by Brandon Witt
“Good God, you have magic fingers, J.”
“I’m glad you think so. As long as you do, I can keep touching this body.”
“You took a while.” I suddenly understood why Finn extended his body like that when I rubbed his back, and arched into his touch. Shameless hussy. I had fully expected him not to come back. I’d never been so glad to be wrong as he pressed warm kisses down the curve of my spine.
“I had to get my stuff. And I brought groceries,” he said against my skin. When he ended with a kiss in the dip of my spine and pulled away, I growled in frustration. “They’re in the trunk.”
“Why are you telling me?”
He slapped my behind. “So you can help, lazybones. Didn’t think you’d go to sleep on me and actually be in bed while I braved the elements.”
I snorted. “What elements? This is Florida. The closest to elements you’re going to get is iron and metal.”
“What about the heat? You could melt a s’more on my dash, and it’s still dark out.”
“Well, since you’re already overheated, you should go ahead and finish the job.” I yawned. “You can’t succeed if you quit, J.”
He chuckled. “You’re full of it.” This time the slap was gentler. Not followed by words.
Without looking, I knew exactly where his gaze was centered, and I planned to take full advantage. “I’ll make you a deal. I stay here, cool and cozy. You get the groceries.”
He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “And in return?”
I wiggled a bit, making sure he got the full picture of my wanton behavior. “Your boon is up to you.” When I looked back, the doorway was empty, and I chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He caught me just on the delicious cusp of falling back into dreamland, and I swatted away his soft kisses this time, fully intending to welsh on the deal.
“Go away,” I groused.
It was his turn to chuckle. “We had a deal.”
“I said that because I was sleepy,” I said crossly. “I’ll say anything when I’m sleepy.”
“Let’s see if you’ll do anything when you’re sleepy.”
I had to admit, the liquid feeling of lube drizzling down the crack of my ass did a lot to recapture the mood. His questing finger certainly did the rest. I hissed and arched as he slid slowly inside me. His slow stroking turned rather quickly into pile driving, and I soon found myself rising to my knees to meet his thrusts with shameful eagerness.
“Every time I get inside you, I swear I can’t think,” he managed. “Can’t seem to slow down.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I’m a consummate lover, you know,” he informed me. “I swear I usually have more finesse than this. I’ve had good reviews.”
“We’ll make sure to post you on Amazon dot com,” I reassured him. “Now move.”
He groaned as I backed up against him, and then again as I took him in slowly. When I slammed against him and he sank into me to the hilt, his fingers flexed against my hips hard enough to leave marks.
“Stop. Moving. Please,” he managed through gritted teeth.
I could feel his face buried in the curve of my neck, whispering something. When I glanced back, his eyes were tightly closed, as if in prayer.
“Mother Mary, full of grace,” I whispered, helping him along so he’d move.
He laughed painfully. “I really hate you.”
I worked my inner muscles around him, determined to have my way. Who needed to sit, anyway? “Prove it.”
Chapter 21
I WOKE to a strong aroma, delicious trails of java that invaded the covers over my head. Good enough to get up? I wasn’t quite sure yet. My nose caught something else, and I stuck the tip out of the covers, sniffing strongly. Bacon? Maybe eggs?
One slit of an eye joined the tip of nose, and I peered at the alarm clock. Six thirty on a Saturday. Sweet baby Jesus. Some sadist was whipping up a feast in my kitchen at an ungodly hour, and now I was so hungry I had to join him and his religion.
I stumbled out of bed and into my sweatpants before making my way to the kitchen. I peered at a bright-eyed Jordan, bustling about my kitchen with nothing on but a pair of low-riding jeans and a dish towel slung over his shoulder. I ogled him for a minute, silently thanking God for his damn fine creation. Even at this ungodly hour. The way he filled out a pair of jeans made the bacon sizzling and popping in the pan the second hottest thing in my kitchen. The Celtic knot on his bicep flexed as he whipped eggs expertly. Mother may I? I asked while trying to stop the drool. You already did, my inner voice answered me tartly. Quite a bit, actually. Bitch never did want me to be happy.
