By: Sara Wylde

That might have been the most decadent thing I’d ever seen. I had to cross my legs as another tremor shot through me. I guess in the scheme of things, it wasn’t that big a deal, but no one had ever done that after touching me. No one had ever been that enamored of me.

This feeling Brant wrought in me was addictive. I wanted more of it. Not just the pleasure, but the other things. Feeling wanted. Feeling beautiful.

“You’re good with your mouth. Looks like you’ve had some practice.” I nodded at him.

He laughed. “Is that your fantasy when you come to the club? Do you think we’re all in the back oiling each other up and doing naughty things?”

“I know better. But it’s kind of a hot picture, if I think about it.”

“All the guys are convinced that when you have girls’ night, they all go back to your place and you have a dirty slumber party.”

“Oh really? Wouldn’t you just like to know?”

“I would. You should tell me all about it.”

Both his arms were around me and I inhaled the scent of him. From here on out, I’d associate Blue with orgasms. “I will. When you take me home.”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen. I really do want to get to know you, Claire.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to go home with me?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to leave in the morning and never see you again.”

“I never invite anyone to spend the night. I invited you.” It was the closest I could come to any kind of promise.

“I’ll make that concession. If you let me follow through on our breakfast plans.”

It was a small thing, but I really liked that he used the word “concession.” A good vocabulary always turned me on.

“Only because you used the word concession.”

“I know.”

Maybe he did get me after all.


When we got back to the house, I could hear April barking like a caffeinated purse dog all the way outside.

“Well, this isn’t awkward at all.” I said, standing in my living room.

Brant shrugged. “She’s just having a good time.”

“I’m not sure that I ever needed to know that about her though.”

He grinned. “We could give them a run for their money.”

“Oh yeah?”

"Yeah, baby." He moaned.

The howling stopped and the house was suddenly much too quiet. I dragged him into my room and shut the door, giggling. "What are you doing?"

"That thing you like." He made sure to project his voice so there could be no mistaking what he'd said through the walls.

It took me all of a nanosecond to decide to play along, Kieran had it coming. I couldn't count how many nights, mornings, or even afternoons I'd spent wearing my earphones trying to block out screams, moans, and a general carnal ruckus. Turnabout was finally fair play.

I moaned experimentally and the yipper dog was silent. I did it again and Brant banged into the wall with a snicker.

"Yeah, just like that," he growled.

"I didn't know I could bend that far. Harder."

He started banging a steady rhythm on the wall and I provided the soundtrack to accompany the show.

Only the next sound I made, he focused on me with a particular intensity. "You're really good at faking it. Makes me wonder what you sound like when you mean it," Brant whispered.

"You heard me on the boat."

"No, you were holding back because there were people around."

"There are people around now." My mouth was dry and I licked my lips. My feet carried me closer to him of their own accord.

"No one that actually cares what we're doing. This will be another story at the club just like the time Kieran banged that reporter in the dressing room. Instead, it'll be your turn to talk about how you and I rocked Kieran and his flavor of the day out of bed."

I didn't like how that sounded. I didn't want April to be the flavor of the day, even if that's what she signed up for. I didn't want the guys at the club to know I'd slept with Brant. But I did want Kieran to know for some screwed up reason. Maybe to highlight the fact I wasn't just his roommate, I wasn't actually one of the guys. I was a woman with needs.

And there was a man who wanted me, a man who thought I was hot, not in spite of being fat.

I didn't know how kissing was going to work, I could never picture it with a guy who was so much shorter than me. I always thought that I'd have to be the aggressor. But it was like dumping a bottle of mercury on a pane of glass--the molecules were drawn back toward each other. Our mouths were the same, the press of lips inevitable.

His hands were in my hair, on the nape of my neck, sliding down my arms, around my waist--it was as if he touched me everywhere at once.