And then he—whoosh! My T-shirt up and gone faster than a jackrabbit in a sprinting contest. As he—dear lord, lord, lord—moved his mouth down my neck, grazing his teeth lightly along the way, Len reached his hand behind my back to deftly unlatch my bra. The straps, he pulled down my arms and tossed it onto the floor alongside the tee.
When his mouth found my nip, I swore angels sang in chorus. And when he switched to the other, trumpets joined in. This. So much this. I needed him almost more than I needed my heart to keep beating.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please, I need you.”
“You want me, fearless, then take me.”
Take him? As in undress us? Did he want me to climb on top? To ride him like a rodeo cowgirl, where he could see all my imperfection? Could I do that?
He kissed my lips again. Deep, oh so deep, and I decided that yes. I could and would ride him. Time to channel my inner rodeo cowgirl. Get ready, I was about to make this bronco buck.
I flipped him to straddle his legs and untied his sleep pants, whisking them down his legs. The man went commando in his jammies. The man was seriously packing a zucchini in his jammies. Suddenly, I wanted a taste.
Brian liked oral, but I only ever did it when he’d asked. I didn’t think I ever had the urge to just go there. Not like now. But darn, the longer I stared at it, the more I wanted to try it out. And hey, he did nickname me fearless.
Deep breath in… Whelp, here goes nothing. I bent my head down, wrapping one hand around the width of him, licked my lips, and I went for it. He was bigger than he looked or my mouth was smaller than I thought because we reached max capacity and I started to gag.
His eyes got huge at first contact, but then he started to gently rub my back with the hand he didn’t have bent under his arm to prop his head up to see me better. “Go slow… try to center,” he encouraged me.
So I centered and went slow, really taking my time to get to know him better. His beautiful eyes closed as he gripped the back of my neck and moaned these delightful little moans. “I need to move, sweetheart. Either climb on or I’m about to ravage your mouth.”
That kind of sounded sexy fun, but not for our first time together. I un-suctioned my mouth, untied my pants, undressed myself, and after sheathing him in a pretty purple condom, unceremoniously climbed on top. I wasn’t even sure he’d fit, but Goonies never say die, and yeah, I wasn’t a Goonie, but I’d watched the movie probably a billion times (slight exaggeration) as a kid.
So after positioning him right where I wanted him, I mounted my man-stallion and almost lost my breath. Brian wasn’t small by any means, but Len—wow—no vacancy. No vacancy at the inn. Booked up tight. I squeezed my eyes shut, adjusting to the feel of him.
And wait for it, wait for it… Yes, the unbearable feeling to move hit and I leaned back, my palms gripping his knees, and I saved a horse by riding my sky jump instructor instead.
“Yes, baby,” he panted. “Oh, f—” He bit his bottom lip, cutting himself off.
He reached out to press my little magic fun button and my muscles seized and my head fell back, throwing me off rhythm. Len grabbed both hips in his strong hands and thrust upwards while grinding me down at the same time.
I couldn’t even make a noise as the pleasure washed over me. We kept at it hard and fast. And—oh my gosh. Every function in my body ceased to work at once as the sound of fireworks popped in my ears and bursts of bright color, red and green and blue, flashed behind my closed eyes. I opened my mouth to scream but swore only a squeak escaped.
He flipped us, my back to the mattress, one of his knees bent, then threw my leg over his thigh and flung his other leg straight behind him, the ball of his foot digging into the mattress for traction.
It was on.
As he moved inside me I realized my life would forever be categorized, BSL and ASL, before sexing Len and after sexing Len. We climbed together up orgasm mountain and when we reached the summit, he thrust us over the edge with one final pistoning push. My battle cry could be heard across continents (exaggeration) and Martians applauded his potency. Meaning, they could hear him on Mars. I didn’t know men orgasmed so loudly. I kind of thought that was a woman thing.
My legs went limp. I lost the ability to move them—not that I wanted to move. Len dropped his forehead to my chest and kissed me right between the boobage.
