Barrett

By the end of the evening, I want Catarina so bad my chubby has a chubby. We met the governor. We danced. We ate. We drank. She had more champagne. I stuck with beer. She’s chatty and happy and crazy beautiful.

One glass had her smiling, the second had her grinning, and the third has put a sparkle in her eye that shines whenever I slide into her frame of vision.

She’s irresistible.

I’ve never felt a pull of attraction this strong. In part it’s physical, but there’s more to it than that. Catarina is intelligent, strong, and she knows who she is. Whenever she looks at me, she sees me, you know? She sees the man beneath the man, but she also sees the man I could become.

Trust me when I say not many people have examined me that closely.

The catch in my chest should be a warning to back off. Instead of backing off I give it the finger.

“Now’s the perfect time to leave,” she tells me as we step out of the way of an oncoming dessert cart. “Everyone will be preoccupied with sweets and won’t notice if we’re not here. Unless you want to stay?”

“Are you kidding?” I take in her lithe body draped in a formfitting black dress that only reaches the middle of her thighs. “I need to examine what’s under that dress.”

Her grin is wily, which is typical. Her shrewd intelligence might be the most irresistible part of her.

She takes my hand and pulls and I follow her across the ballroom.

When we arrive at the coat closet, she peeks down the hall in both directions, then opens the door and steps inside. A switch is flipped, dimly illuminating the space.

Remember that chubby I mentioned? Now it’s more like a flagpole. I don’t hesitate stuffing myself into the coat closet next to her and shutting the door behind us. It’s a walk-in, so it’s not tiny, but it’s not exactly big once we’re in there. It’s mostly empty save for purses left behind by a few trusting souls, and a shawl someone must’ve changed her mind about. If that someone returns to retrieve it, they’re going to get an eyeful.

A few neglected heavy furs and trench coats hang along the other wall. They must belong to the governor and his wife—it’s way too warm for guests to have worn those. I reroute my date, hiding her behind them. If anyone comes in, they’ll see me, but I don’t give a shit if they find me clothed, or with my pants dropped past my bare ass.

She slides her long hair over her shoulder and turns around. “Zipper, please.”

“You’re sure about this?” I don’t wait for an answer before I slide the zipper south, revealing a red—yes, red—bra strap. That flagpole is more like the Empire State Building. If we’re interrupted, I’m going to have to limp out of here.

“You are so beautiful,” I murmur, smoothing my hands around her ribs. I nestle my erection against her ass.

“Want to see the rest?” She tips her head back and smiles.

I choke on a laugh, which she correctly takes as a yes. Then her dress is off her shoulders and sliding down her waist. Voices outside the door sound and she turns around, dress at her ankles, breasts bursting from red lace, her matching thong’s skinny straps crisscrossing her hips.

“Who is that?” she whispers.

“I don’t care if it’s Mia, the governor, or God Himself.” I push her against the nearest fur coat, my hands on her hips. “I hope you’re not allergic to mink.”

“It’s faux fur,” she says as the voices move away. “The governor’s wife is an animal lover.”

“Even better. No dander.”

I kiss her. Hard. Like I’ve been wanting to all evening while we danced and ate and drank and shook the hands of people whose names I’ve already forgotten. Every taut muscle in my body coils as her sweet tongue strokes mine. She has the most incredible mouth—she takes the lead, scraping my bottom lip with her teeth as I groan and grind against her. Her hands grip my belt, undoing it and opening my tuxedo pants. My dick pushes against the confines of my briefs, begging to be touched.

“What have we here?” she breathes.

“Present for you.” My breathing is hectic, my brain on vacation.

“I love presents.” She strokes me while kissing my neck. I flatten one hand against the wall, my hips rocking in time with her hand. “I want you, Fox. Here. Now. Tell me you planned ahead.”

“Shit.” I didn’t plan ahead. So far our sexual encounters have happened at my place or hers. I mutter another curse, frustrated by my lack of foresight.

“Lucky you.” She reaches into that red lace bra and comes out with a condom.

“I could kiss you.” I snatch the foil packet from her hand and do just that—lighting her up with kisses while my free hand roams over one of her breasts. I tweak her nipple and she sags against the wall. I push her legs open and palm the gusset of her thong. She gyrates against my fingers.

Voices come close, then closer, and this time they pair with the opening of the closet door. I press Catarina flat on the wall, hiding her behind the coats. Her eyes widen and she bites down on her bottom lip. I wink to let her know I’ve got this.

