Читать книгу Making Him Want It - Renee Luke - Страница 10

Kat shifted the basket off her lap and stretched out her knees, her legs tired from the hours they were folded beneath her. Searching through the letters neatly stacked within the circular weave didn’t ordinarily take so long. She relaxed against the cushions of the backyard lounge chair and allowed her mind to float away from the pages of couples’ cries for help. Her lids drifted closed as she breathed in the morning air, still crisp enough to offer a measure of solace, but quickly warming in the lift of the summer sunshine.

It was going to be a hot day, she realized, opening her eyes and reaching for a tall glass of iced tea, the beads of condensation wetting her fingertips. An answering droplet of sweat slid between her breasts.

Is that how his tongue would feel? Hot and wet and slick. Arousing.

Repressing a shallow pant, Kat opted for a long drink of tea to chase away the memories. The need of wanting a nameless man she’d never see again.

Mr. Gorgeous may have been hot to trot for one night, but he didn’t belong to her and she’d had no right to sample the finger–licking goods he’d offered. But that didn’t stop her from fantasizing. From dreaming of his touch. His cock. How good he’d felt inside her. From wanting him inside her again.

She wedged the ice cold glass into her cleavage, chasing the heat from her body. Her nipples puckered from the cold. With want. With a hungry need to be on the receiving end of the moisture’s attention. A cold line of liquid slid from the glass along her body, puddling in her shallow belly button.

“Get over it, girl,” she whispered, setting her glass aside and using her t–shirt to mop up her damp skin. She chose to ignore the wetness in her panties as if it didn’t exist. Better to pretend it didn’t than to dwell on the fact that she was single. And horny. And not getting any. Not any time soon.

Kat reached for the basket. She had a second deadline looming and couldn’t lament continuously that her job for the weekend had already been met. Yeah, it’d been a wham–bam, mind–blowing flash of writing, inspired by an equally mind–blowing screw, but she had another task to deal with now. Best she focus on that. Reliving the way Mr. Gorgeous fucked did no good but leave her body on fire, drenched with want, and aching. Unsatisfied.

Better to focus on her more respectable job. The one she put her name on and took credit for.

Balancing the basket on her lap, she sifted through the letters lined up in order of receipt and tried to decide which of them she was going to answer.

Easing one from the envelope, she unfolded the pages and read over the carefully written words of the well–crafted, but desperately–needy plea. These weren’t words of sex, but of love. Of a wife who needed reassurance that her man was true. Begging for advice on her relationship and how to save her marriage.

A pang of regret radiated through Kat’s heart. How was she supposed to comfort this woman? What could she possibly say to ease the writer’s concern about her man’s fidelity—or lack thereof? For all Kat knew, she’d been on the receiving end of this man’s dick just the past Friday night. Oh, yeah, baby and what a glorious dick it’d been.

She shook her head. Mr. Gorgeous. Fine–ass brotha with ten inches of sex therapy had been the man she’d been with. Not this woman’s husband. Not anyone’s husband, Kat assured herself. The flesh that had been all–up–in–her had been unnamed and unclaimed as far as she was concerned. She had to keep reminding herself not to think of all the horrible consequences of what could have been.

Damn! Writing a relationship column had been a whole hell of a lot easier last week.

But this week was well underway and what was she supposed to tell her editor down at the paper? “Sorry, I didn’t make deadline. I got fucked hard and fast against a brick wall and now I can’t think. Apparently, I got my brains fucked out!”

Lifting the small silver cell phone resting against the cushion beside her, she thought about calling Jamal. Maybe she should just tell her agent she didn’t want to write these fix–it relationship columns anymore. She didn’t have a clue about what real relationships were or how they worked. She’d never actually been in one.

But she could hear Jamal’s rich tone gently reminding her of her contract. Kat sucked a deep breath, holding it in her lungs until it burned, then allowed it to slowly slide from her lips as she bucked–up and faced the truth.

If she was going to give up any writing, it’d be the prostitution work she did—selling sex, albeit stories of sex, but it was sex just the same. It was a rhythm of words rather than hips, but still for one purpose. To get a man off.

“How’s my favorite little hooker?”

Kat dropped the phone back to the cushion. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm the nails skidding across a chalkboard when reminded of the inside joke that went along with her mother’s nickname for her.

“Speak of the devil,” Kat responded, turning her attention to her momma as she made her way across the stone patio toward her.

“Shouldn’t that be Madam and not devil, baby?” her momma said with a grin and a wink.

“Is there a difference?”

“Depends who you’re asking.” Leaning over, her momma affectionately kissed her cheek, then sat down in a patio chair across from Kat.

Thinking she’d been asking her momma, Kat mumbled under her breath, “Guess not, then.”

Her mother’s laughter rolled across the morning air, so rich and sincere that Kat couldn’t help but join in. It’d been her mother after all who had gotten her into this business. By accident actually. Kat had only meant to help her momma make deadline when the arthritis in her fingers had made typing too difficult. She’d never intended for this to end up her career. For her to be world famous as the greatest–of–the–great when it came to getting men to masturbate.

