by Brisa Starr
I feel a small puddle of wetness dampen my thong from the way he commanded me. I hated it at first, but now I love how he takes control, and I like doing what he says. So I close my laptop and stack my pile of Granny’s recipe cards on top. I stand up and walk over to him at the edge of the pool. He slides off his underwear, and his cock is raging hard. He stands there a moment, letting me look at him, before he turns to step into the water. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s putting on a show for me, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Take off your clothes,” he commands and dives under the water, coming back up and shaking his wet hair back, looking even sexier than before, which I didn’t think was possible. The water glistens on his body, his gorgeous face, and his long eyelashes under the sunlight. He watches me as I start to undress.
I pull off my tank top and sports bra, his eyes watching my every move. Then I push down my shorts and thong and step out of them, standing naked before him. He looks at me intently and whistles under his breath. “I like what I see,” he says.
I step toward the pool, deciding how to enter. I opt for jumping in all at once to surprise him. I splash him and he laughs, which starts a splashing fight and fits of giggles and laughing. Then he swims over to me quickly, and I can’t even dodge him before he grabs me. I wrap my legs around his waist, enjoying the buoyancy of the water. He kisses me, powerfully overtaking my mouth and forcing his tongue in between my lips. I taste the beer on his tongue, and I sigh heavily with desire through my nose, before he pulls away and moves his mouth along my jawline and down to my neck.
“You taste so good, baby. I’ve been thinking about you all morning.” He looks into my eyes and runs his finger down my cleavage.
“You have?” I swallow hard as I feel myself falling under his blue, hypnotic gaze.
“Yes, and do you know how hard it is to swing a golf club with a hard on?”
I giggle, and batting my eyelashes, I say, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
As we lock our lips again, a huge gust of wind picks up, and all of the wind chimes in the yard start clanging. Before I know what’s happening, all of my Granny’s recipe cards blow up into the air.
“Noooo!” I jump out of his arms and try to swim to get out of the pool to grab them. But the water prevents me from moving quickly enough. Before I know it, some of the cards are floating around the yard like litter, while others are landing in the pool.
“Nooooo!” I scream as I frantically try to save the cards.
“Fuck!” I hear Landon cuss over my splashing as I try to save everything, the water slowing my every attempt.
“These are my Granny’s recipes! No, no, no!” I cry, a heaviness crashing down on my heart.
Sadness and anger swell within me. “I wasn’t done with these,” I bellow as I grab as many as I can. They’re soaking wet, and I’m scared they might be ruined.
Landon helps me collect the cards from the pool and takes the ones I collected from my hands. He exits the pool, bending down to pick up the rest that, thankfully, hadn’t gotten wet.
“Don’t worry,” he says as he starts arranging the cards on a table, using rocks to hold them down. “These will dry fast in the sun. They’ll be fine.”
I find myself getting angry. “How do you know?” I snap, moving toward the stairs to exit the pool.
“Because your Granny wrote all her recipes in pencil,” he replies, looking at one of the cards, and then smiling at me.
“You know, if I hadn’t been so busy fucking around in the pool, this wouldn’t have happened,” I yell. I bend down to pick up my clothes, “I was working, and you interrupted me.”
“Emma, it was an accident. They’ll be fine. I promise,” he says and picks up his own clothes.
His tone is too dismissive for my liking. Does he not understand how important this is to me? What if some of those recipes had been lost forever?!
I’m naked, wet, and pissed, so I storm inside. I go into my bedroom and slam the door. I’m so upset with myself. I was happy earlier and thinking that this was a good idea. Landon. Now I realize it was stupid. The only thing that’s happening is I’m continuing to get distracted. It’s making me behave irresponsibly and make bad decisions. All the thoughts and reasons for how this can never work come crashing back into my mind.
In my room, I dry off and put on my jean shorts with a pale yellow polo shirt. My wet hair starts getting the back of my shirt wet, so I clip it up into a bun. I sit on my bed continuing to silently berate myself for falling for a guy when I wasn’t ready. For letting myself get distracted, once again, when all I want to do is write my book.
