Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Blakely, Lauren

  I shake my head, running the towel once over my hair then tossing it on a hook. “Let me tell you something. We’re never too busy to text. It’s not complicated to send a quick note.” I mime tapping with thumbs. “Yo, girl, what’s up? See? Two seconds. Now, giving a dog a new ACL? That takes time. Stitching up a cat who broke her leg? That’s precision work. Sending a woman you dig a text is a pleasure and don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

  She taps my chest. “And when we like a guy, we like hearing from him. Also, I like it when you text me, and then we wind up having long conversations. But then, that’s what always happens with us.”

  “That’s the truth,” I say, and for one moment, awareness flashes before my eyes.

  We’re talking like we’re together.

  I’m telling her everything. The secrets of men. The truth of our behavior. How I feel.

  But we can’t be together.

  Our reality isn’t going away—she’s my business partner’s daughter. She’s been branded off-limits. And there’s a new obstacle too—the whole working-in-the-same-space one. It’s simply too risky to test the limits. We need to be able to treat patients and run the clinic without awkwardness or tension.

  This, the way we are at night, is our alternate universe.

  Maybe that’s why we can be so open here. We can enjoy this tryst for what it is: a second time around in our parallel world.

  But the end will come just the same.

  That thought weighs me down, and I don’t want to be anyplace but up tonight. Time to stow all the worries and the obstacles. Resolved, I set them on a mental shelf and close the door for the night.

  I step closer to Sloane. “Plus, you can’t leave with wet hair.” Gently, I take her towel and rub it over her head, drying the ends of her hair as I speak. “You’re getting in my bed, and you’re spending the night naked and curled up in my arms. We’ll probably even chat for a few minutes. We might even blow each other’s minds again.”

  She hums. “Now you’re talking.”

  We return to the bedroom and flop onto the bed. I brush my fingertips along her waist. “So, tell me about your socks.”

  She laughs. “I’m not even wearing any tonight,” she says, wiggling her bare feet.

  “I know. And trust me, it makes me really sad, because the thought of you in nothing but a pair of socks is a turn-on.”

  She arches one brow, giving me a curious look. “That turns you on?”

  I glance down at my dick. He’s showing off his two-seconds-to-semi skills again. “Apparently. I’m not sure if you’ve gotten the message yet. But everything you do turns me on.”

  She shifts to her side, facing me, propping her head in her hand. “If I took off a sock, that would turn you on?” She mimes removing one sock.

  I pretend to consider that scenario. “Yep.”

  “If I have a drink of water, that would turn you on?” She pretends to down a glass.

  I do a slow, exaggerated nod. “Absolutely. Major wood.”

  She checks me out, her eyes indicating she’s impressed. I don’t lie—I’m at full mast again.

  “If I open a bottle of ketchup, would that be arousing?”

  I quirk up my lips, considering. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure it would. You could also eat an apple, and that would be enticing. You could walk down the hallway, and that would be stimulating. You could yawn, and I’d probably be ready to go.”

  She shoves her hand against my chest. “You’re so easy.”

  I pinch her butt. “What can I say? You do it for me, Sloane. You can test it with a sock striptease, but it’s true. I’m an easy mark with you.”

  She slides up against me, grinning. “And do you think I’m easy with you?”

  A cough bursts from my throat. “You? Easy? Not in the least.”

  “Hey!”

  I draw a line down her nose. “If turning you on was a simple task, you wouldn’t be in my bed, getting lessons in orgasms.”

  “And I do like my lessons. I’m a good student, don’t you think?”

  “You take direction incredibly well.”

  “I can relax with you. Being with you like this . . . is easy.” Her tone softens, downshifts to vulnerable. “Maybe that’s why I was able to let go. You’re the only one I’ve been able to with.”

  Her words do something new to me. They don’t simply turn me on. They warm my bones. They reach inside me, touching a part of my heart that has never been touched.

  I brush her damp hair from her cheek. “I’m glad you faked it with me. Because I want to be the one to help you let go. I loved it when you came.”

  She offers a shy smile. “Did you?” Her voice trembles, like my answer matters deeply.

  In this moment, my sense of how complicated this new arrangement will be to pull off sharpens.

  So does my awareness of how hard it’ll be to end it.

  Much harder than last time.

  But we’ll have to.

  When I answer at last, I keep it on the sex level. “I did. You have no idea. You are the picture of sex and lust and desire. And then watching you let go like that? Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more arousing.” I push against her. “This is what you do to me.”

  She reaches between us. Her eyes seem to sparkle, to light with mischief as she strokes my dick. “I like being able to touch you like this.”

  “I’m not going to stop you. I’m also still waiting to hear about the socks. We only talked briefly about them on Friday night. I want the full sock story.”

  As she fondles my dick, she answers my question. “Socks are the unsung heroes of the clothing world. They need a little help, like rescue dogs. I love little sayings, so I come up with them and have them printed on socks and sell them on Etsy. Plus, it makes me a little extra money, and that’s helpful, given my job.”

  “What kind of socks would you make for me?”

