Crash Point-epub (8 page)

The feminist part of her was outraged and tempted to hang up on him, but, at the moment, her libido was currently making all decisions.

Blake appeared to have interpreted her silence correctly. “We both want the same thing right now.” His voice sounded more distant. Apparently he’d put her on speakerphone as well.

“What are you doing now?” she asked.

“Unzipping my jeans.”

She licked her lips, sorry she hadn’t suggested postponing her meeting with Ned and inviting Blake over.

Before she could make the offer, Blake took charge. “Cup your breasts. Lift them up and squeeze them.”

Chloe dragged her hands along her stomach, surprised by the sudden sensitivity of her skin. How could Blake get her to this point with no more than a few words? She held her breasts, her nipples budded, ready.

“Squeeze them hard. There’s no point in denying you don’t like your pleasure laced with pain.”

Her face flushed, the response caused by embarrassment and need. She’d tried to hide her darker kinks from other lovers, always feeling slightly strange for her desires. She’d never had to do that with Blake. He’d just seen what she wanted and given it to her. No questions, no qualms. Hell, most of the time it seemed as if he wanted it even more than she did. Something she didn’t think possible.

She applied the pressure to her breasts, pinching her nipples roughly. Her breathing grew heavier.

“Are you touching your nipples?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Pinch them hard. Let me hear that pretty whimper of yours.”

She tightened her fingers, suddenly self-conscious of her sounds.

Blake’s voice when he spoke again, seemed breathless. “You can take more pain. Stop holding back.”

She gave in to the desire, pinching her nipples harder than she’d ever dared. The sharp sting sent zings of pure pulsing arousal straight to her pussy. She pressed her legs together to capture the heat and moisture.

“Are you wet, Chloe?”

“God.” She felt lightheaded with need. “Yes.”

“I’m so hard right now. My hand is wrapped around my cock, but it’s not the same as being inside you.”

“Come over.” The invitation was out before she could consider why she shouldn’t issue it.

“I can’t. You have to go to work soon. We’re just going to have to let this be enough for now.”

This was nowhere near enough. Chloe fought to restrain her brief flash of temper, a disposition her mother said she’d inherited from Papa Lewis. Like her father, she was prone to impatience and while their tempers ran hot, they usually only blazed hot for a moment before they were able to rein it back in. “Dammit, Blake.”

“Shh. It’s time to get serious. Keep one hand on your breast, while you drop the other lower. I want you to tell me how hot and wet your pussy is for me.”

She obeyed his request, opening her legs. She drew her fingers along the seam, gasping at the sensations provoked by that simple touch. “Oh,” she cried.

“You sound so sexy, Chloe. God, baby, you have no idea what you’re doing to me. The head of my cock is seeping come and my balls are tight. We’re going to have to move fast. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold off.”

The gruffness of his voice told her he was telling the truth. Chloe wasn’t worried. It wouldn’t take much to push her over at this point.

“Rub your clit. Push your fingers against it hard and fast.”

Chloe did as he asked. She groaned then released her breast, using her free hand to grasp the edge of the kitchen table. She needed something to hold on to, to keep her grounded.

“My cock is going to explode. Are you close?”

“Yes,” she hissed, her fingers familiar with this motion. She was no stranger to masturbation and she knew all too well how to get herself off. Even so, this was way faster and so much hotter than anything she’d ever done. Knowing Blake was on the other end of the phone, imagining his hand stroking his own cock, his head thrown back against his couch with his eyes closed. It was as if he was sitting right in front of her, each of them performing their shows in person.

“Push two fingers into that hot cunt. Shove them in deep and fast.”

Chloe knew what would happen if she did that. Her climax would be inevitable.

“Do it. Now, Chloe.”

She pressed her fingers deep, thrusting them, pretending it was Blake’s cock that was pounding inside her.

“Add another finger, baby. Make it bigger, thicker.”

She obeyed, not bothering to slow her rhythm. She released the table and added her other hand to the game, fingering her clit, touching that one spot…that one place that made her…

She cried out loudly. “Oh my God. Blake.” Chloe doubled over, her head flying toward her lap as her orgasm racked her frame. It was potent, powerful. Overwhelming.

