by Alam, Donna
‘It’s not the age of the pizza boy, so much as it is the staying power of his salami.’
‘Jesus wept,’ he’d chuckled before muttering, ‘Most people start with hello.’
‘Hello,’ I answered simply as his eyes did a lightening quick inventory of me. You know the look—the kind that men have perfected universally. I wonder if it’s taught in a class somewhere? When he’d stopped pretending, I returned his perusal, though not so sneakily, bluntly appreciating the cut of the man.
Tall, he stood over six foot in his dark Timberlands, with broad shoulders that narrowed to a trim waist in loose fitting jeans. Thankfully, they weren’t so loose as to hide the hint of the goods there. And after a quick check for a wedding ring—of which there was no obvious sign—I decided I could see myself being manhandled by his big hands.
Dirty blond hair and tanned skin, he looked like he was used to working outdoors, the fine lines at the corners of his blue eyes speaking of a lightness of heart. Maybe I was being poetic, but I prefer to think he laughed plenty rather than squinted a lot. And like marzipan or butter icing to my cake of a man, he had the facial fuzz.
Man, I love a beard. Not like, love. If you’ve never had sex with a man with a beard, you’ve never lived. The sensation of it abrading your cheeks. The tickle of it on the soft skin of your inner thighs. and there’s nothing quite like riding a scruff covered chin.
‘I have got the right address, haven’t I?’ He stepped back as though to read the sign above the window, but I think it was for show. For propriety? Or maybe it struck him that I might be a case of care in the community. The crazy kind of mad. I suppose the way I stood staring it him, it would’ve been an easy mistake to make.
‘You’d better come inside.’ It wasn’t a threat, though maybe a wish as I pulled the door wide. ‘Thanks be to Saint Raphael,’ I murmured as he passed.
‘I’m not sure I know that one,’ he said. Turning to face me, he slid his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. I noticed his accent was softer than my own, and his voice as rich as caramel.
‘Raphael? He’s my favourite Saint.’ I walked behind the front desk, leaning onto my folded arms. ‘And the patron Saint of happy occurrences.’
My mouth may have said occurrences, but my tone suggested endings of a happier kind. I take no responsibility for this. I can’t help it if the things I say sound dirty. It’s a blessing and a curse.
‘Is that right.’ Tipping back his head, he glued his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Do you think you could put on a shirt, hen? It’s pretty hard to concentrate just now.’
My eyes slipped to the bulge in his jeans; he wasn’t wrong about hard.
‘I’m sure you saw more flesh on display during your last holiday.’ I pulled a store branded t-shirt from under the desk. Ivy had seen fit to stock the salon with, what Ted called, merch. I hadn’t seen the point of it myself up until now.
‘True,’ he replied as my head slipped through the neck of the black t-shirt. ‘But it seems wrong to be staring all the same.’
‘I had a fight with the wash basin. It won.’ He nodded at my explanation, his eyes flaring wide as I pulled the t-shirt down. It was a little snug. ‘You can stare. I don’t think I mind.’
‘Ah. No. That would be wrong.’
‘Would it?’
‘It wouldn’t be very professional for one thing. And for the other, I must have twenty years on you.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Forty-three.’
‘Twenty years exactly,’ I replied.
‘See, I’m old enough to have fathered you.’
‘Wicked, isn’t it,’ I said, my eyes flaring wide. ‘I’ll tell you what; you do your thing in here, and I’ll pop the kettle on. If you’re still around when I finish up, we can have the daddy talk then.’
‘As tempting as that sounds, I make it a rule not to get involved with my clients.’
‘Good job I’m the monkey and not the organ grinder, isn’t it?’
Turning on my heels, because if I had to wear that god-awful tunic for work, I’d offset the ugly somehow, I sashayed my bum towards the kitchen. I figured, if he was interested, he’d still be there when I got back.
New flash. He was.
Leaning against the counter, his face wore a lazy sort of grin.
‘First things first, I notice you’re not wearing a ring, but I’d like to be sure you’re not involved with anyone.’
‘First things first,’ he repeated. ‘Where’s my cuppa?’
