That Wild Player, page 11
“Michelle…” His breath fans my earlobe, sending all sorts of delicious tingles over my delicate skin. “Stay.”
“I shouldn’t.”
His lips brush over the skin at the nape of my neck. “Why? You think I’ll leave you high and dry, too?” A soft little laugh, like that’s the funniest, silliest thing ever.
“No, because…” It isn’t going to be like our phone sex. We’ll be in person. It’s going to be awkward. It’s going to be weird. And I’m going to…
I suppress a sigh. There’s no way to sugarcoat this. I’m going to disappoint him. Not measure up…somehow.
Sort of like how I’ve always not measured up in life. Always full of potential, but somehow not quite fulfilling—like a subpar item in fancy packaging.
“I want you,” CJ says. “And I swear I won’t leave you unsatisfied.”
“It isn’t about you, it’s really about…” I can’t say it. There is a limit to my capacity to embarrass myself. “I should just go.” But I don’t make a move to open the door. Instead, I let my head fall back because his lips feel so, so good against my skin.
And he keeps on with the soft little kisses, sending small zings of pleasure through me.
“You’re going to be disappointed,” I whisper in a final, feeble attempt to make him stop so I can force myself to leave, even though my body is saying, Yes, yes, yes, let’s go for this, right here, right now!
“I hate it when people tell me how I’m going to feel. The only way I’m going to be left disappointed is if you leave…then turn to your vibrator for what I can give you instead.”
Holy shit. My whole body clenches. There’s nothing I’d love more than to stay, even though my history sucks.
Screw it. If I leave now, I’m going to regret it. I know that. Still, fair is fair. “I haven’t changed my mind about wanting more than just good sex in my relationships,” I say, being all Ms. Full Disclosure. “If I stay, I’m also going to ask you to open yourself up for the Michelle Experience.”
“The Michelle Experience?”
“Uh-huh. It’s going to rock your world…and make you change your mind about relationships.”
“Deal.”
I swivel around, putting my back to the door. CJ gives me a blinding smile, full of wicked promise.
“Thank you, Michelle. Now, there’s one thing you have to do for me.”
“Enjoy myself?”
“That’s the goal, but no. I want you to be honest.”
“Honest?”
“Fake it till you make it is a great concept…but not in bed.”
I flush. It’s like he can see every thought in my head. Because faking it? Yeah—it definitely is one of my coping mechanisms, especially in bed and especially when it’s becoming awkward with the guy’s, er, mounting frustration.
“Give me your word, Michelle. Deal?”
This is important to him. He’s keeping his hands to himself and hasn’t done a thing to distract me.
I gulp. All or nothing. “Deal.”
Chapter Twenty
CJ
The answer clearly cost Michelle. Her body’s tense, and she’s looking at me like she just agreed to dance naked during a morning work meeting.
I hate all the fucking losers who left her—what is the word she used? Right…an OrGin. What the hell kind of guy does that to a woman who’s agreed to share his bed?
Some women fake it when the guys are horrible in bed, and I have a feeling Michelle is one of them. I don’t want some pseudo-porn performance from her. I want her to be herself. And I have to make sure she feels comfortable enough to be honest about her reactions.
“Good girl,” I say with a smile—because she deserves a little confirmation she’s doing the right thing.
Then I kiss her, making it tender, coaxing. She holds herself rigid, her breath fanning my skin. I put my hands on her arms, stroke them slowly and gently.
She lets out a whisper-soft sigh, and gradually her body relaxes. Her lips grow pliant, responsive. Only then do I cradle her head in my palm, the thumb resting over the erratic pulse point on her neck, while my other hand skims the small of her back.
She tastes like champagne and cherries. A low moan of approval vibrates in her throat; the sound wraps around my erection and tugs. She licks me on the mouth, then slips her tongue between my lips.