“You had me at bacon.” I said blearily, shuffling to one of the island chairs and dropping into it dramatically.
He grinned. “Thought I might. Here,” he said, pushing a glass of juice my way.
My sleep-dulled reflexes almost watched it sail off the counter before clumsily catching the sweating glass. I sipped, wincing at his whistling, which he did while pouring the eggs into the pan. They screamed from the heat and began to cook immediately, and he scrambled them as they sizzled.
“Are you always this chipper in the morning?”
“Only when I got laid. Three times.” He gave me a lopsided smile before turning back to his eggs. “You know anything about that?”
“I just might.”
My ass sure did. The ache was a good ache, but we probably wouldn’t be using that particular part of my anatomy for a little bit. If I could control myself, that is. So the proper thing to say would probably be we shouldn’t be using that particular part of my anatomy for a little bit. But we probably would. I eyed him working in the kitchen, handling the frying pan with a deft surety that he used with everything else. Being the singular object of his abject focus was a remarkable experience. Yes, I confirmed with a nod. We definitely would.
He dropped off a plate in front of me with toast, eggs, and bacon neatly arranged in a dainty circle. I blinked. “You can cook?”
“Does that make you want me more?”
I tilted my head, considering. “Yeah. Actually, it does.”
“Then I cook,” he confirmed, dropping a kiss on my brow before going back to make his own plate.
Ill-mannered beast that I was, I took a bite of my toast while I was waiting, watching him move in my kitchen like he did this every single day. I didn’t know why it was making me a little grumpy. Except now I had another memory with Jordan I didn’t know what to do with. Hell, by Monday, I was going to have a whole weekend full of them. I took another grumpy bite of toast. He had no right moving in here like this, playing house with me like this. Fucking me into the mattress was one thing, but this? This was something different entirely.
He slid into the chair in front of me with his own plate, and while I got my hand swatted for stealing a square of his toast, he did let me make off with it.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked, feeling a bit perkier. Toast was more delicious when you stole it.
“You’re looking at it,” he said. “I want to eat, sleep, fuck, and be with you. Sometimes together and not necessarily in that order.”
Heat blazed up inside of me, and I forced myself to keep eating. I’d need my strength, apparently. “Sounds good. Add to the list dropping off cupcakes for Case’s soccer team, and I’m in for every single one of those things.” I paused, watching him pour sugar and cream into his coffee like it was an ancient art, and stir carefully. “You should really lay off the coffee.”
He took a sip, managing to flip me off at the same time. “I’m glad you agree, who is Case, and fuck you.”
I grinned. “Case is my brother’s kid. His mom is pretty much in and out of his life, so he’s stuck with my brother. Which is probably why he will eventually tack the word ‘mental’ onto the beginning of his name.”
“I’m surprised the soccer team is requesting cupcakes. Shouldn’t they have something a little healthier?”
“You’re an ass.”
“I try. Besides, one cupcake per kid won’t kill them.”
“Mac, I hate to point this out, but you don’t have any cupcakes.”
“I was going to bake them last night,” I said indignantly. “But someone had to get his rocks off. I hope you’re happy, J. I mean really, what about the kids?”
He grinned. “You’re going to buy them, aren’t you?”
I pointed a piece of bacon at him before stuffing it in my mouth. “From your lips to God’s ears,” I mumbled around salty, fatty deliciousness. “Two dozen from a lovely little woman named Ona at the Cuban deli.”
“Sounds tasty. How’d you find this Ona person?”
“I did a little work for her in the past. Located her daughter in Omaha, Nebraska, of all places, two years after she’d run away. She was ‘waitressing’ at a seedy strip club, which everyone knows is a half step away from shakin’ that ass for cash. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but she really didn’t have to do that. She had a home to go back to, parents who were willing to help her out. Not like some of those girls I saw in there.”
