I grab my mobile device from my pocket and read his message.
Linc: Go out with me tonight.
Amy: What if I want to stay in with you?
Linc: You are such a dirty girl, and I was trying to be a gentleman.
Amy: You weren’t a gentleman when your face was between my legs last night.
Linc: Thanks. Now I’m rock-hard under my desk.
Amy: If this were a filthy romantic comedy, I’d shut your door and get on my knees under there.
Linc: Death by Sex Tease indeed. I expect the finished manuscript on my desk by noon. Also, why don’t you come over after work so I can do ungentlemanly things to you, and then take you out after?
Amy: I like the way you think. Orgasms first. Food second.
Linc: Food and entertainment. Don’t sell me short.
Amy: There is nothing short about you.
* * *
By the time the workday ends, I’m pent-up and ready to climb the walls.
Linc steals away first, and I leave shortly after, catching an Uber to his place.
It’s early evening but it feels like an afternoon quickie, because we’re desperate and horny, and neither of us says much more than a word. He simply pulls me into his apartment, kissing me the second I’m past the door. His hands are on my face, and mine are on his pants, and in no time, we’re in his bedroom, his floor a pool of clothes, my body spread out on his bed.
I expect him to grab a condom and drive into me, given how frenzied we are, but instead he slides a hand around my neck, yanks me closer, and kisses me so passionately I see stars.
My vision blurs as his fingers slide between my legs, then inside me. I gasp, breaking the kiss so I can moan. My legs part, inviting him.
He groans his appreciation. “I fucking love how much you want it.”
“How much I want you,” I correct, and that seems to turn him on even more.
His fingers thrust deeper as his lips reclaim my mouth. He’s ravenous, and he doesn’t seem to want to stop fucking and kissing.
I don’t want him to either, because being fucked like this and kissed like this is a dirty dream come true.
My body is white-hot and electric. Pleasure pulses through me, swelling, ballooning, as he rubs my clit, hooking his fingers inside me.
I want to scream out in bliss.
I can’t handle how good this feels. It’s so intense, so mind-bending the way he tends to my body.
Pleasure coils low in my belly, tightening.
I’m going to come so hard, I swear it’ll hurt.
But it’ll hurt so good.
My hips rock shamelessly. He devours my mouth until I can’t hold on anymore.
And I don’t want to.
I break the kiss, and I break apart.
“God. Linc. Oh my God. Yes. Yes.”
I come so hard and for so long that I barely know what hit me.
Then he’s over me, rolling on a condom and pushing inside me.
With that, something shifts.
We go from hot, fevered, pent-up lust to something else.
Something more.
I know I’m in this deeper than I thought.
I’m sinking under, and I don’t want to come up for air.
The look on his face, the vulnerability in his eyes tells me he’s in the same damn place too.
He rises, bracing himself on his palms, meeting my eyes. “Look at you. So much trouble. So irresistible.”
“Am I?” I ask, savoring his praise.
“You’re irresistible in every way.” He swivels his hips, pumping into me, taking me there. “And you come beautifully. It’s so fucking sexy watching you lose control.”
I smile, blushing as my hands coast down his back, curling over his ass—his firm, yummy bubble of a butt.
He laughs lightly. “You’re not shy.”
“Not one bit,” I say as I squeeze his cheeks.
He groans savagely, clearly loving the way I touch him. “You,” he grunts. “You make me feel so good.”
He lowers his body, and then he slows his pace, moving with long, luxurious thrusts, and I get lost in the rhythm, lost in him.
Then we’re lost together in sensations as we surrender once more to the pleasure, reveling in mine, and in his, and in ours.
* * *
“You’re a maniac in bed, and that’s a good thing,” I say as I get dressed.
“That’s a compliment of the highest order,” he says as he slides his glasses back on.
“Yes, it is.” I point at him, drawing a circle in the air. “You, naked, wearing nothing but glasses. You are Dax Powers. You are the hot librarian of my dirty dreams.”
“And you’re the sexy bookworm of my naughty fantasies.”
I waggle my fingers. “I’ll meet you in an hour.”
“Bye, Amy,” he says, then walks me to the door and kisses me softly before he mutters, “Trouble. So much trouble.”
And there are no signs of trouble slowing down.
* * *
After I take my dog for a walk and feed him dinner, I leave to meet Linc. We talk until the ramen noodle restaurant closes.
I learn about his sister, his baby niece, and his passion for Ping-Pong that started when he was ten. He tells me he fell in love with books through Harry Potter, and that unlocked new worlds for him. He read till all hours of the night and all weekend long.
“You’re a kindred spirit,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s safe to say.”
Then it’s my turn, and I give him the nitty-gritty on being the youngest of four. I tell him about my brother and how much I admire him. I rave about Quinn and how excited I am to become an aunt for the first time. And I tell him all about Tabitha, who’s working in Paris, the lucky wench.