  She eyes me up and down, appraising me. “It would be fun to get you undressed down to your socks. They would say ‘Time to See Stars.’” She drops her voice to a dirty whisper. “And I would know what it really meant. Because you made me come so hard, I saw stars.”

  I grab her, pull her against me, and give her a hot, deep kiss. “I see we’ve unleashed an incredibly filthy, sensuous vixen in you.”

  “You have. How the hell did you pull off that trick earlier?”

  “There’s no trick.” I tap my temple. “The magic is here. I listened to you. And I researched. I read a bunch of articles in women’s magazines about how to help a woman reach orgasm.”

  “You did?” This notion seems to delight her to no end.

  “I did.”

  She smiles like we have a secret. Dancing her fingers up my chest, she whispers, “Me too. And one of the articles said to focus on your breathing. That if you do that, it takes your mind off the pressure to climax, but it also helps you be present in your body. Can we see if that works?”

  I wiggle my fingers. “I love the way you think. Let’s try it now.”

  She presses her beautiful naked body against mine. “I’m up for it.”

  “I’m definitely up for it.”

  Soon enough, she’s fucking my fingers, closing her eyes, and, I imagine, seeing stars.

  As it should be.

  In the morning, after she leaves, I find a note from her on my fridge.

  33

  Sloane Elizabeth’s Notes to Malone

  Top Five Things I Like About You

  One: You’re a good listener.

  Two: Your restaurant-ordering skills are unparalleled.

  Three: Your dick.

  Four: Your confidence. You knew I was going to mention your cock, didn’t you? How could I not? It’s glorious. It’s big and pretty and perfect.

  Four and a half: Your comfort in your own skin. Because even if I didn’t mention your cock, you’d have been fine with that.

  Five: Your eyes. They melt me every time you look my way.

&nb
sp; Six: The way you make me laugh.

  Seven: The way you take things seriously, and then you don’t take things seriously at all.

  Eight: How much you love animals.

  Nine: Your determination.

  Ten: The fact that you have way more than five things to list.

  Eleven: And way more than ten too.

  34

  On my way to work out the next morning, I hum a tune.

  “You're always wishing and wanting for something."

  Isn’t that the truth? There is so damn much I want. “When you get what you want, you don't want what you get.”

  Oh, but I do want it, Irving Berlin. I want it badly.

  The sex and everything else. Last night was more than a good screw.

  Last night made me see there are so many things for my top five list too. But, like her, I can’t keep myself to just five. That’s the trouble. Sloane is thoughtful and bighearted. She loves animals and wants to save them all. She talks to the kitties who need company, and she made friends with Sam on the first day in the clinic. She cares about her parents and looks out for her friends. She gave me a Frank Sinatra bootleg CD—one she tracked down in record time because she knew I was salivating for it.

  The woman is an angel and a goddess.

  And then there’s the pièce de résistance: She lets me in. She opens up. She shares herself.

  If I don’t watch out, I’m going to fall flat on my ass for her.

  Good thing I’m seeing my buddy Herb for a quick round of basketball before work, since time with him tends to keep me chill—he’s a laid-back guy. We catch up on the court in our game of one-on-one.

  “And how are all the pampered poodles and teacup Chihuahuas on the Upper East Side doing?” I ask as I shoot.

  “They’re all coming to me, so I can’t complain. Business is booming, and it’s nice to be the one calling the shots.”

  “I bet it is,” I say, a slight pang of envy stabbing me. Herb’s been running his own practice for a few years, and he’s absolutely loving it.

  “You’ll get there soon enough.” He sends the ball soaring, and it drops gracefully through the net. “Besides, don’t you have enough complications at work right now?”

  I scoff as I grab the rebound, grateful he knows the basics about Sloane and I don’t have to explain them anew. “That’s a safe way of putting it.”

  I’ll just have to keep taking each day as it comes.

  I say goodbye, head home for a quick shower, then walk to work.

  Before my mind wanders back to thoughts of Sloane tangled up in my sheets, or forward to all those knotty complications at work, I call my mom. We catch up on daily life, with her sharing details on Cole and Porter, and me telling her about work.

  “And how is it with Doug still being there?”

  I maintain a chipper attitude. “I’m managing just fine. What’s one more year? I’m sure Dad would understand.”

  “Darling, your father would be proud of you if you never owned your own practice,” she says firmly.

  “I know, but I still want to. It means a lot to me.”

  “And I’m proud of you too,” she adds, pressing her point. “You’ve done a lot with your life already. You’re true to your name. You’re a good man, and you’ve been a great junior partner with Doug. I’m sure he values you immensely, so hold on to that.’”

  And maybe calling my mom wasn’t the best idea. Now I’m thinking of all the ways Doug might not value me if he knew I’d crossed the line.

  I thank her and head into the clinic; say a quick hello to Jonathan and Sam, who are bent over at her desk, laughing at something on her phone; and then meet with Doug to review a study I’ve been working on. He puts on his glasses, reads my notes, and then says, “Damn, it’s as if I’ve trained you well. This is perfect.”

  I beam, pleased that the man still respects my work. I return to the front to check out the appointment list for the day, but at the edge of the room, I stop in my tracks.

