Boston (13 page)

But I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about. I just, I don’t think we should do this again. It’s better if we just keep it professional, you know? Better, easier, for both of us, because then we won’t need to worry about what happens when it ends and stuff. Better for working together.” I’m babbling as I grab my bag and open the door. “Bye.”

“Abby!” He sounds almost desperate, but I don’t turn. It’s better to just walk away, I think, because if I even entertain a maybe, it’s going to break my heart.

***

Boston asked me to talk again and I shook my head, so he gave up, apparently. And now I’m in hell. I don’t really know what I’m doing with him, I don’t know how it’s going to end up, but I wish I’d let him make love to me. I teased him, he teased me, then we had a real chance to explore our passion, and I turned it down. What was I thinking? If there was ever a chance to convince him that I’m the right girl for him, that might have been it—and I passed.

I regret it every night I spend alone in my bed, and pretty soon he’s all I can think about. And I know that if the chance comes again, I’m going for it, and to hell with the next day. I want him so much that I don’t even care what happens the morning after.

The book releases, our big project, and it’s amazing and overwhelming. Boston and I have started shooting some sample pictures for the next book, even though I’m still working on it. Each night after the shoot, we pore over the numbers on Amazon, reading reviews, watching the spike in sales. We scream and cheer when we hit ten thousand sales the first three days alone. It brings tears to my eyes, tears of gratitude and joy and relief. It worked! This idea, crazy as it was, paid off. We’re the number one book in erotica, in romance, in women’s fiction. We’re on the front page of Amazon. We have the bestseller tag and everything! I’m getting invited to tons of blogs and web interviews; so is Boston. It’s like heaven opened up and rained down treasures on us, so many we can’t even collect them all.

One night we’re alone again after a shoot with Annalise, and I volunteer to help him put away equipment. I’m giddy with joy about the book, and I can see in his body that he’s feeling the same energy. Still, the equipment needs to be stowed safely away.

I’ve actually become somewhat of an expert at helping tear down the lights. I know how to unplug the cables and take apart the light boxes, which might not sound like such a big deal, but for someone like me who’s afraid of electrical outlets because she thinks electricity might randomly jump out and zap her, and who doesn’t really know what “Phillips” means when it comes to screwdrivers (I mean, why not “Larry’s” or “Michael’s”?), it’s kind of huge.

I glance up from a light stand, and he’s at my computer—reading! I remember how I scolded him last time, and I feel a momentary rush of irritation that he’s spying… again. Then I sigh. Does it really matter? He shows me his pictures before they’re polished. I guess it’s okay if he really wants to read my stuff ahead of time. Partners, right? He moves away from the computer as I enter the room and starts sorting through a pile of equipment.

I feel his eyes on me as I walk over to get a cable, and I spend a few more seconds than necessary bending down, making sure my ass is nice and tight in my jeans. I hope he’s watching; I hope he’s swallowing hard, his eyes blazing. I want him to want me. Even though I said we couldn’t do “this” again, I’ve changed my mind. I can’t help it—I want him so badly, and I think I don’t even care anymore if it will be a one-night stand or not. I need to get him out of my blood, because he’s driving me crazy.

When I get up, I glance over, and the look on his face is positively feral. He’s still, his camera in his hands, staring. When our eyes meet, he smiles, a little wicked smile, but he doesn’t move a step.

I feel my face get hot, and I hold the plug in my fist, then wrap the cable around my elbow in neat coils, watching him watch me. When I’m done, I put the roll onto the table with a show of casual nonchalance and sigh.

“It’s a lot of work,” I remark, “setting up and tearing down.”

“Yeah,” he says. “A lot of work.” His eyes roam over my body, and I see his finger stroking the camera. I wonder if he’s thinking about touching me. Where does he want to put that finger: My lips? My breast? Between my legs?

He puts down the camera and rolls up the canvas, and the blank wall faces me again. I figure that he’ll say something now like, “Well, see you tomorrow, Abby,” or “What time in the morning?” A pleasant dismissal.

Instead, he walks over through the open bedroom door. “Abby, bring my camera in here, please, would you?” he asks. I frown, wondering why he needs it in there, but I do anyway, my heart starting to thump at the idea of being in his bedroom.

He smiles when he sees me. Then he saunters to the bed and I bite my lip as he sits down and kicks off his boots, then swings his legs up slowly and crosses them, one jean-clad leg over the other. He rests his back against the ornate headboard, and laces his fingers behind his head.

I suck in my breath, sneaking a glance. His bare chest ripples as he moves. God, that six-pack, those arms. He rubs one hand down his chin, stroking his stubble, then sighs and puts it back behind his head.