She could tell from Blake’s rough grunts that he was with her. She closed her eyes, letting herself see the jets of come erupting from his cock, landing on his shirt as the stroking of his hand slowed.

For several long moments, the phone line was quiet except for the soft sound of Blake’s breathing. He was obviously listening to the same thing from her.

“You still there, baby?”

She grinned, dragging her fingers from her body, struggling to sit upright once more. “I’m going to need another shower.”

He chuckled. “Wish I was there to scrub your back.”

“That’s all you’d scrub?”

“You ready to go again? So soon?”

She groaned at the thought. If he were here, she’d definitely give it the college try, but the truth was she was zapped. While the flu had passed, she suspected she was still a few days away from full-strength. “No. Unfortunately, I’m not.”

He seemed to understand. “I’ll take a rain check for the shower.”

Damn man kept making these grand assumptions about their future. Granted, her actions weren’t helping to dissuade him. Even so, she still had too much pride for her own good.

“You may be waiting a damn long time to collect on that. I’m still not planning to see you after the photo shoot.”

Blake wasn’t deterred. “You will. So when are we meeting to take the pictures?”

She glanced at the clock. She really did need to shower and dress then gather up her stuff for the shoot with Ned. She was in serious danger of being late. “What does tomorrow look like?” She hadn’t scheduled anything for Sunday, pretending it was so she wouldn’t miss Sunday dinner. Now that she was asking, she knew it was because she’d intended to give Sunday to him.

“I’m on-duty.”

Chloe tried to ignore her disappointment.

“But I’m off next Sunday.”

So it would be another whole week before she saw him again. Silently, she chastised herself. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be over Blake Mills, not counting the minutes until she saw him again.

She tried to chalk up her weakness to the flu. Clearly she was still sick and not thinking clearly. “How about next Sunday afternoon after dinner at Mama’s then? We’re usually finished eating by two, so we’ll have a few hours of good light.”

“Is that an invitation to dinner?” he asked.

“Are you sure you really want to push your luck and step into the lion’s den again?”

“Mama Lewis will protect me. She likes me.”

Chloe wanted to deny that, but he was right. Her mother had always had a soft spot for Blake. Chloe blamed it on her Mama’s tendency to root for the underdog.

“You know the drill. Table is loaded with food by noon. Get there by then or we’re starting without you.”

Chloe clicked off without saying goodbye, hoping that would make it clear she didn’t want to see him between now and then. She rolled her eyes.

Sure you don’t.

There was no way to ignore how excited she was about next Sunday.

By the following Friday, Chloe was regretting agreeing to help out with her mother’s damn calendar even more than before. If she never saw another shirtless, beefcake, prima donna asshole again in her life, it would be too soon. With the exception of Ned—whose photo shoot was a blast—and a lovely pediatrician, the last five guys had run the gamut from God’s gift to women to more demanding than J. Lo on tour.

Today’s shoot was the one she’d been dreading the most. With good reason. The manhandler had arrived in full-force.

Javier Ramsey was one of New Orleans’ premiere chefs, his restaurant in the French Quarter winning national acclaim from all the critics and making it a local hotspot whenever the rich and famous came to town. Reservations for dinner were booked months in advance.

Now Chloe was beginning to understand why he was so talented. It appeared he had at least a dozen extra hands, all of them managing to touch her constantly, and while his supposedly glancing blows hadn’t crossed the line to inappropriateness yet, he was getting damn close.

Chloe reached up to adjust the lighting once more. Even though she’d told Javier to stand still so she could get it right, the man was behind her in an instant. He placed one hand on her hip as the other met hers on the light. His bare chest pressed against her back and she stifled the urge to curse. Their close proximity drew her attention to his erect cock.

Great. This wasn’t going to end well.

Javier had elected to wear just an apron, and while she knew he had boxers on beneath it, they wouldn’t appear in the picture. It was the most risqué portrait she’d done thus far and she was a little bit worried about her mother’s response when she saw it. Of course, none of that would matter if Mr. Hands didn’t stand still long enough for her to snap his picture.

