Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Jacob
This week has been . . . weird. First, I find out Noelle is practically a virgin. Only had sex with one guy, and from the way she talks about him, he sounds like a total douchebag. Then, I almost lost a client because my ex tried to convince him she was better than me.
Lucky for me, a sex tape of her and one of her current clients got leaked, and now she’s under investigation. So, that little problem took care of itself, and I’ve added a few new athletes to my roster. Winning.
But the biggest thing? Noelle’s been avoiding me the way I try to avoid her holiday craziness. I haven’t seen her all week, and I’m pretty sure she’s dodging me. I’ve heard her a couple of times late at night, talking to herself or someone on the phone.
Normally, I would’ve interrupted her, reminded her that there’s such a thing as an inside voice. However, I was trying to catch the whole conversation—so I stayed quiet. Then there was that buzzing sound. Oh yeah, and the screaming at three in the morning last night. You would think someone was trying to kill her. I was getting dressed and about to call the police when I heard the panting and the “yes, fuck yes.”
Pretty damn sure she was getting off with a toy. Good for her, though, I wish she had let me be the one doing it for her. With me, she wouldn’t need any of that. I’ve got everything she could ever need, all integrated and ready. Hell, I wouldn’t even mind playing with her and that little toy—if she’s willing to share.
Did I jerk off in the shower thinking about what I’d do to her with that damn toy? Obviously. I could see it so clearly: her, sprawled out on the bed, that vibrator buzzing against her, and me there, watching, soaking in every second of it.
First, I’d make her use it on herself. Not just watch, but direct her. I’d tell her exactly how I want it—slow at first, long, teasing strokes, making her feel every inch. Then, I’d tell her to go harder, faster, just to see how far I can push her, right up until that moment when her breath hitches and she’s about to come.
And that’s when I’d stop her.
Watch her squirm, beg for it with her body, desperate to fall over the edge.
But I wouldn’t let her. Not yet.
I’d pull her legs apart, spreading her wide for me, taking my time as I kiss her thighs. Teasing her. My mouth barely grazing her skin, just enough to keep her on edge but not enough to give her what she needs. I’d stay there until she’s calm again, until that wild look in her eyes turns into something softer—then I’d keep going. I’d push the toy deeper inside her, watching as her body arches, trembling under the tension building up between us.
She’d gasp, maybe bite her lip, trying to stay in control, but we both know who’s really in charge here.
Then I’d lean down, my mouth trailing lower, closer to where she wants me. I’d lick her slowly at first, letting her feel every flick of my tongue, while the toy buzzes inside her, driving her insane. Her hips would buck, trying to take more, but I’d make her wait—just a little longer. Just until her body’s shaking with need.
And then I’d give it to her.
I’d thrust the toy deeper, syncing it with the rhythm of my tongue teasing her clit, pushing her further and further until she’s trembling, her moans filling the room, coming apart beneath me. Her whole body would surrender, helpless and wild, while I’d keep going, not stopping until she’s completely undone, her body writhing beneath me. I’d keep my tongue moving in time with the toy, driving her higher with every flick, every thrust, feeling her thighs tremble against my face. She’d be gasping, moaning my name, helpless to stop the wave building inside her.
And then, just when she thinks she can’t take any more, I’d push her further. My mouth would close around her clit, sucking gently, then harder, sending shockwaves through her body while I’d keep the toy moving inside her, deeper, faster. Her hips would jerk uncontrollably, her back arching off the bed as she finally falls apart, shuddering, coming hard against my mouth and the toy.
But I wouldn’t stop. Not until I’ve wrung out every last drop of pleasure from her, watching her lose control again and again, her moans turning into soft whimpers as her body surrenders, completely spent. Only then would I pull back, satisfied, leaving her breathless, limp, and thoroughly wrecked in the best possible way.
She’d be lying there, chest heaving, skin flushed, glowing, and I’d lean over her, wiping my mouth with a wicked grin. I’d tell her, “See, baby. You don’t need any toy when you’ve got me.”
Fuck. Just thinking about it makes me hard all over again. She has no idea what I’d do to her if she ever let me. But damn, I’d make sure she’d never forget. I need to make this happen—us—and not just some half-assed attempt. I’m talking pure, raw, unfiltered sex. The kind that leaves us both wrecked and wanting more.
Which is exactly why I have to go with her to this apple-picking thing and the damn gala. That’s where I’ll seal the deal. Or at least try my hardest to convince her that we could create magic together. And not the kind of magic she swears the holidays bring. No, I’m talking about real magic—the kind that’s hot, messy, and unforgettable.
The problem with the gala? I don’t have a fucking dress for her.
Yeah, I was way too cocky when I promised to handle it. Now I’m sitting here, staring at my laptop, realizing I have no clue what the hell I’m doing. Panic is creeping in slowly but surely. Why did I offer to do this again? Oh, right—because I like making things harder for myself. My siblings call it being a control freak. I call it trying not to fuck up. Clearly, I’m failing.
Maybe dealing with a few extra holiday decorations and Noelle’s relentless cheer for a few months isn’t the worst thing in the world, but if this is the first of many “exchanges,” I’m already screwing up spectacularly. Should I ask her if she’s sure she doesn’t have a dress stashed somewhere in her closet? Something vintage from her grandmother, maybe? Isn’t there some saying about fashion always coming back?
I rub my temples. Great. Now I’m over here hoping for a fashion-retro miracle. Good job, man.
