Velvet Kisses by Addison Moore
I glance up amused. “You always draw up a legal document before entering into a hookup?”
He pushes out a dry smile, and something about that small action sends a quiver between my thighs, efficient as a vibrator.
“This isn’t a simple hookup.” He says it so cool, it’s believable. “Not in the traditional sense. And the lab work is just to put your mind at ease. I saw my doctor this morning. I’ve called campus health services for you, and their earliest opening for a screening is later this afternoon.”
Oh, wow. Me thinks the professor is randy. I give a gluttonous grin. “Consider me there.”
“Good. They’re expecting you. I’ve already put your name in.”
Holy wow, this guy is really on top of it. I’m guessing he’s anxious to get on top of something else. The only planning ahead Will ever did was to fill up his gas tank before making us late to the movies.
“So are you any good?” I’m half teasing but curious as to how far his ego is willing to go to defend his fornicating honor.
“Are you kidding?” His eyes dart to mine. His features melt serious and hard as flint. “I can make a career of this if need be.”
Thought so.
“Well, then! This is going to be fantastic.” I quickly scribble my name in all the appropriate slots before sliding it over to him. “When can we begin?”
Wyatt leans in with his elbows on the desk, his hands pressed together near his mouth as if he were sending up a prayer.
“One month.”
“Tonight.” I counter, stunned by his latent proposal.
“Three weeks.”
“Two and a half, and I might spend the night.”
“I promise you”—a slow grin spreads over his face, his eyes glow with an intense level of assuredness—“you will never want to leave.”
I watch his full lips move as he rounds out the words. Something tells me he’s right.
“You’re going to fall in love with me.” His dimples go off as he gives a cocky grin.
“I’m going to use you.”
“We’ll see.”
Wyatt scrawls his name over all the appropriate boxes and sets down the pen with a deafening clang.
The smile glides from his face. “Let the games begin.”
“They already have.”
Wyatt
“Classification of terms?” Blake scoffs as he flings the contract back my way.
“Don’t look so unimpressed. I wasn’t trying to woo her, I was trying to scare her—as in scare her off.” I glance over the page where Marley penned her signature just a few short days ago.
“You don’t say.” He looks mildly amused. “Did it work?”
“Oddly, no.” I tuck the lewd document back into my briefcase.
The Black Bear is filling up around us as the rest of Blake’s band puts together the equipment on stage.
A familiar dark-haired shadow treks over. Monica. I give a brief idea of a smile. Just great. I’ve sent a steady stream of polite yet dismissive text messages for the last few days—especially after missing dinner with her the other night. I’ve never forgotten about a dinner date in my life. I still feel pretty bad about that, although, in my defense, Marley is quite the distraction.
I lean toward my brother. “Why don’t you go up and help out the band?”
Blake rises. “You’ve got a birthday coming up. Anything on your wish list?”
A grimace comes and goes at the thought. Benji and I had our birthdays just a day apart. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason Blake remembers it. My birthday will now forever be a source of pain.
“No worries, buddy. It’s like in a month. I think we should forget about it.”
“It’s in two weeks. And I’m not forgetting.” He knocks on the table before heading for the stage.
“Looks like I came just in time.” Monica settles across from me with a tight-lipped smile, her glasses dripping to the tip of her nose. “So, who’s the lucky girl?”
“Lucky girl?” A slight wave of heat rides through me at the mention of a girl. I give a quick glance to the entrance. Marley mentioned Blake would be playing tonight. She knows I’ll be here. We spent the better half of the day locked in one sexual innuendo after another, not to mention a never-ending steam of banter that left my balls aching for some relief. I suppose in that sense there is a girl. “There is no girl.” And now I’ve lied to Monica for the very first time.
“Good.” She pulls forward her Louis Vuitton briefcase and settles her elbows over it. “Let’s get out of this adolescent pigsty and have some real fun. Marcus picked the kids up from school today. I’m all yours for the weekend.” She pulls her lip in slowly with her teeth. Invitation sent.
