Bad Love (Modern Romance Book 2)

by Piper Lawson

  "You know nothing about getting me off." Her flushed face is full of breathless anticipation.

  I smooth a hand down her side. I half expect the next feeling that registers to be her knee crushing into my balls, but it’s not. It’s the way her ribs expand under my touch.

  I swore off crazy wagers after the most recent one with Nellie, the one I’m still reeling from, but I can’t resist taking one more.

  "Want to bet?" I ask softly, holding out the vibe.

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice is lower than I’ve ever heard it.

  "If this gets you off, I'll take your word that we can sell ten thousand of these and get out of your way. Of course," I continue helpfully, “you touching yourself in front of hot strangers might bring about the end of days according to your little theory. So, I understand there’re pros and cons.”

  Her gaze works over mine as if she's thinking about this. My bets aren't for thinking about. They’re for lunging at, or for laughing at, but I should’ve known she’d think about it. Just like I should’ve known I’d live to regret it.

  “You think I won’t,” she breathes.

  “Peach, I know you won’t.”

  But I really fucking wish you would.

  Kendall deserves someone who cares about her, who sees how fucking beautiful she is, how brave, how hard she tries. How she struggles with everything she carries and does it so goddamn well the cracks almost never show.

  She’s trapped between me and the vanity, and I’d give everything I own for some fucking friction with her right now. But this isn’t about me. It’s about her.

  The sound of rustling has me looking down. Kendall's pulling up the edge of her skirt.

  Jesus. My attention contracts to the slow movement of fabric up her smooth legs.

  I do the one thing I can besides willing my heart to keep beating.

  Without taking my gaze from hers, I reach back for the door.

  And flick the lock.

  12

  There are few moments I remember with startling clarity, thinking, "What on Earth have I done?"

  One was when I found out I was pregnant with Rory.

  One was when I signed the divorce papers.

  The third is leaning against the vanity in the one-stall women’s bathroom at work, Logan Hunter caging me in with his arms as he stares down at me with challenge and an almost-feral need. As if his very existence depends on my next move.

  In the aftermath of a weekend where all I wanted was to spend drama-free time with my kid, being a good mom, what I got instead was drama in the form of one talent show, one ex-husband, and one sexy client? I can’t pretend to be unaffected.

  His scruff makes me want to rub my face against it until it burns. I want to drag that sweater—the fuck-you-my-eyes-are-brown blue one that perfectly skims his deliciously hard body—over his head and see what I find beneath.

  “A woman who can talk about sex toys like a boss isn't looking for nice and easy.”

  He’s right on one level—I want the way he makes me feel.

  I want one taste without worrying about the consequences. And something tells me Hunter will let me have it.

  That’s what makes me take the vibe from him.

  But it’s Bad Kendall who moves it down my body, who hitches my skirt up higher.

  Definitely Bad Kendall who loves it when Hunter’s nostrils flare the second the vibe stops between my thighs, over my panties.

  Everything is happening in slow motion. There’s not enough air, but plenty of time to stop. To back down.

  Instead, I take a steadying breath, then shut my eyes as I flick the switch.

  Oh.

  Ohhh.

  The humming sends shivers down my legs and through my toes.

  It’s like I stuck my finger in an electric socket. Or what I imagine that would feel like.

  The pulsing commands every ounce of my attention, and I arch toward it.

  Except I’m arching toward him because Hunter’s right there, his hard arms grazing the sides of my body through my thin top, the muscles twitching. The raw power of him threatens to overwhelm me.

  But still…

  It's not enough.

  I need more sensation, more attention. More of his scent, male and seductive and promising things I never knew I wanted.

  I press the button on the end to switch modes. The rhythm changes from a steady pulse to a wave.

  It’s better. But more of the same.

  "No luck, sweetheart?" Logan’s gravelly voice splits my consciousness, and I blink my eyes open.

  The look on his face nearly makes my knees give out.

