“Remind me what that purpose is, again?”
“Apologize for running from him, not giving him a chance to say anything, and then avoiding him, and not answering his calls or messages. And to then communicate that you’re still into him. And, as a side bonus, you try something new, even if it’s a little scary at first. Because trust me, it is. But it’s exhilarating and fun and a hell of a rush. And he’ll love it. Which means, if he’s half the lover you say he is, he’ll repay you a million times over, because to him, giving you multiple orgasms during sex is what he’s supposed to do, and to him, you don’t owe him anything because he doesn’t keep score. Or if he does, it’s one for him for every three for you. Either way, you win.”
“What if someone sees?”
“It’ll be his buddies, and they won’t care.”
“I’ll care if they see me doing that. I know them. I’ve drunk beer with them.”
“Then don’t get caught.” She grins, tosses her hair, sucks in a deep breath, and tugs her top down a little bit. “Showtime. Do I look okay?”
“Audra, you look as incredible as ever. What about me?”
She glances at me. “Bitch, please. He’ll get hard at first sight.” She shoots me a look. “Promise me you’re not kidding about Franco being hot.”
I laugh. “You won’t believe me until you see him.”
“Because I need something jaw-dropping in my life. I’ve had a streak of guys that have been, at best, decently hot.” She grins salaciously. “And my jaw needs a little workout, anyway.”
I don’t say anything because I’m pretty sure if anyone can give Audra a run for her money, it’d be Franco.
The house is…incredible. Done in the French Manor style, it’s three stories, royal blue with slate gray roof tiles, surrounded by two acres of pristine grass—the area directly around the house itself is dirt still, because the landscaping hasn’t been done yet, according to Jesse. The house looks mostly done, which jives with Jesse’s reports that it’s down to finishing details. The front door is standing open, and I hear a radio blaring something unintelligible; more of Jesse’s screamy, thrashy, headache-inducing heavy metal. Overlapped around the music are the voices of the guys, each distinct, with a few others thrown in. I see a plumber’s van, someone that appears to specialize in renewable energy, and outside the house a crew of three young men are laying bricks in the circular driveway—which features a marble fountain that isn’t flowing with water yet.
Audra and I are each carrying giant bags full of carryout burgers and fries from a local pub and grill, and each of us has a twelve-pack of beer.
The bricklayers stop and whistle at us. “Hey-yo, you got some of that for us?” one of them asks, grinning at us.
Audra, always up for a little nonsense, hands her bag off to me, and cracks open the box of beer cans while sashaying sexily toward the three young men—who look to be barely out of high school, and probably hired to do the unskilled labor the more skilled crew doesn’t want to waste their time on.
“Sure, boys.” She puts a little extra pop to her hips as sidles over to them, offering them the beer. “Go ahead,” she says, breathily, leaning over a bit more than necessary.
They each take one, laughing and chattering. And then Audra sashays back to me, still putting on a show for them, just because. And she doesn’t look back as we enter the home itself, even though we both know all three are staring at us—Audra especially.
“You’re shameless,” I whisper-laugh.
She just smirks and shrugs as we enter the house. “It’s harmless fun. It’ll be a memorable part of the day for some young kids doing hard work on a hot day for probably shitty pay.”
“Actually,” a voice says, surprising us both into startled gasps. “They get paid double what most would pay for that job.”
I whirl, and see Franco at the window beside the open front door—he’d been in the process of painting the trim around the window. He’d seen the whole thing.
“Hi, Franco.” I try for familiar and friendly, hoping Jesse hasn’t said too much.
The wary hardness in his gaze tells me Jesse has definitely said something to his friends. “Imogen.” His gaze goes to Audra, looking her over. “Who’s your friend?”
Normally, this is where Audra takes over. Her patented seduction routine goes into overdrive, and she has the guy eating out of her hand, if not somewhere else, within seconds. Only, she’s mute. Staring at Franco, jaw open. I swear she has a dot of drool at the corner of her mouth.