I meet her stroke for stroke, letting her set the pace of our foreplay. She grips my shoulder, then my head, her pulse fluttering faster against my thumb, her skin growing warmer. A delicious apple scent mixes with her feminine aroma, and it’s all I can do to not rip her dress off and take her right now.
With a breathless gasp, she tears her mouth from mine, clenching my hair, her eyes closed. I move my lips along her jaw line, nibbling and licking. Her breathing grows rougher. I unzip her scarlet dress, push the skintight garment over her hips and let it fall to her feet.
Michelle stands before me in nothing but a sexy satin bra and a matching thong in black. Lust pulses in my veins, and I feel like I’m going to embarrass myself.
For fuck’s sake. This is for Michelle.
Her breasts rise and fall rapidly, and I can’t help but kiss the soft mounds. Her fingers dig into my scalp; I push the bra cups to each side, so her breasts are revealed. The bra pushes them together, creating an obscenely deep cleavage I can lose myself in. Her nipples grow pointed underneath my gaze. Unable to help myself, I run my fingers over them, flicking them gently. She gasps, her back arching.
I bury my face between the ripe breasts, licking the cleavage, and can feel her heart hammering. I pull a nipple into my mouth, sucking it gently at first, then gradually increasing the pressure until she’s panting and twisting against me. I treat the other nipple to the same attention, gauging her reaction. Everything from her chest up is flushed, sweat misting her heated skin. I dip my hand below and slip it under her thong. I groan as her slick juices coat my fingers. She moans in response.
“To bed,” she demands. “Now.”
I sweep her up in my arms. I love the solid feel of her flesh, all those soft curves pressing against me. I deposit her on the king-size bed and strip faster than I’ve ever stripped before, my clothes, socks and shoes landing in a messy heap behind me. I link my fingers with hers and push her hands up above her head, kissing her deeply. She squirms and moves until my dick’s cradled between her thighs. I almost come right then and there.
“Inside me,” she orders, her voice surprisingly demanding despite its breathlessness.
I love it.
I slip a condom on, pull her thong off and very gently push into her. She bites her lower lip, glittering, dark eyes on mine. Her pussy clenches around me, and I hiss at the amazing sensation. My gaze on her face, I test out different thrusts and angles. Every woman is different, and I want this to be mind-blowing for Michelle.
It doesn’t take more than a few strokes before I find what she likes—from the way she gasps and her pussy spasms and clenches around my cock. My girl likes it deep, fast, hard and just a tad rough.
I give her another taste. “This how you want it?”
Her eyes darken with lust and excitement. But when she nods, she bites her lip. And it’s a slow nod.
Her hesitation leaves an aching hitch in my chest. It’s pretty clear that all her exes tried it fast and deep and lost control before she could climax.
I’ll be damned if I join the Disappointment Club.
I drive into her. Her thighs part wider, her breathing growing rougher. She tightens her grip on my hands. A red haze of lust urges me to let go, but I can’t…yet. I need to give her that final something that’s going to push her over the edge.
I free one hand and rub the pad of my thumb against her clit. She twists, her moans louder. But it isn’t quite enough.
Her back arches, and I bite her nipple with enough force to give her both pain and pleasure.
She screams, the sound high and tortured, and a tear streaks from the corner of her left eye. Her pussy ripples violently, she starts to shudder, and I give one final thrust before letting go with a roar of my own.
The pleasure of afterglow is pulsing through me, but I remember to roll to the side so I don’t end up crushing her. She turns to me, her hand over my racing heart. I like the slight weight of her head on my shoulder…a lot. Maybe too much.
I shove the thought aside. Of course I like it. Michelle’s hot, responsive, and we just had a terrific time. I brush my fingers over her shoulders and back, tracing the delicate lines. She’s so soft and pretty. I feel my cock hardening again already—a record. Round Two is going to make up for all the—
“I have to go,” Michelle whispers.
Ah, Michelle, Michelle, you can’t say things like that while pressing so tightly against me. “You sure I can’t persuade you to stay?”
