THIRST

by Deborah Bladon

  Six stitches and a promise to my dad not to drink anymore were the result. Marti had a few choices words for me that day too.

  Dexie moves closer to me, her elbow resting on the mattress. “Come closer.”

  I move until my knees hit the bed. “I’m closer.”

  “Not close enough.” Her fingers drift from the scar to dip below the waistband of my boxers.

  I groan aloud when her hand circles my semi-hard cock. “Jesus.”

  “I told you that I thought about you tasting me.” Her eyebrows perk when she tugs my boxer briefs down far enough to release my dick. “I thought about this a lot too.”

  I almost fucking drop to my knees when her perfect lips circle the crown of my cock.

  “Yes,” I hiss out, my hands tangled in her long hair.

  She swallows me, working her hands over the length, twisting her tongue under the crown.

  I fuck her mouth, slowly at first but when she squirms to the side of the bed and falls to her knees, I take everything I can.

  With long, fast strokes I drive myself into her mouth.

  Words are lost in my throat when I try to pull her back so I can come on her gorgeous tits, but she holds tight, determined to taste my release.

  Lights flash behind my eyelids, the room quiets, and I lose all rational thought as I pump every last drop between her pink lips.

  ***

  “An apple, six green grapes, and half a bagel. Your breakfast is served, Ms. Walsh.”

  She looks down at the plate I placed on her lap. “Rocco.”

  “I know you just woke up.” I settle on the bed next to where she’s sitting. “You start work in an hour so I thought I’d take care of the breakfast part of your routine. I’d like to help with your shower too.”

  Her eyes are still cast down when her head starts shaking. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  Did what? I ran down to the bodega when she was passed out and bought her breakfast. I cut up the apple, removing the peel, washed the grapes and toasted the bagel.

  “Your coffee is on its way.” I tap the watch on my wrist. “I forgot to turn on the machine before I left, but you’ll have a cup in your hand in two minutes.”

  “Rocco.” My name is barely a whisper. “You are...”

  Scaring the shit out of her.

  I’ve watched her eat breakfast. I’ve been mesmerized by the care she takes in peeling an apple each morning. I’ve seen her count out six green grapes and toast half a bagel.

  She must think I’m a fucking stalker.

  “Dexie.” I work on a swallow, scrambling to come up with the right words to tell her I’m not dangerous, just infatuated.

  Her head pops up. The tears welling in her eyes cut me in two.

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped.” I swipe a finger across her cheek. “I noticed that you like these things for breakfast, so I wanted to...”

  I’m stopped mid-sentence by the press of her lips against mine. She kisses me. It’s soft and tender.

  “No one has ever done anything like this for me,” she whispers against my cheek. “Thank you, Rocco. Thank you.”

  I kiss the corner of her mouth, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin. Fuck the men who have woken up next to her in the past. She deserves everything. I only wish I was the man who could give it to her.

  Chapter 39

  Dexie

  Who cries over an apple and a bagel?

  Me. I did in Rocco’s bed this morning.

  I shake the unfortunate memory from my mind. After I shed a tear because he cut the peel off the apple just the way I like, I sipped my coffee and then left to shower at home before I dressed for work.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sophia questions from where she’s sitting on my couch. “Is it my spring collection?”

  No. It’s Rocco’s cock.

  I look at the window and his darkened apartment.

  We haven’t spoken since he walked me down to the lobby door of my building this morning. We kissed and said our goodbyes before he took off down the street in running gear.

  “Do you want another cup of chamomile tea?” I change the subject effortlessly. “Have you warmed up at all?”

  Sophia ran two blocks through the rain earlier to get here. It was a brief shower, but she got caught in it on her way here from the subway stop. When I opened my apartment door her red T-shirt and shorts were dotted with raindrops.

  “I’m better.” She wraps her bare legs in a blanket she tugged off my bed. “I could use a glass of water.”

  I go to the sink to fill a glass, stealing another glance at Rocco’s apartment.

