by Mazzy King
I turn to track him as he leaves to make sure he does. My lip curls. What a little shit.
When I turn back around, Taryn is watching me.
“Thank you,” she says.
I nod. “Are you all right?”
She swallows. Takes a breath.
Then bursts into tears.
4
Taryn
I hate crying in front of people, but I don’t think I’ve ever hated it as much as I do right now, in front of my neighbor.
But the frustration and hurt that’s been building inside me for a very long damn time has finally reached its breaking point, and I am utterly helpless to stop the tears from almost literally exploding out of me.
Maybe it’s the fact that I find Brock’s presence comforting. Maybe it’s that he makes me feel safe. Or that he put an end to Kip’s abuse and chased him off, and now I feel like I can actually fucking breathe.
“Hey, hey,” Brock says softly, stepping toward me. He’s holding a small package in one hand and sets it down, then pulls me into his arms. “He’s gone now. Don’t cry.”
Naturally, I only cry harder.
His body is warm and firm, and his arms around me make me feel almost untouchable. But I know that’s only a fleeting feeling.
“Who was that guy?” he asks, his voice still low and gentle.
“My ex,” I say miserably. “He keeps trying to strong-arm me into paying all these bills, because he knows I’ll do it. I’m desperate to get him out of my life. But I can only afford so much. I haven’t had a real meal in a couple of weeks. He stole my earbuds, even though he knows how much I love music and that it’s my therapy. And now he’s threatening to take me to court. His dad works in the legal system, he’d win, I know he would. And then—”
“Deep breath.” Brock strokes my hair, and it sends tingles racing across my scalp. “Come on. Do it.”
I draw a deep breath to the bottom of my lungs. And it does help me feel a little bit better. Calmer. More centered.
Brock leans back. “I think I can solve one of your problems.”
I wipe my fingers under my eyes, gathering up a stream of tears. “How so?”
He turns to the package he placed on the counter a minute ago and hands it to me. “You mentioned not having these the other night. And, well, since this floor already thinks you’re a loud menace to the neighborhood, I thought I’d solve all our problems.” His lips twist into a smile.
I blink at the box he pushes into my hands. Earbuds—very expensive, wireless, Bluetooth-enabled earbuds. “Whoa.”
“I wasn’t sure what kind of phone you have, but those are compatible across tons of different brands,” he says.
I stare up at him. “This is…way too much. I know these are super pricey. Brock, you seriously should not have—”
He lightly strokes a thumb over my cheek. “Consider it a housewarming gift. They’re yours, Taryn. Enjoy them.”
I burst into tears all over again.
It’s impossible to explain what this means to me. Most people like music. But music feeds my soul. It touches a well of feeling inside me nothing else can, and having headphones or earbuds only intensifies the experience. Music transports me to a whole other place, and it has the power to heal me.
Part of me is embarrassed. Another part of me feels cleansed. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to be this vulnerable in front of someone and feel safe doing it.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re most welcome,” he says quietly.
I smile.
“I might be able to help you with another of those problems,” he adds. “Let me feed you.”
I look up at him.
He shrugs. “I’m not a terrible cook. And I can’t abide the fact that you’re living on ramen. Tomorrow night, my place. If you want.”
“Really?” I sniffle. “You can cook?”
“I know my way around a kitchen pretty well. Do you like meat?”
Do I ever. And I’d love some of yours…
I blush and nod. “Yeah.”
“Good. I’ve got to pay you back for those cookies, after all.”
“Did you like them?”
“Very much.” He hesitates, likes he wants to say something else but isn’t sure. “It’s kind of embarrassing but I’m actually allergic to chocolate. Gives me migraines. But it’s been worth it.”
“Oh no,” I cry. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I wasn’t going to complain about a gift.”
“What’s your favorite cookie?” I ask firmly. I don’t have much in my kitchen besides ramen, but I had a few leftover groceries from the old apartment with Kip, and dammit, I can make some cookies.
