Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy

by Eve, Charlotte

  “Wow, thanks,” I said, flattered.

  But as I began to think about it, I realized I wasn’t quite sure if renting in Brooklyn was what I really wanted. After all, my office was in Manhattan now, even if I was going to try and cool things down with Blake, and shouldn’t I perhaps try and relocate closer to my workplace?

  “You mind if I think about it?” I asked.

  “Sure thing,” she said with a smile. “But I’ll need to know by the end of this week at the very latest.”

  “Of course,” I said, glad to have a little more time to decide.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Back at my desk on Wednesday morning, I felt a little bit listless. For some reason, I just kept procrastinating, doing any displacement activity I could think of, instead of just working hard on my portfolio.

  And then I remembered something: the memory stick.

  I slipped open the desk drawer and fished out the sleek little black stick from its hiding place, next to the envelope and ticket.

  When I connected it to my iMac, two files popped up on the screen. The first was a text document, called Read Me, and the second was a mov file, simply titled Thursday.

  I opened the document first.

  Dear Jessica,

  I hope you don’t mind this little liberty I’ve taken. But I just couldn’t resist. I want you to see how beautiful you look.

  I want you to touch yourself as you watch the film. I’ll be imagining you while I’m far away.

  And when I get back, I want you to tell me exactly what you did.

  B x

  I nervously clicked open the movie file, the screen flashing black for a moment. And then ... Wait.

  Is that me?

  Because there I was, filmed from above, kneeling on Blake’s bed in nothing more than my black lace underwear, Blake fully naked behind me, running his hands slowly over my body.

  I realized immediately what this was, and at first I could only feel shock and confusion.

  I mean, was this okay? Or was he maybe crossing some kind of line, by filming me like this without my permission?

  It was clear that Blake knew just what he was doing, remaining all the while behind me on the bed, positioning my body so that the camera caught me head-on as he ran his hands over me, slowly undressing me, first slipping off the left-hand strap of my bra, then the right, his fingers sensuously scooping my small breasts free from the lacy black cups of my bra, offering them to the camera, my small nipples so erect, so obviously turned on.

  And as I watched the version of myself on screen, I found my own breathing become a little shallow, too, and I spread my legs a little, my pussy softly beginning to throb as I remembered just how delicious it had felt when Blake touched me like that, his fingers pinching the sweet puckered flesh of my nipples, rolling them hard between his thumbs and forefingers, causing me to gasp and shiver.

  Just then, his right hand began to slip further down, over my belly and into my panties.

  I couldn’t help myself: I too touched myself in the same place, first through the soft, damp cotton of my briefs, and then by slipping my trembling fingers beneath the waistband, first grazing over the cropped rectangle of my pubic hair and then further downwards, finding my clit so swollen and throbbing, and the lips of my pussy already hot and wet.

  As Blake on screen began to play with my sex, I tried to match his motions with my own fingers, working some of my wetness upwards, tracing it in slow, tantalizing circles around my clit as I spread my legs wider, leaning in close to the monitor, all the while marveling that that sexy, sultry girl on screen was really me.

  He unclasped my bra, then helped me out of my panties, and for a brief second I caught a flash of Blake’s own arousal: his cock so thick and hard, jutting proudly from between his tanned muscular thighs.

  As he lay back on the bed, urging me backwards, urging me to climb up on him in a position I’d never tried before, I remembered wondering why he wanted to try this unusual new way of making love. But now it was totally obvious: as before he was showing me off to the camera, positioning me so that I was on top but with my back to him, my whole naked body on display as I began to ride him, his thick cock slipping so deeply inside as I ground myself hard and fast against him.

  And as I thrashed and moaned on the screen, my hair swishing around my shoulders, my small breasts bouncing, my thighs spread wide, my eyes closed as I bit my lip, lost in pleasure as my orgasm approached, I realized that Blake was right: I did look beautiful. I looked like a grown woman, enjoying herself –

  certainly not the foolish, timid little thing that I sometimes still thought of myself as.

  As the on screen girl began to orgasm, her body shuddering and trembling as she ground herself backwards against Blake, she moved her head to one side for a moment, and from over her shoulder Blake looked out at the camera, his piercing grey eyes locking onto mine, sending me over the edge, too. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth to stifle my whimper, my fingers buried deep in my soaking wet panties as I came, alone in my office.

  §

  It was quiet that afternoon in the Guggenheim – my absolute favorite place in New York to come, whenever I needed to be alone and think – and as always, I lost track of the time, strolling slowly through the galleries, finally feeling myself unwind a little.

  And it still felt something of a novelty to actually be able to do this – to be my own boss, and allow myself to treat this visit as ‘research’, figuring that soaking in a little more art and culture certainly wouldn’t do any harm to my designs on the whole, especially if I was going to be working up my portfolio, as Fallon and I had discussed.

  I just hoped that this was the real reason I was here at a gallery, instead of back at my office, where that ticket and note were still taunting me from the desk drawer …

  I stood and paused for a moment, my attention suddenly captured by an absolutely beautiful oil painting by Manet. It was of a woman staring at her own reflection in a mirror, lost in thought, her beautiful pale back exposed, her exquisite blue dress so bright and vibrant, and as I looked at it, I wondered what she might be thinking, whether she too felt torn between two worlds ...

