At Last

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  I can’t even move my arms to hold him back, having lost all body control when I became liquid.

  Slowly, he begins to lay me down, my back against the counter. He hooks one of my legs around his hip and begins to stroke me over my shorts, but right there. Right where I need him to touch me. Every nerve ending in my body ignites with burns and tingles. Torturously decadent burns and tingles. Oh god, so good. So good.

  Of course, right as he pushes up my T-shirt going in for the kill by tugging on the cups of my bra, right as he has me ready to jump out of my skin from the continuous stroking and now nipple rub, the timer for the cornbread goes off. I am fortunately shocked back to my senses.

  This isn’t me.

  I don’t do one-night stands. Especially not in my house. In the middle of the day. Between cornbread and chili preparation. And not with a scary biker who has shown his sweet side in recent days but didn’t like me until my daughter went to the hospital, and has probably had more women in the past month than I’ve had men in my entire life.

  Considering all this, I push him off. “Cornbread,” I say lamely.

  He laughs. Shaking his head, he touches my nose as if teasing a small child, then turns to grab the potholders I have hanging from a magnetized hook on the refrigerator. Pulling the sizzling hot skillet from the oven, he then places the golden-brown goodness on one of the back burners to cool while I right myself.

  For the next twenty minutes, he prepares chili. Dicing condiments like raw onion and avocado. He opens a package of shredded sharp cheddar cheese and a bag of corn chips. He does all this while ignoring the fact that with a kiss, the man knocked my world off kilter.

  How could I go back to my life before he touched me when my body is still fizzing from his touch? And that’s without coming. The man is dangerous. I assumed old age would be the death of me. Who would have thought life as I’d known it would end with a kiss? From Duke Ellis, of all people.

  He doesn’t announce it, but I know the chili is done when he opens the cupboard to take a couple of bowls out. So while he ladles up a heaping mass of beans, meat, and tomato sauciness for each of us, I jump from the counter and walk to the fridge where I grab us each another cold brew, twisting off the caps. I toss them in the trashcan next to the pantry and hand his off. I lean my hip against the edge of the counter and watch him sprinkle cheese and onions on top of one of the bowls. “That’s for you, right?”

  “You don’t like onions?” he asks.

  “Oh, no. I like onions, just not that many. I don’t want hair on my chest.” I joke.

  His eyes drop from the bowl to my chest, almost glazing over as he stares, then he clears his throat. “I see your point. Any objections to cheese?” he teases back.

  “Nope. I love cheese. Avocado can find a place in almost any meal and corn chips—” Instead of continuing, I give him a look to convey ‘enough said.’ Because who doesn’t love corn chips? “Would you like to watch a movie while we eat?” I use my chin to gesture to the living room.

  “Yeah, Doc. That sounds good.” Not waiting for me to lead the way, he picks up his bowl with one hand and his beer in the other, and walks back toward my big, fluffy, denim-covered sofa. A sofa sectional is perfect for snuggling with little girls or hot bikers. Cleans easy in case of spills. As I watch his retreating back, I realize how much I like him in my space.

  His gate screams confidence. Strong, power in every step. The way his muscles move, it’s like he’s stalking—almost cat-like—even though it’s only to my sofa. He can’t help it.

  When I join him, he’s standing next to the coffee table, not sitting.

  “Something wrong?” I ask.

  “You got coasters or some shit you want me to use?”

  The man smokes, swears too much, and heads a motorcycle club. But asks if I use coasters? Another sweet act from the man who continues to surprise me.

  When I don’t answer, he clears his throat. “Women usually want coasters so as not to ruin the coffee table with water spots.”

  I look down at the painted white, chipped, has-seen-better-days coffee table made from salvaged wood Jade and I had “rescued” according to her, from a beach in Ireland before we’d left. She’d loved it so much that I paid the hefty sum to have it shipped back here to the U.S. To my parents’ house, where we stayed when we first moved back.

