 
A Toy Story

by

Hannah Murray
A Toy Story

Copyright © 2007, 2017 by Hannah Murray

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, business establishments, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of the eBook only. No part of the eBook may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the cases of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Author's Note

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Epilogue

About the Author

# Author's Note

This short little story is one of my favorites—I love a story with a dog in it, and these characters are as fun as they were when I first wrote them. I've edited it slightly—a word changed here, punctuation altered there—but largely, remains as it was when I first wrote it: a little funny, a little sexy, with a really cool dog. I hope you like it as much as I do.

~ Hannah

# Dedication

For any woman who's ever loved a dog—or a man—enough to ignore mud, drool and shed hair. From either.

# Chapter One

I'm going to get fired. She called me in here to fire me, and right now, there's a security team boxing up my office and painting over my parking space. If I had a parking space. Or an office.

Grace Newman shook her head, which but did nothing to dislodge the panicked thoughts in her head. New management was taking over and things were bound to change. They always changed things. They were probably going to turn Woman On Top into an Amish woman's magazine and her sex toy review column into one for butter churn reviews or—

"Grace, come in!"

Grace smiled automatically despite the nerves in her belly—it was hard not to smile at Geraldine. Well into her sixties, Geraldine Fox was technically a grandmother, although she certainly didn't look or act like anyone's idea of a granny. Fit and spry due to yoga and an active sex life—at least according to Geraldine—she instead looked like a much friendlier version of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada.

And although friendlier, she had just as much power as her fictional doppelgänger. If not more.

"How are you, Geraldine?" Grace walked into the publisher's office, struck by the view of the city though the floor-to-ceiling windows. Chicago was a gleaming jewel from forty floors up, Lake Michigan sparkling in the distance.

"Oh, call me Gerry, everyone does." She closed the door and gestured to the seating area by the windows. "Sit, sit down. Tea?"

"Oh, no thanks." Grace smiled and took a seat on the butterscotch-colored sofa as Gerry settled into its twin across a sturdy coffee table. The leather was smooth as silk and twice as soft. Grace had to resist the urge to sink in with a sigh. "I've had enough coffee to float a canoe this morning."

"You should switch to green tea, it's much gentler on the nerves."

"Hmmm." Grace just kept smiling, having no intention of giving up her double cappuccinos.

Gerry's lips twitched, her bright gray eyes twinkling as though she knew she was being humored. She probably did, Grace mused, the old girl was sharp as a tack.

"Anyway, Grace. I wanted to discuss your column." She hitched up her elegant trousers and crossed her legs. "Now. I know you're aware I've been making some changes to the regular features here at Woman On Top, and there's been a lot of speculation among the staff that I'm going to go 'round changing every little thing." One silver brow winged in question.

Grace nodded, not trusting that the knots in her belly wouldn't leap up into her throat if she tried to speak.

The brow went a little higher at her silence. "Not going to gossip? Well, that's admirable, I suppose." She sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment, and Grace had to stifle a snort of laughter.

"In any case, I want to lay to rest any fears you may have about my wanting to alter your column." Gerry leaned forward. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to buy this magazine."

Grace felt her stomach unknot and her lips spread in a relieved smile. "I'm so glad you think so."

"I want this magazine to be at the forefront of women's issues, and in order to do that, I intend to make good use of my talent. To that end, I think your talents have been sorely underused."

Grace blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You write a great column, Grace. You don't talk down to your readers, you use language they understand and appreciate, and you get right to the heart of things without a lot of flowers and perfume to muck up the message."

"Ah...thanks?"

"But you write a one-quarter-page column for each issue, and I don't think it's nearly long enough." Gerry reached for the sheaf of papers sitting on the coffee table. "According to my numbers, you're one of the big draws of this magazine. Your name is searched on the Net more often than almost all of our other writers combined, and your column is one of the most accessed portions of our Web site." She looked up, her gaze all but pinning Grace to the chair. "And I would be a very poor business woman if I overlooked that."

"Um," Grace said, not sure how she was supposed to respond.

Gerry's lips twitched again. "Eloquent," she said, and Grace laughed as all the knots in her belly came loose.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Grace?" Gerry set the papers aside.

"No, go ahead."

"How'd you get started writing Plugged In?"

Grace smiled, and now she did settle back into the sofa a bit. "It was after college, I think I was about twenty-one or so. A bunch of my girlfriends and I were sitting around one night talking about the wasteland our sex lives had become."

"Oh, so young."

Grace laughed. "I know. So we sat around talking and drinking, and the conversation naturally turned to the methods available to a girl when living in a wasteland. And me, I'd never heard of such things."

"You're kidding." Now both silver brows winged skyward. "You were what, twenty-one and you'd never masturbated?"

Grace shook her head. "No, not that I'd never masturbated, but some of the girls were talking about toys, and that I didn't have any experience with. So, being as we were all somewhat drunk on strawberry wine, someone hauled out a mail-order catalog and everyone helped me pick out my first vibrator."

Gerry shook her head, a smile on her face. "I wish my college days had been like that."

"Yeah, it was pretty fun," Grace agreed, remembering. "Anyway, since they'd helped me pick it out, they wanted to know the results. So I wrote a review." She grinned again. "It was one of those slim, plastic vibrators that always make me think of the Washington Monument. You know the type?"

Gerry nodded, and Grace laughed. "I wrote that the father of our country had probably never made a woman so happy in life, but his monument could carry on in his name. I titled it George's Gift."

"Funny."

Grace shrugged. "It was raw, but it had a kick. Anyway, one of my girlfriends was the editor of a little alternative paper called Secret Chicago. It was way ahead of its time, full of articles on theater and the club scene. She published it out of her apartment once a month and usually sold out of copies in the first twelve hours it was on the stands."

"Is she still publishing it?"

Grace shook her head. "No. She did it for about four years, but she was having a hard time keeping up with the rising print costs, plus all the work it took on top of her day job. She was a stock trader. Still is actually. She lives in New York now."

"What happened to the column when the paper closed?"

Grace crossed her legs, thinking back. "The paper had been shut down for about six months, I guess, when I got a phone call from Christine Flack."

Gerry nodded. "I know Christine. She's working for a French magazine now, right?"

"She switched to fashion editing a year ago. But before that she was the managing editor here and she'd found my column in an old issue of Secret Chicago."

"What were you doing when you got the call?" Gerry asked.

"For a living? Waiting tables and working part-time in a bowling alley." Grace's lips twitched. "My creative arts degree was really working for me.

"Anyway," she continued. "Christine was using the paper to line her cat box, but the column caught her eye, and after she read it, she went out and dug up as many back issues as she could to read the column. Then she tracked me down and told me she wanted me to write for Woman on Top." She shrugged. "And the rest, as they say, is history."

"And now," Gerry said, "it's time for history to change."

Some of the panic she was feeling must have shown on her face because Gerry's sharp features softened and she leaned forward. "Grace, your column is wonderful. Funny, warm. Exactly what women want. And I certainly don't want you to stop reviewing sex toys made for women. We're a women's magazine, after all." She leaned back. "But I do want you to start including toys and products women can use with their partners."

"Oh," Grace said, her voice sounding faint and small to her own ears.

Gerry held up a hand. "Now, don't panic."

"Too late," Grace muttered.

"I know this is a bit of a shock for you," Gerry said, and Grace barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes, "but we're going to take this transition slowly. You've already got two columns in the pipeline, and we're going to go ahead and run those as planned, so the new version of Plugged In won't debut for three months. That should give you time to get your mind around the new concept and come up with something spectacular for our readers."

"Gerry—"

"We'll start advertising the new format right away. Also, we've set up a new email address specifically to get feedback and suggestions from readers. You can get that from Jenny when you leave."

"Yeah, okay." Grace's head was starting to spin.

"You've always chosen which products to test, right?"

"Um...yeah."

"And that's worked really well. I think people want to know what you're interested in, what appeals to you and why. But in addition to those products you select for yourself, I do have a list I want you to pull from as well. Just a few things I think will appeal to our readers, and since you're not used to picking toys aimed at couple use, I think it'll be helpful for you."

"Sure," Grace said faintly.

"Great. You can pick that up from Jenny too. I want to debut the new and improved version of Plugged In in the June issue. Deadline will be mid-May, which should give you plenty of time. Oh, and I want you to get with the promotions department, I want new publicity photos of you for the new layout."

Grace rubbed at her temple. "Okay."

"Are you okay?"

Grace looked up to find Gerry looking at her with concern. "Just a little overwhelmed," she said faintly.

Gerry's face softened. "I'm sorry. I just get so excited." She moved, walking over to sit down next to Grace and put a maternal arm around her shoulders. "Tell you what. You just pick up the particulars from Jenny on your way out, take a day or two to absorb everything, and if you have any questions, we'll talk after the weekend."

Grace forced her face into a smile. "Sounds great."

Gerry patted her shoulder. "Wonderful." She rose to her feet, keeping her arm firm on Grace's shoulder so there was no choice but to rise and follow. "Take some time, let it sink in, and call me after the weekend."

Grace nodded her head like a puppet on a string. "Okay. Thanks, Gerry."

"No problem." Gerry smiled as she ushered her out the door. "Jenny, make sure Grace has all the information on the new column requirements and marketing campaign?"

Jenny snapped her grape bubble gum and grinned, her lip piercing flashing in the fluorescent light. "No prob, Ger."

"Great. Have a wonderful weekend, Grace, and I'll talk to you Monday."

"Great. Bye." Grace blinked at the door as it closed then turned back to Jenny. "Oh my God."

"That bad, huh?" Jenny snapped her gum sympathetically.

"No, not bad really. Just...I'm not sure."

"Hey, it seems pretty cool to me. You've got the best job around here—testing sex toys? Now you get to test them with men. That's hot."

"Right. Hot." If she had a man to test them with, which she did not. Grace took a deep breath and tried not to throw up. "Can I get that information?"

"Hmm? Oh sure." Jenny reached into a file drawer and came out with an expansion file, passing it over. "Here you go. What are you going to test first?"

Grace was busy goggling at the sheer size of the file. "Hmm? Oh, I'm not sure."

"Well, the first thing I think you should try is one of those lesbian dildos."

That got Grace's attention. "What?"

Jenny waved a hand in the air. "That's not what they're called. Duh. How un-PC, you know? But lesbians use them a lot. It's one of those dildos where there're insertable ends for both the fucker," she twitched her fingers into quotation marks, "and the fuckee."

Grace frowned. "You mean a double-headed dildo?"

Jenny shook her head. "No, no. I mean sort of, but the part that goes into the fucker isn't really dick-shaped. It's more like an egg, and it's curved so it won't come out during the fucking, and it also presses against your G-spot. So like, when you're fucking another girl with the dick-shaped end, you're feeling it too. It's more like a real fuck than a strap-on."

Grace nodded. "I'm not a lesbian."

"Oh, I know. That's not what I meant." Jenny looked around then gestured for Grace to come closer. "I didn't mean you should use it for a girl," she whispered. "What you should do is have your boyfriend wear it."

"Huh?"

"You know." Jenny waggled her thumb. "With the egg-shaped part up his ass."

Grace blinked again. "What would that do?"

"Then it's like he's got two dicks and he can fuck you in your pussy and your ass at the same time." Jenny nodded sagely. "It's pretty fuckin' cool."

"I bet." Grace summoned up as bright a smile as she could manage, what with her head exploding like it was. "But it's not really my thing."

Jenny shrugged. "Just a thought. Oh!" Her hand shot out to grab Grace's arm. "Or you could fuck him with it!"

Grace swallowed the hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat. "Also not my thing," she whispered.

"Bummer," Jenny said, and blew a grape-scented bubble.

"Totally," Grace agreed, and watched the bubble pop and smother the lip piercing. "See you Monday."

Jenny mumbled a reply, picking gum out of her lip ring, and Grace staggered to the elevator.

"Christ, why did I quit smoking?"

# Chapter Two

"So, how's work going?" Caroline asked.

"Good. Great." Grace tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned a hip on the counter next to her best friend. "I broke another vibrator yesterday."

Caroline smiled at the white-haired matron currently giving them the stink eye over the artificial butter-flavored grease pump at the concession stand. "Hi, nice to see you. Enjoy your movie." She waited until the old lady had moved on to the napkin dispenser before turning reproachful brown eyes on Grace. "What's with you?" she muttered, and pumped grease over her popcorn.

Grace shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't see Grandma Moses standing there. This was a good one though. Nice battery life, good power. I give it an eight."

"Why, God?" Caroline beseeched the butter pump. "Why did I go to medical school and become a surgeon when I could've gotten a job testing sex toys for a living?"

"Because you were a good girl and studied."

"You studied," Caroline said, a hint of her native Georgia in her voice. "All hands-on labs of the human reproductive system of course, but still...it was studying."

Grace gaped at her friend. "Best friends since college and this is how you talk to me," she said over Caroline's giddy laughter. "Nice. Can you hurry up? We're going to miss the previews."

"Okay, just a little more." She gave the pump one last push then picked up the shaker of salt.

Grace watched a blizzard of sodium soak into the greasy popcorn. "Are you sure you're a doctor?"

"All that business about grease and salt being bad for you, it's just propaganda," Caroline said, giving the shaker a last, jubilant toss.

"What about smoking?"

"That's really bad for you."

Grace fell into step with her friend, heading toward theater number four. The casual observer might have thought they were sisters with the same pale coloring and dark brown hair, though Grace had cut hers short in a sassy shag that bounced when she walked. Their physical similarities ended with coloring and attitude, however. Grace's features were sharper, finer than Caroline's apple cheeks and button nose, and she stood at least a head taller than her friend. Out of habit, she shortened her stride to match Caroline's as they walked.

Grace looked down at the popcorn as Caroline shoehorned a handful into her mouth. "I think my blood pressure is going up just being next to you."

Caroline snorted then coughed up popcorn. "Paranoia."

They ducked into the theater, picking their way to two seats in the middle. "What're we seeing again?" Grace asked.

"Something about man's eternal struggle to achieve oneness with the universe."

"Pointless and gratuitous sex?"

"And explosions."

"Cool."

* * *

"I thought the acting was excellent. Okay, I thought the explosions were excellent," Caroline amended at Grace's incredulous look, "and the acting was mediocre."

"I'll go with that," Grace said, and licked her ice cream cone. "And the sex?"

"Eh."

"Agreed."

"Okay, so speaking of sex." Caroline arched a brow. "Another vibrator?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "Geez, you make it sound like I'm going around town, destroying vibrators with the awesome and powerful contractions of my pussy."

"Aren't you?"

"I dropped it on the bathroom floor."

"What happened to the other two you broke?"

"Fine." She threw up her hands. "Those I broke with the awesome and powerful contractions of my pussy. But I maintain they were inferior products, which could not hold up to normal use. And if you make some crack about my 'use' not being 'normal', she warned as Caroline choked on her ice cream, "I'm pouring pepper on your Rocky Road."

"All kidding aside," Caroline said after she'd stopped laughing, "how are thing going at the magazine? You had your meeting with the new owner today, right? What's she like?"

"She's pretty cool, actually." Grace caught a drip of butter pecan just before it hit her knuckles. "Think earth mother CEO, with a seriously classy wardrobe and a mouth like a trucker."