  Jonathan is leaning close to Sam. His hand is on her back. This is a brand-new level of connection between them. “We should go out again tonight,” he says softly.

  Their backs are to me. “Do you want to go to that pub quiz at the Grouchy Owl?” she asks.

  “Yeah. That sounds awesome.” His hand brushes her back, touching the ends of her hair before he turns around.

  When he sees me, his eyes widen into an oh shit expression. I offer a smile. “I definitely think you guys should do the trivia quiz. Also, the Grouchy Owl has great live music.”

  Sam winces. “Are we in trouble?”

  “Shoot, man. I’m sorry,” Jonathan jumps in.

  “Why are you guys sorry? It sounds like you’re having a fun time together. Though, admittedly, I was hoping you were using the movie gift certificates,” I say.

  Sam offers a sheepish smile. “This weekend.”

  Jonathan shoots me a guilty expression. “There’s probably a rule against this. No fraternizing. We were trying to keep it quiet.”

  I clap his shoulder. “It’s all good. There are no rules. Our office is too small for that. And besides, who would make rules like that? I’m just glad it’s going well for you guys.”

  I head to my office, snickering, and Sloane pops in for a minute, clicking the door shut. “Is there something in the air at your office? I was bringing you some forms for a doctor’s signature and I overheard.”

  “Clearly, there’s some kind of hookup dust here in this office.”

  “Either that or there’s something in the water.” She taps her chin. “Maybe I should have another glass.”

  “While you’re at it, I’ll take a double,” I joke.

  She’s quiet for a minute, then quirks up her lips. “Do you want to go out tonight?”

  “To the Grouchy Owl? I like Jonathan and Sam, but I’m not ready to double with my employees.”

  She shakes her head. “Someplace else. Something else. Before the main event.”

  “Ah, I wonder, wonder, wonder what I have planned on the tour of O-ville tonight,” I say, tapping my chin, mirroring her gesture.

  She smiles in appreciation. “Why don’t you work on the Summit Town tour activities, and I’ll plan something for us to do before? Because I was thinking how seductive it was to have dinner and listen to Frank together last night before you began your Orgasm Sherpa work.”

  I lean back in my chair, park my hands behind my head, and prop my feet on the desk. For effect, of course. “That was all part of my role, Sloane. But by all means, feel free to sherpa me tonight.”

  Her eyes twinkle. “I plan to.”

  She spins around on her heel and leaves.

  Maybe something is in the air here.

  It makes me start to wonder. To wonder how to have something I shouldn’t.

  As I move through the day treating patients, I start to imagine another alternate universe.

  One where we aren’t just going to Tahiti for a week.

  Fact is, I’m dying to know what she has planned tonight, but she doesn’t need to seduce me. She already has.

  That feels like a good thing, but it’s a hell of a problem too.

  35

  She waits for me at the Lincoln Center fountain, perched on the stone edge, the water arcing behind her in moonlit choreography.

  Her foot swings back and forth, a red high-heeled shoe drawing me like a beacon. My eyes drink up the view of her blonde hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her light-blue dress both hinting at and hiding the lush body that lies beneath. She’s never been flashy in her clothes—she always shows just enough to light my imagination.

  As I walk toward her, her eyes stroll up and down my frame, giving me the same treatment I did her: a comprehensive checking out. Good thing I’m dressed the way she likes me best—tailored slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie.

  It also helps that I can follow instructions like it’s my fucking job, since she texted me and told me the attire.


  When I reach her, she gives me a final survey then a low, appreciative whistle. Standing, she reaches for my tie and yanks me in close with it. “You look hot as hell,” she says, and before I can even murmur a thank you, she claims me.

  She kisses me hard. Possessively. Blotting out all the patrons at Lincoln Center. Hell, she erases the rest of the city as she consumes my lips and turns my body white-hot.

  I cup her cheek, clasp her face, and kiss her back with the same ferocity. When we separate, she wobbles, and I steady her, reaching for her elbow.

  “Why, yes, I do believe we’re on the express train to Summit Town tonight,” she murmurs.

  Laughing, I drape an arm around her and gesture to the buildings that house the arts. “And I’ll be your conductor. But first, sherpa me.”

  She leans her shoulder against mine, smiling. “The place I had in mind is about fifteen blocks away. On Amsterdam. I just wanted to meet here because I like these fountains.”

  I glance at the sprays of water tangoing brightly behind us. “They’re quite romantic.”

  Her eyes widen and her tone is laced with worry. “Is that bad?”

  My brow knits. “No. Not at all. Why would that be bad?”

  She fidgets with her earring. “Just didn’t want to imply anything.”

  Is the idea of romance anathema to her? Is she against relationships? Maybe she’s so damn focused on work and her rescue she’s not even thinking of romance. Hell, maybe I’m the only one who’s let his mind wander down that path.

  Then I kick myself.

  You’re not going to have a romance with her. You work with her father. You work with her. It doesn’t matter how easy Jonathan and Sam make it seem to have an office relationship. That doesn’t mean a romantic relationship will work for you. The only romance you should be thinking of is the kind that’s part of the seduction. That kind is one of the key tools to help her reach the peak. You’re her guide.