I really, really like kissing Nathan West.
NINETEEN
Nathan
What the hell was that kiss? Mina’s fingers threading into my hair, her breasts pressing against my chest. Her lips were supple and soft but stoked the fire we lit at the pool table.
I ruminate over it the entire drive home, then some more as the garage door closes behind me and I let myself into the house. My cock throbs and shudders. I pause, leaning against the kitchen counter to give it a moment to remember who we’re talking about here.
This is Mina Blake. My interior designer. Hot Mess Extraordinaire. We have a business relationship. Nothing more.
Except it sure feels like more. Like I can talk to her about anything and she’ll listen. Like she sees through the stupid barbed wire I’ve wrapped around my heart to the man I used to be. Like she wants to help me be that man again. And when I’m with her, I want to be that man again.
Except I’m paying her to date me for shit’s sake.
And I promised I’d cut a check for it tomorrow.
Sure, most of the money is for her design services, but there’s a financial aspect to our relationship that I can’t ignore. It’s a devil on my shoulder, whispering, ridiculing…
I’m struck by the memory of Mina’s shocked face at Red Stiletto the day I proposed this crazy idea.
No, she said, that’s prostitution and trust me. We’re fine. You don’t have to worry about us having sex. Ever.
But, when my hands met Mina’s waist tonight, she pulled me closer and held me tight. Nothing about her said no and everything about her said yes…
Said every rapist ever.
My eyes blink open and I push off the counter.
What the fuck, man?
What’s going on with me?
And for that matter, if a little contractual flirting turns me on this much, how in the hell will I handle Mina in a bathing suit tomorrow—with even more contractual flirting on tap? If our next kiss includes skin on skin contact…
Maybe she isn’t a bikini kind of woman.
Maybe she’s into the sleek black one-pieces favored by athletes.
Or better yet, considering her vintage vibe, maybe she’ll show up in one of those turn of the century deals that covers every inch of her body…
Right. And maybe Dom will text tomorrow to inform me he’s entering a monastery and completely approves of my choices of late.
I am so fucking screwed.
I pour myself a drink, assistance to get Mina off my mind.
The whiskey goes down smooth. Too smooth to drown the thoughts of her, so I pour myself another. No help there, either. I place the empty glass in the sink and head upstairs for a shower, but she’s waiting for me there, too. On her knees. Lips pink and parted as she beckons me forward. I blink away the image as I crank on the water and strip, but my dick has a different idea. As water sluices down my face, my chest, my abs, I imagine her lips wandering the same path, kissing and licking and staring up at me with those fucking baby blues. I take myself in my hand, rolling my palm over my crown, tilting my head back in ecstasy.
In my mind, Mina smiles and takes me to the back of her throat and then I’m pumping and shuddering and fuck, my fist in her hair, those perfect tits bouncing as she sucks me, moaning and groaning and oh damn she’s glorious. Pull her to her feet and bend her over. Slap that ass and spread her thighs, then bury myself balls deep as water pelts her back, my chest. Her hand pressed against the cool tile, steam gathering around us, her pussy clenching and quivering and fuck fuck fuck! She’s screaming my name, her voice breaking as it echoes off the bathroom walls.
My fist pumps and my breath speeds and then I’m coming harder than I remember and all I see are blue eyes, soft skin, and hair so black it’s like midnight over the water…
The light blazing through my window is unforgiving. One eye cracks open, then the other, then the icepick inserted at my temple does a viciously twisting dance. After my self-love extravaganza last night, I had another drink. To wash away the shame, I said. Drunk and disorderly me continued to wander back to thoughts of Mina. Some about sex, others about what life would be like if our relationship was real. So I had another.
I cover my face with my hands and groan.
The shame is still there and has joined forces with a righteous hangover that pounds against my skull. I know better than to listen to drunk Nathan. He does stupid shit.
Dragging my palms down my face, I press up on my elbows and take stock.
Headache? Check.
Nausea? Not as bad as it could be.
Grumpy as fuck? That’s an affirmative.
I check my phone and find a text from Dom.
Dom
Thought I warned you about dating down
wtf you talking about
That blogger told the world about your interior designer/girlfriend. When are you gonna learn it’s better if you just take my advice?
Don’t worry, though
Dr. Dom to the rescue
Come out with me tonight
Can’t.
Why?
Her?
Yep
I’m telling you brother, you’re making a mistake on this one.
She ask you for money yet?
Fuck this shit. I don’t have it in me for this conversation.
