Pumpkin and Spice

by Abby Knox

  “Maybe you should go and enjoy the day, you don’t need your mom hanging around,” she says.

  Stoner disagrees. “No. We spend Thanksgiving together, no matter what. So if I go with Max, you’re coming with me. Is that a deal?”

  Dianne looks from Stoner to me and smiles, almost looking surprised with herself. “I guess we’re both joining you for turkey. This will be the first Thanksgiving dinner for Talbot and me since Jack died.”

  “I’m so happy you’ll be joining us,” I say, and I can see Stoner out of the corner of my eye staring at me intently.

  After we polish off half an egg casserole among the three of us, Stoner’s mom takes out a photo album and brings it to the kitchen table. She pulls up a chair between Stoner and me as he groans. “Mom, please.”

  “Hush,” she says. “Indulge me in some happy memories.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just I don’t need Max to be looking at— Oh god, Mom, the first page?”

  And that’s when I see it. The first page of Stoner’s baby book includes an adorable photo of him dancing naked around this very apartment. I gasp. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

  He groans even louder. “Jesus, Ma!”

  “Watch your mouth, this is still a Catholic household, you know.”

  “Sorry, Ma.”

  “Talbot, I can’t blame your mom for showing me your baby pictures. You were a seriously cute baby,” I say.

  Dianne giggles, and it is the first time I hear her laugh all morning. “And he was funny! He made me laugh all the time. He loved to dance around the apartment, and when he got older, he’d play with all his toys in his underwear, like it was no big deal. He was always a free spirit. At least until…”

  Her voice and her demeanor suddenly go quiet and dark.

  I jump in. “Dianne, you raised a fine young man. Did you know that twenty years ago, on grad night, he drove me and my friend home and made sure I got into my bed safe and sound?”

  Her face changes. “I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me.”

  We glance through the photo album for a bit longer while Dianne regales me with stories from Stoner’s childhood. After a while, Dianne grows fatigued and announces she’s going to take an afternoon nap.

  I hug her goodbye and tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.

  Stoner hugs and kisses his mom, and it warms my heart to see this. I’m so glad she has a kind, strong son in her life. I’m so thrilled by the way he’s turned out, despite how things could have gone.

  Nobody would have blamed him if, because of all his trauma, he drank himself into an oblivion, or worse.

  But he’s here, he’s clear-headed, and he seems to have it all together.

  As I watch him carefully lock up his mom’s apartment behind us, I think to myself I hardly deserve a chance with this guy.

  In his car, I say, “I should probably get home and see if Mom needs help with anything.”

  Stoner puts the car in gear and pulls into the street. “Yeah, you probably should.”

  His voice sounds strange and I wonder what’s up.

  I text my sister. How are things at the ranch?

  She texts back a moment later. Prep work done. Dad wants you to stop at the liquor store and get supplies. Mom says bring home ice.

  I huff out loud and text back, Can’t you get that stuff?

  Yeah, but you’re already out. And I told you, the liquor store won’t sell to me.

  I reply: Just get what you can. It will do you some good to get out of the house, Sam.

  She texts back: You’re not my mother or my therapist.

  I growl out loud and toss my phone back in my purse. “Gah,” I say, exasperated.

  “What’s up?”

  “I have errands to run even though all the food prep is done.”

  “What’s left?” he asks.

  “Just a run to the liquor store and some ice, apparently.”

  Stoner laughs loudly as he takes a corner, in the opposite direction of my parents’ house.

  “What?”

  “Max, I own a bar. Remember? Give me a list of what you need and I’ll bring it all tomorrow,” he says.

  “That’s too nice, but I’m not going to say no.”

  His voice drops lower. “And anyway, you’re not running any errands right now.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No, you’re coming to the bar with me,” he says.

  “I am, huh?”

  “I wanted to take you home, but we spent so long with my mom there’s no time for that. I gotta go get set up for tonight.”

