Mister O Read online

  “Don’t move,” I say, and I walk away to grab a thin black stick from her purse. “I’m so fucking glad you carry that giant bag around with your magic stuff in it.”

  “Are you going to spank me with my magic wand?” Her tone is laced with excitement.

  “I absolutely am.”

  “Because I’m going to retire that one from use after you do it.”

  “You bet your sweet ass this little prop is reserved for our dirty tricks now,” I say, and I raise the black wand and tap it lightly against her rear, testing her. She inhales sharply.

  “More?” I ask, stepping closer to the side of the counter so I can bend to her face and dust a kiss on her lips.

  She nods, the look in her eyes heated.

  I lift it again and whack her other cheek. She flinches, but then a soft gasp follows, and I rub my palm over her soft rear. Just to be sure she liked it, I drag a hand between her legs. Holy fuck, this girl is my perfect dirty angel. “You’re soaked,” I rasp out, as I slide my fingers across the damp fabric hugging her pussy.

  “Do it again,” she begs.

  I gladly comply, spanking my naughty magician with her very own magic wand and soothing her with my palm each time, one delicious globe then the other, then back again. Winding her up. Making her writhe. Drawing out the most delicious noises from her. I kneel and press kisses on her bottom, pulling at the lace with my teeth, inching it closer to the crack of her delicious ass, exposing her flesh. I nibble on her cheek, and she moans. I lavish attention on the other one, giving her everything she wants right where she wants it, nibbling, licking, kissing her soft, sweet skin.

  As I worship this fantastic rear, Harper whispers my name. “Nick, I need you.”

  She wants me. She needs me. I have never craved being the object of both more than I do with Harper. I pull down her panties and help her step out of them.

  My dick throbs as I look at her bare ass, her slick, wet pussy, her gorgeous legs, and her face, her eyes so full of desire. “You’re incredible,” I murmur.

  She pushes the condom at me. She’s so damn desperate. I cover my dick, curl a hand around her hip, and rub the tip between her legs. She shudders, arching her back.

  “Oh, princess,” I rasp, as I rub the head against her heat. “I fucking want you so much.”

  She pushes back against me. “I want you, too.”

  Like this, with her bent over my kitchen counter in a black butterfly bra and stockings, I sink into the woman I’ve been dreaming about for months, and I groan in pleasure. She’s divine. So hot, so fucking snug.

  The intensity of this moment radiates in my body like a hot flare. I’m inside Harper for the first time, and it’s so good it’s unreal.

  She moans, and I lower my chest to her, pressing against her back, my lips near her face. “Harper,” I say as I ease out then push in.

  “Oh God,” she moans, and it sounds as if she’s lost in pleasure.

  “Harper,” I say again, my voice rough, commanding.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re perfect like this.”

  I raise my chest, grip her hips with both hands, and thrust—slow, deep lingering strokes that have her squirming and begging, saying yes and please and more. I take my time, making her want it, rocking in and out of her. She circles her hips against me. Her knuckles are white from gripping the counter. I run a hand up her spine, grab a fistful of hair, and tug. She yelps, and the noise transforms into a low, sexy groan as I take her harder.

  “Deeper,” she begs. “I love it when you’re so deep in me.”

  Sparks fly down my legs. Lust incinerates me, and desire spreads to every cell. She raises her ass higher, sinks lower, gives me more of her body. Each move she makes fans the flames, and I fuck her how she wants it. Deep, hard, passionate.

  Her breath comes in shudders and reckless pants. Curling my hands tighter around her, I say, “Is this how you wanted it? All those times?”

  “Yes. God, yes.”

  “Is it like your dirty pictures?”

  “It’s better. So much better.”

  I know what will make it the best. Her lips. I lower my chest to her back, cup a cheek with one hand, and turn her face to mine. This isn’t the easiest position, but I don’t care. I know what I’m doing, and I fuck her from behind as I kiss her madly, needing her lips, craving her tongue, wanting this connection. She’s so wild beneath me, all moans and murmurs and thrusts, and her tongue seeks mine, her lips pressing hungrily to me.

