Infusion

by Liz Crowe

  “Okay, all right,” Noah said, his voice breathy.

  Gayle tightened her grip on the base of his dick and lapped up all the evidence of his eagerness to climax.

  “Fine, fine, you proved your point. But I’m warning you, you’d better stop, if you want me to…holy shit!”

  Without a word, she took him deep again, consciously relaxing her throat so he could do exactly what he wanted. At the same moment, she pressed her finger into his ass, having lubed it with his cum.

  Noah’s hips thrust forward, forcing him deeper into her throat. She breathed through her nose and reached higher inside his ass, finding her target almost immediately “God, god… God!” He shuddered, grunted and came, sending hot liquid down her throat. Gayle closed her eyes and swallowed it, loving the sensation of his raw, primal pleasure, of the way she made him lose control.

  He put his hands on her head and withdrew, stumbling backward until he hit the doors, managing to push the number six and release the elevator from its stopped position. Gayle wiped her lips with the back of her hand, zinging from head to toe with pleasure and the sort of erotic anticipation she used to coast along on almost every single day of her life once she’d hooked up with, then fallen in hard love with, Ethan Connolly.

  Stop, she commanded herself, closing her eyes not to see Noah’s long, still very hard dick. Do not think about him. Don’t even try. It’s not fair to anyone, least of all yourself. She opened her eyes, smiled and stood slowly, amused at the young man’s frantic efforts to yank up his underwear and jeans. She stopped him and kissed him, knowing he could taste himself on her lips.

  The doors slid open directly into her penthouse condo, already arranged with new furniture, dishes, pillows, sheets and towels. She’d gone more than a tad crazy, spending more money than she’d ever thought possible buying the place with cash and empowering the on-staff decorator at her favorite furniture store to go nuts—to furnish her new space the way she saw fit. The last few days she’d gotten plenty of updates and receipts for money spent. But she’d been too caught up in her three-day ignoring efforts.

  She’d been so damn caught up in it, her job, her new life, she’d let this date sneak up on her in a big way. She pushed past Noah, needing water and hoping to shove that tickle of remorse, or guilt, or whatever the hell it was, out of her head. The loft was made up of one enormous room with high, industrial ceilings, and a truly impressive chef’s kitchen. Too bad it wasn’t going to get much use, unless she hired somebody.

  She poured herself a glass of cold water from the fridge door, downed it and refilled it twice before she believed herself prepared to face him. When she did, he’d managed to put his clothes back together but remained near the elevator doors, eying the space warily. “Nice place,” he said, not moving. Gayle leaned against the counter and observed him from head to toe, allowing herself a quick memory of the first time she’d laid eyes on him, with his hard hat and power tools and mesmerizing brown stare.

  “Thanks,” she said, letting him take his time even though her body urged her forward, to let him prove what he wanted to prove to her. “Having second thoughts?” She parroted his earlier, rhetorical question, sipping her third glass of water.

  He frowned, shifted from foot to foot, ran his hand around the back of his neck and generally looked way more miserable than a man in his particular position should. The fury began to form thunderheads on the edges of her psyche. When he stayed across the room from her, looking like he wished he could jump back in the elevator and leave, it spilled into her brain, making her speak before she could think.

  “Well, I guess you got what you needed. You can go.”

  He blinked in the face of her harsh tone. She stood straighter, then marched right up to him, anger dulling her senses and her common sense. Putting a hand on his warm chest, she pushed back, keeping him at an arm’s length. “I said, you got off in my elevator, so you can leave now.”

  Noah took her hand and gently put her arm down by her side. “I’m not leaving, Gayle. You know that.”

  “Fine. Then come in already. Stop gawking like you’re at a museum or something. It’s a lousy Grand Rapids penthouse condo. It’s not a big deal, trust me.” She headed for the bedroom, wondering if she’d managed to keep those condoms her mother had given her the night she went out with Evelyn.

