by Zoe York
Jennifer was sure that the pain Stetson had just endured from having to swallow his pride like a piece of jagged glass was probably sharp and cutting and terrible. Although he didn’t say the exact words “I’m sorry,” they were implied, and she already knew him well enough to know just that alone was a mighty big step for him.
She nodded, deliberately choosing to let it go and move on. She wouldn’t win any brownie points by pushing the topic further, and an implied apology was almost as good as a stated one.
Almost.
“To answer your question,” she said, going back to the start of the conversation, “I wanted to become an accountant because I wanted to help people, plus I’m fairly good with numbers and organizing stuff. I may not like blood or poop, but I do like spreadsheets and numbers. It’s logical – something that I can quantify.
“You haven’t met her, of course, but Bonnie Patterson is my best friend. We met in an accounting class at Boise State and we quickly became best friends because we both look at the world in the same way. We realized when we met that we were both getting into accounting for the same reason: So we could help small business owners with their books and taxes. Most normal people don’t run a business because they love pushing paper around. You may or may not have some experience in this arena.” He flashed her a grin at her quip and she pushed herself to smile back, a smile tinged with sadness and frustration.
“But instead of being able to help small business owners, we’ve both ended up at jobs that we hate, working for people we despise. It’s kind of depressing how different our careers ended up being, compared to what we’d wanted to do. It’s hard to stay optimistic when the whole reason for your career choice ends up being not at all what happens in that career.”
She shrugged and took another sip of her wine. She looked up at Stetson and said with a forced cheerfulness, “Well, enough of that. No one wants to focus on the negative, right?”
He ignored her horribly blatant attempt at changing the subject, and instead said softly, “I don’t know how you stay so cheerful all the time. You said earlier that it’s not hard to stay optimistic when so much of your life has gone your way, but honestly Jenn, it seems like so much of it hasn’t.”
She opened up her mouth to protest, and then closed it again with a snap. She stared at him. He stared back.
Finally, she sputtered, “Well, sure, if you focus on all of the bad things that have happened, life sucks, but you know, I’ve had lots of wonderful things happen too.” She began listing them off on her fingers. “I was able to graduate from high school a year early by taking accelerated and summer classes, which meant I could get a head start on my secondary education. I have very supportive parents, even if they’re a bit overbearing at times. I realized quicker than most that I needed a career change, instead of wallowing in frustration and misery for decades. I met Bonnie while going to BSU for the second time, and we ended up being roommates for years. She’s like a sister I never got to have, and if I’d gone straight from high school to college and studied accounting straight out of the gate, we probably never would’ve met. So in some ways, I have Paul to thank for meeting Bonnie.”
Stetson shook his head, a small smile dancing around his lips. “You are the very embodiment of making lemonade out of lemons. If I had half your optimism and happiness, I probably wouldn’t have punched Wyatt today. You…you’re like this alien being come to earth. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Alien being?!” Jennifer repeated with a snort of laughter. “Hey Romeo, anyone ever told you that you need to work on your pickup lines?”
“I’ve never had any complaints before,” he said with a grin and a wink that ended with a groan. He reached up to touch his eye tentatively.
“I think your first clue should’ve been the fact that you’re 26 and single,” she pointed out, ignoring his grunt of pain. Maybe next time he’d think twice before getting into a fistfight with his own damn brother.
“Hey, you’re 24 and single!” he protested, his cheeks heating up.
“Which is waaayyyy younger than 26.” She grinned at him, which was when he realized that she’d been teasing him.
“Damn you,” he growled. “Come here. I’ll teach you to be nice to your elders.” He reached over and snagged her arm, pulling her onto his lap. She laughed up into his face.
“Elder, eh? I guess it’s progress that you at least recognize that part.”
Which was when he swooped down onto her mouth and began plundering it with his tongue. All laughter quickly died away and she kissed him back, moaning with pleasure as she did so. All day, she’d been waiting for this moment, hoping against hope that he’d see past all of her flaws and still want her.
And somehow, he did.
For Jennifer, the kiss was straight out of a fairytale. She felt lightheaded from the excitement and the wine as the world narrowed to just the two of them. She focused on the point where their lips met, relishing the sensation of his tongue pushing at her lips. A chorus in her mind cheered when she relented, opening her mouth. Everything in her celebrated that brief moment where nothing else in the world mattered.
Slowly, languidly, she pulled back and opened her eyes, her hand drifting lightly over his chest while Stetson’s hand slid down her back. She felt his palm fall slightly into the hollow of her back before it settled on the curve of her ass. The pressure of his hand was perfect. Firm and demanding, but not so insistent as to be controlling.
He brought his other hand up to her face. He rested his palm on her cheek and his long fingers, rough against her soft skin, curled just a bit around the back of her head. His eyes burned through her for just the briefest of moments before he bent and pulled her in for a second kiss.
Jennifer let him explore her mouth with his tongue again before pressing her tongue back against his. She reveled in the newness of this man’s body. In response to what was happening, her body began to radiate a rhythmic warmth in time with her pounding pulse.
