Close Contact (Clarke Brothers Book 3) Read online

  Close Contact

  A Clarke Brothers Novella

  Christina C Jones

  Contents

  Synopsis

  1. Kima

  2. Aiden

  3. Kima

  4. Kima

  5. Aiden

  About the Author

  Also by Christina C Jones

  Copyright © 2020 by Christina C Jones

  Editing by Nicole at Trim&Polish

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  3/3

  Done.

  I’ve had a great time introducing you to the Clarke family and the women they’ll come to love.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey too.

  Shoutout to us.

  Synopsis

  Kima Nolan has had enough of the Clarkes.

  If they weren’t the only thing keeping her business alive, she wouldn’t deal with them at all.

  Addison isn’t too bad.

  Andre’s bite isn’t as severe as his bark.

  But Aiden is so impossibly unruffled, so sure of his convictions… for Kima, its probably best to avoid him at all costs.

  There’s no telling what might happen if he gets too close.

  1

  Kima

  “Ooh girl. Your energy is all out of whack.”

  From anybody else, those words, on a day like today, would’ve had me ready to fight. Because it was Astrid though, and she would know, since I’d just spent thirty completely graceless minutes in her yoga studio… the most aggression I could pull forth was a grimace.

  “What’s your malfunction today?” she asked, pulling me aside so we weren’t blocking the door. I’d been trying to get the hell out of there, but she’d caught me before I even finished rolling up my mat.

  “Oh, just the usual rich bastard trying to run me out of business so I’m trying to pretend it’s not happening,” I answered, to which she rolled her eyes.

  “Kima, now we both know that’s not—”

  “Duh,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “No, the Clarkes aren’t actually trying to run me out of my business, but let me do what I need to cope, okay?”

  Astrid smirked, giving her attention to a student coming in for the next class for a moment before she looked back to me, pure mischief in her eyes. “I’ve told you what you need to cope.”

  I let out a huff. “Yeah. Bedside Boyfriend hasn’t done it for me in a while.”

  That shouldn’t be as surprising to me as it was every time I whipped my vibrator out in search of the kind of stress-relief only a good orgasm could bring about. And yet, here I was, still hella annoyed about it all, and struggling with the fact that I was too stressed out to cum.

  Which… of all the fucked-up things to happen over the last year, may truly be the worst thing of all.

  Sure, there was the natural, physiological reaction – nothing was messing with that.

  But the hormone release that was supposed to come with it, all those feel-good endorphins I needed now, more than ever?

  Conspicuously absent.

  And the only reasoning I could even remotely wrap my head around, was that I was too stressed out for them to have any effect.

  In the worst fucking way, I was… blocked.

  “I’ve got a cure for that toooo,” Astrid sang, gesturing behind her at the classroom. “If you’re not doing anything, stay for this class. On the house,” she added, knowing the fact that I hadn’t signed up would be my next objection. “Consider it my gift to you.”

  O-kay.

  Something about that phrasing had me a little concerned – what the hell kinda class was this?

  Before I could step out to check the board again, the lights went low, and Dwele started playing through the speakers. A moment later, from the front of the classroom, Astrid spoke.

  “Good afternoon everyone,” she said, her tone a little deeper than usual, more… sensual? “Welcome to today’s Ascension yoga session. We will spend this time getting better acquainted with our deepest sexual selves, and activating any repressed orgasmic energy.”

  Whet?

  I quickly schooled my expression into something neutral, not wanting to let how utterly ridiculous that shit sounded show on my face.

  “If you’re new here, I’m Astrid. Please note that our studio space does have showers, located next to the locker rooms. You… might need a cold one before you go about your day. Let’s start in a seated position on our mats.”

  Shit.

  It wasn’t like I could escape this nonsense now without being completely obvious about it. I legitimately considered Astrid a friend, so I had no interest in offending her by rejecting her invitation into this class she obviously took pretty seriously.

  So… fuck it.

  It wasn’t like I had anything else to do anyway.

  Tigress, the restaurant I’d put all my time, energy, and savings into over the last three years only to end up almost losing it, was currently closed for renovations – a decision made for me by the Clarkes. According to them, we were “partners”, and they’d “infused cash into the business” – nice ways to put what had actually happened.

  Tigress was half theirs now – their requirement for the much-needed bailout that had saved my ass.

  Just thinking about it was killing any little bits of peace I’d gained from my regular-degular class with Astrid. So, I did my best to push those thoughts aside, quickly unfurling my mat to join in this one.

  Why the hell not?

  “I want you to start by getting in tune with your breath,” Astrid spoke over the low music. “Don’t be quiet, I want to hear you – innnnn, and then ouuuut, innnnnn, ouuuut.”

  Closing my eyes, I followed her lead, focusing on my breathing instead of the million things happening in my head.

