Her hands bid me, flashing diamonds and drawing me into her Chanel-scented bosom.
"Hello, Mrs. Simmons." I do the perfunctory air kisses we were trained to perfectly execute in finishing school. "Thank you for helping me this week. This property is gorgeous."
"Isn't it just?" Bridget takes in the spacious living room and the glimpses of the city skyline it affords. "The owner wants to leave it furnished, if that's not a problem."
"Grip arrived just before you did, so we haven't had a chance to look around yet." I reclaim my spot beside him, tucking into his side, a wave of want and need slamming into me like a blow. The tension of his body tells me he's suffering from the same deprivation I am.
"Mrs. O'Malley got stuck in some traffic, but should be here soon." Bridget stops abruptly when her phone rings. "Oh, this is her now. Let me take it."
She steps out into the hall and starts a rapid-fire one-sided conversation.
"I'll be right back, too." Charm holds up her phone. "I should check in with the office. I hadn't planned to be gone this long."
As soon as she steps into the hall, Grip drags me by the wrist into the small powder room just off the entrance. I don't get the chance to ask him what he's doing before he shows me, lifting me onto the sink and slotting his lean hips between my thighs. One hand shoves into my hair and the other wraps around the side of my neck. His tongue goes deep sea diving down my throat, and who cares about breathing? Endless days and interminable nights missing him make me desperate, make my hands shake when I touch him. I scoot forward to feel him through my wet panties, my tulle skirt rasping over my thighs as he pushes it up. I roll my hips into him, seeking friction in my neediest place.
"I heard the things you said about me," he mutters against my jaw.
"Oh, God." I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed not because he didn't know I felt those things, but because I got caught gushing.
"Did you mean them?" His whisper over my lips makes them throb.
Forget embarrassment-he's hard between my legs, and I realize my declaration turned him on. I've been too long without him to be reticent.
"Every fucking word." I reach between us to rub him through his jeans.
His breath rushes out against the skin of my neck, where his head is buried.
"Baby, I missed you." He sucks my earlobe and runs his tongue along my neck. "God, so much."
He drops to his knees, his wide palms on the sensitive skin inside my thighs, spreading me open. He tugs my panties aside and presses his nose to me, inhaling sharply.
"Grip, stop." I halfheartedly try to bring my legs back together. "We can't."
"I woke up like eighteen hours ago in Paris and couldn't remember how your pussy smelled." Lava-level heat darkens his eyes. "That's been driving me crazy."
Holy shit. We may not make it out of this bathroom alive.
Before I can even voice that fear, he's tugging my panties down my legs and lapping at me like he's parched and I'm the last glass of water for miles. He's French kissing my pussy, tunneling his tongue into my depths. I want to be discreet, want to do the decent thing and drag him up and back out into the living room so we can pretend to be upstanding, well-adjusted human beings, but I can't because, love-starved animal that I am, my fingers are digging into his scalp and pressing his head deeper into the starving center of my body. If he bites my clit . . .
"Ahhh. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Griiiiiiip." In the midst of what borders on an out-of-body experience, I slam my palm into the wall for support. "Oh, please don't stop. Yes! Dammit, yes."
His mouth, right at the nexus of my pleasure, dips my inhibitions into boiling water, and they dissolve. Discretion takes a flying leap off Orgasm Falls, and I'm coming loudly and with unladylike enthusiasm when there's a startled gasp from the other side of the heavy wooden door and then an awkward cough.
Grip freezes and reaches up to cover my mouth with his hand. His eyes are laughing and his lips are shiny. "Why are you so loud?"
I jerk away from his hand and narrow my eyes still teary from my cataclysmic orgasm.
"You bit my clit," I hiss. "What did you expect?"
"Um, Bristol?" Charm taps the door, her voice sounding awkward. "We're, uhhhh . . . out here when you're ready to come-I mean, um, come out . . . here."
"We'll be right out," I reply with false brightness before lowering my voice to a whisper. "You think they heard me?"
