Lockdown Love

by Brisa Starr

  I make a coffee and sit down outside with a notebook and pen to quadruple the recipe and calculate the amount of ingredients I need. Landon pops his head into the kitchen and lets me know he has some online appointments with patients, so he’ll be busy for a while.

  I open the pantry and refrigerator to inventory my ingredients, and I’m relieved to see I have enough of everything to make multiple batches. I get out the ingredients, along with the equipment I’ll need, like measuring cups, measuring spoons, and bowls. Hmmm. I need to wait for the butter to soften a bit. Well, might as well have a cocktail. Why not?

  I see Landon has already ended his first appointment, and I call out to him. “Does the ‘no alcohol before noon’ rule still apply during quarantine times?”

  “Nope,” he hollers back without even looking, before setting up his next call.

  I smile, digging around the liquor cabinet. Oooh, here’s a bottle of Rumchata… rum and cream, yummy! I pour a shot of it into my coffee. There’s just a small bit left in the bottle, so I swig it and polish it off. Hmmm, I wonder what Rumchata Cinnamon French Toast would taste like!

  Oh! Cinnamon, that reminds me… I also have cinnamon kombucha and sparkling water. And fresh oranges outside I can squeeze for juice. I finish my coffee while chomping on a few dried cranberries, and I realize that I haven’t eaten anything yet today. Oh well.

  While I wait for the refrigerated ingredients for the scones to warm to room temperature, I finish my coffee and invent a new mixed drink, into which I poured a lot of different things.

  “I’ve created a new cocktail,” I yell to him proudly from the kitchen. “It’s called a Quarantini. You mix any alcohol you’ve got with anything you can find in the kitchen!” I take a sip. “Mmmmmm! I’m onto something here! I need to write this one down.” I tap my pursed lip, thinking, “Shit. I have no idea what all I put in it.” I giggle. The buzz from the alcohol is starting to hit me.

  “Save one for me,” he calls back. “I’ll join you when I’m finished with my emails.”

  I turn on the oven and wash my hands. Time for fun. I dive into making the scones and, before I know it, I’m halfway done, with two batches cooling. Admittedly, the kitchen is a mess. And I have flour in my hair and on my face. But my third batch is baking, and I’m almost done mixing the fourth batch — I’m in the home stretch.

  Landon comes into the kitchen, and he leans sexily on the wall dividing the kitchen and living room. He has one ankle crossed over the other, and his arms are crossed over his chest. I see him simultaneously smiling and twitching uncomfortably as he looks from me, to the mess, and back to me.

  “The one thing the virus has taught me is how much my face itches when trying to instill a ‘don’t touch your face’ habit,” I say as I try to scratch my chin with my shoulder. “I’ve figured it out though. If I hold a cocktail in each hand, I can’t touch my face.”

  He laughs, then flashes me a devilish grin. “I can help you not touch your face... if I tie your hands behind you.”

  He walks over to me, and I dodge his embrace, “Oh no you don’t. Not yet!” I giggle and take another swig from one of my cocktails, offering one to him. Would you like one?”

  He grabs it and takes a sip, making a screwed-up face at the taste. “Geez, Emma, what the hell is in this?”

  “I don’t remember,” I laugh and continue, “but I have scones in the oven and another batch ready to go in after that.”

  He puts the drink down and surges toward me again.

  I put my hands up, threatening to pat my flour-dusted hands on his shirt. “No sexy time!”

  He backs off but says, “I can be fast. There’s nothing I’d like more than to pull your dress up, rip your thong off, and fuck you from behind while you’re wearing your apron like a sexy little wifey.”

  The oven timer dings. “Saved by the bell,” I say, trying to speak with authority and clearly failing. I walk over to the oven and take out the freshly baked scones, replacing them with the fourth and final batch. There is some distance between Landon and me, and the giant kitchen island, too. I look across it at him, and smile my most flirtatious of smiles, just to rile him up some more.

  “I was going to go to the store,” he says, pulling his surgical mask and rubber gloves out of his pocket for me to see and then stuffing them back in. “We need more wine and steaks,” he says and winks, knowing how much I like his beef. I giggle at my thought. I mean, steaks.

