Mister O

by Lauren Blakely

  This woman.

  Wildfire twists in my veins, torching me. I’m up in flames, hard as steel, and aching to have her. In seconds, I strip to nothing, loving the way her eyes slide over my naked body, my chest, my arms, my abs, my dick. I drag a fist down my length, swipe my thumb across the head and the drop of my arousal there, and then press that thumb between her red lips. She sucks off a taste of me and moans headily around my finger.

  I grab her hips, lift her off the chair, and set her on the floor. Then I park myself on the seat and nod at the condom on the coffee table. “This is the quiet corner of the library until you start making those wild, sexy sounds.”

  She grabs the packet and returns to me, opening it. As she takes it out, I yank down her panties, and lust seizes me as I catch my first glimpse of her pussy. So slick, and silky, and shimmering with evidence of her desire. She runs her hand over my dick, a purr of approval escaping her lips as she feels how hard I am for her.

  “Nick, you need to show me how to put it on you,” she says in a voice that’s quiet, but full of heat.

  Not gonna lie. I love that she’s no expert in this. I take the condom from her, making sure it’s going on the right way. “Pinch the tip,” I tell her, and she nods and does as told.

  “Now roll it down,” I say, and with a small grin, she does the job.

  I point to my hard-on and give her an order. “Now get the fuck on my dick.” She shivers and then straddles me and sinks down in one smooth motion.

  “Jesus Christ, Harper.” A shudder wracks my body as she rises up on me, then strokes back. “You turn me on so much,” I mutter, in the understatement of the century.

  “Just like you do to me,” she says on a gasp as she rides my shaft, her hands curling tightly over my shoulders. She’s fully dressed except for her panties, and I’m completely naked, and I love the power exchange.

  “So fucking hot. My sexy librarian is so fucking hot,” I say.

  “Why is this your fantasy?”

  I can’t think straight. Can’t answer with any intelligence. But I don’t need to when the answer is elementary. “Don’t know. It just is.”

  I drop my hands to her bare ass, squeezing and drawing out a series of quick little gasps. “Why do you like it when I touch your ass?”

  “I don’t know,” she answers with a broken breath. “I just do.”

  Just like. Just is. Just do. That’s what we are. We are electric, and it’s just that way. I bring my hands to her face and cup her cheeks. “Let down your hair for me.”

  She reaches up and unclips those red strands. They spill down her back in a soft tangle, and I thread a hand through them, my other hand gripping her hip as she moves on me. When I sense her getting closer, I grasp her harder, guiding her up and down, controlling her moves, watching her face contort in exquisite pleasure.

  Her back arches, bowing into me, and then she cries out, a wild, long, intense moan that goes on forever. Grabbing her hair hard and twisting it in my fist, I fuck her through her climax, burying myself in her until my whole body quakes as I come undone, too.

  Her arms grip me, her lips kiss my face, her hands hold me tight, and I don’t want this to stop, I don’t want it to end. I want Harper to want me this same wild and crazy way, like she can’t get enough of me. Because, hell, it’s become that way for me.

  It just has.

  29

  Gino holds a glass of champagne high and beams. “To the creator of the most popular show on late-night TV.”

  A sea of shiny, sparkly network executives, agents, advertisers, and other glitterati in the business of showbiz clap and join in the hear, hears.

  I give a quick wave to the crowd. Gino grabs my arm and holds it up, like he’s a coach and I’m his prize fighter in the ring. “This man is going places,” Gino adds. “His show is going to be the biggest hit on all of TV soon. Just you wait.”

  More cheers come from the crowd at this posh, upscale establishment on the Upper West Side.

  “Just keep the viewers coming,” I say with a smile, since Gino eats up those jokes like candy.

  He fake punches me and then downs his champagne. He pulls me away from the crowd to the edge of the oak-paneled bar.

  “Now listen, Hammer. I’m seeing Tyler on Monday. It’ll all come together then. Good news is headed your way,” he says, with a glint to his eyes.