  “Oh,” I say. “OK.”

  I stare at Stoner’s firm jaw and his piercing eyes as he keeps his attention on the road.

  “And also I’m just not ready to bring you home yet.”

  I reply, “I’m not ready for you to bring me home yet.”

  He flashes a grin even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and it’s all I can do to keep from leaning over and feeling those luscious lips of his against mine.

  He grabs my hand in his. His hand is large and rough and covers mine completely. His grip is firm but also a comfort. Just like walking together last night arm in arm, holding hands in the car feels so sweet and familiar.

  “I’m starting to wonder if we were together in a previous life. This feels like our hands have known each other forever,” I say.

  We’re at a red light and his gaze finally reaches me. “I think it means we should have been holding hands forever, and now our skin is making up for lost time.”

  I stare at him dumbfounded. I’m about to say how that’s the strangest, loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me, but I don’t quite go there. His full lips are on mine again. I realize it’s been a couple of hours since we kissed last—in his old bedroom—and my lips are telling me they missed this.

  Maybe he’s right. Our skin, our lips, our hands seem loath to waste a second more of our time together. His hand is between my inner thighs before I realize it, and he’s cupping my mound through the barrier of my jeans. It’s really fucking heating me up.

  We break apart when a car behind us honks. The light has turned green and we drive on. But his right hand does not let go of me.

  I know one thing. I’m not going back to California. Not without him, anyway.

  Chapter 8

  Stoner

  Max is sitting in the corner seat of the bar, next to the wall, reading a book.

  She doesn’t know it, but I am keeping my eye on her as she reads. For some reason it’s incredibly sexy. Her blonde waves fall around her face as she concentrates on the page. I can tell when the book gets really good because her lips part slightly like she’s anticipating some big drama. I want to close those lips with mine. I also can’t stop my lizard brain from picturing that mouth clinging to my shaft. I want to fill her open mouth, feel those pouty lips wrapped around me.

  She’s so damn beautiful.

  Her hair keeps falling into her face and she keeps tucking it behind her ear. But it doesn’t stay put because it’s so thick and heavy.

  I want to get lost in her soft blonde locks. Feel her hair splayed out across my stomach and thighs while her mouth brings me to the brink.

  And then, her glasses. I didn’t even know she wore glasses until she pulled them out of her handbag.

  They are chunky red frames that look straight out of the 1980s and they suit her delicate face.

  Her stone-colored sweater and black scarf give her a striking look, and I’m starting to get twitchy to take it all off for her.

  And by the looks of the other guys around the place, I’m not the only one having impure thoughts about Max.

  I try to calm myself down. I wait to see how she handles herself. The old me, before therapy, would give in to this familiar feeling of rage. But the new me doesn’t so much like this beast inside.

  A couple of young guys on the opposite side of the bar are shooting glances over a
t Max. One of the guys saunters over to her, grabs a seat on the stool next to her. Credit to her, she doesn’t even seem to notice his existence.

  “Buy you a drink?”

  I continue serving my patrons while zeroing in on the conversation.

  I hear her say, “Huh? Oh. No, thanks. I’m just having water.”

  “Then how about a phone number?”

  She laughs it off. “That’s funny.”

  “I’m serious,” says the guy. “You’re here by yourself, it’s not out of the question that someone might ask for your phone number.”

  I shoot a glance over at them while I pour a light beer from the tap and serve it up to one of the regulars.

  I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grabbing the intruder by the shirt.

  “Not out of the ordinary, no,” Max says. “But I don’t happen to want to give you my phone number. Have a good night.”

  She turns her attention back to her book.

  The guy’s friend is cackling from the other side of the bar.

  “The thing is,” the guy says, “you’re so pretty, I just can’t leave the bar without your number.”

  She doesn’t look up this time. “Then I guess you’ll be sleeping here.”

  I have to laugh.

  The guy hears me. His head snaps in my direction. “Something funny?”

