by Remy Rose
“You have the sexiest ass.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d like to spank it.”
Jesus. This is new territory for me. “You...would?”
“Yes. Very much. Just with my hand, and only for a few times. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop and we won’t do it again.”
A slow, delicious ache pulses through my entire pelvic region. I am getting aroused just by thinking about trying this with him. I am blown away that I trust him enough to want to do this.
“Okay,” I whisper. “You have a deal. And I don’t even feel the need to sign anything.”
Damon chuckles softly, sparking a fire between my legs. He fishes in his pocket and brings forth a condom, then slides off his shorts to reveal a massive hard-on. His cock is straining toward me, bobbing slightly with the weight of his erection. I feel another surge of wetness at the thought of him entering me.
“As you can see, I’m all ready for you, sweetheart. This isn’t going to take long.” He sits down on the piano bench and pats his thigh. “Lay across my lap.”
I obey, letting him shift me so that his cock is rubbing against my labia. He curves his fingers into my pussy, tantalizingly close to my clit. I bite my lip and steel myself, my ass muscles tightening in anticipation. One slap across it, the sound making me startle more than the strike. A second slap, and his fingers slide out to flick across my bundle of nerves. I moan, grinding against his cock.
“Ah, you’re getting wetter, sweetheart. I like that.” His voice is rough, ragged. “Ready for the last one?”
“Yes,” I gasp. I want more. I want whatever he’ll give me.
The third spank, slightly harder, slightly louder, and I find myself wanting him to do it again and again. But he has other ideas.
“Christ, Delaney—I’ve got to fuck you.” He flips me over to lay lengthwise on the padded bench, his eyes blazing with lust. My arms dangle down toward the floor. I spread my legs as he bends his knees to reach me, his powerful thigh muscles bulging. In seconds, he’s inside me, stretching me to my limit, holding me by the hips and growling my name as he thrusts. I dig my fingertips into his shoulders and wrap my legs around him. He’s groaning as he explodes. I ride the crescendo of another orgasm and inexplicably sob into his chest at how passionate, how beautiful, how blissful this is, with him.
I never knew it could be like this.
Later, Damon suggests we take Tucker and go to my house to spend the night so that Lucy won’t be alone. We lay in my bed with the shade up and the window open. The night air is cool and silky as we watch the fireworks bloom against the black velvet of the sky, showering down on the town in a spray of vibrant color. I snuggle into Damon, and his arms tighten around me. Lucy is curled into a tight ball at my feet, Tucker is snoring peacefully on the carpet, and I am smiling in the dark.
It is an absolutely perfect night.
chapter 31 / Damon
“So what’s on the agenda for tonight? Any big plans?” Camryn bats her eyes at me. We’re in the back room at the Humane Society, folding up donated towels and blankets to put on the shelves. Her gaze criss-crosses over me, lingering first on my lips, then my dick. It’s amusing as hell—she reminds me of me, actually...the way I used to roll B.D.: Back in the Day, or more accurately, Before Delaney. Cam’s pretty brazen about checking me out, but that’s how she’s been since I met her when she started working here last month. She’s the type of girl who advertises what she’s got: tight shirt, tight pants, and she always seems to be sucking on a peppermint whenever I see her, rolling it around in her mouth, flipping it with her tongue, pulling her lips in around it, all the while looking at me with her big, brown eyes like she’s not doing her mouth gymnastics on purpose. She may be advertising, but I’m not buying. Not anymore.
It amazes me that I used to be interested in girls like Camryn. Fake tan, false eyelashes and lots of makeup was fine by me. Now? Enhanced looks don’t do it for me anymore, and I’ll pass on a phony personality, no matter how fancy the package it comes in.
Funny, really, because of how Delaney and I started—when all I was looking for was fake.
“Nothing major. Meeting up with some friends tonight. With my girlfriend.”
She draws her lips together in an exaggerated pout, adding a folded fleece blanket to the stack on the shelf. “Still seeing her, huh?”
I nod.
“Sounds like it might be serious.”
“It’s gotten that way, yes.”
