Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy (19 page)

“You’re right,” I said sadly, feeling myself slowly facing up to the cold hard reality of my situation.

“And most of all, don’t let yourself fall in love,” she warned.

Fallon was right; she’d been around the block enough times to know a thing or two about this subject.

“
But
,” she continued, “if you keep your head, you could have a great
time. I mean, you were practically
married
to Greg. And you’re still way too young for all that. You need to play the field. And if you can do it with his credit card as well? Bring it on! And you know what, Jessica? Don’t worry about the models on Page Six. ‘Cause everyone’s in the same boat there. When you like a guy, all of his ex-girlfriends seem like Scarlett Johansson. And while you might not be able to look at them on Page Six, they always seem to be having the most super-perfect amazing life on Instagram, full of cool friends and new shoes.”

I laughed. She was right. Despite everything, Blake was just a man, and my problems were the same as everyone else’s. It made me feel a little less at sea.

“And another thing,” she continued, leaning forward, looking me straight in the eye, surprisingly calm and lucid for someone who had been knocking back super-strong cocktails all evening, “before I leave for tour, you and I are gonna work hard on that portfolio of yours. I know you said Blake’s been really supportive of your career, and that’s cool, that really is. But wouldn’t it be much better if you could stand on your own two feet? You need to find work
outside
of the stuff he’s been promising you. You need to build up your
own
client base. And you need to make sure that, if this all does come crashing down, you can still work. Understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded.

It was kind of hard hearing the truth spoken out loud, but I knew deep down she was right. I repeated her advice back to myself, over and over, hoping it would finally sink in.

Have fun, sure, but don’t let yourself fall in love …

The thing was, I worried that it was already too late. And just as I fell silent, thinking it over, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a low, male voice.

“Excuse me, do you mind if we join you ladies?”

I looked up to see an actually-rather-handsome guy and his not-too-shabby-either friend. They were both well dressed in the kinds of clothes so many men around this area wore: the sort that looked like they were intended for men working on the railroad in the previous century, but were actually really expensive if you inspected the labels. You could tell by the cut and fit that these guys
really
cared about their outfits and had most likely paid a premium for them.

I looked to Fallon. Situations like this always made me feel like a deer caught in headlights. I didn’t quite know how to ask these guys to leave while remaining polite, and I was hoping that as usual she would have just the right sassy turn of phrase to tell them where to go.

Fallon looked back at me with a wicked smile and, without taking her eyes off my face, said, “Actually gentlemen, yes, I think you may be able to help us with something ...”

As the guys settled themselves at our table, Fallon registered my look of surprise, laughed, and whispered, “Remember, Jessica: play the field.”

§

“Ugh, pass me the Diet Coke,” Fallon groaned from her colorful nest of pillows and blankets on the sofa. “On second thoughts, just bash me over the head with the bottle. Put me out of my misery once and for all.”

I laughed, knowing just how she felt. After one too many cocktails last night, my head was throbbing too, and I was glad that we’d decided to just cancel all our plans today and act like total slobs, watching a
Gilmore Girls
re-run marathon and sending for take-out.

I picked up the bottle of soda from amongst the empty candy wrappers littering the coffee table and passed it across to her, wincing as the motion caused another painful throb in my poor skull. I’d already sworn to never drink again as long as I lived, but even
that
didn’t quite sound long enough.

Fallon and I had been ready to call it a night, but Stevie and Oliver, the guys we met at the bar, weren’t about let us leave without a fight, and had insisted on buying us more drinks.

Despite my headache, I had to admit: it had been fun. I’d never really
flirted
with guys like that before. I know that makes me sound like a total innocent prissy little virgin, but back in high school I didn’t really know how to flirt, and then of course Greg came along, and there was just no need anymore ...

I’d always thought that if you flirted with guys and let them buy you drinks, you kind of
owed
them something, but last night, guided by Fallon, I’d realized that you didn’t actually have to give a guy anything you didn’t want to, no matter
how many
cocktails he bought you.

