by Liz Crowe
Trent held out his hand. Noah shook it. “Thanks, Noah,” the other man said. “Are you sure—”
Noah held up a hand. “Nope. I’m done with this. I have to be. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to understand.”
“I think I get it.” He smiled when they headed back to their cars, parked in the now weed-choked lot once teeming with business almost year-round. Their silence was awkward, but Noah didn’t care. He wished he hadn’t come here. It had only served to ramp up his general aggravation level. Even if he couldn’t identify who he was more aggravated with—himself, Gayle, his shiftless, gambling-addicted father?
He sat behind the wheel of his truck, trying not to yell when the third text came through. With a loud sigh, he dragged the device from his pocket and stared at the screen.
Noah, I need help, she’d said about forty-five minutes ago.
Twenty minutes ago that became, Please. I really need ur help. I know u r mad but I don’t know who else to ask.
Then, the final missive, Please come help me.
He stared at the words, marveling at how she could do this to him. At how badly he wanted to go to her, to help her with whatever it was. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was time to get real. Being around Gayle Connolly was the opposite of self-preservation. He had no control with her. He’d slip deeper into her world of money, spur-of-the-moment trips, of being a kid kept around for one reason and one reason only.
His dick shifted under his jeans, reminding him that particular reason wasn’t so bad. “Down, boy,” he commanded it, turning the key and putting the truck in reverse. As he drove away from the run-down buildings, still boasting the Stokes sign but with a foreclosure auction and a date sticker slapped over it, he realized too late he was driving toward downtown, toward Gayle.
He set his jaw and sped on the interstate, praying a cop would drag him down for speeding and break this spell she’d tossed over him, pulling her to him like a black widow spider. He chuckled. But it was not a happy sound, even to him. He exited without a speeding ticket and drove through the maze of downtown one-way streets on auto-pilot until he got to her building. And of course, there was a super-convenient empty parking spot right in front of it. He sat, gripping the wheel and grinding his teeth for a few minutes, berating himself for coming here.
Finally, he got out, locked the truck and headed inside. The elevator held too many memories to be borne, so he ran up the steps, eager in spite of himself, happy, despite the many misgivings roiling in his brain, to at least lay eyes on her again. She opened the door from the stairwell before he could knock. He stood, hand raised, and looked at her. She had on a pair of well-worn jeans and a tight gray T-shirt emblazoned with the Fitzgerald label. Her mass of brown curls was yanked back in a ponytail and covered with a Tigers ball cap. Her face was devoid of makeup. Her smile was genuine and shot an arrow of something—part lust, part joy—straight into his chest.
“Hi,” she said. “Thanks for coming.”
He stood for a few more seconds, taking her in. When the fact she seemed to be wearing a pair of perfectly clean garden gloves covered in tiny flowers and was holding a similarly clean trowel registered, he grinned.
“I’m always up for gardening emergencies.” He took a step into her kitchen, taking in the sights and smells he’d come to love about this place, and her. When he held out his hand, she put the spotless trowel into it with a sheepish grin. “What is the nature of your emergency, ma’am?”
“Out here,” she said, turning and teasing him with her luscious rear view when she walked slowly to the open glass door onto her massive balcony. He’d said to her once that if she wanted, he’d set up some small gardens for her—flowers, cooking herbs, tomatoes. She’d laughed and claimed then he could but only if promised to maintain them. “I kill plants. They take one look at me and give up,” she’d said.
“Wow,” he said, impressed by the array of stuff she’d had delivered. Four long beds and three huge pots lay empty next to bags of soil and mulch. Trays of annuals, herbs and pots of decorative grasses—much of which he’d never have chosen for this spot since it didn’t get enough direct sun during the day—were scattered all around. He touched each one, recalling their scientific names as he felt the various petals and leaves. He knelt down and inspected the pots and beds, noting with satisfaction that whoever had delivered them had lined them with pebbles for drainage.
When he rose, he stretched and closed his eyes in the midmorning sun, letting the happiness at this task and the company he’d be doing it in fill him from head to toe. “Okay then, green-thumb lady. Let’s get to work.” Without looking at her he grabbed a brand-new shovel and began cutting open the bags of soil. “Pour these in,” he said, focusing on his task and not on how much he wanted to sweep her into his arms. “Fill each bed.” He glanced around, mentally calculating the amount of soil needed and figuring she’d purchased enough.
They worked in companionable silence for almost thirty minutes while he opened the bags of soil and fertilizer, watching her struggling to pour them in without getting dirt all over the balcony’s fake wood and concrete surface. After forty minutes, the beds were all prepped and ready.
“Jesus, this shit is hard.”
He glanced over at her. Her pristine gloves were darkened with dirt. Her cheeks were smudged where she must have wiped sweat off her face. Several strands of dark curls had escaped both the hat and the tie-back and framed her face. She stood looking down at her handiwork. The sun was at its zenith, but it felt good, since the air temperature was a cool seventy degrees.
