from Midtown Masters by Cara McKenna

“Would you . . . Do you want to try and make me come?” Suzy bit her lip, though whatever shyness she felt at that question was eclipsed tenfold by the blush of disbelief now blooming bright red through John’s entire body.

“I . . . I’ll try. It’s hard for me to imagine I’m capable of it, but yes, I want to try.”

Without a word, she reached down and pushed her underwear and jeans to her knees, then squirmed her way out of them. Though the boldness was all hers, he felt guilty as he stole a glance between her legs, at the tidy, trimmed V of her pubic hair. Strange that this should feel shocking, given everything she’d done on camera at his request, yet it did.

She propped her leg atop John’s once again, and took his hand. He couldn’t say what he was expecting, but when his fingertips found her wet, he was dumbstruck. It must have showed on his face. She laughed softly and he glanced up to find her smiling.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she teased.

“I am. I mean . . . The thought that I have anything to do with you . . .”

“Everything,” she corrected. “And not only tonight.” She began to lead his hand up and down, drawing his fingers along her seam, slow and light. “The times Meyer and I performed for you, everything I felt, whatever pleasure I was taking—some of that was your doing, too. Because of your words, because it excited me to think there was someone on the other side of that screen who was excited, watching me. And who cared so much about my pleasure.”

“I did.” As he said it, he realized both that it was true and that that must not always be the case, for Suzy. No doubt they had clients who were more interested in their own fantasies or favorite acts or in the man’s gratification than they were Suzy’s. Interested in directing life-action pornography, basically, complete with ridiculous, pantomime female orgasms. And porn was a tastemaker, for better or worse, and so John imagined perhaps he truly was special, somehow, when it came to his interests and his requests. No wonder she’d thought he was a woman.

“Can you do this,” she asked, “and kiss me at the same time?”

“I’ll try.” How many times had he spoken those two words tonight? Trying had never been his inclination. Not when hiding and avoiding all things romantic and sexual had always been so much easier. Funny how “easy” had lost its appeal, of late.

He came closer, close enough for his erection to press against her thigh. He pulled back but she immediately tugged him close again by his arm.

“It’s fine. It’s better than fine, in fact. It’s beyond a turn-on that you’re excited.”


“Now kiss me. It’s fine if it’s sloppy, too. What your hand’s doing is more important.”

Good to know. It took a minute to get back into the swing of kissing, but soon they were there, and he was thrilled to find his hand could stay coordinated even as their mouths teased and taunted.

“Good,” she whispered. She was holding his arm, squeezing it softly, thumb rubbing absently.

“That’s perfect. When you’re ready, try slipping your middle finger inside me, but keep touching me the way you are.”

Okay. Right. He fumbled just trying to find the spot, he was so out of practice with a woman’s body. No, not out of practice—that implied that he’d even been properly acquainted with one. He felt a hot flush of panic creeping up his back, tingling under his arms and tightening his throat.

His entire body locked up, awkward and stiff, and she covered his hand, stilling it.

“You okay?”

“Yes. Sort of. I don’t know.” He huffed a breath, airway feeling strange, blocked. Fuck, he was halfway to an anxiety attack. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re fine.” She gently moved his hand to her hip—his nightmare made reality. He’d failed. He couldn’t even follow the simplest, most explicit and patient instructions.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing.” He was flustered and frustrated and overheated and disappointed, and she could no doubt hear it in his voice.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” she whispered, two fingers tracing in a V up and down her labia, stroking her clitoris at the crest of each caress. That flustered sensation changed instantly, heat leaving John’s face to roil in his belly.

“We ladies are complex. Even if you’d been with a dozen women before you met me, you might never have been with one who needs exactly what I do.”

“That’s certainly not the case. I think I got overwhelmed. I don’t know.”

“Just watch me for a couple minutes, okay?”

He nodded. He already was watching—enthralled, more like. And something loosened in his chest at what she’d done. She hadn’t aborted the mission, hadn’t even hit pauseto unpack his reaction or coddle his ego. She’d merely snagged the reins and issued a clear, simple order.

Watch me. Maybe it wasn’t the catastrophic failure he’d assumed it was.

As he watched, all the anxiety melted away. Uncertainty lingered, but it became tinged with curiosity, and, in time, determination.

“I’d like to try again,” he whispered.

“Give me your hand.”

He did, and she guided the pads of his fingers to do as hers had done. “That’s the right pressure.”

“Is this speed okay?”

“The speed doesn’t really matter. Go slow and it’ll build and build and eventually I’ll get there, and it’ll be nice and long and deep. Faster, and I’ll get there quicker, and it’ll be more of an intense flash of an orgasm.”

Fascinating. He’d never heard a woman talk this way, one so shamelessly and thoroughly well-versed in her own body, her own pleasure, and so articulate in explaining what it was she needed and wanted. He wished everyone were like Suzy. It would make sex so much simpler and likely satisfying, so much less mystifying for a student such as he. But surely she was a rarity. He’d just have to soak up every lesson he could, for as long as she was willing to impart them.

About the Book

Online, Suzy Park and Meyer Cohen are a hot, young couple willing to try anything their paying viewers desire. Their chemistry offline, though, is fizzling out. They’d call it quits if not for the high they get from captivating their audience with mind-blowing sex. Lately, however, one of their clients has begun captivating Suzy. With requests for vanilla lovemaking that annoy Meyer to no end, Lindsay seems to be a lonely innocent needing an imitation of romance. Suzy and Lindsay discover a bond that only deepens once the camera stops rolling, but Lindsay has a secret—that “she” is really a he pretending to be a woman for research—and the cost of confessing could turn a simple arrangement into a hands-on education...