  I must have been swaying a bit from the alcohol and he barks, “Have you even eaten, Emma? I know you’re double-fisting Quarantinis, but what about lunch?”

  I defiantly claim, “Why YES! Of course! I had a two-course lunch: potato chips and coffee. Oh, and cocktails.” I giggle again. “Make that three courses,” I murmur. I pick up a hot scone. “Wait, four courses, because here comes a scone.”

  He laughs, and I look at him while I walk to the refrigerator to get the freshly whipped cream I made.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask as I glob a huge mound of the whipped cream on top of the hot scone, which makes it start to melt and drip down my arm. In my attempt to avoid making more of a mess, I take a truly massive bite, trying not to choke, when he comes over to me.

  “What?” I ask again, crumbs flying out of my mouth. He grabs my arm and licks the melting cream off it.

  “Mmmm… whipped cream with notes of Clorox and Lysol. Tasty.”

  I guffaw loudly, “What can I say? I keep a spotless, virus-free kitchen.”

  We both look at the kitchen. It looks like a white flour and whipped cream bomb went off.

  “I was about to wipe that up,” I say, gesturing at the disaster.

  “I need another taste,” he says and puts a finger-full of cream on my neck before licking it off.

  I shiver from head to toe, and that familiar little tingle returns, then suddenly swells into raging desire. But I still have 20 minutes on the timer for my last batch of scones. I don’t want them to burn because we make out, and I lose track of time. So for the remaining 20 minutes, I decide to distract him in another way. Just as he stands back after licking and kissing my neck, I flick whipped cream in his face and take off running to the other side of the island, still holding my half-eaten scone in my hand.

  “Oh you little dev-” he says and I crumble the remaining scone and chuck it at him all the way across the island, screeching and laughing.

  He barrels after me, scooping his own handful of whipped cream and throws it at me before I can duck. It lands on my chest, “Oh, you’re mine now!” he hollers.

  He charges after me and I scream, but then I just stop where I stand, defeated, knowing I can’t outrun him. The truth is, I’m raging with desire for his huge cock, and I want to be caught. I raise my hands in surrender.

  “Oh, you’re gonna get it now. Hard, too, you naughty, messy girl,” he says as he turns me around to face the counter and hikes my dress up to my waist. “Ohh! Very naughty indeed! You’re not wearing any underwear.” He tsk’s me, and I feel the wetness pooling in my pussy.

  “Fuck, Emma, I want you now!”

  I hear him behind me unzipping his pants, and I ask, “Do you have protection?”

  “Of course,” he says and laughs. I turn around to see what he’s laughing about as he puts on his surgical mask. “See? Protection!”

  I bust out laughing, and he joins me.

  This moment moves me. His playfulness, the hunger in his eyes for me. I confess to him, “I’m falling for you, Landon.”

  He stands there. Speechless. His eyes go from the hunger I saw a second ago to something deeper, a fierce flame lighting up the depths of his soul. He takes a step toward me, bends down and effortlessly picks me up, carrying me over his shoulder.

  “Oh, you’re mine, Emma. Now and forever. I’m never letting you go,” he growls as he lifts my dress up to reveal my bare ass as he carries me. He spanks it, and I let out a sound of mixed giggles and grunts, aroused at the sting while laughing at how he’s carryi
ng me.

  He tosses me onto the bed, and I land on my back. He doesn’t give me a chance to move before he puts his legs on either side of mine and bends over me. His arms cage me in, and his lips crash down onto mine. He kisses me with intensity and longing, our tongues sliding around each other as he forces his deeper into my mouth.

  He moves his hands to grope my breasts and teases my nipples until they’re hard and aching for his mouth. I struggle to arch my back, and he moves his head down to suck my nipples through my dress. Then he pulls the plunging neckline of my dress over to the side, freeing one of my breasts as he puts my nipple in his mouth and bites.

  I gasp and arch my back farther, pressing my breast deeper into his mouth. He pinches my other nipple with his fingers while he sucks and licks the other. I’m grinding my hips into him, and he knows he’s torturing me. His mouth is so talented... I swear he could make me come using only his mouth on my tits.

