Pickup Lessons (Awkward Arrangements Book 3) Read online

  And god, I love that about her.

  “I know you do.” My throat feels thick and tight, and the room gets quiet.

  Eden sighs. “Sometimes people don’t like…” her voice drifts off, and her mouth goes flat.

  “What?” I ask, searching her eyes with concern.

  She twists her mouth like she’s reluctant to say anything, but when I ask again, she says, “Ambition.”

  Ah. I lean forward and brush a kiss on the tip of her nose. If I keep being an overprotective ass, it’s going to hurt both of us.

  “I like your ambition, E.”

  The doubtful frown still curves her lips. “You do?”

  I trace my hand down her arm until our fingers are laced, then I give a gentle squeeze. “It’s sexy as hell.”

  Her eyes soften. “Thank you,” she whispers. “But this still feels like an impasse. I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to keep doing me.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to stop,” I promise, but then my mind starts whirring. “What if there’s a middle ground?”

  “Tell me more.”

  Thinking quickly, I stride toward the messenger bag that I left on her coffee table and slide out my sketchbook and pen. “What if I draw you in the bras? You can always post photographs of them separately if you need. But it’s a win-win because I get in a little practice and you get unique blog content.”

  Her eyes light up. “You’d draw me, Mr. Walton?”

  Fuck yeah, I would. “Of course. You’d be helping me out.”

  “I’m sure you could find practice other ways,” she smirks, but she’s still smiling, and I know we’re gonna be okay.

  “Actually,” I start. Do I tell her about Dark Horse? I suck in a deep breath and assess the risk. If I tell her I’m drawing a character based on her, she might think I’m a needy asshole or a creep. But if she doesn’t throw me out of her apartment screaming, maybe it’ll be the kick in the ass I need to actually get this done.

  “Dash?” Eden’s staring at me, and I realize I’ve gone quiet.

  Fuck it. No time like the present.

  “I don’t know if Titus told you, but we landed a web design contract with Dark Horse Comics. They take open submissions, and I’m hoping to use my in with them for a little extra leverage. Send along a story pitch.”

  “So smart,” she breathes.

  I feel a grin tug my lips. “I haven’t even gotten to the best part.” At least, I hope she’ll think it’s the best part. “I was thinking about drawing a kick-ass heroine who looks a little like…” I wave a hand in her direction and watch her face light up.

  “You’re serious?”

  I nod. “As long as you don’t let it go to your head.”

  Eden bounces off the chair and wraps her arms around my neck. “Scout’s honor,” she pledges.

  I drop my hands to her hips and pull her against my body. “Were you ever a scout?”

  Her smile outshines the goddamn sun. “Nope.”

  “Well, guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “Good call.” Eden lifts onto her toes and brings her mouth to mine, kissing me like a reward. She smells so fucking good—tastes like mint and hope—and the attention of that sweet mouth makes my dick stand at attention.

  “Eden,” I groan.

  I feel her smile on my lips. “Yes?” she purrs.

  “Get your ass changed into that bra, or you’re going to spend the whole day buck naked instead.”

  “That wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she teases, kissing a line from the corner of my mouth to my ear. The touch sets my skin on fire and threatens to snap my restraint.

  “Eden,” I growl, torn between wanting to encourage her to keep touching me and showing her I can be the kind of man who supports her dreams. The long-term plan wins out. “Go.”

  She drops onto her heels and says, “If you say so.” Then, with a victorious grin on her pretty face, she goes.

  23

  Eden

  My heart flutters like a trapped bird as I step into my living room in only a bra, panties, and a silk robe.“Where do you want me?” I whisper, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  For all the times we’ve been intimate, this morning feels the most exposed—me and Dash and the full heat of his attention. Daylight and bright colors and no place to hide.

  I love the idea of blog content that you can’t find just anywhere, but the idea of sitting here half naked for who knows how long makes my throat dry and my palms sweaty.

  Dash looks up from the sketchbook arranged on his knees and gestures across the coffee table with the shadow of a smile on his mouth. “On the couch, I think.”