“Mmmm… You’re doing a pretty good job, but I really have to go.” Then with a little sigh, she adds, “Work.” Her gaze darts to the bedside clock.
“You can go from here.” I shift until I can kiss the side of her neck now, making her shiver.
“Bad commute. And I have nothing to wear.”
“Call in sick?”
She hesitates for a second, then sighs. “Sorry. Can’t break the rules.”
Well, I knew that already. Michelle, the stickler for policy. Even on a smaller scale, she doesn’t bend. Like that time at the hamburger joint where I offered her a fry or two. Most women would’ve helped themselves. She looked at those fries like she wanted to adopt them, but didn’t touch a single one.
And I respect her for that. Most people think a minor infraction here and there won’t matter. But at the end of the day, it’s the small things that add up.
I lean over and kiss her, unable to help myself. She kisses me back with a small smile, then gets up and starts moving around the suite to find her clothes. What a fine view. She’s still in those stilettos, and there’s something incredibly hot about her walking around with nothing but her bra and heels.
She wrinkles her nose at the thong, and places it on the vanity before slipping into her man-killer dress.
“Why don’t you let me take that?”
“What?”
“Your thong. You don’t seem too crazy about it.”
She rolls her eyes. “So you can rub it all over your face?”
“Why not? It’s a great way to commemorate the night.”
“Do you, like, have a huge collection of women’s underwear?”
My brain’s a bit mushy from sex, but not that mushy. “Nope. Your green panties are the first.” It’s true. “I just want to give them some company.”
“You’ll have to earn it if you want more.”
I give her a look of faux-outrage. “Was what just happened not good enough for you?”
“It was pretty much perfect…except for one thing.”
I stare. She’s serious. “Which is?”
“You’re a commitment-o-phobe.” She winks.
The wink eases the knot that was forming in my gut. “You didn’t expect me to pull out a ring tonight, did you?”
“Nope. But if you had…” She smiles, then shoves the thong into her purse and checks her phone. Her expression changes to something more serious, and she starts typing away.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s Dick.”
“Who’s Dick?”
“My PI boss. I have to talk to him about tonight because he needs to tell the client what happened. I mean, I guess I have to tell the truth, even though I have no idea how he’s going to take it.”
I wave a hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Olivia called Dick about half an hour ago. She and her husband decided to reconcile. So no need for any incriminating evidence to kill him in divorce court. And she’s still going to pay the fee.”
“Is she now? That’s awfully generous of Olivia.”
“She’s surprisingly unselfish with my money.” Then I peer at Michelle. “Unless you want to tell Dick the truth?”
“I have to tell him something.” She worries her lower lip, then says, “Gotta go.”
She starts walking away, and suddenly I don’t want to end the evening with her like this. “Let me drive you home.”
She gives me an odd look. “I brought my car.”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
“I need to check my schedule.” She hesitates, pressing her lips together. Backing toward the door, her gaze on mine, she finally says, “Text me around noon.”
Then she’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-One
Michelle
The alarm next to my bed beeps, letting me know it’s time to get out of bed. But I’ve been awake for at least half an hour now. Couldn’t—just couldn’t—go back to sleep. My brain’s sharp and alert, while my body’s languid and happy. Must be the post-orgasmic glow lingering. No one has ever seemed to know exactly what I needed in bed…until CJ.
He should’ve picked a Friday or Saturday for the fake “assignment.” Then I might’ve stayed. I wasn’t just making excuses when I told him the commute is bad in the mornings. The area has grown worse over the years, and it’s hard getting up early enough to make it to work on time. Unfortunately, the idea of insufficient sleep or being late to work gives me the kind of creeps that leave me cold and sick to my stomach. Then there’s another important factor—the lack of fresh clothes. I refuse to be seen outside as anything less than impeccable. A girl needs her power outfits.
