look happy. I cover myself with the pillow, as my lip starts to quiver. Then his eyes dart up, shooting at me through the screen. �
�I’ve got to go,” I say, my finger going for the hang-up button.

  “No,” he says, and even though it’s a mere whisper, he commands me. “I should’ve thought this through more. I want to be there holding you, kissing you, feeling your warm skin. Watching isn’t enough. It could never be enough.”

  FaceTime fucking turns mushy, and my heart doesn’t fare much better. He continues to sweetly talk to me, and my eyes close, pretending he’s beside me. This is the best pillow talk ever.

  When I drift off to sleep, I know he’s watching. Though we’re hundreds of miles apart, sleeping with a man has never felt better.

  * * *

  “Answer your phone!” Poppy’s voice screeches through my answering machine.

  Grabbing my home phone, I sit up with a jolt. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been calling your cell for hours.”

  The sleepy morning fog rolls off of me, and I reach for my cell. It’s completely dead. Never has a dead phone battery made a woman so happy. I wonder how long he watched me sleep, how long it was before he fell asleep.

  “Are you listening?” Poppy shrieks. “I tried to jump Dash last night, and he shrugged me off. He went to bed at nine! What grown man goes to bed at nine?”

  “Maybe the kind that have flights at five in the morning,” I say.

  “No, we always have sex before he flies. Always. It’s our thing.”

  “Pop, maybe he was tired or not feeling well.”

  “Remember when I had that root canal? We still fucked before he flew,” she says. “I’m losing him!”

  Being as good a friend as I can so early in the morning, I try to talk her off the ledge, promising her that she and Dash will get through this, that sex can dwindle the longer two people are together. I go on to support her decision not to have kids if she doesn’t want them and encourage her to have a frank discussion with Dash about her fears of having a family.

  So basically I’m the AM version of Dr. Phil. And my charms seem to be working, because after a few minutes, she’s not quite as hysterical and opts to change the subject. “You want to tell me what I walked in on yesterday at work?” she asks.