Words of Lust

by Lise Horton

  “You didn’t.”

  “Absolutely. What a choice. Eight hours screaming at hairy slobs or a day tending to my lady. No contest. Besides. It’s Friday. Give the kids an early weekend and I’ll give you a full-body massage. And I do mean full body. What do you say? It’s win-win, if you ask me.”

  Indecision was as plain as day on her face. He slid his hand down her good shoulder, squeezing gently as a sample of what was to come.

  “Come on. Don’t be such a hard-ass. You need at least a day to come down from the trauma alone. Trust me, you’re going to be hurting like a son of a bitch. If you run around today, you’ll be a bigger wreck tomorrow. I’ll fix you some good eats, you can take a few naps, have a massage and a hot bath and you’ll feel much better.”

  She sighed and he knew he’d won. He refrained from cheering. She had bruises all over one side of her face. She had purple shadows beneath her eyes. And she radiated anxiety. He could help her recover from the shock and the pain, if she’d just stop being so stubborn and let him.

  She got up and tottered toward the bathroom, her slow steps illustrating exactly how poorly she felt. She whispered something he didn’t catch as she passed him.

  “What?”

  “Uncle. I said uncle. I give. You win. I’m too worn out to fight about it anymore. But it better be one hell of a great massage, mister, or you’ll hear about it.”

  “Your doubt wounds me, but I’m always up for the challenge.”

  “Egomania is not an attractive quality.”

  “Neither is being a sore loser—even if you are sore. Come on. Let me make you some comfort food for breakfast. How about berry pancakes to start? If you keep moving around you’ll loosen up. After, I’ll fix you a bath and if you behave and stop whining, you get your massage. Then you can sleep all afternoon. Sound good?”

  “It sounds heavenly. Now give me my phone so I can call in.”

  He smiled in satisfaction as she went into the kitchen and sat down to make her calls to the dean and her newly assigned TA. He gathered stuff to fix breakfast and once she was off the phone, she settled down and watched him cook.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Keep watching the master at work. Maybe you’ll learn something.” He gathered ingredients and tools and she questioned his every move.

  “I’m completely useless in the kitchen.”

  “Happy to give you lessons. We’ll start simple. Boiling Water 101.”

  “Very funny. It’s not nice to make fun of the cooking challenged.”

  Coaxing a smile out of her made him feel terrific. He kept her occupied describing how he made pancakes, and they shared anecdotes about favorite childhood foods. Later he gave her the cutting board and had her chop peppers and onions for the omelet. Lastly, he tossed some mixed greens as a side salad and put the plate in front of her, admiring the sparkle in her weary eyes.

  “This looks amazing. And so fast. Any time I’ve tried to make anything I toil away for an hour and it’s still a disaster.”

  “Enjoy it and I’ll show you how to make pasta primavera tonight.”

  “I should probably go home tonight.” She looked away from him in avoidance and his frustration returned.

  “Don’t start with me, Professor. You’ve got nowhere to go, so make me a happy man and stop nagging. This way, if you’re feeling up to it tomorrow I’ll drive you to my parents’. I’ll hang with a couple of guys from the hood until you’re ready to leave and then I can take you home. Here, in case you were wondering what I meant by home.”

  “I feel so bad about your mom. They planned this whole thing and now I’ve spoiled it for them.”

  He put the dishes in the sink and filled the pans with soapy water before wiping his hands dry and coming to kneel in front of her. He draped his arms around her thighs, feeling their softness. He kissed one, then the other.

  “I wish I could just bury my face between your legs. I want to taste you, make you come. I want to wipe the shit of yesterday out of your mind.” And he needed to forget his own fear at how close he came to losing her. “I know it’s too soon. You need time to rest, to heal.”

  “I feel so stupid. I’ve caused you so much trouble, and your mom and Cara.”

