by Freya Barker
“I made your favorite,” Ollie says soothingly, but once again Grace folds her arms in front of her.
“I’m waiting for the explanation this one here,” she tilts her head in my direction, “promised would be waiting.”
“Come have a seat and let me get you a drink,” I suggest, taking a firm hold of her elbow and steering her to the couch. Ollie sits down beside her and I can hear her launching into an account of events as I go fetch us drinks.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” Grace’s raised voice carries easily into the kitchen. This time I don’t bother hiding the chuckle; although I can’t say I’m surprised at her vehement reaction to what I’m sure is only Ollie’s background. Grace is on her feet beside the couch when I walk in, her face beet red, which is a little worrisome. “Your own flesh and blood?” she asks, only slightly less loud.
“Sit down, Grace,” Ollie orders her. “And if you don’t dial it down, I won’t tell you the rest of it for fear you’ll have a stroke.”
The old woman glares at Ollie for a beat, then looks at me for more of the same, before finally taking a deep breath in and sitting back down. I immediately shove a glass of the port I had left from dinner last weekend in her hand, which she promptly tosses back like a shot of tequila.
“Bring me the bottle, boy. Got a nasty feeling I’m gonna need it.”
I give Ollie a wink and hand her one of the beers I’m holding, set the other on the table, and walk back to the kitchen—to tag the bottle of port. Grace doesn’t hesitate to replenish her glass the moment I set it in front of her, and does so royally.
The next forty minutes see further explanations, a load of questions, and a few more of her outbursts with the resulting need for fortification—which fortunately leaves that bottle of candy water almost empty—but eventually Grace slams her glass down and claps her hands on her knees.
“Now—where’s my risotto?”
Ollie shoots me a smug grin. She mentioned if there was one thing that could smooth over the information we were about to unload on Grace, it would be her mushroom and Parmesan risotto. Turns out she’s right.
Dinner is therefore a significantly more pleasant experience than the hour or so prior to that.
“I’ll clean up,” I announce when Ollie starts clearing the table, but she shakes her head.
“I need to stand for a bit. You keep Grace company inside.”
“Sure?”
She turns to me with an unguarded smile I can feel burrowing under my skin. “Absolutely.”
I get up to help Grace out of her seat when I notice she is observing our exchange closely. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she mumbles when she gets to her feet. “You got in there.”
A very astute seventy-five-year-old who, even with an almost full bottle of port in her system, is still able to cotton on and put into words exactly what I was feeling just a few seconds ago.
I got in there.
When Grace falls asleep on the couch in the middle of the newscast she wanted to watch, I go check on Ollie, who is reaching up to put away the last of the dishes. Walking up behind her, I slide an arm around her midriff and grab the plates from her hand, stacking them in the cupboard. The moment my other arm circles her; I feel her body lean into me. Oh yeah, I definitely got in there.
“You okay?” I rest my chin leaning on top of her head.
“I’m good,” she answers, folding her arms over mine.
“That got intense for a while,” I point out, turning her to the window so we can both look out on the river.
“Nowhere near as intense as I thought it would get.” I see her smile in the reflection. “I was worried she might start throwing things. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Grace is very protective of me.”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “It occurred to me. And for the record, you were right, telling her is better. That woman sleeping on my couch would take a bullet before she’d spill a thing.” I don’t miss the shiver running through Ollie, and turn her in my arms. “Shit. Could’ve put that better.”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, slipping a hand around my neck, and pulling me down so she can reach my lips. Her kiss is soft, but her giving it to me means something. “You think maybe we should get Grace home and to bed?” Her cheeks are stained with a faint blush, and her eyes a little uncertain.
“Fuck, yes,” I answer, leaving no doubt I hear and accept her invitation.
Ollie
Oh, Jesus.
I can’t believe I just propositioned Joe in his own kitchen.