  “Whenever it happens is all good,” I say, and cast my eyes to Harper waiting for me on a red velvet lounge at the edge of the joint, her drink on a low, dark wood table. She flashes a small smile in my direction, a little curve of her lips that’s both sweet and sexy, and it feels entirely like a private grin just for me. I’m trying to savor these moments with her, knowing they’ll run out of steam in about forty-eight hours.

  Fuck.

  I want to slow down time. I want to stretch the next two days and three nights into a year.

  Gino follows my eyes. “Oh.” He says it in a salacious tone, as he licks his lips. “You’ve got your friend with you again.”

  I just nod. There’s nothing I need to say to Gino about Harper.

  He shakes his head in appreciation. “She is a sight for sore eyes.” He lowers his voice and nudges me. “Is it true what they say about redheads?”

  Oh no, he didn’t. I jerk my head toward him. “What the . . .?”

  He sighs longingly. “What I wouldn’t give for a piece—”

  My jaw clenches, and I meet his gaze straight on. “With all due respect, you really need to stop saying that shit every time I’m with her.”

  He raises his eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  I don’t care if this pisses him off. I don’t care if he won’t re-up my show when Tyler sees him on Monday. I’m tired of his games, his dude-with-an-earring-and-a-Corvette insecurities, and his demeaning attitude. “It’s rude. Have a little respect for women.”

  He adjusts his shoulders and mutters, “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Good,” I say, though I don’t believe him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I walk away, join Harper, and drape an arm over her shoulder. Not that Gino would have a chance with her even in the zombie apocalypse if he were one of the last men standing. But she’s with me tonight, and she’ll never be with him, and let him chew on that pill of bitterness as I get to touch her.

  “Hey, handsome,” Harper says softly, and her greeting surprises the hell out of me. She’s not a hey, handsome kind of girl, but I enjoy the new term of endearment, especially since it’s like a direct shot of that crazy, fluttering feeling in my chest. “You looked kind of insanely hot out there.”

  “You think so?” I ask, eating up her compliments, ready and willing for her to pile on more.

  She nods, and her eyes draw up my body, lingering on my chest and arms. She runs her hand over my biceps, and all the time I’ve ever spent lifting weights pays off in the way she touches me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and your hair, and your scruff, and your arms. I was admiring the whole package,” she says, letting that last word roll off her tongue, and it’s like she casts a spell on my dick. She did the hard-on trick once again.

  “You can admire my package with your tongue later, Princess Sex-In-Your-Eyes,” I whisper as I lean in close, loving her filthy innuendos.

  She feigns surprise, covering her mouth with her fingers. “Oh, my. Was it that obvious I was objectifying you?”

  “No, what’ll be obvious is how much I like your objectification when I stand up in a few minutes to get you out of here.” I wave a hand in the air. “We need to get rid of this tent in my pants. Talk about pencils in your nose.” I smack my forehead. “Shit, that turns me on, too, now that I’ve seen you do it naked.” Another smack. “Naked. I said naked. This isn’t helping the have-you-got-a-banana-in-your-pocket situation that you caused, Harper.”

  She holds up her finger excitedly. “I know! Mashed bananas.”

  “Ouch. You’re the erection devil. Thank you for that awful image.” />
  “Happy to help,” she says, as my ridiculously pregnant publicist waddles over to us, her hand pressed to her lower back for support.

  I rise and help Serena sit, even as she waves me off.

  “Isn’t it time you actually took your maternity leave?” I ask.

  “Oomph,” she says, parking herself on the velvet lounge.

  “When are you due?” Harper asks, concern etched in her eyes as Serena huffs and holds up a hand. She winces, grits her teeth, and seems to be counting.

  “A year ago, it feels like,” she says, her lips forming an O as she takes a deep breath.

  “Can I get you a water? Do you need anything?” Harper asks.

  “Just for these contractions to stop.”

  My eyes widen. Contractions. That’s just one of those words that means business. “Serena, are you serious?”