  “You aren’t to blame for what happened. You didn’t do anything. It happened to you. Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? I’m crazy about you. They are totally crazy about you. When I told them what happened, they were ready to drive over. Besides, if you aren’t up to it, this way Mom will have more time to plan a dozen dishes to make for you.” He tortured himself a little by laying kisses farther up her thighs and then grinned up at her. The fact that she was breathing a little bit harder made him harder too. Damn, this woman turned him on.

  “Stop fretting.” He stood to finish clearing the table. “Stay put while I go run the bath. Do you want it warm, hot or boiling?”

  “Warmer than warm, but not hot.”

  “You’re so demanding.” But he grinned to remind her he was teasing. He filled the tub, testing it often to make sure it was not too hot, not too cold, but just right for his fairy tale lady. He didn’t have any froufrou bath crystals, but he had a big box of the Epsom salts he used after games of touch football or softball. Dumping a generous amount into the water, he hollered.

  “Your bath awaits.” He pulled some towels down for her and met her halfway. “Need help undressing?” He waggled his eyebrows and leered.

  “I think I can manage.” But she couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t raise my arm high enough to get it out of the sleeve of this T-shirt.”

  “Good thing I’m a helpful kind of guy.” He took hold of the hem of the shirt and slowly worked it off her. “Don’t mind me while I ogle you. Consider it payment for services rendered.”

  “You work cheap, Stellato.”

  “Cut the crap, Professor. You’ve got a killer body and I’d pay to watch you strip. Which, now that I think of it, has to go on my bucket list.”

  “Bucket list?”

  “All the things I’m going to do to you before I die from orgasm overdose.”

  Then in an excess of gallantry, he swooped her up and deposited her gently into the tub.

  “Oh, Lord, this feels incredible.” She sank up to her neck and smiled, looking relieved and happy. Which felt incredible for him too.

  “Go ahead and soak until you look like a prune. Let me know if you want me to top off the tub or anything.” He brushed her hair from her face. “Think of all the nasty things you want on your wish list for when you’re all better, why don’t you?”

  She grinned back at him. “Way to motivate me, Coach.”

  He was amazed that the prim woman he’d imagined her to be was, in fact, this teasing temptress. Wickedly funny, gleeful, adventurous. And smart. He certainly couldn’t forget she was a brainiac.

  “Soak. Relax. Now.”

  He slipped out of the enclosed bathroom area and headed for his desk so he could put in calls to a couple of friends at his local precinct while she was out of earshot. He wanted to see if they could help him out and he got a call back from a guy who worked out of the Sixth Precinct while she was still soaking.

  “Hey, Mac. Thanks, buddy. Tell me you got something. Any witnesses?”

  “Looks like a couple of bystanders spotted a big beefy guy near your lady. No one saw him push her, though. One lady said he bumped her hard, but couldn’t say it was intentional.”

  “Big beefy guy? That’s all they got?”

  “Well, the lady said he looked like Bluto. You know, from Popeye? Only without the beard.”

  His gut cramped hard. When Mac said Bluto, Boxer’s face popped into his head.

  “Mac, what if I know who this guy is?”

  “Talk to me, buddy.”

  “There was a guy on my crew—agitator, troublemaker, you know the type. He harassed women on the street and I’d told him to cut the crap or else, but he played deaf. He’d never gotten physically abusive wi
th any of them until a couple of weeks ago, he started in with this nice college English teacher, and he reeked of beer. So, I fired him. I reported him to the union and they yanked his union card.”

  “Hate to tell you this, but without evidence he’s done anything against the law, you got nothing. Sounds like he’s definitely a candidate, though. My advice is watch your back, Jack.”

  “That’s not all, though. My tires were slashed last week. And someone’s been ringing my buzzer at weird times, but there’s no one there when I go down. Dammit, what do I do? This guy’s a violent motherfucker. How can I catch this guy doing something that’ll stick?”

  “You got security cameras at your place?”

  “No. But Berto’s leaning on me about it. I’ll make the case to my landlord.”

  “What about your lady? Has she had any problems? Does this guy know where she lives?”

