Going Wild

by Gretchen Galway

  But even without a hole, the control-top, thigh-length underpants, in beige, were not in any way the sexy undergarments she would’ve worn had she allowed herself to imagine this moment.

  “Don’t look,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” he asked, looking.

  She put her hands over his eyes. “Wait.”

  “How long?”

  “Just a second.” She backed up into her room. “Don’t open your eyes.”

  “No guarantees.”

  “Then turn around.” Her dresser was behind the door, and although she didn’t have a lot of sexy underwear, she had something better than what she was wearing.

  The black hipsters were low cut, but they were cotton and a little faded. How about the red thong? God no, last thing she wanted was something that reminded her of Andrew. He’d bought that for Valentine’s Day last year, and they were much too large, which made her wonder if he’d seriously estimated her body would fit in a 3X. He’d always been an ass man; maybe the large panties were aspirational. That dentist sure had back…

  “Jane, what are you doing?”

  She peeled off the Spanx and stood there in just her bra, staring into her dresser drawer. “Just a second.” The pink floral panties were feminine and happy. The yellow boy shorts flattered her olive skin—

  “Jane.” He stood behind her and set his hands on her shoulders. He slid them down her back to her waist.

  A shiver tickled over her. “Yes?”

  “I hope you aren’t looking for something to wear before I make wild, hot love to you.”

  “Only my underwear,” she said.

  “Do you think that’s a critical garment right now?” He swept her hair to one side and kissed the nape of her neck.

  “Think?” she whispered.

  She could feel him smile against her neck. His beard was both rough and soft, depending on which way he was moving over her skin. Her muscles spasmed, both tickled and aroused.

  He reached around and moved his hand between her legs. This was what she’d wanted for a long time. God, she’d needed this.

  Groaning, she let her head fall back on his shoulder.

  “I like your choice in underwear,” he mumbled, sliding a fingertip between her folds.

  She moaned something that would’ve sounded like “thanks” if she’d been able to form any consonants.

  “This, however”—he unclasped her bra—“has to go.”

  She uttered some unintelligible agreement. The pleasant sensations between her legs were more important than talking.

  But the angle was limiting if they stayed on their feet. Blinking her eyes open, she appraised the distance to the bed. Not far. God bless small houses. They could practically fall over into it.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “Bed.”

  “Idea. Good,” he said.

  “Shut up and get naked.”

  He laughed, which she didn’t like. She wasn’t kidding around.

  To help him get serious, she turned, lifted her hands over her head, and shimmied the way she’d learned in a belly dancing class a few years ago—just one of those things she’d wanted to learn, and so she had.

  Done seriously, belly dancing was beautiful, luscious, a glory of the feminine. And under the circumstances, erotic.

  “Oh my God,” he said, reaching for her.

  She pushed away his hands and continued to dance. “You’re still not naked.”

  Nodding slowly, he took care of that problem quickly and then stood before her, arms at his sides, gazing at her body, then her face, no hint of mockery remaining. “You’re a goddess.”

  She shimmied over to him, slid her hands over his shoulders, and offered a haughty smile. “Thank you.”

  “Really, Jane.” He caught her by the waist and pulled her against him. “I’m going to worship you.”

  He was big. Hard. Warm. And she was tired of dancing on her feet. The bed was only a step away, and it didn’t take much force to guide him over to it.

  She swept back the duvet; he snowplowed the pillows onto the floor.

  Then she sat on the edge and told herself she had no reason whatsoever to think about Andrew right now or ever again. The image of him sleeping with his dentist—and her dentist—had haunted her for months, but the nightmare was over. A sexy, handsome stranger with broad shoulders and a sly grin was going to worship her like a goddess.

  Oh yeah. Grant was going to be one hell of an antidote.

  He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, as light as a breath, and then set his hands on her shoulders and guided her onto her back. She started to wiggle up the mattress, but he caught her knees and held her at the edge, her feet on the floor.

  And then he dropped to his knees.

  She waited a moment, not entirely prepared for this. Modern grooming was a lot more demanding than it had been for previous generations. She didn’t go full-porn hairless, but when she was dating Andrew, she’d trimmed and shaved here and there. Was Grant expecting her to be smooth as Barbie? Shaggy as Smokey?

  He dropped kisses on her knees, then the inner slopes of her thighs, right and left. His hair and beard were rough against her skin, ticklish, delicious. Irresistible. She fixed her gaze on the ceiling and let her knees fall open, prepared for the exclamation of disgust or his immediate departure to the salvage yard for a scythe.

  If he was disgusted, he didn’t say so. And she certainly wasn’t going to complain about anything, certainly not the confidence with which he navigated the area and definitely not, as the seconds turned into long, luxurious minutes, his endurance.

  Oh God. She clutched fistfuls of sheet in her hands, and then as the pressure built, she tunneled her fingers through his hair. Just to give her some sense of guiding the spiraling rocket ship as it exploded in space.

  She cried out—it was impossible to keep quiet during that—and released his scalp, letting her arms flop into the bed.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped.