  His expression is all heat, all hunger, all challenge. If I thought he looked fierce before, I was wrong. Now, he’s wild.

  I swallow. "You're ruining it, Hunter.”

  But he's not. Not even a little.

  He’s the one making this the most outrageously sexy thing I’ve ever done even though he hasn’t so much as touched me.

  Needing to prove something, I nudge the vibe under my panties. My lids drift, and I see him look down, cock his head, and catch his breath.

  Because he can see how wet I am.

  “You want to take notes?” I manage.

  “I’m a visual learner.” His rasp feels like a touch dragging across my skin.

  And it’s the knowledge that I affect him that takes the game and turns it into something more. That breaks something inside me.

  My knees give out, and I melt against the vanity.

  Suddenly he's there. Saving me.

  Or dragging me past the point of insanity, beyond anything I’ve known.

  Hunter lifts me onto the counter as if I'm weightless. I grab his shoulder for balance, but my hand lingers on the hard muscle there as his hips spread my thighs, holding them open as he looks down at me with half-lidded eyes.

  Yes.

  His fingers dig into my legs, pinning me to the counter with his body the way his eyes are pinning my hammering heart to my ribs.

  I want those fingers to drift inward. They don't.

  Even when a moan slips from my lips, they only dig harder into my skin.

  "Tell me when you're going to come." Hunter's thumbs rub circles on my thighs, sending their own sparks toward my spine, building the fire that's threatening to erupt into a blaze. I ride out the feelings, the telltale build in my core.

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't want to miss a fucking second."

  Every word from his firm mouth destroys me. He can't say these things. He can't know what they're doing to me.

  I've never felt sexy like this. Not by myself or with a man.

  Every second, every wave, steals a piece of me. What’s left behind is raw and needy and unapologetic.

  "Hunter…" I warn.

  “Yeah, Peach?”

  The room's too small for us. For this.

  On a tight groan, his face lowers to mine, and for some twisted reason, it feels more personal that way. We're not kissing, because he skims my lips and goes for my jaw. His mouth brushes lightly enough to make me shiver. Then metal drags down my throat, and the feel of hard steel on my sensitive skin makes me jerk against him.

  "Hunter," I whisper. "Oh my God, Logan."

  I don't know why I say his name when I come. Maybe the same reason my fingernails carve up his shoulder through his shirt while tremors rack my body.

  But instead of unleashing whatever rampant need is inside him, Hunter only breathes against my skin, trailing feather-light kisses that are far too chaste for the dirty thing we just did.

  I swallow as reality sets in, every inch of me still humming. But I refuse to be embarrassed in this moment.

  When my heart rate recovers enough for me to open my eyes, his arm's still around me, holding me up.

  "I won," I say, conviction bolstering the shaky edge in my voice as I lift my chin to meet his gaze.

  But there’s no defeat in it. Only desire and fascination and… triumph.


  "No, you didn't."

  I shoot up. "Yes, I did!"

  "You didn't come for that, Peach." He nods at the vibe still clutched in my hand. Hunter's mouth curves, maddeningly arrogant. "You came for me."

  The truth of his words, the satisfaction on his face, hit me at once.

  I open my mouth to protest but nothing comes out as Hunter hands me the spray bottle. Then he steps back, nodding at my phone with a glint in his eye.

  "Enjoy the rest of your day. Babe."

  When I get to a high-top table at the tapas place Rena loves for my final meeting of the day, my friend is already there, and I drop onto a stool next to her.

  "So, I just got off the phone with this client. They want some crazy shit, Kendall. You won't believe it—" Rena looks up and stops. "Wait. Something’s different about you. Didn’t you have a meeting with Logan Hunter?”

  “Mhmm.” Every part of me’s still buzzing, and I want to double-check to make sure that vibe’s not lodged somewhere it shouldn’t be.

  She looks me up and down, then folds her arms over her chest. Her gaze turns wicked as I press my thighs together. "Talk. Daisy, Ben, and Wes’ll be here any minute. Did you fuck him?” After a second, her brows pull together. "He didn't hurt you, did he? I will rip off his balls if he did."

