The Dare Collection April 2020

He was a man of action rather than words, but that was what I liked about him. He never spent a lot of time talking about what he was going to do. He just went ahead and did it.

‘Plus,’ Everett went on, clearly reading my mind, ‘I hate shit like this and it’s good having someone around that I don’t need to talk to all the time.’

I grinned, a small glow of pleasure sitting just behind my breastbone. It was always nice to be appreciated by him, especially since he didn’t often say stuff like that out loud.

All of this is going to change when you ask him for your favour—you realise that, don’t you?

Lifting my glass, I took another healthy sip, watching the swirl of the crowd in the gallery and shoving that thought aside to an unused corner of my brain. Operation Orgasm didn’t have to change anything, not if I didn’t let it. And I wasn’t going to let it.

All I wanted was to turn up at Tiffany’s hen party with the knowledge that my clitoris and/or vagina were in perfect working order, and that I was just as much a woman as my perfect, delicate cousins were, despite what my aunt thought. And hey, once I knew for certain that the issue wasn’t me, perhaps I could move on from my hopeless crush on my best friend and find someone who might want to crush on me instead.

‘Thanks E,’ I said. ‘Best friends who are also billionaires rule.’

He grunted, which was Everett-speak for thank you.

I knocked back more margarita, only slightly disturbed to see I’d had nearly all of it in the couple of minutes since Everett had brought it to me. But if downing a whole margarita in the space of five minutes was what was needed to get this request out, then that was what was needed.

There was a silence. An uncomfortable one.

I was painfully conscious of his massive, powerful figure standing next to me, and for a second I didn’t know what would be worse, him saying, ‘Yeah, sure, I’ll give you an orgasm’ or, ‘Not if my life depended on it’.

‘You’re nervous.’ His deep voice was a rumble, his gaze still on the swirling crowd. ‘Why?’

Dammit. Of course he’d come back around to that. He never let anything go, the asshole. And I still wasn’t ready to tell him the reason.

You’re never going to be ready.

That was, unfortunately, true. In which case, I needed to suck it up, get on with it and stop pretending it mattered. Hell, if the worst came to the worst, I could always pay someone to give me one. I wouldn’t be the first woman to pay for an orgasm, surely?

Ignoring his question, I downed the rest of my margarita and put the empty glass on a plinth supporting some ancient Greek sculpture. Then I glanced around to make sure there weren’t any other groups of people near us, because the last thing I wanted was an audience.

Luckily, there was no one in our immediate vicinity, so I turned to face him. I was aware of the small thrill that hit me every time I had to look up at him, because I generally had to look down at people, not up. ‘I…uh…need to ask you something.’

He raised one blond brow.

Okay, Freya. It’s now or never.

It should have been easy. I owned a garage and was around men all day. I’d never had any problems talking to them before. I’d never had any problems talking to Everett either. But suddenly it wasn’t easy. Suddenly it felt like the hardest thing I’d had to do for years and years.

Perhaps it was because I preferred to give help rather than receive it. It definitely had nothing whatsoever to do with the sex.

‘So, uh, remember the night of my twenty-first birthday?’ I began awkwardly.

His gaze narrowed. ‘Some.’

‘Right, well, you know you made me an offer that night?’

His gaze narrowed still further. Did he remember? Part of me hoped he didn’t, even though it would mean me having to explain the whole thing out loud.

‘About orgasms, yes?’ He didn’t hesitate with the reply or stumble over the word. As if he said ‘orgasms’ every day in just that tone of voice.

So. Clearly, he remembered. Which was great since I didn’t have to go over the whole thing again, but also…awkward.

‘Yeah.’ I willed my cheeks not to flush, because red on red was never a good look. ‘And you said that—’

‘If you wanted an orgasm, you could come to me,’ he finished, his face disturbingly expressionless.

‘That’s about the size of it.’ My hands were somehow in fists at my sides so I opened them, trying to relax. ‘So, I guess that’s why I’m a little…nervous.’ I took a breath. ‘Because…uh… I’d like to take you up on your offer.’

