Then he moved, rolling to his side, our faces close, his eyes studying mine. “How are you single?”

I looked into his eyes, at the bright blue sparks of his pupils. “I don’t need a boyfriend.”

“Women rarely need the things they want.” He smiled, running a free hand gently along the inside of my arm.

“I’m not exactly normal,” I offered. His mouth curved at the words, light entering them, a sarcastic response at the tip of his tongue. I waved his comeback off. “I don’t mean that in a good way. You and I? Having sex so quickly? It wasn’t because I was blown away by your penthouse or your gorgeous blue eyes. It was sex, great sex, but just for pleasure. What we just did...I’m not expecting anything from you because of it. I don’t need to make ‘this’ anything more than what it is right now.”

He frowned. “So you want to use me... using me. For sex.”

I laughed. “Oh please, it’s every man’s perfect scenario. Don’t give me that guilt trip.”

His frown twitched slightly at the corners. “And what if I want more?”

“I don’t think you have time for more.”

I knew, from the start, what I was signing up for. And I made sure he knew the same. That I was a sexual creature, who wouldn’t stand by and wait to be beckoned. I lived my normal life, with bits of Stewart’s cock sprinkled in when he had time. And that lasted for a bit, till he started getting attached and decided he didn’t want me screwing strangers any more.

TWO YEARS EARLIER

“I want you to find a boyfriend.” Stewart said gruffly, while I was pinned against the wall of his office, his rigid cock inside of me. It was nine o’clock on a Tuesday night, everyone with any sanity gone, a uniformed cleaner already sticking his head in and catching us in the act.

“What?”

He thrust upward, making me moan, pulling my hips downward slightly, till the depth made me ache. “A boyfriend. Someone to fuck you when I am busy, someone who can take you on dates, and rub your feet, and listen to you talk about your day.”

“I fuck when you’re busy.” The statement caused his eyes to darken, his thrusts to increase in force and speed.

He knew this. Knew I wasn’t exclusively his. It was a choice he made, his addiction to success and files and stock prices too time consuming to allow for more than a night or two a week of fucktime. And our sessions were often like this – squeezed in at a time when stress lines his face, and meetings or emails are only a step or two away.

“I don’t like you fucking a bunch of strangers. It’s not safe. And you deserve more than that.”

I wished he would stop talking, the words causing his movement to stop, his serious expression putting a damper on my arousal. “Let’s talk about it later.”

He continued on, ignoring my suggestion. “You deserve someone who will be there for you everyday. Who will rub your feet and take you to dinner, and take you to the doctor when you’re sick.”

“So you want me to ditch you for someone with more time?”

He growled, gripping my skin and lifting me, my arms wrapping around his neck for security, as he carried me across the room and deposited me on his desk. “Fuck no. I will never allow someone to take you from me.” He ran his hands possessively down my front, pulling up my tank top and caressing the bare breasts beneath, his hands firm and strong, cupping my breasts like he owned them, dropping his face down and taking one in his mouth. “But I will lose you soon enough to someone who can shower you with time and affection. You need an everyday man to satisfy those needs.” He glanced up as his pace resumed, that dark glitter of intensity that I loved returning to his eyes. “But I will always own your heart. And this man would be second to me in your heart.”

I smiled, wrapping my legs around his hips and squeezing. “You can’t control my heart, Stewart.”

He lowered himself to me, bending over the desk as he fucked me, deep, possessive fucks that shot drugged pleasure through me with each stroke. Gripping my arms and pinning them to the desk, he took a long, deep taste of my mouth before breaking away and staring into my eyes. “I can sure as hell try.”

I closed my eyes, gripping his hips, and let him fuck me through another two orgasms before he came, in my mouth, his eyes glued to mine as he pumped himself onto my tongue. I thought he would drop the ‘boyfriend’ talk, thought that it was mid-sex ridiculousness that would never be spoke of again. But he pressed the issue, revisiting the topic enough times that I realized his sincerity. He worried about me. My safety, my happiness. Worried about losing me due to lack of attention. He wanted me to have a steady fuck, wanted someone to make up for the slack he couldn’t provide. He wanted someone safe, friendly. Someone I wouldn’t leave him for, but that would make me happy. He wanted Paul, I just hadn’t found him yet.

So I continued fucking strangers, my libido as aggressive as ever. And then, on that day in Santa Monica, I met Paul. I fucked Paul. And he was different. Paul was, as he stared into my eyes and fucked me in the surf, someone Stewart would approve of.

Safe.

Friendly.

Sweet.

Paul has changed since that day. He is more possessive of me than he once was. Not during our daily life, but often our sex is fired with competitiveness, his cock claiming me as if he has something to prove. He is not safe, and Stewart has every cause to be worried. They both own my heart now, an equal division fought over by two sets of blue eyes.

VENICE BEACH, CA

My phone rang and I glanced at it. “Lover” displayed across its front. Stewart. I opened the phone. “Hey Babe.”

“Hey. You free Thursday night? I have a work thing – need a date.”

“Sure.”

“Perfect. I’ll connect you to Nicole.” There is a click and a few tones, before the cheerful voice of his assistant fills my ear. We chat for a few minutes, and then I hang up.

“Was that him?” Paul’s strokes across the board continue, slow patient swipes of wax protection. We are in the garage, the door up, our cars pulled into the alley, bikers occasionally whizzing through the open space. I’ve already waxed my board, my job quickly and haphazardly done, no real desire present to do a thorough job. But Paul takes his time, stretching the task out, his eyes careful on his work, his strokes sure and familiar.

“Yeah. I’ve got a thing to attend tomorrow night. I’ll be back in the morning. When do you leave for Costa Rica?” I watch his shoulders for tension, his jaw for rigidity - but he is calm, peace in his eyes, an easygoing manner in his movements.

“End of next week. I’ll be gone four or five days, depending on the flight.” He sets down the wax, walking around the board and leans back against my car, pulling me by the waist, into his arms.

“I’m gonna miss you Madd.”

I smile, leaning into his chest. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” I lifted my chin and he kissed me, his hands pulling me tight, his mouth needy on mine. This is Paul’s worry. That one day he will return, and I will be gone. That I will choose Stewart and not him. He doesn’t mind sharing, but losing me terrifies him.

I flip through book titles, pulling out spines and sliding in new ones, running the alphabet over my tongue, making sure that everything was in its proper place, J.D. Robb sitting after James Patterson and before Nora Roberts. I feel him before I see him, the creak of the floor behind me announcing a visitors weight, the air carrying the scent of sunscreen and sweat.

I don’t pause, my fingers pushing and pulling on titles, intent on filing these last three books before my mind gets sidetracked and I have to start the whole damn alphabet again.