  He stops and stands up to take his shorts off, and I take the opportunity to scooch quickly to the end of the bed. I take over unzipping his pants, kissing his tight abs, licking and nipping as I push his shorts and boxer briefs down. His cock, now free, stands at attention. I look up at him and wrap my warm hand around it. I lick his cock from bottom to top without taking my eyes off him. He has a drop of pre-cum on the tip, and I taste his delicious saltiness. I moan in appreciation, before taking all of him in my mouth.

  I suck his cock hard, fast, licking him and moving both of my hands around to his backside to dig my nails into his hard ass cheeks. He grabs onto my shoulders and pumps his raging cock in and out of my mouth.

  “Oh, Emma, I love fucking your mouth.” He moans again and then pulls it out. “I don’t want to come yet.” He pushes me back on the bed and spreads my legs. They dangle off the bed as he kneels between them and plunges his tongue deep into my pussy. I moan and writhe, grabbing his head and grinding my clit on him.

  “You taste so good, I have to lick your sweet pussy every goddamn day.”

  He shoves two fingers into me, not even loosening me up first with only one. I groan, “Oh Landon, yes, please, don’t stop. Please, I need to come! Please make me come!”

  “Yes, baby, that’s my girl.”

  But then, he stops.

  I gasp, “What? Don’t stop, please!”

  “First things first,” he says. He stands up and leans over to take the scarf out of my hair. He looks deep into my eyes, pausing just to look at me, and whispers, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

  A warm feeling tickles through my chest when I remember how he said that to me when we first met. He continues, “Put your hands up and your wrists together.”

  My breath hitches in me as I obey his command. I know what he’s about to do, and it makes my pussy throb and get even wetter. He binds my hands together with the scarf, and his eyes rove up and down my body, as though he’s intoxicated by the total power he has over me. He returns to bury his face between my legs. Writhing and squirming, completely helpless, I feel out of control with lust at being bound. The sensations coursing through my body as he takes control of me, bringing me to the edge immediately.

  “Oh Landon I’m going to come! I want to come! Please. Don’t stop.”

  “Come for me, baby,” he commands. “Come all over my tongue, Emma, I want to drink you, all of you.”

  His words are so hot and sexy. I release, convulsing and shaking, coming one of my hardest orgasms of my life.

  He doesn’t even give me two seconds to recover, and the next thing I know, he’s rolling me over, still bound, and I’m bent over the side of the bed.

  “Now for my naughty sweet Emma who was ready for my cock earlier when you didn’t put on panties.” He spanks my ass hard. “Fuck. I like seeing your ass turn pink from my slap.” He gently massages my ass for a brief moment and then slaps it again, and I moan, begging... because it hurts and feels so good at the same time. The dual sensation takes me to new heights. I have to have him inside me. Now.

  “Please, Landon, fuck me.”

  “What was that?” he asks. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Please. I’m begging you! Please take me hard. Fuck me.”

  A moment goes by, and I realize he’s getting a condom. Then, he plunges his cock deep into me and starts fucking me harder than he’s ever fucked me. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back hard, and I explode with another orgasm gushing all over his cock. This orgasm is even bigger than the one I just had on his mouth, and I’m still coming, my pussy gripping tight around his cock as he continues to fuck me. Just as I’m finishing, he thrusts his cock deep into me once more before grunting like an animal and coming himself.

  He grabs my hips and grinds into me a little more before pulling out. I still can’t turn around and see him yet, but I hear him take the condom off and set it aside. He turns me over and unties the scarf. I’m still panting at the symphony of erotic sensations that coursed through my body from letting him own me and control me any way he wants, tying my hands together and making me come so hard. I’m addicted to this man, and I wonder if he’s as addicted to me.

  I look at him lying next to me, my veins thrumming with happiness, and I snuggle into his shoulder.

  The timer buzzes from the kitchen. “Oh my gosh, good timing.” I laugh and hop out of bed.

  I rush into the kitchen to take the scones out of the oven. They’re perfect. I place them onto the cooling rack and go back to the bedroom to snuggle with Landon.