I cut myself off, embarrassed at how simple breakfast convo had gotten so deep so fast. This is why I wasn’t allowed in polite company. But Jordan had pushed back his cleaned plate and tucked into his coffee, and he still seemed interested. Very interested, as if my little PI stories were worth telling.
“How’d you get her to go home?” he prodded.
“At first I couldn’t. I mean, the job was technically over. Ona had paid me to find her, and I did. She didn’t have money to spend on me to stay there for however long it took to convince her daughter to come home. But I stayed anyway.” I shook my head. “Drew certainly gave me an earful about that. I was in Omaha for three weeks after I found her, trying to convince her, drinking overpriced, questionable drinks at the bar and watching overpriced, questionable tail shake their asses in my face.”
Jordan snorted, and I shrugged. “I convinced her that her mom still loved her and that she’d never stopped looking and that, whether she stripped in Omaha or stripped in Miami, she had a family that loved her and wanted her back. However she decided to come, they wanted her back. We took turns driving back because she didn’t want to fly. I still wasn’t sure she was going to go through with it, and I took the time on those dark, quiet roads to tell her about my mom. What I would do to get one chance to talk to her again. See her again. Tried to open her eyes that she still had that chance.”
I bit my lip. I hadn’t meant to say that. I liked to say I hated her, but that wasn’t entirely true. I hated what she’d done. How easily she’d left. But if she hadn’t been a good mother in the first place, it wouldn’t hurt this bad.
My mother had found all my stories interesting. She had really cared about the small things I had to tell her and the on-dits about my boring day. I was her Mac, and that made my stories important by the sheer fact that they were coming out of my mouth. I swallowed, the greasy bacon in my stomach settling solidly. The bond between you and the woman who gave you life should be infinite. Unshakeable. It was jarring to walk through life knowing that it wasn’t.
When I looked at his face, he was smiling a little. “That’s a little bit awesome.”
I gave an embarrassed laugh. “Not really. But I get free cupcakes from Ona for life, which has really come in handy for my pooch.”
“You have no pooch,” he said, shaking his head at my silliness.
“I will, darlin’.” I leered. “Especially after I get the two dozen cupcakes for them and two extra on the side for me.”
“Mac,” he said, laughing helplessly. “Two extra? Of huge specialty cupcakes?”
“One of them is for you,” I said indignantly. “Hey, I fit into my skinny jeans last night. Didn’t even have to roll on the couch to get ’em on. That means I’m in the clear until that zipper stops moving.”
“Your form looks damn fine to me.” He took my chin in his hand and kissed me. “But I’ll help you work it off.”
“Promises, promises.”
He grinned, and I shook my head ruefully. “I forgot you keep your promises.”
“All of them, baby. Every single one of them.”
WE DIDN’T see the light of day until four, when we finally ventured from the apartment. A quick stop at Ona’s bakery—and by quick, I mean the forty-five minutes she’d spent catching me up on every particle of her life, harassing Jordan for details about our relationship, and pinching my arm for not coming sooner—and the car smelled like sugary-sweet goodness.
By the time Jordan pulled into a gas station, I was more than ready for some food of some sort. I zipped inside and bought two waters, two Slim Jims, and a granola bar. I risked life and limb to rip open the slippery Slim Jim package with my teeth while crossing the busy thoroughfare (totally worth it), before gnawing on the end.
Jordan shook his head, watching me with no small amount of amusement, his arms crossed as he leaned against his car. “I thought you said you were going to get food,” he said as I got closer.
“These aren’t for you,” I said haughtily, sticking the other Slim Jim in my pocket and tossing him the granola bar.
“You eat like a goat,” he said. “All that’s missing are the tin cans and an old muddy boot.”
He tore the package neatly, following the recommended “tear here” path on the wrapper with eerie precision. Sucker. Who does that? Better to rip it and then try to scramble and catch all the broken pieces of granola as they tumble out haphazardly.
