Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (43 page)

“I think that would be the better option,”
he says.

“Yeah, maybe,” I tell him. “At the same
time, though, maybe I’m supposed to be out doing something that I’ve never done
before, something that’s going to add
a
once-in-a-lifetime experience to this little world of mine and I’m just in
there, again getting a needle stuck in my arm?”

“There’s no way to know that kind of
thing,” he says.

“I get that,” I tell him, “and your saying
that isn’t the first time the thought’s crossed my mind. Every time I get that
far in my inner dialogue, though, I just think of that woman wheeling past me,
her son walking behind her with his fingers gripping the handles of his mom’s
wheelchair so tight his knuckles are white.”

“Like I said,” he explains, “I’m not going
to fault you whatever you choose here. Obviously, I wish you’d go through with
the trial because-”

“I know the reasons,” I interrupt. “We’ve
talked about the reasons, I’ve read about the reasons, and I’ve thought about
the reasons so much over the past while that I could jot them down with my eyes
closed. And I know exactly what you wish I’d do; you made that pretty crystal
when I was in your office this morning.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Does it not occur to you that you never
really indicated that you would respect my choice before that woman died in
your office today?” I ask. “I’m not saying that’s why I didn’t go to the first
day of trials, but it’s not like it didn’t change anything.”

“What did it change?”

“It changed the way I felt about you,” I
tell him. “I’m going to do what I’m going to do, just like you’re going to do
what you’re going to do and everybody else is blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, but
when it started to feel like you weren’t taking me seriously. When it started
to feel like you were just discounting what I had to say because you thought it
was just fear and nothing else — I didn’t like that. I don’t like that. It
looks like you’ve come around, and I’m not saying this is a permanent mark on
your record or anything, but — I don’t know. I guess I just thought you should
know that.”

He looks down at the table and then back
up at me, sipping his drink and making that same disgusted face he made a few
minutes ago.

“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. “Now, is there
any way we can move past this conversation?”

“Yeah,” he says. “If you want to talk more
about it later we can; if not, that’s okay, too.”

“Sounds great,” I tell him. “So…”

“What?”

“You owe me no less than five minutes with
your face between my legs,” I tell him. “What up?”

Chapter
Fourteen

Wandering Star

Jace

Grace has been in the trial for almost two
weeks now, and she seems to be doing all right with the new medication.

What she seems to be most excited about so
far is that, as she’s not taking her normally scheduled round of chemo, her
hair is starting to grow back to a point where she’s almost willing to ditch
the wigs.

The last time she saw the inside of my
office was the day she was originally supposed to start the trial, and I’m a
little worried that she’s going to have a stress reaction when she comes in.

I’m not the one running her scans right
now, and even if I wanted to access the scans the trial doctors have been
taking, I wouldn’t be able to, but that’s not why she’s coming to the office.

Ever since that night in the jazz club
where she and I found a dark corner behind the stage, she’s been really into
having sex in situations where there’s some kind of possibility we might get
caught.

I’m not a psychologist, but I did take
enough courses during med school to know that we’re treading into dangerous
territory. Eventually, if we keep upping the ante, we’re either going to get
arrested or even worse, we’ll start to get sexually bored with one another.

You’d think that would be enough to
dissuade me from giving her the green light about her coming in today when Yuri
goes on her lunch break, but the truth is, I think this might actually be a
good thing for both of us.

I haven’t told her this, although I can’t
say exactly why, but I’ve had some trouble being in this office, myself.

It’s one of those things that eventually
fades with every time I come into work, but for Grace that might never be the
case.

If I’m to be totally honest here, though,
I think I’m starting to get the same thrill out of doing the sort of thing that
Grace does.

Yuri knocks on my office door to let me
know that she’s headed out to lunch and I nod.

I thought she was going to be out of here
as soon as my last appointment was over, but she must have had some paperwork
to do.

When Yuri’s out the door, I pull my phone
out of my pocket and send a text to Grace, saying, “The eagle has left the
nest.”

I hit send, but as soon as I do, I just
know that Grace is going to give me shit for using such a cliché code phrase.

The top drawer of my desk contains
something at this moment that it’s never had in it before and, I imagine, never
will have again.

My phone buzzes and I look down at it.

“You’re so fucking lame,” Grace writes. “I
don’t know if I really want to fuck you anymore.”