  “You’re bringing that air all the way from your belly, from the back of your throat, okay? Put one hand over your navel, place the other against your chest, and breathe. With each breath, in and out, you are building, but not with bricks. Not with metal. You’re building something wild, and free, with intensity. Breathe. Build.”

  I relaxed my shoulders as I clung to her words, allowing myself to visualize what they brought to mind for me – a flame. With every breath in and out, I stoked it, building it bigger, and hotter, brighter.

  “Now, we’re going to bring our pelvic floor into this – focus. With every breath in, we are clenching, and holding. Every breath out, is a release. Innnn, ouuuuut. Squeeeeze. Release.”

  I did it.

  I squeezed, and released, and breathed, and… it was actually… kinda… great?

  “Pull your hands from your belly and your chest now, and run them over your body,” Astrid said. “Eyes closed, no groping, no caressing – this is a soft touch. A tease. Your thighs, your hips, your neck, your scalp, your breasts… just a skim. Just a tease.”

  Again… whet?

  Was I… really supposed to sit here in a room full of strangers and… touch myself?

  I couldn’t possibly be the only one wondering, and I wanted to peek, but… our eyes were supposed to be closed. I was supposed to be focused and minding my own business, right along with everyone else.

  And calling it touching myself was pretty dramatic phrasing… right?

  Just participate, Kima.

  Fine.

  I followed instructions, using a feather-light touch to run my hands over my body.

  My scalp.
>
  My neck.

  My breasts.

  My stomach.

  My hips.

  My thighs.

  And… I couldn’t front – with my eyes closed, tuning out the other people in the room, and the sexy ass music playing… I was a little turned on.

  More turned on than I’d been in a long ass time.

  “Now, we’re going to circle our hips… just slightly. It’s a small circle… traveling along a little figure eight in our minds. We’re still breathing. Still squeezing and releasing. Still appreciating the feel of our own skin, our curves, our hair,” Astrid instructed.

  It sounded like a lot going on at once, like so much to do, but it was a pretty easy rhythm to fall into.

  Especially since it felt good.

  That fire I’d built was right between my legs, growing hotter with every kegel, with every circle of my hips.

  “Okay… let’s stretch forward into child’s pose and then come up onto hands and knees for cat pose – backs arched, booties high,” Astrid said. “We’re going to stay there a bit before we rock back, and squeeze that pelvic floor. Hold it, then release, and come back to center. Now repeat, and… keep your movements soft. You’re not throwing it back… yet.”

  On like that it went, as we followed many of the poses of a “normal” class, only with subtle sensuality built in.

  I… didn’t hate it.

  In fact, by the time the class was over, I was wet and ready, primed to give the business to…nobody.

  Shit.

  It probably wasn’t the best idea to take a class specifically intended to get you hot and bothered when you… didn’t have anybody to take it out on.

  Maybe that was the problem though – thinking there had to be someone else involved to make it an enjoyable experience, instead just enjoying myself. I was thinking of masturbation as a consolation prize instead of considering that, just maybe, getting myself off was its own reward.

  Hm.

  With that on my mind, I made the trip from Mahogany Heights, where my preferred yoga studio was, back to Blackwood – home. By the time I arrived, I was actually excited to get into the shower.

  I didn’t rush it though.

  I stripped out of my workout clothes, turned my “Vitamin D” playlist up as loud as I could without getting complaints from my neighbors. I laid out my favorite soft, sexy loungewear that always made me feel good to be in, tied up my twistout, and then dry brushed my skin before finally stepping under the hot, steamy spray of the shower.

  Inside, I took my mind back to the methods Astrid had talked about in that class. I couldn’t really do yoga poses in the shower, but I could replicate the deep breathing, the activation of my pelvic floor. I could close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of my own skin as I soaped and washed my body, then rinsed.

  And then… touched.

  My breasts felt good to my own hands – not heavy, but full, and sensitive right now. My stomach clenched as my thumbs skimmed over my nipples. I pinched them, hard, enjoying the way the sensation pulled at me from all over, but especially between my legs.

  One hand stayed there, still pinching, still relishing the pleasurable pain as I let the other hand glide down my stomach, to my pussy. Just like in class earlier, I was hotter there – and wet. Different than the moisture from the shower – thicker, slicker.

  Suddenly, I was much less interested in the slow appreciation – I needed to cum.

  I’d never been happier with myself about the choice of the removable showerhead as I set it to the “pulse” function and aimed the narrow spray right at my clit. The pleasure was almost instant, drawing a cry from deep in my throat as I reflexively clenched my thighs and moved away.

  Running from myself.

  I took a breath and stepped my legs apart, my back braced against the smooth tile of the shower as I aimed the sprayer again, not shying away from it this time.

  It didn’t take long at all.

  In fact, the time it took my knees to buckle in pleasure as I came was embarrassingly short, but… whatever.