Landon knocks on the door, then opens it and walks in before I answer. The nerve, like this is his room now that we’ve slept together.
“I’m really sorry about your Granny’s recipes, but I have them all drying,” he says as he sits down next to me on the bed. “I took a look, and they’re all fine, completely legible. So really, don’t worry.” He puts his hand on my thigh.
I turn to face him. “You know, Landon, I came out here to do one thing. Just one. And I’m not doing it very well.”
“Please don’t start with that again, Emma,” he says forcefully. “This was a freak accident. It’s gonna be OK. The recipes are not ruined.” He gently touches beneath my chin and tilts my head up to look at him, and I find myself melting under his gaze, trying to fight it. I feel myself sinking. He kisses me. Against my better judgment, I wrap my arms around him and kiss him back.
And, well, hell’s bells — another favorite expression of Granny’s — I start to feel a little better. Knowing that the recipes are going to be fine, my anger dissipates, and it transforms into relief, which soon fills me with desire for Landon. I do love how he immediately sprang into action to help salvage my work.
He stops and stands up. He looks directly at me and says, “Really. Don’t worry about it. The recipes will be OK, and so will we.” He bends over and kisses the top of my forehead and then turns my head to kiss my almost-completely healed wound, too.
He moves to leave the bedroom to give me some time to relax. “I’m going to make us some sandwiches, plus a fresh cup of coffee for you, so that you can get back to work.” He goes into the kitchen, and I smile.
He’s trying to support me. This is proof. He knows he could’ve had me just now. I would have let him, too. But he is showing me that what matters to me... also matters to him. I love that.
He may support my goals, but I know he doesn’t believe in the herbal remedies that my Granny successfully used her whole life. I smirk. I resolve to change that.
The doorbell rings. Landon calls out from the kitchen, “I’ll get it.”
A few minutes later, I step into the kitchen. He’s in the middle of making enormous salami sandwiches that look delicious. He has cut fresh watermelon into sweet, mouthwatering chunks as a side dish. I look into the living room and see him walking through to the kitchen carrying boxes from Amazon.
“Oh good! Our stuff arrived!” I clap my hands in excitement, then help him arrange the boxes on the counter to open them.
“I’m excited about my pull-up bar so I can get back to staying in shape. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my lady,” he says with a grin.
I giggle. My lady. I trace my finger down the vein bulging on his bicep.
“You look mighty fine to me, Dr. Mitchell.”
My finger runs across his chest and starts to head down his taught abdomen.
“Oh no you don’t, Emma,” he says, turning the tables and rejecting my advances. I have to laugh at that. “We’re going to open these boxes,” he says. “Then, you’re going to eat lunch and go back to working on your book.”
Disappointment flits across my face, but I’m secretly swooning at how he wants to take care of me and support my dream.
“But first, proper protection.” He pulls out the rubber gloves, disinfectant wipes, and dons a surgical mask. Wow, he does look like a hot doctor now. He continues,
“The CDC says the virus can live on paper and cardboard for up to 24 hours. So, we’ll take everything out and wipe it down.”
I feel like we’re in a government lab handling bioweapons, but I guess this is what we have to do now, during this pandemic.
Holding his hand in the air, he puts on a rubber glove, letting it snap fiercely. He looks at me seriously and says, “Bend over.” My eyes grow big as saucers, and then he winks, making me laugh out loud. My shoulders sag in relief.
He opens the boxes and pulls out the vitamin C, zinc, and elderberry. “Perfect,” I remark, pleased and eager to start taking them. Then I ask him, “Did you know that high-dose vitamin C can knock a cold or flu out like that?” I snap my fingers for emphasis.
