by RC Boldt
* * *
I’ve been fucking played. And by my own best friend, no less.
Their laughter rolls over me as I sit at the bar a few feet away like a fucking stalker as Sarah giggles again.
Date, my ass. Damn Ry made me think she would be on a date—not simply meeting her friend, Clint.
Staring down into my glass, I shuffle the ice cubes around. Before I can decide whether I should call it a night and head home or have another drink, there’s a nudge at my elbow.
“Hey, Just Jack.” Clint’s smiling at me with those perfect teeth of his, his blond hair perfectly coiffed. “You know you could’ve joined us.”
With a humorless laugh, I shake my head. “I wasn’t aware I was welcome.”
He nudges me. “Ah, now. You’re not going to sit and wait around for an invitation, are you? Come on. I didn’t have you pegged as that kind of guy.” He tips his head to the side with a small laugh. “You know, if someone had bitten me hard enough to leave a bruise and spanked me, I might have enjoyed it.” He falls silent for a beat before grinning. “Actually, that’s a lie. I’m not one for pain. But at least now you know what she doesn’t like.”
“Except for the part where she doesn’t seem to want the same things I do.”
His eyebrows rise. “Ah. You want the prospect of a relationship, do you?” Nodding slowly, as if mulling it over, he lays a hand on my shoulder. “Jacky, Jacky, Jacky. You have your work cut out for you. But”—he leans in, lowering his voice—“facts are facts. And the fact is, that woman wants you so bad it’s making her crazy.”
“With an emphasis on the crazy part, I suppose.”
“I’m just saying don’t give up. I think you need to be firm and show her who’s boss.” He winks. “And tonight is the perfect night since she’s had two drinks and is feeling relaxed. I’ll leave the rest up to you.”
He strolls back over to Sarah, and I catch sight of them saying goodbye in my peripheral vision. Tossing money down on the bar to cover my tab, I walk past their booth and wait for her on the sidewalk.
Once she exits the bar, I sidle up to her.
“Hey, Sunshine?”
“Yes?” She pulls a foil-wrapped chocolate from her purse and unwraps it. As is her routine, she reads the message written on the inside before taking a small bite.
“When I stand next to you, I can’t feel my face.”
She stares at me. “You’re communicating using song titles, now? Really, Jack?”
Well, at least she noticed it was The Weeknd’s hit song “Can’t Feel My Face.” That should count for something.
She tips her face up to the night sky, lips twitching in her attempt to refrain from smiling. Then she swats at my chest. “Seriously, Jack? You can’t be—”
Swiftly, I reach out, cupping her nape while my other hand slips to her waist, and I tug her to me, dipping my head.
And my mouth cuts off her words.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sarah
I’m convinced Jack’s kisses are magical and have some super-secret power because I’m barely aware he’s steering me back beneath the awning and against the door of a nearby closed shop. All I care about is the fact he’s kissing me again. And let me tell you, his kisses are unique and something to savor. He doesn’t slobber all over your face or practically eat it off. He’s gentle, and he uses the perfect amount of tongue.
Speaking of tongue… God in heaven above. When his tongue slides against mine, I feel a jolt all the way down to my toes. The taste of my chocolate and Jack combined is beyond decadent.
When we finally break the kiss, our breathing is labored, and I exhale loudly. “Your kisses…” I shake my head; my eyes still transfixed on Jack’s lips. “They have some sort of strange magic—”
“Like voodoo magic?”
“And I feel it all the way down deep in my—”
“Lady parts?”
I make a face. “I would say toes.”
“Oh.” He offers a look of exaggerated disappointment.
Grinning suddenly, I wink. “I’m kidding.” Leaning in, I brush my lips against his as I softly whisper, “I feel it all the way down deep in my lady parts.” My teeth gently toy with his full bottom lip before I add, “And then some.”
