Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (101 page)

My lips are pressing into
his and I’m pushing him backward through the open door to the apartment. He’s
stunned for a moment, but in a flash, he’s kissing me back and chills are
running throughout my entire body.

I know this isn’t the way
to leave things with him, but who says that I want to leave things at all?

I kick the door closed
behind us and close my eyes as I feel his soft lips against mine.

This is what a kiss is
supposed to be like.

His hands move up and
down my sides, and I can hardly breathe as our tongues mingle with each other,
playfully, sensually.

He pulls back for a
second, saying, “Are you sure that you—”

My lips are over his
again, and I’m nodding my head, humming, “
Mmm
hmm.”

I can tell that he
doesn’t know how far I’m willing to take this, so I make the first move after
the first move, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling away from him just
long enough to pull it off of him.

His skin is so warm,
firm. He has a tattoo on his chest, but I’m watching his closed eyes as we
continue to kiss.

He runs his fingers
through my hair, and I can feel a tug in my core like nothing I’ve ever known.

Confident now, he pulls
my shirt off and, with one hand, he unclasps my bra. I slip the straps off my
shoulder and let it fall to the ground and I press my bare skin against his.

I can feel his heartbeat.

He bends down a little
and wraps his arms around my lower back, lifting me off the ground, and I wrap
my legs around his waist as I kiss his lips and his neck and he carries me into
his room.

He bends down again and
lays me on the bed. He kisses my neck then my chest. He takes one of my nipples
into his hot mouth, and I feel myself growing wet with the sensation.

My breath comes in jagged
and as his mouth moves farther down my body, I close my legs enough for him to
undo my pants and pull them off of me.

My legs open
instinctively and he moves my panties to one side, his steamy breath bringing
me to life. The moment his first finger runs over my crease, I’m already
halfway there.

“Are you sure?” he asks,
his fingertips teasing my opening.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

A moment later, his
finger is inside me and his tongue is tracing a figure eight on my clit. My
hands dig into the comforter, and my legs are already starting to shake.

My fingers are in his
hair and he’s pleasuring me so intently.

I whisper, “Come here,”
and as he stands, I slip my panties down my legs and kick them off to one side.

I sit up and move closer
to the edge of the bed, smiling at the growing bulge in his pants. I’m not
thinking of consequences now as I undo his pants and pull him out of the thin
fabric of his boxers.

He’s hard in my hand, and
I run my tongue from base to tip, tasting his skin before I take him into my
mouth. My free hand finds its way between my own legs, and I rub myself softly
as I suck lightly on his flared ridge.

I can feel his pulse in
my mouth, and it’s all I can do to see straight as I look up into his eyes.
With my tongue, I press against the underside of his member and delight in the
quick gasp as I take more of him into my mouth.

“I want to feel you
inside me,” I tell him.

He doesn’t say a word.

He kneels down between my
legs and kisses me softly on the mouth.

The anticipation builds
within me as I lean back, leaving myself open for him to take me. With his tip,
he teases my lower lips and they swell in response, inviting him inside.

He goes slowly at first:
pushing only one and then two inches inside of me, but in a moment, the whole
length of him is inside and my fingers are curled, gripping the skin of his
back.

He fills me perfectly,
again and again and his mouth is so warm, kissing my neck.

“You feel amazing,” he
tells me and his tempo increases, little by little, until my legs quake and my
breath comes in gulps.

“I’m going to come,” I
whisper into his ear.

“Come,” he tells me, and
kisses my cheek, then my lips.

When that rise starts
growing within me, I press my lips into his, if only to contain the volume of
my ecstasy.

My legs tremble as I
tighten them around his body, and every moment I expect that tremor of release,
but the feeling only builds and builds until I’m in another world entirely with
only his embrace as sweet gravity, keeping me tethered to the earth.

When the jolting electric
waves shoot through me, I pull my head back and forget any care as my body
responds, immaculate, to his every movement.

My heart is pounding, and
I could swear I feel the earth shift beneath and around me, though the waves
continue to wash over my body.

“I love you,” I whisper
as the pulse starts to recede and he smiles as he presses himself into me over
and over.

“I love you, too,” he
says, and I have a feeling that things are never going to be the same again.

Chapter Sixteen

The
Other Side

Dane

The most beautiful
morning greets me when I wake, but it’s easily overtaken by what I have to do
next. I have to tell Wrigley not only can I not be in a relationship with her,
but we’re going to have to stop seeing each other entirely.

Sure, we could stay
friends, but I have a feeling she’s not going to be thrilled about that
particular option.

I might have been able to
enjoy the morning more completely if it didn’t mirror the morning that Wrigley
and I spent right after I told her that I wanted to be in a relationship with
her
.

Yeah, I kind of bungled
this one from the start.

Oh well.

Before anything else
happens, I need to tell Wrigley what’s going on and that we can’t see each
other anymore.