  “Maybe not to you,” he said. Something in his voice made her turn back to look at him. He still hadn’t moved from his spot guarding the elevator. She sighed, then took a long breath and smiled. His frown deepened, but it did nothing to lessen the pure, sexy reality of him.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be flippant. Trust me, having all this…” She waved her arms around, attempting to minimize the many thousands of bucks she’d dropped in the last week on this stupid place. “It’s not something I was born into. I married into it. Now, I’m not married. You know the whole story. But I am horny has hell…so…” She sidled up to him, went up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. He indulged her for a few minutes, ramping up her lust with his killer kissing skills before he took her arms from around his neck and pushed her away.

  “Gayle, listen,” he whispered. She squirmed, aggravated at his stalling. “I don’t know…I mean…I’m not really….” He let go of her and turned away, head hanging low.

  “Noah,” she said, running her hands up under his shirt to his shoulders and lifting the dark T-shirt over his head. He kept his back to her, which was fine with her since his rear view was as pleasant as any other. “Noah,” she repeated before pressing her lips to his shoulder blades, tasting salt, the outdoors and a hint of leather. He remained still, letting her touch his back and arms, shivering when she wrapped her arms around him and teased his nipples before exploring the lovely terrain of his abs.

  He was breathing heavily when he turned again, looming over her, but not the way Ethan used to—stop! “Stop,” she said out loud, slapping her hands over her ears. She felt pulled in a million different directions at once—only one of them with the potential for a happy ending. All the other directions were exerting plenty of pressure, including the dark corner where she’d stuffed anything and everything regarding what had happened to her three years ago today.

  Her head pounded. Her ears burned. The rest of her flamed white hot from her scalp to her toes. They stared, unmoving, arms crossed, at apparent impasse. What in God’s name was she doing here, with this man, the smell of him all over her, her throat sore from sucking his damn cock?

  Granted, he looked just as conflicted as she felt. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed together, his shoulders hunched. Gayle’s knees gave out and she dropped onto the leather couch she’d never seen before walking into this space—her space, she supposed. “Well, shit.”

  Letting go of the lust that sustained her for the past hour or two not only sucked all the energy out of her, it left her mind free and open to the onrush of memories. She flopped back, hands over her face and gave in to it, let her three-year mental image bank open and spill its guts. Images of Ethan, Liam, of the three of them, of her and Ethan in the early days of their relationship, clogged all her senses. Gayle did nothing to stop them. She couldn’t. There was no point. This was her life. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.

  The sound of her son’s voice, the ghost-memory of her husband’s hands on her body, his smile, his laugh, the sensation of her zillion-count Egyptian cotton sheets against her bare skin—it was all fresh, as if it had all just happened to her. This wasn’t new. She understood it, could grasp it and realized all she knew how to do was ride it out in her usual fashion.

  She stumbled over to what she hoped was the liquor cabinet. Yanking open the doors, she blessed the money spent on having the designer lady prepare her home sight-unseen while admiring all the top shelf booze arrayed in front of her. “Hell yeah,” she said under her breath, grabbing the Pappy Van Winkle bottle. “Time to drink,” she said, turning and almost running right over Noah. “Excuse me
,” she said.

  He held out his hand. She clutched the bottle to her chest. He snagged it, opened it, took a long slug and handed it back to her. “Well then,” she said, knocking back her own drink, shuddering as it burned its way into her chest. “Welcome to my nightmare, Noah Stokes.” She waggled the bottle and made her way back to the—to her—couch. He joined her, propped his feet next to hers on the matching leather ottoman and held out his hand. She slapped him a high five.

