Mister O(51)

But when Harper sends me the location for our date, the last thing on my mind is the show. It’s why the f*ck are we meeting a block away from Spencer and Charlotte’s home?





23





Harper waits for me on the corner of Christopher Street and Seventh Avenue South, wearing black heels, a light-pink jacket cinched tightly at the waist, a gray skirt, and black stockings. Immediately, I decide they have bows where the garters attach. Because of course she’s wearing garters. Of course I’m going to be aroused the entire night. And of course I don’t want to go to Spencer’s apartment on our date.

I march up to her and park a hand on her shoulder. “Remember that time I said I liked everything? I’m going to amend that. The one kink I don’t like is messing around at your brother’s place.”

She scoffs. “Relax. I just have to feed Fido. Spencer’s house is right near where I’ve planned our date, so I figured we could do it on the way.”

She spins around and starts walking to his house. I join her, covering the familiar block to my best friend’s abode with growing unease as we pass the hip coffee shop, the shoe store, and the neighboring brick brownstone.

At his front door, that latent kernel of guilt shoves its way to the front of the line. As we enter the elevator, it lodges in my chest. “Harper, I feel like shit going into your brother’s home like this.”

“Like what?”

“You know. Since we’re doing this thing.” I gesture from her to me.

“He’s gone for the week on his honeymoon, and we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I know, but you’re his sister. And I’m his friend. And I’m crossing lines.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Do you want to stop?” she asks, worry in her voice.

“No more than I want to pound a five-inch nail into my head.”

She winces as the elevator slows at his floor and the doors open. “Ouch. That hurts just thinking about it. But I’m curious—would a four-inch nail make a difference?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Then why are we discussing it?”

She makes a good point. A great point, actually. Besides, this is a temporary arrangement. One week only. Still, as we walk down the hall I picture myself as a man heading into a courtroom, ready to be judged. “Because you know how he is. He’s protective of you.”

She nods and shoots me a small smile as she reaches his door and grabs the key from her purse. “I do know, and I love him. But he’s not the boss of my body. I’m in charge of who gets to touch me. Not him. Not anyone. Besides, you and I agreed this was just between us way back at Speakeasy,” she says, reminding me of the nature of this relationship—to help her learn the ins and outs of sex and dating, and to never tell a soul.

“But more than that,” she adds, running her hand down her chest to the top button of her jacket and undoing it to reveal a sliver of creamy skin. “I’m a grown woman, and I feel completely confident that I can make my own decisions about who I want to wear black stockings and a new lacy lingerie set for.”

Just like that, I’m hypnotized. I’m under her spell, a cartoon character with glassy eyes, following the piece of steak he finds at the end of a string. No way can I resist her with that image planted in my head. I’ll follow her and her lingerie and her kick-ass attitude wherever she goes. She’s so f*cking strong in her beliefs, in who she is, and it’s a huge part of the allure.

She unlocks the door to Spencer’s home, and we step inside. Fido scampers over to her.

“What kind of lingerie?”

“It’s a surprise for you for later. But suffice to say, it’s all part of my thorough preparation for your coursework, as you requested . . . Professor Hammer,” she says, lingering on my new nickname in a thoroughly seductive tone as she bends to pick up the cat.

Her skirt rides up, giving me the sweetest, naughtiest peek of the top of her stockings, right where they meet her garters. Hello, hard-on.

“You darling boy,” she coos to the cat as she stands. “Did you miss me?”

Fido meows at Harper in greeting, and offers her his chin for petting. “Aww. You little honey bear. I told you I’d be here to feed you your special tiger diet. I would never forget you.”

He rubs his furry cheek against her breast, and I whimper. The lucky bastard. Then he has the audacity to stretch out his paw and rest it on the exposed flesh of her chest.

“I think Fido is trying to feel you up.”

Harper laughs and scratches his chin. He snuggles even closer to her. Man, this cat has it bad.

“Come pet him. He’s sweet,” she says.

I move closer and rub his ears. As I stroke him, Harper absently touches my hair. The cat stops purring. He stares at us, at her hand on me, as if he’s cataloguing every move we make. Maybe I’m hallucinating, but I swear he narrows his beady eyes.

Harper puts him down, fills his food bowl, and sets it on the floor. As he eats, she changes the litter, and then washes her hands. After she dries them, she runs a hand down the cat’s back. He arches into her as he chows down on the rest of his dinner.

“See? Fido won’t tell our secret. He has a little crush on me, and all he wants is for me to come back tomorrow.”