“Can’t do it.” My eyes float nervously past her. “I’m meeting someone—and before your mind wanders, it’s not like that.”
“Oh?” She darts her gaze around the room quick as a pinball machine. “Then what’s it like?”
“Just doing a friend a favor.” I take another hit off my beer and give a casual glance over my shoulder. I’m not sure how to classify what I’m doing with Marley. Not sure if she’s a friend, but in the least that’s how I see her.
Monica leans in with the determination of a cougar with her ovaries on fire. “How about doing this friend a favor?”
Our eyes connect, and as much as I’d like to, I can’t look away. Monica and I have a history. We were together, seemingly in love, for what felt like an eternal portion of my life. I can feel her wanting me. The slight hint of desperation lingers in the air, and I wish it didn’t. I wish she could see that even though I’m unattached, I’ve moved on.
“What’s the favor, Mon?” I plop my beer back on the table like the slamming of a gavel.
“My father’s house is about to go on the market. I need to be in Aspen for two weeks minimum. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind coming along.”
“Really?” She surprised me there. Two weeks is enough time to rekindle just about any flame, but I’m afraid in our situation she’ll only going to find out the hard way there’s nothing left between us. “Sorry about your father.” Both of Monica’s parents are gone, her father being the last to pass away. “Let me think about it. Forward me the details, and I’ll see what I can work out.” Not sure why I didn’t just say no. Most likely because her father was a good guy, and the thought of crushing her while he lingers around us like a ghost makes it that much less appealing. I’ll let her down slowly some other time.
Her phone rings, and she quickly inspects it. “I’d better take this outside. Be right back.” She slices by at a quickened pace, and a flood of relief fills me.
I’m not sure why Monica feels like a lead coat lately, but I’d hate for her to sense it. We’ve known each other too long, gone through too much bullshit to simply forget one another existed. It’s a wonder she still speaks to me let alone wants to fall into my bed. She’s the one who went out and found someone else while I thought our relationship was still going strong. In truth, I didn’t feel so strongly about it, and that’s exactly why I wasn’t so surprised when she walked out the door. I think that’s why I feel so bad for Marley. I get the confusion you feel when the one you’re with is suddenly with someone else. It sucks, and it can sting like hell. It makes you insane—so much so that you might find yourself having contractual sex with someone you hardly even know. That’s why I wanted to pull the timeline out a good month. At least give her a chance to clear her head.
A cool pair of hands momentarily covers my eyes. That familiar gardenia scent surrounds me, and I don’t need my vision to tell me who it is. The warmth of her body covers my back, and I fight the urge to lean against her.
“Annie?” I tease.
“Be quiet, you.” Marley slinks into the seat across from me as I hold back a laugh. Her hair is up, waterfalling into a cascade of curls at the crown. Her face glows like the moon. Marley shines with her crystal blue eyes heavily lined in dark kohl. It’s a vexingly go
“I want you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“You want me?” She spikes in her seat, pleasantly amused at the statement. Not sure why it surprises her. My body, my eyes, each breath I take confirms that I want her every time she’s near me.
It’s clear I don’t have any control over my tongue when she’s around.
“I want you—to dance with me.” That’s definitely not what I was going to say, nor is it remotely what I want, but, apparently, I’ve been possessed by a frat boy, so I take off my jacket and go with it. “Come on.” I pick up her hand and head to the dance floor. Blake ends one song on a wild jolting note, and I cringe at what I’m about to do. Hell, I know what I need to do. I’ll simply move and shake like a monkey who’s being electrocuted, and Marley will want nothing more to do with me. If that contract didn’t scare her off, I think my dance moves will cement the need to flee.
Blake pumps a dry laugh into the mike as the music starts up again, hard and caustic—the electric chair for white boys on the dance floor. If there’s a “Dudes Don’t Dance” episode, I’ll be on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone records the killer moves I’m about to implement, and it goes viral by morning. I’m okay with putting aside my ego if it means getting Marley to rethink her stance on experimenting with someone for the sake of her article.