  “No, give me the goddamned bourbon.” She took another drink then handed it over, watching him suck back a portion, wipe his lips, then prop the bottle on his thigh. “This is fucked up,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. She patted his cheek, snagged the bottle back and leaned into him, letting the tears flow.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Noah had always figured himself for being self-aware. He took particular pride in being honest about his weaknesses as well as his strengths. His recent history aside, he’d always managed to keep to a fairly straight and narrow moral path, especially concerning the members of the fairer sex. Even not putting that aforementioned recent history aside, he’d never once treated a woman badly. If anything, he went out of his way to make sure they felt cherished, treasured, even loved during the time they’d bought and paid for with him. It was ultimately why he’d had to stop doing it—it was too emotionally draining, if physically exhilarating. And, of course, technically illegal.

  The odd situation he now found himself in, however, had thrown him for the sort of curve he’d never experienced. The concept that the gorgeous object of his recent obsession had jumped him at her friend’s house, kissed him like there was no tomorrow, groped and dry humped him before they left, then treated him to the kind of blow job a man really only fantasizes about was pretty sweet on the one hand. On the other, the fact he’d walked into her gigantic loft home and realized that he wanted—no, he required—more from her than a quick lay had sent him spiraling into his own mind so deep he’d been frozen in his tracks.

  And now, of course, they were getting slowly, steadily trashed on a bottle of two-hundred-dollar bourbon, passing it back and forth between them like a paper-bagged Colt 45. Which only added to his general confusion and dismay at his inability to close this particular deal.

  “What?” He blinked and realized he’d been staring yet again at Gayle’s profile while she drank. The tears she’d been shedding had stopped, but she looked as if she could start them up again at any moment. And no wonder, considering this was the third anniversary of her personal tragedy. He’d known it and had planned for it. Which had made her radio silence of the past three days that much more worrisome. By way of answer to her question, he smiled, tucked a lock of her riotous brown hair behind her ear and touched her lips briefly, before taking the bottle from her and treating himself to another fiery sip.

  “Talk to me,” he said, handing it back to her. She shrugged, drank and played with the ends of her hair. All distraction mechanisms he’d become familiar with in the past few weeks. It had been a glorious experience, getting to know her via the thrice-a-week hot yoga torture and subsequent snack. Their fun-funny-flirty texts had lifted his spirits every day, while he’d drive from store to bar to store, convincing beer buyers and managers to dump the upstarts and put Fitzgerald products back where they belonged.

  Settling into sales flunkey life for the brewery, recognizing the industry was a lot more cutthroat than he’d realized, he still found himself longing for the outdoors. His utterly useless degree in horticultural science—gardening 101, as he used to think of it—seemed even more so now as he got further and further from the life he’d imagined for himself. Years spent digging in the dirt, planting, re-planting, pruning, watering and generally caring for plants, flowers and trees alongside his parents had imprinted on him in a way he couldn’t shake. He’d been going on jobs with his father since he was three years old, had learned how various plants took to certain soils, how much or how little to water flower beds, the best way to arrange the decorative grasses and shrubs around a house first-hand, always with the intention of taking over the family business someday. He’d been meant to be the Master Gardner, owner of Stokes Landscaping, happy husband, father, brother, successful pillar of the community. Not this—a washed-up male stripper and part-time prostitute, working odd construction and lawn mowing jobs until he managed to get a gig selling beer.

  He sighed, sipped and tugged Gayle down so she was draped over his thighs, relishing the warmth of her body but in a sort of detached, clinical way. She was so broken, yet still so unaware of her own brokenness it amazed him. He stroked her hair when she rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, her hands on his knees. When he tipped the bottle up to his lips and nothing came out, he stared at it, amazed by its empty state. “Shit,” he said, tossing it onto the couch next to them. “I don’t even feel drunk.”

  Gayle rolled onto her back and stared up at him. Her hair was spread out beneath her like a silken fan. Her eyes shone. Her face flushed. When she stretched her arms up over her head, her clingy T-shirt moved up, revealing a tempting line of skin. He set his jaw against the temptation and touched her cheek. “Talk to me, Gayle.”

  “I’ve had plenty of expensive talk therapy, thanks. Besides, I hardly think you’re qualified to—”

  “Tell me about Liam,” he said. “I want to know more about him.”