Oh, my God, oh, my fucking God. He’s doing it! He’s doing the pose from the scene I wrote. THIS IS WHAT I WROTE today, what was on my computer when I saw him bending down to look at the screen. I remember the exact words. “
Tyler sauntered to the bed and sat down against the headboard, kicked off his boots, and crossed one leg over the other. Lili felt her heart race as he deliberately laced his fingers behind his head, leaned back, and asked, ‘So, sugar, how was your day?’ “

“So, sugar, how was your day?” His voice is low and husky. I’m the one swallowing hard, because I feel like I’m in an alternate reality. Is Boston seriously acting out my book? Does he know what comes next? I cross my arms over my chest, then put them back down at my sides, feeling a little awkward.

“Good,” I say. I meet his eyes, and suddenly I feel bold and confident of something, a little something that I feel in the air between us. Maybe it’s the way he slung his legs up onto the bed, looking at me the whole time. You don’t just do that in such a lazy, sensual way if you don’t have intentions. Or maybe it’s the way he’s leaning back against the headboard in such a provocative, deceptively relaxed pose. To me, he seems coiled, tense, ready to strike.

“Yeah? What did you write about?” His voice is low and sensual. He rubs his lip, and fuck, but I want to do it, too, when I see him touching his mouth. I want that to be my lips tracing his.

“Oh, Boston, I don’t know if you want to hear about it,” I tell him, smiling. “It’s a pretty racy scene for a vanilla boy.” Without breaking my gaze, I reach behind me and set the camera down on a chair.

He laughs. “Try me, Abs. You might be surprised.”

I want to try him, God, but I want to try him. I raise my eyebrows and walk a little closer, swaying my hips. “You want me to tell you a bedtime story, Boston?” My voice comes out sultry.

“Yeah, Abby. Tell me a dirty story.” His eyes flash at me and he grins. “Tell me what you’re thinking about when I see you tilt your head to the side and get that little smile, right before you go racing for your damn little notebook and scribble the hell out of something with that pen.”

His voice gets rougher. “Tell me all the kinky, dirty thoughts that go on in the mind of a writer, Abby. I’m curious.”

I pretend to deliberate. “Well, okay, Boston. In fact, since you’re sitting there,” and I point at him, “no, don’t move. Maybe you can help me out... again.”

I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this! But it’s like I’m me and someone else at the same time. I’m me and also Super Abby, the Abby who’s fearless and hot and who knows it. I’m Abby who sees Boston looking at her like he wants to devour her, and she knows just what to do to keep that look coming.

I come closer and my heart is in my throat. It’s beating so hard it’s like a hummingbird of energy and I’m dizzy with nerves and bravado. But he’s still lounging back like that, all “come hither, baby” with his eyes. If this is how he wants to play it? Game on.

I perch on the edge of the bed, close to his jean-clad leg, so close that my hip brushes the fabric. I lean in just a bit and feel the warmth and hardness of his leg through the cloth. Just that little touch alone makes adrenaline surge through me and a tickly, prickly feeling suffuses my skin. He casually moves his leg closer, pushing more firmly against my lower back, and I gasp. I feel my eyes widen and he smiles and does a tiny head shake and a chuckle, but he’s still relaxed against the bed, arms behind his head.

That does it. He’s so cocky—and yes, I love it—but he needs to know that I’m Abby with a capital A right now, Abby who can command him just as well as he commands her. I grab the long gauzy scarf that Annalise wore during the shoot and wind it around one hand, then I lean in and softly brush the tail end over his chest.

“A story, Boston?” I say. A muscle twitches in his jaw and his eyes narrow slightly, and I see his chest rise a little harder. “Well, today I was writing a scene between my dom and his sub,” I murmur, trailing the scarf down over his abs, then along his side. “I think you know that, though,” I add, “because I saw you looking at my computer. You bad, bad boy.”

He blushes and ducks his head down. “Aw, Abs, you saw that?” He grins at me and has the grace to look embarrassed. He cocks his head and blinks those crazy long lashes at me. “Forgive me?”

I raise my eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me what you read, Boston. Maybe it should be you telling me the story. Did you read the part about how my pretty little sub finds her dom sitting on the bed just… like… this?”

At each word, I flick the scarf at his nipples. Of course it can’t hurt; it’s silk, but the motion is not wasted. He sucks in his breath and I notice a hardening along his leg.

“Maybe you read the part where the sub has had enough of being teased for one day, and she decides to turn the tables on her dom?” I ask innocently. Then, in a trance, I climb up onto the bed and straddle Boston’s lap. He makes a noise—surprise? Arousal? I don’t know, but before he can say another word I lean into his body, letting my breasts push against him, and grab his right hand. I use the scarf to tie that hand to one of the ornate swirls of the headboard, and then I lean back to look at his face.

His eyes are glittering and his look is potent. “Did you read the part where she cuffs him to the bed, Boston?” I whisper into his ear, and suddenly his free arm is iron around my waist.