I write back, “Oh, will you just shut up
and get in here?”

It’s only a couple of minutes before the
door to my office opens and Grace
slinks
in, wearing a
black, asymmetrical skirt and a red scoop top. She’s been waiting on the next
floor up to get the message that Yuri went out to lunch.

“How long do we have?” she asks.

“She’s never taken a lunch break shorter
than half an hour,” I tell her. “We’re going to have to be kind of quick, but I
think we should be fine.”

“Great,” she says and turns back to the
door. “It doesn’t lock?”

“No,” I tell her. “We just lock the outer
office when we go. That’s not a problem, is it? If you’re chickening out-”

“Hold on there, cowboy,” she says.

“Cowboy?”

“I think we both know that I have nerves
of steel, and besides, I’m wearing my favorite pair of underwear,” she says. “I
wore it special for this very occasion.”

“You told me that you didn’t have a
favorite pair of underwear,” I tell her, “although exactly how that ever came
up in conversation, I’m having a hard time imagining.”

“You’ll see,” she says. “I think you’re
going to like it.”

Grace comes over to me and sits on my
desk. She scoots over so one leg is on one side of me, the other leg is on the
other side.

She parts her knees and says, “Go on and
take a look.”

I run my hands from her knees up her
thighs, lifting the front of her skirt in the process.

She leans back, supporting herself with
her hands behind her on the desk.

I kiss her thighs as I continue to pull
her skirt up and, when I see her “special underwear,” I’m simultaneously amused
and aroused.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” I tell
her.

“Shh…” she says. “They’re invisible.”

“You, my dear, are a dork.”

“Whatever,” she says. “Put your mouth on
me and let’s get this party started. I didn’t come here to chat.”

“You’re really demanding,” I tell her,
kissing her innermost thigh, close enough to tease her center. “It’s a
turnoff.”

“You’ll get over it,” she breathes, and I
put my arms around her butt as her legs come to rest over my shoulders.

Her scent is intoxicating as I work my way
closer and closer to her pussy, and when I lay my tongue over the edge of her
labia, her taste fills my senses just as strong as it ever has.

Our relationship is a strange one, but
there’s not a thing I would change about it.

Okay, maybe I’d change the fact that I
always seem to be risking my medical license being with her, but Grace is worth
that possibility.

She takes a sharp breath in as my lips
graze her clit.

I could go down on her for days.

Her fingers are running through my hair,
and I’m kissing and licking her clit, her labia, and the curve of her upper
thigh.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” she
says with a decadent moan.

“I love how you always pretend like I
haven’t always been good at it.”

“We don’t have that much time,” she says,
“and I want to come at least a couple of times before Yuri gets back here.”

At the Academy Awards, when someone’s
giving too long a speech, they start playing music to let the winner know it’s
time to wrap it up. That’s what Grace is doing right now to get me to stop
talking and focus.

I’m fine with that.

She’s so warm against my tongue and my
mouth, and when I slip a finger inside of her, I can hardly believe the heat of
her.

“That’s it,” she says. “Keep doing that
and we might just hit my goal for the afternoon.”

She lies down completely on my desk and I
can see her arms stretching above her head as I massage her clit with my tongue
and work another finger inside of her.

“How quiet do I have to be?” she asks.

“Pretty quiet,” I tell her. “Yuri won’t be
back for a while, but this office isn’t sound proof.”

“Good to know,” she says, and I can’t be
sure she’s not planning on yelling something like “Fuck me harder, doc,” when
my guard is down.

Still, I persist.

Grace lifts her legs and puts her feet on
my desk, spreading her thighs open a little further.

Her lower lips are glistening with a
mixture of my saliva and her wetness, and as my fingers find and rub her
g-spot, I take her clit between my lips, licking and sucking her.

Grace’s legs start going, but I have to
lean back for a moment to remove my tie with my dry hand.

“What are you doing?” she asks, lifting
her head to look at me. When she sees me pulling the tie from around my neck,
she just says, “Oh,” and lays her head back down.

I set the tie on my desk next to Grace,
and I’m starting to wonder if my office is going to smell like sex when my next
appointment arrives.

It’s only a fleeting concern.

