ON FRIDAY, I decided to follow through on the threat to give Austin a massage.
You. Tonight. My place. No argument.
Are you going to have whips and chains?
No. I’m going to have candles and massage oil.
I think I’d prefer the whips and chains.
Tough. I’ve listened to you gripe about sore muscles for weeks now, and I want to help.
Will you be naked?
If I say yes, will you agree to let me do it?
It would definitely sway me in that direction.
Then yes. I’ll be naked.
Look for me about 7.
I’ll be waiting.
And I get to be the boss tonight.
We’ll see about that.
That afternoon, I gave Morgan a call.
“I thought you were coming to visit me,” she whined. “You said the kids were going somewhere and you’d have days off.”
“I said maybe I would come to visit you,” I corrected with a laugh. I put her on speaker and set the phone aside so I could fold my laundry. “But the tickets were expensive, and I really need to save my money.”
“So what have you been doing while they’re gone?” she asked.
“Oh, this and that,” I said airily, pulling Austin’s TWO BUCKLEYS T-shirt from the basket. It made me smile.
“Does ‘this and that’ include your hot boss?”
“It might.”
She gasped. “Details!”
“We’re having fun.”
“But like how much fun?”
“All the fun,” I confessed.
“Every night?”
“Every night, every room of the house, every which way you can imagine.” I folded my yoga shorts.
Morgan groaned loudly. “God, I’m so jealous. I remember those days. So is he good?”
“So good I can’t describe it.”
“Body?”
I closed my eyes, picturing him. “Ten out of ten.”
“Package?”
“Long, strong, and he knows how to use it.”
“Thank god. Nothing worse than a guy who’s hung but helpless.”
I snorted, matching a pair of socks. “For real.”
“So are you guys dating or just messing around?”
“Just messing around,” I said. “It has to end when the kids come back.”
“When is that?”
“Sunday.” I tried to sound cool and casual, which was how I wanted to feel.
“In two days? Jeez. No wonder you guys are going at it like rabbits. That stinks.”
“No, I think it’s better.”
“Why?”
“Because I like that we both know the score. It feels even.” I folded my sports bra. “No one will be blindsided by the end.”
“If you guys have such good chemistry, why let it end?”
“That would get awkward, because of the kids. I’ve still got another month here, and I need this job. If something went wrong with Austin—”
“But what if something goes right?”
“He’s not really a dater,” I said, avoiding the question. “He’s told me several times he likes being single. He’s one of those guys who doesn’t do feelings. Not in an asshole way, just in a sort of businesslike way. Like, he’s here to deliver the orgasms, get the signature, and get back in the truck.”
She laughed. “Okay, but what if—”
“There are no what ifs, Morgan,” I said, getting up from the couch and wandering over to the window. “The boundaries were established from the start. I flat out told him I was not looking for a relationship. It’s casual. Temporary. Just for fun.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so,” I told her, wishing I felt so. “I’m just going a little wild because I was all cooped up for a year. I’m enjoying my freedom. And my orgasms.”
She laughed. “Sounds like it. Well, good for you.”
“And besides, no use in carrying on when I’m leaving in a month anyway. It would just be delaying the inevitable. Better now than later.”
“That’s true, I suppose. Hey, did Scott Blackstone reach out yet?”
“No, is he going to?”
“He told Jake he was. Jake said he was super excited to hear you were interested in the job.”
“Oh, that’s awesome. Please thank Jake for me.”
“I will, and let me know as soon as you hear from Scott. Next, we need to find you a place to live! Let me ask around—I’m still close with a lot of the current Rockettes and maybe someone is looking to sublet or share a two-bedroom or something.”
“Thanks, Morgan. I appreciate it.”
We hung up, and I put my clean clothes away, trying to get excited about moving back to Manhattan.
But all I could think of was leaving here. Leaving him. Somehow New York City was losing its appeal.
I repeated the words I’d said to Morgan.
It’s not like that with us. It’s casual. Temporary. Just for fun. We are not dating, and there are no feelings involved.