“Yeah, Abs, I read that part,” he whispers back, his breath hot on my neck. “And I liked it.” He licks my neck, and it’s bold, raw, and I gasp out loud and shudder. He laughs, a confident, happy laugh, and then bites me hard, right where he licked. “Baby, I fucking loved that part,” he adds, tugging me in hard, opening his palm against my ass and squeezing, rubbing, touching.

“So all I need from you right now is a little advice,” I say, my voice coming hoarse. “She teases him, Boston. She touches his cock and licks him and gets him so hard, and then she denies him. Over and over again, until he’s begging her, practically crying for it.”

He tugs me forward and down somehow and I can feel him pushing up between my legs, hard, ready, and I’m aching for him, but I keep talking. “And then he does this thing where he sort of flips her down, locks her down with his leg, and spanks her with his free hand. Now I don’t know if that’s too hardcore for you, Boston, but do you think the mechanics could work?”

I tilt my head and give him an innocent look. “Want to see if you can flip me? For the sake of the story, no other reason. I need my writing to be accurate. If you do it, I’ll untie you.”

He smiles, and it looks sort of dangerous, and makes my stomach lurch. “If I flip you, Abs, I’m not stopping anything until I say we’re done.”

I shrug. “Big talk, Boston. I don’t know if you can handle a little one-handed action right now. I mean, you are a bit tied up. You’re relying on me to get you free here, after all.”

Boston strokes my ass again, gives me that heart-melting smile, and suddenly I’m over his lap. How the fuck he managed it, I have no idea, but whap, I’m over his legs, he twisted me with his one free arm, and now my face is squashed into the cover and his hand is on my ass, holding me down.

I scream and laugh and twist to look up at him. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe you actually…” and the look on his face stops my smile. He’s all serious now, breathing harder, and fuck, but it’s sexy to see him with his one arm still tied up with that scarf and to feel the other one on my body.

My skirt is all twisted and I feel Boston’s hand by my thigh, just his fingertips, grazing my skin. He strokes me so lightly, just under the fabric, above my knees, and I shudder at the exquisite sensation. He strokes a little higher, and a little higher, and now he’s toying with the fabric of my panties, letting his index finger stray just under the lacy edge. I’m holding my breath, waiting for his hand to keep going, but he strokes back down my leg and lets his palm rest on my thigh.

“Aw, Abs,” he says, and his voice is a mix of a tease and a threat. “I’m a champion lifter, baby. Flipping a girl like you with one hand is child’s play. Spread your legs.”

“Wh-what?”

“Spread your legs. You heard me.” His voice is a caress now, and his hand is still a hot weight on my skin, burning into me. “You just gave yourself to me, baby, don’t pretend you didn’t. Now do what I asked.”

I lick my lips and clench my muscles, and he laughs again, then gives me a very soft small spank over my skirt. “Abby. I’m waiting.”

I gasp, and slide my thighs about an inch apart, wiggling to get comfortable on his lap. I can feel how hard he is beneath me, and that makes a tingling arousal start to grow in my pelvis.

“More.” His voice is low and holds a smile, but also a warning.

“How—How much more?” I ask, stalling for time. My heart is still hammering away and this is insane. I can’t believe I’m lying over Boston’s lap. I can’t believe he put me here. I’m ecstatic; more than ecstatic, really, I’m out of my mind with insane joy that this is really happening.

“Until I say stop,” comes his calm reply, so I spread my legs a little wider, then a little more. I’m not sure I can go more without adjusting my position when he says, “Stop.”

Neither of us speak for a long minute, and I can feel my pulse in my breasts, in my neck, in my groin; can he feel it, too? He strokes my legs again, up and down, and it’s the most erotic thing I’ve felt in forever. Just his rough hand, gliding over my legs, until I melt into his body, a crazy mix of relaxation and arousal.

Then he murmurs, "Tell me to lift your skirt.”

“What?”

“I said,” I can hear the smile, “tell me. To. Lift. Your. Skirt.”

“But you can just lift it if you want to,” I say, a little confused, but also deliberately sassing him, hoping to spark a dominant reaction.

“Sure, I can do anything I want right now,” he says and chuckles, stroking higher and letting his hand rest on my ass. “But you’re going to ask for it every step of the way. I want to hear you beg.”

I suck in my breath. “I’m not going to beg you to lift my skirt,” I challenge him, shifting as if to close my legs, and he reacts like lightning, holding me hard like iron.

“Uh-uh,” he warns, then I feel a slap on my skirt. “We’re playing this my way, Abby.”

“Oh!” I gasp, feeling wetness surge between my legs. “Boston, please lift up my skirt.”

My face is burning, but I guess that’s okay, because I feel the cool air of the room as he slowly, so slowly pulls the skirt up my legs and pools it around my waist. “Keep your legs open,” he reminds me, then rubs the surface of my ass through the panties.