He gives me that look again — skepticism, mild annoyance, but also a hint of playfulness. He takes off his gloves and humors me as he holds out his hand to accept the pills and elderberry syrup. “We’ll see,” he says. “I will say, you’re the sexiest witch doctor I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, just shut it and take them. It can’t hurt,” I snap, but I also wink at him.
“Fine.” And he takes them.
Success! At least he’s willing to take them, even if he doesn’t believe in them. Yet.
That’s progress.
11
Landon
It’s been a strange week with our continued self-isolation. I can’t complain though, as I’ve enjoyed every moment with Emma. The woman is incredible, so much fun, and so damn juicy. And I’m proud of her discipline and attitude toward getting her book done. She reminds me of me in that way.
My office and I got the technology set up, and I’ve been staying busy seeing patients via tele-medicine. It’s amazing with the technology today how I’ve been able to shift into working remotely in spite of the lockdown. I do have to get up earlier because of the time zone difference, but I like that. I was always an early riser, and I feel a better sense of control when I start my day early. Sleeping in feels lazy. And I don’t do laziness. I didn’t get to be this successful by being lazy.
It’s comfortable working here in my parents’ house, too. I set up my workspace at a desk by a window in the living room, with a view of the back yard. The walls around me are full of colorful, Mexican art. My tele-session patients see a wall full of Day of the Dead art in the background and no doubt wonder where I’m calling in from.
Because Sun City West is a retirement community, it’s known for its estate sales every weekend. One of my parents’ favorite pastimes was going to them to hunt for bargains, art, and antiques. The problem was, they always bought something. I used to tease my mom because she couldn’t leave any space empty, she had to fill it with something. My sister and I haven’t had the heart to go through any of it or get rid of anything. So everything they owned is still here. Just as if my parents were still here, too.
My sweet Emma walks in, and I close my laptop. She likes to sleep later than I do, though she’s the opposite of lazy. Besides, my protective nature likes that she gets her beauty sleep.
“Good morning,” she says, and I check her out. She looks great as usual, wearing tight, black leggings that fit her like a glove and a dark green, V-neck T-shirt, the color of pine trees, making her stunning green eyes shine deeper.
“Back at ya,” I reply with a goofy grin. I turn my face more toward her, puckering my lips so she’ll plant a big, juicy kiss on me.
She complies, and we share a delicious good-morning locking of lips. Then, she holds up the Easter egg I left on my pillow. “Cute,” she says and smiles. “I do believe you’re quite the romantic.”
I think back to the many conversations I’ve had over the years with Sadie, when she tried to teach me about romance. Being a romantic herself, she loved to give me unsolicited tips. I guess I’m grateful, because I find myself thinking about all of the romantic things I want to do for Emma.
She continues, “But then I opened the egg and read the note inside.” Her eyes go from tired and sleepy, to lusty and mischievous. “You’re a naughty boy, Landon,” she says and slaps my shoulder before heading back into the kitchen, a smile tipping the corners of her sensuous mouth.
“I’m going to do some laundry before I start working for the day, but first things first! Coffee!” she hollers.
I join her in the kitchen, watching her every move. “I made coffee earlier, but I’ve been up so long that it’s probably nasty by now.” I don’t take my eyes off her, and I enjoy how she moves so gracefully, like a dancer. I’d love nothing more that to caress her arms, kiss her shoulders, and take her right here on the countertop, with the sunlight streaming through the window.
She stops and sees me staring, and I suspect she knows my thoughts. “That’s OK. Thanks anyway,” she says and turns her back to me. She fills the coffee pot with filtered water and measures out a few scoops of ground coffee. Her slender and toned body beckons me, and I slide up next to her.
I slap her ass, and she jumps.
“Landon!” she laughs. “OK! I’m awake now!”
“And so am I.” My cock stirs, waking up and wanting her. “I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”
“Nice try, you’ve been busy with patients all morning,” she chuckles and turns on the coffee pot.
“Between patients,” I relent and shrug. “OK, I know you have work to do so I’ll let you get to it. My caseload is finished for today, and I’m going to meditate, hard as that might be now that I’m thinking so much about what I’d like to do to your ass.”
