by Louisa Trent
And how! It was stopping that had him worried. Since he was twenty, Kes had been his drug of choice. He couldn't give her up. Not now.
"Okay," he said, his throat tight and scared. "I'll do it."
She drummed her fingers on her lips, all business, all plans. "You leave in two weeks. Will that give you enough time to get me up to speed?"
"Once is sufficient to get the job done."
She went on as if she didn't hear him. "There are certain things I'll need to explore. Positions, naturally. Techniques. And then there's the kink factor. I will not confine myself to missionary or vanilla. I want inappropriate."
These days, all Drew ever did was the weird stuff. No one on the dating circuit did mom and pop sex anymore. Anal was real big, as was bondage and various toys, and triangles and square configurations. Hell, even hexagons were in.
"Yeah, I can do kink." He was tired of it, though. Tired of tying his dates up, tired of lubing them up, tired of making small talk with a crowd in bed. Occasionally, for a change of pace, he wanted some old-fashioned retro sex where he was alone with the woman, they were looking at each other during the act, and there wasn't a new fashionable fetish to cater to. Just two naked people doing something that felt human, not like a choreographed theatre production in bed.
"And then there are the dead giveaways that could clue Ted in as to my lack of experience. I've never slept with a man. I'll need to get used to an extra set of elbows and knees in bed. Oh! And snoring."
"I don't snore."
"How would you know?"
"I've never heard any complaints." But then again, he never slept over. He did mainly walls, tables, kitchen counter tops, fast in-and-out accommodations.
"Snoring is like nose hair. Your dates would never tell you about either. Only a woman who loved you would tell you something uncomplimentary."
He laughed, then sobered, spoke his worst fear. "What if the sex ends us?"
"We won't let it." She spoke confidently. "We'll separate the sex from the rest of our lives. For the next two weeks, we'll only talk about what's happening between us. Block everything and everyone else out. This is just about our bodies, not our hearts or heads. Just mindless sex. The hotter the better. I need to be very knowledgeable when I'm with Ted. I don't want anything to give me away as a novice. And then, after the two weeks are up, you'll go on your business trip and I'll start sleeping with Ted. When you return, it will be just the same as it has always been between us. What could be simpler?"
What they had. That was simple. And perfect. Now it was gone. Ruined. All because of sex.
Drew hated sex.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kesley was sneaking past the second floor on the way to the third when Drew opened his door.
Leaning into the jamb, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, he grumbled, "What the hell happened to you?"
"You know the saying, 'Stop and smell the roses?' Well, forgetting why I never do, I did. As I was sneezing, I fell into the bush."
"You and your allergies. Get your fanny in here."
"I'm fine," she said, picking a thorn from her knee.
"Get in here, Kes. Those scratches look nasty."
Conscious that their landlady Mrs. Harris had her first-floor door cracked and was listening to every word of their conversation Kesley said loud enough to be overheard, "I won't stay long." Then lowering her voice, she whispered, "My visit has been duly noted by you-know-who."
Drew stepped further out into the hall. "Yooo-hooo, Mrs. Harris." He waved down into the moldy dark stairwell. "I see you, Mrs. Harris."
"Stop that!"
Taking his arm, Kesley pulled Drew back a step.
Mrs. Harris could still listen if they spoke loud enough--God bless her--but not actually see them.
"The woman is eighty years old, Drew. Nosey is the only fun she gets out of life."
"Hey, I'm all for fun. I say we crank it up. Give her something funner to stick her nose into."
Thus said, Drew picked her up in his arms and carried her to the banister. There, where Mrs. Harris could easily view them, he pulled her into a phony clinch. Then, he fake-kissed her, his lips making loud smooch noises.
She'd been kissed plenty of times. She wasn't a complete zilch in the dating department, and Drew had kissed her too, before leaving on each of his trips. But none of the kisses were sexual.
This wasn't sexual either. Not in the beginning. But then Drew must have forgotten who she was because his formerly closed lips opened and his tongue filled her mouth and the pretend kiss for Mrs. Harris' benefit turned scorching.
