Mister O

by Lauren Blakely

  My mind hooks on to something she said at the Italian restaurant, something she said she liked. Seeing you undress for me. Her voice plays in my head, and I hear those words in a new way. In a way that threads deeper into my heart, that means more than getting naked for someone. That means this is the person you want to strip bare for.

  As I tug her panties to her knees, then her ankles, then off, I know with a bone-deep certainty that Harper is it for me. The road starts and ends here—with this magnificent beauty in a cape in my bed after midnight.

  Kneeling at her feet, I slide off her shoes, circle my hands around her ankles, and gaze up at her face. Her lips are parted, and her blue eyes hold mine hostage.

  “Hi, handsome,” she whispers.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  Our voices sound different. She has to hear it, too. Has to feel it like I do. I bend to her calf and press a kiss there. When I raise my face, she gasps from that little touch.

  “Harper,” I say, my voice raspy.

  “Yeah?”

  “Want to know something I’ve learned about what I like?” I ask, repeating the words she said to me that night.

  “Tell me.”

  “Seeing you undress for me.”

  “Oh God,” she moans, and I spread her legs wide, part them in a V, and then I bury my face between her thighs.

  There is nothing quite like that moan on the first lick.

  Nothing.

  Her sounds fall on my ears like the most gorgeous song, and I love that she’s learned how awesome oral sex is, because I can’t resist licking her. I want to fuck her so badly, but this is my favorite thing in the world. Going down on my girl. Tasting her sweetness on my tongue, my lips, my face.

  I love how slick she feels, and how much wetter she gets the faster I go. The more I flick my tongue across her flesh, the louder she moans, the wilder she writhes, until she thrashes under me. She doesn’t even like fingers—all she wants is tongue and lips. She becomes this desperate, frenzied woman, her hands clutching at my hair, her legs widening then wrapping around my head.

  I look up at her, and she watches my eyes dance between her legs, and then I do the thing she loves most. I dip my hands under her ass, and cup those luscious cheeks as I kiss her like crazy.

  Oh God.

  Yes!

  That.

  Oh my fucking God.

  I squeeze and knead her ass as I kiss her pussy, and she’s in paradise. I grab those cheeks harder, spreading them a little bit with my thumbs, and she bucks up into my mouth. I love her ass, and her ass loves me. We fit in every way, especially when she curls her hands tight around my head as if she’s never letting go, and rocks into my face until she loses control and comes undone on a scream.

  I slow my moves, letting her savor the aftereffects. Wiping my hand across my mouth, I crawl up her body, so ready to feel her in a new way. Her cape is all twisted around her, the tie yanked to her shoulder now. I quickly untie it, freeing her.

  “I thought about you all day today. All night. All day yesterday,” I whisper, as I rub the head of my dick against her slick heat.

  “You have to know it’s the same for me,” she says, reaching for my hips, pulling me closer.

  Electricity crackles down my body as I start to push in. I fight back the urge to tell her everything I feel. To let her know that this isn’t just my first time without a condom.

  That it’s another first.

  A bigger first. One that means so much more than the purity of pleasure. One that could tip over my future and turn it into a whole new color.

  I ease into her.

  “Harper,” I groan. “This is . . .”

  Words fail me. There just aren’t any to convey how immense it feels to slide inside her. She wraps her legs around me, and, like that, I fill her completely. I brace myself above her as the sheer intensity of the pleasure ripples through me. I stare down at her face—her lips falling open, her blue eyes glossy as she looks into mine. God, this is almost too much. But I crave it like oxygen, this connection to her.

  I thrust, and she rises up. I stroke into her, and she takes me deeper. We find a perfect rhythm, wrapped in silence for the first time. For two talkers, we’re speechless, and I can’t think of anything else to say. I can only feel. The heat of her body. The beating of her heart. The softness of her breath on my face as I lower to my forearms. She hooks her ankles tighter, and I pump harder, deeper.

  She moves beneath me, our bodies like magnets seeking their opposites. “What are you doing to me?” I say on a thrust.