“I hope she knows how lucky she is.” She lays a hand on my arm, fluttering her eyelashes at me again.
“Thanks, but I’m the lucky one.”
We finish folding the bedding, and then I bring in some bags of donated dog food, mop the meet-and-greet room floors and walk a hound mix puppy who seems to spend more time airborne than on the ground. All the while, I’m thinking of Delaney and of our time since that unbelievable night we shared on the 4th. It just keeps getting better...even as July 28th gets closer.
Twelve days away. Twelve fucking days.
I’ve got to convince her that the end of the contract doesn’t have to mean the end of us. She knows she’s obligated to fulfill the terms of our agreement, but I feel like once that’s over, she’s going to bail because of the almighty Gloria Cavanaugh. She has to let me handle my mother. We can find a way to make it work.
I can’t lose this girl.
After a hard run, some weights and a quick shower, I’m at Delaney’s to pick her up. We’re meeting Jack and Madeline and some of her friends at New Moon—the place where it all began. I’m climbing out of the Range Rover when Delaney comes out of her building, and damn. She’s walking toward me in in this peach-colored, off-the-shoulder top, white pants that end at her calf and high-heeled white sandals. Her hair is full and wavy, swinging at her shoulders with each step she takes, and she’s rocking her golden tan. She looks like a fucking shampoo commercial.
I get out to open the door for her, shaking my head.
She cocks her head and looks at me with feigned bewilderment, a hint of a smile tugging at her glossy pink lips. “Is anything wrong?”
“What are you trying to do, kill me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gets in the passenger seat and buckles, blinking those baby blues like she’s totally innocent.
I’m not letting her get away with that. I lean over, turn my body sideways and give her a long, deep kiss with plenty of tongue. I may or may not have stolen second base.
She puts her small hands on my face and breaks our kiss. “You need to be good, or we may end up not going out at all.” She’s breathing hard, and I know I’ve gotten to her like she’s gotten to me.
“Fine by me.”
Blushing, she smiles as she straightens the stretchy neckline of her blouse. “It would actually be fine by me, too, but we’re meeting people. And Amanda’s bringing her new girlfriend, so I definitely want to meet her.”
“All right. As long as you agree to let me fuck you the second we get back. Maybe even in the car.”
“Wow...someone’s a little horny.”
“Someone’s a lot horny. It’s that fucking innocent look, combined with the bare shoulders. Although it doesn’t even matter what you wear. I’d want you out of it.”
I steal a glance at her before I pull out of her parking lot. She’s staring straight ahead, looking smug and precious as hell.
“I’m glad I turn you on,” she says softly.
“Delaney. You turn me upside down.”
She looks at me then, those perfect pink lips parted. “Good,” she whispers.
I lean over and cover her mouth with mine, my groin tightening and my cock responding as she squeezes my thigh. It’s fucking torturous to leave her place when all I want to do is go up to her bedroom and make love to her. But I put the Rover in drive and head out. I take her hand in mine and hold it all the way there.
Jack and Madeline are already there when we arrive. I
get introduced to their neighbors, Scott and Kelly, and learn that Scott played baseball for our high school rival, Camden Hills. Tommy happens to show up with Melly from the gym, so more introductions, and it feels for all the world like a group of twenty-somethings hanging out. I can tell Delaney feels that, too—she’s relaxed and laughing standing close to me, slipping her arm around my waist and leaning her head into me. Then it’s gender exclusive conversation—guys talking Red Sox and fishing, and girls talking wedding...Madeline and Jack are tying the knot next month, and Delaney’s the maid of honor. I got an invitation, but whether I’ll actually go hinges on what happens with her. With us. Up until this point, I viewed weddings as more of an obligation I needed to get through. But this one?
I’ve never wanted to attend an event more.
I can’t think that far ahead, or it’ll make me crazy. I have to focus on the present, enjoy every moment I have with her. Which includes this moment right now, slow dancing to Ed Sheeran and breathing in the scent of Delaney’s hair like it’s my oxygen. She feels so fucking good in my arms, molding her small frame to me as we sway to the music. I never knew someone five feet nothing could be so powerful.