Caroline's mouth twitched. "Sounds interesting. How'd the meeting go?"

Grace took a deep breath. "She wants to change the main focus of the column from toys for women to toys for couples."

Caroline blinked. "Wow. How do you feel about that?"

"Terrified," Grace admitted. She grimaced at her melting cone and reached out to drop it in a trash bin. "I mean, it would be one thing if I had a man to test this stuff out with," she continued, wiping her fingers with a napkin. "But I don't. So what do I do?"

"Hmm." Caroline munched her cone. "You could try them yourself, I guess, and speculate what it would be like with someone else."

"I can't do that. I've been writing that column for two years and never once have I lied about a product." Grace shook her head. "I can't start doing it now."

"Okay, that's valid. What about farming them out? You know, guest reviewers. Give them to your married or attached friends, get the scoop and pass it along. You wouldn't have to lie, you say it's not your experience. I bet it would still be a great column."

"I thought about that," Grace admitted, "and it's an option, but I don't want to go there just yet. It doesn't feel right."

"So, what are you left with? Finding a relationship—"

"Or fuck buddy."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Or fuck buddy to try all these toys out with."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

They looked at each other across the table for a long moment, brown eyes boring into gray, then Caroline popped the last of her ice cream into her mouth. "C'mon," she mumbled. "We need liquor."

"Damn right," Grace mumbled, and followed her friend out the door.

* * *

"Where are we?" Grace blinked bleary eyes and poked Caroline in the ribs. "Caroline!"

"I'm awake! What?" Caroline wiped the drool from the side of her mouth and sat up so fast she smacked her face into the headrest of the seat in front of her. "Ow."

Their driver swiveled around in the driver's seat. "You okay, baby?"

Caroline narrowed her eyes suspiciously then gasped, a giddy and slightly lopsided smile breaking out on her cherubic face. "Mark! Hi, baby! How did you get here?" She turned to Grace. "Look, Grace, it's my hesssbund. My huzzbend. It's Mark!"

"I think he picked us up from the bar," Grace said, and reached around the seat to tap Mark on the shoulder. "Mark, where are we?"

He turned to face her, his handsome face inexplicably blurry. "We're at your apartment, Grace."

"Oh." Grace all but pressed her nose to the window. "Oh, there it is. Hi, house!" She fumbled with the handle until finally Mark got out and opened the door for her. "Thanks, Mark. Bye, Caroline!"

Caroline leaned out the open door. "Hey!" she said, her voice a hissing whisper. "Call me tomorrow, okay? 'Cause I wanna know what you decide about having sex with boys. And toys." A drunken giggle escaped. "Toys and boys, boys and toys...it's like a limerick!"

"Shhhh!" Grace shushed her. "It's a secret!"

"Oh right. Sorry." Caroline zipped her lips. "Bye!"

Grace giggled and waved as Mark closed the door. He turned to her, grasping her elbow as he helped her navigate the very straight, very flat path to the front door of her building. "Can you get upstairs by yourself?" he asked.

"Oh sure," she said, fumbling her key into the lock. "You go home with Caroline. I'm fine." She reached up to pat his face, not noticing his wince when she misjudged the distance and slapped him. "You're sweet, Mark. Thanks for driving me home."

"No problem, sweetie. You sure you can make it upstairs?"

She nodded solemnly. "I got it covered."

"I'll give her a hand, Mark."

The voice came from behind and slightly above her, and Grace nearly upended herself craning her neck to see who it was.

"Benjamin! What're you doing here?"

Ben Kettleman grinned at her, sweet and goofy and inexplicably sexy in his wire-rimmed glasses, like a blond-haired, green-eyed Clark Kent. "My mother made cookies." He held up a plastic container, shaking it slightly so the contents rattled. "She wanted to make sure you got some."

Grace swayed slightly as she focused on the container. "Chewy chocolate ginger cookies?"

"She knows they're your favorite."

"I love your mom," she sighed, swaying so hard she rapped her head on his collarbone.

"She loves you too," he said with a chuckle, and wrapped his broad palm around her skull to hold her steady. "How much did you drink?"

"Mmm. Dunno. Good margaritas." She leaned in to him and rubbed her nose against his chest. "You smell good."

His chest rumbled as he chuckled again. "I got it from here, Mark."

"Thanks, man." Grace was jostled slightly as a manly handshake ensued. "I better get back to Caroline before she throws up. I just had the car detailed."

There was another rumbling laugh under her face. "Good luck."

The rumbling was oddly soothing and Grace was slipping toward sleep. Then suddenly the world tilted and she let out a shriek as her eyes flew open.

"Not so loud, okay?" Ben muttered. He jiggled her a little, settling her a little more firmly into the cradle of his arms. He flicked his wrist and somehow tossed the container of cookies up and into her lap. "It's almost midnight."

Grace frowned. "It is?"

"Yeah. Push the elevator button, will you?"

She leaned over and jammed the Up button. "How come you're here so late?"

"I was out in Oak Park having dinner with my mom, and you never go to bed before one or two, so I stopped by on my way home." The elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside. "Hit the button, lush."

"M'not a lush," she muttered, and hit four. "Me and Caroline, we were just celebating."

"Celibate?"

Grace giggled at that until her ribs ached. "That's funny, that's a good one, Ben." She sighed and tilted her head drunkenly on his shoulder as she watched the numbers flash above the doors. "I dunno how I got myself into this mess."

The doors opened and Ben stepped out into the hall. "What mess?"

"This mess, this one I'm in." She grunted as he set her on her feet and she fumbled for her door key.

"Here, let me." He took the keys, found the right one and opened the door with a dexterity only the sober could manage before ushering her in. "What're you talking about?"

She flopped onto the couch with a sigh and watched the room revolve. "I had my meeting with the new owner today."

Ben sat on the coffee table and popped the lid on the box of cookies. "They didn't fire you, did they? They'd be crazy to, you're one of the reasons that rag makes any money." He selected a cookie for himself and held out the container. "Want one?"

Grace leaned forward and inhaled the sweet and spicy scent wafting from the box. "No. I'm going to throw up later, and if I eat one now, it'll ruin them for me. I'll have one for breakfast."

He shrugged and bit into the cookie. "So what'd the owner say?"

Grace sighed. "She wants me to switch the focus of the column to toys and products for couples to use."

"Wow. Can you do that? I mean, you're not part of a couple."

The look she gave him could've seared meat at fifty paces. "I know that, Benjamin!"

He held up his hands. "Sorry," he mumbled, dropping cookie crumbs on his pants.

She sighed. "Ben, is it possible for you to eat without dribbling?"

He looked down at his pants. "Dribbling infers liquids, this is just crumbs." He brushed them off onto the floor then looked back up to find her watching him. "What?"

"Vacuum them up," she said pointedly, and he rolled his eyes, going to the closet for the hand vacuum.

"You're the only woman I know who has three vacuum cleaners," he muttered, sucking up the crumbs.

"Get the ones under the table," she pointed. "It's not weird to have three vacuums. Just because I'm not a slob—"

"Hey, I'm not a slob," he protested, shutting off the vacuum.

"You are a slob," she said, and flopped back to lie against the couch again. "That's why we broke up."

"Is that why?" He took his previous seat on the coffee table. He started to reach for another cookie then apparently decided it would be too much trouble to vacuum up the crumbs again.

"No, that's not why." Grace closed her eyes. "We broke up because you graduated, moved to San Diego and started seeing the girl with the horse teeth."

"She did not have horse teeth," he protested, and she felt him lightly punch her arm.

"Horse teeth," she affirmed, doing her best to hide a grin. "Like Julia Roberts, only ugly and with no charm. What was her name? Heloise, wasn't it?"

"It was Helen, and she was a very nice girl."

"Girls with horse teeth have to be nice," she said. This time the punch wasn't so light and her eyes flew open. "Hey."

"She was very nice."

"Okay, okay, she was very nice. What's with you?"

He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "I just don't like you taking shots at someone you didn't even know. She helped me through a pretty tough time. New city, new job...we'd just broken up. She was good to me."

"I know. I'm sorry. But look at it from my perspective—my boyfriend graduated, took a job two thousand miles away, broke up with me and starting dating someone new all in the same week. I had to find something to hate about her."

"Is this a girl thing?"

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "God. Yes, it's a girl thing." She sat up, clutching her head as the room spun around her. "Man, how much did I drink?"

"I have no idea." He took her hands and hauled her to her feet. "Starting to sober up?"

"Little bit. Shit, my head is killing me." She pressed her fists to her temples.

"You always did metabolize alcohol fast." He turned her gently and guided her toward the hall. "Come on, I'll help you get into bed."

"No, I have to throw up first."

"Then I'll hold your hair," he said gallantly, and followed her into the bathroom.

# Chapter Three

When Grace staggered into the kitchen the next morning, Ben was making waffles.

"Since when do I have a waffle maker?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"You don't." He turned to grin at her, looking domestically adorable in her Fuck the Flambé apron. He slid a batch of waffles to a waiting platter and poured more batter. "Your neighbor did though. Mrs. Kilpatrick? She never gets a chance to use hers since her son moved to Detroit with that woman he married, and she doesn't have anyone to cook for anymore. She loaned me hers."

Grace sank into a chair and laid her forehead on the cool Formica of her fifties kitsch table. "Did she ask you if you were my boyfriend?"

"As a matter of fact." A glass of ice water appeared on the table in front of her, and with a grateful sigh, she drank until it was empty.

"She said I was a nice young man and it was about time you settled down and started a family."

She got up to refill her water with a groan. "I'm sorry. She thinks of me like one of her grandchildren, so she's nosy."

"I thought she was a sweet lady," he said, and she shoved her hair out of her face to smile at him.

"Yeah, she is." She sipped her water this time and watched him transfer another batch of waffles to the platter. "Can I do anything to help?"

"You can get the strawberries out of the fridge."

"You got strawberries?" She opened the fridge and saw a bowl of freshly sliced berries. She pulled it out then noticed the bowl behind it. "And whipped cream?" She shook her head as she carried them to the table. "Why some woman hasn't snatched you up..."

"I'm a catch, all right." He carried the platter to the table. "Whoops, forgot plates."

"Some catch," she muttered, and pulled two out of the cabinet. "Silverware?"

"That I remembered." He sat down and shoveled waffles onto plates. He handed her a fork. "Dig in."

She piled her waffles high with strawberries and whipped cream and forked up a mouthful. "Hmm. Damn, that's good."

"I remembered you used to like waffles after a party," he said, his own mouth full.

She laughed. "We did go to a lot of all-night pancake houses, didn't we?"

"Back when we could drink all night, eat a big breakfast and still make it to class."

"Ah, youth." She snagged another waffle. "These are really good, Ben. You never used to be able to cook like this."

"A guy can only eat so much takeout." He shrugged. "So, I learned to cook."

"Well, it's awesome."

"Thanks. How's your head?"

"A little fuzzy, some mild pounding, but not too bad." She looked up with a sudden frown. "Hey, did you sleep here last night or just come over really early this morning?"

"I stayed in the guest room, but I ran out after you passed out—"

"Fell asleep."

He rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. I went home to pick up Lou and for the stuff to make breakfast." He gave her a reproachful look. "You have Jell-O shots and milk in your fridge."

"Do you know how many restaurants are in a five block radius of this apartment? I'm doing my part for neighborhood revitalization by eating out." Then she realized what else he'd said. "Lou?" Her fork hit her plate with a clatter and she stared at him in horror. "You brought Lou back here?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "What's the big deal? Your landlord's cool with it, right?"

"The landlord?" She curled her hands into fists and barely resisted beating them against his forehead. He had the gall to try to look confused, but she could see he was trying not to laugh. "I don't care if the landlord is cool with it!" She shoved back from the table. "Where is he?"

"In the guest room." He calmly took another bite of waffle, raising an eyebrow when she let out a thin scream. "Problem?"

"I'm going to kill you," she ground out, then dashed from the room.

She flew on bare feet down the hall, using a hand on the wall to slingshot around the corner, past the bathroom and into the guest room. She skidded to a halt on the hand-knotted rug and threw her hands up with a moan. "Dammit."

Lou, who had been snoring as delicately as a freight train into her thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, picked his head up at the sound. He let out a delighted woof that sent drool flying and launched himself at her.

Grace tried to dodge, but her foot caught on the edge of the rug and she found herself flat on her back under one hundred and forty pounds of slobbering Bernese mountain dog.

Ben walked into the room and grinned. "Aww." He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at them. "Look. See, he likes you!"

Grace gritted her teeth. "Get. Him. Off. Me," she muttered, keeping her mouth closed in self-defense since Lou was currently expressing his vast affection for her with sloppy kisses.

"You know, it's good for him to bond with people besides me," Ben drawled, and the sneaky humor in his voice made her want to hit him.

"Ben, I'm so not kidding," she hissed, and with a sigh, he relented.

"You're so rigid. C'mon, Lou, get off." He clapped his hands and with one last full-face slurp, Lou clambered off her to go sit at his master's feet.

Grace lay there for a moment, savoring the sensation of breathing without obscene pressure on her chest, then sat up to glare at the both of them. They wore identical, goofy grins. "Assholes," she muttered, wiping her face with the hem of her T-shirt before standing to see what damage had been done to the bed.

The sage green sheets she'd spent days looking for and way too much money on were bunched in the middle of the bed and covered with dog hair, drool and an unidentified brown substance she was afraid to investigate further. The headboard of the antique sleigh bed—the one she'd had stripped and refinished only last month—bore the same brown streaks and dried drool.

"Son of a bitch, Ben!" She sank to the mattress—the very bottom edge of the mattress where the sheets still resembled top-of-the-line bed linens and not a dog bed—and flung out an arm. "Look at this! There's drool and hair and mud—that better be fucking mud."

"Yes, it's mud." Ben was scratching Lou behind his ears, sending him into doggie ecstasy. "We found a few puddles on the way over last night."

"And what, you can't wipe off his damn feet?" Exasperated, her neatnik heart aching with the pain of betrayal, she turned to Lou. "Your daddy is a jackass, Lou."

Lou abandoned the jackass, trotting over to lay his big head on her lap and stare up at her with soulful eyes. She sighed and stroked his head, digging her fingers into the lush fur on his neck. "It's not that I don't love you, Lou," she explained. "You're just messy."

Lou moaned and thumped his tail in agreement then jumped up on the bed to all but crawl into her lap.

Grace sighed and petted his head again. "Well, the bed's already ruined." She turned narrowed eyes on Ben, who was still grinning like a fool in the doorway. "Which you are going to fix."

If anything, the grin got bigger. "Which I will fix. You're still so cute when you get annoyed."

"Kiss my ass," she muttered, and ignored the little curl of warmth in her belly.

"Hey, speaking of, what're you going to do about the column?" He pushed off the doorframe and joined them on the bed, propping himself against the headboard. He whistled softly for the dog and patted the mattress beside him, but Lou just pushed himself closer to Grace.

She smirked at him, absurdly pleased to be chosen. "What about the column?"