So this is how Drew kisses all his women, Kesley thought, a little taken aback by the hungry sexuality of the kiss, his tongue moving and exploring, his mouth practically eating her, practically devouring her there against the second-floor banister.
"Christ," he said hoarsely, when he tore his lips from hers. "Sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean for it to go that far."
"Well, that certainly made our landlady's day." Her head lolled against his chest. "You can put me down now."
"Inside the apartment, okay?" He carried her in, closed the door after them.
Drew's place wasn't dirty, considering a single man lived there alone, but it was devoid of personality. Basically, the three-bedroom flat was utilitarian. Uncluttered. Masculine. Especially the kitchen. Of all the rooms in a home, the kitchen is the domain of the woman. The absence of a female touch in Drew's kitchen showed. They ate most of their meals together at her place, but if she moved out she could well imagine him standing up over the stove to eat out of a pot. Or worse yet, not eating in the kitchen at all, choosing instead to eat his meal on a tray in front of the TV. Cheerless image.
Drew perched her on his kitchen counter, like a bird. Like a parrot. Settling her between an open jar of peanut butter and its tin lid. Resting an inch or so down from there was a jelly-sticky knife. A bowl waited in the sink to be washed. A lonely spoon straddled the rim, a few mushy cereal parts clinging, a bachelor's solitary breakfast, only one step up from the cold slice of morning-after pizza from their college days.
Bleakness filled her.
The faded curtains hanging over the sink let in the sun. The curtains were clean enough, but ugly, matching nothing else in the room, and original to the apartment. One by one his roomies had moved out, but the curtains hung on. Just like Drew and her. There wasn't a new knickknack, a different photo or any recently acquired furnishings in the apartment. There was, however, an absurdly ruffled pink apron folded neatly over the back of a chair, her gag birthday present of two years before, given to him when the old gang got together to celebrate. They'd all had a huge laugh over that apron at the birthday boy's expense. And Drew, laughing at himself along with everyone else, wore that silly apron for the whole night, much to the delight of everyone in attendance. Everyone loved the good-natured Drew.
Kesley craned her neck around the apartment, taking everything in. No furnishings, but about a zillion plants. The ones she watered when he was gone. Keeping plants didn't make sense to her, as Drew was gone much of the time, but keep plants he did, all of them flourishing.
Which led her to ask: "Why haven't you moved to a place where you can garden outside? If not a house, a condo with a backyard. You like growing things."
"It's a big commitment, sticking something in the ground. Potted plants are portable; they're easy to relocate. I move around a lot."
"What do you mean you move around a lot? You've lived here a decade, Drew!"
"I didn't know I would be here that long when I moved into the dump."
She sighed. "I would love to live in a house with a yard. I'll never be able to afford one on my pay, but it's nice to dream about."
"While you're dreaming, pull up your skirt so I can take a closer look at your leg," said the man with the green thumb.
"I'll do nothing of the sort."
"In view of our recent conversations, playing hard to get is kind of ridiculous, don't you think
?" Without waiting for an answer, he lunged, pushing her skirt up to mid thigh.
She clamped her hand on top of his. "The deal is we behave as we've always behaved unless we're specifically in sex mode. Are we in sex mode now?"
"No. I'm doing what I would ordinarily do if you fell in a rosebush."
"Okay." She released his hand.
He examined her leg. "Some of these scratches look deep."
It was a late June day, her tan was coming along nicely, and who bothers with pantyhose in the sweltering heat of a city summer? Drew touched bare skin when he followed an ugly scratch up along her leg under her skirt to her plain white cotton panties.
With a grunt, Drew stopped his examination to pull a clean cloth from a drawer. He wet it under the tap. "The underwear goes."
Her mouth gaped. "Are you telling me to remove my panties?"
"Yeah. Take 'em off."
"Well, I never!" She gasped in outraged modesty.