  “Yeah, I find it funny that you’re pestering my customers when they’ve already rejected your advances.”

  “She’s not a paying customer. She’s drinking water. What do you care what I do?”

  This time, Max looks up at me. She sees the furious fire growing behind my eyes. She gives me a nod as if to say, “do what you must.”

  I say to the guy, “Well, she’s my girlfriend. So she can do whatever the fuck she wants.”

  I see her eyes flash at me when I say the word “girlfriend.”

  It was a risky move, but she smiles.

  I breathe a sigh of relief as we lock on each other’s eyes for a moment.

  The guy at the bar huffs. “Sure she is. High-class chick like that dating a dive bartender? Fat chance.”

  “He actually owns the place,” Max pipes up, now placing a bookmark in between the pages and stuffing the book into her bag, resigned to being unable to read for the rest of the night. “And he’s a future restauranteur. Not that it matters, but he’s also brilliant and has a 12-inch cock. So, what is it that you have to offer me?”

  The guy stares at her as his friend across the bar begins to howl with laughter.

  “How about we settle this outside?” he says to me.

  I can hardly believe it. “Why would I do that when I can just do this?”

  I take my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture.

  “I’m sending this to all my servers and to the bouncer right now, because I’m kicking you out and my staff needs to know that you are never welcome to come back.”

  The bouncer follows the guy outside and I am about busting out of my skin.

  “Hey Emmett,” I say to my partner. “I gotta take care of something…”

  “Go,” he says.

  I wash my hands and then hop over the bar. I grab Max’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going? The bar’s not closed yet.”

  “Upstairs,” I growl.

  I pull her into the back room, past the office, to the back stairs.

  She starts saying, “I thought you handled yourself pretty well back there—”

  But she doesn’t finish as my lips are all over her, claiming her mouth, letting her know I am not, in fact, handling my emotions very well at this point.

  This is not the same kiss that happened earlier today or even last night.

  This is something different. I am kissing her hard, the ferocity of it backing her up against the wall of the stairwell.

  “I need to get you upstairs. I need you in my bed. Now. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, let’s go,” she half-squeaks, half-whispers.

  I don’t know what’s come over me, because the next thing I know I’m tossing her over my shoulder and sprinting up the stairs to my flat.

  I set her down and fumble with the keys in the dark while she’s nibbling my neck and my ear.

  “Fuck, I need to get a keycard or a fingerprint thing or whatever.”

  She isn’t backing off as I clumsily manage to get the key in the door. She’s kissing her way down my neck to my collar, and her hands are tugging at my sweater. I think I even hear a whimper of need coming out of her sweet mouth.

  Hands shaking, I push the door open and pick her up again, this time in my arms so we’re face to face.

  She’s still kissing my face and my ear and my jaw and my neck when we reach the bedroom. I push the door open with my foot, and I swear if it had been all the way closed I would have kicked it dead open.

  Finally we make it to the bed and I lay her on her back. I go in for a deep kiss, but she puts a hand on my chest to stop me.

  “Were you just saying that stuff to get that guy to leave me alone?” Her eyes are full of hope but also guarded.

  “I told you before, I say what I mean. You’re mine. I’m obsessed with you and I don’t want to spend another minute without you. I couldn’t sleep last night — this morning — wishing you were next to me in my bed.”

  I lay on a deep, hard, serious kiss, and she quickly opens up her mouth to me. Her legs snake around me. Although she’s wearing jeans, I can feel her heat between her legs.

  “I’m here now,” she whispers.

  “And I’m thankful,” I say.

  She gasps. “It’s after midnight. Happy Thanksgiving!”

  I laugh and trace kisses up and down her neck. “Fucking Chicago weather, too many clothes!” I say with a frustrated grunt.

  She breathes and sits up, pulling off her sweater, and then her shirt underneath, exposing to me her lacy black bra.