  He’s still wearing only his jeans, and the thought that he’s shirtless, too, makes me feel an ounce better. I walk across the room and, with my back to him, suck in a deep breath and slip the robe from my shoulders. The second I spin to lie on the couch, I find Dash’s face transformed with reverence.

  “Eden,” he whispers. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  He looks like he wants to dive between my legs and never come up for air, and the simple glimmer of appreciation in his eyes makes the remainder of my anxiety evaporate.

  “Okay, Mr. Walton.” I arrange my head on the armrest of the couch, trying to find a comfortable position that shows off the bra I’m being paid to promote. “How do I look?”

  He smirks at me over the edge of his notebook, uncapping his pen. “Are you fishing for compliments, Ellis?”

  I adjust the first bra—a sleek black number that plunges low between my breasts. “Making sure the, uh, merchandise looks good.”

  He grins back. “The merchandise looks very fucking good.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why do I have a feeling you’d say that even if I weren’t wearing a bra at all?”

  “Because that’s what supportive boyfriends say.”

  Boyfriend.

  The word makes time stop for a second, makes my breath hitch and my heart beat fast. I want him to be my boyfriend, so damn much. I want to hold hands in public and kiss wherever we please. Does everything still count if it’s half in secret?

  I swallow my doubt and make a mental promise to tell Titus about us as soon as the moment is right. If I explain things, maybe we can get through this unscathed.

  There. It’s as good as done.

  I am not letting my brother ruin this moment.

  “Well, then.” I wiggle back against the cushions. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

  Dash narrows his eyes. “Did you just quote Titanic at me?”

  “Maybe.” I can’t help my grin. “Did you just admit to knowing a line from Titanic?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  I toss back my head and laugh so hard I practically cackle. “Dash Walton. Always throwing surprises my way.”

  He leans back in his chair. “Hopefully good ones.”

  I nod and feel my body relax as he begins drawing. Dash works quickly, looking between me and the sketchbook as his pen glides over the paper. His forehead furrows in concentration, and strands of his messy hair fall into his green eyes.

  “So tell me the truth, E,” Dash says. “How many times have you seen Titanic?”

  “Too many times to count. I maaaay have had a giant crush on Leo.”

  He smirks. “I don’t know, I’m more of a Kate guy myself.”

  I stick out my tongue and grin back at him, causing a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Careful, or I’m gonna draw you like that.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I gasp.

  He gives a casual shrug and says, “I’m the one with the pen.”

  I try to smooth my face, but I can’t keep the smile at bay.

  Dash continues drawing, and his eyes are trained on his page as he says, “I did catch a Celine concert in Vegas a while ago.”

  I want to laugh at the obscure admission, but he seems genuine. “My heart will go on,” I say instead. “Solid advice.”

  “Yeah.” He
nods. “I always appreciated singers. I had trouble with stuttering when I was young, and it made me admire the hell out of anyone who could convey so much emotion in their words.” He shrugs. “Probably why I turned to drawing. It’s another way to say things without saying a word.”

  I love his way of seeing the world. We have different approaches to things, but they’ve gotten us to this same beautiful place, haven’t they? “So what makes a good comic? I don’t know much about them, but I want to learn.”

  A faint smile curves his lips, but his concentration doesn’t waver. “A couple of things. First up, you’ve got to have a strong narrative arc to carry you through. And you have to be consistent, which means not only does the art need to feel cohesive across the story, but you also need to keep characters and their behaviors recognizable across the plot.”

  “That makes sense. It’s like good storytelling.”

  Dash tears his eyes away from the page to grin at me. “Exactly. And to make something really stick, you want the main ideas to be relatable to someone’s real life—the same kind of choices, like whether you hurt someone or stay loyal, or what to do when a situation puts you in conflict with your morals. Comics just play out on a grander scale.” He lifts the sketchbook off his knees and sets it on the table. “Plus, the heroes are pretty badass.”

  I fold a smile between my lips. “Tell me about your hero.”

