Wanton

by Evelyn Adams

  Thinking about Luke knotted her stomach. She couldn’t help but feel that something had changed the night of the funeral. She’d almost let herself believe they might have a chance for a real future. But instead of growing closer, every day they seemed to be slipping apart. It wasn’t the sex. They’d had more sex in the past week than she’d had in months in other relationships.

  He was amazing. He did things to her body she’d only read about, and she’d had orgasms so strong she’d come close to blacking out. His appetite was relentless, and she’d been happy to feed it, especially since most of the time that meant letting him give her more pleasure than she’d imagined possible.

  Despite the fact they had sex at least once a day and he insisted she stay at his place, she felt farther away from him than she ever had. She was nothing if not practical. According to Luke, Jackson was still concerned that Pete’s death and the vandalism at her flip were connected. The police had allowed Luke to reopen the Ashton Court job, but he was worried she might be in danger. She’d never be one of the check out the dark barn horror movie victim types. If Jackson was concerned, she’d be extra careful. Since she didn’t want Luke to spend any more money on her than he already had, it made sense for her to stay at his place for a while. She didn’t have a cat or even a house plant to worry about, and in the beginning she’d loved being with Luke. Even if she had to keep reminding herself that she couldn’t afford to actually love him.

  The problem was that except for when he was inside her, she rarely saw him. They both worked crazy hours. She’d lost so much time to the asbestos removal on her flip and doing some of the extra finishing work was always slow going. She could only imagine how busy Luke was. She had to imagine because she didn’t know when she’d find the time to ask him. He never went to bed with her and he was gone by the time she woke up in the morning, occasionally emerging from his office long enough for a quickie before they both left for the day.

  She promised herself over and over they’d talk instead of fuck, but then he’d touch her effectively putting an end to her resolve. Her body’s response to him was almost Pavlovian. She saw him; she got wet. He touched her; she wanted him. And she’d let him have her any way he wanted. She couldn’t seem to resist him and the lack of control scared her. She’d never been a big risk taker, and she was afraid she was taking a huge one with Luke.

  Refilling her paint roller, she went back to singing along with Annie Lennox, shaking her head when “I Put a Spell on You” started to play. The phone vibrated in her pocket and she jostled things around to reach it, smiling in spite of herself when she saw Luke’s number on her phone.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “When was the last time you ate anything, Claire?”

  “Hello to you, too.” Luke riding her about not eating had become something of a game between them.

  “I’ll pick something up on my way over.”

  “How do you know I haven’t already eaten?” She glanced at her paint-splattered watch dial, cringing when she saw the time. Eight forty-five. It always seemed to move faster when she had work to do.

  “Have you?”

  “No, but...”

  “I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

  “Send Eric my love,” she said, putting some extra smart ass in her voice.

  She heard him growl before he disconnected.

  FORTY MINUTES LATER, she had a coat of primer on the first bedroom and almost as much paint on herself as on the walls. The alarm Jackson hooked to her phone beeped and she looked at the screen to see Luke coming in through the door carrying a bag and a bad attitude.

  “Fuck, Claire,” he said, stomping his way up the stairs. “Would it kill you to lock the damn door?”

  “It was locked,” she said going up on her toes to brush a kiss over the angry line of his lips. “I unlocked it when you called so you could get in without waiting for me. What’s crawled up your ass anyway?”

  His lips curved in the start of a smile, and he handed her the bag. “Eric said to tell you hello.”

  She arched her eyebrow at him, and he looked sheepish.

  “I’m not going to tell you what he actually said. Hello pretty much covers it. Can we eat? I’m starving.”

  At the thought of food her stomach had started to growl in earnest. He was right; she hardly ever thought to eat when she was working. She led Luke to a make shift table set up on saw horses in the other bedroom. She didn’t have chairs but a couple of empty five gallon buckets turned upside down made passable stools.

  “Is it just hunger that’s causing the mood?” she asked, unpacking the boxes from Eric’s restaurant. She’d always dreamed of eating at Comme Ci. Since she met Luke, they ate the food a couple of times a week, but she’d only actually eaten in the world famous restaurant once.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking like he meant it. “I’m not trying to be an ass.”

  She reached across the plywood table to cup his cheek and for a moment he softened, resting his face against her palm. The simple intimacy of the moment highlighted how much of it had been missing.

  “I have to go out of town for a couple of days,” he said, straightening. “You’re welcome to go along if you want, but I understand if you can’t spare the time.”

  She couldn’t spare the time. She was behind on everything. With Pete gone, if they had any hope of staying on top of the Ashton Court job, she had to be at the jobsite every day, and she had the flip to manage. That didn’t stop her from wanting to go with him, but it would stop her from actually going. Part of her wished he’d sounded more like he wanted her with him. She was glad he had his face buried in the bag Eric sent. It gave her a chance to get her reaction under control before she answered.