“I might have to hitch a ride across the Atlantic and coerce her into taking me on a personal tour of the best sweet shops in France,” I say.
He lifts one brow, oh so doubtfully. “Will that truly require coercion though? I for one would feel no pressure if my sister wanted to go on a tour of sweet shops.”
I tap my chin. “Hmm. Good point. I’ll call her tonight and book a jet. Also, my favorite bookstore is opening a shop in Paris. An Open Book.”
“You definitely need to go, then.”
“I do.”
He asks about my parents next.
“They’re great,” I say. “They supported me in everything. They weren’t helicopter parents, and they didn’t tell me I was perfect, but they taught me right from wrong, and they believe in me. That’s all I can ask for.”
He lifts his glass of beer and toasts. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The way he smiles at me, the way he takes my hand after dinner, the way he asks if I want another sleepover, makes me feel like we’ve already jumped over all the early relationship hurdles.
Come to think of it, relationships have never been the stumbling block for me. I’m not afraid of getting involved. True, things didn’t work out with Chad, but that was a compatibility issue.
My initial reticence over pursuing Linc was tied to work. But we don’t have any projects together, and we don’t work for each other.
That’s why I decide to let go of the vestiges of my worries over work versus romance.
Or maybe I let them go because it feels too good to curl up with him under the covers after he whispers dirty, sweet words in my ear while he takes me over the cliff again.
So good, it’s better than cake.
20
Amy
The next night, he takes me to Brooklyn.
To a sporting event, of all things.
But this race is just our style.
The shopping cart decorated like a Victorian lady’s undergarments flies by, rattling wildly on the Brooklyn street.
The woman folded up inside it wears a high-necked dress with ruffles and lace-up boots perched over the edge. She’s shredding the air with her screams. Her teammate looks like he’s stepped out
of the pages of a Charles Dickens novel. He has the chutzpah, or insanity, of a monster truck driver as he careens down the road.
Close on their heels is a team with their cart styled in leopard gear. The big cats put the pedal to the metal and fly past the Victorians, nearly crashing into them before peeling away.
I shudder momentarily. “This is way better than football.”
“Worlds better than hockey,” he seconds.
I bump my shoulder against Linc’s then point at the next team screaming past the crowds. “Moment of truth. How much would they have to pay you to do that?”
Laughing, he shakes his head. “I can’t be bought. What about you?”
“Oh, I can be bought. Or simply bribed with a nominal amount of dessert. A chocolate buttercream cake would probably be enough to get me to put on a baseball uniform and catch fly balls.”
He sweeps one arm in front of me, like he’s writing on the sky. “Can Be Bribed with Dessert. That’s another book title for you.” He slinks his other arm tighter around me, curling his hand over my waist, and I sigh happily.
Dreamily.
Contentedly.
This. Feels. So. Good.
And the craziest part of being with him like this? Even though we’ve only been doing this for a few days, I feel like I’m winning at balancing work and romance. I had another great day at the office, powering through manuscripts and refining my editorial letter.
Compelled to let him know that everything feels doable, I turn to him and smile knowingly. “You know what?”
“What?” His face is hopeful, and that’s why I’m not afraid to say what I’m feeling.
But because I’m me, I keep it light. “Did you know you broke my man diet?”
He pinches my belly. “I didn’t know you were on one.”
“I definitely was.”
“And why were you going keto on men?”
“The whole work thing. I’ve always wanted to get a promotion so badly, I’ve needed to be laser-focused, but I felt like I nailed my pitch practice with Tiffany yesterday, and I’m delighted with how my sample editorial letter is coming together. I’m not saying I’m a shoo-in, but I weirdly don’t feel like you’re sucking up all my brain cells.”
He fashions a claw of his hand, drops his fingers to my head, and makes a loud slurping sound.
I moan dramatically and pretend like I’m about to collapse.
“Mwah-ha-ha,” he cackles evilly.
“So that was your nefarious plan all along. Trick me and steal my brain power.”
“You have a big brain. Why not go for a big haul?” He tugs me closer, dusting a kiss over my forehead. “I hear ya though.”
“You do?”
He nods, pulling back, his expression shifting. “I was wary too. About getting involved with someone at work. Let’s just say I’ve had a bad experience in the past.”
I frown. “Oh no. Office romance left a bitter aftertaste?”
He heaves a sigh. “That’s one way of putting it,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his jaw before he tugs me away from the races and toward a stoop, where we sit.
I’m wildly curious what he’s about to tell me, and though it must be painful for him, he doesn’t hold back from me.
“I went out with this agent in LA.” His tone is heavy, laced with regret. “We had a book together. Which made it ultra-awkward when she turned out to be secretly married.”
A chill stands the hair on my arms on end. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah, I felt like a complete asshole,” he says, then shares more details.
“It’s not your fault though,” I say when he’s through with the story.