  He dropped kisses on her lower belly, giving little pats as he rose higher. While she recovered her breath, he put on a condom and then settled with his head near her breasts, fingering her lightly between her legs.

  “Do whatever you want to me,” she said. “I’m too happy to argue.”

  He pushed up on his arms and climbed on top of her. “I just might take you up on that.”

  Hearing the tension in his voice and feeling the sweat on his skin, she realized what a strain he was under, waiting for the finale.

  And so was she, she realized.

  She dug her heels into the bed, lifting her hips, brushing against him. When he groaned, she slid her hands around to his back, which was slippery with sweat, and invited him in.

  He looked up at her, and they shared a moment of wordless understanding.

  And then he filled her, slowly, and they waited a moment to adjust to each other.

  “Jane,” he groaned, drawing back, pushing in. Again.

  The sense that what they were doing was just clean fun shattered. Raw need took over. He thrust into her, burying himself deeper. She took him, dug her nails into his back, squeezed him harder.

  Wild and wordless, they clutched one another, threw themselves at each other, invaded and taken and free.

  He came and she followed him over.

  It was perfect.

  21

  Jane was smiling in her sleep.

  Propped on an elbow, Grant watched her blissful face turned toward him on the pillow. Her hand was on his chest, fingers slightly curled, and one of her legs rested over his.

  Any minute now she’d wake up and that smile would disappear. Regret would come into her eyes, and she’d push him away, telling him it was fun, but…

  He knew it was coming. He’d known when she’d opened the glass door to invite him into her side of the house that it was a one-time offer. The world of corporate accounting and Jane didn’t have room for Grant in the long term or even the middle term, and he was fine with it. Sad, d
isappointed, lonely, annoyed—a little. But life was life. You couldn’t overcome a riptide; you had to play dead, then swim sideways. Otherwise you’d be swept away.

  She was so beautiful. He was definitely a fan of her face. An excellent face, not so perfect it was boring but— No, he was wrong. It was perfect. A softly curved oval shape with full lips, velvety skin, a beauty mark on her slightly dimpled left cheek, the thick, dark eyebrows arching like graceful caterpillars on her round forehead…

  Maybe not caterpillars. Much tastier than that. He bent over and lightly kissed one, enjoying their delicate softness under his lips.

  He drew back before he got too aggressive and woke her. Holding her skin to skin, now that his desire was momentarily satisfied, was deeply relaxing. They fit together well, her round, smooth body with his angular, hairy one, and he wanted to lie here, holding her for much longer than he was going to be able to.

  How would she say it? What words would she use to tell him to leave?

  His stomach growled. Making love wasn’t climbing Mt. Shasta, but it burned a few calories, and he was hungry.

  He looked over to the window, where Shadow sat on the sill, a motionless black silhouette.

  His stomach growled again.

  Jane’s smile, which he continued to gaze upon, widened. “Should we go out to Chevys?” she asked as she opened her eyes.

  And then she leaned forward and kissed him.

  When he didn’t kiss her back, just stared at her at close range, she asked, “What?” Only then did her smile begin to falter.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get Chinese?” he asked.

  “Like our first date,” she said and kissed him again. “How romantic of you.”

  What was happening? He caught her behind the head and crushed his mouth against hers, with tongue, just to make sure.

  She returned his kiss for a long time.

  “Mm,” she said finally, lifting her arms over her head in a deep stretch as her legs fell open. “Do we have to leave the house?”

  What house? He licked the nipple closest to him and then sucked it into his mouth, celebrating how tight and puckered it became under his tongue.

  She began to laugh. “You need to eat. Your stomach is louder than the garbage truck going by.”

  “It’s Saturday,” he said, moving on to Breast Number Two. “There isn’t a garbage truck.”

  “I was speaking metaphorically.” She drew his face up to hers. “You’re a writer. You should know about those.”

  This time he did hear his stomach, and yes, it was loud. “Delivery?”

  “Whatever you want.” She smiled, flashing both rows of her teeth. He’d never seen her smile like that before.

  “I want you,” he said.

  That was becoming painfully clear.

  “You can have me.” She twisted around in the bed, giving him a prime view of her ass, and began searching the bedside table for something. “My tablet should be here somewhere.”

  “Video?”

  She laughed. “Dream on. I’ve kept my boobs off the internet this long, I’m not about to blow it. So to speak.” She peeked over her shoulder, shot a seductive glance at his dick, and winked. “How about pizza? Fast and easy.”

  “Like me,” he said.

  “Not too fast.” She rolled back to him, tablet in hand, and kissed his shoulder. Two seconds later she was biting his nipple. “Just right.”

  Warning bells were chiming, but he didn’t know what they were warning him about. They’d had hot sex, she was happy and wanted more. What was the problem?

  He set a hand on her cheek. “Jane.”

  “Mm.” She looked up. “What?”

  Or was he the problem?

  Now she pushed up on her arms and frowned. “What?”

  He thought too much. Here was this smart, beautiful woman who turned him on—and was naked at this very moment—and he was wasting time thinking too much.