A low growl erupts from his throat, and I’m immediately caged in by his firm, broad chest at my front and the hard brick building at my back. His muscular body presses against me as he cradles the back of my head in his hand. When his mouth slants over mine, taking it in an even hotter, more passionate kiss, every fiber within me feels electrified. Every slide of his tongue against my own sends another delicious shiver through my body, and I’m certain my nipples couldn’t be harder than they are now.
When we come up for air, I press my palms against his chest. Our gazes lock as I whisper against his lips, “If you want to continue this, then you’d better come home with me now.”
Instantly, Jack’s fingers link through mine, and we’re rushing along the sidewalk to the corner to flag a cab for the short ride over to my place.
* * *
Masturbation is one of the best activities in the world. Some days, I’d go so far as to consider it the number one best.
Here’s the deal. I have the sex drive of a teenage boy. I’ll let you decide whether that’s a blessing or a curse. No, seriously. I really do. Here are some examples.
When I finish having sex—good sex, like the kind where I actually have an orgasm—and then the guy and I are lying there, trying to catch our breath, the guy is usually thinking about a nap or a beer or whatever else. But me? I’m ready to go again. I need zero recuperation time. I’m all systems go.
Next example—I love masturbating. If I could get paid to do that, I’d totally jump on that opportunity. Not to mention, I’m convinced I’d make millions. I can masturbate multiple times in one sitting—or more aptly, lying. I think my top number is sixteen times in a row. Yeah, I was a little sore afterward, but it was absolutely worth it.
Go ahead, say I’m a weirdo and tell me how much help I need, but I can claim with complete honesty that I once had someone say, “Teach me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” But I will say this: there’s a price. Because, honest to God, I burn up the motor in at least one vibrator quarterly. And have to replace the rechargeable batteries twice a year. The Subscribe and Save option Amazon has? That sucker is perfect because, thank you, masturbation gods, they allow me to save money and automatically send me a new vibrator quarterly. Just in time for the old one to kick the bucket.
The issue I have is men who aren’t confident enough to allow my vibrator to come out and play during our sexy times. They act like I’ve somehow insulted them and say something like, “That’s weird.”
Um, you know what’s weird? When guys don’t care to think outside the box when it comes to pleasing their woman. That’s what’s weird, people.
You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. I’m going to make Jack run the gauntlet; as in, I’m going to introduce him to my vibrator. If he accepts it, he’ll pass with flying colors. If not, it’s going to be the old, Sorry ’bout ya luck.
You’re hoping he doesn’t pass, an inner voice whispers. He makes you uneasy because you know he wants more than you’re willing to give.
Mentally shaking off those errant thoughts, I tug Jack inside my apartment and barely manage to close and lock the door behind us before we start tearing at each other’s clothing, leaving a trail down the hallway leading to my bedroom.
When I shove him back on my bed, I can’t help but give myself a mental high five at managing to get over six feet of manly goodness in his naked glory atop my covers. Shifting to straddle him, I reach over to tug open the small drawer on my nightstand, my fingers wrapping around a familiar object before withdrawing it.
My eyes meet his with a challenge. “Get ready, Westbrook.”
His heavy-lidded gaze flicks over my naked body before coming back to rest on the toy in my hand. Reaching for it
, he thumbs the wheel, adjusting it to the highest speed. Pressing the tip against my clit, I jerk at the contact, adjusting my perch over him. The feel of his further hardening cock right beneath my spread legs combined with the way he moves the vibrator over my clit sends delicious shivers down my spine.
His other hand slides up my body, a palm cupping the swell of one breast while the calloused pad of his thumb skims over the tip of my hardened nipple. Arching into his touch, I rock my hips slightly, silently urging him on as my eyes fall closed.
“Fuck, Sarah.” He lets out a harsh breath. “So damn wet.” He continues his ministrations on my clit, driving me closer to orgasm while toying with my nipple, plucking at it. I can feel the way I’m coating the tip of his cock with my wetness. God, I need him inside me again.
“Jack,” I whimper, rocking myself over him. “Don’t stop.”