On second thought, I might not have stayed even if it were Friday or Saturday. That orgasm did something to me. For the first time in my life, I was this close to saying, “What the hell,” and calling in sick. The urge scared me for a second, and I had to remind myself why giving in to it would be a terrible idea—like the fact that CJ is a hard-core commitment-phobe at the moment.
Well, he did say that he was open to the Michelle Experience…but that means he’s the one changing, not me and my values. Besides, haven’t I learned from my side gig that men can be very liberal with what they meant when sex is involved? I needed to put some distance between me and CJ to see if the urge was just some fleeting madness or something more permanent.
The crazy thing is—the urge lasted all through my drive home. Who would’ve thought an orgasm with a guy could have such a profound effect on my mental state? Now I can see why so many smart women do stupid things when it comes to men. I’m not planning on being irrational or changing who I am. But I also don’t plan on giving up CJ’s amazing body or touches or kisses…
I sigh. Sammi’s right. I should just treat CJ to the Michelle Experience and blow his mind, the way he blew mine. Then we can have the perfect life I’ve always envisioned. No problem.
After a quick shower and doing my hair and makeup, I put on a deep blue dress with cute spaghetti straps and a translucent white cardigan and nude pumps.
I go downstairs with just enough time to have a granola bar and a small cup of coffee. The townhouse is quiet. Sammi spent last night at Luke’s, and Jan was at Matt’s. They’re probably laughing and chatting and doing all the affectionate, fun things couples do when they get ready for work.
I reach for my keys, wishing CJ were here. Maybe next time I should invite him.
There’s a text from Dick waiting on my phone. He’s pleased the client got another chance at her happy ending. Most people think he’s a hard-nosed asshole, but he’s a big believer in true romance. Makes sense, since he’s happily married to his high school sweetheart and has three kids.
Then I make the tactical error of checking my email. The second one from the top of my refreshed inbox is the one from Izzy. The subject line? Things You Discover About Your CoWorkers. She incorrectly capitalized “coworkers” in a company-wide blast. Typical.
I’d forgotten all about her “email,” but now… The coffee churns in my stomach like a hurricane is blowing through.
My hand tightens around my phone. The content will be garbage. I don’t have to read it to know, the way I don’t have to look at maggots to know they’re gross.
Well, I’m not going to read it or give it any mental energy. Izzy can go straight to hell.
I drop the phone back in my purse and drive to work. I’m not reading Izzy’s email. Nope. Never, ever. Not going to think about it, either.
When I walk into the lobby with exactly ten minutes to spare, I run into a couple of guys from the app dev teams, one looking like an undernourished Kentucky farm boy, and the other reminding me of a gunslinger after a particularly grueling fight. Their hair sticks up, their eyes are uniformly bleary with dark bags underneath and stubble covers their chins. The T-shirts they have on are wrinkled and limp. Although they don’t look fresh, they don’t smell. Probably used the shower on the app dev floor. The two are holding big donut boxes.
“Morning. You guys pull an all-nighter?” I say sympathetically as I wait for the elevator.
“Yeah. Been pretty busy,” Farm Boy says with a yawn big enough to crack his jaw. Then his eyes widen. “Oh, hey, Michelle. You’re Michelle, right?”
“Hi,” I say, tilting my head curiously. I’m pretty sure I’ve never met them. I make it a point to remember the names of all the people I’ve been introduced to at the company.
The Gunslinger gapes at me. “Wow. So you’re the Michelle.”
My mouth tics, but I manage a friendly enough response. “I guess I am.” I even pull off a smile.
“You’re like— Ooof!” He exhales roughly when his friend’s elbow connects with his torso. Hard.
The elevator opens. “Oh look! The elevator!” Farm Boy says, pointing at the car as though he’s never seen one before.
I arch an eyebrow. “Right.” I step inside. “Coming?”
“Uh. Why don’t you go ahead first? We need to wait for Joe. He’s getting the coffee.”
And I was born yesterday. “You sure?” I give them a thin smile. “Cold donuts don’t taste as nice.”
“We’re good.”