  Her pussy is my favorite place in the universe, and she grows even wetter with each kiss, and slicker still with every consuming thrust. We kiss like sloppy, crazed lovers, until she bites down on my lip. She cries out, lets go of my mouth, and utters a throaty, hungry series of oh Gods that are nearly my undoing as she comes hard, calling my name.

  Somewhere, tingling in my body, I can feel the start of an orgasm. But I’m not ready to stop. I’m not done fucking my girl. I slow down, grit my teeth, and fight off my own release.

  “I want you to come again,” I tell her, my voice rough.

  She just nods, and that’s all I need to know she’s game for multiples.

  I pull out, my fingers tight around the condom, keeping it on. “Bed. Now. On your back. Legs spread. Leave the shoes on.”

  She’s never been to my bedroom, but it’s not hard to find, and in seconds she’s on the navy blue comforter and open for me. I crawl between her legs, and shove back into her.

  “Oh fuck,” I groan, my cock surrounded by her sweet heat once more. “You’re so fucking wet.”

  “You got me that way,” she says, as I fill her.

  “You’re so fucking sexy. You feel so good.”

  “God, so do you. It drives me wild the way you fuck me,” she says, and every word from her mouth gets me hotter. She wraps her legs around my ass, and loops her hands around my neck. This is how I want her.

  “I want to watch your face when you come again. You’re so beautiful beneath me. You’re so goddamn gorgeous when you come,” I say, and she trembles, gripping me tighter, pulling me farther into her.

  I don’t want this to ever stop. I don’t want this night to end. I want her over and over. I roll my hips and thrust into her, finding a new rhythm. It’s fast, but not frantic. It’s intense, but not out of control. It’s just fucking perfect, then more perfect when she raises her knees, sliding them up my sides, opening herself even more.

  “You like that, princess?” I growl, as she widens for me, giving me her body in that position.

  Her answer is a low, sexy cry of rapture. I drive farther, rolling my hips, hitting her in all the right places.

  “I can feel you deeper like this. So deep that . . .” She trails off, her lips near my ear. She draws my earlobe between her teeth and nips. She moans against me, a sexy, beautiful noise as she whispers, “That I’m going to come again.”

  My favorite words from her. I’m so fucking turned on. So fucking crazy for her. “Do it,” I groan as I pump into her, and she grips my ass, digging in, holding on. Her face is pressed to mine as she rocks up. Her body detonates, and she’s like a Harper bomb under my hands, a beautiful explosion of lust and sensuality, and so much rapture.

  That’s it. I’m done. I chase her there, pushing deep inside at a fevered pace, my own climax tearing through my body as she shudders beneath me. Our cheeks touch as I come so fucking hard that nothing but incoherent noises fall from my lips, nearly as loud as hers. Because, holy fuck, it’s so good with her. It’s so incredibly good.

  Her moans don’t stop for a long time, and nor do mine as I collapse on her. My heart beats furiously. Beads of sweat slick my chest. And I’m so damn happy to have her in my bed, beneath me, with me, next to me.

  I roll off her, tie the condom, and toss it in the bathroom trash. I return to her, and she’s the most beautiful sight ever—mostly undressed and fucked senseless . . . by me.

  “Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to feel you naked,” I
tell her, and I help her slide off the shoes, stockings, and the bra. She’s in nothing, just like me. I pull her into my arms.

  She feels too good to be true.

  “So this is your bedroom,” she says, glancing around a few minutes later.

  My room is simple—blond hardwood floors, a king-sized bed, and a bureau with a handful of framed family photos, as well as stacks of sketchbooks and pens. On my wall is a drawing of a duck taped to bricks, aptly titled “Duct Tape.”

  “Maybe you’ll show me your bedroom someday soon,” I say, as I kiss her neck.

  “Actually, you’ve seen it.”

  I arch a questioning eyebrow.

  “My apartment is a studio. I sleep on the purple couch. It’s a pull-out.”

  “I have fond memories of what I did to you on that couch yesterday. Had no idea it was your bed too.”

  She taps my nose. “Don’t know if you know this, Mr. Brains and Beauty, but Manhattan is a teeny bit expensive,” she says, holding up her thumb and forefinger. “Especially for an almost twenty-six-year-old magician.”

