Mack, page 17
He used a condom every time. I didn’t even have to say anything. It’s kind of odd he should receive praise for that but, nonetheless. Honestly, I imagined what it’d be like without one. I scolded myself repeatedly for fantasizing about that; but it would be hot.
The thing that caught me most off guard, was I expected it to just be purely physical. Just this biological urge finally taken care of, and it wasn’t. It felt like so much more between us, and that is the part that scares me the most.
I glance over at him.
He’s a hard sleeper, his breaths come slow and deep. I can’t help but watch even though I know it’d be weird if he suddenly opened his eyes and caught me. How creepy would that come off? Then again, he stalked me, so I guess we’d be even.
Sleep has a way of stripping a person’s masks away. Whoever they present themselves as in the so-called real world dissolves and leaves them as they really are. In Mack’s case, it leaves him looking younger. Even sweet. His mouth curves into something that looks suspiciously like a smile. I wonder what he’s dreaming about.
I have to fight the urge to stroke his stubble-covered cheek, to run a finger down the length of his straight, perfect nose. I want to explore other places on him too, like the line running down the center of his abs, down to his navel and even lower than that.
He drives me insane. I already want him again. The man doesn’t even need to be awake.
And the wildest thing is, I don’t feel as nervous or anxious as I normally would after spending the night with a new partner. It always feels awkward and this feels so natural. There isn’t the list of questions I normally ask myself. Should I tiptoe to the bathroom and put on makeup so I don’t look a total mess when he wakes up? Does my breath smell? Did I snore overnight? Is he really awake and waiting for me to leave the room so he can sneak out?
That actually happened to me once in law school.
This feels so different. Nicer. Relaxed.
Right.
Which it shouldn’t.
I let out a sigh, my heart sinking before I carefully work my way out of bed, trying not to disturb him in the process. Now that common sense has re-entered the situation, the morning doesn’t seem so perfect and wondrous. I pull on my Tigers t-shirt and panties and tiptoe out of the room, closing the door along the way.
Once I’m in the living room I breathe a little easier. There’s no living evidence of outrageously amazing sex next to me here. I can think more clearly. Coffee will help with that, so I make a pot and pace the room, waiting for it to brew.
This feels way too good. Way too easy and comfortable. This feels like it has a future for crying out loud. I can’t stop shivering, just thinking about all the ways he touched me last night, the things he did to me. The things I said out loud.
“Oh my God.” I put a hand over my mouth as the memories flood in.
This isn’t just a biology thing though. It’s way beyond that.
Shit.
I’ve wanted him, sure.
But I like him.
I like him a lot. I can feel the damn feelings.
“This is bad,” I say to no one in particular, dragging out the last syllable.
How am I supposed to forget who he is? What he does?
I chew my thumbnail, standing by the coffee pot, waiting for it to finish. I need coffee, ten minutes ago.
Why does it have to be him? Why does he have to do what he does for a living? Work for the people he works for? Heartless, cruel people. He’s not cruel. He’s not heartless. I can just—tell. How does he do it, then? Is it really all about the money? The challenge of climbing that corporate ladder?
How am I supposed to be with somebody like that? No matter how mind-blowing the sex is. No matter how hard he can curl my toes and make me say his name.
The coffee finishes and I welcome the distraction, pouring myself a gigantic cup. I sit down with it at the table and contemplate making an entire pro con list so I can analyze this.
Little late for that after you’ve fucked the guy—thrice.
I go stiff at the sound of footsteps from the bedroom, the slight squeak of the hinges as the door swings open. Looking over my shoulder, I find Mack walking slowly into the living room wearing his boxer briefs and nothing else.
My eyes go up to the ceiling for a moment. Thank you, Lord.
I’m not even really religious, but his body is not of this world.
I’m torn between being too nervous to look at him and wanting to do nothing but stare at him for, oh, the rest of my life. His body is a work of art, all corded muscle with hardly an ounce of fat visible from head to toe.
The shoulders I gripped so hard last night flex when he throws his arms over his head and yawns. Something tells me no matter what he does, when he’s shirtless, he looks perfect doing it.
“Presley?” he calls out through the place when he doesn’t find me in the living room.
“Over here.” I take a giant sip of coffee as he walks up and damn near burn my tongue.
He smiles the second his eyes land on mine, like he wasn’t happy until he saw me. “Been up long?”
I shake my head. “Just a few minutes.”
He goes and takes a coffee mug and pours his own cup like he owns the place.
“Yes, you can have some of my coffee.”
He smirks as he fills the cup all the way to the top. “Thanks.”
I can’t help the flush that spreads across my chest. He’s so arrogant, even getting a cup of coffee. Why do I like it so much? It should frustrate me, and not in a good way.
I don’t even bother to respond to his sarcasm, but I do know one thing—I’m nervous. My stomach is in knots. Because I don’t know what he has planned for this morning.
Is he going to want sex again?
Do I want sex again?
He sits down, drinking his coffee black. It’s so weird. It wasn’t what he ordered the day we met. I don’t bring it up, though.
No, instead, I ask the most awkward question I can think of, because I am me. “What are you thinking? Regretting yesterday?”