“What are you doing here, Momma?”

“Checking to see how my favorite girl is doing.”

Kat smiled. She had two sisters and didn’t doubt for a second that Momma said the same to each. Not that it mattered. It was nice to hear. She let out a slow breath. “I’m doing okay.”

“Don’t look okay to me,” her momma replied, slanting her head toward the spiral notebook resting by Kat’s feet, by an unused sharpener and a dull pencil. “Don’t you normally make notes before you sit down to write?”

Kat glanced down at the paper, knowing it’d be empty. She hadn’t jotted down a single word, as blocked as she’d been the last time she’d needed inspiration. Only getting cocked was a whole lot easier than getting hitched. Quicker too. There were no easy fixes when it came to finding the right words for her relationship column. No local bar where she get boozed up, serviced well, and come home ready to repair marriages.

“No biggie, Momma, I’m just having a hard time with this deadline.”

“Finding creative ways to use dick, cock, penis always stumped me up, too. Your daddy—”

Kat put up her palm. “Momma, don’t.” The last thing she wanted to think on was her parents messing in any sort a way she wrote about.

“You’re such a prude, Kat. It’s what men and women do. You should try it out sometime. Get a little inspired.”

Or a lot inspired. Long, thick, hard inspired. Oh, yeah, that’s worked out real fine. Five articles fine.

Kat shook her head. She wasn’t supposed to be dwelling. Besides, writing the sex had worked itself out. It was writing love that was giving her trouble. “Do you always got to be so suggestive?”

“Can’t imagine, baby, that you’d be surprised by anything I say. Sex sells, and you’re walking the streets real well. Selling sex isn’t a crime. Not the way you’re working it.”

There it was again, her mother’s teasing about being a prostitute and her agent being her pimp. It didn’t used to bother her. In fact, most of the time she thought of her pseudonym, Glory Cockin, as the perfect excuse to think slutty. It was liberating to escape the more reserved Kat, to allow her tigress to show through her writing.

But deep down something nagged at her. A too–long–hushed voice that told her sex could be more powerful than just an orgasm. An orgasm could be more powerful during sex with a man who gave a damn.

And that was the problem. She’d never had one.

Trying to lighten the glum settling around her mood, Kat smiled at her momma, offering her a sassy–Kat wink. “I already got my pimp and make–a–man–beg articles. Now I’m struggling with my make–a–man–stay deadline.”

“If it’s such a struggle, what you ought to be doing is telling that agent of yours that you quit. Life’s got enough struggle, baby, no sense adding to it.”

“Quit selling my wares on the street corners?”

“No. Quit writing about relationships when your heart’s not into it.”

But that’s exactly where her heart was at. She was missing something in her life and it wasn’t getting off. She had molded plastic for that. Extra packs of AA batteries. What she needed, what she missed in the still of the night was a flesh–and–blood body to cuddle up next to. The heat of a man.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Kat forced a smile and reached for the notebook and pencil. “What I write helps people. I enjoy that.”

“Writing sex helps people, too.”

“Not the same.”

“Maybe not, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Nothing to be proud of either.”

“You’re wrong, baby.” Momma folded her arms over her chest and let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve been gifted with a talent to make others feel good, but if it’s not making you feel good then don’t do it anymore.”

How many times over the last three years had Kat told herself that each article was the last? Countless. But proud of it or not, when she was Glory she was allowed to be wild and free. To be as nasty as she wanted to be. To be a freak. And more articles would come. She’d commit to another contract.

Looking into her mother’s eyes, she dropped her voice to a whisper, “Stop writing?”

“If it makes you happy. Or write what you love.”

She tapped the eraser against the paper several times. Thump. Thump. Thump. “I guess, Momma,” she mumbled, feeling the beat of her heart match the tapping of the pencil end. The words happy and love doing funny things to her gut. Creating a hole that she didn’t know how to fill.

Kat reached for her iced tea. A chill scurried down her spine, the glass now just leaving her feeling cold and empty.

“Think about what I said, baby,” her momma said, getting to her feet.

“You’re leaving?”

“You’ve got a deadline. I’ve got some Jimmy Choos on hold.” Like she was going to miss the next best thing to sliced bread, her momma jetted from the yard with hardly a quick wave goodbye.

Alone again, Kat reclined against the cushions and shut her eyes. She needed to shrug off the melancholy stirred up by her momma’s visit. She didn’t want to think about the pain of being alone. But the pleasure of being with Mr. Gorgeous.

Pleasure of having him buried so deep within her, she finally felt whole.

Warmth moved across her skin. Shifting her hips against the lounge chair, heat dampened her lips. Tingled her clit. Tightened her nipples.

If that chocolate–skinned lover was her man, what would she do to satisfy him? What would she do to keep him?

What would it take to keep a man with as much raw hunger and sexual prowess from sniffing up every skirt? To keep the dog interested in only her pussy? In her?

Opening her eyes, Kat grabbed up the sharpener and put a fine point to her lead, then started writing.

She didn’t know the first thing about going to bars and picking up strangers. Hell, she’d done alright. She may not know about relationships. But, she could fake it.