"You told me last night they want you to focus on couple's stuff," he said, stuffing one of her pillows—her pretty, silk, hundred-dollar, down-filled accent pillow—into a tiny ball and wedging it behind his neck. He smirked this time. "Since you're not part of a couple—"

She threw up her hands. "You, Caroline. I know I'm not part of a couple, why does everyone feel like they have to remind me?" She felt a bump on her elbow as Lou nudged her. "Sorry, Lou," she said, and resumed petting.

"Well, it does seem to be a major issue," Ben said. "What's your plan?"

She sighed and stretched out, pushing her feet out alongside his and settling against the footboard. "I don't know. One of the options Caroline suggested would be to use test couples. You know, give the toys to couples I know or advertise for, get a review from them and publish that."

"Sounds like a viable option," he said. "So why don't you like it?"

She shrugged. "It's my column, you know? I get a lot of mail from readers who like what I have to say, like my perspective. If I publish someone else's experiences, it won't really be mine anymore, will it?" She winced. "Does that sound self-centered?"

"Nah," he said. "It sounds like you want to make sure your readers get the quality they're used to."

She smiled, nudging his leg with hers. "Thanks."

He winked and nudged her back. "Welcome."

As they fell into companionable silence, Grace was struck again by how handsome he was. Sun-streaked hair, eyes the color of spring moss, a body made fit and fine by years of athletic pursuits. He'd been cute in college, but he was one of those men who just seemed to get better-looking as he aged. The lines and wrinkles that hadn't been there at twenty-two just added character to his face, changed it from that of a pretty boy to that of a man. Not for the first time she wondered where they'd be now if he hadn't taken the job in San Diego right after graduation, and if she hadn't been so stubborn and prideful as to demand he choose between her and his budding career.

He'd done the only thing a boy of twenty-two could do when presented with a job in major league baseball—he'd taken it and left her behind. She was big enough to admit it was the right choice for him to make. He'd climbed up the ladder fast, becoming one of the best scouts in baseball, and it made him happy. Staying together would have been poison for both of them, so she was glad he'd had the courage to make his choice, even if she did sometimes wonder "what if".

She felt a nudge on her foot and looked up to find him watching her, a curious expression on his face.

"Where did you go?" he asked. "You didn't hear a word I just said."

"Nowhere important," she said with a smile. "My mind wandered, is all. What were you saying?"

He looked as if he wanted to press further, but let it go. "I asked what the other options were for the column."

"Other options? Oh," she nodded. "Well, the other two options I came up with are to still pass the toys to other people and pimp the experiences as my own. I don't really count that as a viable one though. If I can't see crediting other people's reviews, I sure can't see stealing them."

"Makes sense. What's the other one?"

She grimaced. "Find someone to do the reviews with."

"You mean...?"

"Yes, I mean." She glared at him while he grinned at her. "What, you want me to say it? Find someone to act as a fuck buddy for the express purpose of helping me test sex toys and products designed for use by couples."

He laughed at her. "You say that like you're tasting arsenic."

"It's just not an appealing idea, you know?" She concentrated on hitting the sweet spot behind Lou's left ear and watched his eyes roll in doggy delight. "I've never been one for casual sex and this feels...I don't know, mercenary."

"How is it mercenary if the guy knows the score?"

She shrugged. "It's not, I guess. It just doesn't feel right." She sighed again. "I'll probably go with option one and find some couples who are willing to do reviews for me. It won't be so bad, I guess. I'll still be able to do the occasional single-girl review. It'll be fine."

"I've got another idea," he said, and his expressive face was suddenly so serious her instincts went on high alert.

Ben was never serious.

"What's that?" she asked, her fingers pausing in their scratching. She felt Lou raise his head as she stopped, but she ignored it, concentrating on Ben's face.

"I'll be your fuck buddy."

Grace realized her mouth had fallen open in shock when Lou sat up, annoyed that she'd stopped scratching his ears and licked right into her mouth. She shoved his head away, sputtering and spitting while Ben rolled with laughter.

"Not funny!" She booted him in the thigh with her foot, but Lou had taken the sudden burst of activity as an invitation to play and was trying to leap all over both of them at the same time, and she was too busy fending him off to put much behind the kick.

"Like hell," he managed, holding his ribs and gasping for breath. Lou transferred his attention to Ben, pouncing like a puppy instead of a hundred-and-forty-pound behemoth. She hoped he cracked ribs.

Ben managed to shove Lou off the bed just as Grace was sliding off the mattress. He clamped a hand on her ankle. "Whoa, where're you going?"

"Uh, to brush my teeth?" she said, only lying a little bit. "Your dog just French kissed me."

His expression told her he wasn't completely buying it, but she was saved when Lou bounced back up on the bed and knocked him flat. He let go of her ankle to fend off the dog, and she scrambled off the bed, darting into the hall and heading for her bedroom with the attached master bath.

She shut the door behind her just as she heard the mad scramble of toenails on her hardwood floors, followed closely by a knock. "Hey," Ben called, his voice muffled by the door. "I'm going to feed Lou, okay?"

"Okay," she called back. She listened for a second to the sounds of man and dog heading to the kitchen then turned on the faucet and reached for her toothbrush.

She spent the next two minutes on oral hygiene and a mental pep talk. Obviously, Ben had been joking. He'd never given any indication he wanted anything more than friendship from her. In the year since he'd moved back to Chicago, they'd settled into a very comfortable buddy relationship, no fuck included, and it seemed to suit both of them just fine. The only reason the suggestion—joke, she amended. It was a joke. The only reason his joke was freaking her out was because she'd just been thinking about how things had been with them when they were together. It was just timing.

"That's all. Just timing." She rinsed her mouth and took a few calming breaths in the mirror. She winced at the state of her face—going to bed with makeup on was never a good idea—and took an extra minute to wash away the mascara streaks. She wiped her face with a towel, dabbed at the wet spot on the front of her T-shirt then hung the towel precisely back on the rack and opened the door.

She headed for the closet, intending to get dressed while Ben was busy in the kitchen, then stopped short when she saw him lying on her bed.

"Where's the dog?"

"He ate his breakfast, now he's taking a nap on your kitchen floor." He grinned at her and her belly did that funny little flip again. "So?"

She frowned at him. "So, what?"

"So, you haven't said anything about my offering myself up on the altar of your career." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She reached out to smack him on the leg. "Don't make jokes."

He reached out a hand and snagged her wrist, catching her off guard and pulling her down on the bed to sit next to him. She was suddenly acutely aware that all she had on was a very brief pair of panties and an old T-shirt.

"Who's making jokes?" he said, his voice low and intimate. He kept his hand on her, fingers lightly circling her wrist. She knew she could twist free with one move, but nevertheless felt chained to him.

"Ben, come on." She tried a laugh but it came out high-pitched and nervous, making her wish she'd stuck with stern disapproval. "We've been broken up for ten years."

"Yeah, but we were kids when we broke up. I wanted the job, and I thought you were just being stubborn, making me suffer a little for leaving you behind. I never meant for it to actually split us apart."

This time the laugh was genuine if a little sad. "And I thought you were just being stubborn, making me suffer for not being as supportive as you wanted me to be. I guess we were both too stubborn and prideful for our own good."

"We were kids." He'd started a slow stroking motion on her wrist, making it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying. "We thought it had to be all or nothing."

"I sure did," she agreed.

"We know better now." He was still stroking her wrist. "Don't you ever wonder what it would be like, where we'd be now, if we had never broken up?"

She wasn't about to admit she'd been thinking that very thing not ten minutes ago. "Probably divorced," she said cynically, and he clucked his tongue at her.

"I doubt it," he murmured. "We'd probably have three kids by now and a house in Oak Park."

"And you wouldn't be one of the top scouts in the major leagues, and I wouldn't have my writing, and we'd both be miserable drunks." She laid her hand on his chest in a gesture intended to comfort. "You made the right choice by going to San Diego, Ben. For both of us, no matter how I felt about it at the time."

He laid his hand over hers, trapping it against the firm warmth of his chest and making her heart beat heavier. "I know. And now, back to my original question. So?"

"Okay, where is this coming from? You took the job with the White Sox a full year ago, and this is the first time I've ever seen anything like this from you since you moved back."

He sat up suddenly, bringing his face within inches of hers. "Then you haven't been looking," he murmured. "Come on, give me a shot." He grinned. "I've gotten better at this stuff over the last ten years."

"That was never your problem," she muttered, and ignored the grin. "This isn't about rekindling old romances, Ben. It's about my job, my career."

"Why can't it be both?" He tightened his grip on her hand when she would have pulled away. "Look, like I said before—it's not mercenary if I know the score. You said yourself you're not one for casual sex, and I know you don't want to have to farm these reviews out to other people."

She could feel herself wavering. "Okay, I'll admit I've wondered what we might've had if we'd stayed together. But—"

"But nothing. What are you worried about? That we won't have the old magic still, or that we will?"

"Both," she said, and he blinked in surprise at her candor. "What if I agree to do this and we hurt each other? What if we lose our friendship? I spent too many years hating you before we could get to this place, and I like it. I like being your friend. I don't want to lose that."

"You won't. You won't," he repeated when she opened her mouth to speak. "We'll keep it casual, nothing heavy. If either one of us feels like we can't go on, we just say so. No harm, no foul."

There was a serious flaw somewhere in that logic, but he was still stroking her wrist and she couldn't quite focus on it.

"You're not seeing anyone, I'm not seeing anyone." His voice had gone low and sexy in that way he had. It used to drive her crazy in college. Apparently, it still did. "We know each other. You know as well as I do, if you try to do this with anyone else, you're going to feel awkward as hell."

She barely suppressed the wince—he was right. She really wasn't comfortable with casual sex, and the idea of hooking up with a stranger just to make her career—well, it sucked. But still...

"I feel like I'd be using you," she said, struggling to put the feeling into words. "Like a stud for hire or something."

"You're going to pay me? Cool." He laughed when she smacked at him, catching her hand so he was holding both of them. "It's not like that, and you know it. This is just one friend helping out another."

"Great." She rolled her eyes. "Now I feel like a charity case. Mercy fuck, your table is ready."

"Mercy fuck?" His grip on her hands tightened so suddenly she turned to him in surprise. His green eyes were glittering, sharp and fierce behind his glasses, and his expression carried an intensity that hadn't been there a moment before. "Darlin', trust me. If I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't. I'd help you cruise the singles bars, I'd write an internet personal ad for you. Hell, I'd buy you a stud for hire. But if I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't."

Then he kissed her.

Grace jerked in surprise when his lips touched hers, but he kept his touch light and gentle, the very tip of his tongue coming out to flit along the seam of her closed lips. They parted involuntarily at the contact, and immediately his tongue swept in.

All she could think was he tasted the same. How could he taste the same after ten years? But he did. The same combination of warm spice and cool mint swamped her senses as his tongue tangled with hers and her heart started to pound.

He broke the kiss before she was ready and she barely caught the whimper of protest before it escaped. But he wasn't going anywhere, just to the spot behind her left ear. He remembered, she thought, then her eyes fluttered shut and her head fell back on a moan.

She felt more than heard the low chuckle. "Well, that still works," he murmured.

"Oh yeah," she breathed, and curled her fingers into fists to keep from grabbing hold of him and dragging him on top of her.

Then he gently scraped his teeth against her, just below and behind her earlobe, and thoughts of restraint flew right out the window.

They rolled on the bed together like two kids in the backseat of a car, all roving hands and probing tongues. "Oh my God," she breathed. She fumbled his glasses off his nose, reaching behind her to drop them in the direction of the bedside table before she dragged his T-shirt off. "Oh my God, you're still so built." Her hands flew over his body, tracing hard muscle and smooth skin with trembling fingers.

"So are you," he mumbled against her neck, and slid his hands under her T-shirt to fill them with her breasts. They both moaned, and he picked his head up to watch her as he relearned her shape.

"In the guest room earlier, you used the hem of your T-shirt to wipe Lou's slobber off your face."

"Reminding me that your dog is in my house is really not the best way to seduce me," she panted then arched up into his hands as he squeezed.

"You used your T-shirt to wipe off your face," he repeated, "and you didn't even realize you were flashing me." He grinned at the surprise on her face.

"Got an eyeful, did you?" She was breathless now with lust, the verbal dance just adding to the excitement.

"Just a glimpse. No nipple, just this curve here," he traced the plump underside of her breast with a rough fingertip, eyes glittering with heat. "This warm, soft, sweet-smelling curve. It made me think how much I always loved your breasts. You remember?"

Boy, did she. He'd always been a breast man, sometimes spending ages just fondling and stroking her chest. He'd get her so worked up that by the time he'd had enough of her boobs, she'd all but tackle him and pin him to the ground.

He smiled at her as he continued to stroke her gently. "You do remember," he murmured.

"Oh vaguely." She was pretty proud when her voice only wavered a little—not bad, considering she wasn't getting any oxygen to her brain.

His face fell into an exaggerated frown. "Only vaguely? I'll just have to remind you," he said, and before she could so much as squeak, he'd flipped her T-shirt up over her face and was licking a path of fire on her breast as he held it in place.

Behind a shield of white cotton, Grace moaned, arching up into his mouth as he curled his tongue around her nipple. He laved her breasts with licks and kisses and the occasional biting nibble to keep her on edge. It was the same routine he'd used in college, and it was still amazingly effective. After about thirty seconds, her hands were clutched in his hair, holding his head in place. He squeezed her just hard enough and scraped her nipple with the edge of his teeth, and she let out a high-pitched squeak as she hooked one leg around his ass, trying to drag him closer.

Suddenly his mouth was gone, and through the veil of her shirt, she saw the shadow of him sit up. He whipped his own T-shirt over his head, sending it sailing across the room, and when he hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties, she started fighting her way out of her own shirt. By the time she'd struggled free and was pulling it over her head, her panties had joined his T-shirt in the corner. He hauled her thighs apart, yanked her hips high and dove into her.

The squeak turned into a full-fledged scream as he went after her like a starving man with a four-course meal. He set out to destroy her with lips, teeth and tongue, working her with a desperate sort of hunger that was as much a turn-on as the slick friction of his tongue on her pussy.

Her hands grappled for purchase, sliding across back and shoulders already slick with sweat before finally sliding up to tangle themselves in his hair. He grunted as she all but tore his hair out.

"Oh my God," she breathed, her head spinning and sparks going off behind her eyes. "Oh wow, you got so good at this!"

She felt him grin just before he picked his head up to wink at her. "It's been ten years, give me some credit."

"Oh, I do," she assured him. "Credit for years, no money down. Just keep doing that." And she dragged his head back down to her swollen cunt.

The next time he picked up his head, she'd had two orgasms and was lying in a limp heap, nearly unconscious with pleasure. She forced her eyes open when she felt him looming over her.

"If you go to sleep on me," he warned, "I'm giving Lou a bath in your whirlpool tub."

She laughed. "Heavy threats. But don't worry." She lifted her arms to twine them around his neck. "I'm not done. I want my turn."

The pleased grin turned confused. "You just had two turns, if I'm not mistaken."

She shook her head. "Not what I mean." She pushed up, forcing him to rise up on his arms, and twisted so he rolled to his back. She swept her hair out of her face as she leaned over him, reaching for the button fly of his jeans.

