Provocative Professions

by S. E. Hall

  His thumb finds my clit and I clench, then detonate around his rigid length plunging relentlessly into me. I try to make my way down from climax but he's there, mouth encasing my entire breast, teeth grazing the nipple. His velvet timbre caresses over me. "One more, I'll be there," he moans.

  "Take me with you then." Barely out, I'm hoisted off the shaking dryer—a new exhilarating experience—and held in his arms as he powers up into me. It's seriously hot, all that strength directed at my pleasure…I couldn't stop the onslaught of tremors and release if I wanted to. "God, Vaughn, yes! Yes!" I wail, bouncing on his dick.

  "Ahh," he drones, the reverberation traveling along my glistening skin. "You're so fucking good." He finds my mouth, attacking it as he gets his, twitching inside me.

  I somehow make it to the apartment, sex legs not quite back under me and laundry basket in tow, more than surprised to find Shaw knocking on our door. I thought he and Amelia were attached at the ugly parts, so he should know she isn't here.

  "Hey!" I startle him.

  He turns to face me. "Paige, hello there. How are you?" He's so formal, the polar opposite of his roommate.

  "Not bad. What's up?"

  "Let me take that for you." He moves for my laundry, but I retreat a step.

  "It's fine, really. Shaw, Amelia's not home." If he's here to make a play behind her back, I'll have a second pair of balls in my grip today…and his won't get returned.

  "I'm aware. I came to ask your opinion on something. If you have a moment?"

  A moment? No wonder my cousin's smitten. Not only is this guy handsome, but he speaks with a suave intelligence I know she appreciates, since she's a brainy chick herself.

  "Could we step inside?" he asks when I've stood awkwardly in the hall just long enough to be rude.

  "What do you want my opinion on? If it's any part of your body, I'll cut if off."

  His brows knit together at my harshness. "No need for dismemberment." He holds up his hands and takes his own step back. "I'm as loyal to Amelia as I'm very pleased to see you are. I actually wanted your input on which engagement ring you think she'd like." He pulls glossy photos from his pocket and offers them to me.

  "You knocked her up already?" I shriek, dropping the basket and snatching the pictures from him. "You've been together a whole five minutes."

  His subtle laugh is forced and he shakes his head. "While we are not expecting, I assure you nothing would make me happier."

  "Me either!" And it's officially a party, Vaughn chiming in as he strolls up behind me. "I'd make a great uncle. But chill, witchy woman." He shoulder bumps me. "Shaw's a good guy and he loves your cousin. Besides, Auntie might be a good look on you. One big, happy family."

  It's suddenly hard to swallow, my laundry room romp now seeming like a colossal mistake. "The white gold," I say decidedly, ignoring Vaughn and his comment. "It's her favorite." I shove the ring pictures at Shaw and bend to grab my clothes. "I gotta go, see ya."

  I bobble with the door and shut it behind me quickly, turning the lock and sliding down to plop on my ass.

  What the hell have I done? I can't keep screwing Vaughn. He's Shaw's best friend, roommate, and will be considered an uncle to his and Amelia's future children. When our fling ends—badly of course, because that's the only option in my cards—it'll be awkward and uncomfortable for everyone. I'm the newbie, the trespasser in their "big, happy family," and will no doubt end up the odd duck out, moving…again…alone.

  I can't do this anymore. I don't want to wander aimlessly without roots, security, or somewhere I belong. Vaughn and I have to stop whatever it is we've been doing…permanently.

  Which sucks, 'cause it sure felt good while it lasted.

  Chapter 8

  A night off… I thought about going out to a club, 'til the thought of a meat market where I can't take my eyes off my overpriced drink for one second sounded worse than Chinese water torture. Envisioning my dance moves, which fluctuate between having a seizure, fire ants attacking me, and plain non-existent, didn't help sell it either.

  I attempted going to bed, at a decent hour for once, but working the night shift has reset my body clock. Sheep counting doesn't do shit. Total failure.

  Read a book? Lord knows Amelia's got enough of those around. Except…nothing. I'm just not feeling it.

  But I assure you, even pathetically left with no great ideas, I did not once consider dinner and movie night with Amelia and Shaw. Which is what I'm currently doing. Sort of.