  “I’d love to go,” she said, watching his shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly. “But I should probably sit this one out. The client on the job I’m working is a demanding bastard. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  BY THE TIME they finished eating it was after ten o’clock. Claire prepared herself for the usual lecture about working too hard and staying out all night finishing drywall. She wasn’t ready for Luke to push her up against the wall and kiss her with a ferocity that stole her breath. He worked his lips down her throat, scraping her skin with his teeth until she was squirming to get closer to him. He bit gently at her nipples, catching the sensitive peaks through the cotton of her T-shirt. Gripping her hips, he spun her to face the wall. He laced his fingers with hers, raising her arms above her head and positioning her palms against the unfinished drywall.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. Stay just like that.”

  He ran his hands down her body, pausing to cup her breasts and roll her aching nipples between his fingers. When he reached her waist, he popped the button on her jeans, unzipping them and shoving them to her knees. He reached around her, sliding his hand under her thong, but she didn’t need his answering groan to know she was wet and more than ready for him. Using the rough pads of his fingertips he rubbed hard demanding circles over her clit and desire uncurled like an animal low in her belly. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  With his hand on her hips, he pulled her ass toward him. She bent at the waist and spread her legs as wide as the denim allowed, arching her back in anticipation and offering. She heard the slide of his zipper and then he was pressing against her, holding the thin strap of her thong to the side while the thick head of his cock split her slick seam, teasing her pussy lips before plunging inside her.

  She gasped for air as he speared her with his hard cock, his punishing thrusts driving her up onto her toes. She couldn’t do more than hold on as he drove her closer to the edge, his cock dragging over the sweet spot inside her, forcing her climax closer with each stroke. Her body tightened around him, and he moved faster. Harder. He reached around her, his fingers sliding over her clit giving her the last bit she needed to bring her climax crashing over her.

  “Luke. God. Fuck. Luke,” she chanted as wave after wav
e of pleasure rolled through her.

  He gripped her hips with both hands, driving into her hard enough to lift her off of her feet. Her pussy clenched around his invasion and she felt his cock pulse deep inside her with his release.

  “Fuck, woman,” he said when they’d both caught their breath.

  “Yes, you did,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  He pressed a kiss behind her ear before bending to help her tug up her jeans. She turned around in time to see him pull something small from his pocket. He took her hand in his, dropping the small black key fob into her palm.

  “You’ll probably be asleep by the time I get home tonight and I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I’ll make sure Jackson knows you’re alone and that he sees you get in safely.” He slid his fingers into her hair, anchoring her in place while he kissed her long and deep. “See you in two days, sweetheart. Don’t forget me.”

  She watched him walk through the doorway. Just like that he was gone and she was left standing with his cum running down her leg.

  It had never happened to her before, but she was pretty sure a man sharing the key to his place should feel like a step closer together, so why did she feel so alone? She heard the front door close behind him and knew when she went downstairs she’d find the door locked up as tight as his heart.

  LUKE SAT AT THE HOTEL bar, nursing his thirty year old single malt Glenfiddich and wondering what the hell he was doing. He’d barely paid attention during the day’s endless meetings. All he’d been able to think about was Claire and the way he left her.

  Last night he purposefully stayed at his office until he was sure she’d be asleep. He’d debated sleeping on the sofa at the office but he couldn’t resist spending a few hours in bed with her, even if she wasn’t awake for it. He’d left before she woke, pausing for a moment to watch her soft, even breathing. Her auburn hair lay in a sexy tangle across his pillow, and her face looked sweet and so young in sleep. He’d had to physically force himself to walk away from her. What the hell was the matter with him?

  He tossed back the last of his drink and motioned to the bartender for another. He glanced at his phone, hoping she’d texted him, but of the dozen messages he’d had while he was locked away in meetings, none of them were from her. He wasn’t sure why he expected one. He hadn’t sent any to her.

  He slid the phone into his pocket and turned back to the bar. As he picked up his drink, he felt a woman’s hand rest lightly on his shoulder and he had a ridiculous surge of hope that Claire had found him. He knew before he turned around that it wasn’t. The perfume was all wrong.

  “Luke Masters, what in the world are you doing drinking alone?”

  He shifted around on his stool and looked into the blue eyes of a truly stunning brunette. She had an equally stunning body, displayed to its best advantage in some kind of blue wrap dress. He knew from personal experience that she had expensive taste and a sexual appetite to rival his own.

  “Gretchen,” he said, taking her hand and brushing a kiss over the back of her knuckles. “Join me and I won’t be alone.”

  “I’d love to. You’d know I would, but I’m meeting a friend for drinks. But,” she said, smiling wickedly from under her inky black lashes. “I can make sure I’m free later for dinner, and...” She let the rest of her sentence trail off so he could fill in the blanks himself.

  “I’ll get us a table. La Maison at nine?” He saw her eyes widen at the name. He knew she’d love that he could get them a table on a moment’s notice when everyone else waited months. Gretchen was a power slut. She’d always gotten off on it when he’d shown his. He almost felt sorry for the poor bastard she’d be leaving high and dry to spend the night with him. Almost. But looking into her shrewd blue eyes, he had a feeling she might be exactly what he needed to put some emotional space between him and his electrical contractor. “Where are you staying? I’ll send a car.”

