Trophy Husband (19 page)

“It has a nice couch.”

“We could do a lot on a couch.”

“It’s ten blocks away.”

“That’s far,” I say, and
I’m keenly aware of how my voice has become a ragged whisper. He
has to know what I want right now.
Him
. His green eyes are dark,
shadowed with lust and staring intensely into mine. He’s waiting
for me to say more. “But I think I really want to see that
couch.”

“Good, because I would really fucking love
to make out with you properly right now.”

There is no option to do anything else.
There is no way I will go anywhere right now, but to this studio
that’s ten blocks away. I cannot conceive of doing anything else in
this moment but being alone with Chris. He takes my hand, gripping
it tight, and guides me to the front of the bar, then the sidewalk.
In seconds flat, he’s hailed a cab.

“That’s no small feat to hail a cab quickly
in San Francisco,” I say as we slide inside.

“It’s part of the guy code. All the cabbies
in the world have this special alert to show up quickly when a guy
really needs to be alone with his woman.”

I start to laugh, but my laughter is
smothered by his lips on mine, and soon I’m grabbing at his shirt,
and he’s cupping the back of my head, and we are a fevered picture
of two people who can’t get enough of each other. Then the cab
stops, Chris pays, and we’re at the door of a three-story brick
office building that’s dark except for one light in the lobby.

“This isn’t where you shoot your show,
right?” I ask as he fishes in his pocket for the keys. My hands toy
with the waistband of his jeans.

He shakes his head. “No. The network’s over
in the Dogpatch, near the other TV shows shot in town. This is just
a tiny little studio for pick-ups, promos, quickies.” He winks at
the last word as he unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

Using his cell phone for
light, we walk quickly up a darkened stairwell, then Chris pushes
open a heavy door that leads into a short hallway. He flicks on the
light switch. At the end of the hall is a door with a white
lacquered sign that reads
Fish Out of
Water Studios
.

“Clever name,” I remark.

“Like a band name. Or wireless network
name,” he replies as he opens that door and turns on the light. The
space is split in two by a glass window. The studio itself is
beyond the glass and it’s tiny – but even in the dark I can tell it
has a green screen on one wall, a camera, and lights. We’re in the
waiting area and there’s a desk with a desk calendar, a computer
and pens, and the aforementioned couch.

But we don’t make it to the couch. Instead,
I back up quickly against the wall and pull him close to me, my
fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm on his belly. “We can’t go
all the way,” I say.

“That’s fine.”

“I’m just not ready.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to. Whatever you
want to do is fine, but I just want you to know this. The real
reason I agreed to do your contest wasn’t to promote my show. I
couldn’t care less. I did it because I wanted to be in the running.
I want to be the only one in the running. I want you.”

“You are. The only one,” I say, and I’m
nearly breathless as he grazes my arm lazily with the tips of his
fingers.

“Good. Because I’m not even thinking about
the contest anymore.”

“You’re not?”

“Not in the least.”

“What are you thinking about?”

He looks me straight in the eyes,
disarmingly, holding my gaze. “What I want to do to you now.”

I can feel the soft little hairs on my arms
standing on end. “What do you want to do?”

He lays a hand on my bare leg. His hand is
warm, his skin is soft, he feels good. “This.” His voice is strong.
He’s not playing around. He’s just a man speaking his mind.

My back is to the wall, and he’s looking at
me, and his hand is on my thigh, tracing the edge of my short,
short skirt. He raises an eyebrow as his fingers cross over,
slipping inside my skirt. It feels so good, I want to cry. I
haven’t been touched in so long, I nearly forgot what it can do to
a girl. My whole body feels alive, as if every part of me is
reaching for him, longing for him.

“It feels so good,” I tell him.

“You
feel so good. Don’t take this the wrong way. Don’t take this
to mean I don’t like you, because I do. But I have totally wanted
to get in your pants since the day I met you.”

“Yeah. I think I can take that the right
way.”