I’m so close. So freaking close. My toes curl, my muscles tighten in anticipation, and I feel the start of the first spasm of my inner muscles—
“Aaaaah!” I rear back, scrambling off him so frantically, I end up tumbling over the side of the bed and toppling onto the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of me, and I lie here, naked on my back on my bedroom floor, stunned.
“What the hell was that?” I hiss quietly, staring up at the ceiling.
Jack hovers over me worriedly. “Are you okay?”
“What happened?” My eyes are wide in shock and horror. My hand rubs gingerly over my lady parts which just received a shock—literally.
“Uh, I think there was…” he trails off as if unsure how to tell me, “some sort of short-circuit in the vibrator?” His expression hovers between shock and mirth.
Throwing an arm over my eyes, I groan, muttering to myself, “Did I seriously come close to searing my own vagina tonight? Brilliant, Sarah. Just brilliant.”
“Seared pussy is probably a delicacy in some parts of the world.”
Moving my arm, I shoot him a glare, but I can’t hold it for long because he’s grinning down at me playfully. That small lock of hair comes loose again and falls over his forehead. Reaching up to smooth it back, I leave my hand there and gaze up into his blue eyes, letting his soft smile wash over me.
With a sigh, I huff out a tiny laugh. “Want to play it safe and veg out and watch The Princess Bride with me?”
His lips lift at the corners, and he stands, holding out a hand to help me up.
“As you wish.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jack
The credits are rolling on the screen of Sarah’s television, marking the end of the movie, and she releases a sigh that sounds far more whimsical than I’m used to. Gazing down at where she’s curled up at my side, I raise an eyebrow in question. “Sad that it’s over?”
She sighs again before she shifts my way, her expression thoughtful. “It’s the same every time I watch it.” Her eyes dart away, and she shrugs. “I always wonder what guy would go through all that for a woman. A woman who basically didn’t give him the time of day until way late in the game.” Her gaze locks with mine. “Then I wonder what it would be like to have a guy who never gave up—a guy who would never willingly leave me.”
She falls silent for a beat before averting her eyes and gives a forced laugh. “Look at me, getting all maudlin.” Rising off the couch, she grabs the large bowl from the coffee table, which contains only a few remaining kernels from the popcorn we’d devoured earlier.
My eyes track her movements as she walks around the corner, heading toward the kitchen before she disappears from my sight. And her words linger.
“I always wonder what guy would go through all that for a woman. A woman who basically didn’t give him the time of day until way late in the game.”
A part of me can’t help but wonder if those words ring true for me and Sarah.
The sudden vibration of my phone against the glass surface of Sarah’s coffee table draws me from my thoughts. Reaching for it, I dismiss the calendar reminder, alerting me of what I know will be an intense conference call early in the morning for a company primarily focusing on linguistics software based in Moscow.
One of the guys I’d met while working on my MBA in college had transferred to the company’s headquarters there. He’d reached out to me to see if I would pitch my thoughts to them. I’d agreed because, if I gained them as a client, it would be a huge account and would also give an even larger boost to my career and reputation.
“Heading out?”
My eyes snap up to find Sarah leaning against the wall, watching me. She looks tired, and though I have an early morning tomorrow, my hesitation to leave weighs heavily on me.
Hell, if I’m being honest, I always hate leaving her. Sarah’s become my one addiction. Like those tiny chocolates she keeps handy, she’s my own sweet craving—I always want more time with her.
Releasing a long sigh, I rise from the couch and tuck my phone in my pants pocket. I step up to her, drawing to a stop, and let my hands rest lightly on her waist.
“I have an early call in the morning, and I need to bring my A-game.”
The obvious regret in my tone is further proof that I don’t want to leave. And I swear a hint of something in her expression gives me the feeling she might be experiencing the same disappointment that our night is coming to an end.