  His gaze warms my face as he speaks without hesitation. “She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to ask for it. She’s got the biggest heart and a smart mouth, and she’ll stick up for strangers even if it gets her in trouble. She wants everyone to realize their own potential. Her power is persistence.”

  Tears prick my eyes, and my throat feels tight. “She sounds wonderful,” I say and fall halfway in love with him on the spot. It feels big and dangerous—like there’s so much potential if we can just let this thing grow.

  That’s the thing about love—it has to be big or it wouldn’t be worth the risk. Loving Dash could hurt some of the people we care about most, but I’d take that chance over and over to feel the way I do now. Loved. Seen. Heard.

  Whatever this is, there’s no going back.

  Dash lifts an eyebrow. “First drawing’s done. Wanna see?”

  I nod, and Dash walks around the table to sit beside me on the couch. I lean my cheek on his shoulder as he shows me the first picture of a woman stretched on a couch. He captured the bra and underwear like a fashion designer, making the set an instant must-buy. And the woman—she’s clearly me, but she’s also more—strong and soft and beautiful all at the same time.

  “She looks…powerful,” I say.

  Dash sets his notebook on the coffee table and pulls me all the way into his arms. “She’s you, angel.” He searches my eyes like he can feel the doubt inside my head. “You are powerful.”

  I feel my smile slip. “Sometimes I don’t feel that way.” I let out a shaky laugh as a sudden wave of insecurity rolls over me. “I feel like you’re exposing me as a fraud.”

  “What?” Dash’s face twists with alarm, and he tightens his grip around me, his heat and strength wrapped around my body.

  I lift my eyes to the ceiling because it’s easier to look away than face him as I admit my fears. “I write an empowerment blog, and yet I’ve got all these weaknesses. Maybe all I’m doing is trying too hard.”

  “No,” Dash replies firmly, without hesitation. “You’re being human. And your blog is about being real and strong and going after what you want. Being the protagonist in your own story.” He nudges me to make me look at him again, and all I see is love in his eyes. “You’re allowed to be flawed. You’re allowed to be complicated. Living a full life—really living the highs and lows—shapes you. Your experiences make you that much more beautiful.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” I whisper.

  “So, so much.” He sweeps a lock of hair behind my ear, then kisses my bare shoulder. “How many people do you let in?” he whispers against my skin. “How many people see the whole you?”

  I freeze under his touch, a painful lump rising in my throat. “Not many,” I admit.

  “I see you, Eden Ellis.” Dash cups my face in his hands like I’m precious. Like I’m a gift. “I love what I see.”

  I want to cry, overwhelmed with an emotion I can’t name. Because I see him, too. It feels like so much more than just attraction between us. It feels like home. And that word—love? It floors me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I place my hand on his beating heart and feel it pound for me. I want to always feel this way—alive and inspired and cherished. But more than that, I want him. Seeing myself in his eyes only reinforces how I feel about him—a surge of love and desire heating my blood.

  I walk my fingers up his bare chest and scrape them over the rough stubble on his jaw, my lips following the path. His skin’s salty and warm and delicious, and I can’t get enough of him.

  Dash groans, his eyes half-hooded in arousal. Even turned on, he manages a crooked smile that hooks my heart and claims it. “Are you a keyboard?” he asks. “Because you look like just my type.”

  I laugh and then groan, and he swallows the noise with a kiss that makes me so wet, I’m sure I’ve ruined these panties. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

  His kiss is a lightning strike, burning and claiming and electric, sending sparks of fire into the air around us.

  I turn in his lap and straddle him, feeling his cock swell in response to my kisses.

  “I should compliment you more often,” Dash rasps, sweeping a hand down my spine to grab my ass and pull me closer.

  “You’re pretty damn good at it,” I admit, panting as I grind on him, loving the friction of our bodies together. His jeans feel rough beneath my bare thighs. The silky patch of my panties rubs over my clit, keeping my most sensitive skin in a state of pure arousal.

  I drop my face and swirl my tongue over his neck, eager to please, to let him know how much I want him, too.