  19

  Emma

  We must’ve fallen asleep because I open my eyes, and it’s an hour later. My heart is heavy — it belongs to this man 100%, but I know our days are numbered. Just when I think he’s the one, the obvious slaps me in the face. We live in different states. I don’t see how I can move to Wisconsin. I don’t see how he can move to Michigan. My eyes mist, and I reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose so I don’t cry.

  His phone buzzes, waking him up. “Hey, gorgeous.” He leans in to kiss me. “Were you crying?”

  “No. No. I was just yawning and my eyes watered. Your phone buzzed,” I say, eager to distract him before he can read my face.

  He turns away to get his phone from the nightstand and yawns as the message comes up. He reads it silently and quickly sets his phone on the nightstand, face down.

  Curious. “What is it?”

  “Oh, nothing important.” He sits up and rubs his hands over his face to wake up. “Shall we deliver the scones?” he asks.

  “Yes! Let’s do that!” Excited, I jump off the bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up. He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, looking into our reflections in the mirror. “Fuck, you’re handsome,” I say, turning one of his lines back on him.

  He grins and moves my hair away from my ear to kiss it before stepping around me to get his toothbrush.

  “I see you’ve been using my homemade tooth powder.” I smirk.

  “Maybe.” He smirks back and then smacks my ass as he walks into the kitchen brushing his teeth.

  Back in the kitchen, my four batches of cranberry scones yielded 25, but I ate one for lunch, so we’ve got 24. We pack them in bags of three to deliver to eight houses. I like the idea of making something homemade with love and sharing it with our neighbors during this bizarre time of lockdown and self-isolation.

  Before we head out, we put on our masks and gloves. We each grab four bags and first walk over to our fire-engine-red-haired neighbor, Beverly. Landon rings the doorbell and turns to smile at me. My heart melts, and my eyes tell him so.

  We hear a yell from inside the house. “Hold on! I’m coming! Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be there in a minute, hold on!”

  After a minute, Beverly opens the door, and she’s wearing her nightgown — at least, I think that’s what it is. And her usually coiffed red hair looks extra angry as it stands on end. Did we wake her up?

  “Oh hello dears,” she says to both of us, though keeping her gaze fully on Landon, ever in
fatuated by his ridiculous handsomeness.

  “Hi, Beverly,” we chime together.

  I step forward. “I made cranberry scones, Beverly, and we’re delivering them to the neighbors to share. Here are yours.” She takes the bag from my hand and steps back.

  “Thank you. Do they have gluten in them?”

  “Oh, yes, they do. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were gluten-free.” I reach out to take the bag back.

  She hugs the bag to her chest protectively. “Thank god. I hate that gluten-free shit. You never know with kids these days.” She smiles approvingly and then looks at Landon. “Oh, wait a minute! I have something of yours,” she says and turns around to go back inside the house.

  She comes back with a padded manila envelope and hands it to Landon. “I guess the post lady put this in the wrong mailbox,” she says, handing it to him, giving him a strange exaggerated wink.

  “Thanks,” he grumbles. “Well, see you later,” and we turn to walk away. When we’re out of earshot he says, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she steamed this open and resealed it. She’s so nosy.”

  I remember when we first met, and he told me about Beverly taking his parents’ mail in the past. What a kook.

  We continue on our scone mission and head to the next house under the beautiful sunshine and clear blue skies, palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. The spring weather in Arizona is simply fabulous. I can see why so many people retire here.

  I notice plenty of people out walking, too, getting exercise, but still maintaining social distancing, more or less. Though seeing the way so many senior citizens hunch over, I notice myself standing up straighter. Granny’s words tickle my mind as I remember she used to always snap at me, “Emma! Shoulders back, tits out!” I chuckle inside. That’s Granny.

  When we’re almost done delivering the scones, I clutch the last bag. Our final delivery is for Marsha, who only lives across the street. We walk to her front door, and I’m stunned for a moment at how massive the door is. It’s pink, cast-iron, with intricate details, and I find it a bit mesmerizing. It’s then that I notice all the stained-glass hanging in her windows, potted plants hanging, and the beautiful pottery decorating her porch. She even has an adorable, old-fashioned park bench on her porch, flanked by old-timey wagon wheels on each end, as though to scream, “Western!”