He chuckles. “Please don’t worry about it.”
“No. Now I’m pissed. Tell me.”
Brock grins. “I’ve always been fond of an oatmeal raisin cookie.”
“Okay.” I nod. “You have the meat. I’ll bring the cookies.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
I smack my forehead. “Yes. I just heard it.”
Brock laughs gently and reaches out to pull my hand away from my forehead. “You’re pretty damn cute when you blush, you know that?”
I meet his gaze, my heart pounding. And way down low between my thighs, something else throbs. Fuck, I want him.
His eyes slide over my face as the moment stretches on, landing on my lips. But he freezes.
If he needs encouragement, I’m happy to give it.
I slide a hand around the back of his neck and pull him down toward me. Our lips meet in a soft but searing kiss. His stubble scrapes my cheek. It’s been so long since I’ve had a kiss, and his lips are so soft and plush. I want more.
I open my mouth under his and our tongues immediately introduce themselves to each other. Something low in my belly ignites. A rush of passion flies through me. I’ve never felt this before, but Brock’s expert lips and tongue just opened some invisible door inside me.
An older, experienced man… The idea of what he’s capable of makes my toes curl.
His teeth nibble at my lip before he pulls away. But his body is still pressed against mine, and I feel that hard, telltale bulge against me. And it feels huge.
“Tomorrow night,” he says roughly, and those two words hold way more promise than just dinner.
I bite my lip, tasting him, and nod.
He cups my cheek, then steps away. At the door he glances back at me, a gentle smile curving his lips.
“Enjoy your music.”
5
Brock
The next evening, I glance around the apartment to make sure everything is everything—the place is clean and tidy. I took half a day of vacation so I could clean and run errands.
I’ve set the small, round table between the kitchen and the living room area with place settings and candles—and there’s a rose on Taryn’s plate. A bottle of red wine sits in the middle, open and breathing. The meatloaf is resting on the counter. The mashed potatoes are staying hot in the saucepan on the stove. The green beans are roasting in the oven. I’m showered, my short beard trimmed, and dressed in a button-up and nice jeans.
And I am nervous as hell.
I’m thirty-five. She’s at least ten years younger. Who am I kidding? What young, beautiful, vivacious woman wants to have a stuffy old meatloaf dinner in a cramped apartment that’s a step above shitty? She should be out with a guy with real money who can take her to fancy French restaurants and buy her fancy French wine and fancy French food.
I’m not a dad, but tonight, I realize with disgust, I’m such a fucking dad.
“I should cancel,” I mutter, grabbing a fistful of hair on top of my head. “She’s probably got better shit to do, anyway.”
Then the memory of her soft, eager mouth under mine flashes through my head. Maybe she doesn’t think I’m a loser after all.
At that moment, there’s a soft knock on the door.
Cancel on her
when she shows up? Yeah, that’s not a dick move at all.
Muttering curses, I open the door.
And blink. She’s a vision.
The pink floral dress she’s wearing is long, skimming her curves, just brushing the floor and letting her pink-polished toes peek out. The neckline is low, showing off ample space between her round, full breasts. In her hands is a plate of cookies, as she promised.
I suppress a groan. She’s stunning. And I’m going to feed her meatloaf inside my crummy apartment.
“Hi,” I say, and it comes out on a sigh.
“Hi,” she says curiously. “Are you all right?”
“Uh…” I scratch the back of my neck. “Yeah. Come on in, sorry.”
Taryn steps inside, her full lips curved into a smile. “It’s so neat in here. And it smells great. I’m starving!” She glances over into the kitchen as my face heats. “Is that meatloaf?”
“Is that…okay with you?”
“Hell yeah!” she exclaims. “I haven’t had comfort food like that in so long. I’ve been living on ramen, remember.”
“You said.” My heart lifts a little. Maybe it won’t be so bad. “Um, the green beans are almost done. Want a glass of wine?”