  Dash slides a finger under the front of my panties, tracing the silky edge and causing my core to clench hard. He’s inches away from my clit, but he doesn’t touch me there. Instead, he continues the trail around the seams, dipping his fingers along my inner thighs, and making me so hot I’m ready to beg. “Do you need to return these items?” he asks, lifting his blazing gaze to mine. “To the sponsor, or whatever.”

  “No,” I whimper, rocking my hips, wanting the delicious torture of his touch.

  “Good.” He grips the thin fabric and then rips the panties off of me.

  I gasp as the material shreds under his capable fingers, but his eyes pin me in place, raking over me with such carnal desire that I shiver.

  “So. Fucking. Hot,” he says.

  “Dash,” I pant. “Touch me.”

  With a wicked grin, he sweeps his hands up my inner thighs and teases my clit with his thumb. “Like this?”

  My head lolls back with satisfaction, and I hang on to his shoulders as a wave of pleasure hits me, spreading from my chest to my toes. “Yes,” I gasp. “Like that.”

  “Mmm,” he groans, sinking a finger inside me.

  A soft cry escapes my lips at the sensation, but it’s still just a tease. I need all of him—now.

  I cling to my senses long enough to help him out of his jeans. When he’s bare for me too, all manhood and devastation, I reach for the clasp of my bra.

  “Leave it on,” Dash says, staying me with his words.

  I flash him a coy smile. “You like it?”

  “I like everything about you.” He reaches for my hips and drags me back onto his lap, my hands finding his shoulders again to keep my balance.

  There’s nothing between us but my bra—just bare skin and miles of possibility.

  Dash teases me relentlessly, stroking his cock through my slick folds over and over but never slipping inside where I want him most. My breath comes in quick pants now, and my heart’s pounding hard enough to remind me that sex is cardio, an
d I’m all guttural moans, but there’s no embarrassment. I can’t be ashamed with the way he keeps looking at me like I’m precious. But instead of giving me everything, Dash holds me there, an inch away from sinking onto him. Just the tip of his delicious cock, teasing, taunting, coaxing me higher and higher.

  “Dash, I need you,” I plead.

  I hear the pride and pleasure in his voice. “You want this?”

  “Please,” I gasp. I want to come. I want to shatter around him. But I want him there with me. I want to see his control snap.

  “Now?” he asks, positioning the tip of his cock at my entrance.

  “Now,” I whisper.

  He holds my gaze as he slides into me with a reverent sigh, and it’s so intimate and honest that all at once I understand—this isn’t sex, it’s making love. That alone sends my heart soaring, my pulse racing. Dash and me—this is so much more than I ever imagined, but it’s everything I want.

  I kiss him hard as he lifts me up again, all the way to his tip. This time he lets me take control, and I sink back onto him so deliciously slowly that my mind explodes and my thighs shake. His cock’s so full and thick inside me, his hands warm on my hips, and now I know what it means to be claimed.

  In the middle of the sunlit morning, Dash holds me close. Chest to chest, mouth to mouth, eye to eye. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him as I slide back up and down, still slow and steady.

  “You’re killing me, E,” he whispers, gripping my ass. “Faster, baby. I need to move.”

  “Now who’s torturing who?” I tease, dragging my teeth gently over his ear, but even as I say it, I move faster.

  He bites out a groan. “God, Eden, you’re everything.”

  My grin’s a mile wide. “Fuck me how you want. Show me how I make you feel,” I demand. Then I let him take over, lifting me and pushing me back down on the best ride of my life. Sweat coating our skin, breath ragged, hearts flying.

  Dash sets a demanding, unapologetic rhythm, thrusting into me and splintering my senses. And, yes—this, this is what I want. Our bodies tangled, our hearts intertwined.

  I whimper and surrender to the sensations, letting my body take over as he buries himself in me over and over. From this position—Dash inside me, my clit rubbing on his skin—everything’s blazing heat. Pleasure consumes me, and all I can feel is Dash, my body, his scent, his breath hot on my skin.