“Javier,” she said, her temper beginning to pique despite her attempt to remain calm. She’d been trying to set things up for nearly forty-five minutes, but Javier kept changing his mind about his pose. It was mid-morning and she wondered how long he could continue to stall before he’d have to give in and let her take the damn picture. The restaurant was opening in a few hours.

During their initial meeting, he’d sat too close to her on her couch as they’d discussed their ideas for the calendar. He had asked her out, but she’d refused. Then he’d played the French card, kissing her on both cheeks as he left. That wouldn’t have bothered her if he hadn’t lingered on the second kiss and placed it a bit to close to her earlobe, adding a bit of hot breath to the touch.

The guy squicked her out. Majorly. He’d called a few times since then, but she’d sent him straight to voicemail.

“I don’t want you to burn yourself,” he murmured, his lips too close to her ear for comfort.

She tried to take a step away, but he tightened his grip on her hip.

“I really need you to stand over there so I can make sure the direction is correct.”

“You are a very beautiful woman, Chloe.”

She sighed and wondered how much it would piss her mother off if she brought her heel down on Javier’s foot and crushed all of his toes. Given his behavior, she suspected her mother would encourage it. However, she recalled the fundraiser committee’s glee when the famous chef had agreed to participate. They’d been thrilled, claiming his presence alone would sell tons of calendars.

“Thank you,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I think the lighting is fine now. You can take your place.” She didn’t give a shit if his whole face was in shadow. She was snapping a few shots and getting the hell out of here.

Javier didn’t appear anxious to move away, but mercifully, his sous chef arrived, an Amazonian woman named Elise whom Chloe had liked the moment they’d met. Javier released her and moved back to his place by the chopping board.

“What do you want?” he barked at his assistant, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

The woman must have been accustomed to his rude manner. “If we’re going to serve the
tarte au pistou
tonight, I need to begin preparing the ingredients before the rest of the staff arrives.”

“We’re not finished yet. You’ll have to wait. Go away.”

Elise seemed unfazed by her boss’s anger. She walked over to Chloe. “How much longer will you be?” While her question was innocuous, the concerned look on Elise’s face proved the woman was really wondering if she was okay.

Chloe tried to decide if there was any way she could finish her job without making a scene. Perhaps Elise could help. She handed the woman her phone and spoke quietly, hoping Javier couldn’t overhear. “Do you mind clicking on my contacts, calling Blake Mills and telling him that I’m running late for our meeting. Tell him it would save time if he could meet me here.”

“Of course.” Elise gave her a subtle wink—all too aware that Chloe was calling in the cavalry—and took the phone out into the main restaurant.

Blake was at work and they didn’t have any meeting scheduled. Hopefully he’d catch the drift that Chloe needed help and he’d come over. She wasn’t all that worried about Javier trying something. Chloe was more than capable of fending off an overzealous womanizer. The problem was Javier wasn’t responding to her verbal warnings. All she had left was her right hook. If she pulled that out, he’d withdraw his agreement to participate.

Chloe sucked at peaceful resolutions. She’d grown up in a houseful of boys. All disputes were handled quickly and efficiently…physically. While her brothers had never lifted a hand to hurt her when they were all kids, that hadn’t kept them from wrestling or tickling her into submission in order to get a toy or the last dessert.

Javier started to walk back toward her, but Chloe threw her hand up to halt him. “No, don’t move. The lighting is perfect and I don’t want to lose my shot.”

The spotlight was nowhere near right, but it was close enough. Javier seemed to struggle for a reason to approach her. Failing that, he returned to his original place. She adjusted the camera lens, tweaking the focus and the aperture. She also awaited the inevitable. They’d gotten this far in the process three times before and each time, Javier had declared the pose wrong for some asinine reason or another. The only thing giving her hope was that the man was beginning to run out of places in the kitchen to stand.

Sure enough, just as she bent to click a shot, Javier threw up his hands. “This feels too awkward. I would never stand like this while cooking.”