"Seriously?" He stands, a smug grin on his face. "They heard you in the Bronx, Bris."
This isn't happening. If I pretend long enough that they did not just hear me screaming my brains out mid-orgasm, maybe it will become reality, replacing this disaster where I'm still shuddering from coming hard as fuck on a stranger's porcelain sink.
"We should get out there." Grip grabs the knob.
"Wait." I clutch his arm and hiss. I can't stop hissing because they've heard enough and anything above a hiss would only tell them more. "You've got . . . you need to . . ."
I pantomime rinsing my face off, furious when he tilts his head in confusion.
"You are not going out there wearing . . . me . . . all over your face," I whisper fiercely. "I'll go first. You . . ."
I motion between the faucet and his amused expression. I reach for my panties, but he holds them over his head, out of my reach, and then shoves them into a pocket of the jeans resting low on his hips.
"I hate you," I growl.
"Yeah, it sounded like it."
He has the audacity to smirk, and it's so damn sexy I'm tempted to hop back up on that sink. Instead I draw a deep breath, reaching for the breeding my parents paid so much for, and open the door. I want to sink through the buffed-to-high-shine hardwood floors when I see a third person has joined Charm and Bridget. Apparently, Mrs. O'Malley arrived while Grip and I were indisposed. Bridget looks uncomfortable and slightly shocked. Charm looks amused and slightly jealous. Mrs. O'Malley looks . . . Jewish.
She's the most Jewish looking O'Malley I've ever seen. That's my first thought, and before I can pull a Charm and remind myself to be politically correct, she shakes my hand and introduces herself as Esther.
Nailed it.
The powder room door opens behind us and Grip steps out, turning his smile up to full wattage. Charm practically swoons.
"You must be Mrs. O'Malley," he says, reaching for Esther's hand. "I'm Marlon. You have a beautiful home."
"It really is," I agree. If he can recover smoothly and be all normal, so can I. "We were just admiring the powder room."
Abort mission.
Why did I remind them about the powder room? But I can't stop. My mouth runs ahead of my good sense.
"And noticing the, um . . ." What was I noticing other than Grip's head between my legs? "The wallpaper."
"Wallpaper?" Mrs. O'Malley's thick, dark brows pull center. "There's no wallpaper in there."
"Exactly," I rush to say. "I told Grip, I said, Grip . . . um, Marlon, I'm so glad they didn't use wallpaper in here."
"She did. That's what she said." Grip nods with great gravity. "What color would you call that paint, though, honey?"
The polite smile freezes on my face, and my eyes jerk to find his. He's laughing at me. His mouth is a flat line, but those eyes are a-live with laughing at me.
"Oh . . . gosh, well, it's such a . . . such a . . . rich color," I stammer. I'm not a stammer-er, but it's not every day I have an all-out orgasm within earshot of a little old Jewish lady with an Irish last name. "I'd call it . . . well . . ."
"White?" Mrs. O'Malley offers helpfully.
Damn. White. I didn't exactly take note of the walls when were in there.
"But it's such a rich white," I say, forcing my lips to stay curved.
"Well, this is Tribeca," Grip deadpans. "There's bound to be a lot of rich whites."
An uncertain silence blossoms among us, one of those spaces where you're not sure if it's safe to laugh or if things just got really awkward. And then the most unexpected thing happens.
Mrs. O'Malley laughs-gut-busting, bend-at-the-waist, wiping-tears laughs. It's a hearty sound, full of life. Chuckling, she links her arm through my boyfriend's and starts walking off to show him the place. I'm still standing there getting my shit together as their voices mingle down the hall, and then a goofy grin finally finds its way to my face.
I knew I liked this place. Anyone who laughs like that knows how to make a home.
Charm and I pull up the rear, with Bridget, Grip, and Esther ahead of us.
"Bristol," Charm whispers. "You were right."
"About what?" I ask cautiously.
"That time we had that threesome with Bumpy Dick"-a skanky smirk slides onto Charm's lips-"you definitely didn't sound like that."