  It’s still dark.

  “Dex,” Sophia calls out. “You haven’t talked much about the pitch session lately. You said you had two investors interested. You must have news to share about a potential deal.”

  I down the glass of water in my hand in one large gulp. “Both investors are putting together an offer. I’ll make my decision once I have all the facts in front of me.”

  I refill my glass and grab another for Sophia.

  “Tell me about the investors.” She tucks the blanket tighter around her legs. “What are they like?”

  “Rich,” I joke as I shove the glass of water in her hand.

  She takes a sip. “That’s why they’re the investors and you’re the investee.”

  I plop down next to her, tugging on the hem of the yoga shorts I’m wearing. “I hope I make the right decision.”

  “You will, “ she assures me with a squeeze of my knee. “You made the right decision when you kissed Rocco.”

  I see the smile on her face out of the corner of my eye. “I thought you might have forgotten about that kiss.”

  “That kiss was hot-as-hell.” She fans herself. “The man wants you, Dexie.”

  I can’t argue that. He wanted me last night and this morning again before I went to work.

  I had to stop him, or I know that my day would have been spent in his bed.

  “He’s good for you,” she announces. “I think he’s the best thing that’s happened to you since you moved to Manhattan.”

  I’d agree, but I’ve accomplished so much since my move from Rhode Island. Rocco and I spent one night together. I can’t let what I’m feeling for him overshadow everything else that’s going on in my life.

  “He’s a nice man,” I say. “I don’t know him that well, Soph.”

  “Give it time.” She leans her head back on my couch. “A year from now you’ll be Mrs. Rocco Jones. Mark my words.”

  “I’ll be Dexie Walsh,” I correct her with a grin. “Hopefully, by then I’ll be working full-time for myself and my handbags will be the toast of the town.”

  “You’ll make it happen.” She snuggles under the blanket. “When you do, Rocco will be right there beside you.”

  ***

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” Rocco jerks a thumb toward the bartender.

  The bartender.

  I’m back at Rhoda’s favorite bar because she asked me to join her for a drink after work. I showed up on time, but she bailed with an apologetic text message. Her last meeting of the day ran long so when Rocco called me to ask if we could meet up, I told him to head over here.

  “That’s who?” I try to brighten the mood when he sits next to me.

  He huffs out a laugh. “Is this punishment for disappearing on you last night?”

  It’s not.

  I was hoping that he’d get home before I went to bed, but I passed out right after Sophia left.

  When I woke up this morning, Rocco wasn’t at his window. I had a marketing meeting at eight, so I didn’t want to text him for fear of waking him.

  Instead, I showered, dressed, ate my usual for breakfast, and took the subway to Matiz.

  “They make a great whiskey sour here.” I smile. “It’s Rhoda’s favorite.”

  He leans in for a quick peck on my cheek and a squeeze of his hand on my bare knee.

  “I like this
dress.” He looks over the white sundress I’m wearing. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I should argue that point with him. He’s dressed in a suit today. It’s a gray suit with a black button-down shirt underneath. He looks gorgeous.

  “What can I get you?” The bartender interrupts our mutual stare-fest.

  Rocco looks at the glass of soda water in front of me before he turns to face him. “I hear you’re known for your whiskey sours.”

  “Among other things,” he says before he looks at me. “I was about to ask you if you were here the other night before my phone rang, so...”

  Rocco squeezes my knee again, but this time his hand lands on my thigh.

  “I was here.” I nod.

  The bartender leans his elbows on the bar. “I knew it. Who could forget that face? I’m Zeke.”

  I look at Rocco. He cocks a brow as his hand inches higher, moving closer and closer to my pink lace panties. Thankfully, Zeke can’t see a thing from where he’s standing. I do a quick glance around the interior of the bar to make sure no one is watching us.

  “Your name is Dexie, isn’t it?” Zeke asks with a slight hint of hesitation in his tone. “I heard the woman you were with the other night call you that.”