And when my heart tried to argue, I repeated them again.
And again.
And again.
When he knocked on my door about quarter after seven, I was ready. The shades were drawn, the lights were out, and a dozen candles flickered in the dark. Dreamy spa music played on my phone in the bedroom, and I’d covered the bed with towels. On the nightstand was the fancy massage oil I’d splurged on at a high-end Main Street boutique, which offset the dollar-store candles.
I opened the door wearing a sundress, and he immediately frowned. “You said—”
“Relax,” I said, bringing him inside. He wore only his sweatpants, and his hair was damp from the shower. I could smell his man shampoo. “Come here.”
Leading him into the bedroom, I gestured toward the bed. “Okay, take off your pants and lie down.”
He gamely doffed his sweats and climbed onto the bed, stretching out on his back, hands behind his head. “My body is ready.”
“Turn over. Lie on your stomach.”
“But my fun bits are on the front.”
“Do it, please.” I gave him a stern look.
“Take off the dress first.”
Sighing, I pulled the dress over my head and tossed it aside, then shimmied out of my underwear. “There.”
“Well, now I don’t want to turn over. I want to look at you.” His eyes swept over my skin, which bore fading marks from the last two nights, and his cock began to swell.
I put my hands on my hips. “Don’t make me get rough with you, Buckley.”
He groaned and flopped over onto his stomach. “I’m giving you five minutes. And then I’m getting rough with you.”
“Shhhh. Just relax.” Grabbing the bottle of massage oil from the nightstand, I straddled his hips, sitting on his ass.
He moaned. “This is just cruel.”
“Hush. Put your hands by your head.” I rubbed some oil into my hands and started with light strokes up and down either side of his spine, between his shoulder blades, and on the back of his neck.
“That actually feels pretty good,” he said. “Much better than the revenge massage.”
“This is just the warm-up,” I informed him. “I’m about to get mean.”
Increasing the pressure, I worked all the muscles of his back and shoulders and neck, then moved on to his arms. He groaned and cursed me out a few times, especially when I used my elbows, but I could feel the knots loosening up. I scooted down and massaged his legs and feet, admiring the solid thighs and calves. I let my hands glide up his inner thighs and get close to his fun bits, but I was careful not to touch them. I didn’t want him to get turned on and take over—I had a plan.
I saved his butt for last and had a good time kneading the firm flesh with my hands, enjoying the string of curses he muttered. “Okay, now you can turn over,” I told him.
He rolled onto his back. “Are you going to straddle me again?”
“In a minute.” I started with his legs, moving from ankle to thigh. His cock was hard, and it jumped when my hands came near it. Finally, I knelt with a leg on either side of his thighs and took it in my hands, which were warm and slick with the oil.
“Fuck, yeah,” he said, reaching for my breasts.
I pushed his hands away. “No touching, sir.”
“You didn’t mention that rule before.”
“Just lie back, please. You’re going to like this.” I moved up, straddling his torso to rub his pecs and deltoids and biceps. “Doesn’t that feel good?”
“Yes,” he said, scowling. “It does, but I’m dying to get my hands on you.”
“I know. You love your hands on me. And your mouth. Look at the marks you’ve made.”
Once more, he admired the bruises lingering on my skin. “I fucking love them.”
“Now it’s my turn.” I crawled over to the nightstand, set the massage oil down and grabbed my red lipstick. Then I straddled his hips, trapping his cock between us.
He watched as I applied the lipstick, slowly painting my mouth with my favorite shade of red.
“Fuck me,” he growled, gripping my thighs.
“Eventually,” I said. “We should discuss consent.”
“Like permission?”
“Yes. Do I have your permission to leave marks on your skin?”
“You have my permission to do any fucking thing you want.”
“Good.” I started with his neck and worked my way down, leaving a kiss print on his throat, his collarbone, his shoulder, his tattooed bicep, his nipple, which I licked and sucked, aroused by the way it hardened against my tongue. I teased the other one with my fingertips, and his breathing grew heavy and hard.