“You know, you’re way late getting this done,” he said, placing the small plastic potted flowers at intervals along the beds. He’d decided to use the big round pots for the grasses, so he could put them in some of the sunnier spots on the deck in hopes they’d survive the fall. “Most normal people had this finished eight weeks ago.”
“Well, you know me. Bucking the trends is what I do.” She stood over one of the large beds, trowel in hand, confusion on her face. “So, um, what do I do? Just dig a hole and stick these…things in it?”
He straightened from his task of dragging the big pots around and grinned at her. “You really are hopeless at this, aren’t you? Here, let me show you.”
She handed him the trowel.
“No, no, you hold it. Just crouch down and I’ll guide you. You can’t be an adult much longer without this skill, I don’t think.”
She smiled and crouched. He got behind her, instantly regretting it when the smell of her skin, combined with the fresh dirt and flowers, filled his nose, making him dizzy with desire. He took her hand and plunged the small shovel into the rich, black dirt, pulling out a plug of it just big enough for the small root system of the flowers he’d placed there. He took her other hand. Together they pulled the flower free of its plastic, stuck it in the hole and filled it in. She leaned into him, the warm press of her body making his head spin as they did the same with the next four plants he’d placed for the bed.
“This looks a little bare,” she said at one point, her voice breathless enough to let him know she liked being close as much as he did. Unable to resist, he dropped the shovel and slid his hands up under her shirt. She shifted so she was on her knees, leaning over the half-finished planting bed. Her breasts were bra-less—they usually were when she was at home—and the familiar contours of them, the way her small nipples got rock hard under his fingers, made his dick rigid and aching under his zipper.
“My hands are dirty,” he gasped when she pressed back into his crotch while he teased her breasts and lowered his lips to her neck. “Oh Christ, Gayle,” he moaned. “I have missed you.”
“Get me dirty, Noah,” she whispered, reaching back to stroke his erection under his jeans. “Do whatever you want to me.”
He fumbled with his button and zipper while she did the same. “Are you ready for me now, Gayle?” He reached down to yank slide her panties aside. “I’m serious, my hands are really dirt
y.”
She reached back and grabbed his neck, angling her hips the way they’d found worked best when snagging a quick fuck in a beer cooler or her office. “Do it,” she insisted. “Fuck me, Noah, right here. Right now. Oh Jesus, yes!”
He thrust deep, the tight glove of her pussy gripping him. “I’m gonna come,” he growled. “I need to come inside you, Gayle.”
She leaned forward, giving him a better angle. “You know I want it, Noah. Hurry. Give it to me.”
He closed his eyes and dug his fingertips into her hips. As the orgasm burst across his brain, he let it take him, knowing this for a mere preamble to more fun later. She’d actually gotten him used to this method—coming fast and hard first, which allowed for a more languorous session later. It was fun, truth be told. Not holding back for an hour or more while providing pleasure to his partner had been one of things he looked forward to when they had sex. This wild urgency, the demands that he come, now, hard, within minutes of beginning had made him feel out of control at first, until she explained it was actually the opposite. It allowed him to maintain his control for hours afterward.
This particular climax was of the monstrous variety, since he’d been denying himself for over a week. He shivered and kept thrusting as she made soft, pleased noises that hit his ear like rose petals, or honeyed bourbon, or the silken touch of her sheets. He pulled out and sat back, still breathless while she pulled her jeans up and headed inside, returning a few minutes later with bottles of water. After managing to get himself back together, clothing-wise, he took one and drained it in two long gulps.
“Thanks,” she said, gesturing around the still chaotic balcony.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said with a wink. “We have hours left to do. I need to get to the store and find better options for these.” He pointed to the large beds. “And you need better mulch. Plus…” He looked around. “We have to get some kind of irrigation set up. You’ve planted these things so late, they’re gonna need a shit ton of water if you want them to survive into the fall.”
She rolled her eyes. He smiled at her. “Bring it on, flower man,” she said.
* * * *
“Dear God in heaven, I am sore as shit,” Gayle said several hours later, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms up, giving him a delectable view of flesh between T-shirt and jeans.
“I told you.” He was watering the large pots, thankful the builder had spared no expense for landscaping options. Whatever came from the bottom of each of their newly planted gardens headed right for well-placed drainage holes, which he assumed kept the balconies underneath from getting drenched. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her bra-less breasts against his back and running her hands up his shirt. “Better cut that out or we’ll give the neighbors another show.”
“I like giving shows,” she said, lifting his shirt up and off while he shifted the hose from hand to hand to accommodate her. “Let’s take a bath.”
“Hang on. You can’t just leave these plants without…whoa, there, okay. Hang on a sec.” She’d popped the button on his jeans and unzipped him so fast he almost fell over. When he turned, he saw she was already stark naked right out here on her balcony. “Jesus, Gayle.” He looked around, holding his T-shirt in front of her. “What are you doing?”
“The angle of this balcony means no one can see us, silly.” She crooked her finger at him. “Come on. Time for a little clean up.”
He grinned, shed his jeans and underwear and followed her across the living room and into her bathroom, where she already had the massive tub filling, candles lit and beer poured. “Nice setup. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.” He pulled her close and kissed her, drowning in her the way only she could make him do with her delicious mouth and perfect body.
