All About the D

Just don’t touch him.

His condo is on the other side of the park, and I could use the exercise after stuffing my face with crepes this morning, so I walk instead of drive. It’s a gray afternoon with water puddles the size of the Columbia River, but the air is crisp and the cold breeze feels good as I make my way to Josh’s. It doesn’t start to rain until I reach his block.

His building isn’t quite what I would expect. There are no marble floors. No glossy exterior. Except for the high-end security system that I buzz to get in, it’s altogether nondescript. One lone security guard waves from the counter just past the entryway, but he nods like I’m expected and motions toward the elevator.

It still tickles me that Josh wanted to buy my house. That’s what’s so charming about this man. He could purchase the most luxurious condo in town, and he wanted to buy my dilapidated cottage.

When he opens the door, the look of exasperation on his face is adorable. “Thanks for coming.”

The fact that his hair is a disheveled mess and he’s covered with flecks of molding powder is too charming. It doesn’t hurt that he’s only wearing black track pants. He even makes the towel draped over his shoulder look dashing.

“No problem.”

He steps aside as I walk in, and I automatically kick off my wet boots because I don’t want to leave tracks all over his glossy hardwood floors.

“Nice place,” I say as I slide my scarf off my neck. This is so Josh. Dark woods, exposed brick, and distressed dark leather. Everything is sleek and styled. Cool and a little aloof. When I turn, a breathtaking horizon draws me to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Holy shit. The view.” Even with the steady drizzle, the thick clouds and misty forests slashing across the horizon are hypnotizing.

“That’s why I bought this place and renovated it.”

“What was it like before?”

“The floors were shot to shit, and the insulation was a joke. Drywall covered over the original brick, and some dumbass had the audacity to install popcorn ceilings.”

“Let me guess. Now it’s all self-sustaining.”

I turn to him as he gives me a megawatt smile. “You know it. I’ll have to show you the rooftop terrace and the solar panels sometime.”

It’s so tempting to look at the rest of him, but I keep my focus on his eyes. Which would be less embarrassing if his eyes weren’t so captivating.

Focus, focus, focus. “Tell me about the cloning kit problem.”

His eyes clench shut comically. “I may have overestimated how simple this would be.” He laughs and runs his hands through his hair.

“You mean my big, badass architect had trouble with a little molding kit?” I hate that calling him my architect feels so right when it’s so damn wrong.

He’s a client, I remind myself. Just a client and a friend.

“Watch it, woman. I’m not above spanking my attorney.”

Hello. I think I’m on board with this idea. Behave, Evie!

He chuckles and leans close. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His minty breath is hot on my cheek.

“I, uh…” I swallow and dare to look him in the eye. “I probably would, but… we can’t do this, Josh.”

He’s quiet a moment, and then he nods. “I know.” Blowing out a breath, he takes a step back. “Come on, Counselor. Apparently I need my attorney to read some directions to me.”

And then he gives me a wink. But unlike the one Nate threw my way this afternoon, this one makes me smile.





17





Evie





Josh and I are sitting on the floor of his massive bathroom laughing our asses off. Even though he washes off in between each mold, there’s powder and pink silicone everywhere—on our clothes, in our hair, in the sink—and I don’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun.

After I pour the last of the wine into our glasses, we resume staring at the dicks that are lined up like a row of ducks on the vanity.

“Damn. I thought that one was gonna work.” I point at clone number four and squint. Something’s not right. “Have I had too much wine or is he crooked?”

“The last Little Josh is indeed crooked.”

We turn to each other and laugh.

God, he’s handsome. He hasn’t shaved today, and I have a burning desire to rub against the scruff on his face. Hanging out in the bathroom is probably a bad idea because it smells like his shower gel, and he’s sitting there with all of his muscles on display. Never mind that every time he comes in here to do his thing, he has a boner in his track pants the size of a redwood.

I stop staring at him and return my attention to the directions in my lap. “Where did we go wrong, Joshua?”

“I don’t think I stuffed myself in the canister fast enough. Was the water the right temperature?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. You weren’t kidding when you said you had to do this quickly.”

I’ve been mixing the concoction—concocktion, hahaha—in the bathroom, while Josh fluffs himself in his bedroom. Then he comes in here to do the mold while I slip out and give him some privacy.

I grab his phone and scroll through his pics. He’s taken shots of everything from mixing the alginate to the casting process. “You have so much good material for your blog.” And Jesus, the nude shots are so hot, I squeeze my thighs together. He doesn’t seem to care that there are some serious dick pics in this collection, and if he doesn’t mind, then who am I to judge? Because, hell yes, I’m enjoying the spectating.

“Thanks for reminding me to take photos. I can’t believe I spaced and forgot to shoot anything.”

“I’m handy like that.” And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I ask the question that’s burning a hole in my brain. “So what was the last one?” I clear my throat. “Girl-on-girl again?”

Yes, we’ve been talking about what kind of porn he’s been using to fluff himself.

“Nope. DP.”

I turn to him and wipe the chunk of molding powder off his cheekbone. “What’s DP?”

He gives me one of those flaming hot smiles, the kind that might peel the paint right off these walls. “Double penetration.”

My eyes widen. “Oh. Okay. So… what, two guys and a girl?”

“No, it was a girl, a guy, his dick and her vibrator.”

I start laughing. “That reminds me of that movie, The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover.”

“Don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

“It’s an old eighties movie. One of my roommates in college was a film student, and she made me watch it.”

“It was probably better than Jill Gets Hammered by Big Cock and Vibe.”

“Um, yeah.” I shudder. “The hammering doesn’t sound particularly hot. It’s one thing to go at it hard, but when they do it in porn, it looks painful.”

“What porn do you like then?”

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