We’d called it a night at three a.m., leaving them with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek, but they said they’d had a blast and so did we.

But if I had felt like doing more? Maybe that would have been cool, too. I mean, if Blake and I
weren’t
exclusive, if he really
was
in Milan right now, taking his pick from a long line of European beauties, it didn’t mean that I had to stay at home, crying into my Ben & Jerry’s, did it? Maybe I could find my fun elsewhere, too ...

I resolved that Blake wasn’t about to have an exclusive monopoly on my time whenever he wanted it, and I began to feel guilty that I’d left Fallon in the lurch all week.

“Hey, by the way,” I said softly. “I’m sorry I was away so much last week. Thanks for last night. I had the best time. It was just what I needed. I’m really enjoying being your roommate, and I promise I’m not gonna disappear like that again.”

“About that ...” Fallon said, her face suddenly growing serious. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, actually.”

“What?” I asked, worried in case I’d accidentally done something to upset her or put my foot in it somehow without realizing.

“Well, it’s about the apartment,” she continued. “The tour’s gonna last three months, you know? So I’m going need to sublet my place, and
fast
. Do you want it? I’d much prefer it went to someone I knew ...”

“Wow, thanks,” I said, flattered.

But as I began to think about it, I realized I wasn’t quite sure if renting in Brooklyn was what I really wanted. After all, my office was in Manhattan now, even if I was going to try and cool things down with Blake, and shouldn’t I perhaps try and relocate closer to my workplace?

“You mind if I think about it?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” she said with a smile. “But I’ll need to know by the end of this week at the very latest.”

“Of course,” I said, glad to have a little more time to decide.

Back at my desk on Wednesday morning, I felt a little bit listless. For some reason, I just kept procrastinating, doing any displacement activity I could think of, instead of just working hard on my portfolio.

And then I remembered something: the memory stick.

I slipped open the desk drawer and fished out the sleek little black stick from its hiding place, next to the envelope and ticket.

When I connected it to my iMac, two files popped up on the screen. The first was a text document, called
Read Me
, and the second was a mov file, simply titled
Thursday
.

I opened the document first.

Dear Jessica,

I hope you don’t mind this little liberty I’ve taken. But I just couldn’t resist. I want you to see how beautiful you look.

I want you to touch yourself as you watch the film. I’ll be imagining you while I’m far away.

And when I get back, I want you to tell me exactly what you did.

B x

I nervously clicked open the movie file, the screen flashing black for a moment. And then ...
Wait.

Is that
me
?

Because there I was, filmed from above, kneeling on Blake’s bed in nothing more than my black lace underwear, Blake fully naked behind me, running his hands slowly over my body.

I realized immediately what this was, and at first I could only feel shock and confusion.

I mean, was this okay? Or was he maybe crossing some kind of line, by filming me like this without my permission?

It was clear that Blake knew just what he was doing, remaining all the while behind me on the bed, positioning my body so that the camera caught me head-on as he ran his hands over me, slowly undressing me, first slipping off the left-hand strap of my bra, then the right, his fingers sensuously scooping my small breasts free from the lacy black cups of my bra, offering them to the camera, my small nipples so erect, so obviously turned on.

And as I watched the version of myself on screen, I found my own breathing become a little shallow, too, and I spread my legs a little, my pussy softly beginning to throb as I remembered just how delicious it had felt when Blake touched me like that, his fingers pinching the sweet puckered flesh of my nipples, rolling them hard between his thumbs and forefingers, causing me to gasp and shiver.

Just then, his right hand began to slip further down, over my belly and into my panties.

I couldn’t help myself: I too touched myself in the same place, first through the soft, damp cotton of my briefs, and then by slipping my trembling fingers beneath the waistband, first grazing over the cropped rectangle of my pubic hair and then further downwards, finding my clit so swollen and throbbing, and the lips of my pussy already hot and wet.

As Blake on screen began to play with my sex, I tried to match his motions with my own fingers, working some of my wetness upwards, tracing it in slow, tantalizing circles around my clit as I spread my legs wider, leaning in close to the monitor, all the while marveling that that sexy, sultry girl on screen was really
me
.