  "No. No, we didn’t. And he didn’t." But I do feel… tender.

  Not from his lips on my skin. Or from the vibe.

  I wanted to know what it felt like. To get a taste of something I’ve always denied.

  I got so much more than that.

  It feels as though I shared something with him. Even though he barely touched me, it was the most sensual physical experience I’ve had with another person. How is that possible?

  Maybe he's right. Maybe I am wild.

  There’s no time to decide because Rena’s gaze cuts to the door. I follow it to see two men walking in together. They're a study in contrasts.

  Wes, his suit jacket still on and his tie loosened, with mussed dirty-blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

  Ben, with his dark, wavy hair and matching dark eyes. He's wearing a Henley and jeans and sneakers.

  If Wes looks like a Ralph Lauren ad, Ben looks like he could be the water guy for the camera crew. Until you look him in the eye.

  Ben has the keen, sharp expression of someone who sees more, knows more, thinks faster. The guy has made himself millions—billions maybe—and doesn't take anything too seriously. In fact, he's been known to push people’s buttons. Publicly. Despite being the son of a congresswoman. Or maybe because of it.

  The two men draw more than a little attention, and they’re big enough I don’t notice the woman hot on their heels.

  In addition to being Rena’s boyfriend, Wes is a client. He and Ben, whom I’ve only met in passing once or twice, own a DNA dating app, which Closer helped launch.

  That’s Daisy’s excuse for being there, but mostly this meeting is social time.

  "Grab a stool. You might have to fight someone for it," Rena offers.

  "A gentleman would offer his to a lady," Daisy informs Ben, who drops onto a stool.

  "Good thing you don't subscribe to traditional gender roles, Dee."

  Daisy charms a stool out of a guy at the bar with one arm slung over it—who looks all too happy to be charmed—and brings it back.

  Ben grins. "We go back. I know all her secrets." That reminds me Daisy and Ben go all the way back to college. Given he’s a venture capitalist, I wonder if they got bit by the same entrepreneurial bug.

  Daisy shoots him a look as if to say he's on a short leash. "We have a standing date every Saturday. I make sure he's showering."

  Rena frowns. "You aren't in town every Saturday."

  "Neither am I," Ben says easily.

  I lean forward. I knew Ben and Daisy were friends, but I haven’t seen them together. I’m beyond curious about their dynamic. But neither of them volunteers more.

  "How's the DNA dating business?" I ask.

  "The platform launched." Wes rolls up his sleeves and leans in, and I see Rena's gaze drop to his arms. I can't blame her—he's gorgeous. But it's not just how he looks… it's the glint of anticipation in his eyes. He loves what he's talking about. "Our sample size is up to twenty thousand singles who’re ready to trust science with their romantic future. We have more than two dozen testimonials from the last year."

  "Including yours," I remind them.

  They exchange a look, a silent inside joke that ends with her flushing and him staring at her as if wishing they were alone right now.

  "We're not a success story," Rena says.

  I frown, looking between them. "Wasn't that the first thing you guys did? See if you matched through your DNA platform thingy?"

  "Yes," Rena says at the same time Wes says, "No."

  I shake my head. "Well, if you're matching people successfully through DNA, maybe we should all sign up."

  My faith has evolved in my twenty-six years on Earth. I believe in God, but I also believe in science. I don’t believe the two are incompatible.

  Ben leans in. "You should."

  Wes rolls his eyes.

  "I was joking,” I say. “But why don't you try it?" I challenge Ben.

  He laughs. "No. I can't date where there's a paper trail. Women know who I am, they want me for my money."

  It had never occurred to me, but maybe Hunter has the same issue. I have no idea how much money he has, but judging from his family, it's probably a lot.

  Daisy elbows him. “Dating’s hard for everyone, rich boy. Kendall has a son. That must be harder.”