You know, even a few days
ago, I would have just avoided the situation entirely: Wrigley being a little
bat-shit-crazy and all, but after the conversation we had over coffee
yesterday—I don’t know. This might not be so bad.

My first instinct is to
just give her a call and drop the news that way, but that seems like the
coward’s way out. We’ve been whatever we’ve been long enough that she deserves
to hear it face-to-face.

Besides, she was actually
supportive when presented with the information that I have a thing for Leila.
Supportive might not be the right word, but
it’s
close
enough to feel somewhat confident.

I make the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Dane,” I tell
her.

“Hey,” she says. “Did you
and your roommate have your little talk?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I think
we should probably discuss that face-to-face, though. What are you doing
later?”

“It’s Sunday,” she says.
“I have fuck-all planned. What about lunch?”

“Okay.”

The conversation is
pretty short. I don’t know why, but it’s a bit unsettling me how smoothly this
is going.

Leila’s off planning her
move with Mike. I don’t really like the guy, but as I’m going to lunch with
Wrigley, I really can’t say anything about it.

I take a quick shower and
get dressed.

Wrigley and I didn’t
really set a time, she merely finished off her part of the conversation by
saying,
“
We’ll go when you get here.”

I guess I’m picking her
up, then.

When I get to Wrigley’s,
she’s wearing a slinky peach-colored top with no bra and I guess it’s a skirt.

“Ready to go?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her.
“Where are we going?”

“The roof,” she says. “I
put out a picnic basket. Come on,” she says. “Let’s talk.”

Either she doesn’t know
what’s coming and she’s about to get blindsided, or she knows exactly what’s
coming and she’s trying to fuck her way out of it.

Either way, this is going
to suck.

We get up on the roof,
and I double-check to make sure the door is propped open so, just in case she
tries something particularly savage, I can make some kind of escape.

“You had sex last night,
didn’t you?” she asks.

I’m usually not one to be
at a loss for words, but the bluntness of the question catches me off-guard.

“What kind of question is
that?”

“Now that’s got to be one
of the oddest pronunciations of the word ‘yes’ I’ve ever heard,” she says.

She’s smiling, but I
don’t trust that she’s this blasé about it.

“Yeah,” I tell her,
finally.

“Your roommate?” she
asks.

“Yeah,” I say again,
quietly.

I don’t know what it is,
but Wrigley has a real knack of making me unsure of myself.

“How was it?”

The tension gets to be
too much, so I do the only thing I can.

I laugh.

“You can’t honestly
expect an answer to that question,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes.

“That’s all right,” she
says. “I figured you’d be off getting your dick wet, so I made sure not to
waste my night either.”

If Wrigley was someone
else, I’d think she was making this up to try to make me jealous. Knowing her,
though, I have no doubt she’s telling the truth.

“All right,” I say,
shrugging my shoulders, trying to be nonchalant.

I’m not going to lie. I
am
a bit jealous.

That said, I’m much
happier to be with Leila. At least she’s not going to go down on the cab driver
if we get into an argument.

Wrigley’s laugh is an odd
mix of lighthearted and flat out disturbing.

“Oh, calm down,” she
says. “So, is that all you wanted to talk to me about? I’m starting to feel a
little overdressed.”

“Overdressed?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says.
“Obviously, we’re not going to be making it exclusive with each other, but I
see no reason why we can’t keep fucking until we’re bored.”

“I don’t think you
understand,” I start. “I
love
Leila.”

“I’m sure you do,” she
says. “Sex has a way of tipping the scales in that direction—especially for
people like you.”

I ignore the barb.

“You don’t understand,” I
tell her. “I can’t see you anymore.”

That smile is back, but
the lighthearted aspect to it is gone.

“Oh, you can’t tell me
you’re that whipped already,” she says. “I’m very discreet. I’ll even meet you
at the office for your lunch break or dinner break, or whatever the fuck chefs
do. We’ve got too much sexual chemistry for either of us to just walk away from
it now.”

She’s fucking with me.
She has to be.

I smile.

She smiles back.

“Really,” I tell her.
“I’d like to stay friends, but we can’t see each other that way. Not anymore.”

“Oh,” she says. “All
right, I get it.”

“Riggs—”

“Do you really think now
is the time to debut a pet name?” she snaps. “Just what happened to make you
such a pussy anyway?”

And I actually, for a
moment, believed that things were going to be idyllic from here on out: how
naïve.

“I’ll tell you what,” she
says. “I know you’re basking in the glowing warmth of strange, so I’m going to
give you today, tomorrow and—what the hell?—I’ll throw in Tuesday. After that,
though,” she says, “I’m expecting your call.”

“I’m sorry, Wrigley,” I
tell her. “It’s just not going to happen. We can be friends, but—”

“Has anything ever given
you the impression that I wanted to be your friend?” she asks.

