After the Kiss Page 7

  Mitchell ignored her. “So what happened with Adrian? Did you realize that cheap champagne and crappy music did not true love make?”

  “He moved away. I was sad for about two days. Then I met Alessandro.” She frowned. “You know, I’d forgotten all about those two guys until just now.”

  “I bet they didn’t forget you so easily.”

  Julie raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Are you flirting, Forbes?”

  He smiled. “What can I say? Sweat-soaked women with hot-dog breath really do it for me.”

  “Yeah,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, displaying all her mussed, sweaty glory. “I get that a lot.”

  Julie caught Mitchell looking at her boobs. Apparently he didn’t mind the sweat. She hid a grin.

  “So no serious relationships,” he said, dragging his eyes back to hers. “Just a string of casual nobodies. Who was the most recent?”

  Julie screwed up her face as she tried to remember. There had been David, but that barely counted. And before that, Aaron … Crap. There was really nobody worth remembering.

  “Nothing serious for a while,” she replied. “Just dating here and there.”

  “What about sex?”

  Julie froze. “That’s personal.”

  “Oh, come on. Surely you’ve covered this in your articles. You’ve never written about your personal life?”

  Julie’s instincts went on high alert. This was dangerous territory. The last thing she needed was him trying to determine how much of her personal life went into a story.

  He definitely wouldn’t like the answer.

  “Well, sure,” she said cautiously. “But writing about personal stuff is different from talking about it. It keeps it at a distance.”

  “So let’s bring it in close,” he said with a charming smile. “How long since you’ve had sex?”

  Too long, she thought.

  Her expression must have betrayed her because his smile slipped and his expression heated considerably. “Same here,” he muttered.

  Julie’s throat went dry. It was just like him to try to get her all hot and bothered in a public place when they couldn’t do anything about it. And she was sick of him calling the shots.

  “So what now?” Julie asked, hopping to her feet. “Jumping jacks? Pilates?”

  Mitchell stood and began walking east.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “Fifth Avenue.”

  “Is that where you live?”

  “No, I live on Lex. But there’s better shopping on Fifth.”

  “Shopping? I am not going shopping like this,” she said, looking down at her damp tank top and muddy legs. “Especially not Fifth Avenue shopping.”

  “Relax, we’re not headed to Saks.”

  “Then where?”

  He named a generic women’s apparel store, and she wrinkled her nose. She might look ratty now, but she did have some standards. This was Manhattan, not Milwaukee.

  “Don’t give me that snotty look. I’m not trying to dowdy you up,” he said. “You’ll only have to wear them one day.”

  “What day?”

  “Today,” he said, sounding exasperated.

  “Oh, no. No way. I’m not going to change into anything until I get a shower.”

  Mitchell stopped so quickly that she ran into his back. He turned and reached up a hand to flick something off her cheek. Probably dirt. Awesome.

  “Me too,” he said huskily.

  “Me too what?”

  “I want to take a shower too,” he said patiently.

  “Okay,” she said, trying to keep up. “So why don’t we just part ways and meet up later? I don’t need the crappy clothes.”

  She didn’t question the fact that they’d be seeing each other later. That’s what couples did, right?

  Mitchell’s hand slid around to the back of her neck. “I think you misunderstood me again. When I said I wanted to shower … I meant together.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  * * *

  Julie almost always called Riley before any sexual encounter to get the latest tips and tricks.

  But with Mitchell, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  “This is nuts,” Julie said in a gasp as he pushed her against his apartment door.

  “Hey, at least we made it all the way home and up the elevator,” he said, running his teeth along her collarbone.

  “Yeah, except we didn’t make it into your apartment, did we?”

  Mitchell cursed and tried to fumble in his pocket for his key without taking his mouth away from Julie’s neck.

  She wasn’t sure how she’d survived those torturous long minutes between the time when he’d suggested a joint shower and making it to the relative privacy of his apartment.

  They hadn’t stopped for clothes.

  He’d apparently given up the key search and his mouth was moving in a hot line down the center of her body.

  Her very sweaty body.

  “Mitchell,” she said, tugging his hair to pull him away. “I need a shower.”

  He growled and pulled back long enough to unzip his back pocket and dig out the small key. His fingers fumbled as he tried to get it in the lock, and she couldn’t resist. She slid her hand around to his front and then down over the bulge in his shorts.

  “Julie, unless you’re looking to get fucked in this hallway, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

  The harsh language was unexpected, and it sent a thrill through her already overheated body. She was finding she rather liked Mitchell and all of his surprises.

  He finally got the door unlocked, and he grabbed her wrist and yanked her inside. She barely had a chance to form first impressions of his clean, homey apartment before he was on her again.

  His hands wrapped around her waist, shoving her roughly up onto the kitchen counter. Something fell to the floor and shattered, but neither so much as paused in their pawing of each other.

  Mitchell laid a big hand over her chest and pushed gently until she was lying across the cool marble. His other hand pushed her shirt up and he ran his tongue over the strip of skin he exposed. In the tiny corner of her brain still capable of rational thought, Julie realized she was having the most depraved, unexpected sex of her life—with a guy from Wall Street, of all things.