What’s the alternative, though? I’ve never been good at buying things for anyone, let alone a woman. And a dress for a gala? That’s way beyond my skill set. Audrey always takes care of Mom’s birthday gifts. Max and I just send cash and call it teamwork. Mom thinks it’s the cutest thing—swears we’re the epitome of perfect siblings.
As if, Max and I couldn’t do much if it wasn’t for our little sister. If only she knew how much of a disaster I am when it comes to this stuff. Maybe I should just let Noelle pick out her own dress? But where’s the fun in that? I told her I’d handle it, and I will.
Yeah right. It’s more like Audrey knows her brothers are useless when it comes to knowing what to gift and she just does it for us. That’s why I love my little sister.
Maybe that’s the solution—Audrey. My fingers hover over my phone. She’d have a dress picked out, links sent, and the order placed in under five minutes. Problem solved. But that would mean explaining why I’m buying a dress and knowing Noelle’s size, which . . . I don’t even have knowledge on sizes. Matching shoes? Forget it. And this outfit wouldn’t be just any outfit—a fancy one for a gala. And . . . yeah, no. Not opening that can of worms.
Audrey’s been trying to shove me into the “find love” express lane ever since she got married. And after Max knocked up Zoe and our niece Emma was born, Aud has only ramped up her efforts. The last thing I need is her grilling me about Noelle, followed by subtle hints about feelings and relationships.
Nope. Not happening. I can already hear her, “Wait—what do you mean, a dress? You’re going out with Noelle Holiday? I knew there was just one step from loathing her cheerful personality to falling madly in love with her.” Or if I don’t tell her for whom she’ll just ask, “Jacob, are you dating someone?” Cue the smirk, the raised eyebrow, and a full interrogation. Hard pass.
With a sigh, I flop back onto the couch, running a hand through my hair. Okay, think. Who else can I call that won’t turn this into a big deal?
. . . Exactly. No one. “Ugh, I’m doomed.”
Just then, my phone rings, and I groan as I glance at the screen—Caleb Cunningham. One of my brother’s best friend and a constant pain in my ass ever since he moved to New York with his wife, Emmersyn. For reasons I’ll never understand, Caleb seems to think I’m his personal lawyer, even though I’ve told him a million times that I don’t practice law, I’m a sports agent. Yet, every time, I end up sorting out his legal mess, hiring an actual lawyer, and playing middleman.
What the fuck does he need now? I should just text him back and remind him I’m not his lawyer, or his personal assistant for that matter. But, of course, I pick up, sighing into the phone with a reluctant, “What’s up, Cal?”
“Hey, Jacobo,” Caleb’s voice is way too happy for my liking. “Quick question. Can you get Em and me tickets to that gala? You know, the one for—what’s it called again? Oh, right, the Starlight Foundation Charity Gala. The one that funds little league uniforms for inner-city kids or pays for their fees . . . Sorry, Em told me about it last month and I totally forgot to call you.”
A month, he was supposed to call me a month ago. Priceless. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course, he wants in on the gala. “You want me to get you guys into the Starlight Foundation Gala? Isn’t your wife basically the Queen of the city? She can get anything and everything.”
“Usually, but she doesn’t rub elbows with athletes, and they didn’t invite her to this one,” he says, like that explains everything. “Also, she doesn’t want anyone to know she’ll be there, so make up some names for us, maybe?
He’s such a pain in the ass.
“Why do you even want to go?” I ask, already knowing the answer won’t make me feel any better.
“Connections,” he replies. “There are a few people Em’s looking to hire as COO and VP of something—I didn’t catch the exact title—but she wants to meet them in person before making any official calls.”
I sigh. “Of course it’s for business.”
“I promise to make a hefty donation,” he offers. “We won’t only make it about her business.”
I believe they will because they’re pretty kind. And just as I’m about to agree without any strings attached, a lightbulb goes off in my head. Emmersyn could actually help me with my current dilemma.
“So, if I get you in, can you two do me a favor?”
“Favor, huh?” He’s intrigued. “Talk to me. What do you need?”
“First of all, this can’t get to my sister or brother,” I warn him.
“Intrigued even more. Continue,” he says, probably smirking on the other end.
“My date for the gala . . . I kind of coerced my neighbor into coming with me. She mentioned she didn’t have a dress—probably as an excuse to back out—but I convinced her. Now, I have no idea where to get her a dress,” I admit.
He laughs. He fucking laughs. Once he calms down, he says, “Why in the world would you do that? Did you really need a date that bad?”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
“Wait, is this the holiday-crazed neighbor you’ve been complaining about?” he asks, barely hiding his amusement.
“How do you know about her?”
“Audrey told us all about her. She’s really enjoying how Ms. Holiday is torturing you one holiday and decoration at a time,” he chuckles.
“What the fuck . . .” I mutter to myself.
Why would Audrey be telling everyone my business? It’s not like I didn’t tell her to keep it between us, but also why is she sharing?
“If you want this invitation, you’re gonna have to keep this between us and help me with Noelle’s dress. Please,” I say, hoping he’ll come through.
Caleb chuckles again. “Let me ask Em for her style consultant’s number. She’ll probably swoop in and rescue Noelle immediately—if you’re willing to double her fee.”
Relief washes over me, and I sag back against the couch. “I’ll pay anything. Seriously, thank you.”
I hadn’t realized how tense I was until that moment. My shoulders relax, and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Crisis (almost) averted. For now.
Caleb snorts. “I can’t wait to meet her and figure out your angle.”