"Last night, the tee-shirt was nearly around your neck. We both survived. And we both know how far up that scratch goes, and we both know it needs to be cleaned. Get naked."
"No, you get naked," she said in a huff.
"I'm not the one with the thorns!"
True.
"Drew, last night was different. That was accidental nudity. This is deliberate nudity."
"I don't mean to be crass, but in case you've forgotten, I'll be seeing you totally naked soon enough. We'll just consider this a sneak preview. Now don't go all silly on me, sweetheart. It's just you and me here. Two of us in a messy kitchen."
So, he thought she was silly; a silly virgin, did he? That's how her hesitancy looked to him. Well, he was right! Perched on a sink, riddled with thorns, was not quite how she had envisioned this moment. What woman wants the first time a man demands the removal of her panties to be the result of a fall in a rosebush? It just wasn't dignified.
And washing the scratches wouldn't be enough. Knowing Drew, he'd insist upon painting them with antiseptic. If he had suggested painting her with chocolate he would later lick clean, they'd have themselves a deal, but antiseptic?
No!
Struggling for composure, Kesley reached up under her skirt.
"Need help?" he asked, elbows propped on the counter, chin in hand, tongue hanging out like a lounge lizard on the make for juicy barflies.
She chuckled. "Look, I think I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate the effort. But joking aside, this doesn't come easily for me." In consternation, she bumbled around, not knowing how to proceed. "I'm not used to ... you know ... undressing in front of a man. I never have before. And this is clinical, not lust-provoked nudity." Rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, she squeaked like a mouse.
"What if I told you this is lust-provoked. Would that help?"
Drew was such a dear! To save her dignity, he'd even lie.
"Not necessary," she relented. "I'm making a complete fool out of myself. Here, I've asked you to have sex with me and I can't even take the first step. Talk about sending mixed messages, huh?"
"You're not doing that, Kes," he said stoutly, bucking up her confidence. "You're no cock-tease."
She plucked at the hem of her skirt. "This is my problem, and I'll just have to deal with it."
"You've got no problem, sweetheart. It's the situation that's the problem. You want real sexual experience, but you're going about it in an artificial way."
"You think I should explain the situation to Ted, and let him be the one..."
"No, no. That's not what I meant." Drew's spine jacked upright. "I just want you to understand what you're letting yourself in for with me. We've known each other ten years, we have something good going on between us, and now we're changing the rules."
"Only temporarily, Drew. We'll go right back to the way we were after the two weeks are up."
His usually startling blue eyes suddenly turned remote, almost gray in hue. "Why don't I give you some privacy? I need to get something anyway."
The antiseptic. She knew it!
Drew would give her the shirt off his back, but not if the removal of that shirt was a precursor for sex. Having sex with her was an enormous favor, a huge imposition, and she would never have asked it of him if not for the humiliating fact that he was the only man she could ask, the only man she had interviewed for the job. But regardless of how close they were, Drew couldn't possibly understand how important this was to her, how desperate was her need for a meaningful personal relationship. Sharing her life with someone, to be part of someone's thoughts in a genuine and significant way, meant everything to her.
She knew how Drew felt about sharing his life with someone, knew his thoughts on intimacy. He wanted no part of either. He had never, not in all the years she'd known him, been serious enough about a woman to live with her. Not one woman, to Kesley's recollection, had he ever brought home to his apartment. As far as she knew, she was the only woman ever to enter his personal space. From what she could glean directly from the closed-mouthed Drew, he didn't date when he was in Boston; his sexual exploits were confined to out-of-town events, his gypsy work life affording him the perfect excuse to move on after a night or two.
Yanking off her panties, Kesley stuffed them under her skirt where Drew wouldn't see them. She wasn't at that place yet where she could comfortably leave her underwear out in the open. She also didn't feel comfortable about letting Drew wash the dirt and congealed blood around the scratches; she did that herself while still alone in the kitchen.
She was tidying up when Drew called from the doorway, "I've got what we need. Can I come back inside?"
