by Logan Chance
Declan orders the same, and as soon as the server leaves the table, professes, “I don’t like him.”
I let out a small laugh. “Why? Because he didn’t say he liked you too?”
“Yeah, like he was eye-fucking you over a crab cake.”
“Maybe it’s because you didn’t get the slaw like I did.”
He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Listen, I know what men are thinking.”
“No you don’t. Not all men.”
“Yes, all men.”
I glance around the restaurant and spot a balding man in a black suit, sitting next to a brunette probably half his age. I give a head nod over to them. “What’s he thinking?”
Declan turns in his chair to get a better look. “He’s wondering how much more money he’s going to have to shell out to get her to touch his dick.”
My eyes widen. “No, he isn’t.”
“Oh, yes he is.”
I spy another server by the entrance to the kitchen, staring our way. “And him?”
“Ah,” Declan leans in, and then so do I, “he’s checking you out because our server told him there was a bombshell of a redhead at this table.”
I can’t help but smile. “I don’t think you’re right.”
Declan leans back, removing his napkin from the table and setting it in his lap. “I know I’m right. It wasn’t the slaw.”
I like the way I feel when I’m around Declan. More confident and sexy. It’s something I’m not used to, and I could get high off this feeling.
The more I’m around him in a non-work setting the more I like being around him in a non-work setting. Crazy, I know.
I don’t want to ruin this moment with my own selfish agenda so I keep it light and ask the question I’ve been dying to know. “What’s it like being related to a movie star?” His sister is the Chelsea Sincock.
He laughs a little. “She hasn’t always been famous, but yeah, in the beginning it was a lot of craziness. The paparazzi would follow me around hoping to get a scoop on her.” He takes a drink of beer. “But then it settled down. She’s married to my best friend, Jonah.”
“That must have been tough for you, having your best friend and sister dating.”
He gives me a wry smile. “Well, they got married before they dated.” Reading my mind, he waves his hand, shooing away the questions I have. “It’s a long story. Yes, at first it was hard to deal with, but they’re perfect for each other.”
“She’s a talented actress.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “My other best friend is Ethan Hale.”
“Ethan Hale?” I have a slight fan girl moment. “Can you bring him to the company Christmas party?”
“Hey, now.” He laughs. “You wouldn’t like him.”
“He’s great in the movies.”
Declan shakes his head, teasing me. “He’s awful.”
I laugh. “You’re lying.”
“Yeah, he is pretty great,” he admits. There is an indiscernible gleam in his eye when he stares at me from across the table. “He’d like you.”
Our dinner arrives, and we chat about Hollywood for a bit, and Declan tells me the story of how Chelsea and Ethan became famous. He loves his sister and friends, that fact resonates in what he tells me. It’s a very attractive quality.
After our dinner is cleared, Declan pays the check, denying my attempt to pay for mine, and we stand to leave.
And now I’m back to being nervous as he leads me out of the restaurant, once again with his hand on the small of my back.
“Let me walk you to your room,” he says.
“For exercise?” I kind of blurt out. “I hope you mean our session, because if I have to get on a treadmill, I might lose my crab cakes.”
He stops walking just outside the lobby, near the elevator. “Yes, Rose, for our session.”
Phew. I’m seventy-five percent excited and twenty-five percent anxious, or vice versa. I one hundred percent can’t wait to have Declan’s hands all over me.
He presses the elevator button and says in a low voice, “And I won’t be touching you tonight.”
I blink. “Why?” Now listen, obviously this is the best plan, but I’m a little let down.
Then it dawns on me, maybe he doesn’t want to touch me again.
“I just mean, we shouldn’t do anything that crosses any major lines.”
We step into the elevator and I select our floor from the panel. “Lines, right.”
“I’m just saying we shouldn’t go there, because sometimes feelings get involved.”
“Ah.” My face heats with a little anger at his comment. “I’ll be sure no feelings get mixed into this. Sure thing, Doc.”
He steps closer, frustration emanating from his tall body. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m trying to be professional, but it’s really fucking hard.”
He looks a little tortured saying that to me, and I wonder if it’s my fault because he’s feeling like I can’t be professional about this too. “It’s fine,” I assure him. “I agree with you.”
He lets out a deep breath. ”Good.”
Yes sirree, I can be as professional as they get.
16
Declan
A doctor named Duncan MacDougall once tried to prove the existence of the human soul.
Is watching Rose get herself off considered professional? That’s what I want to do. I want to watch her brace her small feet on the bed and dip her fingers inside herself.
And no, I’ve never done this with any other patients. Rose is a first for me. She’s kind of a first for a lot of things, actually. Like one, I’ve never had these types of convos with my assistants before. Two, I’ve never had a strong sexual pull toward any of my assistants before. And three, I just like being around her. And that’s a new one for me.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the company of the opposite sex plenty. But, never just to hang out and chill. And I could see myself chilling with Rose all night. And never once even touch her. Like tonight.
My plan is to not touch her—that’s the plan—and by God I will stick to it. I have to. I can’t call myself a professional, if I don’t.
