“Hey, don’t blame the messenger!” Standing, Jaclyn held her palms out. “I thought I was doing Willow a favor. All Fernando said was he had a friend who collected entertainment memorabilia from the fifties and sixties.”
Steffen said, “Well, do Willow a favor and call that rabid guy off, will you? Because I am calling the real cops if I see him around here again.” Taking Willow by the elbow as she shouldered her heavy bag, he told Jaclyn over his shoulder, “And tell Fernando that his insulation on the Rancho Mirage job isn’t up to spec. He’ll have to rip it out and start all over again.”
Steffen was gentlemanly, waiting for her to pick her way through unfinished spaces of flooring as they headed for the glass doors of the Cavern on the Green. She held his arm close to her bosom, elated beyond belief that they were alone. “You’re a taskmaster.” Willow shuddered at the naughty double entendre of her words.
He looked down at her. “I try to be.”
Her nipples stiffened at his double meaning, too. She had worn a kicky summer dress—straps, a shirred bodice, and a flirty skirt. She knew she could not cover up her ample figure. In this heat, she would just look crazy if she wore long sleeves. She had never been able to lose the weight she’d gained when she’d quit smoking five years earlier, so she would have to live with it. Any potential lover deserved honesty in advertising, anyway. “I have something to show you, something I found. And I refrained from going inside the Cesar Romero Room until you showed up. I knew you’d want to see it, too. The carpenter hasn’t unstuck the front door, but we can go in from the utility room.”
“That’s incredibly thoughtful! What’d you find?”
“I’ll show you once we’re inside.”
While Willow unlocked the utility room connecting door, she said, “I have to apologize for Jaclyn. You know how racy women can get when they’re together. We shouldn’t have been discussing your sexual orientation or dating history.”
“Why the hell not? I know exactly how racy women can get, and that’s part of what I love about them. In fact, I have a proposal for you. But I think I should wait until we’re out on a proper date to make the proposition.”
A proper date? Willow had the door open a few inches but was so stunned she just froze for a few seconds. Did I just hear correctly? He wants a proper date with me? But wait…Jaclyn said—
He butted into her thoughts. “As far as me having never married, I did come close a couple of times. I’m not a completely callous bastard. And the rumors of my skirt-chasing have been greatly exaggerated. I think you might be pleasantly surprised by how polite I can be. Can you take enough time off the Searchlight to let me take you to the Frank Sinatra House?”
Actually, Willow had heard about that place. Last night, after her session with her noisy old wood chipper, she had surfed for some of the architects Steffen probably loved, such as Neutra, Cody, and Frey. “That would be fun. I’d like to see that Kupka House that Neutra designed,” she ventured to say. “Or that bank that Williams designed.”
“There are all sorts of places we could go.”
Steffen couldn’t mask the excitement in his voice, and Willow knew she’d hit the nail right on the head with her architectural offer. Meeting Steffen had given her a whole new lease on life. Hearing his ideas for a date, she hadn’t been this thrilled to the core in years. Not even purchasing the run-down motel had given her this sort of spine-tingling, adventurous turn-on. As she opened the door to the Cesar Romero Room, she was quite literally opening the door on a new life.
“Holy cow.”
Willow knew that “cow” wasn’t Steffen’s first choice of word, but he was trying to remain civil for her. All she saw was a darkened room full of bulky furniture, so she went to pull the drapes. “Why, what is it?” Stark, crisp light reflected from the San Jacinto Mountains imbued the room like a stage, revealing upholstered furniture in sensuous shapes.
“Well, this here is a spanking bench.” Steffen put his hand on a piece of furniture that resembled a pommel horse or a children’s picnic table. Like the cross, it had obviously been homemade. Padded, and with different platforms for kneeling or resting various limbs, it matched the heart-shaped bed’s headboard down to the same burgundy brocade fabric and brass upholstery nails. “This doesn’t look much used either. This is a great find, Willow.”