“Morning,” he said, chuckling.
“Good morning,” I answered. The muscles in my legs felt like they’d work again. He rolled off me, pulling me to wrap an arm around my shoulders. Another kiss, this time to my temple.
“Damn, baby. You’re not just fearless, you’re a got-damn sexual goddess.” The compliment hit me in my feel spot. Not just because he called me baby and a sexual goddess, but because he censored his swears for me. Who knew he’d even paid attention enough to know I didn’t just not swear, but I didn’t like it when others did either? I mean, sure, he said the “D” word twice, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. “I can’t think of a better way to wake up.”
With nothing to add to that, I let it go. “I have to work today,” I said. “I’m sorry I can’t do more challenges with you.” And I truly meant it. I’d so rather be out and about with Len than doing just about anything else in the world.
“Call in.”
“I can’t. These are appointments on the books, regular clients.”
“Can you clear your schedule for the next couple of days?”
“I’ll try. Don’t you have to jump today, anyway?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I jump when I want. Rob, the owner, is an old friend. He knows when the urge hits, I’ll catch waves or take a road trip. He’s always there doing paperwork, but if I call in, he takes the jumps.”
It must be nice to live such a carefree life.
Why must I be so responsible? Len’s body felt so warm and the deliciously naughty smell of sex hung in the air. And I knew if he gave me a half hour to recover, I’d be ready to go at it again. Which meant I had to get up. Now.
Groaning, I pushed out of his arms. Surprisingly, he got up along with me. “We showering now?” he asked.
We?
“I am,” I said back.
“It’s my apartment. My rules. We shower together.”
Lord help me… please, please help me. I couldn’t say no to this guy.
Instead of me leading him, he led me to the bathroom and stopped us by his shower so he could turn on the water and get the temperature just right. Oh, he got it right. Warm. Relaxing. So relaxing, I let my guard down and that was when he dropped to his knees, flung my leg over his shoulder, pushed me back against the tiles and well, to be honest, gave me the second-best orgasm of my life. The first being in the bed this morning.
I know I technically started it, but if he didn’t stop giving these perfect orgasms, how would I possibly be able to let him go at the end of the month?
He stood, wiped off his mouth, rinsed his face in the shower spray, and then kissed me. “Thanks, baby. You taste every bit as good as I thought you would.”
My whole body flushed red.
“Don’t be embarrassed now,” he said. “You’re fearless. Besides, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
And it appeared I’d graduated from sweetheart to baby. Darn him. Darn his sweet words, his zucchini, and double darn his mouth. Because they spoke those sweet words and because of the tongue to sweet-spot orgasm thing.
We cleaned up. Len gave me his tarry robe while he used old towels to dry off with.
Without any other options, I re-wore the jeans from yesterday. Len had washed and dried them for me, but since I’d slept in the undies, I had to go undie-less. Plus, usually I wore nicer slacks to work. He loaned me a purple slim-fit button-down that I tied at the waist, and I threw my hair up in a loose bun. I used the little makeup I carried in my bag and that was that.
“Ready,” I said.
“Got time for breakfast?” he asked.
Jiminy Cri
cket, the man made jeans and a T-shirt look like a single-breasted suit.
“I could eat something quick.”
He nodded and headed for the refrigerator. And while he rummaged for ingredients, I picked my phone up from where he had it charging to check my emails. My fingers crossed that my early appointment had canceled, leaving me with more quality Len time.
No luck there, but holy—the messages. Notifications from facepage and instaphoto. Every friend or acquaintance I knew, it seemed, sent messages yesterday. Liking or loving the new video and leaving encouragements like, ‘You go, girl!’ and ‘Kami’s back’ among others.
It wasn’t the skinny-dipping video, though there were some more comments on that one, too.
I clicked on it. There I was. In Coup’s. Eating the hottest hot wings known to man. “Uh, Len… is there something you want to tell me?”
He looked at me, curious, over his shoulder. “I don’t—oh… People responded to the hot wings video, right?”