I’ll keep my hands to myself, no matter how hard it gets. Pun intended.
And I’m sure it will get very hard. Hell, I’ve been fighting a semi all night. Jerking off in the shower did nothing to stave off this crazy sexual tension. And now, I have to fight another urge to not grab this redhead of a temptress and kiss the hell out of her. I really want to kiss her, suck her tongue into my mouth, nip that plump lower lip with my teeth. If we don’t get off this elevator soon, I might do it.
I survive the ride and walk down the hallway with her, leaving ample space between us. She slides in her keycard, and the loud click of the lock being released reminds me I’m entering forbidden territory. She opens her hotel room door, and knowing I shouldn’t, I follow her in. It all feels so tense, like I should make a joke or something to cut some of this tension in the air.
“Nice room,” is all I can come up with. All humor and joke-worthy jokes leave my brain when I look at the bed and see a black bra in the midst of the white comforter.
“Thanks, my overbearing boss had me book it.” She smiles. “I guess he has good taste.”
“That he does.” The rooms are large, but we might as well be in a cardboard box. I step away, taking a seat in one of the navy wingback chairs positioned by a small desk on the other side of the room. “Have a seat, Rose.” No sense wasting time.
“Oh ok.” She perches on the mini sofa. “This all feels very professional. Don’t you think?”
“Very.” Except for the dirty thoughts running through my head.
“So, what is the exercise?”
“I want to show you how to ask for what you want.”
Her face now matches the color of her hair. “Ok,” she says, softly.
“Unless you’re not comfortable with that. I would never make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”<
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“No, no, it’s not that. I feel safe with you.” She sighs. “It’s hard for me to let go. Even in my mind…” she fiddles with the hem of her dress, hesitating, “...It’s a subconscious thing. I want to be dirty—I feel like I can be dirty—but it’s hard to let it out. The other night with you is the first time...well, that I let go.”
Her words cause a sensation of alpha male pride to wash through me. I make my girl feel safe. Well, pretending if she were mine. But she’s not. I blow out a deep breath. And let’s not even touch on the dirty girl part or my cock might burst through my pants.
I clear my throat. “What would you want a man to do?”
“What do you mean?” she asks so damn innocently.
“To get you aroused.”
“Oh.” She blushes. “I’ll tell you one of my fantasies?”
Hearing her say the word fantasy has my dick perking up just a bit to see what’s going on. “Sure.”
“Well,” she leans back, “I want a man kissing down my neck.” She lightly trails her fingers down the column of her throat, and I can picture myself planting those soft kisses along her sweet skin.
“Keep going,” I husk out.
“Well, we’re in an elevator. I picture his hands roaming all over me and then he wants me so bad he picks me up and we slam back against the wall.”
Fuck, this is better than porn. I should stop asking her questions and just leave the room.
I try to think about Gross Anatomy in med school. I try to think about my Great Aunt Meredith. I try to think about anything but her hands running up and down her sweet little body.
Too late now. I’m in this, and I’ll see this through.
I shake my head, hoping to disperse the lust haze fogging my mind. “Close your eyes, Rose.” She obeys. “What are you thinking about?”
“Your hands on me.”
Oh fuck again. I try to push aside the fact she said ‘your’ and try to remember she’s probably in a state of arousal imagining her fantasy and sometimes words spoken at this heightened sense are sometimes misconstrued. Or basically she doesn’t mean them. But, fuck it. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
Lines crossed. I hear the siren loud in my mind, reminding me to back away, stop the whatever it is I’m doing with her and slow down.
I suck in a deep breath, my body unable to cool down on demand. When I let it out slowly, she knocks my world off its axis.
“I want your fingers deep inside my pussy.”
Her neck is on display for me, looking silky and grabbable. I just want to wrap my long fingers around the column of her throat, kiss her deeply, and thrust my cock straight up inside her.
But first, I want to hear her say that word again. “What else do you want me to do?”
Maybe I should move onto the couch?
No, I need to sit my ass in this chair, and not move. I wish I could strap myself in. Then, I wouldn’t be tempted.
“Touch my breasts, play with my nipples.”
I stand. I have to.
I have a job to do here, and I’ll make sure I’m the best at it. She needs to know what she wants. She needs to be confident. All women should.
I want to lean over—well let’s face it, I want to do a whole lot of fucking things to her. I’ve already felt her slick pussy and how tight she is—but, I know if I touch her again, I’ll never be able to stop.
So I slide my hands in my pockets, wanting more than anything to release my dick from my pants and slam it into her. “And then what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You want my mouth on you?”
Her eyes fly open. “Yes.”
“What about my cock, Rose? Do you want my cock inside you?”
“Yes.”
Her breasts strain against the silky material of her dress as her chest rises and falls. I think I’m breathing just as fast as she is. I hate helping her so some other jack off can come along and touch her. On fire, I walk toward her, lean in nearly nose to nose and brace my hands against the back of the couch. She sucks in a quick intake of air.