‘It was a ruse,’ I answer as though obvious. ‘I was giving you an out.’
His eyes swept over me once more, confident and sure, the touch of his gaze almost a tangible thing. ‘I’d have to be mad,’ he answered, his voice so low I struggled to discern his words. ‘And I once was. Mad, that is. Mad and married, but no more.’
‘Sounds . . . ’ With my hands clasped at my back, I took a step closer. Another then another until I was completely crowding his space. ‘Like my lucky day,’ I purred, sliding my hands up his chest. He didn’t move, just let me touch him. Let me take the lead.
‘I like your beard,’ I said, touching out to touch the scruff along his jaw. ‘I thought beards had been ruined for me.’
‘Excuse me?’ There was laughter in his voice.
‘Everyone has a beard these days. Haven’t you noticed? Hipsters gone mad. But then there’s you . . .’ I allowed my sentence to trail off as he leant into my hand. ‘I think I like beards still.’
‘I can’t believe I’m about to say this,’ he muttered. ‘Why wouldn’t you be with a man your own age?’
‘Because I like men. Not fuck boys.’ My eyes roamed over his face, his own almost black in the light. ‘Have you seen blokes my age? Skinny jeans and t-shirts spray painted onto skin covered in crap tattoos. What woman wants to be with a man who wears more hair product than she does—or who has pecs bigger than she has boobs?’
He swallowed thickly, his eyes dipping to my chest.
‘But let me be clear; I don’t want to be with any man right at this moment . . . for more than a few moments, that is.’
‘You want me for my body?’ The highlight of his expression was the return of his lazy grin. ‘I think I can live with that.’ Then his big hands landed on my arse. ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
‘Natasha,’ I said, pushing my body against the length of his. The touch of his hands was as sure as the feel of his mouth. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Greg. Greg Hamley. Of Hamley Interiors.’ His words came out stacatto, punctuated by gasps as we ground our bodies together
‘Greg the cabinet maker,’ I purred.
‘Greg the bespoke craftsman.’
‘The question is, Greg, are you good with your wood?’ I could feel his smile against the skin of my neck as he wound his hands around my ribcage, feeding the branded t-shirt up my body. ‘Because a hard man is good to find.’
‘I’m a master craftsman.’ His words were confident, full of promises. ‘Just the kind to take you on, little girl.’
Despite my blustering, I wasn’t hankering after a little daddy play. But I’d be lying if I said his words hadn’t made me wetter than a Scottish spring day. My t-shirt came up and off my head, his gaze falling to the girls encased in a pretty midnight blue bra, embellished by white broderie anglaise. Sweet and sexy for the win.
One moment he was pressed against the counter, the next I was. Then his large hands hooked under my thighs to lift me onto the thing.
‘I’m not small,’ I said as he dipped his knees to lift me. I lifted my eyes heavenward, praying the little counter wouldn’t break.
The delivery of his answer coincided with his nose almost meeting my tits.
‘You’re fucking perfect is what you are.’
Without moving his gaze, he slid his index finger into one cup, feeding it under the weight of my breast until my nipple was balanced on top of the white trim. My chest heaved between is as he repeated the action at
the other side.
‘Fuck, what a sight.’
He sounded awestruck as he leant forward, blowing a breath of air across my nipples, drawing them into tight pebbles. I could do nothing but moan, my body instinctively arching as I offered myself to him.
He palmed my sides, running the tip of his wet tongue against one, then the other, leaving me a glistening, aching mess.
‘You doing okay there, darlin’?’ His voice had dropped an octave, his accent thickening with it.
‘I will be when I get you inside me.’ My words came out strangled as he sucked one nipple into his mouth—sucked leisurely, like he had all the time in the world. Like he had plans for teasing touches and nothing else.
‘When you get me inside?’ he answered playfully. ‘That’s not how this is gonna work.’ He slid his large arms around my back, pushing himself against my centre. My hands grasped the edge of the counter as I ground shamelessly against him. I’m not a small girl; not petite by any stretch of the imagination, yet in this man’s hands, I felt as delicate as a china doll.