  "Are you sure you won't at least try it?" Amelia asks sweetly, for the fourth time, offering me a container of the Thai food they're having.

  "I'm not hungry, but thanks," I answer as chirpily as possible. "You want me to put the movie in? What'd you get?"

  "No, we're waiting for—" Amelia stops short as I start to rise, then flop right back down, pulling Lucy the security cat into my lap as Vaughn comes bursting through the door.

  "There better be full frontal nudity in this motherfucker! I had to go to three different Redbox machines to find it," he gripes, tossing the movie on the coffee table.

  I steal a peek—The Heat—a movie I've been dying to see.

  "Smells like ass in here too. Nobody eats that shit but ya'll. Here, babe," he hands me a brown bag, smile easy and genuine, "I'll grab plates and forks."

  What? Who? I look to Amelia, my face a mess of confused wonder, to find her beaming at me. And then a new smell wafts up from the bag I'm holding, not the ass one with which I'm in absolute agreement with Vaughn. I'd know it anywhere—Chinese food.

  Amelia's sneaky, proud grin now makes sense. Somebody's been playing matchmaker, feeding Vaughn intel on my favorite food and top movie pick.

  And he'd run around to make it happen.

  Shit, what else has she been telling him?

  While it's above and beyond the nicest thing any man, or anyone, for that matter, has ever done for me, I can't let it cloud my decision—in the long run, everyone will be happiest, their harmony undisturbed, if I keep Vaughn off limits.

  I lean over, tugging her to my side, and whisper, "Anything else you want to share before it's sprung on me?"

  She shrugs, unable to hide the grin begging to appear. "You never know what to expect from Vaughn. I figured that out pretty quick."

  "Seriously?" I mouth my protest, narrowing my eyes. "I hate you!" I add silently.

  Amelia giggles. "Liar, you love me," she says, not bothering to lower her voice and gaining us the curious stares of both Shaw and Vaughn.

  "What's not to love?" Vaughn chimes in, throwing Amelia a charming wink. "Shaw's got himself a good girl."

  I snort. "What do you know about good girls?"

  "You really want to know?" he fires back, eyes already dancing at the prospect of another round of Vaughn vs. Paige wit-war.

  "As if I care." I may lose if that's all I've got.

  "Come on, you really gonna play that card?" he pops off.

  We battle in our own private staring competition until Shaw walks over, busting through the line of vision and holds out his hand to guide Amelia up. My attention's caught, watching the interaction. No words are needed between them, their connection so tangible goosebumps cover my arms in the wake of her standing. I'm suddenly entranced. Seeing my cousin blissfully happy, reeking of it in every move she makes, following him to the recliner where he sits and pats his leg for her to join him, makes me want to sigh.

  They're totally, undeniably in love. Within moments, they're cuddled on the chair and snuggled close while she feeds him a forkful of Thai food. It's sickeningly sweet, like that fourth fruity drink that's no longer as tangy as it is syrupy, yet I can't help the smile that escapes.

  "Admit it, who's your hero?" Vaughn asks cheekily, flinging himself down beside me in Amelia's now open spot on the couch, shooing Lucy off my lap, and handing me a plate. "Dig in, babe, I'm starving," he leans over and to my complete shock, kisses my cheek, moving his mouth to my ear where he gravelly whispers, "for another ta
ste of you."

  "I'm already full." My smile is weak and contrived, the truth brimming at the surface. "You go ahead, though." I hand him back the bag of food, inching away, then lean forward to set the plate on the table. "In fact, I'm actually really tired. I was just headed to bed."

  I leap up, ready to say goodnight and rush from the room to the haven of my own, when Shaw's skeptical gaze meets mine. His head tilts the slightest bit, one eyebrow raising—shit, he really is a smart guy, missing nothing.

  It dawns on me; I'd said I wasn't hungry, then I was full, couldn't fall asleep, now ready for bed. I'm a cowardly, contradictive liar and he knows it.

  "I'll tuck you in." Vaughn stands, wrapping an arm around my waist. "You feel okay, right? Not sick or anything?"

  "No." I shake my head, eyes cast to the floor. "Just beat. You stay, eat. I'll talk to you later."