She broke away and pulled him to the tub. “Wait, let me shower off first.” He jumped under the huge, rain-style shower head and let the side nozzles hit him from all directions. “Come on in.” He pointed to her breasts, which were still smudged with dirt where he’d been fondling them earlier.
She ducked into the spray with him and let him soap her all over, paying special attention to her more sensitive parts. Once he deemed them clean, he turned off the water and pulled her to the tub, holding her hand for her to step into the hot, lightly bubbling water. She leaned back, sighing with satisfaction, which made his already eager dick even harder.
He got in, doing his own satisfied sighing at the sensation of the warm, lightly oiled water closing in around him. The tub was easily big enough for four people so he moved across from her, pulling her legs over his hips and watching her when he slid his hands up her thighs. He was doing it again, of course. He was substituting sex for actual communication. But right then, he didn’t give two shits. He wanted to make her come, hard, more than once.
“Gayle,” he murmured, moving his hands higher.
“Hmmm…” She kept her eyes closed when he stroked her clit and slid his fingers inside her, relishing the squeeze of her pussy. Her skin flushed red and her breathing quickened. He was damn proud of his hand and mouth skills when it came to pleasing women and he’d treated this woman to all of them, lots of times. The best orgasms weren’t the quickies—the first ones they used to get themselves ready for more. No, these were the best. The slow, easy, almost lazy ones they’d work their way up to, retreat from, then ease close to again.
“Noah,” she sighed, propping one of her legs up on the side of the tub. “Oh…baby.”
“Touch your nipples, Gayle. Pinch them the way you like.”
She cupped her breasts and began to tease her nipples. Her hips moved under the water as he teased and stroked and talked dirty to her until she cried out his name and grabbed his flexed biceps, gripping hard with the force of her climax. When she opened her eyes, they were so dark it was like staring into deep forest pools. “I…I…I love you.”
Frowning, he rose from the water, his dick rigid, the water sluicing off his body. She stared up him.
“Don’t say that. Not if you don’t mean it.” He stepped out onto the plush bath mat and pulled a towel off the warming rack. He was twanging with urgency. The compulsion to be inside her was so great it made his whole body ache. But he wasn’t going to be played like this. He couldn’t spare the emotional energy it would require.
He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist, noting his cock was still at the ready as he headed into the bedroom. The kitchen beckoned, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since early that morning, so by way of refocusing his energy, he rummaged around and found the ingredients for omelets and toast. Chopping onions, herbs from the newly planted gardens, green peppers and spinach eased his anger. He got the vegetables frying in the large ceramic pan, whipped the eggs until they were frothy then hit the down button on the toaster. Once he had the stuff in the skillet at the right point, he flipped everything over, using a quick jerk of his wrist, then sprinkled some goat cheese over half of it before folding it and sliding it out onto a plate.
Toast buttered, tomatoes sliced, omelet ready, he turned, knowing she was standing there. He could sense her comings and goings in a way that made him both pleased and a little nervous. Their connection ran deep, but he’d given up on calling it love weeks ago.
She took her plate and sat next to him on the tall chairs at the raised granite counter. “Thanks. I’m pretty famished.”
He nodded, sipped water and ate, unwilling to break his silence yet.
The silky short robe she had on slipped off one shoulder. He turned to stare at her exposed flesh, his head thrumming with something he thought could be anger, if he let it. “I won’t be anything but your equal, Gayle. This isn’t about me playing with you. This about me…loving you with everything I have. I don’t…” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’re ready for it though. So I think I should probably leave.” He got off the chair, rinsed his dishes and put them in the washer. While he washed
the pan, bowl, whisk, knife and cutting board she continued to eat, not contradicting him, which told him all he needed to know.
He found his jeans and shirt on the balcony and put them back on before adjusting the timer on the weeping water hoses he’d bought with a better mix of decorative plants to get her through the fall. When he ducked back into the room, eyes adjusting from the bright light, he saw she was in the middle of the living room, stark naked and holding a large envelope.
“Stop it, Gayle,” he said, giving her a wide berth on his way to the elevator doors. His heart felt as if it were breaking in a million pieces, but he knew it would only be worse if he allowed himself to do this, to let her pretend with him until she got tired of him. His own sense of self-worth had been battered for too many years to think otherwise.
“Noah, please. Wait.” He turned to face her. “Here. This is for you.” She held out the envelope. “I…I’ve been working on this for a while. It’s the only way I know to prove to you how much I care about…” She closed her eyes and took a long breath. “How much I love you, okay? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?”
Frowning, he took the envelope, undid the clasp and pulled out the papers inside. After studying them a few seconds, his trembling fingers let them drop to the floor. “You bought the landscaping business.”
“Yes. I did.” She didn’t attempt to cover herself. No, his Gayle was nothing if not a pure exhibitionist. She’d loved showing off her body, showing off his and theirs as they’d made love or fucked their way through the past several weeks together. He fell back onto the nearest chair and put his hand over his face.