Willow was savvy enough to know about the cat o’ nine tails she removed from a peg on the wall. She swished it about as though she knew what she was doing. “You know what we should do?” She looked naughtily at Steffen from beneath her bangs. “There’s a separate unit out back by the pétanque court. I was remodeling it to charge more for it, you know, a separate cottage and all.”
Steffen’s eyes shined with excitement. He obviously already got her drift. “We move all of this equipment out there.”
“Right. Hell, we could even call that the Cesar Romero Cottage, although I’d have to change the name plate.” She whipped the crushed velvet bedspread with the cat o’nine tails, feeling deliciously sinful.
Steffen approached her, his hands hovering over her shoulders. “No, don’t move the name plate. Have you named the cottage yet? Seeing you just now gave me an idea.”
Willow stood back and experimentally whipped the bed again. “Oh, yeah? What?”
“The Gadabout Gaddis Cottage.”
All of her senses were alive. A shiver swept up and down her spine, her torso, like those electrical jars in Dr. Frankenstein’s lab. “Why’s that?”
“Gadabout Gaddis was a television fisherman in the old days. I used to see reruns of his show as a kid in Ireland. He was just a real down-to-earth guy, always tossing his cigarette butts into the undergrowth when he got out of a boat. He used to vacation in Palm Springs. And you looked like a fly fisherman just now, flicking that whip.” He wiggled an eyebrow. “Quite a voluptuous and shapely fisherman.”
Not knowing whether to be complimented or insulted, Willow giggled. “Gadabout Gaddis sounds like one of the implements used in this room, anyway. Isn’t a gadabout sort of a man about town, a bon vivant?”
“I think it’s someone who is in the social whirl, yeah. But what would you do with the Gadabout Gaddis Cottage? You said you didn’t want this to be ‘that sort of establishment.’”
Willow batted her eyelashes as she ran the falls through the O she made of her fingers. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. I could always just save it, set it aside, rent it out to select people.”
Steffen’s eyes flickered out the window briefly, and he got a faraway look. “I think I may know a few of those people.”
“I’m sure you do. Now what’s this?” With the whip, Willow tapped another piece of furniture that resembled a sawhorse, but upholstered like the other furniture with brass nails.
“This is more of a discipline stand. See? There are D-rings to attach cuffs, bonds. A person could kneel like this.” Steffen kneeled on the lowest bar, allowing his arms to dangle over the body of the sawhorse.
Willow’s opportunity was clear as an unmuddied lake. Steffen was displaying his curvaceous ass, and she held a whip. However, that was bit too bold, even for as many strides as she’d been making in getting away from Matt, moving toward something new. So she kneeled on the padded support on the opposite side, also dangling her arms over the horse. Their arms intertwined, and they stared unabashed at each other.
Steffen said, “I think some people might call it a fuck bench.”
There was no denying that their hearts were intertwined at that moment, too. Willow couldn’t remember later whether she had made the first move, or Steffen. But all of a sudden they were kissing heatedly. It felt so right, although she hadn’t kissed another man in years. It felt natural to move her lips over his, to smack and make loud kissing noises, like some kind of starving animal.
Steffen’s natural woodsy scent rose up and infused her skin when she ran her palm over his closely-shaven head. The upholstered wooden bars prevented them from doin
g much more than feast on each other’s mouths, but Willow never wanted to let him go. She hadn’t realized until now how much she had missed embracing a man, a real man. He kissed her tenderly, not plunging his tongue into her mouth like an oyster slider, as she recalled so many fumbling men doing.
Steffen held her head softly, massaging her skull with his fingertips. Although he licked her lips lightly, she could feel the tremor in his fingers, his ragged breathing. He’s turned on. He wants me. She dared to break the kiss and pepper his sculpted chin and jaw line with wet, noisy kisses.
She realized she was panting, too. Steffen sank his fingers deeper into her hair, vigorously rubbing her skull as he strove to taste her throat. Willow’s ample tits just barely cleared the top bar of the fuck bench so she rested them there, displayed like a horny lowland bird’s plumage, plump and half-exposed. When Steffen lowered his head to taste the pit of her throat, a high-pitched sigh escaped her, startling her. Her pussy quivered when he applied a flat tongue to her clavicle, and she wanted nothing more than for him to suck a nipple into his mouth, to nibble it between his teeth.