  “No,” I finally respond. “No coasters here. Jade and I live comfortable. A home should be a safe place, an escape from the world outside. You want to put your feet up on the coffee table to get comfortable, I won’t complain. The only thing I ask is boots off first, because germs close to food.” I scrunch my nose.

  “Fuck, you ain’t who I thought you were.” It’s a strange response. Not said hurtfully, more like, dare I say, reverently.

  4.

  Caitlin

  To get the movie watching underway, I set my drink and bowl down on the tabletop, sit my butt down on a cushion, scoop up the remote, and pause to listen for Jade. When I don’t hear any buzzer or little girl noises, I assume she’s still resting. With a quick glance over to Duke to urge him to get situated, I press the pay-per-view button and begin to scroll.

  “What do you feel like watching?” I ask.

  Duke’s response is to sit down right next to me so our thighs press together, and he plucks the remote from my hand to take over scrolling duty.

  I turn to stare at his audacity.

  That’s when he decides to explain, “There’s pussy domain and there’s dick domain. When a dick is around, remotes fall squarely into dick domain.” He explains without looking at me but continuing to peruse the movie options.

  Dick domain? I bite back the laugh. It’s been Jade and me on our own for so long, even before her dad left us, looking back on the situation with a less love addled mind. I forgot how possessive men can be about the television. And yes, it’s my house, but the man cooked me dinner. I don’t have the heart to argue it out today.

  He stops on some action-packed, espionage shoot ’em up. The kind full of explosions and too many bullets shot from a clip, magically without needing to be reloaded.

  Duke toes off his boots, hoists one foot up and rests it on the table, then crosses the other overtop. I hand him his bowl then his drink, which he tucks between the sofa arm and his body. And in a move I don’t expect, he pulls me, chili bowl and cornbread in hand, so I’m half on top of him. We’re leaned so close together that I have no choice but to fold my legs and tuck them under me, pushing my toes under the cushion next to me to get more comfortable, if that’s possible. Because as I’ve found, Duke Ellis, Brimstone Lord President, happens to be damn comfortable.

  It’s awkward at first, the way he pushes my head to rest on his shoulder. An awkward way to eat. But I don’t move from the spot until it’s time to set my bowl down. Then he tugs me right back into my previously held position.

  In a particularly gruesome death scene full of blood and guts, I gasp and tuck my face into Duke’s T-shirt, burrowing deeper into his side. He chuckles at my reaction, the sound vibrating his broad chest while the solidness of him beneath me makes me feel safe and warm, if not slightly put-off.

  “What are you laughing at?” I demand, though my words hold no heat.

  “You deal with blood and guts on a daily basis, and a crappy movie grosses you out?”

  Incredulously, I roll my eyes. “I see the aftermath of explosions and gun fights. I’m not there while they happen, just help after they do.”

  He stops laughing then. “My uncle, the man practically raised me after my pops got sent down—prison—he was the president of the club. My uncle. And the club’s dirty money took care of us kids.” Duke doesn’t go on, staring back at the television. But he can’t start a story like that and not finish, so I lay my hand against his chest, giving it a slight bit of pressure in a way, to tell him it’s safe to go on.

  On a nod, he continues. “It’s nothing. Just—my mother couldn’t object to us hanging around the
club because my uncle wanted us there and she accepted weekly deposits into her bank account. He didn’t have any sons. When my older brother Rex turned eighteen, he patched in. Started his prospect period when he turned sixteen and got his license. Same with me. For two years, I did every disgusting job my uncle and brother and all the men could think of.”

  “Okay?”

  “You wanted to be a doctor, I’ll bet your whole life.”

  Slowly, I nod.

  “I never had dreams like that. I just always knew I’d follow my family into the club. That was, until I met Dawna. Then I knew I’d follow the family into the club and marry Dawna. Every decision I made was for one, the other, or both.”

  “And now?” I ask, swallowing hard. For some reason nervous about his answer.

  “Now, for the first time in my life, I want something just for me.”

  I don’t know how to respond, so I lean up, close my eyes and press my mouth to his. I mean it to be quick. But in true Duke fashion, the fashion I’ve found since spending time with the man both when he liked me and didn’t, he folds his body over mine to take over the kiss like he takes over everything.

