Winning Her Over

by Alexa Rowan

  Brenna knew it wasn’t realistic, but she wanted to contribute more or less equally to their relationship. Being a kept woman wasn’t her style. Cal was already flying up to Boston every weekend, bringing home expensive ingredients for the meals he sometimes cooked her, and taking her out for the occasional lunch or dinner. Buying luxuries like fresh strawberries or fluffy bagels and cream cheese and keeping a welcoming six-pack of some obscure microbrew in the fridge seemed the least she could do.

  That wasn’t the only way she’d been jeopardizing her financial solvency, though. No, she was also slowly killing her business on the revenue side of the equation. She’d been heedlessly cutting back her hours on weekends so she could spend more time with him. Just an appointment or two, here and there. But taken together, they’d added up.

  The situation wasn’t sustainable. Brenna knew that. It was just hard to want to do anything about it when she was already falling for him.

  She’d confessed she’d gone to Stanford and worked at McKinsey because they needed to go beyond the superficial if they were ever going to be more than friends-with-benefits. And she didn’t want to turn it into an even bigger deal by waiting longer to tell him. Besides, if he’d been a jerk about it, she would have her excuse to call things off and focus on reviving her business.

  But their relationship had begun to shift after that fraught conversation. On Monday, he’d texted her, just to say hello. On Tuesday, he’d texted her again, which made her smile—Monday hadn’t been a fluke. On Wednesday, she’d texted him. Their back-and-forth was still mostly of the “how’s your day going” variety, but it showed he was thinking about her when they weren’t together.

  At first, she attributed his newfound interest to her academic and career pedigree—that she was now somehow qualified to be more than just his acquaintance-with-benefits. But that unflattering assessment soon gave way to something like hope. Because late Thursday night, after they were each at home and done with their workdays, he called her. And it wasn’t just to make plans for Friday.

  After chatting with her for a while, out of the blue he asked, “Why did you give up management consulting to become a massage therapist?”

  He sounded sincerely interested, which made it easier to explain it to him than she’d expected. Though the fact that she could always end the conversation if he reacted negatively also helped.

  “Look,” she said. “My parents run a small business, and I went to Stanford on a scholarship and serious financial aid. Most of the time, I never really felt like I fit in there. There was a lot of pressure to follow the typical rat-race post-grad path, and Gregory, my boyfriend at the time, encouraged me toward management consulting. The stability of it made sense to me, because I’ve lived through the ups and downs of my parents’ business. But it was a terrible fit. Even worse than Stanford.”

  “I’m sorry you had such a rough time in college. I loved it at Stanford.”

  “And you love being at your law firm, too. I can tell. You’re lucky.”

  He bristled a little, misinterpreting her. “What do you mean, lucky? I worked my ass off—”

  “I know that. That’s not what I meant.” She tried to smooth his ruffled feathers. “I mean, you’re lucky you’ve always known what you wanted to do, and you’ve been able to do it. You found something you’re passionate about, you’re really good at it, it pays you well, and the people who matter to you think it’s prestigious.”

  It was a few moments before she could bring herself to continue. “Management consulting wasn’t like that for me. It paid well and was prestigious, and I was good at it, but not good enough to ever become a director. Or want to. Because I wasn’t passionate about it. Not the way my friend Cissy is. Sometimes I downright hated it,” she admitted.

  “What did you hate about it?”

  “I had no ownership of my life. I was on the road most of the time, advising companies how to be more efficient, and that usually meant people losing their jobs. Sometimes hundreds of them at a time. It was sucking me dry.”

  It had been five years since she’d quit McKinsey to help others cope with their stressful lives, but some of the memories still left her throat achingly tight. Her next words sounded rough and small. “I didn’t leave management consulting for massage therapy so other people would respect me. I left so I could respect myself.”

  Cal was quiet for a moment. “I guess I can understand that. And maybe I’m biased, but I think you’re a fantastic massage therapist.”