  I nod, aware that her situation is different than mine. We’re both skilled enough to do what we love, but I’ve had bigger breaks.

  “But I’m lucky to have that place,” she adds. “My parents bought it years ago as an investment, so I basically rent from them. They wanted to let me live rent-free, but I insisted on paying.”

  “Hopefully they gave you a good deal.”

  “They did. For a place in the 90s, it’s better than rent-controlled. And it lets me live in Manhattan, working kids’ parties for the most part.”

  I prop myself up and run my fingers along her hipbone. “Is that the end game? I’m not saying you should do more. I’m just curious.”

  “I’d like to do a few more corporate events since the pay is better, but for now, I’m happy.”

  “Would you ever want to do a big, grand show, like in Vegas?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I really like working with kids. They’re fun and appreciative, and they believe in the illusion. They believe it’s all real.”

  “You have no idea how badly I want to ask you to show me how to do the pencil trick.”

  “You know I could never do that.” She stretches an arm to my nightstand, grabbing a pencil. She presses her finger to my lips. “I’m not going to tell you how it’s done,” she says, then brings her right hand to her nose, while her left hand is curved next to it. In a flash, she puts the pencil in her nose.

  Or so it seems.

  Equally quickly, the writing implement emerges in her other hand, as if she pulled it out her ear. Even though I know she didn’t put the pencil in her head, and even though I’m sure she hid it behind her hand, it’s still a cool trick. Because it looks real. Her sleight of hand is that smooth.

  “Want me to do it again?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  This time she’s just as fast, but she swings her leg over my waist as she does the trick, which rolls her an inch closer, giving me the slightest peek at her curved left hand, where she hides the pencil.

  I smile, awareness hitting me of what she just did. It’s a small thing, and a small trick, but it’s pure Harper. Revealing, without exactly revealing. Letting me into her world.

  “Now teach me the secret to drawing a great cartoon,” she says, playfully demanding.

  I raise my hand and brush her red strands over her ear. “Here’s the trick. You have to like what you’re drawing,” I say, my eyes on her the whole time.

  She has no clue what I’ve just told her. She can’t have any idea that I’ve drawn her, and how much I like her. So much that it’s way beyond “like” right now. She just smiles and says, “Good thing you like drawing a caped crusader who can make a woman arch her back and curl her toes in pleasure. Especially since you’re so good at that, too.”

  Screw Fido. Screw that stupid jealousy. Fuck any jealousy. Right now all I feel is one hundred percent satisfaction over a job well done.

  Speaking of jobs . . .

  “Would you want to come to a work party with me?” I ask, then I explain about the cocktail party that Serena asked me to attend this Friday.

  “Do I have to throw a bowling match this time?” She taps my chest. “Speaking of that, you still owe me a rematch.”

  “I promise you’ll get one. But will you come with me? Gino is such a capricious ass,” I say then hold up my palm. “Wait. Ass is good, we decided. He’s a capricious weasel, and he’s just jerking me around. But even so, I need to play the game and go. And I’d really like for you to be there.”

  “Of course I’ll go. And as for Gino, fuck him.”

  I point at her, my eyes lighting up. “Hey. That’s another one. Why is fuck an insult?”

  “Hmmm. That’s an excellent point.”

  “Right? Everyone says fuck him, fuck this, fuck off. But fucking is pretty much the greatest thing on earth.”

  “We’ll start a new dictionary. We’ll take back the word fuck, and we’ll turn it into—”

  “I know! We’ll say it like a blessing.” I soften my voice, and make it sound reverent and adoring. “Fuck you, my child. Go in peace.”

  “Or,” she says, her voice rising in excitement, “we can use it when we like something. Fuck can go into our dictionary as like.”

  I curl my hand over her hip. “Hey, you know what, Harper? Fuck showers.”

  I take her to the shower and introduce her to the tiled wall, as well as my bottomless appetite for her. She’s pretty ravenous, too, and it’s fantastic to have her again as the water slides down my back, and her legs wrap around me, and she falls apart once more in my arms.

