Sex Machine: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (2 page)

“Um, only the fact that he thinks I’m a brainless floozy.”

“You’re neither brainless nor a floozy. Look at what a booming business you’ve made of the flower shop. How can he think you’re brainless?”

“Maybe because I act that way any time he’s in the same ZIP code as me?”

“I still say you should hire him to do your books. Then he’ll find out how full of brains you really are.”

“Not happening. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

I watch Blake pull into a driveway a block in front of me. The door on a two-car garage goes up, and Blake pulls in. “I gotta go. We’re at his house.”

“Just sex,” Lauren says one more time.

“I heard you the first ten times. Bye, Lo.” Ending the call, I repeat Lauren’s refrain. “Just sex.” The last place in the world I’m going to find my home is in the arms of the most remote man I know. Determined to take this one night, and only this one night, with him and “The Cock”—a thought that makes me giggle nervously—I follow Blake’s hand signal to pull into the empty half of the garage.

By the time I make it out of my car and into the laundry room that adjoins the garage, he’s removed his work boots and stripped down to boxer briefs that hug his tight ass.

I stare at the muscles on his back that taper down to that most excellent butt—and wonder if we’re going to get busy right here. I clear my throat to remind him I’m here.

He seems in no particular rush as he tosses his clothes into a front-loading washer, adds detergent and starts the cycle. Then, as if I’m not there, he goes into the kitchen.

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him, but I do it anyway.

He hands me a piece of paper. “Tell them to send my usual and get whatever you want.”

I somehow manage to tear my gaze from the most lickable male chest and ripped abs I’ve ever seen to glance at the print on the paper. I recognize the logo of Pizza Foundation. “They don’t deliver.”

“They do for me. I pay extra.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He shoots me a meaningful look. “I worked all day, and if I’m going to be expected to work all night, too, I need fuel—and so do you.”

A burst of heat creeps from my chest to my face as the implications of his statement settle on me.
All night
.
Whoa
.

“Make the call. I’m going to grab a shower. There’re drinks in the fridge. Help yourself.”

For a long moment after he leaves the room, I stand motionless in the middle of a nicer-than-expected kitchen. What the hell am I doing here? Did I really go to the bar Blake Dempsey frequents and ask him to fuck me? “You’ve lost what’s left of your mind, Honey Carmichael.”

I could cut my losses and leave while he’s in the shower. Sure, the few times a year that I run into Blake at the grocery store or post office or at the home of a mutual friend would be awkward from now on, but I can live with that if it means saving some face.

My cell phone chimes with a new text message that jostles me out of my temporary paralysis. Digging into my purse, I pull out my phone. From Lauren:
No matter what, don’t chicken out. You’ll be sorry forever if you do. Trust me on that!

As always, Lauren’s timing is impeccable. Sucking in a deep breath and releasing it, I call in the pizza order and then take a beer from the fridge. If there’s ever been a time for liquid courage, this is surely it.

A
girl walks
into a bar and shocks the shit out of a guy
… Not in a million years did I expect this day to turn out the way it did, with Honey at the bar asking me to fuck her.

I run a razor over my face, and then, thinking of Honey’s flawless complexion, I do it again, though if this encounter goes all night, it won’t matter. My beard grows back fast.

So Honey Carmichael has finally gotten around to me. It’s taken long enough. Honey is the one girl from my childhood who never threw herself at me after I grew from a scrawny kid into a man with man-sized appetites. Rather, she’s remained an enigma as she worked her way through several other guys in town.

I’ve wondered—more often than I’d ever admit to anyone—why she seems to date every guy
but
me. Is it because there’s always been a spark of
something
between us, something potentially incendiary, or is it just me who feels that? Doesn’t matter now, I decide, as I step out of the shower and grab a towel.

For once, I actually bother to run a comb through my hair and slap on some of the face lotion my mother gave me for Christmas. And with that, I’ve done three times as much to prepare for this evening with Honey than I have for any other woman in years.

Honey Carmichael
.

As I think about the night ahead, my cock twitches in anticipation. Will she taste as sweet as she looks? Will her breasts be a perfect handful, or are they as big as they seem? What color are her nipples? And is the honey color of her hair the
real
color? I can’t wait to find out.