I glance at Franco again, and understand: it’s a hot day and the other truck out front of the house is an HVAC technician, so the A/C in the house isn’t hooked up yet—meaning it’s hot in here, since it’s easily over ninety outside today. Which means Franco is shirtless, in the Sexy Contractor look—dirty, ripped, paint-spattered, faded jeans, heavy work boots, and a tool belt slung low around his hard, narrow hips. And Franco is, as I’ve said…jaw-dropping. A man with the dedication to his body that Franco shows…well, that’s like catnip to a fitness addict like Audra.
Franco frowns at me. “You both lose your voice?”
I start. “Oh. Sorry. This is my best friend, Audra.” I elbow her. “Audra, this is Franco. That friend of Jesse’s I was telling you about?”
“Abs!” Audra bursts out, apropos of nothing. She blinks, shakes her head, drags her wrist across the corner of her mouth, glancing at me worriedly, and then back at Franco. “Um. I mean. Audra. My name is—my name is Audra.”
A slow, amused smile spreads over Franco’s face. “Tits. I mean, Franco. My name is Franco.”
Audra, in a rare fit of extended dumbfounded speechlessness, glances down at her chest. Which, admittedly, she has put on rather obvious display: a “sports bra” that’s more lingerie than sports bra, and tight white form-fitting workout shorts that barely cover her ass. I’m pretty sure her sports bra has push-up technology, and god knows Audra’s monster tits don’t need any help in that department.
“Oh.” Audra shifts her glance up to Franco, her gaze slowly traveling the length of his body. “You’re jaw-dropping. I mean, Franco. You’re Franco.”
He just smolders at her even harder. “Yep. That’s me.”
I hand Audra the bag she’d given to me. “Well, umm…I need to talk to Jesse.”
Franco’s gaze, when he shoots a look at me, tells me he’s not thrilled with me. “Upstairs. Master bathroom.”
“Franco, I—”
He shakes his head. “Save it for him, Imogen.”
“Thanks.” I gesture at Audra. “I’ll just leave you two to your awkwardness competition.”
She’s just staring at him, very much like a cartoon character. I snap my fingers in front of her eyes. “What?” She jerks her eyes to me. “What’s up?”
I laugh. “I’m going to go find Jesse. You’ve got this, yes?”
Audra nods, slowly, not taking her eyes off Franco. “Yes. I’m good. Oh, I’m so good.”
I carry my bag of food and case of beer in search of the stairs; on my way, I pass an entry to the kitchen, where I see James and Ryder engaged in conversation—judging by the quick way they clam up, they were talking about me. I pause, and James just jerks his thumb in the direction of the stairs. Yeah, I’ve not made any friends.
I wander upstairs, following the music. As Franco said, I find Jesse in the master bathroom, on his knees caulking around the base of a huge clawfoot tub big enough for three people.
He doesn’t hear me.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, and tease my hair a little, and plump my cleavage. I’m dressed casually, in my most flattering pair of skinny jeans and a cream shirt with a daring V-neck, just translucent enough to give hints of my black bra underneath. I suck in a deep breath, and say a word of thanks that he’s in here, alone, and that I don’t have to try and lure him anywhere. This way, I can just…
Lock the door.
He hears that, turns, and sees me. His brows lower, and he take
s in the sight and smell of the food, the case of beer, and then my outfit. “Hi, Imogen.”
I don’t smile; I can’t, not yet. “Hi.”
“You’re alive. I was wondering.”
Apologize, and then make my move; I take a deep breath, preparing myself. My nerves jangle, adrenaline races. I’m nervous, but excited.
“Did you just lock the door?” he asks, looking past me at the door.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Why?” He’s suspicious. Wary. Confused, maybe.
I set the food and beer on the counter nearby, and then turn back to him. As I approach, he stands up, setting the caulking gun on the floor.
“I just…I—” I owe him the truth. “I panicked. I ran off, and I didn’t give you a chance to—I don’t know…say anything.”
He frowns harder. “I was trying to figure out what to say. And then you just shut down and I was—” He shrugs, as inarticulate as I am.