With my mouth back on her and my fingers
having never left her crease, Grace’s legs start shaking again and this time, I
can take her all the way. She is rocking her hips against my mouth, and I’m
delighting in how quickly I can bring her to ecstasy.

Out of nowhere, one of Grace’s hands
shoots down to her side and she grabs my tie. She’s so close, I don’t lift my
head, but in a moment, her reasoning becomes clear enough as I can hear the
muffled sounds of her building climax.

It’s a good thing I have a spare
tie
in my bottom desk drawer, although this particular
scenario never crossed my mind when I decided to bring it in.

Grace’s hips are lifting and dropping with
even more intensity now and, with a shudder, I can feel her wetness grow as her
stomach tightens in front of me and her legs close in against the side of my
head.

I run my free hand under her skirt and up
her smooth stomach and play with one of her nipples as her body spasms on my
desk.

A few seconds later, I can hear her
spitting my tie out of her mouth, and I’m wondering what her plans are for when
I put myself inside her. Maybe she’s not thinking that far ahead at the moment.

“Now,” she says. “You brought them,
right?”

“Yeah,” I tell her and I pull my fingers
out of her to massage her clit as I open the top drawer and pull out the box of
condoms and the dairy-free whipped cream can.

“You probably shouldn’t take my top off,”
she says, “just pull down the front.”

It had already occurred to me that the
more clothed we remain, the better. If Yuri comes back early and comes in the
office, she might see Grace lying on my desk catching her breath, and she might
even see me with my back to her as I put myself inside, but at least she’s not
going to see her boss and her friend fucking on the desk.

“You got dairy-free?” Grace asks as she
sits up to inspect the can of whipped cream.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “I thought that’s what
you wanted me to get.”

“I hate dairy-free,” she says. “Looks like
you’re going to be doing all the work on that one.”

“You’re just lazy.”

“Lazy? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What if I’m not?” I ask, unzipping my
pants.

“Then, I’ll just have to prove you wrong,”
she says and reaches through my zipper, somehow undoes the button on my boxers
in one second or less, and pulls my cock out into the open air.

She leans forward and I take a step back
to give her enough room as she kisses my tip.

“Okay,” she says, sitting back up straight
and letting go of me. “I guess I am lazy.”

“You’re such a bitch,” I laugh.

“Eh, you’ve got to love what you do.”

I hand her the condoms and tease her,
saying, “Make yourself useful, will you? I’m busy here.”

If she was going to protest, that protest
is averted as I pull the front of her top down over her breasts.

“Hey, it looks like you’re wearing your
special bra, too,” I chuckle and take one of her nipples into my mouth.

“Don’t forget the whipped cream,” she
says, closing her teeth on the corner of the condom wrapper and tearing it
open.

She spits the corner of the wrapper out of
her mouth and at me, but she’s not a very good aim.

I grab the can of whipped cream,
dairy-free whipped cream, that is, and I spread a puff of it on one of her
nipples and then the other.

“What would you do if I just left it like
that?” I ask.

“I’d kick your ass,” she says. “You’re
going to lick the whipped cream off my nipples and you’re going to love it.”

“So demanding…”

I run my tongue around her nipple before
closing my lips to take the sweet embellishment into my mouth, the warm, erect
bit at the center being the real prize.

“Shit,” she says, “I’m dripping.”

“Hold on,” I mumble, the tip of her breast
still in my mouth.

“I don’t know if you’ve already forgotten
or what,” she says, “but I’m not wearing a bra. If I get whipped cream on my
top, I’m not going to be very happy. It’ll look like I’m lactating or
something.”

“I seriously doubt that,” I tell her, my
voice still muffled by her soft mound.

I look over to her other breast and,
indeed, the whipped cream is starting to drip down her breast. I’ve still got a
couple of inches before it makes contact with any fabric, though.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks.
“Get that shit before it stains my shirt!”

I try to respond, but apparently it’s
rather difficult to shush someone with their breast in your mouth. Finally, at
the last possible moment, I move my mouth from one breast to the other, licking
the smooth cream from the bottom all the way up to her nipple.

“Jesus, you about gave me a heart attack,”
she says.

“What’s the big deal?” I mumble, having
found a rather enjoyable new hobby.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to
talk with your mouth full?”

“Hmm?” I hum, and as I watch the
goosebumps rise across her chest, she’s already forgotten her protest.