  I rub my index finger over my bottom lip. “That’s my name, yes.”

  Zeke smiles. “It’s a great name. Unique enough to be unforgettable.”

  I look past him to a large glass shelf behind the bar. It’s home to an eclectic mix of items including a few books, several candles and an antique wooden chess set.

  I glance at Rocco with a smile before I turn my attention back to Zeke. “That’s a beautiful chess set. Do you play?”

  Zeke glances over his shoulder. “I do. Do you?”

  “Do you, Dexie?” Rocco asks as his hand crawls up the skin of my inner thigh until his fingers brush against my core. “You like to play games, don’t you?”

  My breath catches in my chest when he slides his fingertip along the seam of my cleft through the lace. “Sometimes.”

  Zeke’s gaze volleys back-and-forth between Rocco and me. “I have a feeling you two will be leaving here together tonight.”

  “You can bank on that.” Rocco continues to tease me through the lace of my panties. “I’ll skip the whiskey sour. Bring me whatever beer you have on tap.”

  I watch Zeke walk away.

  “Are we here so you can tease me?” Rocco runs his lips over my cheek. “You made me hard.”

  I gaze down at the outline of his erection in his pants. “I came here to talk business.”

  “If this is what being in a partnership with you is like.” He reaches for my hand to cup it over the front of his pants. “I’ll give you whatever the hell you want. Show me where to sign on.”

  Chapter 40

  Rocco

  I was tempted to haul Dexie over my shoulder caveman style to carry her up to my apartment.

  Watching her talking to Zeke back at the bar was entertaining.

  I suspect he would have asked her out if I wasn’t parked on the stool next to her, but that’s not what got under my skin and made me hard as nails.

  It was the fact that I could feel her getting wetter and wetter under my touch.

  She was reacting to my hand on her body.

  The faux flirting was cute, but that’s all it was. She didn’t want him. She wants me.

  I push my key into the lock of my apartment door and push it open with my foot. I’m clinging tightly to her hand.

  “I’m not offering you anything right now.” I toss my jacket and keys on the chair in the corner before I head down the hallway to my bedroom. “If you want a coffee or a peeled apple, or whatever the hell else, it has to wait until I fuck you.”

  Her mouth drops open.

  “Stay like that and my cock is going to be sliding between those lips in less than a minute.”

  “Yes, please,” she mewls, backing up against the wall just outside my bedroom door.

  My hands are on her, pushing the dress over her head, unclasping the pink lace bra she’s wearing.

  I drop my mouth to her left nipple and bite it.

  She moans and wiggles her hips. “I’m so ready, Rocco.”

  I know she is. My hand found its way up her skirt in the Uber on the way here. I draped my suit jacket over our laps and fingered her slowly while I kissed her.

  I was careful not to take it too far. I didn’t want her to come there. I want her to come wrapped around me, with my dick buried in her sweet cunt.

  Her hands are on the buttons of my dress shirt as she stands in front of me dressed only in panties and black high heels.

  I reach for the hair on the back of her head. I fist it in my hand and give it a sharp tug.

  She gasps aloud, her hands clawing at the front of my shirt.

  I lick a line from the bottom of her chin, down her neck to between her tits. Her right breast gets my attention this time. I swirl my tongue around the nipple, teasing it until I know it has to be aching.

  “I’ll come from that,” she whispers. “I need to come.”

  I’m on my knees before she can say another word. I push the lace aside, dive my tongue between her folds and eat her until she squirms against my face in an intense release.

  ***

  I pick up the condom packages from the bedroom floor.

  Two. I fucked Dexie twice. Once after I’d eaten her to orgasm and then again an hour ago when she woke up.

  She’s in the shower now, washing that beautiful body of hers. I wanted to invite myself along for the ride, but I let her be.

  “Rocco?”

  I turn to see her standing near the doorway to my bedroom. She’s nude. A white towel is draped around her shoulders.