She panted so rapidly she was getting light-headed. She ran her palms over his soft, brushy hair, cradling his face to her bosom. “Oh, Steffen,” she sighed, and the shock of hearing her own voice scared her.
She must have leaped to her feet, because suddenly she was standing by the window, panting onto the glass, steaming it. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “Oh, my.”
Over at the fuck bench, Steffen held his head in his hands, probably incredulous that she had cut him off. Now she felt horrible. She knew men didn’t like to be rejected—to get blue balls. While it had been easy enough to tear herself away from Robin the Great and Magnificent the night before, now she only wanted to take Steffen into her arms again, to soothe him, to suck his cock.
Instead she sat casually on the edge of the crushed velvet bedspread. She noticed her pussy was so juicy she sat on a wet spot, and she was glad the skirt of her summer dress was flowered. She willed her breathing to slow down. She relaxed both hands, palms toward the ceiling, on each of her knees, as though meditating.
She welcomed this new life. She embraced it and allowed it to unfold for her. She had been discouraged, frustrated, seeing the negative in everything. Steffen was giving her new hope, goodness, potential.
Eventually her breathing slowed enough for her to inquire, “What was your proposal?”
She couldn’t wait for a proper date to find out.
Chapter Five
Exhaling, Steffen moved from a kneeling to a sitting position. He threaded his long legs through the legs of the discipline stand, draping his arms over the top wearily.
He didn’t want Willow to know how disappointed he was she’d broken the kiss. He’d known she would be a hard nut to crack. He didn’t even necessarily want her to be easy. Willow Paige being easy would be…well, too easy. He already had more appreciation for her, being a challenge. He meant every word when he said he wanted to take her on a real date, to a nice dinner, see some of the buildings he admired. He thought she might admire them, too, seeing as how she was remodeling a Desert Modern motel.
He didn’t like that the women thought of him as a ladies’ man. He had actually lived with a couple of women he hoped to marry—one of them a domineering top in bed, which was where he’d learned the ropes. But nothing had ever seemed to work out. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Well, maybe he was a bit slow to commit. His globe-trotting childhood had maybe made him suspicious of a stable life where nothing changed. He was suspicious of the six o’clock dinner on the table, the routine, the sameness.
As a swinging bachelor, of course nothing was ever the same. Willow and Jaclyn were right about that much—he did have a different woman for every night of the week. Why not? It was all on the up and up. Everything had been fine until he’d met Miss Willow Paige. Suddenly he wanted something more substantial with her. She seemed to represent a fine balance between routine and excitement. For the first time, Steffen could imagine having dinner at six o’clock with her when he came home from work…and then strapping her to the St. Andrew’s Cross in the Gadabout Gaddis Cottage.
But of course he was disappointed when Willow broke the kiss. He was a man. Kissing her was the most arousing experience since—well, since yesterday in Mr. Barbieri’s tack room, but he wasn’t prepared to discuss that, yet.
“What was your proposal?”
Her question forced him to remember yesterday. Having his cock sucked by that perverted cowboy had been all sorts of wrong—and right in so many ways. He’d felt an erotic rush of power, oddly, at being cuffed and powerless. How could one feel power while being physically powerless? Was it because he knew he was turning the other one on with his writhing, his false protests? He only had one wrist cuffed, after all, and both legs were free. He could have kickboxed that caveman vaquero to kingdom come.
How dare he, after all? Was Steffen giving off some weird pheromone he wasn’t aware of? What made that—admittedly built, studly, and manly—poofter think that he was similarly inclined? Or did Barbieri make it a habit to corner strange men in his tack room and inhale their cocks down his throat? Of course, Steffen had been approached by men before. It was flattering. He’d be insulted if he’d never been groped in a club by another man. A couple of times, he’d been offered blow jobs while on the job to make certain code infractions go away. But never—never—had another man cuffed him to a wall bracket and practically forced an orgasm upon him!