Granted, I didn’t exactly ask him to boink me, but the implication was there—and apparently thick enough he had no trouble identifying it. From the way he grabs my hand and almost drags me into the living room, where Grace is slumped on the couch—snoring—it’s pretty obvious it’s too late to bluff my way out of this.
It’s not that I’m uncomfortable in my sexuality per se; it’s just that for the past eighteen years feelings have never played into that equation for me. Then there’s Joe, fuck, his feelings are conflicted already. What if he changes his mind again after—or God forbid—before? It’s not like I can go home, we’re forced roommates for the foreseeable future, and I’m not sure how well I can handle this close proximity if he storms out of the bedroom.
I really should’ve thought this out better, but my body is still buzzing with the high of our earlier make-out session. I’m an idiot.
“You’ll call me with your new number?” Grace asks from the front seat as Joe pulls into the Canyon Trail Residence parking lot.
“As soon as I have it,” I promise, reaching over the seat to give her shoulder a squeeze.
“I’ll pick her one up tomorrow,” Joe adds as he pulls up to the entrance.
“That’d be good. You keep my girl safe, you hear? She’s special.”
I swallow a lump hearing Grace talk about me like that. We have an interesting relationship that comes with a lot of friendly bickering, and I know she cares about us—about me—but she rarely says anything so…nice. Leaning over the console, I give her a peck on the cheek, which she tries to wave off, but I can tell from the tight line of her lips she’s trying not to smile.
“We’ll be in touch, okay, Grace?” Joe is getting out of the car and rounding the front to help Grace to the door.
“You’d better,” she grumbles, but at the same time her arthritis-riddled hand cups my cheek. “Be pissed if you make me wait too long.”
“I won’t,” I promise as her door opens and she steps out.
I watch Joe take her arm and lead her inside. She stops and turns to him, clearly imparting something important, since she’s poking a finger in his chest every other word. Looks like Joe is discovering what a handful she can be.
I love that woman to pieces.
My previous nerves return the moment Joe gets back behind the wheel and swings his head around.
“Good. You stayed back there. I forgot to mention that; the back windows are a darker tint so you’re harder to spot.”
“I figured that.”
He throws me a wink before turning back to the wheel and pulling out of the parking lot. Conversation is sporadic and by the time he turns onto our street my stomach is in knots. Driving into the garage, he hits the garage door opener, closing us in, but he doesn’t make a move to get out of the SUV. He just sits there, staring through the windshield into the dark garage and his silence hangs thick in the car.
“Joe?” I finally say, unable to stand the tension any longer. “Are you all right?”
“Hmmm.”
Since that’s not much of an answer my thoughts go into overdrive—sitting in a dark vehicle in a dark garage staring at the back of Joe’s head—and my mouth starts running. “That went well…with Grace…don’t you think? I mean she was upset, which is to be expected, but she didn’t really freak out, other than getting pissed of course. I think my staying with you helps—also Trinny being safe in Europe. It tired her out, thou
gh, which is why I thought it best to get her home. It was…it’s—”
Abruptly he’s on the move, throws his door open, hops out, only to do the same with mine. I barely manage to take a deep, shaky breath, when I’m yanked from the car, landing against the solid wall that is Joe and hearing the door slam shut behind me. His arms band around me tightly and I tilt my head back to see his face, cast in shadows. All angles and lines, his jaw tight and lips pressed together. Fierce—almost angry.
“Is—”
That’s as far as I get before his mouth slams down on mine, taking full advantage of my shock by thrusting his tongue between my partially opened lips. It takes less than a second for my body to respond, and it does so with a deep involuntary moan at the delicious intrusion, before my hands slide up around his neck and into his hair, pulling his mouth even closer. He moves me a step back until I’m pressed between the side of the car and his big body.
One of his large hands is clenching my ass, as the other comes up, tangling in my hair and pulling my head back. His lips map a path along my jaw and down the exposed column of my neck, leaving a trail of fire behind.