  Taking over the kiss, for Duke, means nipping, licking and pressing deep and long. The glide of his lips, wet, silky smooth decadence, like the finest Belgian chocolate. And as everyone who has been to Europe knows, Belgians make the finest chocolate.

  Drinking in all that’s Duke, I feel intoxicated. Aside from his mind-blowing lip prowess, I think he just told me that he wants me. Me. Though the question is for how long? Does he only want sex? Or does he want me, want me?

  I’m a mother. If he only wants sex, I suppose I could do that, but he can’t show up here. He can’t spend time around my daughter, get her attached and then scrape us both off like her father did. I can’t let that happen again. We’ll need boundaries.

  “Duke.” I finally pluck up the courage to say, breathy yet firm. Or as firm as I can make it being this tuned on. His mouth stills, though his lips stay pressed gently to my neck, and the pulse point, pulsing erratically where his lips point.

  I gather my thoughts by closing my eyes, then open them and push back so I can look him in his stunningly gray, almost silver eyes. “If you want sex from me, I’ve never been anyone’s uh—side piece—before.” And I clear my throat for something to do because of how intensely he’s staring. “But well, you know I like you, and can probably do that. I just can’t have you at my house. I’m a single mom. I can’t have Jade get attached—”

  “Shut it, Doc,” he says right before he kisses me again. Hard, openmouthed and passionate. And as he continues to kiss me, Duke grabs the hem of my shirt and whips it up over my head with no preamble, leaving me in only my pale, lacy blue bra.

  He only gives slight acknowledgment with a quick smile before he moves his hand to unfasten the back clasp. Then he tugs the straps until my bare breasts stand exposed, my nipples at attention. My breasts aren’t huge. They aren’t mosquito bites either. Mostly pert—I’d had a baby, after all—and proportional for my size.

  The perusal he gives them is so much different than that of my bra.

  “What?” I ask, wanting to cover up, yet not making the move to do so.

  “I’m not gonna fuck you today. Though Doc, I gotta taste you. Been dying to taste you and that peaches and cream skin for so fucking long.”

  “Taste me?” I’m hesitant. Partially from being out of breath from his kisses, and partially unsure of what parts he wants to taste. Oh, but I find out.

  Duke reverently plumps my breasts together before sucking on one of my nipples, deep and hard. The nip he gives it surprises me, and I jolt. He releases it, and blows delicately over the heated red mark he’s left, swipes his thumb over the whole areola, and then switches to give the other attention. It. Feels. Good.

  I thought the burning tingle before, on the counter, was good—and it was. But this, if he keeps it up, I could orgasm. From nipple stimulation. Over two years since a man’s mouth has touched me, and that man is Duke, and his mouth feels that good. My breaths come in pants. Shallow. “Oh god, Duke.” I sigh.

  “Think you’re ready for me.” He grumbles then, “Gonna fucking taste you.”

  Before I can register what’s happening, he releases my nipple with a pop not bothering to soothe the sting of that nip, because his hands suddenly become busy when he rips my elastic-waist shorts down my thighs, along with my panties. Then he kisses my lips hard one more time and removes my shorts and panties the rest of the way, tossing them to the floor.

  He flips me so I’m no longer angled partly on the bottom cushion, but so my back presses firmly against the back cushion of the sofa, drops to his knees in front of me and spreads my thighs, holding me wide open with his hands at my knees.

  “Carpet matches the drapes…” he murmurs. “Trimmed not waxed… thank fuck…” And then he, no other word for it, digs in. I’ve never had a man go at me with such relished, reckless abandon as Duke. The feeling so intense, so overwhelming, my thighs strain to snap together, to give me some relief from his tongue assault, though Duke is strong and keeps my legs splayed wide.