  I blink, surprised to be put on the spot. But everyone here is a friend, and I don’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought I would. “I don’t really date. It's hard to get serious with someone unless I know how he'll be with my son. Unless he knows what he's getting into."

  Daisy cocks her head, curiosity on her face. "You've never introduced a man to him?"

  "No… actually, that's not true. Rory met Hunter last week," I say without thinking. The second it's out, I realize my mistake. "Err, he stopped by to see me about something."

  Daisy doesn’t notice my awkwardness, or if she does, she doesn’t comment. "Wes, you don’t know Logan, but Ben would. You remember Logan Hunter, Benji? From school? He's Kendall's client."

  The man she’s addressing stills for a second, his thick brows drawing together. I assume it's because she called the richest man I've ever met “Benji” in an unironic way… until his face splits into a laugh. "No shit. I remember Hunter. Remember when he did that frat fundraiser? What was it for again?"

  "Prostate cancer. No one else wanted to take it on. Hunter called up the arts students, had cartoon penises and testicles made up, and decorated the frat house with them. The charity tried to denounce the event, but it raised three times what any of the others did."

  Rena’s staring at me with one brow arched, and it takes a second for me to realize it’s because I’m leaning halfway across the table. I push myself back a few inches.

  But I’m curious. I can see Hunter doing that. He'd make a charming frat boy. And even though he’s infuriating at times, I like how he doesn't apologize for what he wants.

  Across the bargaining table or in front of me, his cocky mouth on my sensitive skin like he's branding me with that tongue ring.

  I shiver.

  We weren't even intimate, not really. But it felt like it. It felt as if he opened some door inside me and released some demons.

  Which I will promptly pack away to focus on the life I’m building for my son and myself.

  I take a long sip of my drink, remembering what he said about the vibe that started us down that dark path. It has to fulfill every desire a woman has.

  As the conversation continues around me, as I’m alone and surrounded by friends and colleagues at once, I realize one thing: he was right.

  The vibe isn’t good enough. Because even though I hate to admit it, he made me come, not th
e vibe. It was Hunter's rough voice, smug mouth, and confident hands that knew what I wanted. What I needed.

  I don’t even know where to start in processing that.

  Something itches at the back of my brain, synapses bumping. Colliding.

  "Ben," I blurt, "how would you make a vibrator that knows what you like?"

  Everyone turns to stare at me.

  He doesn't even balk. "There's a whole field of robotic sexuality. I have some investments in that area. Why?”

  I explain what I’m helping Hunter with. “We’re marketing a sex toy, but I’m not sure it’s there yet. I wonder if it would be possible to tweak it. Could it learn what you want?” I ask breathlessly. “What you like? Be intuitive?"

  Ben taps a spare straw against the table, and I wonder if he’s tuned out until he snaps back, his gaze intent on mine. "Sure. You could program it to remember what settings are more commonly used. Effectively, you train it. It would auto-customize over time."

  "Like it would in real life. Like you would with a partner who knows what you're into.”

  “Uh-huh. If you were really smart, you’d even have dynamic settings.”

  I frown, confused.

  “I assume vibes only have preprogrammed settings, right? Like two or three?” Ben says.

  Daisy snorts, Rena laughs, and I shake my head.

  “What?”

  “At least five,” Rena says.

  “Eight,” Daisy weighs in.

  “As the person who’s been cluttering her browser history with sex toys for the last couple weeks, they’re not wrong,” I say.

  “I see.” Ben and Wes exchange an unreadable look, then Ben cocks his head. "Well, that’s even better. Instead of having five”—we nod—“discrete settings, it could have infinite combinations of patterns and intensities. Based on which settings get deployed the most, it would effectively phase out the less-used ones. Unless you restore it to factory.”

  My fingers are already biting the edge of the table in anticipation. It’s a brilliant plan. Even better than what I was thinking. And it’d get us closer to selling those vibes—getting me my pick of clients, Rory his camp, and Logan his company—than anything else so far.