“Yeah, but . . .”
I freeze. “Wait. Are you worried that I’m married? Because I assure you, my poker face isn’t that good.”
He laughs, runs his fingers along my cheek, and shakes his head. “No, I’ve seen your place and met your dog, and woken up with you. But it made me wary of ever having a workplace romance, even though this woman and I weren’t in the same office. I wanted to see a clear division. Having to work with her for weeks afterward was torture.”
“Sure.” I nod, and my throat tightens with the fear that he’s putting on the brakes, and with good reason. He’s crashed before.
He reaches for my hand, squeezing it, and that loosens some of my worry, but not all of it. “Coming to New York felt like a fresh start,” he continues. “I left all that crap behind and came here determined to not do one thing: get involved with someone I work with. And then look what you did.”
“I bamboozled you,” I say playfully, shimmying my shoulders as if that will keep the hurt away if he’s ending this. Is that what he’s doing?
“You definitely did, Amy. From the second I met you,” he says, emphasizing each word, and maybe my fears are for naught. “That night at Gin Joint, I was, like, ‘Universe, are you kidding me?’”
I smile, relieved that his tone has shifted from annoyed to humorous once more. “The universe wanted to tempt you, evidently.”
“And that’s why I got on the app. Because you were so distracting, so tempting, so delicious.” He nibbles on my neck, and yeah, I’m okay. We’re okay. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
My skin sizzles, and I’m lit up all over. I’m so damn happy with the direction this conversation is going. “And then look what Boyfriend Material did to you. Tricked you into liking me.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. It didn’t trick me into liking you.”
I furrow my brow. Maybe I am still confused. “Okay, maybe not tricked, but kind of?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head.
“Well, we did kind of think we were other people, even though I did want Dax to be you. So maybe we were both tricked?” I’m so lost . . . am I misreading this entirely?
“Betty Boop, that is not what I’m saying at all.” His fingers drift from my shoulder to my neck as he fiddles with my necklace, and I wait.
Because he needs to go next.
There’s nothing I can say until I know what he means.
The air is charged. Ions are tap-dancing, and everything feels poised, swollen with possibility.
He stays quiet, though, and I can’t take it. “What do you mean, Linc?” Just then, I’m not bold or confident. I’m just a girl trying to understand the guy she’s falling for.
He slides a hand through my hair and exhales. “Don’t you see the real trouble? The app didn’t trick me into liking you. Nothing tricked me. I already liked you, and when we chatted, I liked you so much more. And now?” He tucks a finger under my chin. “Now I’m pretty sure I’m falling hard for you.”
This is better than vanilla lattes. Than Netflix binges. Than naps. Than Cinnamon Life cereal. Than pockets in skirts.
“I’m falling for you too,” I whisper.
And then we do that thing new lovers do. We gaze at each other, grinning like happy fools.
The happiest.
Because that’s what falling does to you.
He lets go of my hair. “You know what that means?”
“That we’re going to start doing shopping-cart races?”
“No, it means that, one, I need to get you naked again, and two, we’re going to have to disclose it at work.”
My stomach craters, a pit forming in it.
The last thing I want to do while I’m chasing a new job is to tell senior management about my love life.
* * *
But it won’t happen this week, because the VPs are on a two-day retreat.
It feels like a reprieve—and a chance to fall even harder for Linc, when he doesn’t just invite me for a sleepover the next night, Thursday.
He invites my dog.
I’m not a squealer.
Or a giggler.
But inside, I’m doing both when another text message from him lands on my phone that afternoon while I’m grabbing a Diet Coke from the break room.
I click it open.
Amy: What makes you think he has enough control to wait in the living room? What if, say, he’s parked at the foot of the bed during the rapture?
Linc: The door, Amy. The door. It closes.
Amy: Be prepared for the pawing at the door during the rapture. But even so, my answer to the dog park is YES! And you’re better than a hot librarian. You’re a dog-loving hot librarian who gives epic orgasms and tickles my brain parts.
Linc: I like it when you say YES. You say it a lot during epic orgasms. FYI. Also, I bought your dog a toy. I might have done it to make you happy, or maybe to get into your pants. The jury’s still out.
That’s when I squeal-giggle.
But the second the sound comes out, I’m mortified. I clasp a hand to my mouth and tell myself to shut the fuck up.
“Did you just get that ModCloth fifty-percent-off-sale email?” Lola asks, since she’s strolling by.
“No, better,” I say, scanning the hall, then I tug her in and show her the note.
“Shut up. How the hell did you find a keeper so quickly?”
I bring my finger to my lips “Don’t jinx it.”
“I’m not jinxing it. But for the record, you seemed perfect for each other from the start.”
“Well, maybe,” I admit with a goofy grin.
Lola is fully in the know, since I debriefed her the other day, and in true good-friend form, she oohed, ahhed, and asked if the, ahem, entertainment was good.
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