  Then the more responsible part of her brain flicked on and screamed a warning at her. This isn’t part of the plan. Sex too soon will ruin everything.

  It was true. It was foolish. Dangerous. And yet … screw it.

  He pushed her shirt up higher, his lips and hands touching every square inch that he exposed. His teeth grazed her bra-covered nipple and they both moaned. He slipped his fingers under the elastic of her sports bra and yanked up. When his mouth closed around her nipple, Julie quit thinking altogether.

  She didn’t think how graceless she must look with a sweaty shirt and bra around her neck. Didn’t think about how salty her skin must taste. Didn’t think about how the best sex of her life was with the wrong man.

  Because at that moment he felt right.

  His tongue swirled around her nipple in a constant rhythm—of course he would have a rhythm—and Julie let him suckle and lick for as long as she could stand it before pushing at his shoulders and struggling into a sitting position.

  Julie’s shaking hands grabbed for the hem of his running shirt and yanked upward. He lifted his arms to comply, pulling it up and over his head.

  Her throat went dry at the sight of Mitchell Forbes shirtless.

  His chest was … perfect. She’d seen plenty of perfect chests on the male models featured in her articles, and this one gave them all a run for their money. Better, actually. The models all waxed their chests and then lubed up with oil that made them look absurdly shiny. Mitchell had just enough hair to be manly without being Tarzan.

  She wanted him on her.

  In her.

  But first … she leaned forward and lightly licked one of his nipple
s, her own tightening in sympathetic response as he hissed in pleasure. What was it about this man? He should have been ordinary, yet she couldn’t get enough.

  The salt of his sweat tasted like hot, animal sex. She wanted more.

  His hands slid down to her butt, and before she realized what was happening, he’d scooped her up so she was straddling his waist. Julie wrapped her legs around him in response, and she nibbled at his lip. “Bedroom?”

  “Shower,” he ground out. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “I did. I do.” But no longer was getting clean her main priority. She wanted to be wet and slick and naked.

  “Nice bathroom,” she said as he eased open the door with one shoulder and slid her to her feet. Without taking his eyes off her, he reached into the enormous glass-enclosed shower to turn on the water.

  “Off,” he said, gesturing at her clothes.

  For the first time since he’d publicly propositioned her, she felt shy. Her shirt was dangling around her neck like a sweaty scarf, the elastic from her bra was pushing her boobs down in the entirely wrong direction, and oh gawd, when was the last time she’d trimmed her bikini line? She’d never had unplanned sex before, and usually a wax was part of the pre-date process.

  “Julie,” he growled. “Don’t you dare go getting all squirrelly on me now.”

  “I’m not squirrelly,” she muttered as she pretended to struggle with the drawstring of her running shorts. “I’m just—”

  But Mitchell saw right through her, and before she could finish her sentence, he stepped toward her and shoved her shorts down to her ankles.

  “Cute panties,” he said, smiling at her very practical blue polka-dot briefs.

  She scowled. “I know they don’t scream sex. But you try running in a thong.”

  “I could care less what your underwear looks like.” He pointed at her crotch, then at the floor. “Get them off.”

  Deliberately Julie ignored the order, and instead crouched down to remove the shorts dangling around her ankles and to untie her shoes. She might not be perfectly clean and smoothed, but there was no way she’d stand before a man in no underwear while she was still wearing sneakers and sweaty athletic socks.

  “Happy now?” she asked as she stood back up and began to wiggle out of her underwear.

  Then her mouth went dry. Oh, my. Mitchell Forbes was naked.

  He wasn’t the least bit shy, she noted as he threw his clothes in the general direction of his hamper and stepped into the shower.

  “Care to join me?” he asked, grinning out at her from the steam.

  Julie chewed her lip for half a second before she was tearing at her sports bra and tank. It was now or never.

  “Ohh,” she moaned as she stepped beneath the warm spray. For the briefest of moments, the pleasure of the hot water on her sore muscles was so intense that she almost forgot about Mitchell.

  Then his wet, hard body pressed up behind her and her eyes popped open.

  Mitchell wasn’t about to be forgotten.

  Hot soapy hands slid up her sides and then around to her front, where they paused just under her breasts. She squirmed into him, and she thought she heard him mutter something hot and harsh before sliding his hands over her aching breasts.

  “Julie. What the hell are we doing?” he whispered in her ear.

  She felt a stab of relief. So this wasn’t normal for him either. She liked that she made him lose control. Liked even more that he made her lose control.

  “We can figure it out later,” she whispered over her shoulder, putting her hands over his and pressing his palms against her aching breasts. He very slowly, very deliberately squeezed her nipples. She gasped.

  “You’re sensitive,” he said as he brushed the tips lightly with his fingers.

  Julie tried to turn around to face him, but he held her close and nudged her forward until her cheek was against the cool tile wall.

  “You’re a water hog,” she gasped, her nipples getting even harder as her body chilled slightly. Being sandwiched between the heat of Mitchell’s body and the cold wall made her want to rub against him. So she did.

  Mitchell hissed and squeezed her nipples harder.