  Brooklyn or Manhattan?

  Manhattan or Brooklyn?

  You see, on the one hand, I felt like I should stay in the cooler, younger area of Brooklyn. It was what I knew, and still where I felt most at home, most comfortable, most ‘me’. I knew that if I left, I’d miss the scene there – the up and coming artists, the hip tech start-ups, the coffee shops, music, and art, the sheer creativity that was always brimming from that area. It was inspiring and invigorating to be so close to something like that, and I knew that I would miss it dearly if I left.

  But at the same time, I reminded myself that Fallon, my only true friend in Brooklyn, was about to embark on a three-month tour around the country leaving me alone for all intents and purposes. And furthermore, my new office was in Manhattan, and I was seriously enjoying finally having the time (and money!) to explore the galleries and the shops here, setting my own working hours and of course my own salary. Plus, it was costing me a fortune in taxis to keep flitting backwards and forwards between here and Fallon’s place in Ocean Hill.

  But I had to level with myself. How much of my wanting to be in Manhattan had to do with being close to ...

  Blake.

  Like a boomerang, my thoughts always seemed to return to him, to this complicated man who had captivated and consumed me so completely, who I couldn’t help but care about, despite Fallon’s stern warnings. I still couldn’t shake off my nagging doubts and worries about what he was doing, right at this moment, who he might be with. I’d wanted so many times to just pick up the phone and call him, or send him an email, but each time, at the very last moment, I’d stopped myself, not wanting to come across as needy or jealous or crazy.

  And there’d been no word from him, either.

  Were we both playing it a little too cool?

  Man, I
had no idea the dating game was going to be this hard.

  I pictured Blake lounging in some Milan hotel room, right this moment, a beautiful Italian goddess wrapped around his naked body, not even thinking about me.

  And on top of all that, I also had something else to think about, too.

  What’s going to happen at the next party?

  The words of Blake’s note flashed through my head once again: See you on Friday …

  “I love this painting.”

  Who said that?

  I turned around, to look up into the big brown eyes of a stranger … And whoah! A rather handsome one at that.

  He was around my own age, I guessed, and dressed in the same kind of fashion as those two guys from the bar the other night, only this boy’s clothes looked rumpled and paint-spattered, not artfully-disheveled. His brown hair was a little long and scruffy, his face was covered in dark stubble, and his hands looked kind of ... dirty, like he’d really been working with them.

  And there was something really wholesome about him too, his thick-framed tortoiseshell glasses surrounding perhaps the biggest and brownest eyes I’d ever seen on a guy. It reminded me of a certain embarrassing phase I’d had, back in my freshman year of college, where for some reason out of my control I’d found myself developing a nervous, unspoken crush on pretty much any guy in glasses …

  “Yeah, um, me too,” I blurted, when I realized that this handsome stranger was still waiting for me to reply and I’d just been flat-out staring into his big, cartoony eyes.

  “I always wonder what she’s thinking about,” he said with a grin, and I found myself smiling back at him too, knowing deep down that he was probably hitting on me — I mean, why else would a guy come up and talk to a girl he didn’t know in an art gallery, and wasn’t that kind of a corny, cheesy thing to do? — but at the same time realizing that maybe I didn’t mind it so much from this guy.

  “Yeah,” I said, turning my attention back to the girl in the painting. “She seems torn somehow ... I know how she feels.”

  Did I just flirt with him?

  He nodded. “I agree. Look at her. Is she getting dressed or undressed? Depending on how you see it, it changes everything about the painting.”

  I found myself blushing at the word ‘undressed’. But he’d made me look at the painting in a new way. It was exciting.

  “Well,” I said, “I think it’s kind of both.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I think she’s getting dressed, but she’s thinking about who’s going to undress her later ...”

  Did I really just say that?

  Did I just flirt with him again?!

  Is this playing the field?

  And the truth was, I was kind of thrilled this cute stranger was hitting on me, because as I’d realized last night, this encounter could go as far as I wanted it to …

  Just then I realized he’d said something else, and once again I’d gotten lost in my own silly thoughts.

  Pull yourself together Jessica!

  “God, I’m sorry, I’m totally scatter-brained today!” I explained. “What did you say?”

  To my surprise he blushed a little, looking down at his beaten up brown leather desert boots.

  “Well,” he mumbled, unable to quite meet my eye. “I just kind of asked you if you wanted to go for coffee with me …”

  And when his eye once more met mine, I felt a surprising flash of excitement run right through me.

  §

  I sat there, opposite Josh, sipping my flat white in the cute sun-bathed gallery café, and before I knew it, I was totally relaxed. It was as if I’d known him for years. As he spoke, he turned out to be kind and funny and sweet, as well as cute — his big brown eyes so warm and inviting. And I found my gaze repeatedly drawn down to his hands, too, to the dirt beneath his nails and the very edge of some sort of tattoo, poking out from beneath the raggedy unbleached cotton cuff of his sweater.