  When she comes down from her high, she whispers in my ear, softly, sweetly, “Fuck you.”

  I laugh lightly. “Fuck you, too.”

  26

  “I don’t know how I’m going to resist her,” Wyatt says with lustful longing in his voice the next morning in Central Park.

  “Natalie?”

  He shakes his head. “Little Cocoa Puff. Look at her. How am I not supposed to take her home? She can fit in my tool belt,” he says, practically cooing as he gestures to the chocolate Min Pin he’s walking. By my side is a dachshund mix.

  “You don’t even wear a tool belt,” I say, as we turn down a path. “You just love to hold on to the handyman image, even though you’re behind a desk half the time.”

  “What can I say? I’m good with tools, as well as juggling my growing empire.”

  “Then you should take Cocoa Puff home with you,” I say, goading him on as I point to the pooch. “Think about how much help she can give you when it comes to women. She’s a chick magnet, and let’s be honest.” I drape an arm over his shoulder sympathetically. “You need all the help you can get, Woody.”

  “Randy,” he retaliates with a huff. “Our parents gave us the worst middle names.”

  I laugh. “Pretty sure they wanted to torture us, starting at birth.”

  He stops in the middle of the path and gives me some sort of knowing eye inspection. “But let’s not talk about middle names. Let’s talk about . . . hey, how about girls with alliterative names? HH, ahem.”

  “You know what alliteration is?” I ask, deflecting, as I wind the dog leash tighter around my wrist.

  He shakes his head dismissively. “I do. In addition to a working brain, I also have a powerful nose to sniff out your bullshit,” he says, and I pretend to be preoccupied with the dachshund’s exploration of a bush.

  Wyatt soldiers on, his voice stripped free of sarcasm or our usual trash talk. “When are you going to say something to Spencer?”

  “About what?” I scowl. I’m doing an awesome job feigning confusion.

  He laughs. “C’mon man. Drop the act. I know there’s something between you and Harper. I saw you dancing with her.”

  “It was just dancing.”

  Just dancing. Just kissing. Just fucking. Just the best nights of my life. My chest warms with me
mories of the last few nights with Harper.

  Wyatt sighs. “Nick,” he says, and I can tell he’s serious, since he’s using my first name. “I saw her coming to your apartment last week. I saw you dancing with her at the wedding. I saw the way you looked at her on the train.”

  Alarm bells go off. We were so cautious. Could my brother tell something was up just by looking at us?

  “If you like her, just say something,” he adds, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

  I scoff.

  Because it’s not that simple. Harper and I aren’t doing something that needs to be discussed or approved. We’re not going anywhere beyond the bedroom. I don’t even have to ask her to know her feelings on that topic. They’re crystal clear, and have been from the moment I witnessed her secret language with men at Peace of Cake. Not only do her actions speak clearly, but so do her words. For starters, she acts normal around me. She’s never once fumbled on words, or turned into a hot mess with me, as she does with Simon. On top of that, the woman has been amazingly specific when it comes to voicing what she wants. She asked me point-blank for dating help with other guys. Then she kicked it up a notch and requested lessons in sex and seduction.

  She never expressed an interest in having me as her boyfriend, and that’s one hundred percent fine with me. Best of both worlds. I’m having her in the bedroom, and we still can hang out together when these lessons come to an end after this week.

  “There’s not anything to say. It’s just not like that with her,” I explain with a casual shrug.

  Wyatt brings his dog to heel by his side. “Listen, you can tell yourself it was just dancing, but you’re not fooling me. The question is, are you fooling yourself?”

  His question echoes. It sounds important, the way it lingers in the cool fall air, drifting through the leaves on the trees. But I’ve had my eyes wide open from day one. “Nope. I totally know the score.”

  He sighs. “Fair enough. But in a few days, Spencer will return,” he says, reminding me of the expiration date. I hardly need the reminder. I’m well aware that Spencer makes landfall after his honeymoon in Hawaii after midnight on Sunday. Six nights from now. But who’s counting? “And you need to think about the fact that you’ve got something going on with his little sister,” Wyatt adds. “The sooner you figure out what it is, the better off you’ll be.”