His eyes roll up to mine, like he can’t believe I just said that. Slowly, he moves that perfect jaw line back and forth. “No.” His voice is gravelly. “Not for a second.”
I can’t help the rush of heat that blooms in my chest, and I think it’s pure happiness. “Good.” Oh my God, you are so awkward, Presley.
He smirks again, like he knows just how nervous he makes me. “Why, do you regret fucking me?” He folds one arm over his chest, the coffee in his other hand. It makes his pecs bulge and the memory of running my tongue over them comes back all at once.
“You’re so blunt.”
“Why not be up front and honest?” He shrugs, looking right at home in my kitchen chair. “Anyway, you asked the question first.” He looks off, like he doesn’t really care one way or the other.
I find myself holding the rim of my coffee cup up to my mouth for far longer than intended. “I mean, I thought…” I pause for a fast second. “I seemed pretty excited about it, in the middle of things. I hope that was your observation as well.”
He leans forward, now with a devilish grin on his face. “You mean when you yelled ‘fuck me, Mack’ over and over, right before you came all over my dick? I mean, I figured you were pretty excited and happy with the way things were progressing.” He takes another sip of his coffee, like this is a perfectly normal conversation.
My cheeks get pink as hell, partially with embarrassment. But his body and the things he says—they turn me on, more than I think he knows. His stupid confidence is like a damn aphrodisiac. What is it with that?
“My main worry, is are you okay sleeping with the enemy…” He pauses, as if the conversation just took a serious turn. “Perceived enemy, anyway. Seriously, we should be up front and honest—our situation is unusual.”
“That’s a word for it.” I’m surprised but also happy he brought this up just now. It feels like we’re two rational adults with a problem, working the best way possible to solve it. “I do feel like I’m betraying someone, just having you in my apartment. It feels right, but it feels wrong too.”
“Who are you betraying? We’re two people having sex. Aren’t you capable of compartmentalizing?”
“It’s, umm, more…” I wish I could think clearly when he has his damn shirt off, staring at me like that. It’s damn near impossible. “Complicated.”
He reaches out and strokes my arm. “I feel like we’re two grown, mature adults who can make this work. As long as we properly communicate with one another.”
Yes! We can!
No, it’s a disaster waiting to happen!
“Keep business shit business, personal personal. I know I’m capable. Are you?”
“Yeah, umm…” I can barely speak for the flutter in my chest, the way his eyes sear into me, like he’s just waiting for me to agree so he can have his way with me again. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”
He sets his coffee cup on the counter, then turns to me with a wicked grin that heats me from head to toe. It’s all it takes. I’m so weak. Weak for him.
Words can’t express everything behind his eyes, what I read in the curve of his mouth as he suddenly hauls me up from my chair like I’m weightless, nothing but a feather to him.
He sets me down on the same counter, exactly how he did last night. “You know what I think, Presley Griffin?” He leans in, one hand on the counter behind me, one hand on my hip. He smells like cologne and coffee and a little bit of sweat from the workout we gave each other yesterday that lasted well into the night.
All my doubts are gone, all worries. It’s like he just chucks all anxiety out the window. I breathe him in, giddy with anticipation as his hand that’s on my hip slides down to my thigh.
“What?” I hold his gaze, egging him to go on with what he wants to do, because God knows I want him to do it. Goosebumps rise over my skin and my nipples tighten an instant before his chest brushes them. I press my lips together to hold back a moan.
He lowers his head, his mouth grazing my earlobe, his breath stirring my hair. “I think you worry too much.” His voice is deeper, darker, filled with all sorts of promises.
“Do I?” I can’t help but close my eyes, blocking out reason and common sense and everything else but this moment. Right here and now. The bottomless need he stirs in me. How can I already want him this bad—again?
He nods slowly while lowering himself, sliding down the length of my body. “It’s been way too long since I tasted this pussy.”
My thighs squeeze together at the thought. I want it so bad right now, but somehow reason filters back to the front of my brain. “Mack…”
He looks up at me, kneeling at my feet, and my God if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. This man on his knees before me, practically worshipping me, his face inches from the apex of my thighs. He narrows his eyes, breathing heavier, staring at me like I’m a drug and I’m also the one keeping him from it.
“Stop worrying about shit.” He shoves my thighs apart even farther, his stubbled cheeks grazing the insides of my legs. Without haste, this time he yanks my panties down my legs and off my feet.
“Oh God.”
“It’s Mack, but I understand the confusion.”
I shake my head at him. “Shut up.” I grip the back of his head and try to force him onto me.
He holds it there for a split second, just to let me know he’s strong enough to resist if he wants to, just enough to show me a real smile, and I catch a glimpse of dimples for the second time ever. They’re like spotting Bigfoot or Nessie in the wild.
Something on my face must change, because he smirks like he just won, then allows me to pull his face right into me.
Good Lord, this man’s tongue.
He really does have a gift.
By the time he lifts one of my legs and drapes it over his shoulder, I’m lost.
In approximately two point two seconds of Mack Mitchell’s mouth on me, I’ve forgotten every single worry I had.
This is not going to end well.