With one last look in the mirror, I conclude that I’m as presentable as I ever am and head into the bedroom. Shit! The sheets! I can’t remember the last time I changed the linen on my king-size bed. Moving quickly, I grab clean sheets off the closet shelf and make fast work of putting them on the bed. Then I pull on a pair of gym shorts and go out to see what trouble Honey has gotten into in my absence.

I find her nursing a beer and flipping through the photo album of my childhood that my mother gave me for Christmas.

Without looking up at me, Honey says, “You were an awfully cute little boy.”

“You should know. You were there.” I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know her.

“You were very mean and aloof back then.”

That surprises me. “Was I?”

“Uh-huh. I used to go home and tell my Gran that you’d been mean to me.”

I sit on the sofa, keeping a reasonable amount of space between us. I have to eat before I touch her, because once I start, I won’t stop until the sun comes up. Thank God tomorrow is Saturday, and I’ve given my crews the weekend off after a month of seven-day workweeks. “I was
mean
to you? When?”

Honey lets out a delicate-sounding laugh that catches the attention of my restless cock. He can’t wait to get in on this party. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“You used to chase me around the playground and pinch me until I cried.”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I am not! I think I remember who pinched me and made me cry.”

“I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“That’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

We share a smile that’s full of nostalgia and promise, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself. The doorbell rings, saving me from pushing the photo album off her lap and getting an early start on the night’s festivities.

I pay the delivery boy and carry the pizza box and bag to the kitchen, the smell making my mouth water. I’m always starving after a long day at work. I grab a beer from the fridge and pop it open. Honey appears at the door, looking hesitant and unsure of herself, bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the woman who boldly propositioned me an hour ago.

“This is all you got?” I ask of the small salad in the bag. “That’s nowhere near enough.”

“It’s all I wanted.”

“You’re going to burn a
lot
of calories tonight.” I love watching her face flame with color when I remind her of why she’s at my house and what’s going to happen after dinner. I get the feeling she’s nowhere near as ballsy as she wants me to think she is after that blatant come-on at the bar. “That’s okay. I’ll share my pizza with you.”

I flip open the lid to the thin-crust pepperoni and green-pepper pizza with extra sauce cooked well done. “Now that’s a pie,” I say as the delicious aromas fill the air.

“It does look good,” she says wistfully. “I can’t remember the last time I had pizza.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I love it. That’s the problem. Too fattening.”

I take a long perusing glance at Honey’s trim figure that curves in all the right places. “You can afford it.”

“Not if I eat pizza every time I have a taste for it.”

From the cabinet over the dishwasher, I get out two plates, putting three slices on mine and one on hers. Handing her the plate and a fork, I say, “You’re going to need your strength, Honey Bunches of Oats.”

“Nothing wrong with your self-confidence,” she mutters, but I can tell she’s amused by the nickname I’ve given her.

Laughing at her comment, I study the sweet blush that flames her cheeks, wondering why I’ve never noticed the way her face lights up when she’s embarrassed. If I have my way, her face will be bright red all night long. I plan to embarrass the living hell out of her before I’m finished with her. While taking a swig of my beer, I keep my gaze fixed on her. “Tell me something, Honey Carmichael.” I wait until I have her attention. “Why me? Why now?”

I wrestle with how I should answer his question. Do I dare tell him the truth? That I’ve heard he’s a god in bed, and I’m dying to be with a real man who doesn’t fumble his way through the act like a randy teenager getting laid for the first time? Or do I feign boredom and let him think he’s one of the last remaining men in town who hasn’t been favored with my attention when he’s
far
from the last one standing? I’ve never gone near his friends Matt or Garrett, for example.

“Tell the truth, Honey,” he says, seeming to read my thoughts.

Am I really so transparent? Or is he that perceptive? I put down my fork and blot my lips with a napkin. “I want to be with someone who knows what he’s doing without having to be told.” The words are out of my mouth before I consciously decide to go with the truth.

“And you think I know what I’m doing?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “Why do guys get accused of kissing and telling when women are the ones who do all the talking?”

“We don’t ‘talk’ so much as compare notes.”

“Is that right? And what ‘notes’ have you gotten about me?”

“Just what I said. You know what you’re doing.”

Blake lets the beer bottle dangle between his fingers as he eyes me wolfishly. “You want to find out if it’s true?”

I swallow hard and try not to blink as my entire body heats up. “Don’t my actions thus far this evening speak for themselves?”

His grin is arrogant and sexy at the same time. “Eat your pizza.”