  A dark wave of suspicion rolled over him. The site was just a few blocks from her apartment, and she passed it every day. All Boxer had to do was wait and follow her and he’d know where she lived. It could not be coincidence she’d fallen twice into traffic within blocks of her apartment and with somebody involved both times. She hadn’t mentioned any problems, but she was so stubborn, she probably wouldn’t tell him if she had.

  “Fuck. Yeah. He probably does.”

  “Then you need to watch out for your lady, man.”

  “You better believe I will.”

  “Listen, call me if anything else happens. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and be in touch if I hear anything. And get security cameras ASAP.”

  “My landlord’s my next call after Berto.”

  While Serafina soaked her bruises, he came up with a game plan that involved keeping her safe all the time. She’d be royally pissed but she’d have to deal. First things first, he called Berto, then dialed his landlord. The guy wasn’t happy.

  “Look, I’m not trying to make trouble. My property was damaged but I’m not looking for compensation for it. I’m just trying to save you shit down the line. If anyone else has damage to their vehicles or if this escalates and gets inside, you can be looking at a lot of lawsuits, my friend. My brother’s in security. He’s willing to give you a good deal and I’m paying for the upgrades on my own place. Look at it this way, it’ll look great for potential tenants coming to look at the vacant lofts you’ve got.” He finally got the guy to agree to see Berto at the building the next day to set up exterior surveillance and tighten building security, and then breathed a heavy sigh. There was not a damn thing he could do about Boxer except wait for the bastard to show himself. When he did? The man would be sorry he’d ever fucked with them.

  He’d just wrapped up his last call when Serafina appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. Wrapped in a towel, she looked like sweet sin itself. All he could do was drink her in. He wanted to keep her staying with him for as long as possible so he’d be able to watch over her. Eventually he’d have to break the news of Boxer to her, but he wanted her fully recuperated before he hit her with that shitty information. She would be furious that he’d kept it from her, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. But protecting her was only part of the reason. They could relax and get to know each other without pressure if they had more time together. He just plain loved having her with him, smelling her on his pillow, seeing her in his place. Besides, he couldn’t keep his hands off her and if he could, he would keep her in bed and fuck her every minute of every day. The few times they’d made love made him ravenous for more and reading those damned books of hers was like throwing gasoline on a fire.

  She smiled. His cock twitched.

  “Feel better?

  “Much. But I seem to remember the promise of a massage?”

  “Make yourself at home. Just stretch out on the towel on the bed.”

  “Yes, Master!” She strolled over to the bed, hips twitching beneath the towel until she pulled it off and stretched out on it.

  Her joking response got him hot.

  “You know, I’m not one of those ‘kiss my feet, slave’ kind of guys, but having you tied to my bed, all helpless and at my mercy, while I do any wicked thing I want? That is the stuff of wet dreams.” She blushed like crazy, but he was going to have his hands all over her, and if he had his way, he’d persuade her that being at his mercy was a very good thing.

  In college, he’d taken a course in physical therapy to satisfy a phys ed requirement. He’d learned all about therapeutic massage and now he was eager to put those old skills to very good use. He took out the jar of the family’s salve recipe for aches and bruises. It was made from eucalyptus and chamomile and his grandmother always had it in her house when they were teenagers. He still got a jar of it from her for Christmas every year and it would be perfect. She said it was the scent and healing properties of the eucalyptus and the sweet, calming aroma of the chamomile that did the trick, but whatever the secret was, The Professor would be putty in his hands.

  He was determined to get her so relaxed she’d lower more of those barriers. He wanted her to keep talking to him, telling him what she wanted. He wanted her to open up about the rest of her life too. Like why she had such a bug up her ass about letting him look out for her. There was a lot more behind that gorgeous face and innocent green eyes. So far there’d only been hints, but he was determined to know it all.