The music stops just as I’m about to bust a back-breaking move. Blake looks down at us with his hand up to the band.
“I’m going to switch things up for a while,” he pants into the mike. “Grab your lady, girls grab your man—get ready to get your hip grinding in for the night.”
I shoot him a look as efficient as giving him the finger, and he nods with a devious smile.
“Nice.” Marley relaxes her arms around my shoulders before vacuuming her hips to my thighs. My dick tucks neatly into her belly no thanks to my height advantage. “I’ve been waiting to hold you. Finally!” She bites down on her lip, and, for a second, it feels as if she’s teasing.
“You do feel nice.” I lean in and take a hard sniff of her hair. Lavender. Sevilla had the entire house smelling like a field of lavender when she cleaned. Those were my favorite days, my favorite memories of spending my “Dad” weekends with Sevilla. “You smell pretty damn good, too.” A crude groan escapes me, and I cringe. I’m only propagating what I was hoping to stop. Just beyond her shoulder, I spot Monica threading her way back to our table. I spin Marley deeper into the crowd without giving it a second thought. I’d rather dance, sniff, and taste Marley all night than deflect any more of Monica’s advances.
“I think you smell nice, too.” Her hand smooths over my chest. Marley’s eyes sparkle in this dim light like a pair of glittering sapphires. “So two weeks, huh? What inspired you to put the boys on ice for so long?”
“I wanted to wait a month,” I remind her. “We met at two weeks.” One month left ample room for negotiation. Two weeks leaves just enough time for anticipation. Quite frankly, I’m a bit offended she didn’t put up a bigger fight. I give a private smile. “Besides, you should get to know the person who’s going to be barking out orders in bed.”
Her mouth falls open, and she stops moving all together. That’s it. She’s done. I brace myself for a slap to the face, but her lips twist in a declaration of approval.
“So you’re that kind of boy, huh? I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be dominated in the bedroom.” She bites down on her lower lip so hard, I’m afraid she’ll draw blood.
“Uncomfortable. It’s going to feel uncomfortable.” Ironic. The harder I try to shake her, the more I seem to reel her in. I’m just too damn charming for my own good. “So you like being tied up?”
She pushes in tight with her perfect body conforming to mine, and I groan as her tits crush against me.
“I don’t know.” The words bubble out in a giggle. Marley is adorable, and, if she tries to push her way into my body any harder, my dick will tell her exactly how adorable I think she is.
“Mmm…” I shake my head. “I like the restraints set pretty tight—no wiggle room—for you that is.”
Her eyes widen at the prospect. “You have a four poster bed?”
“Bought for that very purpose.” Not really. It was a garage sale find, and the posts are more of a nighttime hazard, but they’ve been known to hold a few women steady.
I sweep a loose strand of hair from her forehead and inspect her in this dim light. Marley is a goddess. She can command anyone with a pair of testicles to bow before her, and they would. They couldn’t help it. She’s that beautiful. But, apparently, the thought of being tied spread eagle does nothing to dissuade her from our little agreement.
I lean in and whisper, “You look like a naughty one to me. I bet you like a good spanking.” Maybe the thought of corporal punishment will make her squirm.
“You’re into punishing women?” She practically mouths the words ecstatic.
“No.” Geez. Shit. This is going in the wrong direction. “Hell, no. Well, maybe—I’m talking about a good old fashioned whipping.” That didn’t sound any better, but it doesn’t stop my grin from spreading wider than it needs to. Maybe if she thinks I’m a freak, she’ll gallop her stilettos right out of here. “I don’t consider it a crime that I know my way around a riding crop. It just so happens that the recipient is usually in need of a very thorough punishment.” I cinch my lips a moment. Marley is suddenly starry-eyed at the prospect of a good flogging, and a perverted part of me is glad she’s on board. “Now, tell me”—I growl into her ear before blowing a hot breath—“have you been good or bad?”