Mack Mitchell
It’s been two weeks, and things are going well so far. I think I can do this.
“Okay, I gotta ask. Who’s been showing up to the office and where is Mack?”
I glare up as Barbara hands me a contract for review. “What?” I know exactly what she means. I’m sure I’ve been smiling more than usual. It’s difficult not to smile a lot, the way things have gone with Presley.
“You’re not yourself.” Her reading glasses nestle themselves on top of her head. You know the old motherly kind. She lowers them, squints slightly, then nods as if everything just came into focus. “Forget I said anything. I like what I see here.” She waves a finger up and down, then starts to leave my office.
I know I stopped smiling when she walked in. I know this. My act is good. “I’ve worn this suit before. I guess I did just get a haircut, but—”
She spins around, and she’s about the only one who can get away with out-smart-assing me like this. She squints her eyes the way women do when they think they know something, and shakes her head at me with a shit-eating grin. “Okay, buddy. You may fool all of them.” She points outside at the rest of the office then turns the finger back on herself. “But I’m not fooled.”
I pretend to study the contract on my desk. “Nope, still the disgruntled asshole who demands results from you instantly.”
She pretends to scratch her nose with her middle finger.
It’s quite vulgar for her standards. It gets a laugh out of me.
“Good for you, though. You work too much. You deserve a little happiness.” She grins and taps her watch. “Speaking of instant results, better get a move on. You’ll miss your meeting.”
“Cutting it a little close on the reminder, aren’t you?” As if I haven’t been looking forward to this all day, practically counting the seconds. I had to put it down as a meeting as cover to get out of being at the office. That’s the tricky part of this. I’m usually at the office most nights. “Not to worry, though. I did in fact remember. I’ll have this contract signed before I leave.”
“Well, I’m glad. You’ve been a little spacey lately. I’ve never had to remind you of meetings until recently. Enjoy yourself. I hope it goes well.” She gives me a coy smile.
Apparently, my act hasn’t gone as well as I thought.
Have I been spacey? Now she has me looking back over the past two weeks, searching for clues. Maybe she’s had to remind me of a few things here and there, and caught a few smiles when I’m by myself. But isn’t reminding me what an assistant is supposed to do? It’s assisting. If anything, I’ve made her job too easy all these years, being as self-reliant as I am.
Even now, arguing with myself, I have to laugh a little on the inside. She definitely knows something is up. The problem is, I hate how obvious I’ve apparently made it. Has anyone else noticed?
How am I supposed to hide that shit? Presley makes me happier than I’ve ever been.
A pretty bold statement, but not untrue. Everything is better. I sleep better, eat better. The sex is phenomenal.
Except for one thing. The elephant in the room. It’s front and center in my mind when Ryder walks past my office. My stomach twists in a knot, because the days are counting down to make a decision and force the Winslow issue. I’ve just let it go and pretended that problem doesn’t exist, but that can’t last much longer. The clock is ticking and I can’t stop it, no matter how much I’d love to. The sight of him reminds me of the night. The night when he fucked me out of my first night with Presley. Sure, I overcame the adversity the next day, but it’s because that’s what I do.
I can’t dwell on that now. It’s a future Mack problem. Current Mack is doing just fine. I’m about to get a dinner with her all to myself. For once, we both have time to focus completely on us and nothing else. I can’t waste it thinking about all the other bullshit.
Not that we haven’t been able to spend time together. It’s always rushed, though. One of us is always hurrying from the office or has court early the next morning.
It’s not enough. A few quick dates ending in amazing sex—and honestly, a couple of our dates consisted of nothing but that. Still, it’s not enough. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.
“Here.” I drop the contract off with Barbara on my way out. “I even remembered to sign it, Mom.”
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks. Now hurry up or you’ll be late. She won’t be happy.” Her irritation turns to a genuine smile, but she doesn’t look at me when she says it.
I lift an eyebrow, backing away. “Who says there’s a she involved? I never mentioned the sex of the other party.”
“Sure. Private dining room at The Whitney. Very romantic. Natural choice for a business meeting with a male colleague.” She waves me off. “Go. Have a nice night.”
I don’t even argue with her.
I’m too damn excited.
The sight of Jim Baxter at his desk on my way out isn’t even enough to destroy my mood. This is going to be amazing and I can’t get out of here fast enough.
* * *
I stand, waiting impatiently in front of the mansion when the car I sent for Presley pulls up. The only instruction I gave her was to look nice, a little more upscale than a baseball game.
She didn’t enjoy not knowing what was in store, but clearly she got the message. As she steps out, I notice her hair first, swept over one shoulder and hanging in waves. She extends a leg, her foot wrapped in a hot-as-balls black stiletto as she steps out of the car.
Every ounce of oxygen leaves my lungs.
The sight of her, all of her, sends a shockwave that nearly knocks me off my feet. She’s in a designer dress I didn’t know she owned. It’s black, covers one shoulder, and clings tightly to her curves, highlighting a perfect hourglass frame.
I put a fist to my mouth, and it takes everything I have not to bite the hell out of my knuckle.
Fuck me. How am I supposed to control myself through dinner with her in that?