One thing’s for certain, I couldn’t have predicted the events of this evening—as crazy as they were—yet I wouldn’t go back and undo it if given the chance. Because it got us here, at this moment, and I think it’s pretty damn perfect.
“Night, Sunshine.” I dust my lips softly across hers, knowing I have to resist deepening the kiss. I have to maintain restraint since I plan to go over my business proposal tonight to ensure I’ll be ready in the morning.
As I leave her place, her soft-spoken goodbye trails after me like the most delicate caress enveloping me. And I realize the real challenge I’m faced with.
I need Sarah as addicted to me as she is to those damn chocolates.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sarah
“You got zapped by your own vibrator?” Maggie’s already repeated this five times. “How does that even happen?” she muses yet again.
“Are you done yet?”
“Guess you could say that what you and Jack have is”—she pauses for emphasis—“electric.” She makes zapping noises before dissolving into laughter.
“Glad I could serve as comedic relief for you.”
“You have to admit…” Her smile widens. “It’s pretty damn funny.”
“Hilarious,” I respond dryly. Settling on her couch, I release a long sigh.
“Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something,” I muse. “Like maybe I really should give that new dating app a try.”
Maggie makes a dismissive sound. “Sarah. That app is ridiculous. They include stuff like whether you hate paying extra for guacamole or not.”
“Well, it is kind of a downer…” I trail off playfully. She rolls her eyes at me. “I should just give up on men and put all my energy into growing my window basil.”
“Seriously?” She stares. “Do you hear yourself right now?” She wrinkles her nose. “Besides, your window basil is pathetic.”
I blow out a heavy breath. “Yeah. Chalk that up to yet another Pinterest fail.” I reach for my cell phone and pull up the dating app. “Get over here and let’s see if I can find a guy who won’t channel his inner Dom.”
Maggie slides closer to me, peering at the screen of my phone. “You should also make sure he likes to snuggle on the couch and watch classics like The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, or, oh, I don’t know”—she lifts a shoulder in a half shrug—“maybe The Princess Bride.”
Her ploy at being nonchalant is pathetic at best. I eye her, but her gaze remains on my phone’s display.
“Subtle, Maggie. Real subtle.”
Finally, her eyes lift and meet mine. Her lips curve upward in a sly smile. “Just sayin’. You’re not going t
o find a guy like that”—she nods toward my phone—“there.”
With a huff, I toss my cell aside, and it lands softly on the couch cushion beside me. Reaching into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt, I withdraw one of my chocolates and unwrap it.
And hell if the message written on the inside foil wrapper doesn’t stop me in my tracks.
Stop searching for what’s right in front of you.
* * *
“He’s a cutie. You could totally bag him.”
I shove Clint around the corner of the nurses’ station, hissing at him. “You can’t be serious right now.”
He smirks. “He seems like he’d be a ton of fun, Sarah.”
My glare is hard. “He came in with an English cucumber stuck in his ass, Clint.”
His smirk widens, eyes dancing with delight. “Like I said, he’d be a ton of fun.” His expression sobers suddenly, and he appears concerned. “You’ll have to keep him away from the produce section in the grocery store, though.” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “That might be far too much temptation for him.”
With a frustrated sound, I turn my attention back to the patient’s chart, purposely ignoring him. “Clint,” I growl softly in warning.
“Yes, Sunshine?”
My head whips around to stare at him, and he offers a knowing look. “Don’t worry. I know that’s the special nickname Jack gave you. I just wanted to see if it still worked its magic. Especially since you’ve been avoiding him lately.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Clint interrupts me calmly.
I toss my hands up in exasperation. “How do you even know this?”
He folds his arms against his chest. “Because we talk, Sarah. We may not be close enough to, oh, I don’t know, share little episodes of spanking, biting, and electrical shocks to the vajayjay, but Jack and I’ve become friends.”
I attempt to ignore him as I turn and look over the schedule.
“Haven’t found anyone on that app yet, have you?” The whispered words in my ear make my jaw clench tight.