  “I’m very particular about my pizzas,” he said. She could interpret his seriousness as a joke.

  “Me too,” she said. “If I tell you my favorite topping, you’ll be horrified.”

  “Pineapple.”

  “No. Worse.”

  “Worse than pineapple?” he asked.

  “Way. Nobody puts this on their pizza except for me. It isn’t even up for debate.”

  He grinned. She had hidden depths of fun. “Do I want to know?”

  “I don’t know. I usually hide it from people until we’ve known each other longer.”

  He gestured at their naked bodies. “This kind of accelerates the calendar, don’t you think?”

  “I think you’re right. But you might never want to have sex with me again after you find out.”

  The implication of her saying that was wonderfully promising.

  “What, is it like placenta or semen or another bodily fluid? Because that’s what it would take to turn me off.” He stroked her breast. “And even then, I’d just make sure we got separate orders.”

  “Semen and placentas. Yum.”

  “High protein,” he said.

  She fell on top of him, full straddle, and kissed his neck. “It’s not that bad. I’m going to trust you with my secret.”

  Ridiculously, he shivered in anticipation. “I’m ready.”

  Stroking his chest hair, she moved her lips closer to his ear. He slid his hand up and down her spine, waiting for her to stop giggling.

  “Promise you won’t make fun of me?” she asked.

  When he didn’t answer, she pinched his nose.

  “Ouch,” he said. “Fine. I promise.”

  She inched closer, her lips against his outer ear. “Cream cheese. I put cream cheese. On. My. Pizza.” And then she lifted herself over him, laughing, and patted him on the shoulder. “Have I driven you away for good?”

  In the summer evening light, her eyes were warm brown flecked with gold.

  “No,” he said, his heart pounding. Or maybe it was the warning bells. “I’m still here.”

  They did it again while they waited for the pizza. Grant had stopped expecting Jane to kick him out of bed—today, anyway. By the time they were composting the pizza box, the sun was finally setting and he wondered where he would sleep. If he got her back into bed again now, he’d probably end up spending the night there. Then he’d have to face her regretful but firm rejection in the morning, when he was as weak and helpless as a hibernating bat.

  But could he resist the temptation of being with her again?

  “Listen, Grant,” she said as she opened the compost bin. It was a large rolling container outside the kitchen door. He’d followed her outside to offer help she didn’t want or need.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to sleep separately tonight,” she said. “It’s been a long day, and honestly, I’m exhausted. If we get in bed together again… I don’t think we’ll sleep as well as if we were in separate beds.”

  “Sure. I didn’t expect to move in.”

  That was a dumb thing to say, given that he lived in her house.

  She frowned. “Right. OK. I was just—” Her phone rang, and she took it out of her pocket. “Hold on, it’s Billie. She should hate me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I took off like that.” Jane held up her finger and walked away with the phone at her ear, talking quietly. She disappeared into the house.

  Grant turned away from the door and looked at the bay through a gap in the neighbor’s acacia trees. The sunset was a uniform orange glow, muffled by fog. For miles in every direction were people, cars, houses, office buildings, freeways, stores, parking lots. He felt the familiar itch to get in the Rover and get out of the dense Bay Area, sleep under stars that weren’t hidden by the incessant urban glow.

  Jane would hate camping. He sighed, imagining her despair when he handed her the little shovel and rationed square of biodegradable toilet paper for poop.

  He didn’t begrudge her taste in comforts. He knew
he was an outlier.

  “Grant?” Jane stuck her head out the door. She still had the phone in her hand, but at her side. “Quick question. Kind of urgent.”

  “Sure, what?”

  “Can I tell Billie?”

  “Tell her—oh, about us.”

  She lowered her voice. “I wanted to make sure it was OK with you. You know, because of Troy.”

  “Is your sister going to tell Troy?”

  “No, but she’ll tell Ian. And probably my mother but only because our mom will ask point-blank and Billie’s a terrible liar.”

  Grant wondered why she wanted to tell Billie, if it meant it was serious or all a big joke. After leaving the party, it probably was just a convenient explanation that made everyone feel good.

  It had certainly made him feel good.

  “Sure, whatever.” He kissed her on the lips, just because he could. They curved in a smile.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, pulling away. She lifted the phone to her ear. “Yes.”

  Grant could hear a squeal piercing out of the phone from several feet away.

  Jane ran her hand through her hair. “That’s all I’m going to say about it, so relax. Are you— Sure, go ahead. Of course. Give him my sisterly love.” She hung up.

  “She sounded happy,” Grant said.

  “She did.” A relaxed, happy smile spread over Jane’s face. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have Billie in a good place.”

  “Was she in some kind of trouble before?”

  “Not really trouble but not really happy, either. Bad boyfriend, bad job, bad apartment. I was worried she was never going to get it together.” Jane opened the door to the kitchen. “Are you coming in, or did you need more outdoor time?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was kidding. “I’m coming in.”

  They went inside, Jane locked the door, flicked off the kitchen lights, and hesitated by the counter. “I could make us coffee.”

  “No, I’m fine. I think I might see if I can get a little writing done.”