Moving down his legs, I left kiss marks on his ridged abs, his hip bones, both sides of his V lines, which I traced with my tongue. Then I took a moment to reapply, gliding the color on and rubbing my lips together. His body already had the power to turn me on, but those kiss marks on his skin had my blood running hot.
I lowered my head and pressed my lips to either side of his cock, getting just close enough to torture him. Then lower, on his thighs. Then just above the spot where the tip rested, glistening and smooth.
“Veronica.” A plea. A rebuke. A prayer.
I smiled and gave him what he wanted, taking his erection in my hand and positioning it in front of my mouth. Then I slid my lips down his rigid length, taking him as deep as I could. When I couldn’t fit another inch of him in my mouth, I contracted my lips as well as I could, then slowly lifted my head, squeezing his shaft along the way, wanting to leave rings of Don’t F*ck With Me red in my wake. He grunted and cursed, his hands fisting in the towels on the bed.
When I got to the top, I pressed a kiss to the tip and looked at what I’d done. “A masterpiece,” I said. “A work of art.”
“I need to fuck you. Right now.”
But I bent my head and took him deep once more, bobbing my head in a steady rhythm, rubbing my painted lips up and down his cock. He pulsed once in my mouth, and I tasted him on my tongue.
“That’s it.” Bolting upright, he hooked me beneath the arms and dragged me up his body. “I want you to ride it. Now.”
“So much for me getting to be the boss.” But I reached into the nightstand drawer for a condom.
“I’ll let you be on top. That’s the compromise.”
He watched as I rolled the condom on, his entire body radiating impatience. When I positioned him between my legs, he gripped my hips, moaning as I sank down, inch by inch. When he was sheathed inside me, I went still for a moment, my hands on his chest, my eyes closing, giving my body a moment to adjust to being invaded so deeply and fully.
Then I started to move—slow, languorous rocking motions in time to a lazy beat. He fastened his mouth to one breast, each pull resonating deep within me. Cradling his head in my hands, I circled my hips a little faster, feeling him grow harder inside me, my need for release spiraling higher. But even as all my muscles tightened, my body felt free and easy and loose. I was heat, I was golden, I was liquid, I was passion. I was motion, I was friction, I was rhythm, I was desire.
And I was the object of his desire. I was wanted. I was craved. Beneath his hands, my skin caught fire. Beneath his mouth, my body begged for more. I rode him with shameless abandon, tugging his hair, scratching his back, clutching his shoulders. I took what I wanted, what I needed, reveling in the way my core was tightening around him, in the way he drove into me, in the way our bodies moved in perfect harmony.
“Come for me,” he growled, barely taking his mouth from my breast. “I want to feel your pussy come on all those marks you left.”
His words pushed me over the edge, and my climax tore through me, my body clenching around him again and again. He came immediately after I did, his cock throbbing within my fluttering walls. It was heavenly perfection, as if we’d been made for each other. How was anyone else ever going to measure up?
Don’t think about that, I warned myself as I caught my breath.
Austin fell back and took me with him, so my head rested on his chest. His arms came around me and his heart thundered in my ear. I closed my eyes and listened to its rhythm slow.
“So was the massage just an excuse to put those kiss marks all over me?”
“No. But I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. Did you?”
“Yes. But you can never put on lipstick in front of me again, because I will immediately get a hard-on.”
I smiled. “Good to know.”
We slept at my apartment. Saturday morning, Austin was gone when I woke up. I reached for my phone and saw he’d texted.
Didn’t want to wake you. Working with my dad today, then running a few errands. I’ll call you later.
My shoulder and neck feel better than they have in months, so thank you for that.
And thank you for this.
The next thing he’d sent was a photo of his chest—his collarbone still wore the kiss mark I’d put there last night. It made me smile.
I washed the rest of them off in the shower this morning. DAMN that stuff is hard to remove. But I couldn’t resist leaving this one alone.