  This time, the orgasm felt like something – felt like everything.

  What more could a girl ask for?

  I finished up my shower and left my bathroom feeling breezy and light as a feather as I took my time lotioning and getting dressed, then taking my hair down to fluff it out. It was pointless when I was just going to be hanging around at home, but whatever.

  When I looked in the mirror, I liked what I saw.

  I looked… sexy.

  A feeling I hadn’t experienced in way too long, too stressed about things with the restaurant to allow myself something that seemed so trivial.

  But since I was here now, and feeling good… that was the last thing I was trying to think about, so I pushed it out of my mind in favor of pulling up delivery options for my favorite sushi spot and completely over-ordering.

  If I was turning this into a self-care day, I was doing the shit right.

  I pulled out my prized bottle of limited-edition Kimble bourbon, poured myself a glass, and started sipping.

  It took no time for me to start feeling buzzed – I hadn’t been drinking because I knew myself, and knew that with everything that was happening with the restaurant, I would fall into a bad habit of drinking my feelings. I was having too many feelings for that – I’d drink myself into a damn coma.

  Now though, this was absolutely drinking for enjoyment – supplementing my time to myself. It was more than okay to have my senses dulled, so my brain didn’t even take me to the fact that naivety had almost caused me to lose my dream.

  I could stand to be a little tipsy.

  Outside of being a little mean to Andre before the paperwork was signed, I felt I’d done a masterful job of not giving my real feelings away, to anybody. And even when I slipped into anger, that wasn’t what I truly felt – it was just a convenient mask.

  I wasn’t mad.

  I felt stupid.

  Hurt.

  Betrayed.

  Insufficient.

  I swallowed that, though, because this wasn’t the time to dig into any of that – and as far as I was concerned, that time would never come. Not if I could help it.

  I’d always been good at picking myself up and simply moving forward, not dwelling on things I could no longer do anything about.

  This was most certainly one of those situations.

  When a knock sounded at my door, I practically raced to answer it, eager to get my hands on my food. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and I was more than ready to indulge.

  Only… it wasn’t a delivery person on the other side of my door.

  It was Aiden Clarke.

  Shit.

  I… had not drank away quite as many of my senses as I thought.

  My feelings of incompetence and betrayal and uncertainty?

  Sure, right now, those things were a non-factor.

  What was not, remotely, a non-factor, was Aiden Clarke on my doorstep, making the gray tee and jeans stretched across his tall frame look like something… vulgar.

  God this man is fine.

  He flashed a smile at me, running a big hand over the salt-and-pepper stubble that decorated his chin. “I’m sorry,” his deep voice rumbled. “Were you not expecting me?”

  “No,” I answered, realizing my open-mouthed stare must’ve – correctly – read as confusion or surprise. “Um… how can I help you?” I asked. He shifted, clearly uncomfortable, and I caught a whiff of him, and immediately had to hold my breath to avoid breathing in any more of his clean, leathery scent.

  Before I climbed him.

  An excellent side-effect of extreme betrayal was that I hadn’t been even slightly interested in dating, and even less interested in sex, since then. But now here Aiden Clarke was, tall and fine and aromatic, with a chef’s coat slung across his shoulder.

  I really, really wanted to climb him.

  But I knew better.

  “We were supposed to meet today… prepare a
meal together, so I could see how you worked in the kitchen. You said we could do it here, since Tigress is closed, and you didn’t want to come to 81C.”

  Shit.

  SHIT.

  “I am so sorry,” I gushed, eyes wide as I remembered, clearly, writing that down… somewhere.

  The only part I remembered, honestly.

  The truth was… I’d had enough of the Clarkes.

  As if it wasn’t already humiliating that I needed help preserving my own damn restaurant in the first place, my new overseers – excuse me, business partners – were insistent upon being hands on with Tigress.

  Logically, I understood it was a good thing, that they were giving more than just their money – they were giving their time, attention, and expertise.

  Which was valuable.

  Addison had spent a few days cleaning up Tigress’ social media accounts and website, talking me through different promotions and certain theme nights that would complement our established vibe.

  Andre talked to me about smarter inventory management, payroll and scheduling, showed me easy, intuitive financial reporting software I didn’t even know existed.

  They were obviously knowledgeable about their lanes, and passionate. And to their credit, they were patient with me, and kind.

  Even Andre, who I’d built up in my head to be some kind of ogre.

  I was… wrong.

  Which was a good thing, right?

  I wasn’t committed to having a negative opinion of these people who were coming to my rescue – I wanted to think highly of them.

  They’d given me no reason to think otherwise.

  Only… the problem with that was… all of it only further made me feel like shit.

  Tigress was on its third year of being open, and had, I thought, been pretty successful. I’d had the great fortune of being profitable after just a year, with a packed-out restaurant every day, all day.

  But then, that became a problem.