"Cassie," he whispered, making her name sound like a prayer. "Cassie."
…
Ten. He was counting, and by the time she left for the bar the next afternoon he was up to ten. He was beginning to see the utility in retaining a lover for more than a day or two. He'd always prided himself on making sure his partners left his bed satisfied. But they always left. This arrangement with Cassie, once he got over his initial fear that she wasn't going to know when to say good-bye, was proving very interesting. When the same woman stuck around for a few-or ten-orgasms, you could start to figure out exactly where her edge was. There was something to be said for taking a wild, running leap over the edge. Nothing wrong with that, in fact. But once you knew exactly where the edge was, like within millimeters, you could keep her teetering there almost indefinitely. A little practice yielded the secrets. She liked her nipples, the left in particular, flicked with his tongue. Her ankles were sensitive.
But it wasn't altruism. He loved watching her come, yes, but he was a selfish bastard. Even more than that, he loved feeling her tightening around his cock, her face screwed up in pleasure. He loved hearing her sob his name, gasp for more. He loved having the power to make her lose her beautiful mind.
Ten. Double digits had been the goal, and when he got her home after her shift tonight, he was aiming for a baker's dozen, at least.
Or maybe he wouldn't wait until she got home. He pushed through the door of Edward's, thinking maybe they would revisit their spot in the alley. He glanced at his watch. Three hours till she was done.
She must get a break, though, right?
The bar was moderately crowded, and she didn't see him initially because she was engrossed in a conversation with a customer whose wine glass she was refilling. He could tell she sensed the arrival of a new customer, though. Her face didn't change, and she smiled and nodded at the sixty-something woman she was serving, but she listed almost imperceptibly in his direction. The palms of his hands began to itch.
Backing away from her customer, she set down the wine bottle and turned, still half the bar-length away. It took a moment for her to register it was him, and when she did her smile turned from generic to … something else. Enormous. She lit up like the Christmas tree in his living room. As she came closer, he could see she was turning pink. Good. He couldn't make her come here, but he was stupidly glad to see that he could still affect her.
"Couldn't stay away?" she teased, drawing closer.
"I don't know what I did with my Christmas vacations in previous years, when I wasn't fucking you."
She turned even pinker as she glanced around, eyes wide. "Keep your voice down!"
"It's true. I always tell everyone not to work. I close the office. I perform all the actions that a good boss does. But really, I spend the whole holiday working. I'm very bah-humbug."
She set an empty glass down in front of him. "You know, we used to have a nickname for you here. All those years you came in and sat in the dining room?"
"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, not sure he wanted to hear this.
"We called you Ebenezer. As in Scrooge."
Well, he'd walked right into that one.
She kept talking, preventing him from having to respond. "It was mean. And you were never cheap like Scrooge. It was more that you were kind of aloof. And you worked all the time."
"Busy forging my chains?" he asked, trying for a teasing note, but in truth, not unmoved by the barb.
"Um, something like that." She turned for a moment and then reappeared with a bottle of scotch. "But now we know better!"
Did they, though? Britney called him a humbug, but he'd always thought she was teasing. He had freaking mistletoe in his house, for God's sake.
He nodded his assent when she showed him the label of the scotch she'd picked out. Another customer arrived, and soon he was settled in watching the dance Cassie performed behind the bar. It was as compelling as ever, but now that he knew her, it was like foreplay. The dance was graceful and efficient because she was these things herself. She did everything with just the right number of steps-neither too few nor too many. Whether she was combing through his finances or making a drink, there was an economy about her that he admired. Which was why it was so fun to torture her in the bedroom with delayed gratification.
"What time are you off?" he asked when she circled back to him. "Do you get a break?"
"Why?" She was suspicious. Smart girl.
He shrugged. "I was just thinking about how long it's been since we visited our favorite alley."
The smile she'd been wearing slid away and she bit her lip. "I get off at ten, actually."
Earlier than usual. His dick stirred. The ghosts of Christmas present were smiling on old Scrooge, it seemed.
She rested her forearms on the bar and leaned toward him, looking very serious. "I was thinking, though."
"Yeah?" He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what came next.
"I think I should just go home to my place."
"Your bed is too damn small." He didn't give a crap about the bed, but he really, really didn't want her to run into her mother again. She'd told him a little more about her childhood last night, and it was clear that her mother was nothing but a drain on Cassie-not just on her money, but, more threateningly, on her vitality.
"I think I should go home to my place alone."
"Oh." He reared back a little as if she had slapped him. He hadn't seen that coming. Nice. He was getting dumped from their non-relationship entanglement or whatever the hell it was.
"It's just that I have to pack, and then I think I should be getting back into homework mode, go over the numbers again. This Wexler thing is a big deal for you."
"You don't have to tell me that." But she did. She had to remind him.
"I also just think … " She twisted her bar towel like she was wringing out a wet cloth.
"What?" His voice sounded clipped, sharp. Scroogey?
"If tomorrow is good-bye-well, not good-bye, but you know, if it's the end of … " She waved her hand back and forth between them and scrunched up her nose as she searched for words.
"It's better to pull the Band-Aid off now," he supplied, striving for an even tone. There was no reason to be angry, after all. She was right. What had he thought? That they could fuck all night and then just roll into the car tomorrow and switch on their corporate identities?
Just that he hadn't expected this. Not yet.
There hadn't been a chance to say … thanks. He rolled his eyes, disgusted at himself. Thanks. As in "wham, bam, thank you, ma'am?"
Jesus, this was the problem with relationships. You knew exactly the route to orgasm, yes, but you also ended up getting blindsided.
Or you would, if this had been a real relationship.
"You're right," he said, belatedly realizing the conversational ball was in his court. "I should go over some stuff, too." He drained his scotch and pulled out his wallet. "I'll pick you up at six tomorrow morning, okay?"
She nodded, waving off his attempt to leave cash on the bar. He threw down a fifty anyway.
"Good-bye," she said.
That was it-good-bye. He hadn't had a chance to say good-bye.
…
When Cassie arrived back at her place, there were a couple of people she would not have been surprised to see sitting outside her building. Her mother topped the list. Danny, maybe, since she'd texted him on her way home and reminded him she was leaving in the morning. Jack even. Not that she wanted that. Well, technically, of course she wanted that. Every cell in her body wanted that. The idea of spending the night without him made her jittery, in fact. But her higher self knew that finding Jack outside her place was not a smart thing to want. Still, when she rounded the corner of her block and saw a figure hunched over, sitting on her snowy stoop, Cassie was prepared for Jack.
She was not prepared for Carl.
"Cassie." He stood up as she approached. "I'm sorry to ambush you like this at home."
"How did you even-"
"But I had to talk to you without Jack around. I spoke to him earlier and when he mentioned you weren't with him tonight, I had to come find you."
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Carl was a crook, yes, but she didn't think he was an ax murderer. Still, she was not about to invite him upstairs. "What is it?"
He'd been looking at her, but then his face started to crumple and he covered it with both palms.