“I’m not hungry.” I’m too nervous to eat—not that I’d admit that to him. What had seemed like a brilliant idea an hour ago is becoming more and more ludicrous by the minute. I’ve known Blake all my life, and after tonight, every time I run into him around town I’ll be forced to remember how I propositioned him, asking for sex like a common floozy. “I’ve never done this before.” It’s suddenly crucial that he know I’ve never blatantly propositioned another man the way I did him.

“Done what?”

“Asked a man to… you know…”

His eyes twinkle with amusement. “Fuck you?”

Does he have to toss my own words back at me? I push my chair back from the table and stand. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have done this. I don’t want you to think—”

He stands and moves quickly to stop me from heading for the door. Even though he’s made of muscle and has at least seventy pounds on me, I don’t feel threatened by him. Rather, his nearness makes my skin prickle with awareness. The light dusting of hair on his chest is darker than the hair on his head. I let my eyes roam hungrily over well-developed pectorals, to washboard abs and below to the tuft of dark hair that makes a path from his abdomen into the waistband of his shorts. I force my gaze back up to find him staring down at me.

His hands land on my hips, drawing me in closer to him, so close that our breath mingles and his lips hover perilously close to mine.

I can’t help but notice how perfectly our bodies align, with my head landing just below his chin.

“Don’t ever be embarrassed about asking for what you want,” he says gruffly.

“Despite what I said to you in the bar, I don’t want you to think I’m cheap.”

“I could never think that, Honey. You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

“You have?”

He nods and touches the lightest of kisses to my lips.

I feel the impact of that kiss in every cell of my body. I arch into his embrace, wanting so much more.

Turning his attention to my neck, he feathers kisses in a trail of fire that make me whimper.

“Easy,” he whispers. “I’ll give you what you want, darlin’. We’ve got all night.”

His words relax and inflame me at the same time. How is that possible?

“Touch me, Honey.”

All at once, I realize my hands have been dangling awkwardly at my sides while he spins a magical web around us. I raise them to his back, my palms coasting over warm, smooth skin.

He gasps, and his hands drop to my bottom, tugging me in tight against the hard ridge of his erection.

As I make contact for the first time with “The Cock,” I choke back a gasp of my own while he throbs against me. I yearn to touch him there, but hold back, not wanting to seem too eager.

He takes the decision away from me when he grasps my hand and brings it to rest on his pulsating member. “Did you hear about this, too?”

My mouth has gone totally dry as my fingers learn his length and girth.
Good God
. My pussy moistens in anticipation.

“Did you?” he asks again.

I nod and flatten my palm against him, working my way from root to tip and reveling in the twitch that jolts his tightly clenched jaw.

“What did they say?”

“I, um… They said it was big.”

“Is it?”

“You know it is.” How I manage to speak when his hands are digging into the flesh of my ass is anyone’s guess.

“Is it the biggest you’ve ever felt?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want it inside of you?”

“
Yes
. Oh,
yes
.” All worries of appearing wanton or cheap flee in a tsunami of need and desire that spreads from the palm of my hand to every pressure point on my body.

His breath against my ear makes me shiver. “Is your pussy wet just thinking about it?”

I nod, making him grin with satisfaction. With any other man, the arrogance would’ve been off-putting, but with him, somehow, it adds to his overwhelming appeal.

“We’ll get to that,” he says. “Eventually.”

I want to moan and protest, but he takes my hand and leads me into his bedroom. “Is it true you never bring women here?”

The question stops him in his tracks. He turns to me and raises a brow. “Is there nothing you haven’t already heard about me?”

I shrug even as I hope I haven’t ruined the mood with one question too many. “I heard you don’t bring women home as a rule.”

“I don’t.”

“Why me? Why now?”

He smiles as I toss his words back at him. “Honey Carmichael asked me to fuck her. I couldn’t take the hottest girl in town to a cheap motel.”

The mortification returns in a hot blast as the reminder of my proposition mingles with an unexpected compliment. “Are you ever going to forget I said that?”

“Not in this lifetime—or the next.”

“Great.”

His brows waggle seductively as amusement dances in his normally somber eyes. It’s nice to see him smile. “It will be, darlin’. I promise.”

My legs quiver beneath me at the sensual overtones I hear in his gruffly spoken words.

His fingers find the hem of my tank top, drawing it up and over my head. When he encounters the lacy bra I wore with him in mind, his blue eyes darken with desire. The bra joins the tank top on the floor.