  “I… oh god, Duke.” A tinny feeling fills my head, my breaths no longer come in pants as I gulp to try and fill my lungs with any air at all. There’s a loud ringing in my ears, and I close my eyes, pressing them tightly together. So tightly that black spots pop behind my eyelids. His tongue assault is relentless. He drops his hand from one of my knees to fling my leg over his shoulder, then takes his free hand, trails two fingers along the slick wetness he’s created, and plunges those two fingers inside me to compliment his cunilingual ministrations.

  Even without enough air in my lungs, I gasp at the intrusion. He crooks his fingers forward, hitting a spot no man has ever hit before. My entire body seizes up, and it happens. I explode. He growls, feasting through my climax. Continuing to pump his fingers. Continuing to draw out my orgasm.

  I shake uncontrollably when he finishes. Maybe from the shock, since my body has never experienced such an extreme orgasm before, or maybe… maybe because it’s Duke who gave it to me. Can I even allow that thought to take root?

  Then surprising me further, Duke stares at me a beat before he hollers, “Fuck.” And then pushes up from his spot kneeling on the floor, which means my rubber band legs flop from his shoulders awkwardly.

  I pull my knees together, my skin suddenly flushing a self-conscious bright red, redder than my hair, as he sits to slide his boots back on. Focusing on whatever he’s decided to focus on so he doesn’t have to look at me, Duke stands and walks into the kitchen.

  I hear the scrape of him grabbing his keys from the counter and the swish of moving his cut from the chair, then he walks back through my living room and out the front door without even saying goodbye. Leaving me naked and confused on my sofa.

  What just happened?

  He said he wasn’t going to fuck me. Only wanted to taste. I thought that meant he wanted more with me. Well, his actions tell me where I stand with Duke. Men like Duke Ellis don’t want to start things with a single mother. It hurts. Though, in my experience, that’s all I can expect from a man. Hurt. They suck down all the fun parts of life and then leave you without any inclination that this had been the plan.

  I’m an educated woman, yet there I go, falling for it again. The problem is, I don’t know what about me drives them away. I’m not clingy or whiny. I even told Duke I’d sleep with him without any attachments. Though, no attachments doesn’t mean no goodbye. No, ‘hey thanks for a good-time, we should do it again’, or even a pat on the knee in passing to let me know all’s well. Aiden asked me out. Aiden told me he wanted me to move in with him, and when I told him I was pregnant, acted over the moon. But it was all a lie. The truth of the matter is, I repel men.

  The tears, unfortunately, begin to pool in the corners of my eyes.

  How can one woman be so unlovable?

  Reaching down, I pluck my shorts and panties from
the floor where Duke had tossed them, and shimmy them back into place. Then pull my Tee over my head, not bothering with the bra. It’s not like I’m leaving the house with Jade on bed rest for the next couple of days. As if sensing that I’m thinking of her, Jade’s buzzer goes off.

  “Coming,” I shout to her, jogging up the stairs to her room, entering with a fake plastered-on smile. “Hey Princess Jade.”

  “Peaches, Mama.”

  I wince but shake it off. “That’s not my nickname for you. I call you Princess Jade. You know that.”

  “But I wike Peaches.” She wobbles her bottom lip after drawing out the word peaches, meant to really put a point on that little girl whine of hers. She’s a pro.

  But I’m a mom and thus immune to lip wobbles and little girl whines. Though, my baby girl is injured, so I refuse to argue with her over this. I pinch the bridge of my nose, then sigh and change the subject. “What did you need?” I move closer to place my hand on her forehead and stroke her hair.

  “I’m hungwy.”

  “You want some chili?” I ask.

  “You made chiwi?”

  Not wanting to deal with the aftereffects of Duke having been here and Jade not getting to see him, and since she wouldn’t be seeing him again, I lie. “Yes.”

  “Okay Mama, can I have chocwet miwk?”

  “Sure, baby.”

  Then I turn to run back downstairs.

  I ladle her a small bowl of Duke’s delicious chili, butter a slice of cornbread, and mix up a glass of chocolate milk. Everything is placed on a serving tray that has small legs at each of the corners to form a table, which I’d pulled from the cupboard above the refrigerator. We typically use them for eating breakfast in bed, or eating dinner in front of the television.