“Fuck, Abby, you look so goddamn good,” he growls, running one finger down the cleft of my ass toward my pussy.

I moan and thrust my hips in surprise and arousal, and he laughs and slaps me hard in the middle of both cheeks. “No moving, Abby, until I tell you,” he demands. “Understand?”

But his voice is silky and sexy, and I’m not at all afraid. It’s just Boston—Boston!—and I know he’d never hurt me… at least, not in a way I didn’t want to be hurt.

“Yes, I understand,” I say, and my voice is soft and compliant.

“You’re right,” Boston tells me, letting his fingers drift up and down the crotch of my panties, making me squeak out tiny sounds of pleasure. “I’ve been a little vanilla, I guess, compared to the stuff you write. But guess what, Abby?” His fingers continue to stroke with such light pressure I can barely feel them. “I decided I like the stuff you write about. And I loved it when you asked me to spank you the other time. I loved that a fucking lot. So I read up on it.”

Now his fingers are pressing a little more firmly and I moan and try to wiggle into his hand. He cracks a sharp spank down across my upper thighs, and I squeal. “Ow!”

“Stay still,” he reminds me, then rubs the spot where he slapped. “I did a little research, Abby. Want to know what I looked up?”

My heart practically stops. “What did you look up?” I can barely get out the words.

“Take a guess.” He rubs my ass a few more times, then cracks me once, twice, across each cheek.

I moan and twist and manage, “Sp—you looked up spanking?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly right, Abby. I looked up how to spank a hot girl for pleasure during sex. I learned a lot of interesting things.”

He’s teasing between my legs again, touching, rubbing. “I learned that you always need to start a spanking out light, to warm up your girl’s ass.” He gives me a few light slaps on each cheek, then rubs. “Then you can step up the intensity, little by little, until you make her ass pink. You want me to make your pretty ass pink, Abby?”

I’m dying here. “Oh, God, Boston, I don’t know!” I cry out.

He gives me a sharper spank. “Yes or no, Abby. There’s no guessing.”

“I—I…” I stammer, and try to close my legs on his hand. “Yes, but please keep touching me. Don’t stop.”

He laughs. “And there’s another interesting thing I found out. Open, Abby. Now.”

I spread my legs for him again, and he continues, “Sometimes it can be a hell of a lot of fun to tease your girl while she’s tied up at your mercy. You can stroke her and make her want to come,” and he touches the crotch of my panties, which are now soaked, “and make her accept whatever you want to give her in order to get her release.”

He slaps me again, harder and I moan, lifting my hips up to his hand. He’s so good. So, so good.

“So I think that’s what we’ll try out right now,” he decides. “You’re going to keep your legs open for me like this, Abby, and I’m going to play with you until I think you’re wet enough for me, baby. Because you know what? I have a pretty big dick, Abs. And you’re going to need to be completely slick and wet for me to get in this tight little pussy.”

God, his dirty talk is making me insane, and I writhe on his lap, trying to rub my clit over his cock, but he stills me with his free hand, and then slaps, harder now.

“But you’re going to ask for it,” he tells me confidently. “You’re going to sit up and look me right in the eyes and ask me to spank you and tease you until you’re wet enough to fuck my cock.”

“I am?”

“Now.” His voice is hard and rough and I almost come right there, right then.

I bite my lip and realize that his hand is gone, and I slowly scramble around—it feels awkward—until I’m straddling him again. I can feel my face is red, but I’m so aroused I don’t care. The cocky bastard has put his other hand up again behind his head and is leaning back!

“Hi.” He smiles at me and I can’t resist. I smile back, my heart melting. “Hi.”

“Do you have something to say to me?” He raises one eyebrow and grins.

I lean in and put my lips against his and speak into his mouth. “Boston, will you please turn me over your lap and take down my panties and do what you want until I’m begging you to fuck me? I want to feel your hard hand on my soft skin, and then I want your hard cock inside me. Boston, I want you to fuck me tonight, harder than you’ve ever fucked a girl before. Take me, baby. Make me yours.”

And before I can finish the sentence, he crushes me to his chest and our mouths meet. He groans into me and I groan back. He kisses me harshly, hard, and I deepen it, make it rougher. I want to lick every part of his mouth, his tongue. I want to feel his tongue jammed into my mouth. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, then dig my nails in as hard as I can, and he roars, “Fuck, Abby!” and reaches back to grab my ass while I’m riding him. I grind my crotch into him, hard, struggling to rub my clit against him any way I can. I’m desperate for his touch.

The kiss goes on and on, until I feel like our mouths are one mouth, I feel like he’s part of me. His breath and my breath are hot and moist and we’re panting, grinding, grabbing. It’s like we’re starving, desperate, needy.