CHAPTER TWO

Everett

I’D BEEN RIGHT in thinking she was nervous. I’d picked up on it the moment I’d met her at the gate at Heathrow that morning, and it had only seemed to get worse as the day had gone on.

But I’d thought it must have something to do with the Black and White Foundation launch. Like me, she hated formal parties, and I’d assumed it was that.

But apparently it wasn’t the party.

It was me and the orgasm offer I’d made her years ago.

I’d thought she’d forgotten about that, especially since she’d been drunk at the time. She certainly hadn’t mentioned it the next day, or even since, and so I’d left it, because if there was one thing Freya was it was stubborn as hell. And if she didn’t want my help then she didn’t want it.

In fact, ‘No, thanks’ was her stock answer to all the help I’d offered her over the years. No, thanks to the finance for her garage when she’d first set it up. No, thanks to a loan for a house when she’d finally got sick of her aunt’s constant criticism and decided to move out. No, thanks to a vacation at one of my properties in Hawaii after working her ass off the first year she’d owned her garage. No, thanks to talking to the bank after she’d fallen behind on some of her repayments.

It pissed me off. Mainly because I liked doing things for the people who mattered in my life, and Freya mattered. But she was adamant in refusing me every single goddamn time, and so I’d stopped offering, because I wasn’t a fucking idiot.

Except, for some reason, my help was exactly what she wanted this evening.

Interesting. What had made her want it now?

She was looking pretty damn embarrassed. Her face was bright red, which was startling against the vivid green of the pretty gown she’d bought on a lightning fast trip down Oxford Street, and her fingers were splayed stiffly at her sides, as if she was trying to relax her hands and not doing a very good job.

So, nervous and embarrassed, which meant something had to have pushed her into asking me.

‘My offer,’ I repeated, studying her. ‘That you’ve never mentioned before today. Not even once.’

She gave me a forced grin. ‘Yep. That’s the one.’

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘And why now?’

‘I’m super glad you asked me that question, because yes, there’s definitely a reason.’ She let out a breath. ‘It’s Tiffany’s wedding in a couple of weeks and I didn’t want to turn up dateless yet again. Plus the hen party is going to be a nightmare. So I thought if I knew for sure that the problem wasn’t me—’

‘The problem is never you,’ I interrupted, because I didn’t like it when she talked herself down. She didn’t do it when it came to fixing engines, so I couldn’t understand why she did it in relation to her love life.

She rolled her eyes the way she always did whenever I tried to tell her she was wrong about something. ‘Yeah, well, I don’t actually know that it’s not me, do I? Because if I did I sure as hell wouldn’t be embarrassing myself by asking you for help.’

My usual irritation at her insistence on not letting me do a single thing for her shifted, getting sharper at her obvious annoyance at having to ask me for help at all.

But I didn’t let it show. I never let anything show.

‘So nothing’s changed then?’ I ignored her eye roll. ‘You haven’t even found one guy who’s managed to get you off?’

Annoyance glittered in her dark jade-green eyes. ‘No, and not through want of trying, believe me.’

‘No need to be defensive. I’m just trying to work out why I’m your last resort.’

‘You’re not my last resort.’ She shifted on the strappy high-heeled sandals she’d bought with the dress, teetering only slightly. ‘Sex just isn’t something you’d ask your best friend for help with, okay?’

‘Not necessarily,’ I disagreed, still annoyed for some reason. ‘But then, you’re not asking me for sex, are you?’ I lifted a brow. ‘Or are you?’

She flushed, going the same shade of fiery red as the fat plait that hung down her back. ‘Uh, no.’

‘So, just an orgasm then?’

‘Yes. Look, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I’d rather it wasn’t something you got mad about.’

How she knew I was irritated, I had no idea, but then Freya often picked up on my emotions with uncanny accuracy. Which only irritated me further.

Why are you getting mad about it, anyway?

I wasn’t mad. I was just…irritated.

I’d made her the offer because I didn’t like seeing her unhappy, and that kind of vanilla sex wasn’t a big deal. Fixing her sex life for her wasn’t any different from her fixing my car for me. And besides, I was good at it. Getting a woman off was easy when you knew what you were doing, and I certainly did. But she hadn’t mentioned it again and since that was pretty much par for the course with any help I offered her, I’d left it at that.