The confusion on his face cleared when she popped the buttons, turning to flushed pleasure as she delved into the opening to pull out his erect cock. When she leaned over, swiping her tongue with delicate precision over the sensitive crown, his eyes rolled back and it was his turn to tangle his hands in her hair.

She remembered a few things from their frenzied encounters in her college dorm room; he loved a firm touch on the shaft of his cock, and a light touch on his crown and balls drove him crazy. Determined to prove she too had learned a few things over the years, she licked, sucked and stroked until his hips were surging off the bed with every touch and her scalp ached from his desperate tugs on her hair.

She was just settling into the deep rhythm she knew would make him nuts when he dragged her off his cock and pushed his face into hers. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving like a bellows and his voice was shaky and rough. "Condoms. Where?"

"In the—" she leaned toward the nightstand, wincing when his grip on her hair brought her up short. "Ben?"

"Oh. Sorry." He unclenched his hands and she scrambled across the mattress to dig into the nightstand. She came up with a handful of condoms, scattering them across the bed like confetti as she scooted back over to his side. He reached for one of the foil packets she still held in her hands but she pulled them out of reach.

"I wanna," she panted, tearing one open with her teeth and pushing him to lie on his back. Keeping her eyes on his, she sucked the reservoir tip of the rubber between her lips and winked at him.

"You're killing me," he groaned.

She kept her eyes open and on his, watching him watch her as she placed her mouth at the tip of his cock. Using mouth and hands, she rolled the condom all the way down his shaft, turning the simple and unsexy act of protecting them both into a sensual tango.

She barely had time to draw back—and if she tickled his glans a bit with her tongue on the way, well, who could blame her?—before he was pulling her up by her shoulders. "Ride me," he panted. His grip shifted to her hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and dragged her into place.

"Wait, just let me—" She reached between them to grasp his cock and hold it in place. Her legs quivered with tension as she slowly lowered herself, then he was sliding inside her.

They moaned in unison as her pussy clamped down, preventing him from going any farther. Grace whimpered in frustration and raised herself up slightly before lowering again. This time she was able to take him to the hilt.

"Oh shit," Ben groaned. "Jesus, you're tight."

Grace was concentrating on breathing. "It's been...a while. Were you always this big?"

That startled a laugh out of him. "Flattery will get you fucked, lady."

She looked down at him, sweaty and beautiful and wanting her, and felt her pussy throb with excitement. "No," she managed. "Let me." She started to ride.

She lost herself in it, in him. All but drowned in his eyes, in the lust swimming in them as her hips pumped, taking him over and over again. He reached up, filling his palms with her breasts again, stroking and teasing so she moved faster, took him deeper until they were racing. The room filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, with harsh moans and quickened breathing.

She was sweating. Her skin glistened with it in the morning light, her hair damp at the temples. She could feel herself climbing toward orgasm, that quickening deep within she rarely felt so quickly or strongly. Especially after having already reached climax twice and hardly ever without direct clitoral stimulation, but it was happening.

She reached out, blindly reaching for his hands, gripping them tight as their fingers twined. "Oh God, Ben. Oh God, I'm so close."

"Thank God," he growled, his voice so low it was almost unintelligible. His hips surged to meet her, pushing her higher, nudging her G-spot.

"There," she managed. "Oh right there, Christ, yes!"

Her muscles locked down for one agonizing moment before it broke, the orgasm bursting through her like fireworks. Dimly she heard him roar out his own satisfaction and deliberately clamped down, prolonging the pleasure for both of them until she finally collapsed against him.

* * *

It was the sensation of her toes being licked that shook Grace out of her post sex haze. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking for a moment in confusion until she realized she was looking at Ben's left nipple. She frowned—if she was lying on his chest, he couldn't be licking her toes, so who...?

"Agh!" She was up like a shot, scrambling as far up the bed as she could until she was practically molded to the headboard.

"What, what's wrong?" Ben had sat straight up when she moved and was looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

She pointed at the foot of the bed where Lou was resting his face against the mattress, doing his best to look pitiful and unloved. "He was licking my toes!"

Ben grinned at her. "He likes you."

"I don't care, he can't lick my toes!"

He was laughing now as he grabbed hold of her ankle and dragged her back down into his arms. "Why not? It's not like you're going to eat with your feet."

She frowned as she snuggled back into his chest, keeping a wary eye on Lou and her feet tucked close to Ben's legs. "It's creepy, is all."

"Why?"

She shrugged then said sheepishly, "Because I kind of liked it."

Ben roared with laughter, dodging her as she poked and pinched in retaliation.

"Not funny," she said, digging into his ribs.

"Really, really funny," he disagreed, and in a quick move, pinned her to the mattress. "So?"

She yanked at her arms but he held her fast. "So, what?"

"So, how about it?" He looked at her expectantly. "Are you going to take me up on my offer?"

"Oh." She frowned. She hadn't been thinking about that at all, which was a little worrisome. "Are you sure you want to do this, Ben?"

"Absolutely," he assured her.

She searched his eyes, looking for any hint of insecurity or hesitation, but they stayed clear and unblinking. "If you're sure..."

He rolled his eyes. "What, do you want me to sing it? You're making this too complicated. Which doesn't surprise me, that's what you do. But, yes, I'm sure. It was my idea, wasn't it?"

"Okay. Then we'll do it."

He grinned. "Great. You won't regret it."

"Well, I don't think we should jump off that bridge yet, but you got yourself a deal at least. Wanna shake on it?"

The grin widened and he shook his head. She raised an eyebrow. "Kiss on it?"

"For a start."

She grinned back. "Get rid of the dog first."

# Chapter Four

Grace checked her reflection in the mirrored entryway of her favorite Ethiopian restaurant. Her dark hair was a bit tousled but that was okay, it could be blamed on the stylishly shaggy haircut. Her skin was flushed, but she'd just say she jogged from the El stop. It was hot outside, so that might work. She could probably get away with the sparkly eyes because who really noticed when someone's eyes were sparkling? They were really shining though, she mused, like pewter polished to a high gleam. Who knew shiny eyes were a side effect of good sex?

The one thing she was going to have trouble explaining away were the bee-stung lips. She frowned in the mirror. There was really no way to explain bee-stung lips, unless of course you were Angelina Jolie and came by them naturally, which she wasn't and didn't, and...shit, was that whisker burn? She leaned closer to the mirror, examining the slight redness around her mouth she hadn't noticed when she left the house. "Well, hell," she muttered.

She checked her watch and winced. "Damn." No time to do anything about it, she'd just have to hope the restaurant was as dim as usual and that Caroline was unobservant. A long shot, but it was all she had.

Caroline popped up like a puppet on a string the minute Grace walked into the dining room, waving to beckon her to the corner table she'd staked out. Grace's mind raced as she picked her way through the scatter of tables, trying to come up with something they could discuss besides her column, her sex life or Ben. By the time she got to the table, the only thing she'd come up with was—

"Sweetie, are you retaining water?"

Caroline laughed in her face. "Don't try to distract me with insults. You had sex!"

Grace sank into her chair with a groan. "What gave it away?"

"You have whisker burn and make-out mouth." Caroline shrugged. "Plus Mark told me Ben was there when we dropped you off last night."

Grace frowned. "So, what, that means I'm going to automatically have sex with him?"

"No, not usually." Caroline flipped open one of the menus laying on the table. "But when you factor in your recent career challenges, the fact you were shit-faced and he totally still wants you—"

Grace felt her jaw all but hit the table. "What?"

Caroline looked up from the menu. "Geez, Grace, you can't be that blind. He's always had a thing for you."

"We were in college, for Christ's sake!" Grace knew her mouth was still hanging open like a dying fish, but she couldn't seem to get past the shock. "He has not been carrying a torch for me for the last ten years." She reached out to grab her friend's wrist. "He hasn't, has he?"

"No, of course not," Caroline scoffed. She patted Grace's hand reassuringly then frowned. "At least, I don't think so."

"Oh geez," Grace muttered, dragging her hands over her face. "I can't handle this."

"Oh, don't be such a pussy," Caroline chided, and turned back to her menu. "We'll order some food, a drink or two—"

"No. No liquor," Grace interrupted.

"Okay, ginger tea for you then, but I'm getting a martini," Caroline said, and signaled for the waiter.

* * *

"So, I don't think he's carrying a torch for you, exactly," Caroline mumbled around a mouthful of injera bread and Ingudai tibs. The appetizer, made with portabella mushrooms and onions in a red wine and spiced butter sauce was Grace's favorite, but her appetite seemed to have deserted her, so Caroline was taking advantage.

"See, when you guys broke up, it was really sudden, right?"

Grace inclined her head in agreement and sipped her tea. "Yeah. I mean, we sort of knew things were going to change when he moved to California, but we didn't think it was going to be the end. We were going to try the long distance thing, but a week later we were broken up."

"Okay. And when you did break up, it wasn't in person, right? It was over the phone?"

"Yeah." Grace grabbed a piece of injera and scooped up a mouthful of the fragrant dish, and Caroline frowned.

"Hey, you said you weren't hungry."

"Not much keeps me from eating, including not being hungry," Grace said. She waggled her fingers in a come-ahead gesture. "You were saying?"

Caroline let out a huff and pulled the bowl closer to her. "I was saying you guys broke up in a really abstract way. Over the phone, no physical contact, no real closure, right?" She didn't wait for an affirmative answer before she went on. "And then you didn't see each other again until he came back here last year."

Grace dragged the bowl back. "Keep going."

"So maybe it's not that he's carrying a torch, it's that your whole relationship is unfinished."

"That's idiotic."

"Really not," Caroline said. "Just hear me out. You have no closure to the sexual, romantic part of your relationship because when you broke up, it was too abstract, too vague."

"Uh, it was pretty un-vague," Grace disagreed, "when we both started sleeping with other people."

"Don't be so literal," Caroline said. "I mean it's unfinished in the sense that you never got to say the things people say to each other when they break up. You just had a polite, strained phone conversation—"

"How do you know?"

"Duh, you told me."

"Oh. Right." Grace waved her on. "Sorry."

"Where was I?" Caroline frowned. "Oh right. You had no closure. But now you've had sex and you can close that chapter of your relationship, moving on as friends."

"Sure. We could do that. Except I agreed to use him as my fuck buddy for the couples' section of the column so we're about to be having a lot more sex."

It gave Grace a perverse sort of satisfaction to see Caroline's mouth drop open. "Are you serious?"

Grace leaned forward, her expression fierce as she looked at her friend. "Caroline, do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No," Caroline decided. "You really don't. How did this happen?"

The waiter chose that moment to deliver their entrees and Grace waited until he'd cleared the appetizer bowl—all but licked clean—and laid out their meals before she spoke.

"I was drunk," she said, tearing the injera and tucking into her spicy beef with a sigh of pleasure. "When Mark walked me up to the building, Ben was there. His mom had made my favorite cookies so he brought me some. I never did get to eat any," she mused.

"Cookies, schmookies, get to the good stuff," Caroline prodded.

"In a nutshell, I told him about the column, threw up and passed out."

Caroline grimaced. "Sexy."

"It was kind of sweet, actually. He held my hair when I threw up."

"Can we stop talking about vomit? I'm eating here."

"You asked." Grace smirked, and scooped up more beef. "Anyway, I wake up this morning and he's making me waffles."

"Wait." Caroline held up a hand. "You didn't have sex last night?"

"Do you like having sex with a puking drunk?"

Caroline made a face and shoved her plate away. "Point taken. So he made you breakfast...?"

"Right, and then I find out he brought the damn dog over and there was drool and hair and mud all over my new guestroom linens—"

"And you still slept with him?"

"And then he asked me what I was going to do about the column, and I said I didn't know, and he said, 'do me'," she finished. "I'm not really sure how we ended up having sex, but it's hard to regret."

Caroline waggled her eyebrows. "That good, huh?"

"Oh my God, he has learned so much since college."

Caroline laughed. "Score! So you settled your column problem, got laid and he made you waffles." She pulled her plate in front of her and dug in. "Sounds like a sweet deal to me."

"Yeah, it sure does," Grace agreed, and Caroline frowned at her.

"You don't sound convinced."

"It's just...all you said about our romantic past not being reconciled. Do you really think that's why he's doing this?"

"I don't know." Caroline looked at Grace with exaggerated patience. "It's just a theory, Grace. I'm not a therapist. Surgeons know almost nothing about psychiatry, we actually try to stay as far away from it as possible. I'm talking out of my ass, here."

"Well stop, 'cause you're freaking me out."

"Hey, if you're worried about it, just talk to him. Probably ought to do it before you start testing toys."

"We're meeting tonight to get started."

Caroline reached into her purse. "Wanna borrow my phone?"

# Chapter Five

Ben opened his door at ten-thirty that night to a very nervous-looking Grace. He smiled. Making Grace nervous was one of his favorite things to do. She was holding a large cardboard box and chewing on her lower lip. He had the sudden urge to lick away the teeth marks.

He stood back instead, waving her in. "Come on in. Can I take that?"

She hesitated on the stoop. "Where's Lou?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"Visiting my sister for the night. Her kids are using him as entertainment for a sleepover. Your toes are safe."

She rolled her eyes, passing him the box as she crossed the threshold and wandered into his living room. She looked around with interest, taking in the décor, and he realized she hadn't been in his place since he'd moved back to Chicago.

He set the box, which by the rattle of the contents he assumed held some of the products they were going to be testing, on the piano bench. "Wine?" he asked. "I've got a nice Barolo to go with Mom's cookies."

"Red wine and chocolate ginger cookies," she said, lips twitching with amusement. He saw her snag a cookie from the plate on the piano and munch absently as she stared at the painting on the wall.

"You remember when we found that?" he asked as he poured her a glass and carried it to her.

She turned to smile at him, her eyes shining. "The flea market in Indiana just before you graduated. That woman tried to get us to pay four hundred bucks for it."

He handed her the wine. "And you haggled with her for an hour." He laughed at the memory. "I thought she was going to strangle you a couple of times."

"Hey, we got it for fifty bucks." She sipped her wine as she gazed at it. "I still love this."

He looked up at the painting, the violent explosions of color that fairly leapt off the five-foot canvas. She'd fallen in love with it at first sight, would gaze at it for hours. She hadn't had the room for it in her dorm room so he'd hung it in his apartment. It had taken up one whole wall of the living room in his cramped one bedroom, and he'd bumped into it every time he walked past, but it had been worth it to watch her face light up every time she saw it.

"You never did tell me what you liked so much about this painting," he said.

She turned to face him as she polished off the cookie. "I don't know. I'm not a fan of abstract art as a rule, but somehow it speaks to me. It's just so passionate."

"I was always surprised you didn't ask for it back when I moved to San Diego."

If he hadn't been watching her face carefully, he might have missed the flicker in her eyes. "I thought about it." She sipped her wine and turned back to the painting. "But when you first moved, I thought we'd be together again soon. And when it turned out we wouldn't be, well...it seemed petty to make you ship it back."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't. This way I got to think of you every time I looked at it."

She smirked. "There was that."

He laughed. "That's the Grace I remember." He turned to sit on the sofa, propping his heels on the coffee table, and nodded toward the box on the piano bench. "So, are we going to delve into your box of tricks?"

