Unfinished Business (9 page)

He moves his tongue across my stiff clit, over and over with featherlight licks that make me wiggle my hips to get the pressure I need. He holds my ass steady, as though he’s determined to keep me in position long enough to finish sucking him off. I am happy to oblige. Even though my release is so fierce that I begin to tremble, I still manage to keep gliding my mouth up and down his dick until I swallow every last salty drop of his cum. While we thrash about on the couch until the very last of the explosions, he holds onto me so tightly that I don’t fall onto the floor.

In the back of my mind I thank him for that.

And, well, the other.

* * * *

Forty-five minutes later, after my teeth are brushed and my phone is plugged in for the night, I slide into bed. I can’t complain, I tell myself. I’d gotten what I was after.

So why do I feel so out of sorts? Like that wasn’t what I’d wanted?

I smack my pillow, turn onto my side, then stare at my phone.

It would be kind of weird for me to send a text to Nick, telling him how the night went. No way would I offer all the details, but…

Nah.
I won’t text him. If Nick wanted to know how it went, he’d ask. He can, after all, text me.

Right?

I close my eyes, force my mind away from Clifford and that scene on the couch, but the images keep tumbling back to me. Finally I give up and let myself scrutinize each and every second until my mind gives in to the day and a welcome wave of sleepiness takes me over.

I’m standing at a door when it swings open. There’s Clifford, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I step forward and he takes my hand, pulls me in, shuts the door, then says, “Hey.” Without another word, he shrugs out of the robe. He looks like some freakishly amazing garden statue. He is beautiful and powerfully elegant, except his dick is hard and sticking straight out. I’m pretty sure they don’t design naked man statues like that—with erections, I mean.

After letting me take a good, long look, he leads me to a couch and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling his legs. My dress slides up my thighs, exposing my thong. I’m clutching his bare shoulders and trying to stay on his lap while he gently pulls my dress up higher and higher. I lift my arms so he can yank it off. He runs his fingertip down between my breasts, over the clasp of my bra, then continues until he reaches the waistband of my panties. He pinches the lace in his fingers and tugs up, forcing the lace between my pussy lips so it rubs against my clit. I wiggle my hips side to side and a zing of electricity zips up my spine.

He smiles, lets go, and now, he’s moving his mouth to my shoulder, making a row of kisses as he pulls my bra strap down. Using the same sweet row-of-kisses technique, he moves to the other shoulder, and I feel my bra come loose. He uses his giant hands to undo the clasp. After I slide it off my arms then toss it over by my shirt, he cups one breast and begins sucking. He’s taking his time, exploring the tight peak of my nipple with his mouth and feeling the fullness with his palms. It’s then that I realize something about him has changed. He’s so tender and attentive.

Maybe he doesn’t understand I’m pretty much using him for sex. He’s acting like this moment means something.

I put my hands on either side of his face and guide his head back so I can look into his eyes and maybe say something—even though I don’t know what.

But when I push his head back I see that it isn’t Clifford. It’s Nick. And he’s looking at me with a sexy sincerity that I’ve seen on his face before but right then his brown eyes are also dark with lust.

“Hayley.”

I wait for him to say more, but instead of talking, he cups my other breast and begins licking the nipple. The flick of his tongue is so amazing that I arch my back, trying to shove more of my breast into his mouth. Each movement of his tongue make me hotter and wetter. He keeps at it until my pulse is fluttering. I’m panting when he lifts his mouth.

“I want—”

He doesn’t have to finish. I know what he wants and I want the same thing.

Keeping my torso steady, I lean back and try to get my panties off. I wiggle them down as far as I can before having to break contact. I stand up and start sliding them down over my legs. I notice how carefully Nick is watching me, so I slow down and give him something worth watching. Inch by inch I bend down then I pivot to show off my ass. When I turn my back to him, he grabs me and puts me directly in front of him. Then, still holding onto me, he bends forward and places his mouth on mine. He runs his open mouth across my skin then licks and kisses my stomach. His hands are warm and his wet mouth is hot. That sweet tenderness is back, his attention so sweet its almost reverent. I’ve never been touched this way before, I realize. Then I realize I never want this to stop.