I hadn’t thought it was still a problem, but obviously it was.

‘I’m not mad,’ I said aloud, to remind myself. ‘And I haven’t said no. I’m just disappointed you didn’t come to me sooner.’

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t.’ She gave a little shrug and for some reason I found myself staring at the way the silky fabric of her gown pulled across the curves of her generous breasts. ‘Like I said, I don’t usually think of orgasms in conjunction with my best friend.’

There was no reason that she should either, since I’d never seen her as anything more than a friend who happened to be a woman. Sure, I’d checked her out, because I was a man and not blind, and she was gorgeous. Who wouldn’t notice a nearly six foot tall redhead with an athletic body and the kind of curves to keep a man very happy indeed? A round, pretty face, cute button nose, full pouty mouth and enough freckles to fuel the girl next door fantasies from here to fucking kingdom come.

Freya wasn’t a pocket Venus. She was the literal, actual, life-sized version.

But, even so, I’d placed her very firmly in the friend zone. She was the single most important person in my life and I didn’t want to compromise our friendship with sex. Especially given the kind of sex I preferred. I’d always tried to be the good guy in her life, the person she could count on no matter what, and the last thing I wanted was to put that at risk because I couldn’t control my own stupid dick.

I wasn’t looking for more even if I’d wanted it. My legacy would be the Black and White Foundation for disadvantaged kids, the one that Ulysses, Damian and I were launching that night, and I was more than happy with that. A family of my own wasn’t on the cards and never would be, not with the kind of shitty genes that I had. But I wanted to do something with my wealth, otherwise what was the point in having it?

Damian liked to spend his money on fast cars, parties, jewels and women, while Ulysses preferred tech. I spent my hard-earned cash on protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves—initiatives for the homeless, women’s refuges, anti-violence campaigns, addiction centres and various other things, especially in my home town.

Which all sounds very virtuous and sacrificial, but it wasn’t. My friends were born good guys, though they spent their money trying to make themselves look bad.

I’d been born bad and spent my money trying to make myself good.

So far it was working, but who knew for how long?

Won’t be for long if you tell Freya what you really like when it comes to dealing out orgasms.

I scowled at the thought. Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Not on any planet. The last thing my decidedly un-kinky best friend needed to know was that I got off ordering other women around and punishing them.

Freya frowned at me. ‘And now you’re scowling. This is going well.’

Firmly shoving aside thoughts of the dominance games I liked to play, I concentrated my attention on her instead. ‘Be straight with me, Little. What exactly are you asking for?’

She only just missed another eye roll. ‘I thought I was clear, but okay, apparently not. I’d like just one orgasm that isn’t self-administered before having to go to Tiffany’s hen party in a couple of weeks. There.’ She drew herself up, her chin lifting. ‘That straight enough for you?’

How are you going to do it? Put her on her knees? Get her to suck you off?

I had no idea where the thought came from. Maybe from the glitter of challenge in her eyes, because a challenge from a woman always got me interested. Or, rather, it got my inner dominant interested.

Yet it had never happened with Freya before. Never ever. And it wasn’t because she hadn’t challenged me before, because she certainly had. She constantly poked at me, but it was always in a very easy-going, good-natured way that amused me rather than anything else.

Maybe that was why the Dom in me stirred. She hadn’t ever given me a look quite as direct as that before. Or maybe it wasn’t her directness but her request to help her sexually that had got me thinking about how to give her what she wanted in a way that would be the most intensely satisfying for her.

Either way, I found myself looking at her closely, studying how the green silk of her gown clung to her figure, outlining curves a goddess would have been proud of. Beautiful, full tits. An elegant waist. Curvy hips. Long, long legs.

Normally, I didn’t much care what kind of body a woman had, because it was all about the way they submitted to me that got me off. But I had to admit that, thinking about it, Freya had one hell of a sexy figure.

She could take anything you gave her.