“The other morning, you
told me that I should figure out what my feelings for Leila were,” I rejoin. “I
thought you were—”

“A bit freaked about
settling down?” she asks. “Uh, fuck yeah. I was willing to give it a shot,
though,
‘
cause
you seemed so
into the idea and I figured that it might not be so bad. Sure, I’d go a little
crazy being with someone who starts bitching when I pull out a simple riding
crop—”

“It might not have been
such a big deal if you let me know it was coming,” I interrupt, clearly
focusing on the wrong part of the discussion.

“Whatever,” she says.
“Take your little vacation and spend some time going balls-deep in Ms.
Goody-No-Clit, but we’re not done here, and I’m sure as hell not going to let
you forget that.”

It sounds like a threat.

“What is that supposed to
mean?” I ask.

“I have ways of burning
your shit to the ground that you can’t even imagine,” she says. “Just think
about it and tell me if I’m really the type of woman you want as an enemy.”

“I don’t want you as an
enemy,” I tell her. “Really, though, I don’t want you as a friend either.
You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“You know what they say
about crazy chicks, though,” she says, licking her lips.

This conversation’s gone
from surreal to disturbing to surreally disturbing and I’ve had about all I can
take.

“Give me a call sometime
if you decide to get your head out of your ass,” I tell her.

“I
am
pretty bendy,” she says. “You’re going to miss that before the
week is out. Trust me.”

“I think I’ll live,” I
tell her as I move for the door.

“You don’t know what
you’re doing!” she calls from behind me.

I’m just surprised she
hasn’t tried to dive tackle me or something. Then again, violence is only
really her thing if it’s in the bedroom.

What the fuck was I
thinking coming here?

“Dane!” she yells behind
me, and I turn around.

She’s sitting on the
ledge of the building, her legs spread. She doesn’t have to move her skirt for
it to be apparent that she’s not wearing any underwear.

“Your brain can tell you
whatever it wants to, but you know your dick is going to miss me,” she says,
playing with herself—I don’t know how else to describe it—aggressively.

The present moment is
easily on my list of top five ridiculous things I’ve ever witnessed with my own
two eyes. Even for that short a list, this is remarkably near the top.

“Get off the ledge,” I
tell her as calmly as I can, witnessing someone actually going crazy before my
very eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“What? Do you think I’m
going to jump?” she screams at me as I open the door to the roof.

I really want to kick the
cinderblock she used to prop the door open but I resist the urge.

“I have too much to
fucking live for!” she screams.

It’s not until I hear the
clatter of Wrigley’s stilettos on the hard ground of the roof that my
resistance fails and, as soon as I’m completely inside the door, I knock the
cinderblock over.

A second later, she’s
pounding on the door, and I’m actually starting to feel sorry for her. It had
been a terrifying, if somewhat silly, spectacle, but I haven’t exactly been
treating her very well.

On the other hand, I’m
pretty sure that if I were to open the door now, she’d come through with balled
fists, and I have no illusion about which one of us would win a physical
confrontation.

When it comes to betting
on a fight, always, always, always put your money on the one who’s not going to
pull any punches.

I may be a dick, but I’d
never raise my hand to a woman. I’m a dick, not a coward.

That said, I’m also
certain that Wrigley doesn’t have a no-assault rule so, to ease my conscience
and keep my eyeballs and spleen from ending up in Wrigley’s shadow box, I find
the burly maintenance guy and tell him, “I think someone’s stuck on the roof.
I’ve been hearing all this pounding and scratching up there. You should
probably check it out.”

The man knows me. He’s
caught Wrigley and I having sex enough times in enough places around the
building to know exactly who I am, exactly who’s on the roof and exactly how I
know.

“I might give it a minute
to let her cool down,” he says.

Fortunately, he also
seems to understand exactly why I’m not willing to go up there and let her in,
myself.

This isn’t a shining
moment for me.

All things considered, it
really couldn’t have gone much worse.

I’ve added to the torment
I’ve already levied on this woman and no, it doesn’t matter if she was crazy
when I got here, that doesn’t mean it’s magically okay for me to toy with her.

I feel bad about it, but
I can’t deny my feelings either.

This is the first time in
my life that I can actually say that I’m in love with someone and have no
ulterior motive in mind. It’s not Wrigley.

If I’d ever told Wrigley
that I loved her, she probably would have put a foot in my crotch.

Still, as I hear the
woman screaming expletives as I step out onto the street, I can’t help but feel
that I might have gone about this in a much healthier way.

Not much I can do about
it now.

*
                   
*
                   
*

When I get back to the
apartment, Leila’s already home. That’s the good news. The bad news is that
that asshole who was trying to suck the lips off her face is sitting on the
couch.

“Hey you,” Leila says as
I close the door behind me. “How’d it go?”

“What do you mean?” I
ask.

I never bothered telling
her what my plans for the day were.

“I don’t know,” she says.
“Isn’t that what people say when their significant other comes home?”