He unclasped my bra, then helped me out of my panties, and for a brief second I caught a flash of Blake’s own arousal: his cock so thick and hard, jutting proudly from between his tanned muscular thighs.

As he lay back on the bed, urging me backwards, urging me to climb up on him in a position I’d never tried before, I remembered wondering why he wanted to try this unusual new way of making love. But now it was totally obvious: as before he was showing me off to the camera, positioning me so that I was on top but with my back to him, my whole naked body on display as I began to ride him, his thick cock slipping so deeply inside as I ground myself hard and fast against him.

And as I thrashed and moaned on the screen, my hair swishing around my shoulders, my small breasts bouncing, my thighs spread wide, my eyes closed as I bit my lip, lost in pleasure as my orgasm approached, I realized that Blake was right: I
did
look beautiful. I looked like a grown woman, enjoying herself –

certainly not the foolish, timid little thing that I sometimes still thought of myself as.

As the on screen girl began to orgasm, her body shuddering and trembling as she ground herself backwards against Blake, she moved her head to one side for a moment, and from over her shoulder Blake looked out at the camera, his piercing grey eyes locking onto mine, sending me over the edge, too. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth to stifle my whimper, my fingers buried deep in my soaking wet panties as I came, alone in my office. 

§

It was quiet that afternoon in the Guggenheim – my absolute favorite place in New York to come, whenever I needed to be alone and think – and as always, I lost track of the time, strolling slowly through the galleries, finally feeling myself unwind a little.

And it still felt something of a novelty to actually be able to do this – to be my own boss, and allow myself to treat this visit as ‘research’, figuring that soaking in a little more art and culture certainly wouldn’t do any harm to my designs on the whole, especially if I was going to be working up my portfolio, as Fallon and I had discussed.

I just hoped that this was the real reason I was here at a gallery, instead of back at my office, where that ticket and note were still taunting me from the desk drawer …

I stood and paused for a moment, my attention suddenly captured by an absolutely beautiful oil painting by Manet. It was of a woman staring at her own reflection in a mirror, lost in thought, her beautiful pale back exposed, her exquisite blue dress so bright and vibrant, and as I looked at it, I wondered what she might be thinking, whether she too felt torn between two worlds ...

Brooklyn or Manhattan?

Manhattan or Brooklyn?

You see, on the one hand, I felt like I should stay in the cooler, younger area of Brooklyn. It was what I knew, and still where I felt most at home, most comfortable, most ‘me’. I knew that if I left, I’d miss the scene there – the up and coming artists, the hip tech start-ups, the coffee shops, music, and art, the sheer creativity that was always brimming from that area. It was inspiring and invigorating to be so close to something like that, and I knew that I would miss it dearly if I left.

But at the same time, I reminded myself that Fallon, my only true friend in Brooklyn, was about to embark on a three-month tour around the country leaving me alone for all intents and purposes. And furthermore, my new office was in Manhattan, and I was seriously enjoying finally having the time (and money!) to explore the galleries and the shops here, setting my own working hours and of course my own salary. Plus, it was costing me a fortune in taxis to keep flitting backwards and forwards between here and Fallon’s place in Ocean Hill.

But I had to level with myself. How much of my wanting to be in Manhattan had to do with being close to ...

Blake.

Like a boomerang, my thoughts always seemed to return to him, to this complicated man who had captivated and consumed me so completely, who I couldn’t help but care about, despite Fallon’s stern warnings. I still couldn’t shake off my nagging doubts and worries about what he was doing, right at this moment, who he might be with. I’d wanted so many times to just pick up the phone and call him, or send him an email, but each time, at the very last moment, I’d stopped myself, not wanting to come across as needy or jealous or crazy.

And there’d been no word from him, either.

Were we both playing it a little too cool?

Man, I had no idea the dating game was going to be
this
hard.

I pictured Blake lounging in some Milan hotel room, right this moment, a beautiful Italian goddess wrapped around his naked body, not even thinking about me.