  “I’m at the Star.” She leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, the scent of her unfamiliar perfume enveloping him in an expensive tropical cloud.

  He watched her over the rim of his glass as she walked away putting a little extra sway into her heart shaped ass. He pulled the phone out of his coat pocket to let his PA know he’d need a table at la Maison and a car. Yes, Gretchen might be exactly what he needed.

  BY THE TIME Luke walked into the restaurant, Gretchen was already seated at the table waiting for him.

  “I’m sorry. I got tied up,” he said. A last minute phone call from Tokyo had taken more of his attention than he’d expected. “Have you been waiting long?” He leaned over to kiss her cheek, inhaling the rich, spicy scent she wore.

  “Not so long that you can’t make it up to me,” she said, shifting her body at the perfect angle to put her gorgeous tits on display.

  Luke knew she did it on purpose, and she knew he did. There were no unrealistic expectations with Gretchen. They both knew exactly where they stood with each other. He’d make sure she got her power rush, throw an obscene amount of money her way and in exchange, she’d let him use her body any way he wanted. Gretchen was calculating, opportunistic and perverted enough to be worth the trouble. Nothing like his Claire, who gave him all of herself because she wanted to, not in payment for something he’d done.

  Fuck. Thoughts like that were not going to help his cause. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up cock blocking himself.

  He shook himself free of his thoughts in time to see Gretchen watching him appraisingly.

  “It will be my pleasure, I’m sure,” he said, backtracking to where their conversation had left off.

  “Mine, too.” She licked her red lacquered lips and smiled at him, reaching for her menu.

  As if on cue, the waiter appeared beside the table. Luke ordered a bottle of Bollinger Blanc de Noir and saw Gretchen’s perfectly sculpted brow arch in approval. He glanced at his own menu but he had no idea what he wanted. He could have anything he wanted and he couldn’t make up his fucking mind.

  The waiter came back with the bottle of Bollinger and opened it with a barely noticeable pop before offering it to Luke and waiting for his approval. Luke nodded, barely tasting the thousand dollar champagne, and the waiter served Gretchen before filling his glass.

  “To close friends,” she said, raising her glass.

  Luke drank in toast, but he was pretty sure the only close they’d ever been was naked, and it had nothing to do with friendship.

  By the time the waiter reappeared, he was no closer to knowing what he wanted. He listened as Gretchen ordered a fruit de mer dish and then proceeded to special order away all the sauces and anything remotely resembling a carbohydrate and change the way the dish was cooked from sautéed to “something that doesn’t add any fat.”

  “You know that’s just a plate of steamed seafood with no butter, right?” Luke asked.

  “Darling,” she said, running both hands down the sides of her thin, toned body. “This doesn’t just happen.”

  Luke felt the corner of his mouth turn up in spite of himself. The waiter, obviously used to dealing with crazy rich people, simply stood with a pleasant expression on his face waiting for Luke to place his order.

  “I’ll have the Bluefin special with whatever first course the chef recommends. Paired with the sommelier’s recommendations please.” Eric had always said the restaurant was pretentious as hell but he had grudging respect for the chef. Since he couldn’t make up his own damn mind, Luke figured it was better to let the chef do what he was good at.

  They ate, or rather Luke did. Gretchen moved the food around on her plate. The tuna was exceptional, and Luke tried not to let himself think of how much Claire would enjoy it, or wonder if she’d forgotten to eat because she was wearing herself out at the house she was flipping.

  When Gretchen excused herself to go primp in the restroom, leaving most of her plate untouched, Luke reached for his cell phone to send a quick text.

  Claire needs to eat.

  He added the address
and hit send. A few minutes later his phone vibrated in response. He glanced at the screen, not sure how to feel about what he’d done.

  Not the fucking golden arches, asshole. Will take care of it for her. Not for you.

  Luke pocketed his phone knowing Eric would make sure Claire didn’t starve and hoping he didn’t take it upon himself to give her anything but the food. He shoved aside the irrational jealousy considering what he himself was doing, before picking up his fork and finishing off the truly exceptional tuna.

  CLAIRE HEARD HER phone beep, telling her something had tripped the motion sensor at the front door. Her heart leapt into her throat. She knew she’d locked the door, and with Luke out of town there was no reason for anyone else to be there. She slid the phone from her pocket, hoping for just a moment that he might have come home early. But the man on the screen wasn’t Luke. He turned to face the camera, and Claire’s breath went out on a whoosh.

  Eric Auxtres was standing on her front porch holding a bottle of wine and bag which looked like the ones Luke brought her from Comme Ci.

  She set down the paint roller and fussed with her ponytail as she hurried down the stairs to the front door. She knew Eric was Luke’s best friend but she still had enough of a celebrity crush on him not to want to look like a homeless person. She glanced down at her paint stained T-shirt and jeans, the ensemble completed by the steel toe boots she’d had on since the jobsite this morning. It was hopeless, and she was starving. Eric wasn’t here to pick her up. Her appearance didn’t matter that much, she thought and then she looked at her paint spattered hand on the door knob and cringed.