“See how easy it is to say those things? Don't be afraid to tell your man how and where to touch you. Because it’s sexy as fuck hearing you say it. And by God, have the confidence to tell him what you like. If you never tell him what you like, then you’re leading him right into failure by not giving him a roadmap to all the things that get you off. And if he can’t give you what you need, he’s a fucking fool. If you were mine, I’d fuck you the right way til you come so hard, you’d feel me in your soul.” She swallows, hard, and I take a few steps back. Fuck me. “See you in the morning.”
I stalk to the door and leave. Next lesson she’s on her own. There’s no way I can do that again and keep my hands to myself.
17
Rose
“To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.”
—Allen Ginsberg
The word of the day is professional. You’d never know by looking at us—me in a black pencil skirt, white blouse, hair secured tightly at the base of my neck and Declan in black Armani with a tie that matches his eyes—that I actually said I wanted his fingers in my pussy. I said that, and I meant it. None of these men and women gathered to hear Declan speak about the philosophy of sexual health know I said I wanted him to play with my nipples. But, I am the epitome of professionalism. I have zero feelings about any of it.
“Do you have my notes?” Declan asks in the small waiting area off stage at the convention center.
“They’re in your inbox.” Since I am professional, I emailed them last night after I was left near orgasm. I’m ok with it. And I’m definitely not feeling insecure about the fact when we met up this morning there was no mention of last night. I’m professional; I got this shit.
He opens his laptop, pulls up his PowerPoint presentation, and then tabs over to check his email. “Ah here it is,” he says. “Two minutes to showtime.”
“Good luck. You got this.”
“Thanks, I always get nervous speaking in front of large crowds.” He looks out at the podium and rubs the back of his neck.
He always seem so in control. And then I think about all the times he normally has me cancel these types of events. Or how he declines awards that would cause him to speak in front of a crowd. It never crossed my mind Declan hated public speaking. I’m realizing I’ve made assumptions about someone I really knew nothing about. My eyes meet his. “You know the material backwards and forwards.” I lean closer. “Just picture everyone naked.”
The announcer calls his name and the room fills with applause. Declan glances out on stage and then back at me. “I’d rather picture you naked.”
My eyes widen, and then he walks away to take his spot behind the podium. His sensual voice resonates throughout the space without wavering. He probably doesn’t look nervous at all to the people listening. But I see the miniscule crack in his armor. It’s in the tightness of his smile and his hands gripping the podium. There’s a shyness about him. A sexy, confident shyness if there ever were such a thing.
It’s easy to put myself in his shoes. My father lives for these moments, relishes the attention, but that gene skipped right over me.
He speaks to the crowd, but I’m not paying attention to the words. Instead, I watch every little tick of his jaw, every pull of his muscles underneath his white Oxford. He’s truly spectacular. The crowd is captivated by what he tells them, and I find myself captivated for a different reason. Not because I’m interested in the philosophy of sexual health, but because I’m interested in the man saying the words.
I’ve never seen Declan as human—flesh and blood with feelings. I’ve always seen him as my overbearing boss. The boss who sends me on ridiculous errands, and barks orders at me. But he’s also the boss who let me have the whole week off when my mother was sick. The boss who asks me everyday how I’m doing.
The same boss that agreed to help me, no questions asked. That same exact boss
who touched me in a way no other man has ever touched me.
I’m so awful, and so letting feelings get involved. I'm not professional at all.
At the end of his presentation, he thanks the crowd and then makes his way toward me backstage. And now, I’m the one who’s nervous.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says, loosening his tie.
“Don’t you want to hear the rest of the seminar?”
“No, I don’t.”
We pack up his things, and exit into the hallway.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we walk briskly down the long corridor.
“To change and then we’re going to the Pier.”
“Really?” I’m a lot excited because I didn’t think there would be any sight seeing this trip.
We hustle back to the hotel and I quickly change into jeans, white T-shirt, and Chucks. When I exit my room, Declan lounges against the wall in well-worn jeans, short-sleeved, navy Polo that hugs his biceps, and an LA Dodgers ball cap. The ball cap is definitely equivalent to the glasses on the ‘turns me on’ scale. He’s like a chameleon transforming into different shades of sexy.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the double jointed pier, and enter under a colorful wooden sign. I breathe in the smell of popcorn and laughter in the air. It’s a little wonderland placed right on the Pacific Ocean, and as Declan purchases tickets I stand back, watching the waves crash to the shore.
“I love it here,” I tell Declan as we enter the midland toward the games on either side.
“What do you want to do first? Hungry?”
“Starved.”
He smiles and leads me over to where a vendor sells funnel cakes. He buys one and we share the sweet treat doused in heaven as we walk around looking at all the rides. “I’ll ride anything you want except the roller coaster,” he says before sucking powdered sugar off the tip of his index finger.
“Why not the rollercoaster?”
He stops walking, finishing off his last bite of the funnel cake before chucking the paper plate in the trash. “No reason. Just not a fun ride.”