  She laughs. “I wish! I’ve been having Braxton Hicks for five days now.”

  I scratch my head. “Courtesy to speak English please?”

  She pushes her curly black hair away from her face and gives me a side-eye glance. “You don’t know what that is?”

  “Serena, I’m a twenty-nine-year-old single guy in the city. I have no clue. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  False contractions, Harper mouths.

  “They’re evil,” Serena says with a hiss. “They’re basically trick contractions. They make you think you’re going to finally exorcise the demon from your belly, but they’re just a constant false alarm.”

  Another one must come, because she winces and grabs the table.

  “Serena,” Harper says gently. “I think we need to get you out of here.”

  “Nah, I’m fine.”

  “You’re a workaholic,” I say gently. “It’s not going to be good for the baby. Let’s get you home.”

  “From one workaholic to another, I’m going to be fine. It’s good for me to be here. Gives me something to do other than count the seconds.” She breathes out hard. “But you know what? I think I need to pee again.”

  Serena pushes up from the lounge, holding on to the table.

  “I do, too.” Harper stands and accompanies the about-to-burst publicist to the ladies’ room. I check my watch. Seems I’ve served my time at Gino’s fête. I send Harper a text that I’ll be waiting outside for her, and I make my great escape to the cool autumn air of Amsterdam Avenue.

  I check my phone. No reply. I scroll through messages and send a quick note to Tyler, letting him know about tonight’s less-than-Kodak moment with Gino. I glance at the door. Still no Harper. I click on Facebook and absently scan my wall. Thirty seconds later, Harper’s voice lands in my ears. “They’re so fast. Look! It’s already here.”

  Harper’s arm is wrapped tightly around Serena, and she motions wildly for me to follow them. Harper escorts Serena to a black SUV idling at the curb.

  I run the few feet to catch up. “What’s going on?”

  “Her water broke,” Harper says, her tone even and calm. “I ordered an Uber. It’s here already.”

  “That’s fast,” I say, dazed, and I’m not sure if I’m talking about the car service, Harper’s Uber-ordering skills, or Serena’s labor.

  I open the door to the car. Harper follows Serena, sitting in the middle and holding her hand. I join them. I’ve never dealt with women in labor, and maybe it’s easy for anyone who has, but I’m really glad Harper is here shepherding this situation, because I haven’t a clue what to do.

  “Mount Sinai Roosevelt,” Harper says to the driver, even though he already has the info from the app. “And step on it.” She squeezes Serena’s hand and says, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  Serena laughs lightly then shoves her phone at me. “Call Jared. Tell him to meet me at the hospital, stat.”

  That I can do. I dial her husband’s number, and he answers immediately. “Hey, sweetie. Everything okay? I’m almost done with this contract.”

  “Hey, Jared. It’s Nick Hammer,” I say and dive right into the details. “Serena went into labor at the party. She’s on her way to the hospital, and I’m taking her there with my friend Harper.”

  I hear the squeak of a chair and papers being shoved aside. “Thank you, man. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I hang up and turn to the two women in the car, in awe of how calm both of them are while my mind is topsy-turvy. Kids are Greek to me. I wouldn’t know the first thing about holding a baby, let alone playing the role of the helpful friend as labor sets in. But Harper slides into that position seamlessly, clasping Serena’s hand and guiding her through her breathing. A few blocks later, as the car swings into the right lane, Serena snaps her gaze to me. “I’m not naming the baby Uber if he’s born in the car.”

  I flash her a grin. “Is Taxi an option?”

  Serena smiles, and soon we pull up to the front doors of the hospital entrance on Tenth Avenue, help her out of the car, and take her into the emergency room. Her husband rushes in to greet her. He arrived fast. Jared is tall and sturdy, with thick black hair and glasses, too. I’ve met him a few times, since he’s in the business. “Thank you so much,” he says, his eyes wide and eager, a touch of nerves in them, too, understandably.

  “She’s the one to thank,” I say, pointing at the woman by my side. “Harper got her here.”