  “I’m… He’s…” She blinked fast. A rogue tear slipped out of her eye. He touched the line of wetness on her face and tasted it. She rolled away from him but stayed on his lap, curled into herself again, her hands clutching his knees once more. “I wanted a baby, Ethan’s baby, so badly it scared me,” she began. “I’d never thought I wanted any kids. But something about…something about Ethan made me change my mind so fast both our heads spun.” She sighed. Noah put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to provide reassurance while also encouraging her to go on, to say more. “I never thought I’d fall in love as hard as I did with him, either. So I guess it’s fitting.”

  She stopped. Noah let her have her silence, stroking her arm, shoulder and upper back. He did want to know more about her former life, but he also wanted her to get it out, to lance the wound and let it breathe air so he might find a place in her life beyond the obvious one in her bed.

  Resisting the urge to glance toward the room he assumed contained that particular piece of furniture, he smiled when she rolled back over to face him. “I had a bunch of miscarriages. It was a mess. I was a mess. But I was still working—we both were. It kept us sane, even during the hormone-soaked horror show of those years I spent crying myself to sleep every night over my body’s apparent inability to do the one thing it was designed to do.” She glanced away from him. “Where’s the booze?” He held up the empty bottle. She frowned. “Wow. We should get some water.”

  “Yeah, okay, but first, tell me more.”

  She rolled her eyes. He was getting better at ignoring that particular tic of hers. And right now, he felt so comfortable with her he wanted this night to never end. He was hardly a monk, after all, but she had triggered a pretty monstrous climax so he figured he could use another hour to rebuild his stamina. “So, finally, I managed to get and stay pregnant. And this was against my doctor’s orders. He wanted me to wait a whole year before we ‘tried’ again.” She hooked her fingers around the word as another tear escaped her eye, giving him another excuse to touch her face. “I was sick of being tired and weepy and Ethan was ready to throttle me if I took my temperature one more time before we had sex. I could hardly blame him. He was ambivalent about kids. This was all on me. Blame biology, or evolution, or whatever. I had to get his kid in me, you know?” She sniffled. Noah handed her a tissue from a conveniently placed box of them on the table beside the couch.

  She shook her head. He frowned and held the tissue to her nose until she blew. Once he’d tossed the used hankie on the table, she seemed to have rediscovered a bit of equilibrium. It was another thing Noah prided himsel
f on—comprehending the ever-volatile world of female body language. “Want to sit up?” He held out his hand. She shook her head and put her palm against his cheek. Her touch made his body zing to attention, threatening to send this comfy, cuddly moment into a different zone. “Okay, so…tell me about your son.” He glanced over to a set of built-in bookshelves which held several framed photos. “I assume that’s him?” He pointed. Gayle closed her eyes.

  “Probably. I gave the designer lady one photo—one of the three of us. My mom probably gave her some more.”

  “He looks like a happy little boy.”

  “He was. I swear I worried about him because he hardly ever cried or fussed even when he was a newborn.” A smile ghosted over her lips. “He was a joy…I didn’t want to go back to work even after three months home with him. So, I didn’t.” She shrugged. “It was also a pretty shocking discovery for me—I’d always pictured myself the busy, working mom with sitters, or a nanny or whatever.”

  Noah smiled and put a hand on her thigh. When he sensed her shaking, he pulled her up to seated and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll bet you were a great mom. And I’m sure Ethan was a stellar dad. No wonder Liam was always smiling.”

  She nodded against his neck. “He was so smart. He walked at ten months, was talking complete sentences by his second birthday. Ethan took him everywhere—to the hardware store, to high-level meetings at his company’s foundation, you name it. The man was so besotted with that kid. I almost got jealous sometimes.” She pulled away from him and stared at him. The rich emerald hue of her eyes was magnified by tears. “I had everything I wanted. But I guess I didn’t appreciate it enough. I don’t know.” She sighed and slumped into him again.