And on top of all that, I also had something else to think about, too.

What’s going to happen at the next party?

The words of Blake’s note flashed through my head once again:
See you on Friday …

“I love this painting.”

Who said that?

I turned around, to look up into the big brown eyes of a stranger … And whoah! A rather
handsome
one at that.

He was around my own age, I guessed, and dressed in the same kind of fashion as those two guys from the bar the other night, only this boy’s clothes looked rumpled and paint-spattered, not artfully-disheveled. His brown hair was a little long and scruffy, his face was covered in dark stubble, and his hands looked kind of ...
dirty
, like he’d really been working with them.

And there was something really wholesome about him too, his thick-framed tortoiseshell glasses surrounding perhaps the biggest and brownest eyes I’d ever seen on a guy. It reminded me of a certain embarrassing phase I’d had, back in my freshman year of college, where for some reason out of my control I’d found myself developing a nervous, unspoken crush on pretty much any guy in glasses …

“Yeah, um, me too,” I blurted, when I realized that this handsome stranger was still waiting for me to reply and I’d just been flat-out staring into his big, cartoony eyes.

“I always wonder what she’s thinking about,” he said with a grin, and I found myself smiling back at him too, knowing deep down that he was probably hitting on me — I mean, why else would a guy come up and talk to a girl he didn’t know in an art gallery, and wasn’t that kind of a corny, cheesy thing to do? — but at the same time realizing that maybe I didn’t mind it so much from
this guy
.

“Yeah,” I said, turning my attention back to the girl in the painting. “She seems torn somehow ... I know how she feels.”

Did I just flirt with him?

He nodded. “I agree. Look at her. Is she getting
dressed
or
undressed?
Depending on how you see it, it changes everything about the painting.”

I found myself blushing at the word ‘undressed’. But he’d made me look at the painting in a new way. It was exciting.  

“Well,” I said, “I think it’s kind of both.”

“How do you mean?”

“I think she’s
getting
dressed, but she’s thinking about
who’s
going to undress her later ...”

Did I really just say that?

Did I just flirt with him
again
?!

Is this playing the field?

And the truth was, I was kind of thrilled this cute stranger was hitting on me, because as I’d realized last night, this encounter could go as far as I wanted it to …

Just then I realized he’d said something else, and once again I’d gotten lost in my own silly thoughts.

Pull yourself together Jessica!

“God, I’m sorry, I’m totally scatter-brained today!” I explained. “
What
did you say?”

To my surprise he blushed a little, looking down at his beaten up brown leather desert boots.

“Well,” he mumbled, unable to quite meet my eye. “I just kind of asked you if you wanted to go for coffee with me …”

And when his eye once more met mine, I felt a surprising flash of excitement run right through me.

§

I sat there, opposite Josh, sipping my flat white in the cute sun-bathed gallery café, and before I knew it, I was totally relaxed. It was as if I’d known him for years. As he spoke, he turned out to be kind and funny and sweet, as well as cute — his big brown eyes so warm and inviting. And I found my gaze repeatedly drawn down to his hands, too, to the dirt beneath his nails and the very edge of some sort of tattoo, poking out from beneath the raggedy unbleached cotton cuff of his sweater.

“My hands are always like this,” he explained, sheepishly, obviously catching where my attention was directed, holding his palms up to show me
just
how dirty they were. “I work with wood,” he continued. “I’m a carpenter. I do wash them all the time, but the material just gets under my skin, you know? Sometimes, in my spare time, I sculpt, too.”

“Wow, that’s so …” I began, quickly stopping myself before I’d said the word I really wanted to say:

Hot.

“... cool,” I said instead, after a pause.

It seemed as if he could tell what I was thinking, as he shyly drew his hands from the table, folding them in his lap.

“How about you?” he said, trying to turn the focus back to me. He seemed genuinely interested, and I finally decided to let him in a little.

“Well, I’m just starting out as an interior designer,” I began, “but it’s early days yet.”

“Wow, that’s great!” he replied enthusiastically. “Have you designed anything I might have seen?”