  "Paige, I'll—"

  "Vaughn," Shaw interrupts mercifully, "I need to talk to you for a minute. She'll be fine." He kisses Amelia's hand, lifting her up as he rises then setting her back on the chair alone. His head jerks toward the kitchen for Vaughn to follow him. "It's important."

  Vaughn sighs, reaching out like he's about to pull me in for an embrace, confusion suddenly crossing his expression. His arms drop. "Right," he murmurs to himself then steps forward and presses a kiss to the top of my head. I don't stop him, instead reveling in the tender act. "You know where to find me."

  It's over an hour later when I hear him attempt to open the bedroom door, rattling the knob, since of course I'm still lying here wide awake. I'm surprised he's even trying. I figured Shaw filled him in on my bullshit lying, which he should, since he's his friend…but it seems not.

  Or maybe Vaughn's libido has him denying what's really going on. Not that I fault him. The temptation of him right outside my door coupled with the carnal knowledge of how we go from solely ordinary to joined extraordinary is almost unbearable.

  "Paige," he whispers, tugging at the heart I didn't know still worked, but I don't respond.

  It's better this way—a clean break.

  "Come on, Firecracker. Can't we at least talk? What's wrong with being friends?"

  Friends? We both know that's no longer an option. Sucks, really, 'cause we'd have made damn fine ones. He gets me, the real me. No thrills needed to hold an actual conversation. I want to tell him that. Right now. But I know if I unlock the door it won't just be my room I let him into. It will be granting him access to a deeper place, one that won't lead anywhere good. A place of hope and expectations…that always ends up in "when will you fucking learn" flames.

  No, for the sake of everyone, all I can hope for is cordial amnesia. Or a winning lottery ticket so I can quietly exit their lives.

  He fiddles with the knob and says my name once more. "You win, Paige." His voice is riddled with irritation and I listen as his heavy footsteps walk away.

  I toss and turn, staving off the memories of his sweaty body sliding against mine, explicit grumbles making demands in my ear as he enters me, the ridge of his head bumping over every spot I love, and beg sleep to rescue me.

  But the Sandman's MIA, depraved bastard, and I'm unable to shake the lucid visions in my head, or resist, and right when my creeping fingers hit my panty line, I hear it. Along with the rest of the building.

  "Crazy Bitch" by Buckcherry starts blaring from above, sending a very clear message.

  Shaw told him what he couldn't see himself.

  And he's not happy about it.

  Chapter 9

  He's itching for a fight the minute he walks in Thursday night.

  I'm certain Vaughn Stone's not used to being told no, and I've been avoiding him like the plague for three long days—not an easy feat when he lives upstairs.

  Worst part? My heartbeat takes off like the thoroughbred closest to the starter pistol as he stalks up to the counter, the defiant provocation oozing from his every pore locked in an absurd battle with my vow of resistance.

  "Paige," he snips, tense jawline twitching once. "Saw Joe at the bar. He was bitching that Viv called in sick again, which I knew meant you were here by yourself tonight. Am I right?" He glances around facetiously, then props his arms on the counter and waits.

  I arch my brows, silently demanding a non-rhetorical question before I answer.

  "Not safe, Paige. Pisses me off."

  Or a bullshit statement like that.

  "Is that right? Well, lucky for us both then that I'm a big girl and not your problem. As is Viv, who's finally pursuing something with Marcus, so don't rant to Joe and blow it for her!"

  "I didn't say you were a problem. Not that you aren't, a pain in my fucking ass if truth be told, yet here I am, pissed off for more reasons than one." Unblinking, his bold stare burns into mine, begging me to give in, reach out…but I stand firm in my attempt at detachment.

  "I'm leaving on a haul tomorrow. You wanna ice me out, fine, but don't work alone at night while I'm gone just to prove a point. It's unsafe and stupid."

  I watch in confusion as he strolls over to one of the tables, pulls out a chair, and sits down! What the hell? I don't know sign language, except "fuck you," of course, so I'm forced to break my pledge of "see some sexy, hear some sexy, speak none back."

  "Comfy?" I ask sweetly.

  "No, these chairs are hard as hell."

  "Then maybe get up? How do you drive for so long if you're such a wuss anyway?" Shit, there he goes drawing me in to salty banter—my favorite—without even trying. He's just such an admirable opponent, damn him.