"About that," she said, and he watched as she took a deep breath. His eyes, already prone to drifting south, went automatically to her chest, which was lifting nicely with her breathing. God, he loved her tits.

"Hello?" The sardonic tone of her voice pulled his gaze away from her nipples, which were pushing out against her sweater in a most enticing way. Maybe he'd put the air conditioning on a bit too low, but it was hard to regret. He grinned up at her.

"I," she said, pointing to her face, "am up here."

"Sorry," he said, clearly not, and she laughed.

"God knows why I missed you," she said.

"Hey, I'd think it was a good thing I'm thinking about your chest, considering why you're here."

"Right." She settled into the chair next to the piano and curled her legs under her. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Are you doing this out of an attempt to get closure on our past romantic relationship?"

That killed any thoughts he was still having about her nipples. "Huh?"

She squirmed in the chair, looking about as uncomfortable as he was confused. "Did you offer to help me test the products for the column because since we broke up over the phone ten years ago instead of in person, our relationship never felt fully finished and we have unresolved issues?"

He cocked his head. "Are you speaking English?"

She flushed and squirmed some more. "It's possible."

"Sure. It's also possible your mother will call you tomorrow and tell you she really doesn't care if you ever give her grandchildren."

That elicited a snorting laugh. "Fat chance."

"Yeah." He shook his head, incredulous. "I want to have sex with you because I want closure? Where the hell did you get a jackass idea like that?"

Grace sighed. "I had dinner with Caroline."

"I knew it was a girl thing." He leaned forward. "Do you seriously believe I've been wandering around for the last ten years feeling incomplete because we broke up over the phone?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, geez, anything will sound crazy if you put it like that. It sounded possible, okay? You said you wondered what things would be like if we'd stayed together."

"So did you."

She opened her mouth to respond then shut it again.

"Look." He spread his hands. "Yes, I wondered what it would have been like if we'd been mature enough to stick it out ten years ago. Yes, I missed you. But I have had other relationships in the last ten years."

"So have I," she said somewhat testily.

"And neither of us are the same people we were ten years ago. We've changed, grown. Hopefully, anyway. And obviously you're not pining for me after all these years."

"True," she acknowledged, and sighed. "I know it's lunacy, Ben. But I just want to make sure we're not screwing up here. I missed you too, and I like that we're friends now. I don't want to mess it up."

"Neither do I. What makes you think we will?"

That stumped her. "Uh..."

"Do you want me?" he asked, and watched her blink in surprise.

"What?"

"Do you want me?"

She blushed but her gaze stayed steady on his. "Yes."

"I want you." He watched her flush deepen and her pulse began to hammer in her throat. "I want to be with you. This you, not the you from ten years ago. Helping you with the column is just a bonus."

She smiled. "Okay."

"And speaking of, are you going to show me your goodies or not?"

Her mouth dropped open in momentary shock then she burst out laughing. "Oh, you mean the goodies in the box."

"You've still got a filthy mind, baby."

She winked at him as she rose. "I haven't grown that much."

"Thank Christ," he murmured, watching her bend over to lift the box from the piano bench. She caught him looking at her ass when she straightened and turned, and stuck her tongue out at him with a grin. She set the box on the coffee table in the small seating area and flipped open the lid. She started taking items out one at a time, setting them on the table.

Ben knew his eyes were bugging like a cartoon character behind his glasses, but he couldn't help it. The sheer volume of toys she was hauling out of the box was mind-boggling. Some of the items looked familiar, some were less recognizable and others were a complete mystery.

He reached over and plucked one from the table, holding it with a frown. It was a circle, made of some kind of stretchy, jelly-type material. He fingered it for a moment then looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Cock ring," she explained.

He looked at her in disbelief. "This," he said, waving the object in question, "is supposed to go around the base of my cock?"

"And balls."

He looked again at the small circle of rubber. "No way in hell."

She giggled. "It stretches," she explained, and reached over to demonstrate. "See? I'm told they're quite comfortable. I also have..." she paused to rummage in the box, "one in leather and one in stainless steel." She dropped them both into his hands. "I figure we can do a comparison, see which one works best."

"I thought these columns were supposed to be about couple's toys," he protested. "How did I end up in the hot seat?"

"I wanted to test some of these male-oriented devices, get your take on them. I think my readers will really respond to that. But don't worry," she assured him, "there's plenty in here for me, and we'll use them all together."

"Uh-huh," he said, unconvinced. He nodded to the box. "What else you got in there?"

"Oh, tons of stuff," she said with a grin. "Cuffs, vibrators. Pokey things, tickly things, scratchy stuff and soft, fuzzy stuff...it's a buffet of sensual delight."

He grinned. "A buffet, huh? So tell me, Grace...are you hungry?"

She groaned and fell back against the couch. "That's terrible."

"But funny." He leaned forward and picked up what looked like a bundle of nylon straps with a few metal rings jumbled into the mix. "What're these?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's a set of wrist and ankle cuffs. There's a hog-tie attachment so you can put someone in, well, a hogtie. Or you can attach them to the footboard and headboard and use them as four-point restraints. You know?" She slid her hips forward on the sofa and flung her arms and legs out to demonstrate.

"Yeah, I know." His lips twitched in amusement, and his dick was starting to show signs of interest as well. He eyed the restraints, a germ of an idea forming. "Do you have a plan for this?"

"Like a list of what I want to do first?" She shook her head. "I thought we'd figure that out together."

He shot her a look. "How do you feel about me making the first choice?"

Her eyebrows went up, her face the picture of amused interest. But her throat convulsed as she swallowed, and her pulse was a wild flutter under her jawline. "What do you have in mind?"

He shook his head. "Uh-uh. I want it to be a surprise." He grinned when he saw her swallow again. "Trust me?"

"Sure, I trust you," Grace said, her voice wavering only the tiniest bit.

"The bedroom's down the hall, last door on the left. Why don't you go wait for me there? I'll be right behind you."

She nodded and stood, and she only glanced at him over her shoulder once as she made her way down the hall.

Ben turned his attention to the pile of restraints among the toys strewn over the table. He only had a few minutes to figure them, out so he'd better get started.

* * *

Grace liked Ben's bedroom. It was comfortable, and masculine without being dark. There was art on the walls, a plush rug over the dark wood floors and a king-sized bed.

The bed was currently holding most of her attention. It was covered in a thick spread in a rich chocolate brown, matching shams on the pillows along the wrought iron headboard. It could've used a few accent pillows, she thought. Maybe in bronze and cream to offset the brown. But then, Ben had never been that big on what he called her "froufrou pile of pillows". She grinned as she remembered him flinging them across the room whenever he stayed over at her place, and grumbling the next morning when she made him put them all back on the bed.

Bouncing on the bed to test the mattress—very firm, nice spring action—she wondered what he was up to. She did trust him, but that didn't mean she wasn't nervous. He had that whole big box full of sexy goodies to put to use, and she wondered which ones would he choose?

She'd barely finished the thought when the bedroom door swung open. Her head popped up like a puppet on a string and she grinned when she saw Ben standing in the doorway, his hands behind his back like a little boy hiding a toy.

Or a big boy hiding a toy. "Whatcha got there, handsome?"

He grinned at her. "Oh, just a little something." His eyes roved over her in a way that made her skin tingle. "You're still dressed."

Her eyebrows shot up as her pulse began to beat heavily. "Should I not be?"

"It would make this easier," he said. "But you can leave your bra and panties on."

She giggled as she toed off her shoes. She tried to get a glimpse at whatever he held behind his back, but couldn't get the angle. "When did you get all secretive?"

"Told you," he said. His tone was mild but his eyes were hot. "I learned a few things in the last ten years."

Grace unbuckled her belt and shimmied out of her jeans, then pulled the sweater over her head. She stood in her matching bra and panties—thank God, she'd done laundry that morning—and tried not to overheat while he looked at her.

Surprisingly, she wasn't nervous. Maybe their romp that morning had taken care of her nerves, maybe it was the reassurance earlier that he wasn't after some sort of closure for their past relationship. Whatever it was, the only thing she was feeling was anticipation. Well, that and lust.

Lots of lust, she amended as he walked toward the bed. He stopped a few feet in front of her and her eyes flew to his sides as he shifted his arms, bringing his hands from behind his back.

Her lips twitched at the paper grocery sack he held in his hands. "Secretive and sneaky," she accused, and he grinned.

"Tell me," he said, sounding for all the world as if he were ordering a salad, "are you particularly attached to that very lovely lingerie?"

She looked down at the delicate lace of the demi-cup bra and matching thong in a delicate blue that had cost her nearly three figures on sale. She always washed them by hand and kept them in a special silk bag in her dresser. Then she looked up at his face.

"No," she said, and shivered when he grinned.

"Cool."

She laughed, the unexpected humor of the moment taking her by surprise. "Cool? Very seductive."

He stopped fiddling with the paper bag enough to look at her. "I don't have to seduce you, you're already here."

Rather than taking offense, she chuckled. "True enough."

Grace watched as he set the bag on the bed, rummaging around inside and being careful not to let her get a peek at its contents. She edged closer, trying to see in, but he blocked her with an elbow and a muttered, "No peeking."

"Geez," she muttered, and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Maybe later," he said, and she laughed again.

He patted the mattress. "Okay, hop up here."

She climbed up on the bed, kneeling in the middle of the mattress. "Now what?"

He held up the silk blindfold that had been part of her goodie box. "Now this."

She sat perfectly still while he tugged it on, sliding the padded silk over her eyes. She blinked as it settled into place, feeling her lashes brush up against the fabric. She felt him arrange the elastic strap around her head, wincing a bit as he caught her hair.

"Sorry," he murmured. He gently untangled her hair and stroked a soothing hand over her head. "Okay?"

She made a soft sound of assent and nodded. She felt him drop a kiss on her forehead before he moved away. "Where're you going?" she asked, her voice sounding loud to her own ears.

"Just gotta get the rest of this stuff ready," he assured her, and she felt the bed shift as he sat next to her.

She waited in a state of suspended animation, expecting him to touch her. Instead, she heard the paper bag rustle and strained for any audible clue as to what he might be pulling out of it. She almost moved the blindfold up so she could see—even raised her hand to do it—then stopped at the last second.

"I saw that," he warned, and she giggled.

"I can't see anything," she protested.

"That's kind of the whole point, Grace," he responded dryly. She felt the mattress shift as he moved toward the head of the bed and again when he shifted toward the foot. She heard the light clink of metal on metal and mentally grinned—that sounded like one of the D-rings on the restraint set. She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could get the words out, the bed shifted again and his hands settled on her shoulders.

She jumped a foot and let out a very embarrassing squeak.

"Geez," he muttered. He stroked his hands over her shoulders in soothing circles. "Nervous much?"

She laughed breathlessly. "No, I just...I didn't see you coming. You startled me, that's all. I'm fine."

"Okay. You can lie down now." He slid his hands around to her back, supporting her as she lay back. "Arms out," he directed, and obediently she reached out.

She heard that clink again, like a delicate chain rattling, and felt something soft close over her wrist. Definitely the restraint set, the padded one with Velcro straps. The bed shifted and she felt him reach across and repeat the action with her other arm. She tugged experimentally and found both arms securely tethered to what felt like the corners of the bed.

She cleared her throat when she felt him tug one of her legs down and the soft fur-lined nylon close over her ankle. "You're into bondage now, Ben?"

"Not as a rule, no." His voice floated a bit as he moved over to secure her other foot. "But, since you brought the restraints, I figured, why not?" He patted her foot. "Is that comfortable?"

She flexed her leg, testing the bonds. She could bend her knees slightly, just enough to get her heel planted on the bed. "Feels good," she said. "Not rough or harsh at all."

"Did you expect it to?" he asked, and she had to concentrate for a moment.

"I guess so," she said slowly. "But then, I've never been into it myself, so how would I know?"

"Good point."

Grace squirmed a bit, getting comfortable on the bed as he shuffled around the room. "You still walk like an old man. Can't you ever pick your feet up?"

"Can you not nag while I'm trying to set the scene here?" he asked, but there was laughter in his voice.

"Fine," she sighed with exaggeration then jumped, startled again as she felt him come over her.

"You look lovely, you know," he murmured in her ear, his breath washing over her and raising gooseflesh. "Lovely and delectable, like a banquet laid out for me to feast on."

She made some noise, some moan or whimper or hum of desire, and she felt him smile against her ear. "And I am feeling very, very hungry."

The line he'd used in the living room, cheesy and corny and laughable at the time, but now, not so much. It sent shivers racing up and down her spine, spread through her limbs until she was quivering all over with anticipation.

"Lovely," he repeated, and she felt the wash of his breath against her neck as he moved down until he hovered over her breasts. "Especially here."

Grace swallowed hard. He wasn't even touching her and the heat of him was almost searing, her heart beating so heavily, she imagined he could see the pump of it through her chest. She held her breath, waiting, wondering what would come next. With the dark silk blindfold making sight impossible, she could only listen for clues. Would he kiss her? Trail his tongue along the edge of her bra the way he used to love to do? Suck her nipple right through the lace? She could only wait, straining to hear.

She was about ready to crawl out of her skin with the waiting when she felt the most delicate of touches along her breastbone. She blinked behind the mask, concentrating as it came again, slightly firmer this time. She did a frantic mental search through the box of goodies. Was it the feather? The fur mitt?

It came again, light and fluttering across the tops of her breasts, and it was so unexpectedly arousing, she forgot to concentrate on figuring out what it was. Her mind, usually so engaged and active, simply and suddenly shut down. All she could do was feel.

She moaned as it came again and her body instinctively arched into the touch, seeking more.

"You like that," Ben murmured, and she moaned again in response.

Over and over that light, tantalizing touch danced across her breasts. The bare flesh rising above the edge of her bra, her nipples poking against the delicate lace until her back was in a permanent arch from trying to get closer. Ben was whispering to her, encouraging her to feel, to let herself go. It was dizzying, the combination of dark words and soft touch, and all she could think was more.

Jesus Christ. Ben had never seen Grace in such a state of arousal. Back when they'd been in college and crazy for each other, they'd fucked like monkeys on a pretty regular basis, so he'd seen her lost in pleasure on numerous occasions. But he'd never seen this level of absorption in her own pleasure before, and the sheer carnality of it was making him nuts.

The fur mitt on his left hand kept up its light back and forth motion across her breasts and she arched farther, straining against the restraints to try to get closer. Her breasts looked as if they were about to pop free of the delicate lace of her bra. He'd never been able to resist her breasts for long, but he thought he'd torture them both a bit longer before setting them free.

He shifted, dragging the mitt down the centerline of her body and across her ribs. She flinched convulsively when he reached her right hip, and he grinned as he remembered how ticklish she was. Now was not the time to tickle however, so with one final flick, he moved the mitt lower on her abdomen.

He watched her belly ripple when he dragged the fur from hip to hip, listened to her breath catch when he trailed it down one thigh. Her legs shifted restlessly and her hips lifted convulsively when he dragged it up the inside of her knee. She whimpered when he came within inches of the crotch of the thong she still wore.

The very wet thong, he realized, his cock swelling as he looked at the evidence of just how turned on she was getting. Maybe it was time to move the program along, he decided, and picked up his next toy.