  My hand jumps to my chest. “Wow.”

  She gives me a rake from head-to-toe. “Wow.”

  I didn’t bother getting dressed since I planned to hit the shower as soon as she was done.

  She leans her bare hip against the doorjamb. “Can I ask you something?”

  The pull to walk toward her is strong, but I stay in place, my hands dropping to my hips. My cock is hardening. How could it not when I’m staring at her? “Anything.”

  Her gaze darts to the hallway. “I went to get a glass of water when you were asleep. I couldn’t help but notice the paintings in the hallway. I saw them the last time I was here, but I really looked at them this time.”

  I stare at her. I’ve had too many women to count in my bed but not one has mentioned any of the artwork in my apartment.

  “The one at the end of the hallway is a Brighton Beck.” Her eyes widen. “That’s a Zeus Barnaby right next to it, isn’t it?”

  Anyone who has taken a tour of the Met in the past decade would know Beck’s work. Zeus Barnaby is a mixed media artist. His work was included in a recent show featuring up and coming artists of New York at the Museum of Modern Art.

  The fact that she knows both artists shocks the hell out of me.

  There’s a surprise at every turn with her.

  “It’s a Zeus Barnaby.” I smile.

  “It’s amazing.” She tugs on her earlobe. “Your hallway is a mini museum.”

  It’s the tip of the iceberg.

  Art is one of my guilty pleasures.

  “We should take a tour of the Met.” I haven’t made that suggestion to anyone in a long time.

  Her mouth softens into a smile. “I’d love that.”

  “Today.” I approach her. “We’ll go to the Met and then spend the rest of the day here.”

  Her gaze drifts to the bed and the tangled sheets. The room smells like sex. Our sex.

  “I can’t, Rocco.”

  “It’s Saturday.” I stand in front of her, disappointment ripping through me. “You don’t have to work.”

  She tilts her head to the left. “I have to work on a few handbags today.”

  “Take a break for dinner,” I suggest with a raise of my brow. “I’ll
come over and cook for you.”

  Her top teeth drag over her bottom lip. “You’ll cook for me?”

  “I’ll be there at eight.” I reach for her hand. “Come back to bed with me for an hour before you leave.”

  She takes my hand to guide my fingers down the side of her hip. “You only want an hour?”

  “Hell, no.” I grab her waist and pull her body flush against mine. “At least give me two. Forever isn’t enough time with you.”

  Chapter 41

  Dexie

  Forever isn’t enough time with you.

  Those words have been replaying in my thoughts all day. They were spoken in a moment of passion.

  He didn’t mean it. Rocco doesn’t honestly think that forever isn’t enough time with me.

  It was his cock talking, not his heart.

  “Ouch!” I let out a sigh when I look down at my index finger.

  A drop of blood is pooling on my fingertip. It serves me right for working with straight pins when I’m daydreaming about the most incredible man I’ve ever met.

  I stand and cross my apartment to run my finger under cold water from the kitchen faucet.

  Movement in Rocco’s apartment catches my eye. I stop, hoping to share a moment at the window with him.

  It’s not meant to be.

  Marti is with him. Her hands are cupping his face, a soft smile graces her lips.

  It’s a moment in time between a loving grandmother and her grandson.

  I glance back at her purse. It’s sitting on the wingback chair waiting for my attention.

  I brush the blood on my finger away with a tissue from the box on the kitchen counter and I head straight for Marti’s bag.

  I sit with it in my lap, looking over the leather.

  The interior is stained. Holes have worn into the bottom of it.

  I run my hand along the inside, feeling the silk, wondering how many years the purse has hung from Marti’s shoulder.

  I stop when I reach a zippered compartment. The bump within is obviously something Marti overlooked when she dumped her purse on the table at Calvetti’s.

  I open it and reach inside.

  It’s a small yellowing card. Curiosity bites at me so I open it.

  I read the words that are handwritten inside.