He moves his hand higher, inching so close
to my inner thighs, where I’m throbbing for him. There’s no other
way to describe it. Because I am simply dying to be touched by him.
He makes me feel so wanted, so desired, and so cared for, it’s
intoxicating. I’m so turned on by him, pulsing with all these
feelings that collide inside of me at once – the pure physical
desire, but then the way my heart feels unfrozen with him,
un-angry. The way it feels a crazy kind of joy that I could live
off, that could feed me. His touch could too. His hands are strong
and insistent, but gentle in their own way too as he traces the
outside of my panties. I am racing right now, and my panties are
damp, and he smiles a wicked little grin as he touches them for the
first time.

“That’s fucking awesome,” he whispers in my
ear. “I love how wet you are.”

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag, Chris. You
turn me on something crazy.”

“Good. Because I’ve been thinking about
doing this. I’ve thought about this when I’m in the shower,” he
says, and I might as well rocket into another world of pleasure. He
just told me he’s gotten off to me. I didn’t think it were possible
to feel any more heat, but I am aflame.

“You think about me in the shower?”

“I have had many, many thoughts about you. I
have touched you in so many ways already,” he says, his voice, low
and dirty in my ear. The ache between my legs intensifies, and I am
longing for him to touch me, to know what he’s done to me.

“Like how?”

“I’ve tasted you. I’ve touched you. I’ve
been inside you, and now I want to feel you for real.”

I might swoon with desire, but there’s no
time to do anything but gasp, as he slides his hand inside my
panties, and an involuntary moan escapes me at the first touch. Oh
my god. This is what it feels like without batteries. This is what
it feels like with someone else’s hands. This is what it’s like
when someone wants to touch you as much as you want to be
touched.

“Chris,” I say in a low voice.

“Yes?”

“I’ve thought about you too. I’ve thought
about you touching me.”

“You have?”

I nod. “Yes. Before our first Guitar Hero
lesson. You made me come,” I say, and it’s a hushed and hot
confession. The look in his eyes is one of lust and heat, and it’s
about the sexiest a man has ever been.

“How? How did I do it?” His voice is rough,
full of unchained desire.

“You went down on me,” I whisper.

He nearly growls at my admission. “And you
tasted spectacular. Because I was making you come the night before
too. By licking you, by going down on you and you were grabbing my
face and pulling me closer,” he says in a husky voice. “God, I am
dying to make you come right now.”

His words turn me molten, and I close my
eyes, and breathe out hard as he grazes me with those strong
fingers. I shift my stance, so my legs are open wider, while my
pink boots are pressed firmly on the ground. He moves in closer,
his fingers gliding across me as he presses his body against me. I
grab hold of his hip with one hand and angle him so I can feel how
hard he is against my thigh, as his fingers slide across my silky
wetness.

I breathe out harder, whimpers and sighs
falling from my lips with abandon. I can’t pretend any more. I
can’t fake it anymore. I can’t be cool, cold, business McKenna with
Chris. Not like this. Not as the world tilts away, and I am reduced
to one exquisite point in my body, as I arch into his hand.

He doesn’t even need to slide a finger
inside me. There’s no need, because he’s so good, and I’m so ready,
that the way he works me in a perfect rhythm, up and down, and then
there, right there, where I want him, where I start singing his
praises over and over, is all I need, all I want, all I know right
now. I am gasping and panting and my hips rock into his hand.

“You are so hot, McKenna. You are so
ridiculously hot all the time, but especially right now,” he
whispers to me. “The way your lips are parted, and your eyes are
closed, and your body moves against me. I’ve thought about doing
this in your friend’s car the other night. You have no idea how
much I wanted to touch you.”

I feel so vulnerable, as if this moment is a
line in the sand, and it is. Because I’m going to come any second,
I am going to come with this man, this former candidate, this
possible boyfriend, this person who has entered my life in the most
random of ways, and who I could never resist, and I am only going
to want him more and more and again and again.

“Chris,” I say, my voice breaking. “You say
those things, and you’re going to make me come soon.”

