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“I got a few postcards and a promotional beer koozie with the band’s name on it in the mail.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep making up excuses for him when my mother calls.” Clara turned an aggressive-looking set of nipple clamps so the box faced away from her.
“What’s the deal with your mom? I didn’t realize avoiding someone who lives across the country could be so difficult.”
Clara paused in front of a rack of magazines and frowned. “She wants me to be like her. I’m supposed to find a respectable man from a good family and settle down. Pop out some babies and then run the charity of my choice.”
“Sounds boring.” Josh winced. “I mean unless that’s what you want?”
“I think part of my problem is, I spent so long trying to please her and my dad, I never gave much thought to what I wanted. And now . . .”
Josh found a sliver of hope in those last two words. “Now?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Clara flattened her skirt. “If my parents found out the truth, about my job with Jill or . . . you know, you. Oh my God. They’d die.”
Lava swam in his stomach. “So that’s a no-go on fraternizing with porn stars, then?” He shouldn’t be surprised. Had known from the second she arrived that she’d never consider him anything other than a pit stop on the way to the things she really wanted.
“Big time. Wheatons are very sensitive to optics. My mother didn’t want me to date a law clerk during undergrad because he rode a skateboard. I’m supposed to be her saving grace—the one she doesn’t have to worry about embarrassing her.”
Josh clenched his jaw. Occasionally he let himself forget where Clara came from. Right now, that willful ignorance felt fatal. “And she likes the idea of you and Everett?”
Clara leaned over and rearranged the items in the cart from the haphazard positions he’d given them. “She likes his family. Likes that she knows where he came from and how he grew up. I’m pretty sure she and Mrs. Bloom picked out our wedding china when we were in eighth grade.” Her voice took on an edge. “Nobody seems to care that Everett and I have never even kissed.”
A wicked satisfaction spread across his chest. Even if Everett Bloom got to marry her someday, Josh would always be the first man who made her come. But if Clara had the Greenwich version of an arranged marriage, what the fuck was Everett waiting for? Josh could hardly spend more than fifteen minutes with her without wanting to eat her out until he sprained his jaw. “I’m sorry, how is it possible that you’ve carried a torch for that guy since you were a teenager, but somehow you’ve never kissed?”
“Sometimes the anticipation of a kiss is better than the actual experience anyway.” Josh tracked the way she ran the hem of her dress through her fingers, exposing half an inch more of her pale thigh.
If she believed that, clearly she needed more practice. “I’m pretty sure physically kissing is better.”
“That’s because you’re accustomed to instant gratification.” Clara gave him a Cheshire cat smile as she strolled ahead of him, leaving Josh panting at her heels. “Half the pleasure in kissing is the buildup. The obsessing over the other person’s mouth. Thinking about the shape of his lips and the taste of his tongue. Imagining his hands in your hair. Or the way that he’ll hold you.” She stopped and turned toward him. “You can spend a whole night wondering if he’s ever going to pull you in unexpectedly and capture your breath in the middle of a sentence. Or lean in so slowly one morning that the wanting curls your toes and singes your fingertips.”
Josh dug his nails into his palm, hard enough to leave marks. His body didn’t care that she was describing pining for another man. He had no trouble pretending that all the hes in her sentences could be replaced with his name.
“Does he taste like cinnamon or whiskey?” Clara absently traced her bottom lip with the tip of her index finger while holding his gaze. “You imagine, over and over, in a thousand renditions, how he’ll push you up against the wall and press his entire body against yours until you’re trembling with how much you want him to take you.”
His eyes shot to the exposed brick behind her. He’d have no trouble walking her back until the rough stone pressed against her soft body before dropping his mouth to her neck as his hands shoved that flimsy cotton hem to her waist.
Clara’s eyes turned liquid as they found his lips. “Or maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll barely brush his mouth across yours. Make you lower your chin and beg.”
Josh let out a sound, caught between a groan and a whimper.
The noise seemed to draw Clara out of her stupor. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” The word came out in the wrong register. He tried again. “Yes. I was thinking, maybe you should write for the website.”
“Me? Really?”
He focused on keeping his eyes above her nostrils. “You’re good at channeling your emotions. All this thinking about sex but not actually having any is boiling my brain.” His cock pressed angrily against his zipper. She was right. Josh’s body didn’t understand the concept of wanting and not having. Of constant exposure to the object of
his desire with zero hope of ever crossing the finish line.
“I know what you mean. All this thinking about sexy people doing sexy things with sexy toys.” She fanned herself with her hand. “I’ve never said the word sexy so much in my life. I feel strung out.”
“I don’t know what to do.” He couldn’t do any of the things he wanted. They all involved different parts of Clara’s body. Sweat beaded on his brow as he watched her eyes grow heavy-lidded. It took everything he had to keep from dropping to his knees and pleading with her to put him out of his misery.
“It’s like having an itch you can’t quite scratch.” Her pink tongue traced her pinker bottom lip.
His jaw went slack. “Yes.” God, even her voice was starting to do it for him. Was it possible she was as turned on as he was?
“Well, I suppose you should channel all of that energy into a productive direction.” Clara hauled in hectic breaths.