“Oh, professor!” She groans a little too loud, a little too enthusiastically. “I’ve been a very, very bad little girl!” Her lids blink in rapid succession, and, for a moment, I wonder if this is all a put-on, and she’s been yanking my chain the entire time.
I give a quick glance around as if expecting a hidden camera to catch the spectacle.
“Come on.” She ticks her head. “What else have you got?” Her finger flicks my earlobe, and instinctually I groan. “Give it to me all at once. I want to know exactly how naughty the Professor can be.”
“I bite,” I say it stern as shit. “All the time. In very delicate places.” There. If the idea of having the most tender part of her grazed doesn’t send her hurdling for the exit, nothing will.
“Wow, really?” Her brows flex in an awkward range that lets me know she’s not sure whether to be appalled or impressed. She shoots a nervous glance to Annie at the bar.
That a girl. I loosen my grip in the event she feels the need to test out the sprinting capabilities of her heels.
“Okay, then,” she whispers. “I guess it’s safe for me to divulge a few secrets of my own.” She nuzzles in tight until her face is just inches from my own. “I like to lick. A lot. In very delicate places.” Her teeth graze over her lip, and I pull back a notch before my body fills her in on how unreasonably excited this suddenly has me. “In fact”—she strokes my chest with her finger—“I plan to spend an entire night, tasting every last inch of you.” Her hand slips between my legs. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Nope,” my voice pitches as I swallow hard. “But, fair warning, I’m not as tasty as I look.” Is bad hygiene really the direction I want to head in? I have my limit, and I think we just hit it.
Marley tilts back and strums out a laugh. “Well, then, I’ll have to bathe you in chocolate first. I’m not afraid to add a little buffet to the mix. If you can eat it…you can”—she hikes up on the balls of her feet and takes a hard bite from my ear—“eat it.” She backs up, her eyes lit up like blue flames.
I don’t have any objection to eating any part of Marley Jackson. Certainly not the area she’s alluding to.
“This is really going to happen?” It’s more of a rhetorical question at this point.
“Nine short days, cowboy.” She taps my nose with her finger, th
A thought comes to me. “I am a cowboy. Do you have plans for tomorrow afternoon?”
“I might.” She cocks her head to the side as if assessing my motives.
“Cancel. You’re coming horseback riding with me.”
Marley freezes in my arms. “I’m terrified of horses.”
Better than I thought.
“Then it’ll be that much more thrilling.” I rub her back trying to coax her into the idea.
The more things we do that terrify her, the less time she’ll want to spend with me.
Nine days. Plenty of time for her to take a mental U-turn.
After several rounds of Marley molding into me, the band starts up with its head banging rhythm once again, and, instead of implementing my monkey moves, I cry uncle. I say goodnight to Marley and Annie and note my briefcase is missing. Instead, neatly stowed under my jacket is a familiar looking Louis Vuitton briefcase, same shape and size as mine—but undeniably different. Monica is coming after me hard, so it doesn’t completely surprise me.
That contract blinks through my mind. It’s tucked in the middle among a pile of ad campaigns thick as a telephone book, and, for once, I’m relieved that I’m a hoarder at heart.
* * *
I stopped by Monica’s place before I came home last night. In the grand scheme of things, I think the briefcase swap was nothing more than a nightcap in disguise. I firmly stood on the porch and waited while she made the chaste exchange. She offered me a movie with pizza and wine, but I kindly declined. A part of me was afraid if I went in, I would have done something regrettable. This deal I’ve made with Marley has me in a dry spell for the next week and a half. I’m not a fan of dry spells. There’s a reason I have my dick checked out regularly. It’s been put to use so much, I’m afraid the damn thing is going to fall right off.
Around eleven, Marley shows up at the ranch with her hair swinging in a ponytail, painted on jeans and a pair of cowboy boots that look as if they were made for this place—for me to enjoy if you want to get specific. The sun lights her up from behind, and her hair glows with an otherworldly effect. She’s a sight to see, and, suddenly, I’m thanking God I’ve lived long enough to do just that.