“Please.” She sets the cookies down on the counter, wanders over to the sofa and sinks down with a contented sigh. “This is the softest couch I’ve ever sat on.”
I am absurdly pleased with the way she’s made herself at home. I pour two glasses of red wine, join her on the couch, and hand her one. She holds her glass out, and I clink mine against it.
“To dinner,” she says with a coy smile, then lifts her glass to her lips.
“To dinner,” I echo, and take a sip.
We sit in slightly awkward silence, glancing at each other over the rims of our glasses. I suddenly feel sixteen. Why am I such a geek?
I want to ask her about the kiss. I want to tell her how much I enjoyed it. How much I can’t stop thinking about it. But the words get caught in my throat. Taryn makes me nervous.
“So,” I begin, clearing my throat. “How was your day?”
“Busy.” She lowers her glass. “I’m an executive assistant for Port City Power and Gas, and Fridays are always really busy days. How about you?”
“Oh, fixing cable. Same old, same old.”
“You’re a cable guy?” She lifts her brows. “Can you hook me up?”
I tip my head back and laugh. “Sure. I’ll get fired for it, but for you? Anything.”
She smiles and brings her glass to her lips. “A girl’s gotta ask. That’s okay. I don’t watch a ton of TV anyway. I listen to music mostly.” Taryn’s face goes soft as she glances at me. “Thank you again for those earbuds. They’ve been a godsend.”
“Anytime,” I tell her, and mean it.
“Um,” she says suddenly. “I’m sorry about…what happened. After the earbuds.”
“Ah.” I flush, but don’t look away. “No need to apologize.”
“It’s just, I was really emotional,” she says, and my gut sinks a little. “And, well. I haven’t kissed anyone in a very long time. And you are…wow. So amazing.”
My gut lifts back up. “But I thought you and that guy just broke up?”
“Officially, I guess. But unofficially, well…” She shakes her head. “We haven’t had anything close to a relationship in over a year at least. He was too busy putting his pencil dick inside other women.”
I snort, choking on a sip of wine.
Taryn whacks me on the back. “Sorry!”
I cough and shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I wasn’t expecting to hear… ‘pencil dick.’”
“It wasn’t even good anyway,” she mutters, then flushes hot red.
I tilt my head. “I beg your pardon?”
“Uh…”
I reach over and caress her hand. “It’s okay.”
She stares at my fingers, sliding through hers. “Brock, I’ve only ever been with Kip. And I haven’t let him touch me…well, probably since the last time I let him kiss me.”
I know it shouldn’t, but my cock stiffens at her words. She’s almost a virgin. Inexperienced, and desperately in need of someone to show her how good she can feel.
Taryn lifts her gaze to mine. “That kiss…our kiss. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. And how I want another one.”
Without a word, I carefully take her wineglass from her hand and set it down, along with mine, on the coffee table. I no longer feel nervous next to Taryn. I feel strong. Sure.
“Say no more,” I murmur, cupping her jaw and tilting her head.
Our lips meet in a slow, soft kiss that lingers long enough to make her tremble. She might have instigated the kiss last night, but now, I’m in charge.
I tease her lips with the tip of my tongue, until her mouth opens for me, and I sweep inside slowly. Her fingers ball into my shirt, and a little groan rumbles from her throat.
The timer on the oven beeps, letting me know the green beans are done.
We break apart, Taryn blinking up at me with glassy eyes.
“Time to eat,” I say softly, “and then we’ll have dessert.”
6
Taryn
For as hungry as I am, I can barely taste the food. I’m still way too gone from Brock’s kiss, but I’m pretty sure it’s totally delicious.
Just like him.
Over our meal, we talk. He asks me lots of questions about my life, and they’re not forced, like guys usually are on dates. He seems genuinely interested to know where I went to college, that I’m twenty-six, what I do at work, if I like it, what my interests and hobbies are. It’s almost overwhelming to have someone’s undivided attention like this. Kip has always been so self-centered, he never asked me about myself. He never cared.