“Joe…”
Teeth nip at the swell of my breasts, before the wet of his tongue soothes the mark.
“Joe…”
Suddenly the hand is gone from my hair, and I feel fingers tucking in the neck of my shirt. With a single pull, he exposes my breast, lifts the weight in his palm, and brings it to his mouth. I look down on his bent form until I feel his wet lips wrapping around the tip, drawing it deep into his mouth. My head falls back against the car door as wet heat floods my core.
“Joe…”
His head comes up and the look in his eyes blazes a fire through me. Pure hunger. “So fucking eager to get inside you, I took a minute, trying to find control. Turns out I’ve got none once I have your taste on my lips.” My eyes immediately drop to his, slightly swollen and wet, and the tip of my tongue swipes my own. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispers.
“Erm…it’s dark in here,” I mumble stupidly.
“Don’t need the light on to know it to my soul.”
God.
That hooks me deep.
“Time to move this elsewhere.”
I swear my girly parts are doing a happy dance as he tugs me along inside. He locks the door to the garage and never lets go of my hand as he leads me upstairs.
I barely noticed Bugsy happily following us into the bedroom until Joe lets me go, leaving me to stand by the bed, while he nudges the dog out the door and closes it firmly in his face. I can hear Bugsy’s disgruntled whimpers on the other side, considering he might need to go out. But then in two long strides, Joe is in front of me and thoughts of the dog evaporate.
One arm rounds and crushes me to his body, while a hand finds its way back in my hair. My mouth falls open at the slight sting of his fingers tangling in the strands, and he moves right in, leaving no room for anything but his taste and the feel of his body under my hands. Different than the hunger before, this kiss is deep, wet, and full of thorough promise.
“Easy,” he whispers when I moan in protest, as he pulls back.
The room is dark, but Joe moves to the bedside table to flick on the light, turns around and facing me—pulls his shirt over his head—dropping it to the floor. Next his hands go to his jeans and I suck in a breath, watching him strip naked five feet from me. Automatically my hands go to the hem of my shirt, but Joe shakes his head sharply.
“That’s my job,” he says, walking up to me.
I take the opportunity to take him in, and there’s a lot of it. The view is fucking phenomenal. Wide shoulders above a solid chest sprinkled with just the right amount of graying hair, which condenses into the darker line of his happy trail running down his firm abdomen. His long, muscular legs are slightly spread, and from the nest of curls at their junction a long, thickly veined, beautiful cock juts out.
“Breathe, baby.” My eyes dart up at his whispered words, and I watch his hands reach out. The next moment my shirt is gone. With his lips skimming my bare shoulders, his hands release the clasp of my bra and pull the straps down my arms. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing first one, and then the other breast.
I feel like I’m existing in suspended animation, as he carefully unwraps me until I’m standing in nothing but my prosthesis, Joe on his knees in front of me. When he reaches for the strap around my thigh securing the prosthesis in place, I react and my hands immediately join his, but he bats them away.
“Let me.”
The sound of Velcro seems harsh in the dimly lit room, but the moment is soft—and infinitely sweet—as Joe carefully removes my limb, pulls off my sock, and presses his lips to my exposed stump. His gentle touch telling me without words he embraces all of me.
In my very sparse sexual encounters with men since losing my leg, some ignored my disfigurement, and for others it seemed to invite a fettish-like fascination. Not one of them ever made me feel complete. Whole.
Joe just gave me that.
My eyes burn when he straightens up, running his hands along the contours of my body.
“Beautiful,” he repeats.
Next thing I know, I’m flying through the air and land on my back on the mattress, his body coming down heavy on top and his mouth covering mine with a kiss that goes from warm to scorching in the beat of a second. His hands never stop roaming, fingers scraping and plying my skin so I can feel him all over me. Then I feel him in me, as he drags a digit through the wetness between my legs before sliding it in. My back arcs off the bed at the delicious intrusion.
“Already wet for me,” he mumbles, his lips at my neck, as he dips in a second finger.