  Harper waves off the compliment. “Good luck with the baby. I’m so excited for the two of you.”

  We walk away, and I’m honestly a little stunned by that change in tonight’s lineup. I scratch my jaw, trying to come up with something pithy to say, but words fail me.

  Not Harper, though. “Isn’t it amazing that in a little while, maybe a few hours, maybe more, their lives are going to change massively, and they’ll have a baby in their arms?” she says, with a glossy look in her eyes.

  Oh no. Is she one of those girls?

  “I love kids,” she adds sweetly, and yup, there’s the answer.

  “Do you have baby fever?” The question comes out cautiously.

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I want to be a twenty-six-year-old single mom in New York City.”

  “But seriously. Do you want to have kids?”

  “Um. Not tonight, Nick.”

  “But someday?”

  She holds her arm out far in front of her, pointing. “Someday. In the future. When the time is right. Yes. I do. I like kids. What about you?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I have no idea. I’ve literally never thought about it.”

  She stops walking, parks her hands on her hips, and shoots me a sharp stare. “Bullshit.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t believe you’ve literally never thought about it. Never is a big word. And literally is, too. You mean the idea of kids has never once crashed into your mind?” she asks, tapping my head.

  “No. It hasn’t. I’ve been pretty focused on work, and my job, and the show. That’s what my life has been since I graduated college, and I love it. I don’t sit around and ponder kids.”

  She nods and takes a deep breath. “Right. Of course.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  She shakes her head and flashes a smile. “No, it’s not bad. Your work is your passion. I get it. That makes sense. I feel the same. But my work involves kids, so I guess it’s natural that I’d think about it more. Doesn’t mean I want to get knocked up anytime soon, though.” She holds up a finger for emphasis. “However, I will most definitely want to snuggle that baby when Serena comes home with it.”

  Snuggling babies. Such a foreign notion to me. But this whole past hour has occurred on another planet—Babylandia—and it’s not one I’m terribly keen to visit again soon. Even so, I’m still in awe of how swiftly she handled the situation. “How did you know what to do? With her?”

  She laughs. “It’s not that hard.”

  “Oh yes, it is,” I say, nodding vigorously as we wander uptown. “I didn’t even know what Braxton Hicks were. I can’t imagine what happened when h
er water broke in the ladies’ room. Please don’t tell me what that was like.” I hold up a hand like a stop sign. “I’m just glad you were there.”

  “Me, too. For her sake. And to answer your question, my friend Abby took a CPR and first-aid class when she started nannying a few years ago, and she asked me to go with her. I figured it couldn’t hurt, since I never know in my job if someone will ever get hurt or sick. And that’s one of the things they touched on. What to do if someone goes into labor.”

  “And you had the car right away, too,” I add.

  She gives a one-shouldered shrug and a smile. “As for my amazing Uber-ordering skills,” she says, and wiggles her fingers, “all I can say is I’ve got some magic hands. They’re quite fast.”

  I kiss her palm. Then each knuckle. “I’m quite fond of these hands,” I say, and for the first time I’m not playing with double meanings. Especially when I slide my fingers through hers. “I like holding your hand.”

  “I love it, too.” Then her eyes light up with an I’ve got an idea twinkle. “Hey! Want to go get a gift for Uber?”

  I frown in confusion.

  She nudges my side. “The baby, silly. We can stop at An Open Book. It’s on the way to your house.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  A little while later, we walk through the front door of the bookstore, and I do a double take.

  Holy fuck.

  I blink.

  Blink again.

  Long black hair. Haunting silver-gray eyes. Carved cheekbones. Ten, maybe fifteen years on me. She’s as gorgeous as the day I met her. I’m not seeing things. There, in the romance section, running her fire-engine-red nails along the spines, is J. Cameron.

  30

  From above the shelves, she catches my eye. A what-a-nice-surprise-to-see-you grin spreads on her face, and J. Cameron emerges from behind the display, dressed in tight jeans, black heels, and a clingy red top.