We stop on the next corner, waiting to cross, and he places his hand lightly on the small of my back. It’s the smallest gesture, barely anything at all, but I have to fight the urge to lean in. To reach up and pull him to me, kiss him right here on this deserted street corner until I can’t think anymore, then fall in a cab to his apartment and pick up right where we left off the other night: with his cock hard in my hands and his fingers sliding towards the bullseye of my damp pussy—
I shake my head, as if waking from a bad dream. There’s no fucking way I can have a drink with him now—which will lead to two, and maybe even three, and before you know it, I’ll be in his bed.
Would that really be so bad, that annoying little voice inside me asks as I look at him nervously.
Yes, I answer back, as firmly as I can muster considering that my thighs are practically on fire. Yes it would.
“You know what? It’s late, and I have to be up early,” I say, stepping out onto the street and raising my hand for a cab. Miraculously, one turns the corner and stops right in front of me, just like I’ve planned it. “Raincheck on the drink?”
“Sure,” he says briskly, all business now as I open the door and climb in.
“This was fun,” I say before closing the door. He opens his mouth to answer, but the car pulls away from the curb. All the same, and even if he doesn’t agree, I know it’s the truth. It was fun. And that’s the problem. I can’t be having fun with Jake Weston.
Of any sort.
When I get home, I’m still restless, still thinking about his hand brushing against mine in the darkness of the theater, the lemon-and-salt scent of his cologne. I go into my room and pull out my Hitachi Magic Wand. I’ve always been a little gun-shy of toys that plug directly into a wall—somehow electricity + my vagina has never seemed like the best equation, but I’m so turned on that I throw caution to the wind and sprawl out on the bed, the wand between my legs.
I hike my skirt up over my hips and switch on the toy, pushing the head against my pussy, a low moan escaping my throat. God, it feels so fucking good I can barely stand it. I haven’t come in weeks, and I’m soaking wet, my panties sticking to my pussy, my breath coming ragged and fast.
I pause for a minute to get my underwear out of the way before closing my thighs around the wand, my head rolling back and forth on the pillow as I think about Jake, his long fingers and strong hands. The way his mouth felt on mine as he reached down and found my clit, his fingers making slow, deliberate circles in my wetness, his breath hot on my neck . . . I’m panting now, and I turn the toy up to its highest setting. I reach up into my bra to squeeze my nipple, the sensation sending me right over the edge.
I come with my head hanging off the bed, moaning uncontrollably, spasms wracking my body. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—who really needs men when there’s such a thing as a Magic Wand?
When I come back down, I’m still breathing hard. I pull off my dress and crawl under the covers, drifting off into the first relaxed sleep in months. For the first time in forever, I’m not thinking about Jake or the strike—I just drift into the land of dreamless oblivion, my body like Jello, hugging a pillow to my chest.
18
Jake
I shouldn’t be so happy that Dylan struck out with Lizzie, but for some reason, I am. My life would be a whole lot easier if she would just break this damn strike, but still, I don’t want her doing it with a Hollywood fake douchenozzle like that. I stop by the Dapper offices to make use of Miles’ rolodex, but surprise surprise, there’s only one thing he wants to talk about.
“It shouldn’t be this hard!” Miles exclaims, slumping into his desk chair, which is made of chrome and leather and probably costs as much as a small, imported car. “She’s hot enough to get a guy. I mean, it’s not like we’re talking Loch Ness Monster here.”
I feel myself tense. Hot enough? Fuck, Lizzie is practically smoking even in those librarian outfits she insists on wearing. But I’m not about to admit I get a raging hard-on even thinking about those curves. “She’s stubborn,” I say instead. “This is what happens when you build something up. I bet she can’t bring herself to admit she’s wrong now, with everyone making such a big deal.”
“You’d think fifty Gs would convince someone to play along,” Miles sighs, and I wince. I can’t believe he went through with it, but apparently, Miles’ dick is in the driving seat these days. It’s right there in a secret forum on the Dapper website: fifty thousand dollars to whoever can get Lizzie to break the strike. It’s no wonder her office is like a fucking Hallmark factory these days. I only hope she doesn’t figure it out, since I’m guessing she won’t be flattered by the attention so much as furious spitting mad.
“Dude. I’ve said as much from the beginning—a bounty is a stupid idea. I know you’re getting blue balls over here, but this girl’s a person, not a piece of meat.”
“Since when do you have such high moral standards?” Miles glares.
It’s a fair question, but I don’t think I want to answer it. Not yet, anyway. I keep thinking about walking around with her the other night after the movie, the way she looked up at me just before she hightailed it into that cab, her eyes so big and blue behind her glasses, almost like she wanted me to kiss her again. Fuck, I wanted to. It took everything I had not to bend down and pull her into my arms, show her exactly what a real man can do, strike be damned.
But fuck that. I need to stay away from her, and for good this time. She’s business—not pleasure. And there’s no way I’m mixing the two up more than I already have. I’ve already gotten way too involved in this entire mess as it is.
“Jesus, Tat just emailed and says she’s getting a bikini wax today!” Miles whines, slamming his laptop shut. “A bikini wax, Jake!” He puts his head into his hands. “Why keep living?” he moans, his voice muffled.
“She can’t keep this up forever,” I tell him, feeling more unsure of my own words by the minute. I have to hand it to Tatiana—she’s got serious game. I think I may have underestimated her, actually. Forget about the cold shoulder, this is the cold war.
“Wanna bet?” he asks, raising his head. “Ask me how many times I’ve beat off this week? Just ask me.”
“I don’t want to know, Miles,” I laugh, walking toward the door. “But I have to get to work—the show’s coming up soon and we’re behind. Take the bounty down—it’s stupid. Tat will lose interest soon—just hang in there and try and be patient. Why don’t you cut off her credit cards until she ponies it up? That should teach her a lesson. No pussy, no Gucci.”
I’m not really serious, but it is pretty funny to imagine Tat getting denied at Barney’s with an armful of lingerie. She’d get indignant, lose her fucking mind, and the salesgirl wouldn’t know what hit her.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea, Jake. She’d probably cut my balls off, much less throw me a bone. You’re full of terrible ideas, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” I smile, “but look who’s talking?” I open the door and get the hell out of there before he starts humping his very expensive Italian leather sofa.