I’m glad. I like thinking about it.
And about you.
Must be why I’m always doing it.
After I hit send, I wondered if that was too much. We didn’t really message mushy stuff to each other, just logistics and sometimes dirty things. Maybe I was overthinking it.
But I couldn’t help comparing the experience of receiving his photo to the last time a guy had sent me one—Neil’s wedding-day dick pic. I shook my head. That one made my stomach turn. This one made my heart flutter.
I lay back in bed, draping an arm over my forehead. If I’d met Austin at another time in my life, or in his life, could things have been different between us? I couldn’t imagine when that might have been, since I was only twenty-two when he’d become a father.
We’d never really stood a chance.
That afternoon, I ran into Ari at the salon, where I’d lucked out with an appointment to get my nails done last-minute. She’d just gotten a haircut and highlights.
“You look fabulous,” I told her as we left the salon together. “I hope you have a hot date tonight.”
“I do—with my Kindle.” She laughed. “We get hot and steamy on my couch every Saturday night. I light a candle, open some wine . . . book boyfriends never let me down. Hey, you want to grab coffee or something?” She tossed her mahogany waves over one shoulder. “I don’t want to waste this hair entirely.”
“Sure,” I said. “I have some time.”
We headed up the block toward a place called L’Arbre Croche Café. “What are you up to tonight?” she asked.
“Austin and I are going to dinner at The Pier Inn.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Austin Buckley?”
I laughed. “Yes.”
“So are you two . . .” She trailed off dramatically.
“We’re just friends.”
“Austin’s never taken any other friends to dinner at The Pier Inn,” she said, elbowing me.
“I’m sure he has.”
She shook her head. “This is a small town. And Austin is one of its most eligible bachelors. Trust me—I’d have heard about it. The man doesn’t date.”
“He’s mentioned that a few times.”
We reached the café, and she pulled the door open. “Mabel is always giving him shit about it.”
After placing orders at the counter, we moved toward the pickup station. “You and Mabel have been friends a long time, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. For as long as I can remember. If we weren’t at her house, we were at my house. My mom was really close to her mom,” she explained. “So my parents were always trying to help out. Mr. Buckley had his hands full—although Austin did a lot too.”
“That’s what I hear.” We picked up our drinks and moved to a table by the window.
“When he wasn’t working, he was doing something for one of the other kids. It had to be frustrating to see all his friends goofing off or going out when he had responsibilities.”
“Yeah.”
“He’d take it out on Xander. Those two used to beat the crap out of each other.” Ari shook her head. “But if anyone else messed with Xander, Austin would be the first to defend him, and vice versa.”
I nodded and sipped my cold brew. “They’re such a close family. I hope I get a chance to meet the other siblings.”
“Devlin doesn’t get home too often. Dash usually honors everyone with his presence around the holidays.” She rolled her eyes.
“Not a fan?” I asked.
“He just gets on my nerves,” she said with a shrug. But the way her cheeks were suddenly painted raspberry-pink told me there was probably history there.
“Do I sense a crush?”
The raspberry turned to crimson. “No,” she said emphatically. “He’s like an older brother to me. And he treats me like another little sister. He always has.”
Oh, there was a crush all right. But I let it go for now. “So let me ask you this. When you guys were all growing up, did Austin ever have a serious girlfriend?”
She exhaled and looked out the window for a moment, like she had to think hard. “Not that I recall. But Mabel and I were a lot younger. When he was in high school, we were still pretty little. I do know that once the twins arrived, he never dated anyone around here. The town biddies are always trying to set him up—my mother has tried to get him to take every single one of my cousins out—but he just doesn’t do it. If he didn’t have those kids, I might think he wasn’t that into women.”
“He’s definitely into women,” I confirmed without thinking.
Her eyes met mine and widened like full moons. “You sound very certain of that. Almost like you had inside information.”
Heat crept up my neck and into my face.
“And now you’re blushing,” she pointed out. She sipped on her straw, waiting for me to say more.