I run my fingers through his ruffled hair. He murmurs something I feel more than hear then he lowers his mouth to my pussy lips. When he slides the tip of his tongue across my clit I roll my hips forward and sigh. He licks me for what feels like forever but it’s not enough. I’m aching for more.

He leans back and grabs my butt cheeks. “My Hayley has the sweetest pussy and the best ass.”

I want to tell him how much he means to me but that heat coursing through my veins seems to have burned away my ability to speak. So instead of replying, I wiggle thanks with my hips then climb back onto his lap, putting one knee on each side of his thighs.

The skin-on-skin contact is glorious. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press myself against him while he grabs my ass and caresses my cheeks. He nudges me back with his head and starts sucking on my nipple again. The tingles of electricity come back, fast and fierce and I’m more aware of his cock, pressing against my clit. I rock against him, taking advantage of the hard ridge of his dick.

My body is so prepped, my clit already stiff, that I pump up and down, hard and fast, shoving my breasts in his face as a turbulent orgasm takes control of me. For a few seconds my body is at the mercy of Nick’s dick as the waves of pleasure tear through me.

Chapter Ten

Sex and Careers: Oh Yeah

“So how was it?” Josie wants to know first thing the next morning.

I have to remind myself that she’s not asking about my too-naughty-for-words-sex-with-a-friend dream. “Hmmmm. It was good, I guess.”

“Good. That’s it? That’s all I get?”

I force the very vivid dream from my mind and mentally flip through my evening with Clifford. “It wasn’t what I expected.”

Josie slides her coffee cup across Pastry Pete’s chipped white counter. She pins me down with a steely blue-eyed stare. “You have to tell me more than that.”

I glance at my watch and wonder why I agreed to meet Josie before work. Is she anxious because I’m her first match? Or because I’m her friend?

Either way, I’m not so keen on rehashing the whole went-roller-skating-in-a-dress and did-hot-but-weird-sex evening.

“Give me the play by play. What did you do first?”

“We went to Greektown for pizza.”

With an exaggerated flip of her hand, she encourages me to continue. “And. How did that go?”

“Well…” I pick at the pastel sprinkles dotting the top of my chocolate frosted donut. “He ate a lot.”

“Of course he ate a lot. Who cares? What did you do after you ate? Walk down Monroe and get a coffee? One of those boring pastries?”

I straighten defensively. “I like those tasteless Greek pastries.”

She flicks her wrist again, only this time not so patiently. “Whatever.”

I take a bite of my donut as a stalling tactic. After chewing as slowly as possible, I swallow and take a sip of coffee.

She’s still staring at me. Where is Riana when I need her?

I sigh and wave the invisible, white flag of defeat. “We went roller-skating.”

“I thought you wore that black dress?”

“I did.”

Her eyebrows drop and her mouth rounds into an ‘o’.

“Exactly.”

An annoying chuckle ripples out of her.

“It’s not funny,” I mutter, staring at my frosting smeared plate.

“You roller-skating in that black dress is not funny?”

I set down what’s left of my donut and cross my arms. “No. It’s not.” I cling to my defensiveness, because I know that it is funny. Only I’m not ready to laugh yet.

I sigh and roll my eyes. Maybe it is the only way.

She makes a face to let me know that she’s done laughing at me. “Then what?”

“You mean after the skating debacle?”

“Oh, so now it’s ‘The Skating Debacle’? You can make a joke out of it but I can’t?”

I lift my eyebrows and stare importantly down my nose at her. “Yes.”

“Just tell me this. If he calls, are you going to go out with him again?”

I scramble for a reasonable answer that won’t prompt more conversation. “We don’t have much in common.”

“Oh.” She practically hops out of her seat. “That reminds me. My sister wants to interview you.”

My mouth goes sour, completely ruining the aftertaste of my donut. “Interview me? What for?”

“To see how your night went.”