  “The same thing you’re doing to me,” she says, running her fingernails up my back as she arches her hips.

  “Tell me you feel it, too.” I grit my teeth because it’s so fucking good, and I’m so goddamn close, and no way am I firing early.

  “Yes, God, yes,” she cries out, and that’s as much of a confirmation as I’m getting or seeking right now. She rocks up into me, hunting for more, and I give it to her. I give her everything she wants, taking her harder, because I want it, too. This deep connection. The physical that’s so much more. I wrap my arms around her, and she pulls me even closer. We’re chest to chest as my hands slide up into her hair.

  “I don’t want it to end,” she moans.

  “Oh God,” I say, as a wave of pleasure crashes into me. Her words. They wreck me. They ruin me. “Please come. Please fucking come now.”

  I quicken the pace as desire assaults me. She clutches my shoulders then my face, running her hand over my beard as I fuck her and make love to her at the same damn time. She’s so free with me, such a crazed little sexy thing, needy and hungry, as I ride her to the edge.

  She buries her face in my neck, kissing me all sloppy and messy as her breathing turns wild, then she calls my name. The sound of it on her lips sends a charge across my skin. She cries out under me until she’s boneless, senseless, and falling into me. That’s how she feels. At last, I’m free to chase her there, and it’s such a relief as my orgasm pulses through me, rippling in waves, gripping me as my shoulders shake, and my whole body jerks.

  I groan, still high on her, breathing out hard. Another exhale, as I start to come down.

  “I don’t want this to end, either,” I say, and my mouth claims hers. If I don’t kiss her, I’ll tell her, and now’s not the time. She made that clear a few weeks ago, and I love her quirks. I swallow all the words with my lips on hers, but the whole time, they play in my head.

  I’m so fucking in love with her, I can’t stand the thought of this ending.

  A few minutes later, I roll out of bed, and head to the bathroom to clean up. Grabbing a washcloth, I wet an end with warm water and return to her, all stretched out and sleepy-beautiful on my bed. Gently, I clean her, and she shoots me a sweet smile.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs and rolls to her side. I toss the washcloth in the hamper, slide into bed with her and pull up the covers. She’s spending the night with me for the first time, and I hope it will be the first of many. I loop my arms around her and bring her close.

  “I have nothing left to teach you,” I say softly. “Maybe we’re done with the teaching and it can just be us?”

  She murmurs something that sounds like yes, then in seconds she’s asleep.

  I kiss her hair, run my fingers through it, knowing that tomorrow we can figure out what this means exactly. I can say the words in daylight, since I know that’s how she wants it.

  When I tell Harper, there needs to be no question about it for her. Harper knows I love sleeping with her. Harper knows she turns me on like crazy. I can’t risk her thinking it’s the endorphins steering the ship. The words I want to say need the weight of the sun behind them, not the wispy dark of moonlight.

  Tomorrow, I’ll tell her everything, and I’ll have to tell her brother, too, that I’ve fallen wildly, madly, relentlessly in love with my best friend’s sister, and I can’t imagine living without her.

  As her breath ghosts over my arm in a ste
ady, even pace, I practice. Kissing her hair, I whisper, “I love you, Harper Holiday.”

  34

  Harper is a champion sleeper. I’ve never seen someone snooze like she can.

  She’s killing it in the starfish competition, too, and I’m not surprised at all, given the way she alternated all night long between octopussing me, and kicking me with her wild, wiggly legs as she slept.

  Good thing I have a king-sized bed.

  But even with all that flipping and flopping, the woman hasn’t stirred once. Not to pee. Not to yawn. Not to raise an eyelid or burrow deeper under the covers.

  Now, it’s nine thirty in the morning, and I’m already showered, dressed, and drinking my morning coffee. I figured I’d take her out for breakfast and tell her how I feel, but at this rate, it might be lunch. Fine by me.

  It’s a Monday, and I’ll work from home today. I head over to my desk, and as the computer whirs on, my phone rings. Tyler’s number flashes across the screen. I answer immediately.