“Uh . . .” I tried to think of a way to cover for myself, but the truth was that I was dying to talk about this with someone who knew Austin. Could I trust Ari? “So this is a bit delicate.”
“I am the soul of discretion. You can ask Mabel—I was one thousand percent the better secret-keeper between the two of us.”
I hesitated. Was this okay? I mean, Xander knew, right? And Ari was like family. “Okay, but this really needs to stay between us.”
She crossed her heart.
“So ever since I met Austin, there’s been this . . .”
“Tension between you,” Ari said with a nod. “I saw it the day you came in for breakfast. And everyone saw it at The Broken Spoke.”
“Were you there that night?” I couldn’t remember seeing her.
She shook her head. “I didn’t need to be. Small town. Go on.”
“Okay. So we sort of agreed that it would be inappropriate to act on it once he hired me, but that line grew a little fuzzy once the kids left for California.”
“And by fuzzy you mean it disappeared entirely.”
I snapped my fingers. “Like that.”
“So?” Her eyes danced. “How was it?”
“So good you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I took a breath. “So good I don’t want it to stop.”
“Why would it stop?”
“Because the kids are coming home. And we agreed from the get-go that was the finish line.”
Ari tilted her head. “Have you talked about it since?”
“Not really.” I shook the ice around in my cup. “I can’t bring myself to ask him what he’s thinking.”
“Why not?”
My fear of rejection seemed like a lot to get into right now. “I’m just worried that the answer won’t be what I want it to be.”
“I get that,” she said. “It’s scary to put yourself out there, especially if you laid out the parameters beforehand.”
“We did. That’s exactly it—we did. I’m afraid that he might get upset with me for trying to change the rules. And we’d have to sneak around behind the kids’ backs. And I’m leaving in a month anyway, you know?”
Ari thought for a moment. “Do you have to leave in a month?”
“Yes. The nanny job is over mid-August. I’m going back to New York.”
“You have a job lined up already?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I’m just wondering if there was a way you could stay here. Find a different job.”
“And live where?”
She shrugged. “Over Austin’s garage.”
I shook my head. “No. I can’t suggest that. It’s way too much.” And I would rather die than see the look on Austin’s face as he tried to let me down easy, or worse, agreed to let me stay even though he didn’t really want me to because he thought it was the right thing to do. What if he said yes because of his sense of duty? What if he felt obligated to say yes because he promised he’d never hurt me, but he didn’t really want me to stick around?
My skin started to prickle. My heart began to pound. Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and little gray dots began to swim before my eyes. A siren went off in my head.
“Hey, are you okay?” Ari asked.
I refocused on her concerned face. “What?”
“You suddenly turned white.”
“Oh, sorry.” Closing my eyes, I inhaled and exhaled. “Just a little panic attack.”
“Need some air? Want to go outside?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Come on.” We got up from the table and she took my arm, leading me back out into the sunshine.
I gulped several breaths of fresh summer air—fudge. The lake. The baskets of fragrant flowers hanging off each streetlamp on Main Street. Gradually, my pulse decelerated, and my skin stopped tingling.
“Better?” she asked.
“Better.”
“I’m sorry for upsetting you. I didn’t mean to.”
I shook my head. “It’s not you. Believe me, it’s nothing I haven’t thought about, I just can’t face my fears enough to do it. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. It seems ludicrous to suggest that what we have might be worth upending our lives for.”
“Well, I don’t know.” She smiled. “Have you ever heard the story about Mr. and Mrs. Buckley?”
“Yes. Austin told me.”
“So it can happen quickly. And a man can swear up and down he’s never going to fall in love, but the right woman comes along, and boom—he burns down a city for her.”
I laughed ruefully. “I think you’ve been out with too many book boyfriends.”
She sighed heavily. “I know. It’s a problem.”
Back at home, I got ready for our not-a-date, telling myself just to relax and have a good time tonight. Not to think about tomorrow. Not to think about leaving him. Not to think about loving him.
One final, glorious night before the curtain came down.