The song ends, and when she steps away, it’s as though she’s tearing off a piece of me. Makes no sense, I know, but it shakes me up enough to reach out for her. Her fingers are spread out on my chest, and she’s looking up at me anxiously with all that hair framing her delicate face, and I’m wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked. Without even thinking, I bend down and kiss her, right on the dance floor.
As I’m savoring those soft, sweet lips, I realize that maybe Delaney doesn’t appreciate the PDA. A kiss like that is solidifying. Fuck. I can’t afford to screw up by pushing. I pull back, both literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry. Got a little carried away.”
“Don’t ever apologize for kissing me, Damon,” she murmurs. She gets up on her toes—this tiny, mighty girl—loops her arms around my neck and brings my mouth back down to hers.
So that’s the exact moment when there is no one else in the bar—only us, in this place where we first saw each other. Full circle, with just two people in it.
Then the DJ announces someone’s birthday, people start to sing, and I’m jolted back into the reality that we’re not alone. I take Delaney’s hand and lead her off the dance floor to our table. Madeline gives me a look like she’s happy as hell about what’s going on with her BFF and me, and I wink in return. Delaney settles into her chair, sipping at her martini. Our legs are touching under the table, and Christ, I want to get her alone.
Madeline sets down her glass of lemonade, her eyes widening at something behind me. “You guys...Amanda’s headed this way. With her new girlfriend.”
Delaney and I twist in our seats to look.
Holy.
Fuck.
Our jaws drop simultaneously. “Oh my God,” Delaney gasps. “No...way.”
Amanda is beaming as she approaches our table. She’s got her arm around the waist of this very attractive, very chic, very sleek brunette...who happens to be Portia Bellamy.
I don’t know how to act. What to say. I don’t even know what I fucking feel. Stunned, definitely, but there’s a part of me that’s fighting this wild urge to burst out laughing. Portia—the woman my mother was hell-bent on my marrying—a lesbian. Jesus Christ, this is priceless.
“Surprised, guys?” Amanda is smirking as she looks from Delaney to me. Jack and Madeline are sporting tentative smiles, not really understanding what’s going on.
“Um...yeah. You could say that.” The shock is melting away from Delaney’s face. Her forehead wrinkles as she tries to piece all of this together. “So the two of you are...”
“Gay. From the island of Lesbos. Femme and butch. Muff divers. Beauty and the beast.” Amanda rattles off terms like a waiter sharing the dessert menu.
“Amanda, you mustn’t forget one of my favorites...todger dodgers.” Portia laughs.
“Right, baby. And my personal favorite...together.” Amanda nuzzles Portia’s cheek.
Delaney is smiling as she spontaneously hugs them both. “That’s wonderful, you two. When did this all start?”
“Right after Memorial Day.” Portia’s shiny red lips curve up in a big smile. She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. Glowing. “We owe it to Damon and Delaney, actually, for bringing me to Amanda’s restaurant on my birthday.”
“Blame pregnancy hormones, but I’m still a little confused.” Madeline smiles apologetically.
Amanda quickly jumps in. “Shit, I’m sorry, Mads—I haven’t even introduced you and Jackie to my girl. Portia, this is Madeline Callaway and Jack Decker. Mads and Jack, Portia. This beauty has been here from England, learning all about big boats from Laney’s Golden Boy. And if my dream comes true, she’ll end up staying here permanently.”
I’m shaking my head, grinning. “I’ve got to say I had no clue.”
Portia’s smile deepens. “And obe-viously, neither did your mum.” She addresses the rest of our group to explain. “Damon’s mum was, um, let’s just say pushing for her son and I to get togethah. Rather like a business merger, wouldn’t you say, Damon?”
Jack snickers. “That would have been a lost cause even if Portia was straight. I mean, it’s pretty evident how he feels about Laney.”
I look down at Sprite, who looks flustered and unsure of how to respond. “Evident to everyone except my mother,” I say, putting my arm around her. “But I’m working on that.”