And maybe Brock is just putting on an act, playing the good guy, but I sense his interest is genuine. In turn, I learn he’s thirty-five, divorced, and has been a cable tech for over ten years. He likes it because he likes meeting new people and chatting with them, and he likes working with his hands.
“I’d go crazy if I had to sit behind a desk all day,” he says, nodding at me. “I don’t know how you do it.”
I shrug. “I guess because I haven’t done anything else. But I like my job. I stay busy, so my days fly by. The pay’s really good. And I like my boss.”
Soon, our conversation stretches beyond the point when our plates are empty. I sip more wine but keep it to two glasses only. We move back to the couch and keep talking, sitting close together.
And then, unable to control myself, I kiss him again, wanting him to kiss me the way he did before dinner.
He smiles against my lips. “You in a hurry or something?”
I giggle. “You shouldn’t be so good at this. Now you’ve created a monster.”
His lips find my neck and I shiver from the sheer pleasure of it. “Have I mentioned how delectable you look in this dress?”
I shiver again. “Have I mentioned how delectable you looked in sweats when you showed up at my door, all pissed off?”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my skin. “Not my best moment.”
“I disagree,” I breathe, closing my eyes as his lips move lower. “It was pretty sexy, in hindsight.”
He kisses the tops of my breasts. This dress has a plunging neckline, so I’m showing plenty of cleavage, and he’s brazenly helping himself. And it’s making me wet as hell.
“You’re pretty sexy,” he returns. His lips are slow and suckling, and when he dips his tongue between my breasts, I squeal. “Your skin is so soft and smooth.”
“That’s not the only place I’m soft and smooth,” I say before I can stop myself.
He lifts his head, his eyes dark with lust. “Is that an invitation?”
I bite my lip. “It’s…a plea.”
I’ve never been touched like he’s touching me, like I know he’s capable of touching me. I want it so badly, I could explode. I don’t want to have to e
xplain myself, but I will if he needs me to.
Fortunately, my desperation must be plain on my face, because he stands up and takes my hand. “Come here, beautiful.”
He leads me to his bedroom, which is as pristine as the rest of the place. I wonder if he planned on me at least seeing his bedroom…or more.
Inside, he shuts the door, even though we’re the only ones here, then pulls me close. He kisses me with expert lips and a slow tongue as his hands find the zipper down the middle of my back.
“Can I take this off you?” he whispers.
God, it’s so hot when a man asks for consent. I nod.
His lips curl up on one side as he slowly unzips the zipper, going so slow I almost want to rip it off myself.
“Anticipation,” he murmurs, “is key.”
He slowly pulls the dress off my body, then takes a long moment to run his hands all over me. I’m now only wearing a matching white lace bra and panty set—purposely chosen with the hope of him seeing it. Based on the look on his face, it was a good choice.
He runs his fingers lightly up my sides, then around to the back, where he unhooks my bra. Then, with the speed of a snail, he pulls my bra away from my body.
“God, you’re beautiful.” He runs his hands lightly over the bottoms of my breasts before cupping them, squeezing them, squeezing my nipples. He steps away just long enough to unbutton his shirt, which immediately causes my mouth to water. He’s better than any fantasy I could have struck up, and as he slides his jeans down and reveals the prominent bulge at his front, I realize he’s way, way better than anything I could have imagined.
“Something on my…face?” he asks with a smirk, swiping a hand over his beard. “You’re staring.”
I recall the fantasy I had of feeling the scrape of that beard…everywhere. “Just mesmerized by you, that’s all.”
Brock pulls me against his chest, his bare skin warm against mine. “No, Taryn. I’m the one who’s mesmerized.” He kisses me again, slowly. “Now. What was that you were saying about being soft and smooth everywhere?”