“I thought you were trying to figure out how to get rid of me,” I admit. “And I was scared. Because I was feeling things, but I assumed you didn’t and couldn’t possibly feel the same. So I just—yeah, I shut down.”
“I wasn’t trying to get rid of you, Imogen,” he murmurs. “The opposite, if anything.”
I step closer to him. “I came to say I’m sorry.”
He nods. “I get it. After what you’ve been through, and with how I said I usually am about relationships—”
I touch his mouth. “I came to say I’m sorry,” I say again. “And to bring you something to show you that I’m still interested in…whatever this is, or…or whatever it could be.”
He eyes the items on the counter. “Burgers and beer certainly helps.”
I sink to my knees in front of him. “That’s just because it’s lunchtime and I thought you might like lunch. That’s not what I brought.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh no?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
His eyes roam over me. “What’d you bring, then?”
God, I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I’m tempted to go double-check that I locked the door, but I don’t. I shift closer to him, sitting on my heels in front of him, and reach up to unbuckle his tool belt. I set it carefully on the floor nearby; it’s a lot heavier than it looks. He’s breathing very slowly, very carefully, his eyes following my every move as if not quite willing to believe I’m about to do what he thinks (hopes?) I’m about to do.
I unbuckle his thick black leather belt, and then undo the button of his jeans, and then lower the zipper.
“Imogen, you don’t have to—” he breaks off as I tug his jeans down, and he grabs my wrists before I can go further. “Imogen, wait. You don’t have to prove anything, or whatever it is you’re doing. I should have communicated better, not let you think—”
“What if I want to prove something?” I ask. “Maybe this is my way of saying I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“I thought you’d gotten what you wanted,” he admits. “You acted like you didn’t give a shit, like you were just done and ready to go.”
“That was all bullshit. I was a mess.” I tug at my wrists, trying to free them. “I wanted…more.”
“So did I,” he breathes, still not quite letting go of me yet.
I gaze up at him. “This whole thing, everything about us, Jesse…it’s new. It’s different. And I like it. But it’s scary.” I wiggle my wrists, and he lets go. “I’m not proving anything to you, right now—I’m proving something to myself.”
He breathes shakily. “When you got in your car and drove off, and then didn’t answer me, I thought you were done with me, with this whole thing.”
I pull his jeans down so they’re around his ankles, and then push his plain white T-shirt up. It’s sweat-soaked and smells like him, and the scent drives me wild, for some reason. I lick my lips and feel a tremor of eagerness run through me. I want this. And more than anything, I want to show him how much I want him. He tears the shirt off and tosses it aside, and slides his underwear down. He’s hard, bobbing with his shallow breaths.
God, he’s even more beautiful now than he was that night.
I glance up at him as I reach for him. “Jesse?”
He grunts an affirmative, as if he’s forgotten how to speak. “Uh—yeah?” He blows out a harsh breath, and tries again. “What, Imogen?”
“Don’t—don’t stop me.”
“No promises.” He grins, and I return it.
I stroke him, slowly, savoring every exquisite inch of him sliding through my hands. This time, I take all the time in the world to just touch him, exploring his length and thickness with my hands. When he’s clenching his jaw and breathing hard, I lean forward. Lick my lips.
The windows are open, and a bird chirps. The music still grinds from the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the counter. I can hear voices filtering up from the lower level, both through the floor and the window. It’s broad daylight, and I’m in my boss’s unfinished house, and I’m about to…
I keep my eyes on him as I lower my mouth over him. He grunts as I take him into my mouth, and then he groans as I sink him as deep as I can take him. I stroke him with both hands as I slide my lips back up his length, fluttering my tongue against the slick, veiny side. Down, licking, stroking. He hisses, and then buries his hands in my hair, tangling tight but not attempting to guide what I’m doing.
“Jesus, Imogen.”
I gaze up at him, and he’s…well, he looks like he’s in heaven, in an agony of ecstasy. As if what I’m doing feels nearly too good to bear. So I keep doing it. Licking, suckling, tonguing him, stroking. Long, slow, deep, and then short and shallow, using my tongue as much as possible, swirling it around the head, tasting the pearls of essence leaking out of him.