“Yes. And I didn’t even know there was a hot wings video.”
“How are you supposed to show up your ex without the proof?”
Well, he had a point there.
“Besides,” he said, “that was epic. I’ve never completed that challenge.”
I smiled, contemplating that thought as the kitchen began to fill with the aroma of creamy scrambled eggs and buttered whole grain toast. Fast but delicious. Len was a cooking badarse. He even added cinnamon to his coffee grounds before he brewed it.
We ate and I legitimately wanted this, to wake up next to Len, shower with Len, and eat his delectable breakfasts for the rest of my life. This screaming crush was careening down a dangerous road.
Fake boyfriend, Kam. Fake. Not real. He doesn’t want you like that.
After we ate, he drove me to the salon. “See you later, baby,” he said right before smacking a big ol’ kiss to my lips. One of my coworkers, Brigeeta, pounded on the window as she passed. When I turned, she had two thumbs-up for me. Len threw his head back and laughed.
Wow, that sounded sexy-wonderful.
As soon as I got inside, Brigeeta looked ready to pounce, but thankfully (and this would probably be the only day I’d ever say this) the salon owner, Dion, called a morning staff meeting so we only had minutes to set up before we opened for business.
The minute Dion’s back was turned, Brigeeta launched in. “So?”
Right. Just as I opened my mouth to skirt around the answer, my first client walked in. Saved by the client.
A steady stream of regulars found their way into my chair. I was about to take a lunch when the bell over the door chimed sweetly and we all looked up. Len walked in with the most highbrow woman I could imagine on his arm. Though beautiful, she looked a good ten years older than him. If I detected Botox, then maybe fifteen.
But why would he come into the shop with a beautiful woman on his arm? That wasn’t how an adoring boyfriend would act.
“Kam,” he said, stopping in front of my station. “Baby, this is Meredith Lowenstein. Her husband is tech giant Brandon Lowenstein.”
Okay. So my eyes might have bugged. But at least that was better than Dion drooling all over himself. Maybe he didn’t actually drool, though his mouth hung open wide enough that it was possible.
“Good to meet you, Mrs. Lowenstein,” I said. “How can I help you?”
“Lennon here says you are the best at what you do, and we’re setting sail in less than a month. I want a new, fresh look. Something beautiful and easy to maintain, but makes me look like a million bucks when we dock at each of our destinations.”
She’s setting sail? Like with Lennon? As in the boat that he was captaining? “Um, I don’t—”
“Please, have a seat,” Dion said, cutting me off—the rapscallion. “I’m Dion. Anything you require before we start your experience?”
“Not that I can think of,” she said to his back because he already had a bottle of Dom in his hand and was popping the cork.
He filled a champagne flute, handing it off to her. “Complimentary champagne.” Then he walked to the back and came out with a tray of unwrapped Godiva chocolates. “Please, help yourself.”
While she snacked on expensive booze and candy, I gave her the full salon treatment. From shampooing to kelp facemask to heated pore-reducing towel treatment. Finally getting to the scary part, her hair.
I pictured how I’d want my hair getting off a yacht in Saint-Tropez or Monaco, pictured every last detail. And hoping she and I had the same vision, I began cutting. The woman had a seriously thick volume of hair with, as it turned out, these gorgeous natural waves that changed the style slightly from my original plan but wowee, the end result looked amazing.
But no matter what I thought of my work, the question beckoned, would she like it?
“Oh my.” She gasped, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “You are every bit as amazing as Lennon suggested.”
“Thank you.” Secretly, I beamed.
“I must have you.”
Uh… what?
“Have me?” I asked.
“Yes. For the trip. I cannot be expected to keep this gorgeousness up myself. I simply must have you.” Then she turned to Dion. “How much for her?”
Double what?
“I’m not for sale,” I protested.