The metal pinwheel surprised him when he found it in the bottom of the box. He knew a lot of these toys had been chosen or suggested by the magazine publisher, so he wasn't sure if she even knew it was there. The points on it weren't sharp—he'd tested it on his own arm out in the living room—but it was bound to be a shock to her system after the soft, fuzzy tickle of the fur mitt.

He swept his mitt-covered hand across her lower abdomen, keeping the touch light and airy and his eyes on her face. She sighed with pleasure, shifting her hips to follow the motion of his hand then jerked in surprise when the cold metal of the pinwheel stroked over her flesh in its wake. He followed the pinwheel with another stroke of the fur, smiling when she moaned.

He followed the same pattern all over her skin—a stroke with the fur followed by the metal—until she was writhing on the bed and yanking at the restraints almost mindlessly. She moaned and arched up hard into his hand as he stroked the wheel over her breast, the metal teeth catching on the lace covering her nipple.

"Ben!" she cried.

"What?" he asked, and bit back a chuckle as her head flew off the bed. He imagined she was glaring at him behind the sleep mask hard enough to set fire to it.

"What?" she bit out. "What?"

Oh yeah, he thought. Spitting mad.

"Benjamin Jacob Kettleman, when I get loose, I'm going to kill you!" She yanked so hard on her restraints the headboard rattled.

"Gee," he said, injecting a note of shock into his voice. "You sound mad at me for some reason, Gracie. Whatever could be wrong?"

He laughed when she growled low in her throat and rattled the headboard again. He retaliated by dragging the pinwheel across her nipple. "I'm liking these toys, Gracie. How about you?"

"Oh yeah," she panted. "The toys are great, fabulous, love the toys, if you don't get serious and fuck me soon, you're a dead man."

He snorted out a laugh. "I don't think you're in much of a position to make demands, sweetheart," he said, and went back to work with the fur and metal.

By the time he was ready to move on to something new, she was a writhing mass of need, tossing back and forth on the bed, alternating curses with moans.

He was feeling fairly needy himself. Watching her writhe and squirm and becoming wetter by the minute was making him crazy, and he decided he'd teased her enough.

He dropped the wheel and shook his hand free of the fur mitt so he could attack the front closure of her bra with shaking fingers. He fumbled a bit, eager excitement making him feel like a teenager working his first bra. He narrowed his focus, blocking the distracting feel of her breasts against the backs of his hands. After a sweaty, slightly terrifying moment when he thought he might have to ask her to do it, he finally undid the hook and peeled back the cups so her breasts could spill free into his hands.

She arched hard up into his hands, moaning as he squeezed the plump flesh. "Finally," she gasped. "Harder, do it harder."

He obliged, squeezing carefully until her flesh all but spilled out from between his fingers, squeezed until he thought she'd burst. She only moaned deeper and begged for more.

"Teeth," she muttered, and he looked up into her face. She'd done so much tossing back and forth, the blindfold half slid down her face, and if she'd had her eyes open, she would have been able to see over the top of it. But her eyes were squeezed shut, her breath coming in pants. "Teeth," she said again, and Ben grinned.

"You want this?" he asked, and grazed her engorged nipple with his teeth.

"Yesssssssssss," she hissed. "More. Tongue. Suck."

Amused that she was reduced to one-word responses, he set teeth and tongue to work.

God, he loved her breasts. He always had. They were the first thing he'd noticed about her all those years ago, and his affection for them hadn't abated one bit in the dozen years since. They were plump and firm and at a generous B cup, the perfect size to fit in his hands.

He laved first one breast then the other with nibbles and licks, suckling hard enough to raise bruises in spots, and she loved it. By the time he raised his head, his mouth shiny and plump from loving her breasts, she was panting with exertion and all but whimpering in need. He looked at her face, flushed and damp with sweat, her hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks, and suddenly it was he who couldn't wait any longer.

He struggled to his feet, standing on the mattress and bouncing her all over the bed as he shucked his clothes as fast as he could. She started giggling and her eyes opened. She blinked in surprise, not expecting to see, and peeked over the eye mask, which had now slipped down to cover her mouth. When she saw him hopping on one foot, trying to pull his jeans off with his glasses askew on his face and his hair sticking up, she started laughing harder.

"What're you doing?" she mumbled from behind the mask, bouncing again as he dropped back down to kneel between her spread legs.

He tore open the condom he'd dug out of his pants pocket, rolling it on before he attacked the Velcro straps holding her ankles in place. He fumbled, cursing until he had her loose, then hoisted her legs up in the air. He bent her knees, settling her heels on his hips as he leaned forward. He grasped his cock in hand, prepared to guide it to her pussy, then cursed again as he realized she still wore the thong.

He glanced up at her, his fierce eyes meeting her wide ones as he grasped the crotch of the garment in two hands. "I'll buy you a new pair," he vowed, and with one violent twist, tore the delicate lace to shreds.

He pushed the scraps out of the way and slid forward, guiding his cock to the welcoming warmth of her pussy. He pushed forward, both of them groaning as he slid home in one long push, the wetness of her cunt easing his way. He leaned forward, bracing himself on his elbows. He peeled the eye mask off and tossed it aside and, framing her face in his hands, crushed his mouth to hers as he started to thrust.

He fucked her for what seemed like hours, reveling in the hot, wet friction of her pussy, the clasp of her thighs on his waist. He stroked her all over, as much of her as he could reach, sliding over skin slick with sweat. The room filled with the scent of sex, the warm musk driving him to thrust harder, faster.

Grace was gasping, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow blindly. Her hips were pumping up to meet his, her heels digging into the small of his back as she met him thrust for thrust, reaching for completion. He could feel the tiny flutters deep in her cunt, knew she was close, but he could feel his balls drawing up and knew he might beat her to the finish line.

He leaned back on his heels, pushing her feet up until they rested on his shoulders. He kept thrusting as he reached back, fumbling in the rumpled bed covers for the last toy he'd grabbed out of the box. He flicked the switch on the vibrator, desperately holding off his orgasm, and pressed it to her clit.

Her body jerked as if she'd been shot, her eyes flying open to stare into his. "Oh God, Ben. Oh God, just a little higher, hold it higher, oh yes, right there, yes, oh..."

Her body jerked again, her hip pumping higher, faster, then she froze, her body holding a hard arch, and he felt the spasms in her cunt start.

Breathing a silent prayer of thanks, he let himself go, pumping faster in a race for his own orgasm until his spasms overtook him and the room faded to black.

# Chapter Six

Two weeks later Grace was frowning at her computer, unhappy with the column she was writing. "Read this for me, will you?" she asked Ben, who was sitting next to her on the sofa, absorbed in the evening sports report.

He raised an eyebrow and leaned over to look at the laptop screen. "What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know. I've been looking at it for so long I don't have any perspective anymore." She slid the laptop around so he could read it and rose. "I'm going to get a glass of wine. You want?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the computer. "No, I'm fine with this," he said, raising his beer for a sip.

She smiled. "Okay. Be right back."

She padded into the kitchen and dug a half-full bottle of Chardonnay out of the fridge and one of Ben's mother's cookies out of the tin on the counter. She noticed there were only two left and frowned. She was going to have to ask him to get her the recipe soon. She poured herself a glass of wine and munched, smiling at the sight of Lou snoozing in a patch of sunshine on the kitchen floor. There was a puddle of doggie drool on the tile and the snoring could wake the dead, but he was so cute, such a big ball of love, that it didn't bother her as much as she thought it would to have a dog constantly underfoot. Which didn't mean she was going to be the one sweeping up the dog hair.

She walked back into the living room just as Ben was picking his head up. "Your dog is drooling on my floor," she informed him. "And shedding."

"I'll sweep later," he promised, reaching out a hand to pull her down next to him. He brushed a quick kiss over her lips. "Hmm, you taste good. Where's my cookie?"

"Get your mom to make you your own batch," she returned tartly, and he laughed.

She pointed to the laptop. "What'd you think?"

"I think it's great," he said. "It's clear, it's funny, and it makes me look like a sex god."

That startled a laugh out of her. "It does?"

He grinned at her. "Yeah. This bit right here? 'The sensual buildup he created by alternating the softer touch with the sharp sensation of the pinwheel was mind-blowing.'" He waggled her eyebrows at her and she laughed again.

"Well, I'm not using your real name, so don't think this is going to suddenly get you a bunch of sex groupies."

"Don't worry," he said with a grin. "You're my only sex groupie."

She punched him lightly in the arm. "Okay, back to the column. You think it's good?"

"I do," he assured her. "What don't you like about it?"

"I'm not sure," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe it's that it seems so tame. I mean, these are not super kinky toys we're talking about here."

"No, but they're effective," he said. "Isn't that the point?"

"Yeah," she said slowly. "You know, it occurs to me we've been having a lot of sex in the last couple of weeks, but we seem to skip the toys a lot." She looked at him reproachfully.

"Hey, don't look at me. I'm not the one who jumped somebody in the shower the other day."

She sighed. "Yeah, I should've grabbed the water vibrator first."

"We can always try something now," he suggested, thumbing the remote so the screen went blank. "I'm not doing anything right now."

She grinned at him. "Okay. But you know, I'm thinking for the first couple of columns, since it's a new focus, I need some wow factor. Something dramatic and edgy."

He looked at her warily. "Why do I not like the sound of this?"

She grabbed his hand and hauled him off the couch. "Come on, sex god. We need to do something to write about."

* * *

"I really don't know about this," he said, watching warily as she stretched the pink jelly cock ring.

"You've used one of these before, right?" she asked, and blinked in surprise when he shook his head. "No? Oh. Well..." She looked at the package the ring had come in. "It says it's easier to use if you lube it first, so here." She handed him the ring and a tube of lube.

"You owe me for this," he warned her, lubing the ring. "I'm supposed to put this on before I get hard, right?"

She looked at the package again. "That's what it says. Balls first, one at a time, then your penis."

"Okay," he muttered. "Here goes."

She watched as he stretched the pliable material, easing it around his balls then working his soft penis through the stretched ring. He winced a little as he tugged it into place.

"Hurt?" she asked, concerned, and he winced again.

"Yeah," he managed. "It's..." he tugged again, and gasped. "Okay, it's tugging on my hair, I don't like this at all."

"Well, take it off," she said, lips twitching as she tried to keep from laughing. It wasn't funny really, but the look on his face as he tried to untangle his pubic hair from the ring was truly comical.

"Why are you laughing?" he demanded, not sounding amused. "Come over here and help me get this off!"

"Sorry, sorry!" She hurried over to kneel in front of him, helping him untangle as quickly and gently as possible. She tossed the removed ring off to the side and placed a gentle kiss on his thigh. "Better?"

He let out a breath. "I'm not trying that again, don't ask me."

"Sure, no more jelly cock ring," she promised. "But...there's the leather one, and the stainless steel one. Will you try those?"

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. "The leather one, yes, because it's adjustable. The stainless steel...I'm just afraid if it goes on, it won't come off. The last thing I want is to have to go to the ER to have something like that removed."

She laughed. "Okay, deal." She got up to retrieve the leather one, a simple leather strap with snaps to adjust the size and handed it to him. He handed it right back to her.

"You do this one," he suggested, and she grinned.

"Okay," she agreed, and got back on her knees. She slid the strap under his balls, being careful not to pinch his skin, and wrapped the end up and around his cock and back down to snap the ends together. She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. "How's that?"

"Snug, but not too tight." He grinned. "Just in time too. I almost wasn't soft for that."

"Did you have to recite baseball statistics in your head?" she asked with a laugh.

"Geometry," he corrected. "The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle—"

She pinched his thigh lightly. "No math in the bedroom," she admonished.

"Right. Sorry." He looked down at his dick, which was starting to show signs of life. "Now what?"

"Hmm." She frowned for a minute then grinned as she thought of the tongue vibrator. "Hold on," she said, and still on her knees, shuffled over to the box of toys. She dug around for a second then, "Ah-ha!"

He squinted at the tiny object she was holding up. "What is that? It looks like a tiny silver hammer. I hope you're not going to play xylophone on my balls."

Grace rolled her eyes. "No." She dug around in the box again and came up with a rubber band. Keeping it shielded with her hand, she twisted the two pieces of the vibrator apart so she could slide the rubber band into position then put it back together and turned it on. The buzzing sound was so faint, she didn't think he'd even notice it. She looped the rubber band around it and slid the whole business on to her tongue.

She giggled while he stared at her. "What, is it like a removable tongue stud or something?"

She giggled again then winced as the metal clinked against her teeth. She could tell this was going to be easier said than done. "Doh, thilly," she said, the obstruction giving her a lisp that made her giggle again. "Here, I'll thow you."

She paused to quickly undress, sliding out of her sweats and T-shirt in record time, then crawled over to him on all fours. His cock was now showing definite signs of interest, twitching and bobbing as it filled with blood. She glanced up from the treat of his cock to his face—definite signs of interest there too.

She reached his feet and began to rise, deliberately brushing her breast against his legs as she drew herself up. She kept her mouth closed, brushing her face against the now hard length of his cock, savoring the silky feel of him against her skin. She smiled smugly as the tip of him—the very damp tip of him—nudged her temple.

She gripped him at the base, feeling his pulse beat there, and looking up through her lashes at his face, swiped her tongue against the underside of his cock.

He reacted as if he'd been shot. "Holy Jesus!" he ground out, his hips pumping convulsively as the buzzing of the tiny toy hit his cock. She did it again, a delicate swipe that had him jerking like a puppet on a string.

"Wait," he gasped, one hand reaching out blindly as he staggered back a step, sinking to the edge of the mattress. "I think I need to sit for this."

She grinned and scooted forward on her knees. "Brathe yourthelf," she mumbled, and bent her head to her task.

She kept her touches light at first, a swipe here, a lick there, using her hands to stroke the length of him as she teased with her buzzing tongue. She moved on to longer licks, stroking from the length of his cock to the tip, which by now was drooling pre-come. Between that and her own saliva, his cock was dripping wet, allowing her stroking hands to slide easily along his length.

She felt his hands tangle in her hair, drawing her to the engorged head of his cock, and he pushed against her mouth. "Open," he rasped, and she shivered at the dark note of command in his voice. Obligingly she parted her lips, shivering again as he pushed past her teeth into her mouth, and they both groaned.

She began to suck, drawing as firmly on him as she could while still swirling her tongue around him. She ignored the occasional clink of metal on teeth, concentrating all her efforts into making him come, following him when he fell back to lie on the bed.

He was pushing into her mouth, tugging on her hair hard enough to make her scalp tingle. Her lips and tongue were starting to feel numb from the buzzing and the bruising pressure of his cock, but she kept going. Her own arousal was climbing, fed by the moans and groans, the incoherent mutters that spilled from his lips. It spurred her on, made her want to suck harder, stroke faster, take more. She slid one hand from his cock and delved between his legs, gently cuddling his balls, stroking behind the strap of leather that kept the beating blood in his cock.

"Fuck!" he shouted. "Yes, baby, oh yeah, just like that. Suck harder, come on, baby, suck. Just like that, oh yes, come on—oh!"