She steps away, blushing furiously, and she warily puts space between us. She tries to change the conversation and nervously licks her dry lips. “How is that going anyway? The meditation, I mean.”
Amused by her reaction, I answer her question and don’t make her sweat anymore. Besides, I need to calm myself down or my raging hard-on is going to prevent both of us from getting anything done today.
“I feel like I should be better at meditating by now, but whenever I try, my mind just won’t settle down.”
“Well, I’m not sure it’s even possible for us to feel entirely relaxed, given the virus. Not to mention, these strange living arrangements, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”
I let her words sink in for a moment. “Yeah, I know, but still... when I set out to do something, I like to master it,” I say suggestively. She blushes again — it’s so easy to fluster her. I add, “However, I must admit that I’m feeling more relaxed than I’d have thought I could, given the circumstances. I have you to thank for that.”
Her eyes glow bright, but she backs away even farther, suspicious about where this is going. “OK, well then, that’s my cue. I’ve got stuff to do. No need for distractions.” She steps lightly out of the room. “Good luck meditating!” She calls out as she heads into the laundry room and closes the door.
I go out to the back yard, which is turning out to be my favorite place to meditate. The wind chimes calm me. They remind me of my dad, and make me feel like he’s here with me.
I look down at the ring that’s been tracking my meditation sessions. I turn it slightly so the sensors are in the right position. It’s been great for tracking my heart rate variability, and I like how I get immediate feedback on my sessions. The ring’s app on my phone displays graphs that show me where I need to improve. I chuckle at how I can see exactly when I’ve thought about sex with Emma during my meditation sessions. It derails my efforts, clearly shown on the app. Thoughts of having my cock buried between her legs, deep inside her, make my meditation results go to shit. Like right now, for instance.
Can’t say I’m complaining though. Sex is a great stress reliever. My doctor would approve.
Feeling confident, I aim for a 30-minute session today. I’m going to bust through my current 15-minute record and double my time. Go big or go home — I’m determined to kick ass.
I close my eyes and lean back comfortably on the patio swing. The chimes ring gently in the breeze, and I focus on my breath. I
n and out. Breathe... in and out. Shit. The only thing I’m thinking of going in and out is my cock in Emma.
Begin again, dude. Breathe, Landon, breathe. Empty your mind of all thoughts.
It’s working. I’m focused, feeling relaxed, and breathing with deep relaxation, when...
I’m jolted out of my meditation as I hear Emma scream.
What the fuck?! Emma! I leap to my feet and run inside the house.
I burst in and see her wailing, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by broken pieces of china.
Fine bone china.
Her Granny’s cup.
Oh fuck.
She looks up at me with tears streaming down her face, and I move to her side, kneeling down next to her and enfolding her in my arms. Sobbing into my chest, her body shudders, small and fragile. She looks up at me, tears and mascara staining her face and shimmering on her eyelashes. I look at her, deep into her eyes and say, “I know. I’m so sorry, baby. I know.”
She continues sobbing, and I comfort her the best I can, knowing there’s nothing that will bring this cup back to what it once was only a moment ago. I hold her tightly the whole time, cradling her head in my hand, pressing her face against my chest.
After a few minutes, her crying slows, and she starts to hiccup a little as she tries to catch her breath. She finally succeeds and takes a deep breath, and then another. She starts to settle down, and I pull away from her to get a better look at her face, and I tenderly kiss her tears.
I put one arm around her back and the other under her knees, and I lift her up. She rests her head against my chest while I carry her out of the kitchen. I take her to the living room and gently place her on the over-sized, dark brown leather couch, worn soft from years of use.
I stand up and gently lift her chin to look at me. “Stay here,” I say softly. “I’ll clean it up.”
Her body slumped and despair on her face, she says with unexpected determination, “Thank you. And, please. Throw it all away. I can’t bear to see it.”