‘Let me set you straight.’ His hands slid under the waistband of my leggings where they stilled on the bare cheeks of my arse. What can I say? I’m a fan of pretty underwear, and knickers that are very small. ‘There’s only one person getting fucked here.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle—’ My words halted as he whipped off my leggings, like a magician moving a tablecloth from under a full service dinner set. With a final yank, he pulled the material dangling from my left foot, my sparkly leels clattering to the floor.
I gasped as the cold mirror touched my bare back, not that it bothered me too much as, hand between his shoulder blades, he pulled off his t-shirt in a very manly move. Oh, man, was he ripped. His wasn’t the kind of musculature cultivated by protein shakes and hours at the gym. This was a man who worked out, sure, but also worked. Biceps honed from years manual labour, and toned, firm abs my hands gravitated towards.
‘I’ll be so gentle.’ The muscles of his stomach tensed as I trailed my fingers against the dusting of soft hair that disappeared into his belted jeans.
‘Gentle,’ his voice rumbled. ‘Sorry, darlin’, but I make no such promises.’ Pulling me into his chest, he wrapped me in his arms again, adroitly unhooking my bra. ‘Jesus,’ he groaned as skin met skin. ‘You’re so hot.’ As he slanted his mouth over mine and I whimpered as his tongue met mine in one teasing touch. ‘You smell like lemon drops.’
‘That’ll be the squeeze of—’ I gasped as he slid his hand between us, pinching my nipple. ‘Of lemon in the shot of vodka I had in the kitchen just now.’
He pulled back, serious eyes studying me.
‘I’m not an jakey,’ I said laughing softly. ‘Or drunk. It was just a wee dram of Dutch courage.’ But still he didn’t move. ‘It’s not every day I decide to seduce someone in my place of work.’
He smiled then, lowering his lips once more to mine. His kiss was thorough. Experienced. Commanding. And, God, his body was warm and muscular in all the right spots. He kissed me like he meant it, with deliberate touches of tongue and crushing lips. It was just as well I was perched on the counter like a wee birdie because his kisses took the power from my knees. I felt like I could’ve kissed him all night long, kissed and nothing else, but for the pressing need between my legs.
One moment we’re just kissing, and the next things are frantic, our mouths possessive and devouring, our hands greedy and wild as our fingers seared the others skin. I pushed against him, desperate for his touch—a touch as sure as the feel of his mouth.
‘Christ, we should stop,’ he growled, both hands needing my breasts.
‘Do you think so,’ I whispered back, tilting my head back to offer him access to my neck.
‘I will if you will.’ I smiled to the ceiling as the rasp of his beard caressed my skin.
‘Maybe we should take this to the couch,’ he rasped, his kisses travelling my neck, making their way to my tits.
‘So you’re an exhibitionist, then?’
‘What?’ It was more grunt than word.
‘Don’t know if you noticed,’ I said, raising a languid hand, his gaze following its path in our reflection. ‘But the couch is in the window.’
‘Fuck,’ he hissed out, his palm covering my centre. ‘I want to spread you out. Take my time.’
‘Fast works for me.’ As he rotated his palm in a tantalising circle, I think I changed my mind.
‘What about folk watching?’ His words were low and dirty and full of need. I moaned, or whimpered. I’m not sure which, the wet fabric between my legs sticking to me. ‘You like the sound of that, do you? People watching you getting fucked.’
‘In theory.’ I gasped. ‘Not necessarily people who know me. People who know where I work. I’m not a department shop display.’ My words sounded like I’d run a four-minute mile.
‘You’re so wet.’ His avid gaze slipped to my pussy. ‘These theories, where would you be?’ His words were silken and dangerous, his breath heating my skin where it touched. ‘In a car? A kinky club?’
‘In a window. Overlooking a street.’ My voice hitched as he spread me wider, pressuring me harder with his palm, spreading my wetness through the material. ‘Where people might look up and catch a glimpse.’
The idea of being watched has never done much for me. But the excitement—the exhilaration of being caught? Those thoughts make me come like a freight train.
‘I have an idea.’ Wrapping my legs around his waist, he lifted me from the counter, carrying me across the darkened room.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked a little worried and a little amused as he set me down next to the high reception desk, turning me to face it.