  He lets his head fall back and brushes a hand through the thick raven locks with an antagonistic laugh. "You wouldn't last a day on the road, Paige. Your ass goes numb, your back aches, your eyes sting. You've almost mastered that badass thing you've got going, but not enough to fool me. You're a chick. That I know firsthand." He winks. "You'd bellyache the whole time…like a chick."

  A hangnail is a pain in the ass. You pick at it little by little, knowing it's gonna hurt like hell when you yank it out, but you do it anyway, unable to resist. He's goading me. A bird of my feather, he knows I won't be able to give him this and will cave to the unspoken challenge. Damn all that is Vaughn Stone yet again!

  "Weak, Vaughn. I'm disappointed; surely you can do better than that." And where the hell are the customers? Any distraction would be welcome at this point.

  "Better than what? I'm dead serious. You'd be miserable inside a day. Don't get bent, any girl would be."

  I reach in to his beloved jar of jawbreakers and aim, spiking one off his head.

  "Ow! Fuck!" He rubs where I'm hoping a knot is already forming and glowers at me. "What the hell was that for?"

  "For being a chauvinistic prick! And why are you still here?"

  "'Cause I'm a goddamn glutton. I just love that evil tongue of yours. Being treated like shit gets me hot!" he yells, throwing the jawbreaker back at me, but miles off, on purpose. Wuss.

  "You missed." I bark out a laugh, clinging to my shield of indifference.

  "Paige, you keep stoking the fire and it's gonna blow, baby." The warning's delivered in an untamed growl followed by one slow sweep of his tongue across his lips. He leans back in the chair, tipping it to the two back legs, and shoves his hands deep in his jeans pockets. "Think that's exactly what you want, though, just like I'm right about you being afraid of a lil' road trip."

  A stiff ass and a break from this boring job is a small sacrifice to wipe the patronizing grin off his face. He threw out the bait and I bit, knowingly, a country mile of stubbornness in me I can't conquer. "Suck on it, Stone, I'm in." I puff out my chest and tip my chin.

  The chair squeaks along the floor as he stands, advancing on me in a blink. "I'm starting to think all this mouthing is your foreplay. I bet if I shoved a hand in your panties right now and stroked that snug little pussy, it'd be soaking wet for me."

  "Wait." I stall, holding out my hands to stop him from coming to my side of the counter, the only thing keepi
ng me from letting him find out if he's right. "You, uh, we can't. I didn't want to say anything before, but…it's Harlow. She has a thing for you and I'm trying to be nice about it."

  His mouth curls up wickedly, but he at least stops, rubbing one hand over his jaw while calculating eyes bore into mine. "You're so full of shit. I'm from here, Paige. A local, remember? Harlow McWright's been pining for Oakley Abrams since the day he left town. Try again." He resumes his approach, his slow, methodical steps toward me predatory and undeniably tempting.

  "I'm seeing someone?" I probably should've stated that, rather than asked him in a breathy plea.

  He laughs and tilts his head to the side, a few black strands brushing his forehead. "Yeah you are, me. Tomorrow at noon. My door. We'll head out. I'll take care of Joe. Pack light, or nothing. Naked works for me, Firecracker." He winks.

  "It's freezing outside! Don't hold your breath on the naked part!"

  He's already out the door.

  How he actually got me here, I'm not sure, but I'm sitting in Vaughn's rig, coasting down the highway, feet propped up on the dash, feeling surprisingly chill. "You ever watch Friends?" I ask around the jawbreaker in my cheek. Yes, I stole one from his stash during the good thirty minutes I spent snooping through his shit.

  "Yeah, why?" he replies, focus forward.

  "You remind me of Chandler."

  "Which one was that?" He throws me a sidelong glance, catching me shaking my head in disapproval.

  "You serious right now? Everyone knows Chandler. Joey's roommate. He ends up with Monica, the clean freak. Ring any bells?"

  "The one dick in his ass away from being gay guy?" His tone is stunned.

  "That's the one." I tap my nose.

  "And why the hell do I remind you of him?" he grumbles and I barely snare in my laugh. "Why don't we ask your pussy if I'm gay?"

  I ignore that comment and continue on. "Easy. You're the funny one, with a snappy comeback for anything and everything. But inside," I pause for dramatic effect, "it's obvious that you're just a giant ball of sensitivity."