At the same Dion, ever the businessman asked, “How much are you willing to spend?” Without involving me in the conversation again, Mrs. Lowenstein opened her Versace bag and plunked down a thousand-dollar tip for me. Yes. A thousand-dollar tip. For me. Then she and Dion walked to the backroom.
Six:
I stared at the money, dumbfounded. I made amazing tips in this salon. But never a grand at one time from one customer.
“Breathe, baby. This is good,” Len said.
Len. I blinked. “How is this good? I can’t go with you.” The panic rose in my voice. But before a chuckling Len with his sexy eye crinkles could answer, my traitorous boss and Meredith walked out from the back all smiles.
Dion spoke. “She’s going to triple your annual salary for the six months you’ll be gone and offered the salon a more than generous donation for the loan of my best employee. I’ll water your plants.”
And like Dierdre, who I considered one of my best friends, and coincidentally was a woman Dion couldn’t stand to be in the same room with, Dion wasn’t just my boss but my other one of my best friends. And he stabbed me in the back.
He couldn’t loan me out.
He spent BFF nights in with me countless times over the years, where we’d give each other facials and watch rom-com chick-flicks, and talk about boys. That was mostly on him, as I had no boys to talk about other than Brian, and Brian had asked me not to talk about us to Dion—so I did it sparingly. He saw me through binge eating tubs of frozen cool whip when Brian left me. He had a key to my apartment so he could just let himself in when I was home, and to check my mail and water my plants when I went home to visit my parents.
He could not loan me out.
“I can’t just leave for six months.” I protested.
“You can and you will. We’ve signed a contract. Unless you wish to resign.”
Blackmail. Utter blackmail. He knew I’d never make the kind of money elsewhere that I made here. Our salon had a reputation for being the best of the best.
“What about my regular clients?”
“We’ll split them between the others,” he said.
“Then what happens when I get back and don’t have any clients?”
“Some will inevitably come back to you and I have no doubt that once they find out you’re Meredith Lowenstein’s personal stylist, new clients will drop at your feet.”
“But…”
“No buts. Unless you’re resigning today, you’re off through the end of the month when you leave. Get your affairs in order because you’ll be gone a long time. This is for your own good, girl.”
Meredith gave air kisses first to Dion and then to me, a
nd then she kissed Len’s cheek for real before leaving the salon.
Talk about living in an alternate universe. Dion wanting me to go made sense, he liked his Italian designers too much to turn down such a payday. But how could Len think us working together for six months could end in anything but disaster? Like I needed to see him pouring his affections on other women, as if they deserved his legend-in-the-making orgasm skills. More than that, who were they to think they deserved his smile, where his eyes crinkled at the sides, or his boisterous laugh? They didn’t deserve his kitchen skills. And they certainly didn’t deserve the way he kissed and the way he held me, which made me feel wanted, appreciated… understood.
Even as a fake boyfriend, he’d given all that freely.
“That wasn’t nice,” I said.
Looking utterly confused, he grabbed my hand to tug me into his arms, holding on close and tight. “I think it’s very nice,” he whispered low.
I felt dizzy this close, almost drunk.
Len drunk.
“Kami, baby?” he asked.
His voice broke through the fog of my brain. “Uh, what?”
“I said get your stuff, fearless.” And he kissed the hinge of my jaw. My chin. The tip of my nose. And finally my lips. He kissed in a way distinctly inappropriate for public, let alone my work.
The kissing continued right up until we heard, “Girl…”
We both turned to see Dion biting his bottom lip. Right. I cleared my throat in an attempt to clear my head.
“Get your stuff,” Len repeated.
I jolted into action, packing up my supplies from my station and gathering my purse and favorite sweater from the back.
Dion hugged me before I left, a hug like he wouldn’t be seeing me again. It moved me in a way that made me hug him back.
“Enjoy this,” he said, then let me go.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Though he worked under the false assumption that Len actually wanted me and not that when he eventually showed his real colors with some gorgeous supermodel, I lose my marbles and end up getting fired by Meredith because she’d known Len much longer.
Skydiving, Skinny-Dipping Page 5