“For her singles in Detroit article? You want me to help her with that? I don’t think so.”

She blows out a puff of air. “It might be fun.”

“Yeah, right,” I mutter as we get up to pay.

It’s always the same with Josie and her sister. Eventually the article will be something they’re doing together, then the reality that her sister is a selfish bitch will rear its ugly head once again.

Then Josie will be mad. Again. She’ll cry. Again. Riana and I will draw faces on our chins and hang our heads off the bed so our mouths are upside down. We’ll make the little faces say stupid stuff until Josie laughs. Then we’ll eat too many Oreos and talk about how Josie will never ever help her sister with anything ever again.

Someday Josie will get a clue. Maybe her sister will get a clue. Until then, I have to play along.

Josie stuffs her sister’s card into my coat pocket. I know I’ll call the human sponge. I know I’ll agree to get together with her. We’ll talk. I’ll hate it.

But I also know that I absolutely will not tell her the whole truth about the night with Clifford.

Instead, I’ll paint a picture of a completely secure woman, one who has a challenging job she loves, goes out when she feels like it, and knows exactly where she’s going in life. Not one that ran away from a scandal and now, apparently, is developing a wicked soul-consuming crush on one of her best friends. A crush that could ruin one of the few great things in this new city life. But also one that apparently can’t be controlled.

After Josie and I shout goodbye, I head back to my car, wondering for the first time what it would be like to love my job. Give it my full attention like I should.

Lots of women do. Maybe I envy those well-heeled ladies in Ann Taylor slacks who set goals and achieve them. Not only do they understand what they’re supposed to do at work, they get satisfaction from their successes and learn from their failures.

I slide into my car. Could I be like them?

Chapter Eleven

Life in the Fast Girl’s Lane

Less than an hour later, I’m creeping past Bob Hastings who has his nose in the sports section. He tips the paper down long enough to say, “Only about two weeks until opening day, Hayley.”

“Go Tigers!”

He grins, probably because he thinks I’m sharing his enthusiasm. I glide up the hill and park. Carrying my lunch in one hand and the possibility of appreciating my job in the other, I bust through the pretty French doors and march to my desk.

Yuck.
Caroline has left me a message. Not one of the cute pink phone messages, one of her yellow you-have-to-do-this messages. But wait! I might be a new woman—one who is excited by the challenges of her workday—so after I put my lunch in the mini-fridge and manage to cram my purse into one of my desk drawers, I muster up a smile.

Oh. It isn’t from Caroline after all.

It’s from Mr. Neville.

Hayley,

Caroline says you’re great with ideas so I’m passing this on to you. We need ideas for our big anniversary celebration—15 Years of Luxurious Living at North Pointe Farms. Make a list of ideas and have them ready for me in a couple days.

Okay, I get it. He needs some ideas.

Ideas about what?

Hell if I know.

I tip sideways and spy Caroline at her desk. She’s the picture of managerial perfection as she clicks away on her keyboard. I really don’t want to go ask her what he’s talking about. Every time I ask her anything, she looks at me with this pinched expression like I’m some kind of stupid asshole she’s been saddled with.

Frantically I scan the top of my desk. Sadly, there is nothing else to do. Nothing work related anyway. So I either forget the notion that work challenges can be sources of growth or slink over to Caroline’s office and ask her what exactly Mr. Neville is getting at. It’s too soon to give up—even for me.

Caroline’s toes are pointed forward and peeking out beneath her desk. That stiff smile spreads across her face after I say hi.

“I see you got Mr. Neville’s memo.”

My head bobs up and down as my gaze roams around her office. Her diploma from Michigan State is watching over her, daring anyone to question her abilities or professionalism. The frame that holds the photo of her and her boyfriend is a castle with long yellow banners flying across the top. Does she think it’s cute or does she actually have a sense of humor and realize how stupid it is?

“Did you have a question or something?” she asks with her gaze trained on my knees.

Besides, ‘why are you staring at my skirt like it has some secret message embedded in the fabric’?
“These, um, ideas, he’s talking about. What kind of things is he looking for?”