“Barrett, is that you?” It’s Nanci from the office. Her date pokes his head in behind her. “What are you—”

“Get your shit and go. We’re busy.”

After sending me an affronted look, Nanci opens her mouth like she might say more.

“Close the door,” I tell her.

She does and I return my attention to Catarina, half expecting her to reprimand me for being rude. Instead, she bursts into laughter.

“You like that?”

“I love it. She’s been wanting to get her hands on you since you started at the paper.”

“Whose hands are on me now, Kitty Cat?”

She peeks through a fan of thick, black lashes, her expression both demure and shameless, a tantalizing combination. She runs her hands over my chest. “Mine.”

I roll on the condom, my hands shaking since she’s kissing my neck again. I’m also starting to sweat. Faux fur is fucking hot and it’s summer and we’re in a closet. No matter. I’m not stopping.

“How do you want it?” she asks. Sweetly.

This woman.

“I want it slow and sweaty. How about that?”

“Ohh, just what I was going to suggest.”

I pull aside one cup of her bra and suckle a nipple, earning a sharp yip of surprise followed by a sigh of sheer bliss. I move to the other while I work on rolling the thong from her legs.

Then I’m bending at the knees, lifting her halfway up the wall, and hanging on tight.

“You like this position,” she observes with a grin.

“So do you.”

“Yeah, other than that time in your kitchen this position is a new one.” She sends a brief look at our surroundings. “So’s the coat closet.”

“Your idea.” I tilt my hips and nudge her entrance. She crosses her ankles at my back and digs her high-heeled shoes into my ass. I slide in slowly, blowing out a harsh exhale once I’m rooted to the hilt.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, mussing it as I set us into motion. The heat in here is killer. I’m doing my best to hold onto her, but her body is glistening and my shirt is damp with sweat.

“It’s fucking hot in here.” I tear the fur off the hanger and chuck it aside. Already, I can breathe better. That thing was insulated. “Now where was I?”

I slide deep again and she tosses her head back and lets out a moan.

“There,” she says. “Theretherethere.”

Pleased to have found what I was searching for so quickly, I home in on that magical spot, pulling her down hard onto my cock.

She flattens one hand against the back wall of the closet while her other hand wraps around a bar overhead.

“Taking you there, honey,” I huff between pumps. “Do it.”

Her face screws into satisfied pleats as I screw her. Then her channel grips me and I tumble over with her, my spine electrified as a bolt of pleasure grips my balls.

Her arms loop my neck and I shut my eyes, letting my other senses take over. I feel her fingers stroking my hair, hear her breathing into my ear, and luxuriate in the now familiar feeling of being nestled inside her.

Catarina

After a pair of spectacular orgasms, Barrett and I need a minute. My nipples are still peeking out of my twisted bra, my ass pressed against the wall. My thong is curled into a lace ball on the floor next to my feet, which are still encased in a pair of sky-high heels.

Barrett’s hand is flat on the wall by my head, his forehead resting on my shoulder, his breathing ragged.

No one came in after Nanci. No more voices are echoing down the foyer. I smile as I stroke his hair. This was…crazy. And really fun. Like everything else I’ve done with him.

Finally, he raises his face and I get my first good look at him since our tryst in the governor’s coat closet.

His eyes are hooded, thick lashes hiding the blue. His hair is a mess thanks to my tugging fingers. His mouth is a flat line, his forehead creased.

He runs his fingers along my jaw, stroking his thumb over my bottom lip. His open eyes follow the motion from my lips to my chin, down to my chest and to my breasts. Rather than tease me further, he adjusts my bra cups so that I’m covered. Then he buttons up, tucks in his shirt, and drops to his knees in front of me.

He unknots my thong and I use his shoulders to hold myself steady while I step into it. Then he places a soft kiss next to my belly button before bending to retrieve my dress. Carefully, quietly, he finishes dressing me.

My clothes straightened and in place, I study him and try to figure out what’s causing his deep contemplation. Or…regret? I’m not sure which.

“Fox?”

He blinks out of his stupor and meets my gaze. I’m not sure what to ask. If he’s okay? If he’s ready to leave? If he’s worried about walking out of here looking thoroughly sexed up?

“Ready to go?” he asks, saving me the trouble of deciding.

“Um. Yeah, sure.”

He tips my chin and kisses me as chastely as a first time. When he whispers “Catarina” against my lips, it sounds like a prayer. “You wreck me.”

The words are achingly sincere. His eyes sink shut before he drops his forehead on mine.