  “Better,” I say, but then I notice her shivering. Goosebumps are forming all over her shoulders and chest.

  “You cold?”

  She smiles and shakes her head. “No, just excited.”

  Max is so sweet, looking up at me, topless, in my bed. This is something I’ve pictured over and over while satisfying my needs with my hand, and now she’s actually here, in the flesh.

  I hover over her and brush my fingers through her hair. I fill my other hand with one breast. Her face goes from sweet and tempting to desirous and wanton.

  She closes her eyes and I can feel her nipple tightening with arousal under my caresses. I let go and she opens her eyes. I move my hand lower, blazing a trail down her tummy and farther, until my hand is safely nestled at the warm inseam of her expensive denim jeans. She inhales sharply as I stroke her through the denim.

  “Stoner, is this how you made out with all the pothead girls behind the gym in high school?”

  I laugh. “Nah. I only wanted you behind the gym, and I couldn’t have you.”

  Her eyes pop open again. “Well, you never asked.”

  “Would you have gone out with me then if I’d asked?”

  In response, she places her hands around my face and kisses me lightly on the chin. Her lips are warm even thought her goosebumps have not subsided. “I was hoping you would.”

  I turn and take her hand away from my face and slide one of her fingers into my mouth. I suck on it tenderly. I can see her breasts rising and falling as I give one finger after another the same treatment.

  “I’m not asking now. I’m telling you. You’re mine. If you don’t stay here, then I’m closing the bar and going with you to California. We’ve wasted enough time. I’m not wasting another minute. If you can’t handle the commitment, then you’ll just have to learn to handle it. You are it for me. Do you understand?”

  She bites her lip, like she doesn’t know what to say.

  Then she curiously smiles a wicked smile.

  “What?” I say, smirking, expecting a snarky comment.

&n
bsp; “That speech would be a lot more convincing if you said it while your dick was all up in me already, big guy.”

  The raging beast goes uncaged after that.

  She wants it.

  And she’s going to get it.

  I don’t know what comes over me, but I’ve got her jeans and panties hitting the wall, and in the next moment my pants and boxers are down. Stoner’s boner is free and erect and ready.

  I use my knuckles to massage her cleft. She’s soaking wet for me. At the feel of my fingers on her pussy, she moans. She arches up toward me.

  I slip the tip of my cock into her. I move my knuckles over to her clit, massaging it.

  I leave my cock there for a moment. Just the tip. Her breath catches. “Come on, Stoner.”

  I push slightly deeper, just another inch.

  She’s starting to writhe underneath me. It’s a beautiful sight and I can’t believe how lucky I am.

  Max is starting to lose it. Her thighs are gripping my hips to urge me deeper, but I’m not having it just yet.

  That’s when I see Max’s hands grabbing hold of her bra, stimulating her own nipples.

  “Nope,” I say. I grab both of her small hands in my large one and hold them in place against the mattress, above her head. She squirms and cries out.

  “Open deep for me, baby,” I whisper. I didn’t actually think her thighs could spread any wider, but they do. She’s like a gymnast, nearly doing the splits to comply with my demands.

  Finally, I slide all the way in. She cries out again. “Oh my god! That’s so, so, so good.”

  I keep her hands in place with one hand and fill the other hand with her ass.

  For reasons unknown to even me, I bite down on the thin layer of fabric between her breasts.

  With every thrust into her, my teeth rip and tear at her bra. As I do this, I grit out, “You’re mine, do you hear me? I don’t fucking care about the bar. I. Only. Need. You.”

  As I spit out the last word like a fucking animal, the flimsy fabric tears apart and the bra splits open at the middle.

  Her gorgeous tits spill out under my gaze. I feel like a starving man being tossed a bowl of the ripest fruit. I fill my mouth with one rosy nipple, and then the other. The hand that’s on her ass adjusts so I’m now stroking her erect little clit with the back of my knuckles again. She trembles.