The slight burn of the stretch is delicious and when he flicks my clit with his thumb, I almost levitate off the bed. It’s been so long and suddenly I can’t wait to have him inside me.
“Honey, please,” I whisper. His mouth drifts down and closes over my nipple rolling it over his tongue. “Please…”
He lifts his head, nostrils flaring, and his eyes hot on me, as he slips his fingers from my heat, reaching for the drawer. He gets to his knees, rolls on a condom, and wedges his hips in the cradle of my thighs—not once losing my eyes. I reach down, wrap my hand around his cock and guide it to my opening.
Apparently that’s as far as his control goes. Planting one hand beside my head, the other wrapping my leg around his side before shoving it under my ass to tilt my hips, he surges inside on a single stroke.
Full. So full. The air is squeezed from my lungs and my eyes roll back in my head as he powers inside me.
“Gotta…breathe…Ollie…” he grunts with the rhythm of his strokes.
I lose his hand on my ass when he slides it around and between my legs, zeroing in on my clit. My groan is deep, guttural, and long, as I feel my body clamp down on his.
“Jesus,” he hisses, dropping his head in my neck, increasing the pumping of his hips, and dragging out my orgasm. “Breathe, baby…”
Suddenly his head rears up, he grabs my leg behind the knee, lifting it up over his shoulder, leaving me spread open as he pistons inside me. I watch his teeth grind and every muscle in his neck strain as he roots himself so deep I feel his balls hit my ass. Grunting, he finds his own release and collapses on top of me.
I instinctively wrap him in my limbs as we both come down—or maybe I just want to make sure he doesn’t run for the door.
“Gonna clean up, and let the dog out,” he says moments later when I feel him slip from my body.
“Okay,” I mumble, his lips brushing mine as he gets out of bed. My eyes blink open and I watch him walk to the bathroom. The view is pretty fucking phenomenal on this side too.
I’m half asleep when I feel him get back into bed a little later. I haven’t moved.
“Dog okay?”
“Yeah,” he whispers back, sliding an arm underneath me and rolling me into his side. “Go back to sleep, baby.” I drop a hand on his stomach,
press my cheek against his chest, and take in a deep breath before letting it out.
My body sated, my mind numb, I’m already almost gone, and only vaguely hear his mumbled words.
“Just keep breathing, baby.”
-
My eyes shoot open, and it takes me a minute to orient myself. Not sure what woke me in the middle of the night. Then I hear it again; loud banging on the door, and at the same time I feel Joe surging up and exiting the bed. I hear rustling, and then his lips are at my ear.
“Whatever you hear, don’t move.”
Chapter 19
Joe
Cell tucked in my back pocket, gun in one hand and rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the other, I quickly descend the stairs.
I’d been out like a light, not long after Ollie’s deep breaths had morphed into soft snores. I can’t remember the last time I had a woman snuggled up to me in bed. Jenny was never a cuddler, preferring to roll to her side of the bed after we’d make love. I never considered myself to be that way either. Guess I was wrong.
The moment my feet hit the floor in the hallway, I see Bugsy standing by the front door, hackles up, and growling low. Before I can get to the door the knocking starts up again, and I shove the dog aside so I can press my eye to the peephole. Not that anyone with nefarious intent would be this hard-pressed to alert me in the middle of the night, but you never know.
Seeing who’s outside, I grab hold of the dog’s collar and quickly pull the door open—just as I hear sirens in the distance.
“What’s going on?” I ask Dylan, who is on my doorstep, but I don’t give him a chance to answer when I smell smoke and see the glow of fire behind him. “What the hell?”
Across the street in Ollie’s driveway, her pickup and Dylan’s truck are engulfed in flames.
“Tried calling, may wanna answer your damn phone,” Dylan grumbles. “Woke up to one of the exterior sensors triggering the alarm on my phone. By the time I got out, both trucks were on fire.”