He pulled away suddenly. The abrupt end shocked her. Her eyes shot open, and she looked up at him in confusion. She saw nothing but fire.
“Come with me,” was all he said, his voice husky and breathless. His obvious desire was contagious and undeniable. She nodded her head, unable to speak. Stetson pulled her through the house and up the stairs to the bedroom, his impatience rolling off him in waves. Walking to the end of the massive bed that was centered in the room, Stetson turned to face the trailing Jennifer.
She took in the room in a theoretical sense – she saw dark cherry wood dressers and nightstands and a bed frame that all matched, a rug at the foot of the bed to warm up the wood floors – but it was a hazy kind of awareness that only served to keep her from bumping into the dresser as she walked towards him. At gunpoint, she wouldn’t have been able to say if there was a single painting or mirror on any of the walls.
All that existed was Stetson.
He smiled. She’d really liked his smile earlier in the day, but she loved this smile. There was something sinfully fun promised in this smile.
He grabbed the edges of her shirt and pulled, the pearl-snap buttons popping their release up her front. She was starting to realize the benefits that came from snap buttons – maybe country folk were onto something.
But even as she felt lust and desire begin to thrum through her veins, panic started to seep in around the edges. It was just about to get bad. Maybe she could hurry him along through the bad part and he could still want to have sex with her.
It was totally possible, right?
Stetson sat down on the end of the bed, giving her the height advantage for once. It was rather nice, actually. He reached around her and unsnapped her lacy bra, letting the light-as-air fabric fall to the floor. When someone was as small as she was, they didn’t need much in the way of boob support, dammit.
She instinctively covered her chest with her hands – her tiny boobs were probably why he’d demanded earlier that day to know how old she
was. He’d likely thought she was still a child. She got that response sometimes when meeting men for the first time.
Well, if she could just cover her tits from his gaze, maybe he wouldn’t notice how tiny they were and be turned off by them. God only knew how many times she’d heard from Paul about how she wasn’t large enough to really make a man happy. She didn’t need to hear it from anyone else.
He slowly peeled her fingers off her chest, one by one, kissing each finger until she was laid bare to his gaze. She trembled a little, moaning in distress. This was when it’d start – the derogatory comments. The obvious statements about not being woman enough for a real man.
“So perfect. So beautiful,” he whispered and then he leaned forward and suckled on one nipple and then the other as she stared down at his lighter locks on top in shock. He couldn’t mean it. Why, she looked like she’d been bitten by mosquitoes! That wasn’t sexy. It was okay if he ignored her breasts and moved on to the good stuff, but he shouldn’t try to bullshit her so blatantly.
Panic and anger were overwhelming her, washing over her, drowning her in their wake.
Why was he lying to her?
“Don’t lie!” she shouted, pushing at his shoulders, shoving him away from her. It was probably the shock of it that allowed her pushing at him to actually move him. He hadn’t been expecting it.
Good.
She covered her tits again with her hands as she glared down at him. His eyes were wide as he stared back.
“Wha–what?” he stuttered.
“Don’t lie to me. They’re not perfect or beautiful. They’re tiny – a child’s size. They’re not even worth looking at!” She spat out Paul’s favorite criticism of them before Stetson could say it first. It hurt less if she was the one to say it – she’d figured that out a long time ago.
“Are you…who told you that?” he demanded, peeling her fingers away again, but this time, Jennifer twisted out of his grasp.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” she mumbled as she began gathering up her clothes. “Stupid, ugly Jennifer.”
Then she was being lifted in the air and swung around to the bed, where Stetson plopped her down.
“You—” she yelled, starting to scramble off the bed.
He threw himself on top of her and pinned her in place. She struggled and pushed and squirmed, but it was like a granite block had landed on top of her – not squishing her flat, but she wasn’t going anywhere until he was willing to let her. Finally, worn out, she slowed to a stop. “Why are you keeping me here?” she asked dully, staring up over his shoulder at the ceiling. “Do you want to force me to listen to all of the ways that I’m failing you? I’ve lived through that before. Don’t think you’ll come up with something new.”
“Who the hell did this–whoa. Whoa. Okay.” He took in a few deep breaths and blew them back out again. “Paul – was it Paul who said those things to you?”
She shrugged – moving as much of her shoulders as Stetson would allow anyway – and continued to stare up at the ceiling. There was a swirl in the plaster that looked like a cloud scuttling across the ceiling. She focused on it. It was safe. Just a cloud moving on the breeze – free to go where it wanted; do what it wanted.
“Jennifer, I do think you’re perfect and beautiful. Your breasts are just the right size, and come equipped with the most exquisite pink tips that I want to lick like ice cream.”
“Like ice cream!” she repeated, her eyes jerking from the plaster cloud to his. “But how could you like—”
“Babe, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but guys tend to fixate on female body parts. Like, some guys are tits guys, and some guys are ass guys, and some guys are all about the legs, you know? Not every woman has to look like a replica of a Barbie doll for hell’s sakes. Me? I like the trim, sleek look and for the record, I’m a total ass and legs guy. I mean, tits are fun and I meant what I said about wanting to lick yours like ice cream, but have you ever stared at your legs in the mirror? Or your ass?”