  “Are you clean yet?” he asked roughly.

  Her eyes opened slightly in dazed confusion. Clean? She was halfway to orgasm, and he was going OCD on her? Then his hand slid down her front and rubbed her there, and suddenly she didn’t care if she was ever clean again as long as he didn’t stop.

  His hand continued to circle and stroke until it slipped downward, and without warning, one hot, slick finger slid inside her.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. She was riding his hand now, desperate for release. “Mitchell—”

  The hand disappeared at the same time as he fumbled for the soap and washcloth. He scrubbed himself clean in record time before taking his time with her, dragging the soapy washcloth over every inch until she was ready to beg for more.

  Finally he flicked the water off and grabbed a towel from the rack, managing to get them both only partially dry before she hooked a hand behind his head, pulling it down to hers and flicking her tongue across his lips. He swore, dropping the towel and scooping her up as he walked her out of the bathroom the same way he’d walked her in. Only this time they were skin to skin.

  They fell roughly to the bed, and Julie slid her hands restlessly over his shoulder, beyond caring that she was bedding the subject of a future article on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

  His big hands slid over her body until they were stroking her inner thighs, and her legs fell open for him.

  “Pill? Tested?” he asked gruffly, his expression tense with desire.

  She nodded. “Yes. Mitchell, now.”

  But he wouldn’t hurry. His hands cupped her butt and squeezed.

  “Look at me,” he whispered.

  She met his blue eyes and gasped as he slowly entered her, never once breaking the gaze. Nobody had ever used eye contact as a bedroom move before, but it seemed to intensify every feeling.

  Still, Julie waited for the inevitable sense of letdown. She’d always been all about the foreplay. Once that was over, she’d always found sex just a tiny bit ho-hum.

  But there was nothing dull about having Mitchell moving inside her. His hands gripped her harder, lifting her hips to meet his firm thrusts.

  It felt impossibly good, but … “Mitchell,” she said hoarsely. “I can’t … you know, like this.”

  It was a painful admission, one she usually didn’t make, for fear of seeming greedy. But damn it, she needed release.

  He leaned forward and kissed her softly. “Can’t you?”

  One arm slid up by her head as he supported his weight on his elbow while the other hand slid to her moist folds. Julie almost rolled her eyes because guys always thought this worked and it was almost always awkward, but then—oh. Oh!

  “There, please.” She wanted him to speed up, but he apparently knew her body better than she did, because he kept the same rhythmic circular motion until her world shattered into a million pieces.

  Slowly his hand slid away as he let her come out of the stratosphere before he kissed her softly and began to move again. Julie wrapped her legs around his waist and met him thrust for thrust, wanting him to find the explosive pleasure he’d given her.

  He pushed into her harder and faster until she felt him stiffen and shudder as he called her name.

  Mitchell collapsed on top of her, his ragged breathing matching her own.

  As if she needed proof that he was one of the good ones, he rested his weight on her only for a moment before rolling to his side so she could breathe.

  She considered dashing to the bathroom to fix the worst of her sex hair and do a little delicate cleanup. That was what she would normally do.

  Instead, she rolled into him, nuzzling her nose against his chest. He ran a shaky hand over her mussed hair, and she smiled in satisfaction.

  But as the orgasmic euphoria began to fade,
her mind kicked into overdrive. What now? Was this the right time for the where-are-we-going chat? When did normal, relationship-seeking girls ask that question? It seemed sort of soon, but then the sex had been sooner than expected too.

  “Mitchell?” She poked a finger against his chest when he didn’t respond. “Hello?”

  He let out a sleepy snort, and Julie stiffened in surprise. He was asleep? She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Then his arm curled around her waist, pulling her closer, and Julie’s own eyelids began to droop.

  Then Julie marked yet another first off her dating checklist: she fell asleep with a perfectly nice man on a quiet afternoon. Not because it was good material for her column. But simply because she wanted to.

  Chapter Seven

  Julie stared at the blinking cursor on her computer screen. Maybe wine would help. Or coffee. Or chocolate.

  Or maybe a whole new freaking story idea.

  She’d been at it for the better part of two hours, and the only thing she had to show for her efforts was a jumble of story notes that read like the diary of a distraught teenager.

  He touched my back and lingered. What does that mean?

  He kissed me. I almost swooned.

  I kissed him back. Was it good for him?

  He made me run. I think I liked it.

  Then we went all the way. I definitely liked that.

  She slammed her laptop shut.

  Crap. It was all crap.

  She and Mitchell had been seeing each other for a week now, and she didn’t have a clue what direction to take the story in. Julie had really thought that it would be coming together by now. That she’d have some zippy little opening line about how the quiet ones were the ones to watch out for, and then she’d launch into a description of the first date, the second date, the moment his lips had met hers, and how she’d known he was one of the good ones.

  She hadn’t yet decided how much detail she’d go into on the more intimate moments. She’d take Mitchell’s name out, of course—the man deserved some privacy—but Julie hadn’t anticipated that she would want to keep it private for her own sake.

  She’d tried explaining it to Riley, who’d snorted derisively. “Really? A suit from Wall Street can’t be that good in the sack.”