“I want to bring you there, babe. I want to
make you come hard for me and say my name,” he says, and as I feel
myself building to that delirious point of no return, I grab his
hair, his soft surfer boy hair that falls through my fingers, so
unbelievably soft.

I hold onto him as I squeeze my eyes shut
from the sensations that topple through me. I am not quiet, I do
not muffle my sounds, I don’t hold anything back, as I say Chris’
name over and over and over as the first orgasm I haven’t given
myself in ages crashes through me. And moments later, even as the
blissful aftershocks radiate, all I can think is I wasn’t waiting
for him, I had no way of knowing he’d come into my life, but he was
worth waiting for.

“I’m so glad you wore a skirt tonight. Can
you always wear short skirts, so I can get you off in studios, or
cabs, or wherever we are?”

I finally open my eyes and I’m sure I’m
glowing. “Who would have thought that you could be such a cute
blusher and such a dirty talker?”

He smiles with pride. “You bring it out in
me. Both.”

Now, I may not have had sex in a year, but
I’m not the Virgin Mary, and I’m not a prude, and I’ve never been
one to leave a guy hanging, so I tell him I want to return the
favor.

“I want to touch you.”

“Right here?”

“Well, you did me right here in your quickie
promo studio. Shouldn’t you get the same star treatment?”

“I could argue with you, but somehow I think
it would be pointless.”

“Do you want to argue with me?”

He shakes his head as I press my palm
against him through his jeans. He moans, and the sound of his
pleasure make me happy, ridiculously happy. I like Chris so much, I
want him to feel good. I want to bring him to that same place he
brought me, and some things are like riding a bike.

“Have you pictured this too?”

“Yes.” His voice is low, and his eyes sear
into me with his one-word answer.

“You’ve imagined me touching you?”

“Yes.” I can hear the need in his voice.

“And more?”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine,
everything in his intense gaze, his voice, the strain of his
erection against my hand, telling me what I do to him. How much he
wants me. His desire turns me magnetic, and I want to crash into
him. Because I want to be wanted. I want to be wanted like this. By
him.

“You’ve thought about me going down on
you?”

He breathes out hard. “I’ve thought about
your lips on me,” he says, as he runs a fingertip against my top
lip. “These lips of yours…”

I take his finger into my mouth, and he
curses, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head as I tease
him.

“McKenna
,” he says,
hungrily.

“Yes, Chris?” I ask, as if I don’t know the
answer.

He brings my face close to his, his forehead
against mine, and he whispers hoarsely. “Please touch me.”

I kneel down, unzip his jeans, lower his
boxer briefs, and then enjoy the view. He’s so hard, and if I were
the kind of girl who liked to kiss and tell I could totally compete
with my sister right now, but I no longer want to kiss and tell. I
no longer want the world to know what I’m up to. I only want him. I
look up at him.

“I like what I see,” I tell him, a glint in
my eyes.

“Good.”

Then I take him in my mouth, and he groans,
and the noises he makes are music to my ears. I love the way he
responds to my lips, to my tongue, to my mouth on him. I love how
he says my name as I take him in further, and wrap a hand around
him too, and it sends me into another stratosphere of pleasure, as
if I could come again without even being touched, as his hands
thread through my hair, grappling to hold on, and he says my name
in this sexy, heady voice as he comes.

Soon, we straighten ourselves out, and head
down the hall, separating briefly for bathroom breaks. Then I
rejoin him and we leave the building together, holding hands. Out
on the street, the night air is chilly. I shiver, and he pulls me
in close as we walk.

“I like dating for real. Are you free all
weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow, I want to take you to a karaoke
bar in Japan Town that you’ll love.”

“I love karaoke.”

“But there’s one condition.”

“Okay,” I say tentatively.

“You need to call the contest off.”

I smile. “Obviously. It’s so over, it’s
beyond over. I mean, I was totally going to tell you that. I was
planning on saying that all night, but I was having such a good
time dating you.”

“And other things.”

“And other things,” I add.