“You love it,” I said, pointing my half-eaten Slim Jim at him. “Besides, if you didn’t, why would you let me drive your precious car?”
He grinned. “Is that what I’m doing? Because I don’t remember that being anywhere in the plan.”
“Indeed. Gimme the keys.”
“Shows what you know.” He pulled out one honey-oat granola square and bit into it. “I’m not letting someone drive who doesn’t know there are no keys.”
“Come on,” I wheedled. “The things I let you do to me last night… I mean, I can’t even speak of them. The least you could do….”
He laughed. “You asked me to do those things,” he accused. “But fine. Go ahead.”
I held my gloating inside for a later time and slid behind the wheel, sighing as the fine genuine leather gripped my behind.
“Come on, come on,” I hassled Jordan out the window. “You’re taking forever.”
He grumbled but stuffed the receipt from the machine into his wallet instead of filing it away neatly like I knew he wanted to do.
He kept his car pristine, and the burl-wood dashboard gleamed like some kind of glass. I doubted a leaky cup had ever violated that cup holder. The silver Mercedes emblem winked at me, and I winked back.
Wanna have some fun? it asked flirtatiously.
Darlin’, you have no idea.
“MAN, I hate cheating on Bessie, but this CLS is a smooth-talking bitch.”
“Mac, be careful.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“It doesn’t look like there’s enough space to—”
I whipped into Robert’s driveway with the expertise of someone who’s been there a million times. I knew every crack, corner, and crevice, and managed the impossible, squeezing in next to his cruiser.
I exited the vehicle with a grin that the shaky Jordan did not share and bounced over to him. “Can I drive home? Huh? Can I, can I—”
He put a hand over my mouth but nodded weakly. “This time, try to keep it under a hundred, yeah?”
“What’s the fun in that?” Oh, Bessie my love, your days are numbered.
I reached in the backseat and rescued the cupcakes from the floorboards. “Oops. They still look good, though. Ona packages them pretty well.”
“Apple, I didn’t hear your heap pull in— Oh, hello.
”
Robert came toward us from somewhere in the open garage. He was barefoot and bare chested with a pair of scruffy shorts on, and his eyes went wide as they went from Jordan to me. Back to Jordan. Then me. Okay, so I didn’t bring people home often, but this was ridiculous. His next words reinforced why, exactly, I didn’t bring people home often.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked.
“Oh Lord,” I groaned. “Don’t do this.”
His hazel eyes glittered wickedly as he continued. “You bring a boy home, and I want to know who he is. Who his folks are. Do you have a job, son?”
I elbowed him in the gut as Jordan burst into laughter.
“I do, sir,” he managed to answer. “Thank you for letting me date your brother.”
“Oh, you really shouldn’t be thanking me for that.” He grinned and offered a hand. “Robert Williams. My friends call me Robby.”
“Which means everyone calls him Robert,” I confirmed, only grunting when he elbowed me back. “Where’s Case?”
“Inside. Xbox 360 is his lord and master.”
I held the cupcakes up in explanation. “I brought him these.”
“That’s all he needs.” Robert rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you give them to him? I’ll keep your friend here company.”
I turned to Jordan. “I’m sorry in advance for anything this troll might say. Please don’t stop dating me.”
He and Robert laughed simultaneously, and the sound was scary enough to send me scurrying into the house to the sound of Robert’s warning yell, “And don’t touch my sauce!”
The smell of garlic, tomatoes, and spice wafted to my nose like a beacon as I let the side door bang behind me. “Mmmm,” I mumbled, stumbling toward the kitchen like Frankenstein. “Smell good.”
Of course I had a taste or two. Or three as I licked the spoon clean and wondered how a dunderhead bachelor like Robert could cook so well. I washed the spoon and placed it in the drying rack—he was obsessive about keeping things neat. Not because of an inherent need to clean but a lack of one. You didn’t have to clean if it never got dirty, and to hell with the dust on the lampshades and under the dressers.