We have another round of drinks and toast to Amanda and Portia. Delaney seems subdued, and I’m stumped by her troubled expression.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
She sighs, a sad little smile crossing her face. “I just keep thinking how you paid all that money and you didn’t need me after all.”
I lean in to her. “I couldn’t disagree more. I happen to think I got more than my money’s worth. And don’t think you’re getting out of the last twelve days of the contract because of this revelation. A deal’s a deal.”
She regards me reproachfully, but her lips are fighting a smile.
“Besides, I happen to think this is a great thing.”
“Because your ego is safely intact, finding out a woman wasn’t attracted to you because she’s gay?”
“Because once my mother accepts that Portia can’t be in the picture, she’ll be closer to accepting that you are.”
“You sound so sure.”
I move closer so our faces are just inches apart. I can see deep in her eyes that she wants to believe me. “For the thousandth time, Sprite, let me handle my mother. And you just focus on handling me.”
This gets her to smile. I’m smiling, too, because Jesus, this is going to be fun—getting to tell Gloria that her plan never stood a chance.
Now, I can continue with a plan of my own: holding on to Delaney.
chapter 32 / Delaney
In my previous life at Precision Machine, I used to hate Mondays. That sick Sunday-night feeling would slither into my belly like I was a school kid coming off Christmas vacation. But now, with my own business, I literally can’t wait to go downstairs and start the coffee, put on the music, and greet the customers. I love that I’ve developed regulars...the elderly woman with thick, flowing white hair who sits with her book of Sudoku and likes her marbled rye bagel lightly toasted with scallion cream cheese. The attractively-nerdy college age dude who stumbles in bleary-eyed and half-awake on weekday mornings to order a large Schooner blend. And my favorite, the sweet, elderly couple who come in every Sunday morning at ten a.m. sharp—Lawrence and Betty. They are always nicely dressed: Lawrence in a plaid shirt buttoned to the top and tan pants, his sparse hair neatly combed, and his wife in a pastel blouse and floral skirt with her hair curled around her face. They enter the café the same way, with him slightly hunched over to be nearer her height and with her arm tucked in his. Each time they come in, Betty reacts in exactly the same way: Oh, Lawrence—it smells so delicious in here
! And Lawrence will smile and nod, often pointing out the new local artwork I have displayed. It took me a couple of their visits to realize that Betty must have Alzheimer’s, or something similar. There is a vacant expression at times in her eyes, but there is deep love in his. He reads the newspaper to her while they sip their Longfellow Blend coffees and share a muffin, usually raspberry. On the way out, Lawrence always makes sure to tell me my food is “first rate” and my service “top-notch.” I watch them leave, my throat feeling thick and a stinging behind my eyes at how lovely and loving they are.
I think of how I want a lovely, loving relationship. Correction: how I want my lovely, loving relationship to continue.
I haven’t allowed myself to go down that road of imagining any sort of future with Damon. In fact, up until Saturday night, I was planning to put the brakes on once again, even though I dreaded the idea. But after Amanda’s surprise announcement about Portia, and seeing how confident Damon was about his mother accepting our relationship...it’s made me more optimistic than I’ve ever been.
So optimistic, that when the bells on my door jingle just before closing time and in walks Gloria Cavanaugh, the flutter of initial trepidation gives way to hopefulness about the reason she’s here.
She’s looking amazingly cool on this hot, humid day in a sleeveless periwinkle blouse, cream-colored, tailored pants and ivory pumps. I suddenly remember the splotch of whoopie pie filling on me and slip off my apron self-consciously, stepping behind the counter for protection.
The counter that her son fucked me on. This brings me a measure of comfort and victory.
Gloria’s aristocratic nostrils widen slightly, like she’s caught a whiff of something unpleasant. I can’t help but flash back to Betty saying, Oh, Lawrence—it smells so delicious in here! and realize there could not be two more opposite people in the world than Betty and the woman standing before me right now. I marvel at Gloria’s facial structure, her fine bones and contoured makeup. I see a hint of Damon in her face and wish I could unsee it, because I don’t want to associate her with him. I am grudgingly impressed that this woman’s bun is perfect, with not a strand of hair out of place.