But contrary to what he’d told Barbieri as he’d angrily stormed away, he did want it to happen again. And he’d been thinking about it ever since. “Proposal? Oh, something I’ve been thinking of since, ah, since I inspected that ranch last night. Remember?”
“Yes, you said you had to get over to, was it the Lone Palm Ranch?”
“Right, that’s it. Well, I—” Steffen started to rise, to explain his idea.
Willow made the “stay” motion with her palm, and took a seat on the other side of the fuck bench. She intertwined her legs with Steffen’s, and they leg wrestled to gain dominance. Was it possible Willow was a natural Domme and didn’t know it? That would be difficult. Someone had to be on the bottom.
Up close and more intimate now, Steffen’s idea sounded more and more ridiculous. “Well, I met the ranch owner, a Mr. Barbieri. I used to deal with his dad, but I guess his dad is getting too old, so the son’s taken over.” Willow listened patiently, her eyes unblinking. “And he, ah, this Mr. Barbieri, I thought he seemed like your type.”
He didn’t expect that level of pain in her eyes! Steffen was instantly sorry he’d said that! Now he gripped her forearms and held them tightly. “I didn’t mean it that way, Willow. Hear me out. This has to do with your fantasy. The two men in Daytona Beach, remember?”
Pshew! Her eyes softened. She was willing to listen now, although he still felt incredibly awkward. He’d never made a proposition like this to anyone.
“I was thinking, maybe you’d like to sit in on a session…” He really didn’t know how to finish. He looked out the window as though he’d see the answer in some skywriting.
She squeezed his hands and helped him out. “You mean watch? You’d like to help me with my voyeuse fantasies?”
An immense wave of relief washed over Steffen. “Yes, that’s it! I could tell you were a voyeuse, that you enjoy watching, so I thought I could help you out, to reenact your experience in Daytona Beach!”
Now she was clearly thrilled. She squeezed his hands in her excitement, and sat so far forward her lovely breasts swelled over the upholstered bench. “Well, how could you tell that has been my fantasy for years? I only raved on and on about it, much to my mortification. Oh God, Steffen! Last night when I remembered telling you that, I was thoroughly mortified! How could I have told a complete stranger my most intimate desires?”
“Well, no worries there, Willow. I’m flattered you confided in me.”
“And you’re willing t
o help me by…”
Willow apparently didn’t understand what he was driving at. Neither did he, since he hadn’t asked Mr. Barbieri whether or not he’d participate in such a scheme in the first place. Yes, it was a completely harebrained scheme with almost zero chance of actually occurring. Maybe Steffen was only offering the idea to Willow as a way of getting his cock sucked by that strapping cowboy again. A brief imagining of Willow watching him get his cock sucked went flashing through his mind. His prick would be hanging, heavy and full. The cockhead would be shiny, ready to burst as Barbieri gripped his penis in his fist. Barbieri’s mouth opened hungrily, sensuously…Steffen shuddered thinking of this possibility, and the shudder turned into a rush of lust that stiffened his cock again and filled his balls with seed.
“Well, this Mr. Barbieri—”
“What’s his first name?”
Steffen frowned. He could he have blocked that out?
Willow assured him, “That’s not important. Tell me your plan. How does it involve the rancher?”
“Well, he’s got sort of, ah, homosexual leanings. I think he swings both ways, actually. And he’s very good-looking. Italian, obviously. But picture a giant, six foot five Roman god with muscles so bulging his shirt buttons pop off.”
Willow giggled. “You’re kidding. That sounds positively delicious, Steffen. But tell me, how do you know he has homosexual leanings?”
This was the difficult part. It was one thing for a woman to have wild fantasies. A zipless fuck, so to speak, a fantasy that should remain in that realm. To enact fantasies sometimes meant their ruin. But Steffen knew, he knew with every cell in his body, that he wanted to continue playing with the rancher. It was perverted, it was twisted, but so be it. Willow might turn away, might be offended, might want Steffen all to herself, but that was the risk he had to take. This was her chance to have her erotic dreams realized.
“Well, he sort of, ah, grabbed me, and—”
The Sublime Miss Paige (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 5