I palm his neck and hold him there. We stand like that for a few minutes, not saying a word. Me gently rubbing his neck, him breathing me in, his lips closing over my pulse with a gentle kiss every so often.

When we finally exit the closet, we do so with our heads held high. No one is in the governor’s foyer waiting to bust us. Our steps echo on the marble floor leading to the front door. Only then do we encounter a woman in a prim black dress who opens the door and thanks us for our attendance.

After retrieving Barrett’s car from the valet, we climb in—him at the wheel. The air-conditioning sends chills over my skin when I lift my hair off my damp neck.

“That was a workout,” I joke to break the silence.

I notice a half smile but his attention stays to the road. Once we arrive at my apartment and step out of the car, I take his hand.

“Wrecked,” I repeat—late, but I can’t shove the word out of my head. “Is that good or bad?”

“I guess that depends,” he says cryptically as he opens the building door for me.

“On?” I ask in the elevator.

His back against the wall of the elevator, he tugs me to him and kisses my nose. “On you.”

I chew on my lip for the remainder of the elevator ride, curiosity—and frustration at this point—getting the best of me. At my apartment door, I thrust my arms into the air. “I don’t know what any of that means!”

He chuckles, takes the keys from my hand and lets us in, tossing my keyring onto the kitchen table. I watch as he walks in and begins undoing his cufflinks.

“Have any men’s T-shirts lying around, or are you opposed to me sitting around your place shirtless?” He starts unbuttoning.

“Are you staying?” I ask.

“Do you want me to?”

“Do you want to?” My tone inches into hysterical and his smile turns lazy. Shoulders slumped, I traipse to where he’s standing and pout up at him. “Please tell me what’s going on in your head. Did I do something wrong? Did we cross a line?”

“We crossed a couple of lines, Kitty Cat.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and drops a kiss onto my lips. “You’re becoming…irreplaceable.”

My heart ka-thuds, skips a beat, and jerks to life again.

He unbuttons his starched white shirt and drapes it on the couch, untucking his undershirt and propping his hands on his hips. He looks…exhausted.

“That sounded like a compliment but you look like you’re about to break up with me.” Which sends my heart into an altogether different rhythm.

His eyes widen. “Are you shitting me? I’m not breaking up with you. I’m hoping like hell you’re going to let me stay around a while longer. Tonight. Tomorrow. Couple of weeks or months following that.”

I rest a hand over his heart. It pounds out the same hectic rhythm as my own.

“You’re worried I’ll break up with you? After what happened tonight?”

“Hot sex is often a fast track to the end, Kitty Cat.”

Understanding comes like the morning dawn. “For you, you mean. The in-between girls who wanted you only for your body.”

He lifts his eyebrows in confirmation.

“I’m not like those girls.”

“Honey, you’re not like any other girl. That’s what I’m telling you. You’re a comet. A rare coin. A new species.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and tip my face to his. “Then I guess you’d better start acting like the man who’s earned me.”

His head jerks slightly, his brow crinkling as if he’s trying to puzzle me out. I’m on the edge of a cliff over crashing tide. May as well take the dangerous yet exhilarating leap to the bottom.

“I never pictured myself falling for a cocky, former NFL player that I took on as an assignment.” I shrug. “But I am.”

Confusion colors his handsome face. After a false start on the word, he finally manages to repeat. “Falling?”

I make a whistling sound while pointing to the floor. “I haven’t hit the ground yet, but yeah. Falling.”

“What if I don’t let you hit the ground?” His hands frame my face.

“That works for me.”

His chest expands as his confidence floods back. It fills his cheeks with color and his blue eyes with certainty. It’s so odd to see him less than confident. No wonder I was thrown.

“I need a shower,” he announces as he unzips my dress. “So do you.”

“Only if you’re staying the night.”

“And do the walk of shame in my tux in the morning?” He tugs off his undershirt while I take off my dress. “Works for me. I will need a photo for my Instagram feed, or else no one will believe me.”

“A photo of your walk of shame?” I ask with a laugh.

“Bragging rights.” He shucks his pants, socks, and shoes and stands in his briefs in the center of my living room. He looks amazingly fit and sexy—and like he belongs here.

“Okay, but you have to say that you’re leaving the house of the woman who ‘wrecked’ you.”

He lifts me into his arms a second later and carries me into the bathroom. “What if I say the woman who’s ‘falling’ for me instead?”

Wrecked.

Falling.

We’re using synonyms for the word that often leads to marriage and a baby carriage. The word that has led to disaster in our very recent histories.

In spite of that, when he kisses me again, I fall a little further.