The thought wound through my head and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Because although I could give Freya what she wanted, it would be vanilla all the way. I didn’t need to subject my friend to the kinds of games I liked to play. Hell, if I wanted that, there were plenty of clubs that could meet my needs. In fact, I already knew of a couple in London that I could head to after the party.

‘Yeah, that’ll do,’ I said, shoving all those thoughts away. ‘Though I don’t know why you need to prove anything to Tiffany.’

Tiffany was the cousin she liked the most and the only one out of all that family who wasn’t a total dickhead. I’d always hated the way they treated Freya—her aunt especially—but Freya had never let me intervene. It was her problem to deal with, apparently.

‘I’m not proving anything to her,’ Freya said firmly, giving me a warning look. ‘I’m proving it to me, okay?’

Stubborn Little. She could give a mule a run for its money. ‘Understood. Though you don’t need to—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, E,’ she interrupted. ‘Just tell me whether you will or not.’

I ignored the small electric jolt that her interruption sent straight down my spine, making the beast in me want to put her on her knees and punish her for it.

She was always so impatient. I preferred to collect all the available intel before I made a decision and this situation was no different. ‘Why me?’

‘Seriously? You know why you. You offered, remember?’

‘Yeah, but you’d clearly rather do anything else than be here right now asking me for an o—’

‘Okay, okay.’ She flapped her hands at me yet again then took a little breath, giving me the look she always gave me when she was being serious and straight up, which wasn’t very often. ‘Look, you said you were good at it. You said you always got a woman off. That your failure rate was zero percent.’ Her forehead creased. ‘Or is this a fisherman situation?’

‘This is not a fisherman situation. Why would I lie about it?’

‘Men do.’ Her gaze was very serious. ‘All the freaking time.’

Of course, I instantly wanted to know who’d lied to her and why, but now wasn’t the time. I’d have to ask her about it later.

‘I do not have a failure rate,’ I said flatly, ‘because I’ve never not got a woman off.’ It wasn’t a brag. Just a straight-up fact. ‘And yes, I can get you off too, if you want me to.’

I’d never been going to refuse her. Not helping her when she finally asked me for help was simply not an option.

An expression that looked like relief flickered across her face, though there was something else there that looked a little like uncertainty. ‘Oh, well, that’s, uh, great. But it’ll be a challenge. Not gonna lie. I’m a tough nut to crack.’

I gave her a look. Because Freya might act tough and make like she was one of the boys, but she was definitely a woman underneath all of that. And I knew how a woman’s body worked. I knew how a woman’s mind worked too—at least when it came to sex—and I had no doubt at all that using both to get Freya off would not be a problem.

‘You won’t be.’ I allowed myself a slight smile. ‘And besides, you know I like a challenge.’

‘You’ve definitely got one.’ She turned to look over the crowd once more.

‘Little,’ I ordered, letting a thread of steel wind through my voice, just to see what she’d do.

She turned to look at me pretty much instantly.

She’s responsive.

Oh, hell, no. Not going there, remember?

I held out my hand to her. ‘Come on. Let’s go find somewhere more private.’

Her eyes went very round. ‘What? You mean here? Now? But I—’

‘No point in waiting.’ I grabbed her hand and turned, tugging her along with me. There wasn’t much point in hanging around, and once I’d made up my mind I acted. And the part of the launch where various items were going to be auctioned off for a fundraiser, including some of Damian’s jewellery collection, was going to be starting soon and I had to be present for it. Might as well get this over and done with right now.

CHAPTER THREE

Freya

EVERETT’S HAND WAS WARM, his fingers firm as he took my hand in his, and I found myself being tugged along behind him as he strode from the gallery, heading for one of the exits.

For a couple of seconds I was too shocked to resist. I was too shocked to do anything much but stumble after him, my brain flailing around trying to work out what was going on. Because he couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t mean this orgasm stuff now. Could he?

You know he is.

But of course he was. Everett was nothing but serious and once he made up his mind about something he didn’t mess around. When he had a mission he was on it and nothing and no one would come between him and accomplishing it.