  She exhaled silently, relieved, and dashed away the moisture that had formed in the corners of her eyes. “Thanks. It means a lot to me that you get it.” Though deciding whether to end her friends-with-benefits experiment would have been so much easier if he hadn’t.

  He changed the subject then, and they talked for another ten or fifteen minutes about lighter topics before saying good night.

  Before this past weekend, continuing to see Cal had seemed less and less worthwhile. She’d known it would only lead to heartache and Serenity Massage’s even speedier demise. Now she had to find a way to fit a fledgling relationship with him into her life—and her budget.

  There wasn’t a lot of room to expand her hours during the week, but she supposed she could extend her evening hours out to ten o’clock. More importantly, she would just have to be more disciplined about accepting appointments during the weekends, even if it meant less time with Cal.

  And if that didn’t work, she could always ditch her energy bar habit. Eating regularly was overrated anyway.

  10

  CAL’S THURSDAY PHONE CALL with Brenna started out innocently enough. The sultry August night put both of them in mind of summers gone by.

  He sat in the faux-suede armchair in his air-conditioned living room and told her about Julys and Augusts paper-pushing at his dad’s law firm—which he’d actually enjoyed—and relaxing weekends at his parents’ lake house. It was sometimes hard to go back to the lake house, now that his dad was gone.

  Brenna had also spent her summers helping her parents with their business, custom-building traditional Japanese teahouses and designing Japanese gardens. She’d dug up yards and planted saplings, banged in the odd nail or two, helped with the books, “gofered” for the crews once she’d gotten her driver’s license, and babysat her twin sisters. He saw her entrepreneurial spirit in a new light after he heard about all the hands-on experience she’d had growing up. She really was amazing.

  And now he had to tell his amazing girlfriend—he couldn’t deny that’s what she was, at this point—that he had a work event tomorrow night that would keep him in DC until Saturday morning. One of the partners had asked him to step in at the last minute, and he couldn’t turn down the opportunity—even though he knew he’d be struggling to keep the scowl off his face when he was supposed to be schmoozing with the clients. Brenna had gotten him good and hooked on her, and he didn’t take kindly to anything that delayed his gratification, even by twelve hours.

  “Aww.” Her disappointment at his news sounded at least halfway sincere. “And I had all these plans for you.”

  “Were they…naked plans, by any chance?” he teased.

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

  He grinned. “Care to fill me in on any of these naked plans you had?”

  “Hmm, let’s see.”

  He didn’t really expect her to take him up on the request. After all, they’d never had phone sex before. Flirted heavily, sure. But full-on, all-out dirty talking? She seemed too sweet to be into that.

  Never in his life had he been more thrilled to be wrong.

  “Well,” she said saucily, “the first thing I wanted to do was strip off all your clothes, lay you down on my bed, and take your beautiful cock into my hot mouth. I don’t think I’ve done that often enough, do you?”

  A choked-off moan escaped Cal’s lips. She hadn’t really just said that, had she? His rapidly stiffening dick seemed to think so, but his brain couldn’t keep up with the shocking direc
tion their conversation had taken.

  “Sounds like you agree.” He could hear her dark smile.

  “Holy shit, Bren, are you kidding me?” he sputtered.

  “Hey, you asked.”

  It was true, he had asked. And now he was wishing he’d asked weeks ago.

  He didn’t realize he’d been waiting for her to continue until she said, “I’m touching myself, you know. My nipples are already hard.” She was trying to sound nonchalant, but arousal thickened her words.

  “Ohhh, that’s hot.” His erection twitched, hardening further in a surge of want. His breathing grew shallow as he listened intently for whatever she said next.

  “Are you stroking yourself?”

  “Not quite yet.” He cupped a palm over the iron bar that was now tenting his athletic shorts. Anything more and he was afraid he’d go off like a rocket.

  “Well, I’ve flipped up my skirt and I’m sliding my hand inside my panties, imagining it’s you.”

  She wasn’t playing fair. Cal was thirty-six hours and four hundred miles away from burying his raging hard-on inside her welcoming body, and everything she said merely intensified his craving for her.