She shook her head tremulously, not trusting herself to speak. Was he lying? If he was, he was the world’s best liar. He seemed to mean every word he said.
Which she just wasn’t even sure how to process.
“Well, you should. Although I don’t suppose that you’d find them nearly as sexy as I find them, since we humans always seem to focus on our flaws instead of our good parts. Me, for example. There’s this scar right here.” He pointed to a light scar at his temple that she hadn’t even noticed before. “A horse kicked me when I got too close to his back legs. I was a kid and playing around where I shouldn’t have been. My dad didn’t notice until it was too late. The horse’s kick knocked me clean out, and I had to have seven stitches to close up the gash. Dad always joked that my hard head saved my life that day. The truth of the matter is, I’m not so sure that it’s a joke.”
“But I hadn’t even noticed that scar before,” she protested. “It’s such a tiny thing. My boobs…well, they’re tiny too, but not in a good way.” She wanted to cross her arms across her chest again, but Stetson wasn’t letting her move.
“I guess I’m just going to have to prove to you how delicious you look to me,” he said softly, and then bent down and began nibbling at her tits, licking and sucking and lightly biting his way across one and then the other. After he swirled his tongue over each peak, groaning with pleasure as he did, he blew a stream of cold air across them, causing them to tighten up and almost reach straight for his mouth.
Traitors. They didn’t seem to know that they were playing with fire; that trusting a man was a scary thing to do.
He grinned cockily up at her. “I do believe that I’ve at least convinced part of your body to believe me, even if I haven’t convinced the most important part yet.”
“Most important part?” she repeated faintly, realizing that a part of her wanted him to just get back to bathing her nipples in kisses, which was not a thought she ever believed she’d have.
“Your brain. But I’ll convince it someday.”
And with that, he went back to lavishing her nipples with his tongue, and then began working his way down her stomach and tiny waist – finally, a feature that she was proud of – until he got to the apex of her thighs.
“I’ve been smelling this pussy for days, I swear it,” he growled, looking up at her with hot eyes. “I’ve wanted to do nothing more than to bury my nose in it since the day you got here.”
“Really?” she panted, surprised. He likes how I smell…is he lying about that too? “I…I thought you hated me the day I got here.”
“Didn’t mean I didn’t want a taste of your pussy too,” he said, verbally shrugging, and then he got to work, running his tongue up her slit and to her clit, and back down again.
Jenn began to writhe on the bed, pleasure singing through her veins. “Oh, oh, oohhhhhh…” she groaned, shoving her fingers into his hair and holding on tight.
He pulled the lips of her pussy gently to the sides, and then blew lightly across the wet, hyper-sensitive flesh. “Oooohhhhhhhh!” she howled, digging her fingers tighter into his hair. “Yes, oh please, oh yesssss…” she hissed as he continued to kiss and lick and blow. He brought her closer and closer to the precipice with every flick of his tongue, until she was plunging over the side and howling with delight, her thighs clasping his head and riding his tongue.
Finally, he pulled away, her juices practically dripping off his chin, and grinned at her triumphantly. “You make me feel like a million bucks, you know that?” he said, worming his way back up her side until he was hovering over her again.
She smiled dreamily up at him. “I make you feel like a million bucks?” she said, laughing quietly. “Do you know what you just did to me?”
“That’s why you make me feel like a million bucks. Truthfully, you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever been in bed with. I can’t begin to figure out why on God’s green earth you agreed to this. But honestly, it doesn’t really matter how g
orgeous a woman is; if she’s enthusiastic and loving in bed, she’s going to be amazing. If she’s gorgeous but bored and demanding in bed, she’s gonna be as ugly as a toad. Women don’t seem to understand how much power they hold in their little pinky.”
The laughter on her lips died and she just stared at him for the longest time. He gave her the mental and physical space to think through what he just said, and the small part of her brain not occupied with wrestling this new viewpoint into submission, appreciated that breathing room.
“I didn’t know,” she finally said softly. “It…it makes sense. I guess. My whole life, I thought guys only cared about looks. I mean, have you picked up a fashion magazine lately? Or watched a TV show? Looks have always been what mattered. Nothing else.”
He began kissing his way down her side, tickling her with his scruff on his jaw. She writhed on the bed, begging him to stop between her howls of laughter, until he finally looked up and said with a naughty grin, “Oh, looks still matter, and I happen to think you’re gorgeous. But they only matter for roughly 3.7 seconds after I meet a girl. From there, personality takes over.”
“At 3.8 seconds?” she asked, laughing.
“Maybe 3.9,” he said solemnly, and then winked. And then groaned.
“Want me to kiss it better?” she asked, teasing him. “When I glued you earlier, I forgot to kiss it when I was done.”
“Probably a good idea, really. What if your lips had become glued to my forehead? I think that would’ve been difficult to explain to Carmelita.”
She bust up laughing. “I think Carmelita definitely would’ve had questions,” she said dryly.