  “Hey, man, what’s the news?”

  “The news is amazing. And I’m two blocks from your house. Get your ass downstairs and meet me for a coffee so I can tell you in person and congratulate you.”

  “Consider it done.”

  When I hang up, I grab a sheet of paper, leave a note for Harper that I’ll be back soon and to wait for me, and head out of my building to a packed coffee shop on Columbus. Tyler waits at a standing table, his navy suit crisp and tailored, with two cups of coffee in his hands.

  He thrusts one at me. “I won’t even charge you my hourly for this, and the coffee’s on me.”

  “For you to forgo your hourly, the news must be great, which surprises me, given how Gino was a dick on Friday,” I say, and take a gulp of the drink. Since I didn’t finish the one at my house, this will do as a replacement.

  Tyler waves a hand dismissively. “Who gives a shit about that tiff? Listen to this, Nick,” he says, parking his hand on my shoulder and clearing his throat. “They want to move the show to one of the sister networks on broadcast. Find you an even bigger audience.”

  My eyes widen. “He really thinks it’ll fly on broadcast?”

  Tyler nods proudly. “Ten p.m. timeslot is perfect for the show. And you know how broadcast networks are these days. They all want to compete with LGO,” he says, mentioning the hottest premium cable network out there. “And this show gives them the edge. Plus, he doesn’t even need you to make any major creative changes. Maybe tone down a filthy word here or there, but nothing that would compromise the integrity of the show.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Not that I planned to go all artiste on him, but it’s nice to be able to deliver on the vision.

  “That was all posturing from him?”

  “Yup. Told you. He was just yanking you around. Trying to keep you on your toes. And hey, did I mention the best part?”

  “No. Tell me,” I say, eager for more good news, because this is way more than I expected.

  “He wants to up the fee he pays you by thirty percent. Cha-ching.”

  I blink. “Holy shit.”

  “I know, right?” Tyler’s smile is as wide as Central Park. “And they’re not exactly paying you chump change now.”

  “No, they’re not. Their checks cash well.”

  “That they do. And they want to make the move as soon as possible. They even mocked up some promos about the time change, and they’re planning to make the switch at the start of the new year.”

  It all sounds amazing. It all sounds fantastic. It also sounds too good to be true.

  When Tyler opens his mouth to deliver me the final bit of news, that gut instinct is confirmed. “Oh, and there’s one more thing,” he says offhand.

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s moving the show to Los Angeles.”

  It’s like a punch to the kidney. I can’t speak. My jaw drops open, and the words Los Angeles ring in my head. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself. “Los Angeles?” I croak out, as if I’ve never heard of this foreign land.

  “That’s where the broadcast network is based. He wants you there, too. Land of sunshine and palm trees. That’s my hometown, you lucky son of a bitch.” Tyler flashes a gleaming white grin. He’s just served up a fantastic renegotiation package and tied it up in a perfect bow, given his love for the West Coast.

  “Yeah, Los Angeles is great,” I say, but my voice is hollow.

  He must sense it, because he shifts into pep-talk mode, clapping me on the shoulder. “This is a game-changer, Nick. You’re a star, and this is the kind of opportunity that shoots you into the stratosphere,” he says, raising his arm up to demonstrate. “This is rarefied air, my man.”

  “It is,” I say, monotone, as all my plans come crashing down. Not even anvil-style, just a heavy stone in my gut.

  Because he’s right. This is huge, so what’s wrong with me? Work is what I love more than anything. My career is my passion, and this show has made all my dreams come true. But as I stand here in the middle of a coffee shop having just received the biggest news of my career, I’m not thinking of work.

  I’m thinking of the one thing Los Angeles doesn’t have.

  Harper starfished on my bed.

  Los Angeles possesses a complete lack of the woman I just realized I can’t live without.

  I take a swallow of the coffee, set down the mug, and ask a tough question. “This all sounds great. But there’s one thing I want to know.”

  Tyler practically bounces on his toes. “Anything. Shoot.”

  “What if I say no?”