  Rasping out a curse, he tugged down the front of his shorts and boxers, setting himself mercifully free. A rapidly thinning strand stretched from his crown to the matching wet spot on the front of his boxers. He captured the slick thread between his thumb and fingertip.

  “So much pre-come already. I’d slip into you so easy right now.”

  She gasped. “I want that so bad, Cal. I swear I’m dying for you.”

  With his thumb riding on top of his shaft and two slick fingers underneath it, he began a slow, easy glide. Carefully, torturously slow. “Yessss,” he hissed out. “Tell me more about that hot mouth of yours.”

  “Yeah? I’d take you as deep as I could. It would feel so hot, so wet inside my mouth. And then I’d lick my way up your shaft until just the very tip of you was still inside my lips. Mmm,” she hummed, and he could imagine the gentle vibration against that most sensitive area.

  He pulled up his T-shirt, because he knew where this was headed. Then he fisted his cock, his caressing motion shading into a firmer grip and faster tempo. “Oh, God. That sounds about a million times better than how I’ll actually be spending my Friday night.”

  “That’s just the beginning. Then I’d kiss my way up across your hipbone, your belly, your chest…definitely your nipples.” The rhythmic strain in her voice as she sped up her efforts was delicious.

  With a groan, he started working himself faster, too.

  “I’d straddle your hips and thighs—God, your thighs, you’d be tensing them up and I just want to dig my fingertips into those gorgeous muscles—and I’d get you all lined up with me, so we’d both know that one stroke would have you all the way inside me.” She paused to draw in a shaky breath. “You wouldn’t believe how wet I am right now.”

  “Ah, Bren.” His voice was tight, his control starting to unravel. “Don’t do that to me. I don’t want to come before you do.” But the soft gasp she responded with only ramped up his arousal.

  “Tell me how you’d make me come,” she demanded.

  “I hope you’re in the mood to be fucked hard. Because if I were there right now, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself.”

  “Yeah, I need it just like that.”

  He grunted. “I’d grab your hips and pull you down onto my cock, so fucking deep. Ah, Christ.”

  “I’m getting close,” she warned him.

  Cal’s breathing grew harsher, his pace more frantic. Not long now. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

  “Mmm, I’m rubbing my clit with the side of my hand, and I’ve got two fingers inside me. Feels so good,” she panted.

  “Ohhh, you are so fuckin’ hot, Bren.” It was a struggle to hold himself back. “I love listening to you talk dirty to me. I’m jerkin’ my cock real hard. Come with me, babe. I want to hear you.”

  She whimpered, and a bolt of lust drove right through him. A sudden rush of pleasure sent him past the point of no return. “Ah, Jesus. Fuck, I’m coming!”

  His hips pressed up into his greedy fist, and the first spurt burst from his shaft, splattering his chest. With a drawn-out groan, he striped his belly with a second spurt, then a third and a fourth.

  He fell back against the chair, panting hard. “Come for me,” he urged her, his voice shredded.

  “I’m right there.” Her words were taut with tension. “Ooh, yes!” she squealed, and he wanted more than anything to have her pressed right up against him then, body to body, sweaty and gasping and shattering into pieces around him.

  “So good,” she sighed, trailing off into a silence broken only by their ragged breathing.

  A few moments later she said his name, a hoarse, trembling question.

  It was a miracle he was able to answer in a steady voice, because his stomach muscles were still twitching, and his heart was pounding like he’d just finished a stadium run. “What, babe?”

  “I miss you,” she said, her voice a soft caress.

  He paused, then replied, “I miss you, too.”

  “Mmm,” she cooed, which turned into a yawn. “Gosh, sorry.” She chuckled. “Long day just caught up to me.”

  “Yeah, I know how that is.” Lord, did he know how that was. But he was reluctant to end their call, even though Brenna was clearly exhausted. “Get some rest then,” he said, wishing he were there to tuck her in.

  “Okay. I’ll see you Saturday morning.” She yawned again. “Good night, Cal.”

  “Night, Bren.”