She choked as he suddenly arched up off the bed, thrusting himself to the back of her throat, then her mouth was flooded with the salty musk of him as he pumped himself dry. She swallowed eagerly, desperate to keep up with the flow, prodding him on with the tongue vibrator until he was empty.

"Jesus." He was still twitching, small spasms racking his body as she drew back with one last lingering lick. He picked up his head as she slipped the strap off her tongue. "Fuck, woman," he managed, and she laughed.

She climbed up on the bed next to him and snuggled into his shoulder, watching his chest heave with his labored breathing. "How do you feel about the tongue vibrator?" she asked, and he managed a weak chuckle.

"Let me see that thing," he said, and she handed it to him.

"See, the strap actually attaches, so it won't slip off."

"How does it turn on?"

"You just screw this part in here tightly and it's on. Just loosen it a bit to shut it off."

"And it just slides over your tongue." He looked at her. "Was it comfortable?"

She nodded. "Sure. It comes with a few different sizes of rubber bands, so you can pick the one that fits best."

"So it just slips on like this?"

She watched him slide it over his tongue and nodded. "You just have to be careful not to knock your teeth, because it can chip them." She frowned. "Actually, it came with some silicon sleeves to protect your teeth..." She shifted to get up, intending to go look for them, then found herself on her back.

She blinked up at him. "Something wrong?"

"Not at all," he said around the vibrator. "But itth my turn."

She frowned. "Wha...? Oh!" she gasped as he tossed her legs over his shoulders and nuzzled her belly. "Well, in the interest of fair play..." Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she stopped talking.

* * *

Grace was typing away on the keyboard of her laptop the next Saturday when the knock sounded at the door. A quick glance of the clock told her it was almost noon. "C'mon in, Caroline."

The door opened. "I'm just finishing up this article," she said, not looking up from the screen. "Give me five minutes?"

"No problem, honey," Caroline clicked her way across the room on skyscraper heels to drop next to Grace on the sofa. "How's it coming?"

"Pretty good," Grace said, frowning in concentration. "No, that's not right," she muttered, and hit the backspace key to delete what she'd just written.

Caroline was reading over her shoulder and chuckling. "This is really good, Grace. Really funny." Laughter burst out and she pointed to a line on the screen. "A tongue vibrator?" she asked?

Grace grinned. "Yeah. We both used it." She waggled her eyebrows dramatically. "Good stuff."

"You know, I don't know if I want to know this," a masculine voice protested, and Grace's head came up with a smile.

"Hi, Mark. What're you doing here?"

Caroline's husband stood at the doorway, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, a battered baseball cap on his sandy blond hair. "Beach volleyball game at North Beach," he said. "I'm here to pick up Ben."

"He's walking Lou," Grace said, turning her attention back to her keyboard. "You want something to drink? There's water in the fridge and some of that god-awful sports drink Ben likes." She grimaced and looked back at Mark. "How can you drink that stuff?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, don't look at me. I think it's disgusting too. That's all Ben."

"What's all Ben?" Ben asked as he appeared in the open doorway, a drooling and panting Lou at his side.

"Your appalling affection for vile-tasting sports drinks," Mark explained as the men greeted each other with a one-armed hug.

"Hey, it replaces essential minerals lost in the perspiration process."

Grace shook her head, an indulgent smile on her lips. "You sound like a commercial."

He grinned at her. "Where do you think I got it?" He headed to the kitchen, ostensibly to grab a bottle, Lou trailing behind him to get a drink of his own. "You want a water?" he called back to Mark.

"Sure. We should go though, we're supposed to be there at noon." He looked at the sport watch strapped to his wrist.

Ben came back in the room, chugging from a bottle of green liquid and carrying two bottles of water. He strode over to Grace. "How's the column coming, baby?"

"Good." She smiled up at him. "I'm turning them in this week. I hope Geraldine is pleased."

"She'll love them," he assured her, and bent to drop a quick kiss on her upturned mouth. "I'm taking Lou to the game with me so you won't have to worry about him destroying the apartment while you're at lunch."

"Damn right you are," she said, making him laugh. "Did you clean the slobber up off the kitchen floor?"

He grimaced and straightened. "Hang on a sec, Mark," he said, and trooped back into the kitchen to mop up after Lou.

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're pussy whipped!" he hollered then looked at his wife when she hissed at him. "What?"

Ben was grinning as he came back into the living room, Lou at his side. "Best way to be whipped," he quipped, and dropped another kiss on Grace's mouth. He lingered over it so her blood began to hum, only pulling back when Lou tried to force his way between them.

"I'll be home in a few hours," he said, wrestling Lou toward the door. "Maybe we can try that tongue vibrator again."

"I've already got that column written," she reminded him, but he just grinned.

"I think we need to practice more," he told her with a leer.

She laughed and waved him out the door. "Go get sweaty. I'll wash your back when you get home."

"Deal," he said, and with a wink, they were gone.

Grace shook her head, the grin still on her face, and turned back to the keyboard. She looked up when Caroline cleared her throat. "What?" she asked. "What is that face?"

"Y'all are gettin' pretty cozy," Caroline drawled, eyebrows raised.

Grace rolled her eyes. "Your Southern is showing, Caroline Anne."

"Don't change the subject on me, girlfriend," Caroline said. "Home? You said, 'when you get home' to him, like this is where he lives." Her eyes got suddenly huge, and she latched on to Grace's arm. "Ohmigosh, did you move in together?"

Grace laughed. "No. God. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," Caroline said. "I'm just sayin', y'all are gettin' pretty cozy."

"Yeah," Grace sighed, and looked at her friend with a grin. "We are."

"Oooooh." Caroline all but rubbed her hands together with glee. "Come on, hurry up and save your document so we can go to lunch and you can dish the dirt. I want to hear everything."

Grace clicked her fingers over the keyboard, saving her work. "Actually, I thought we might order in. Maybe Vietnamese?"

"Even better!" Caroline hopped up as if she were on springs and dove for the phone. "I'll order, you whip up a batch of margaritas. What do you want?"

* * *

"We're just kind of clicking along, you know?" Grace said, and dipped her summer roll in peanut sauce.

"Like what? You've taken up where you left off in college?" Caroline frowned as she forked up lemon pepper chicken. "Is that healthy?"

Grace shook her head, holding up her hand as she chewed and swallowed. "No, that's not it. We talked about that, before we started on this whole thing. I didn't want to do that and neither did he. We're different people now."

"Thank God," Caroline muttered, and Grace frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Caroline sipped her margarita. "Well, you have to admit, neither one of you was very mature back then. You broke up over the silliest thing. He moved, you didn't want him to move—it was all ego with you back then."

"Hey," Grace protested, but it didn't have much heat behind it.

"Oh, not just you, sweetie," Caroline patted her hand reassuringly, smearing sauce. "So was he. All that macho he-man stuff about a man needing a career, you should stand by him, blah, blah, blah. Ridiculous."

Grace wiped her hand clean and picked up her own drink. "So, it was his fault?"

"No, that's the whole point. You were both stubborn and ridiculous, and it was both your faults. So it's good you're different people now." She watched Grace as she chewed. "So, you're clicking along..."

Grace shook off the vague sense of remembered pain caused by Caroline's trip down memory lane and nodded. "Yeah. The sex is great. I mean, it always was, even back in college when bad sex is just a fact of life. He was always an attentive lover. But now." She shook her head, a little in awe. "He just... He's into me, you know? I mean into me, like he wants to sink inside and just wallow in me. Which he does." She grinned now. "Frequently. It's heady stuff."

Caroline chewed madly, her eyes wide. She waved her hand, urging Grace to continue.

"But while the sex is great—and it is great—the best part is the talking." Grace winced. "Is that weird?"

Caroline swallowed. "I don't think so, but I'm reserving judgment until I have more information."

Grace sipped her margarita and struggled to put her feelings into words. "I feel like I'm getting to know him in a way I didn't in college. Oh, I knew how much he loved baseball, how much he wanted to work in the major leagues. But I didn't really believe it, you know? I knew it was painful when he got hurt in high school and his dreams of playing pro ball were shattered because he told me so. But I didn't know, I didn't realize how much changed for him when that happened. I don't know if I ever really knew him back then."

"But you do now."

Grace chewed thoughtfully. "I'm getting to. It's so strange sometimes. So many things are the same. He's still an awful slob—I swear, I'm going to have to put a basketball hoop over the hamper to get him to throw his damn dirty socks in there. And he still likes to tease and he still likes horror movies and puts ketchup and pepper on everything."

Caroline grimaced. "That's revolting."

"Isn't it?" Grace agreed. "It used to bother the heck out of me. God, I could hardly watch him eat. But now it's funny, just another part of Ben."

Caroline shook her head. "I don't think I could sit across the table from that."

"But he's different too," Grace went on. "More attentive now, more willing to bend. So am I, so there's a lot less fighting than there used to be."

"But you do fight?"

"Oh yeah. But instead of screaming and throwing stuff at each other, we actually talk." She frowned. "I didn't realize it at the time, but we never used to talk. We'd just yell, throw things then have crazy make-up sex."

Caroline lifted her glass in salute. "Here's to crazy make-up sex."

"Tell me about it," Grace replied.

Caroline smiled mistily. "Awww."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Knock that off, will you?"

"Are you in love with him?"

Grace sighed and set down her drink. "I think so. Is that crazy? We've been apart for ten years."

"Yeah, but that's a good thing." Caroline polished off her chicken and settled back with a sigh. "If you'd followed him to San Diego ten years ago or he'd stayed in Chicago, eventually you'd have gotten sick of each other and split up anyway. It would have been messy and ugly, and you probably would have hurt each other so badly you never would have spoken again."

She sipped her margarita while Grace absorbed that. "This way, you get to learn each other all over again. Which sounds like it's going really well."

"It is." Grace nodded.

"So, I expect to be matron of honor," Caroline said.

Grace threw back her head and laughed. "We're nowhere near that step, so get the orange blossoms out of your head."

"Hey, it could happen. I'd like to wear red," Caroline went on, grinning as Grace laughed even harder. She was still laughing when the phone rang, and since she didn't seem to be winding down any time soon, Caroline got up to answer.

"Hello?"

"Grace?"

Caroline frowned. "No, it's Caroline. Ben? Is something wrong?"

"Is Grace there?" His voice shook so hard the words were barely audible. "I need to talk to her."

"Sure. Grace!" She said it sharply enough to break through the laughter and held out the receiver. "It's Ben. I think something's wrong."

Grace snatched the phone. "Ben? What's wrong, are you hurt?"

"No," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "No, I'm not hurt. It's Lou. He... He..."

"Honey. Baby, calm down. Take a deep breath," Grace instructed, forcing a firm note in her voice even as it wanted to quaver at the pain in his. She waited until she heard him exhale slowly. "Good. Now tell me what happened."

"Lou got loose. I had him tied, had his leash tied to the rail at the beach, but he got loose, started chasing a squirrel." His voice threatened to break again, and she could hear him swallow hard. "He ran out into traffic..."

"Oh baby," she whispered. Caroline tapped her shoulder, mouthing What?

Lou, she mouthed back. Into the phone, she said, "Where are you now?"

"Lakeshore Animal Hospital," he said, his voice dull now, lifeless. "They're working on him, I don't know..."

"I'm on my way," she told him, already heading for the front door. She snatched her keys from coffee table, shoved her feet into her running sneakers. "Don't go anywhere, I'm on my way." She clicked the phone off, tossing it in the direction of the sofa as she reached the front door.

"Wait for me," Caroline gasped. Grace looked over her shoulder to see her friend grab both their purses and Grace's cell phone from the hall table. "Let's go."

They were out the door and on the curb in seconds. Grace looked up and down the street, searching desperately for a taxi and not seeing any. "Dammit!"

"I'll call for one," Caroline said, punching numbers into her cell phone. "Did he say what happened?"

"The dog got loose and ran into the street. He got hit, I don't know how bad. There's one!" Her hand shot out, waving frantically to catch the attention of the taxi coming up the street. Her heart sank when it looked as if it might pass her by then blinked in surprise when Caroline stepped off the curb and into the path of the cab.

The cab screeched to a halt. The driver stuck his head out the window, cursing a blue streak. "Lady, are you fucking crazy?"

Caroline circled around to the driver's side, pulling her hospital ID out of her pocket as she opened the back door, ignoring the honking traffic that swerved out of her way. "No, I'm a fucking doctor and I've got a patient in trouble. There's a hundred dollar tip in it for you if you can get us to Lakeside Drive in five minutes."

She climbed in the back seat then leaned over to the open passenger window. Grace stood on the curb, shock on her face. "Are you getting in or what?" she asked, and Grace snapped out of it.

She climbed into the car. "You're amazing."

"I know." Caroline turned to the driver. "Four minutes," she said.

He shook his head. "It's your money, lady," he said, and they lurched into traffic.

Grace settled back in the back of the cab as it careened through Saturday traffic. She couldn't get Ben's voice out of her mind. He'd sounded so scared and so empty, so defeated. She could tell he was already bracing himself for the worst. That was how Ben dealt with fear or uncertainty—he prepared himself for the worst possible outcome and barely allowed himself to hope for the best.

She wrung her hands, her heart aching. They weren't going to lose Lou, they simply couldn't. Ben loved that dog, loved every furry, slobbery, goofy inch of him, and she wasn't going to let him lose him.

She came back to earth when she heard Caroline say, "Up here, on the left. Stop right there," and the cab screeched to a halt.

The driver looked up at the sign on the building and turned accusing eyes on Caroline. "I thought you said you were a real doctor. This is an animal hospital."

"I am a real doctor and what do you care?" Caroline slapped a wad of cash in his hand. "You got your tip. Nice drivin'," she added with a grin before following Grace out of the cab.

Grace hit the sidewalk at a dead run, barely pausing long enough for the automatic doors to part before dashing into the hospital reception area. She flew up to the counter where a cute little brunette in a smock covered with kittens beamed up at her. "Welcome to Lakeshore Animal Hospital, how may I help you?"

"I'm looking for my boyfriend's dog."

The clerk looked down at her computer. "The dog's name?"

"Lou. His name is Lou, he's a Bernese mountain dog. My boyfriend's name is Kettleman, Ben Kettleman." She waited impatiently while Ms. Perky Kitten Smock keyed the information in to her computer.

"I'm sorry, I don't seem to have a patient by that name," Perky said, looking up with the same sunny smile on her face. "Perhaps your boyfriend took his dog to another facility?"

Grace looked over at Caroline, who shook his head. "No, this is it. This is where we bring the cats for the regular stuff, Mark would have brought him here. And it's the only Lakeshore Animal Hospital in the city."

Grace whipped back to Perky. "Check again."

"Ma'am, I told you, there's no pet by that name here. Now, if you'd kindly step aside..." She looked past Grace to the person behind her. "Hi, welcome to Lakeshore Animal Hos-glllhg!"

Her eyes bugged out as Grace twisted her fist tighter in the kittens and yanked, almost pulling Perky right over the counter. "Listen, you daffy bitch, my boyfriend loves that dog and this is where he brought him. Now let's do this again. Lou is a two-year-old Bernese mountain dog and he was hit by a car. It probably happened less than half an hour ago, I talked to them on the phone not ten minutes ago. Get in the computer and look again!"