It was unexpectedly scary, and my heartbeat was suddenly ten million times faster than it had been a moment ago. I found it difficult to breathe and there appeared to be a whole roomful of butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. I wished I’d had another margarita because, holy shit, I needed one.

What if I couldn’t do it? What if he couldn’t? What if Everett Calhoun and his zero percent failure rate actually failed? Where would that leave me?

Perhaps there’s something wrong with you after all.

I tried to ignore that thought, tried to pull myself together as Everett tugged me out of the gallery and into a quiet corridor, where there was no one around.

Then he dropped my hand and turned, his palms settling on my hips—his big, hot palms—as he pushed me gently, but very firmly, into a small alcove off the corridor and up against the wall.

I blinked.

Everett was a big guy, tall and broad and muscular. And of course I’d noticed, because there weren’t many men around who were taller than me. But I’d never thought I’d like just how much taller he was, and how much broader. How it felt like he was towering over me, his wide shoulders blocking out the view of the corridor, his body a wall of hard granite right in front of me.

A wall of hot, hard granite.

Holy shit. My mouth had gone dry and I was abruptly very, very conscious of his hands on my hips, and how the heat of his palms was burning through the silk of my stupid tight dress.

His hands were so big. How come I’d never noticed that before? And how come I’d never noticed just how hot he was either?

I looked up and had to tilt my head back just to meet his gaze; the butterflies in my stomach fluttered harder. My breathing had gone AWOL and the atmosphere was suddenly crackling with a weird sort of electricity that seemed to be solely generated by Everett’s intense blue stare.

The way he looked at me, like I was the sole interesting thing in the universe, was…disturbing. And the way he loomed over me was disturbing as well, because it was making me feel…small. His big hands made me feel almost…dainty.

He was so very, very male and for the first time in my entire existence I felt very, very female.

I didn’t like it. I’d come to terms with my height and my build. To the subtle slights my aunt sent my way about how I was a ‘big girl’ and that I had to be careful with overly feminine dresses because they would look strange on a ‘woman of your size’.

She meant well. She wasn’t being deliberately cruel. But I wasn’t like her or her three daughters, my cousins. I wasn’t small and slender. I didn’t like dolls or tea parties as a kid, and I didn’t like shopping as a teenager. I preferred hanging out with my uncle as he worked on his old Chevy, where there was no pressure to act or look a certain way. Where I wasn’t being picked at or told to be more like my cousins. Where all I had to do was hand him a wrench now and then.

So yeah, I didn’t want to be frilly and feminine. And I didn’t want to feel small and dainty, or any of the other female kinds of things I hadn’t measured up to. Especially not when I was supposed to be trying to settle Operation Orgasm.

So what are you going to do? Push him away?

I couldn’t do that, not now I’d asked him to help me out. And anyway, he was still my best chance. Zero percent failure rate, right?

So I tried not to think about his hands on my hips or his granite chest in front of me. Or how much he was towering over me right now. Instead, I went for my usual response: a joke.

‘Whoa there, tiger,’ I said breathlessly, pushing at his chest a little. ‘Give a girl some air.’

He didn’t move. Not even an inch. ‘Am I making you nervous?’

His voice was a dark, deep rumble, his blue eyes glittering with sparks of green, and I had the sudden sense that maybe I’d bitten off more than I could chew.

But that was crazy. This was Everett. My best friend Everett. And yes, I’d been lusting after him since I was a teenager, but I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I’d been with plenty of guys and pretty much they were all the same. They were either intimidated by me and tried to make up for it by being extra aggressive and douchey, or they wanted me to make all the decisions for them. Or, in the case of my last date, they started off confident and then, when I failed to get into it, they blamed me for not being sexy enough.

Everett wasn’t like any of them, it was true, but would he really be that different?

I was afraid I already knew the answer. And I was afraid because if he was different this would make everything so much more pressured. What if he couldn’t do it? Or, even worse, what if I couldn’t?

And what if he could?

One warm hand gripped my chin, forcing my head back, and I found myself looking into his eyes. ‘Answer the question.’ There was a steely note in his voice, one I’d never heard him use with me before.