“You have to stop,” he growls.
“Mmm-mmm.” I hum the negative.
He reaches for me, and I snag his wrists, guiding his hands back to my hair, not slowing the rhythm of my bobbing. When he knots his fingers into my hair with a curse through grated teeth, I smile around him, meeting his eyes with mine.
“Oh fuck, Imogen. What are you doing to me?”
I let him free of my mouth just long enough to murmur, “Exactly what I want to, Jesse.” I take another slow, deep mouthful of him, and then back away again. “Now shut up and enjoy it.”
“You want this?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I murmur the affirmative, breathily. Because god, do I want it. He was in such tight control last time, until the very last second. This time, I want him to be in my control. Not about manipulation, but about knowing he wants to give that over to me, so that I can do this for him. It’s exhilarating, and scary. I almost wish I hadn’t locked the door, just to make it a little scarier.
I like the way he’s responding, the helpless tilt of his hips, the breathless groans as I slide my mouth around him, the growls in his chest as I stroke him and tongue the tip.
“Imogen, I’m—” he huffs, hips flexing involuntarily. “I—god, I’m gonna come…”
“Mmmm-hmmm?”
“Fuck—right now.”
He isn’t lying, either. I’m not ready for it—he surprises me even as he warns me. The sudden rush of it, the snarl of his voice, the musky taste and the flood of salty tang in my mouth, and his thickness sliding through my lips, and the wild cry as he releases, a strangled, helpless, almost mewling sigh as he releases and releases.
When he’s finally finished, I take a few more moments to savor him, the taste of him, the feel of him in my mouth, softening now, and then he’s pulling away and sinking to his knees with me.
I wipe at my lips with my wrist, grinning at him. “Hi,” I murmur. “So, do you believe that I still want more with you, now?”
He laughs. “God, Imogen. You’re ridiculous. I hope you understand I didn’t need you to do that to know you want more.”
“It was partially just because I’ve never done anything like that and wanted to surprise you. And myself.”<
br />
“Well…I’m surprised,” he says, righting his jeans. He eyes the food on the counter. “So. Burgers and beer?”
I smirk at him, licking my lips. “I think just had lunch, actually.”
He laughs. “Gotta wash it down, then.”
We sit on the marble floor and—after we both wash our hands—we dig into the food I brought, washing it all down with beer. And, like with Audra, once we both eat, Jesse sits back and eyes me, clearly about to say something heavy.
“The story isn’t entirely mine to tell, so I’ll only tell my side of it.” He cracks another beer. “I was with a girl for five years. We were…pretty serious.” He’s clearly struggling with what and how much to say. “I told you James is my brother-in-law, right?”
I nod. “Yeah…” I frown. “But I’ve never heard anything about his wife, who would be your sister, right? He also doesn’t wear a ring.”
Jesse nods, head hanging. “Um. So I was super into this girl. Love and all that, right? And James was married to my sister, so my best friend was married to my older sister, which was weird at first, but if anyone could have been good enough for her, it was James. And things for them were great, you know? He was head over heels for her. Had been our whole lives, honestly. Just…gaga for her.”
I smile. “That sounds sweet.”
He nods, not smiling. “Well, um. Renée, my sister—she—ah…she passed away. She died.” He blinks hard, and my heart squeezes, because this is still very obviously painful to talk about. “And James, he—he lost it. It just…my best buddy since third grade, man, he just…” Jesse shakes his head. “It was bad.”
“God, Jesse, I’m so, so sorry.”
He just nods. “Yeah, well…um. I saw what it did to James when his wife died, you know? And I’d been thinking of proposing, you know? She’d been hinting, and I’d been planning. Had a ring picked. But then Renée died and James went haywire, and…I guess I panicked. I broke up with her instead. Like, why would I put myself at risk for that same kind of heartbreak? You never know what’ll happen in life, who’ll die and leave you broken. Why bother? It was fear, grief, all that. It was stupid—I was stupid. She was amazing, and I—” He glances at me apologetically. “Sorry, I guess this isn’t what you probably want to hear after…”