Real Men Will. Victoria Dahl
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love that Michael Donovan had shown him.
Thinking about it made Eric’s skull feel even tighter, so he rolled his neck and closed his eyes. Even his office felt too small. But he didn’t want to spend time near Jamie, so Eric decided to catch up on the bottling schedule. It’d be a bitch working the line by himself, but it would be worth it if it wore him out. At least he’d get some sleep.
Eight hours later, when Eric headed home, he was definitely exhausted, but his mind was still working as frantically as ever.
“Dinner tomorrow!” Tessa yelled just as he escaped, and Eric winced. Sunday dinner with the family was not in his comfort zone this week. But if he didn’t show, he’d look ashamed or cowed. Shit.
When he got to his condo—a simple two-bedroom that was nearly ascetic, even to his own eye—Eric made a sandwich, grabbed a beer and turned on a boxing match. Boxing was the perfect sport, in his opinion. There were rules and structure, but it was the most basic of all competitions. The most primal. Beat the other guy, literally. All other sports seemed to want to dance around that issue. “Yeah, you can physically destroy your opponent, but you have to be holding a ball while you do it.” That smacked of dishonesty to Eric, but maybe he was only feeling sensitive to the issue.
Once it became clear that both boxers in this match were hitting for points instead of a knockout, Eric turned off the TV, grabbed another beer and headed for the shower.
Ten minutes later, he was in bed and clicking on the TV in the bedroom, his body still as tense as ever.
This was his life. Work. His family. And this white-walled condo. Yet his family had grown up. Both Tessa and Jamie had significant others now. They both had homes they’d taken the time to make their own. And they’d grown into the brewery, too. Eric’s role in their lives was shrinking, and how the hell was he supposed to make up the loss?
He’d need to find a hobby. An interest. Or maybe he could take over one hundred percent of the trade show duties and spend more time on the road.
The thought wasn’t satisfying, but it felt logical. He’d run it by Jamie at dinner tomorrow. Jamie would probably be happy to avoid time away from his new girlfriend, at any rate. Up until now, the man had never made a commitment to anyone, but he seemed damned enthusiastic about his relationship with Olivia.
Maybe that was what Eric needed. A woman.
Unfortunately, Beth was the only woman who popped into his head, and she was unavailable in so many ways, starting with the fact that she hated his guts. But, God, she’d been beautiful today. More beautiful than she had been when Eric had first met her, or maybe it was just that he knew the exact shape of her breasts and shade of her nipples. Maybe it was that his fingers could still remember the way her curves had yielded to his touch.
She was gorgeous in that way ’40s pinup girls were. Soft and curved and luscious. The embodiment of sex, even though her smile always kept its distance.
Not that there’d been any smiling today. But the anger in her eyes had mimicked the fierceness of her need in that hotel room. She’d wanted it as much as he had. They’d both been desperate. She’d knelt before him and curved her hands over the top of the headboard, her knuckles white as he’d started to ease into her tight body.
Eric closed his eyes against the flickering light of the television and shoved down the sheets. He closed a hand over his thickening cock and imagined it was Beth’s hand wrapping around him. Instead of being pissed when he showed up at her store today, she was happy to see him, eager to pick up where they’d left off.
He stroked, feeling his shaft swell against his own hand, and imagined reaching for her jeans and tugging them down. Then he’d bend her over that countertop and strip down her panties. Would she let him have her like that? In the daylight, in her own store, with only a locked door between them and the rest of the world?
Her belly would be pressed to the cold glass of the counter, her ass naked and plump under his hands. And her sex would be just as wet and tight as he remembered. He’d slide in slow and careful, and she’d sigh with pleasure. Her arms would stretch out, flexing against the invasion. And then she’d beg him to fuck her harder. She’d call him by his real name and it would be perfect.
Eric stroked himself faster, his fingers growing slick with pre-come. In his fantasy, Beth cried out, her back arching. “Fuck me, Eric,” she moaned, and he felt that surge of power that came with knowing he could make a woman like her come. She’d shaken in his arms and sobbed, and it had felt like a damned miracle to make a woman like her shatter.
Even in his imagination it was a carnal miracle, and Eric took himself with a brutal grip as he remembered her sex squeezing him.
“Come,” Beth ordered inside his mind, and so he came, the heat splashing across his stomach instead of filling her up, but it still felt better than anything he’d done since that long-ago night in that anonymous hotel room.
Eric let his head fall back into the pillow and he finally felt tired. Thank God.
BETH HAD A CLASS TO TEACH on Monday, so she surveyed the store for research items when her shift was over. On Saturday night, the place was busy with couples looking for fun and groups of women who giggled over dildos before surreptitiously placing them in shopping bags. Beth had made the switch from baskets to bags to save people the self-consciousness of browsing while toting around a thirty-two-ounce bottle of lube. Some people got a little funny about that.
When she didn’t see anything particularly inspiring in the toy room, Beth went to her office to dig through the boxes there. They seemed to get a new set of factory samples every other day, and she could definitely find some inspiration in those innocuous-looking cardboard boxes.
Sure enough, she found a new model she’d never seen before and shoved the plastic box into her purse with a glance over her shoulder to see who was watching, just as if she was one of those shy customers. This self-consciousness was the bane of her existence. She could help an eighty-year-old couple pick out a set of his-and-her vibrators without blinking an eye, but she couldn’t discuss her own sex life without stammering and blushing. Luckily, Cairo wasn’t so reticent, and she was always happy to help with the classes.
Speaking of which. “Don’t forget Monday night,” she said as she waved goodbye to Cairo.
“G-spot!” Cairo called. “Got it!” Her gorgeous smile didn’t even twitch. Had she been born with that confidence? More importantly, was there a way Beth could steal it from her and make it her own?
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