  He stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at her lying naked and waiting for him to touch her. Trying to avoid the sight of the brutal bruising on her back, he focused instead on her ass. Round, soft, perfect globes, complete with dimples above each check. And legs that were long, lush, and pure beauty. He was letting himself in for some serious torture, but what a way to go.

  “Ready to be impressed?” He took a deep breath, adjusted his hardening cock in his sweats and rubbed some salve on his hands.

  “The jury’s still out. I’ll get back to you.” With her face against the bedspread, her voice was muffled, but she sounded amused.

  Nothing he loved better than a challenge. He’d work her until she was begging to be fucked. Then he’d make her come until she screamed.

  Chapter Eleven

  She’d been a wreck for twenty-four hours. The accident, the hospital, pain, fear and desolation had sucked her dry. Then Nick had come bursting into the ER, kissed her, taken charge, and she’d fallen in love. Right there, lying on a gurney in a hospital gown. In the moment when she met his eyes and recognized the terror in them was fear for her. He’d gently bullied her into coming home with him, he’d comforted her, cared for her and had offered her a rock to cling to in the midst of the chaos. He’d made her feel protected and safe. And loved.

  Loved.

  He said he cared. But his actions spoke of so much more.

  Now she lay there with her eyes closed as turbulent thoughts and emotions swirled around in her brain.

  Then he touched her.

  The soft, sweet scent of the rub he was using filled the air as he gently began to stroke one foot. His fingers were firm but soothing. The slide of the ointment was silken and lovely. After working one foot, then the other, he moved his hands to her ankles, then her calves. Every stroke was like a sensual command to her body to respond, and respond it did. His fingers stroked and kneaded. He dug into the muscles of her calves until they felt like jelly.

  She was floating, feeling delightfully pliant beneath the rhythmic strokes until he slid his hands up and up one thigh and suddenly she was awash in an entirely different, much hotter, sensation. Without being able to see him, with only the feeling of his hands, the anticipation of each touch, of wondering whether he would move farther up her thigh, made her ache for more. She wanted to beg him to go where she so desperately needed it.

  “So don’t you get horny reading all those dirty books of yours, what with all that frigging and fucking and paddling?” The gruff, lewd words made her hotter.

  “Mmm, I guess. Sometimes.” She was glad her face was against the cover. It had to be
bright with her blush.

  “So how often do you masturbate?”

  “What?” He stroked one cheek of her ass and a sting flared in her still-tender flesh. The small pain shot right to her core.

  “Talk to me or there will be punishment.”

  “When I feel like it.”

  “Often, in other words.”

  “Yes. Sometimes I really need it.”

  “Hungry, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  He began to squeeze his hands more firmly on the flesh of her thighs. His fingers moved tantalizingly close to her slickness.

  “Tell me more.”

  “More about...what?”

  “What’s your favorite way? A toy, or your hand? Maybe you’re really kinky like those ladies I see in Food Emporium. The ones who are kind of...stroking the zucchinis. Fondling the cucumbers. Imagining how deep they can get them inside.”

  “My vibrator is best if I don’t have long.” She was breathing rapidly and her clit throbbed.

  “Getting off on the fly, you mean?” He kneaded her flesh, moving farther up her thighs, and she arched. “You like how that feels, Professor?” His voice was taut and heated. It seemed he was as affected as she was. One hand slid between her thighs and brushed her wetness. She moaned.

  “Guess it feels good?”

  “Nick...” She wanted to beg him to touch her, to stroke her, to slide those fingers inside her, slick and hot.

  “Do you ever just fuck yourself with one of those pretty hands of yours? Try to fill yourself with your fingers and imagining it’s a big, hot cock fucking you?”

  “Yes.”

  He moved his hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass, kneading, stroking. His thumbs slid between them, and as he touched her there her cunt ached. One thumb stroked the rosebud of her anus once, then again. Her body was no longer relaxed, it was quivering.

  “Hot, Professor? I hope so, but I’m not nearly done with you.”

  Again and again he stroked one finger over the tight entrance, occasionally teasing her with a bit more pressure.