"Egluglegy," Perky gurgled.

"What?" Grace said, and shook her.

"Grace, my God," Caroline yanked at her arm. "Let her go so she can talk!"

Grace loosened her grip slightly. "What?" she repeated.

"Emergency," Perky said, dragging in huge gulps of air. "You want emergency, this is the clinic entrance." She gestured wildly to the left. "Down that hall, follow the signs."

Grace released the shirt and dashed down the hall, not even bothering to turn around when she heard Caroline apologizing to the clerk. "Sorry about that. She's very attached to the dog."

"I understand," Perky said, coughing only a little, her voice fading as Grace rounded the corner to the emergency center and skidded to a halt.

Ben was sitting in one of the blue plastic chairs lining the wall, his head in his hands and his big shoulders shaking. Mark sat beside him, his helpless expression changing to relief as he saw Grace standing there.

Grace swallowed hard as Mark rose and walked toward her. He shook his head before she could ask. "We don't know yet. It was pretty bad, Grace. Lou just...he just lay there. Ben would've carried him the whole way here if I hadn't brought the car around." He laid a hand on her shoulder, gave it a squeeze.

"Thanks, Mark." She moved forward, going with instinct and kneeling in front of Ben.

"Ben." She laid her hands on his knees and her heart clutched as she caught sight of his face. Grief as she'd never seen ravaged his face and his eyes were rimmed with red.

"Grace." His voice was a harsh whisper and his eyes filled again. "He was so still. The car hit him and he flew then he was so still. They're working on him, but it's so bad. They don't know if he's going to make it. What am I going to do?"

She slid her arms around his shoulders as he folded into her. "Okay," she murmured, easing herself into the chair next to him as she stroked his hair, his back. "Okay. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," she promised, and settled in to wait with him.

They were there for hours. She sent Caroline and Mark home after the first hour, after promising to call if there was anything they needed. She offered to get him coffee or a sandwich, but he didn't want anything. She pushed a bottle of water at him after the third hour, insisting over his protests that he drink it. She worried he'd make himself sick with grief and tried to get him to get up and walk, but he wouldn't budge from the waiting room, afraid to miss the doctors.

They came out once to let them know Lou was holding his own in surgery, but it was still touch and go.

At just after four o'clock, Grace looked up from where she stroked Ben's arm to see the surgeon standing in front of them, looking tired and grim. "Ben," she said quietly, and he shot to his feet.

"Mr. Kettleman, I'm Dr. Davidson, I've been working on Lou since he came in."

Ben automatically shook the proffered hand. "How..." He had to swallow hard twice before he could continue. "How is he?"

"I'll be honest with you Mr. Kettleman, I didn't think we were going to be able to pull this one off." The doctor swiped a tired hand over his head, dragging off his surgical cap. "He had a lot of internal bleeding, and I didn't think we were going to be able to get it all under control. It was a close thing a couple of times, but we were able to get to and close off all the bleeders, and he's stable right now."

Grace felt all the air whoosh out of Ben as he exhaled in relief. "What about the broken bones?" he asked.

The surgeon nodded. "There were a few broken bones, but we've put those back together. Fortunately, he didn't sustain any breaks to his hips or pelvis, which would be a concern in a large dog like this. I think the breaks are going to heal just fine, I'm not worried about that at all. At this point we need to keep an eye on his internal injuries."

Ben nodded. "He'll have to stay here for a while then?"

"Oh, absolutely," Dr. Davidson said. "I'd say you can plan on him being here at least a week, assuming no complications from the surgery."

Grace squeezed Ben's hand when he swallowed hard again. "Can we see him?" she asked, and the surgeon turned to her with an understanding smile.

"Sure," he said. "Follow me."

Ben's grip on her hand tightened as they trailed the doctor back to what he called "puppy intensive care", a line of cages with IV bags hung on them, dogs in various stages of recovery resting inside. The doctor led them to a cage at the end and Grace caught her breath at the sight of Lou.

He was still, and she realized she'd never really seen Lou still, even in sleep. He had half of his fur shaved off, bandages taped over most of his body. An IV line ran into his leg, a bag dripping life-saving fluids into his veins.

Ben let out a choking sob and sank to his knees, his hands hovering over Lou's still body as though he were afraid to touch him.

"You can pet him," Dr. Davidson said, opening the door to the cage fully to give them more room. "Just make sure not to tug on the IV line and avoid the bandages. Talk to him," he encouraged. "He's coming out of the anesthesia so he can hear you. It'll do him good to hear your voice."

Ben gingerly settled his hand on Lou's big head. "Hi, buddy," he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. Lou blinked open cloudy eyes, his tongue slipping out to slurp awkwardly at Ben's hand, and Grace found herself choking back tears of her own.

Ben crouched there in the doorway of the crate, stroking and murmuring gently as tears dripped unheeded down his face. One of the vet techs came over to check Lou's IV and smiled gently at Ben.

"He's a fighter, this one," she said, and Lou struggled to raise his head. "See? He's in good hands," she promised. She rose, giving Grace a wink.

Thank you, she mouthed, and got a smile in response.

Grace leaned down, laying her hand on Ben's shoulder. "Honey? We should let him rest."

He turned drenched eyes on her. "I don't want to leave him," he said, and her heart broke for him.

"I know," she said gently. "But they need to take care of him and we're in the way. We'll come back tomorrow and see him. We'll come see him every day until he's well enough to come home."

"Yeah." He turned back to Lou. "See you later, buddy, okay? You be good, don't give these girls any trouble." He leaned forward, planted a soft kiss on the dog's muzzle then moved back.

Grace bent down, laid a kiss of her own on the dog's wet nose. "When you come home, you can lick my toes all you want, okay, Lou? We love you. See you tomorrow."

She rose, holding Ben's hand as they thanked the surgeon again and walked toward the exit. "He's going to be okay, Ben."

"I know," he said. "God, I was so scared, Gracie. So scared. I love that big lug, I don't know what I'd do without him."

"I know, baby. I know." They walked out into the sunshine. "They're taking good care of him. Now let's go home and I'll take care of you."

She felt him tug her hand, pulling her to a stop. She turned in concern. "What is it? Are you okay?"

He shook his head and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he struggled to speak. Finally, he just pulled her into his arms, holding her tight enough to bruise, and buried his face in her neck. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

Grace wrapped her arms around him, holding him as he shook with emotion in the bright summer sun.

* * *

When she woke the next morning, they were still wrapped around each other, snuggled in his big king-sized bed. She looked up into his sleeping face and felt her heart clutch all over again. Even in sleep he looked tired, fatigued by the stress of the previous day, and going with instinct, she laid her lips gently against his.

His eyes fluttered open to smile into hers. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she whispered. "How are you?"

"My head's a bit fuzzy," he admitted, and she chuckled.

"Crying jag head," she explained, soothing the lines bracketing his mouth with her fingertips.

"Crying jag head, huh?" he asked, smiling at her in that way he had—it made her toes curl. "Sounds like a girl thing to me."

"Sometimes," she said. "I suppose you'll just call it a sinus headache."

"It's more manly," he said with small smile.

"Uh-huh," she said indulgently, and leaned in for another kiss.

She took a quick glance at the clock. "The clinic opened a few minutes ago. Why don't you give them a call, see how Lou spent his night?"

She started to slide out of bed, pausing when he snagged the hem of the old football jersey that doubled as a nightshirt. "Where're you going?"

"Just to the bathroom and to get a drink of water. I'll be right back," she assured him.

"Bring me a water too?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Make your call," she said, and padded out of the room on bare feet.

She used the bathroom quickly, taking the time to brush her teeth and splash water on her face. She snagged two bottles of water from his refrigerator, her stomach giving a little lurch as she passed Lou's empty food bowl, then hurried back to the bedroom.

Ben was walking out of the bathroom when she came in, phone in hand.

She winced as she climbed back into bed. "You didn't call them while you were peeing, did you?"

He laughed, taking the bottle of water she offered. "No, I called them before I peed."

"Good." She took a swig of water. "What'd they tell you?"

"He made it through the night just fine and he's begging for food this morning."

Grace grinned at him even as happy tears clouded her vision. "See? He's going to be just fine."

Ben exhaled heavily. "Yeah. Did I thank you for yesterday?" he asked, lying down so he was propped up against the pillows.

She capped her water and lay down too so she faced him on her side, her head level with his. "You did. But you don't have to. I love him too, you know."

"Even though he's sloppy and messy and dirties up your neat house?"

"Even though. After all, you're sloppy and messy and you dirty up my neat house, and I love you."

He didn't even blink, just smiled that quirky crooked smile that made her belly do backflips. "You do, huh?"

"Yeah." She smiled back. "I really do."

"You're not just saying that because we broke up over the phone ten years ago, are you?" he asked, laughing when she poked her fingers in his ribs. He grabbed her hands and flipped over onto his back, taking her with him with a squeal.

"Dork," she muttered, grinning back at him as she settled on his chest.

"But you love me," he prompted, looking so arrogant and satisfied, she just had to laugh.

"But I love you," she agreed, and leaned in to kiss him.

What started out as soft and sweet turned carnal fast with both of them struggling to get closer. Grace rose up to her knees to whip the jersey over her head then tugged at the boxer briefs he still wore until they were both naked.

They rolled across the bed so their positions were reversed, hands racing over heated flesh. She groaned as he delved his fingers between her legs, arching into his touch as he delicately explored her. She stroked her own hands over his hips and around to his cock, grasping and stroking until he was just as breathless as she was.

He reached over her to the bedside table, fumbling a condom out of the drawer. He tore the package, preparing to put it on, but she plucked it from his fingers.

"Let me," she panted, and pushed on his shoulders until he sat back on his haunches. She placed the tip of the condom in her mouth and bent forward—thank God, for yoga—to roll the latex sheath down his shaft.

"God, I love it when you do that," he groaned, his hands buried in her hair as she used mouth and hands to roll the condom into place. When she pulled back with a final lick and looked up at him with a smug smile, he laughed hoarsely and tumbled her onto her back.

"I'd make you pay for that, but I liked it too much," he rumbled, and braced himself over her. Her legs came up, his hips pushed down and he slid home in one smooth thrust.

He began to move slowly, steady and firm and solid inside her, so solid it made her breath catch and her throat close up. She loved him, this man who was inside her, holding her, loving her. She loved him, and the intensity, the beauty, of that made her eyes tear up.

He stroked his thumbs over her temples, catching her tears and wiping them away. "Why are you crying?" he asked, his hips still pumping, his cock still thrusting deep into her pussy.

"I just love you," she whispered, moaning as he thrust harder, the contact deep inside making her toes curl. She grasped at his shoulders, pulling him in, fusing her mouth to his.

They moved in the morning light that spilled through the windows and over the bed, absorbed in each other, locked in the dance. They moved until they were sweaty and straining, skin slick with effort and need and want. Grace opened her eyes, her heart swelling to find Ben staring down at her. She reached up blindly, holding out her hands, and his came up to lock with hers. Linked, joined, they tumbled over the peak together.

* * *

After, when her heart had settled down and the sweat on her skin was drying, she felt him press a kiss to her hair. "I love you too," he whispered, and she smiled.

"I know."

# Epilogue

"How does this look?" Grace asked, turning to face Caroline. They were in the tiny bride's room of the smallest church in Chicago. Grace reminded herself when she nearly hit her head on the slanted ceiling that they'd chosen the smallest church they could find on purpose.

Caroline clasped her hands together. "Oh honey, it's just perfect. I'm so glad you didn't let your mother talk you into a hoop skirt."

"Please," Grace said, smoothing her hands down her dress. The snuggly fitted strapless bodice gave way to a full skirt that ended mid-calf, the tea length showing off satin pumps in a bold red. A simple birdcage veil dipped over her eyes, anchored in her hair with a sparkling clip that matched the shoes. "I'd have to be dead three weeks to agree to that." She grinned at her friend. "And you do look darling in red."

Caroline patted her own dress, the bodice a mirror of Grace's, but with a slimmer, shorter skirt. "I knew I would." She turned her head as she heard the music swell and checked the clock on the wall. "I think that's our cue. Your mother will kill us if we're late, and she's already not happy with you."

Grace snorted out a laugh as she bent to check her hair in the mirror. "Did you see the look on her face when I gave her that picture frame? I thought she was going to blow a gasket."

Caroline looked at her in exasperation. "Grace, you gave the woman a picture frame that states I Love My Grandma with a picture of the dog in it."

"Hey, after today he is her grandson," Grace protested, trying not to laugh.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "I think she was hoping for a human grandchild."

"Well, Lou's it for now. We'll talk about adding the two-legged variety after we've had some time to enjoy each other."

"Fifty bucks says she brings it up before the reception is even half over."

"What, I look like I take sucker bets?"

Caroline opened her mouth to respond then turned at the knock on the door. Grace's father's voice came through the wood. "Sweetie? Gracie? Honey, your mother's starting to get that look on her face..."

Grace laughed. "On our way, Dad," she called. She took a deep breath and looked at Caroline. "Show time. Thanks for doing this for me."

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it for the world." She reached out to gather Grace a hug, careful not to muss her dress or hair. "See you up there."

Caroline dashed out, taking her place at the doors of the church. With a final wink, she started down the aisle.

Gerald Newman, a tall man with Opie Taylor freckles and a wide, infectious grin, held out his arm for his daughter. "Ready, baby girl?"

Grace grinned at the nickname. "Ready," she replied, and took her father's arm.

"By the way," he whispered as they stood waiting for their cue, "that picture you gave your mother?"

Grace folded her lips in an attempt to look contrite. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

He chuckled and patted her hand. "Don't be. I thought it was hysterical. In fact, I fished it out of the trash basket last night. I'm going to put it on the mantle when we get home."

Grace stifled a laugh and wrapped her father in an impulsive hug. "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, baby girl." He patted her back then straightened when the music changed to familiar strains of The Wedding March. "Here we go."

She started down the aisle on her father's arm, the sea of faces on either side a colorful blur. She could only stare at Ben, the crooked grin on his face as he waited for her. Her lips twitched as she looked at his best man. Lou was fully recovered from his surgery and most of his fur had grown back. He sat proud and tall next to Ben, his bowtie crooked and his tongue hanging out.

They reached the altar in no time—thank God for small churches—and her father put her hand in Ben's. They grinned at each other as they turned to face the minister, then staggered a bit when the best man forced his way between them and announced his approval of the proceedings with a loud bark.

So with the church filled with laughter and their hands linked over Lou's head, they married.

And her mother asked for grandchildren before the entrée was served.

THE END
Want More Hannah Murray?

Check out her website, www.hannahmurray.net, for more books, news, extras and more.

# About the Author

Hannah has been reading romance novels since she was young enough to have to hide them from her mother, and decided to try her hand at writing one when she realized the book she really wanted to read lived in her head. That was a dozen years and as many manuscripts ago, and there are still more stories to be told.

She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband—former Special Forces and an OR nurse who writes fantasy fiction and acts as In-House Expert for his wife on matters pertaining to weapons, tactics, the military, medical conditions and How Dudes Think—and their daughter, who takes after her father.

Hannah loves to hear from readers, and can be reached by email, or on Facebook and Twitter.