"Yes. But everything looks fine, so don't bother playing doctor," she said, grinning nervously up at him as he came to a halt directly in front of her at the counter.
"I'll take a look anyway, if you don't mind. You may have missed some thorns. They're tiny but they can get infected real easy." Nose to her scratched knee, his fingers gently felt their way over the abrasion.
She grabbed hold of the counter, both hands clasping the rounded edge. "What kind of ladies' underwear do you like?"
He glanced up. "What? You want to start your sexual initiation with me cross-dressed in panties? I really think we should cover the basics first before progressing into the kink. Mind you, I have no objections to costumes. I've dressed up in all the usual clichés: Cowboy chaps, sans anything underneath. Gladiator armor. Military SEALs are big right now. Then there was the time the lady insisted I..." He shook his head. "We won't discuss that particular costume now. Enough to say it involved a bull whip and animal hide and me screaming in agony."
"You dip!" She chortled. "That's not what I meant and you know it! What I meant was: what kinds of lingerie do you like your women to wear?"
"Oh! You'd like to know my preference in my women's underwear?"
"Well, yes. Shouldn't I ask Ted what he likes when we start dating? Isn't that what women do--try to please the man in their lives?"
He did one of those long exhales he always did when he didn't want to answer a question, then said: "None."
"No preference? That's not very helpful for when I go shopping. Couldn't you just narrow the field? Color, fabric, style, anything?"
"None."
"You must prefer some over others."
"Kesley, sweetheart, I prefer my women without panties. None. Bare-assed."
"Bare-assed. Hmm. Not much of a shopping challenge there. I can do that, I suppose. Bra?"
His eyes went to her breasts. "No bra."
"Clothing? And please don't say: none. I want to please Ted, not get arrested for indecency."
"Nude in bed. Dresses in public. No jeans, shorts, or anything with a crotch. It makes it easier."
" 'It' being sex?"
"Usually, but not with you."
"We're not having sex?"
"Nope, we're doing the other thing."
"Fucking?"
"Sweetheart, I have no intention of fucking you. Not ever."
"If we're doing this, we're doing it right. I plan on making love to you, Kesley."
She waited for the punch line.
There was none.
No humor registered on Drew's face as he smoothed a hand up her thigh under her dress.
"I don't feel any thorns."
"I told you."
Still, he twisted off the top of the tube he had in his hand, and placed a small dab on a finger. She was surprised how good the antiseptic smelled, really pleasant.
"Lift your skirt now, sweetheart."
"There are no scratches up that high. I looked."
"We're in sex mode now, Kesley."
Her brows rose. "Oh?"
This was not how she thought it would be. She thought they'd be either in his bed or hers, the lights would be off, the shades would be down, and they'd both be naked under the covers. Instead, she was seated on a kitchen countertop in a bright sunlit kitchen, nude from the waist down under her dress while Drew's only concession to nudity was rolled-up shirtsleeves.
He looked up at her meaningfully. "There's no point waiting. We've only got two weeks."
Anxiety attack! Major panic!
"No point waiting at all," she said breathlessly. "I just don't want to rush you. If you have something else you'd rather do..."
"You mean rather than making love to you?"
"I didn't mean to be coy. It's just that ... I know you're busy."
"I cleared my schedule." He pressed his lips to the wispy bangs on her forehead.
Nervous or not, she wanted to savor every moment; loss of virginity was a one-time only event. In light of that, she didn't close her eyes. But her neck arched. Her breasts turned hard and achy. This is what she wanted. This is what she had yearned for.
"I trust you with my body, Drew."
"No. You honor me with your body."
She gazed up into his face to see if he was serious.
One look into his steadily darkening eyes told her he was absolutely serious. The irreverent Drew was deadly reverent. So unlike him.
"You're such a fucking baby," he said, suddenly sounding angry. "Such a fucking innocent. After this, the boundaries between us will collapse. I'll learn everything about you, and you'll learn everything about me. For two weeks, we'll own each other, body and soul."