  Tyler’s mouth forms an O. Then his expression rearranges into oh no. “That’s the thing. He’s already signed on another show for your time slot.”

  I take a few seconds to digest that news. “Well, that does change the game, doesn’t it?”

  35

  Harper is twisting her hair into a ponytail when I open the door. She’s perched on my kitchen counter, her legs crossed, kicking a foot back and forth. She wears jeans, a sweater, and boots. She must have everything in her wardrobe inside that giant bag.

  A bright smile spreads on her face when she sees me.

  “Hey, you.” She sounds buoyant.

  “Hey.” My voice, by contrast, weighs two tons.

  She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

  I take a breath and rip off the Band-Aid. “They’re moving my show to L.A.”

  She slides off the counter, her boots hitting the floor with a loud thump. Surprise flickers in her eyes. “Really?”

  I nod. I should be happy. I should be celebrating. “To the broadcast network. Better timeslot. More money. More viewers. More syndication opportunities. Yadda yadda yadda. Basically, I’d be set for life.”

  She nods and swallows. Then exhales. Inhales. Glances down. Fiddles with the sleeves of her sweater.

  Harper is not a fiddler.

  She lifts her chin. Her expression is tough, but in a flash, her face is the picture of excitement. Like, if you googled “show me an excited face” she’d appear in the results.

  “That’s amazing. That’s so incredible. I always knew you’d be an even bigger star.” She closes the few feet of distance between us and wraps her arms around me in a congratulatory hug.

  It feels good to hold her like this, but all wrong, too. Because this is not how this moment should go. She’s hugging me like Spencer’s sister would hug me.

  I separate from her. “I’d have to move to L.A.”

  “Sounds that way,” she says, and I swear the chipperness in her voice is forced.

  “Harper,” I say, but I don’t know what comes next. How is it that I can write and draw all these storylines every week, but devising what to say to this woman flummoxes me? Oh, right. Because my show is a comedy, and my life right now is desperately trying to imitate a romance, only I have no clue how those work. How the hell does anyone get from the shitty moment to the happy ending? “What about us?”

  “What about us?”
she repeats, her eyes locked on mine. Her body is a straight line, and tension, maybe anticipation, seems to vibrate off her.

  “What happens to us if I go to L.A.?”

  “Nick . . .” She takes a breath, like she needs it for fuel. “This is a huge opportunity for you.”

  “Yeah, I know. But this,” I say, gesturing from her to me and back. Why doesn’t anyone ever mention how hard it is to bare your heart? It’s like peeling off a layer of skin. “This is just starting, right?”

  She nods but says nothing. She closes her lips, and they form a ruler. She glances at her watch. “I, um, I have an appointment. I totally spaced on it. There’s this class I’ve been taking. New tricks and all. I should go. And laundry. I have laundry to do.”

  No, I want to scream. You can’t go. Tell me not to go. Tell me you want me more than you can bear.

  But why can’t I say those things, either? I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I try again. “Harper, I want a chance with you.”

  She leans against me, and I dip my nose to her neck, sniffing her. She smells like my soap. “Me, too, but . . .” She stops herself and raises her face. “This is an amazing offer. You need to take it. You need to go to L.A.” She taps her wrist. “I really need to go. So late.” She grabs her bag, shoves it on her shoulder, and heads for the door. “I’ll text you later.”

  She leaves, and I want to kick myself for listening to her words in Peace of Cake. Cheesy moment or not, I should have told her last night how I feel. I should have told her before I knew about this twist of fate. Then I’d know for real if she felt the same.

  Fuck the perfect moment. Screw waiting. I don’t have a plan, and I don’t care. I follow her down the hall, calling out her name as she presses the elevator button. When I reach her, I stop messing around and just tell her the truth. “I’m in love with you, Harper. If you tell me not to go, I won’t.”

  Her eyes widen, and she blinks several times, then clasps her hand over her lips as if she’s holding something in.

  “Say it. Just say whatever you want to say,” I urge, and I don’t even know whether I’m asking for her to say I love you back, or to say Don’t go to L.A.