  He hung up, frowning as he scanned the room for a nearby box of tissues. Brenna had seemed more tired than usual lately, and she’d been getting home later, too. He hadn’t forgotten that seemingly offhand remark a few weeks ago about her difficult financial situation. Longer hours must be her answer.

  Cal was accustomed to long workdays, and he supposed Brenna must be too, given her former life as a management consultant. He just wished he could do more than distract her from the stress she must be under. She would probably resist any offer of financial help though, and it seemed too soon to make one, anyway.

  What could he do to ease her burdens this weekend? Pack her some healthy lunches, to make sure she ate during the day. Cook her dinner, or maybe take her out. Definitely make her come, as many times as possible.

  That last thought had him smiling. Brenna wasn’t the only one who could make naked plans.

  AT THE END OF THEIR BEST weekend yet, Brenna twined her arms around Cal’s neck, tugging him down for yet another languorous good-bye kiss. His tongue thrust masterfully into her mouth, his lips a soft, slick pressure against her own. Then, when she returned the favor, his gentle suction against her tongue nearly buckled her knees.

  Christ, Cal was a phenomenal kisser. And she wanted him. Again.

  She began a slow grind against him, an almost imperceptible roll of her hips. He groaned in response.

  “Can’t get enough of you, Bren,” he gasped as he wove his hands into her hair. His lips came down on hers again, more urgently this time.

  Of course, she kissed him back. How could she not? But when they came up for air, she put her hands on his chest, saying, “Don’t start what you can’t finish.” Then she smiled ruefully. “We’d better stop. I don’t want to send you off with a boner.”

  “Too late.” Cal repositioned himself inside his cargo shorts, a maneuver not even he could make look graceful.

  But he wiped the grin right off her face when his hands curved around her hips and he snugged her right up against his hard, hot ridge. “Maybe we shouldn’t stop, so you don’t send me off with a boner.”

  Her smile was back, even as she protested, “There isn’t time. Don’t you only have, like, ten minutes before you need to get a cab?”

  “I could accomplish a lot in ten minutes…”

  Her concern that he’d miss his flight won out over her desire to make qu
ite sure he did. Brenna extricated herself from his embrace. “Come over here.” She led him to the living room before flouncing onto the sofa. “In the absence of a chaperone, you’ll have to sit there for our chat.” The picture of primness, she motioned him to the armchair.

  Cal raised an eyebrow, though he sank into the chair without too much protest. “What, I can’t even sit next to you?”

  She shook her head. “Too volatile. I can pretty much guarantee you’d miss your flight if you did that.” She suggestively eyed the erection tenting his shorts. “We can always pick it back up next weekend. Can’t we?”

  “Ye—es.” He extended the word like a pouty twelve-year-old.

  She would have laughed, but her girly parts wholeheartedly agreed with him.

  Brenna firmly ignored said girly parts. “Hey, that reminds me. You’re coming up for Labor Day weekend, right? Cissy’s moving in with her boyfriend, and they’re having a housewarming barbecue thing.”

  Her stomach flipped as she considered her next words, but after the fantastic weekend she and Cal had just had, she steeled herself and said them anyway. “I’d like you to get to know some of my friends. I know you’ve seen Mel and Rikki around the building, but Cissy’s my best friend, and this would be a great chance to spend a little time with her.”

  She had kind of been taking for granted they’d see each other over the holiday weekend, just like every other weekend since they’d gotten together. So his answer dashed a cold bucket of reality over her, shocking her into silence.

  “Uh, probably not, actually.” At least he had the grace to look sheepish. “One of my friends is getting married that weekend.”

  It felt like an eternity before she could speak. “Okay.” She was unable to keep the skepticism and hurt from tingeing her drawn-out syllables.

  It wasn’t so much that he hadn’t asked her to attend this wedding with him, though that did sting a little. They had only recently begun to grow closer, and he might have accepted the wedding invitation months ago. Or maybe it was someplace far away and he’d already bought his ticket to get there. There was a whole host of perfectly acceptable reasons he might not have asked her to come with him.