  “My hands are always like this,” he explained, sheepishly, obviously catching where my attention was directed, holding his palms up to show me just how dirty they were. “I work with wood,” he continued. “I’m a carpenter. I do wash them all the time, but the material just gets under my skin, you know? Sometimes, in my spare time, I sculpt, too.”

  “Wow, that’s so …” I began, quickly stopping myself before I’d said the word I really wanted to say:

  Hot.

  “... cool,” I said instead, after a pause.

  It seemed as if he could tell what I was thinking, as he shyly drew his hands from the table, folding them in his lap.

  “How about you?” he said, trying to turn the focus back to me. He seemed genuinely interested, and I finally decided to let him in a little.

  “Well, I’m just starting out as an interior designer,” I began, “but it’s early days yet.”

  “Wow, that’s great!” he replied enthusiastically. “Have you designed anything I might have seen?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Not yet. My only completed project so far is some guy’s apartment … But I’m looking for more work.”

  Some guy’s apartment …

  “Um, Jessica,” Josh said, leaning forward in his chair, his big eyes flashing with a new intensity.

  Some guy?

  “I know we’ve only known each other less than an hour but …”

  Some guy who you are totally head over heels in love with.

  “Well, I guess I just wanted to say that …”

  I felt like I could tell just where Josh’s conversation was going, and suddenly I didn’t want to hear him say it — didn’t want to hear him say just how excited he was that we’d met, and then ask me if he could see me again sometime.

  Things were too complicated already, with Blake. No, I didn’t need this extra thing adding to the mix, too. It looked like perhaps I wasn’t cut out to play the field after all.

  “Josh, I’m really sorry but I think I’ve gotta go,” I blurted out, interrupting him, causing his face to fall in confusion as I began gathering my bag and getting up out of my seat.

  “Oh, okay,” he mumbled. “Well, wait … Here’s my cell.”

  And with that he began scribbling his number down on the back of the bill for our coffees, thrusting it hopefully out towards me.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it from him.

  “I’d love to see you again sometime,” he said, with such a genuine warmth it knocked me back a little.

  “It was great meeting you,” I said, picking up my bag. “But I’d really better go.”

  I turned and walked out, quick as I could through the cafe, out through the gallery doors, finally gasping in the cold November air, feeling a little like I might suffocate.

  As I headed towards the subway, I realized I was still clutching hold of the receipt, the one with Josh’s cellphone number scrawled on it.

  I’ve got enough little pieces of paper haunting me right now already.

  This is just one thing too many.

  I couldn’t let this go any further, my life was complicated enough as I was. And most of all, he seemed so good, so kind and honest, and if I’d let things continue any further, I’d only end up hurting him.

  Goodbye, Josh.

  This is for the best, trust me.

  Without taking another look at the piece of paper, I screwed it up into a tight little ball as I walked, then dropped it behind me on the sidewalk.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Wait, where are you going again?” Fallon asked, hanging around in the doorway to the bathroom as I was fixing my makeup.

  “I already told you … A party.”

  “A party with Blake? And you’re going like that?”

  “Yeah,” I said, putting the finishing touches to my mascara, then taking a few steps back to look myself over in the small oval mirror. “How come?”

  I felt a rush of satisfaction — I was really getting the hang of makeup now, knowing which parts of my face to accentuate, which
colors to use to bring out my eyes and my cheek bones.

  “In those jeans?” Fallon said, cutting in.

  “Sure,” I shrugged, at first unable to see her point. “Why not?”

  But as my eyes strayed down, from my immaculate makeup to the rather dowdy rest of my outfit — a plain old blouse, a beat up pair of blue Levis, and my trusty Converse sneakers — I guessed she did have something of a point. At any normal party, I’d have to pay a little more attention to what I was wearing. But of course, what Fallon didn’t know was that these clothes would be hitting the locker room floor almost the moment I set foot through the door.

  See you on Friday …

  Once more, Blake’s words ricocheted around my head. It was Friday. It was just after eight o’ clock, and almost time for me to leave.

  Maybe it was masochistic of me, but I knew I just had to go to that party. I simply had to find out what was actually going on between Blake and I, and I knew that something like this would be a perfect testing ground. After all, he wanted me there, didn’t he? That’s what his note had said. So I’d swallowed back my nerves and decided to play along with his strange cat-and-mouse game just a little longer …

  “Well, it’s up to you, but I don’t know why we bothered going on that shopping spree if you’re just gonna throw on those old clothes,” Fallon mumbled. “If I had a pair of Alexander Wang pants, I’d wear them everywhere, even to do the laundry.” She sighed. “Man, I’m so bored. I wish I had somewhere to go this evening ...”

  I tried my hardest not to pick up on her hint, taking another satisfied look at my reflection, turning my head to the side a little, as Fallon listlessly began flicking through her collection of nail varnishes (nearly all of them black). She snuck me a sly glance.

  And then, not being one to beat around the bush, she just flat-out asked me. “Can I come, too? Please?”