‘When you’d leaned here earlier, fuck me, your tits looked grand. Fold your arms for me. that’s it, now stand still.’ He slipped Ted’s appointment diary in front of me, and we both took a moment to watch our reflection in the darkened window. My hair was a mess and Greg looked a little ruffled, though deadly serious in his intent.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked as he disappeared from view.
‘Turn around,’ he whispered back, slipping my tiny knickers down my legs. ‘Any one passing might do a double take, though probably convince them self that they didn’t just see a naked girl. Meanwhile, I’m going to eat you out.’
His words bloomed inside, bursting like small bubbles of ecstasy. Because I didn’t quite trust his assertion, I grabbed one of the salon branded t-shirts from under, wrapping it around my chest, bandeau style.
‘Darlin’, open your legs.’ He didn’t have to ask me twice, though they almost gave way at the first swipe of his tongue.
‘Fuck—fuck me!’ I panted out, but any other response disappeared as his hot mouth melted the words
‘I’m about to, darlin’. With my tongue.’
I couldn’t hold back the sounds of my pleasure as his tongue swiped at me again, and I felt nothing but joy as he spread me wide, his tongue spearing my insides.
As he groaned his appreciation, every inch of me burned, hot for him. The knot of my need grew and built, spreading like the wetness that dripped between my legs. I couldn’t think of the possibility of onlookers, or people passing by. All In could think, as I lay my head flat on the desk, was my desperate need to come.
I groaned. Panted his name. Thrust myself back into his fantastic fuzzy chin.
‘You taste like heaven. Fuck yeah, ride my face.’
My body tensed, suddenly out of breath. I had no words—no comeback as I pressed back against him, my insides clenching emptily as I saw stars. As I came.
Greg turned me then, crawling up my body to cover my mouth with his own. What is it about tasting yourself from a man’s lips that makes a girl feel like she could almost come again? Or maybe that’s just me. But, Christ, I moaned like a whore as he kissed me, slipping his thumb between my legs to pressure my sensitive clit.
‘I want to do that again. Want to hear you co
me, chanting my name.’ Had I? I didn’t have time to think as he carried on. ‘But next time I want to see your face.’
‘Next time?’
‘You don’t strike me as the cruel kind,’ he whispered into my neck. ‘You wouldn’t send a poor man home, leave him to abuse himself wi’ his hand.’
‘No, you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘Not when I could watch.’
A deep chuckle burst from his chest. ‘You’re a rare woman, Natasha,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘I am,’ I agreed. ‘So rare, I’m a one night sort of experience.’
Greg pulled back, smiling down at me. ‘I might be a wee bit older than you, but I’m not deaf and I’m not senile. I heard you loud and clear the first time.’
I took his hand in mine, leading him to the back of the salon as naked as the day I was born. We’d made it halfway up the stairs before stopping. I blame Gregg for slapping my arse, as moments later, I had his belt loose and my hands in his jeans.
‘Come on, Greg. Give up the goods,’ I whispered, sliding my fingers down his chest. ‘I need to taste you.’
With a groan, he slid down the wall, opening his legs so I could nestle between them.
‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable somewhere else?’
‘Next time,’ I growled, pulling his cock free from the confines of his jeans. ‘Oh, Greg.’ My eyes flicked up to his face. ‘That’s some length.’ He chuckled, though not for long, as I slid my tongue over his head.
‘Jesus!’
His body trembled under my hand, his cock thick, long, hard, and leaking to be kissed. And he watched as I did—as I licked and laved. Watched as I took him into my mouth, inch by slow inch.
‘You’re killin’ me,’ he grated out, throwing back his head. His hips bucked, harsh breaths pushed from his lips as I worked him slowly, sliding my tongue against the underside of his cock. As he moved the hair from my face to watch, I swallowed him deeper, my mouth harder—tighter—working him again and again as I used my hand to grip the section of his cock I can’t accommodate.
With a harsh, grated curse, he cradled my head holding me there as he bucked up into my mouth. ‘Fuck, that’s it! Take it’
