“Won’t hurt you to say thank you,” he mumbles as he trails behind me into the house.
Mom sits at the kitchen table, smoking and listening to a soapy on the radio. Sam rushes through the door and grabs me in an anaconda hug.
“I missed you.” She pouts. “Where were you?”
“Yeah.” Clive snorts. “Wouldn’t we all like to know?”
“Busy,” I say, ignoring him.
Mom’s gaze flickers to me, but she doesn’t ask the questions I see in her eyes. That’s not our code of conduct.
I have ten minutes to shave, shower, and change before leaving for my date with Jane. Freeing myself from Sam’s embrace, I move toward the door, but she yanks on my T-shirt.
“Where are you going with all those ties?” She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.
“None of your business, piglet.” I pull her braid and kiss the top of her head.
She points a finger at Clive. “Is he sleeping over again?”
“Yep.”
Clive’s voice follows me down the hallway. “No fucking way, man.”
“Watch your mouth around Sam,” I call back.
“I’m not, Brian. I’m serious.”
Slamming the door on his words, I shave my two day-old stubble and strip the dirty clothes from my body. The dirt-streaked jeans and T-shirt go straight into the washing machine. It takes less than five minutes to do the rest of my grooming. I have to open the door to let the steam out so I can see myself in the mirror. I’m not sure about the shirt. I try another one.
By the third shirt, Mom leans in the doorframe, clearing her throat.
I look at her reflection in the mirror. “What?”
A smile teases her lips. “Are you going on a date?”
“What makes you ask that?”
She motions at the shirts piling up on the floor. “They all look the same, you know.”
“Thanks. That’s a big help.”
She utters a soft sigh and steps into the room, placing a hand on my shoulder. “No matter what you wear, you’ll look handsome.”
“I’m not aiming for handsome.”
I try on an old button-up of my dad. I’m going for decent, although I don’t have the demeanor to pull it off. The problem is the restaurant where I’m taking Jane has a dinner dress code. Shirt, tie, and jacket. I told her it’s just dinner, but it’s to ease my conscience. I’m not going to fuck her tonight. I’m going to make love to her and I want to do it right, with the romance and candlelight a princess deserves. Which brings me to problem two. I know how to fuck, but I haven’t got a clue about romance. Hell, I’m a nervous wreck.
“I’ve never seen you getting like this over a girl,” Mom says, pulling my attention back to her. “It must be serious.”
I jerk the blue shirt off and try the white one I wore to the confirmation at the Dutch Reformed Church all eighteen-year-olds suffer through after battling through twelve years of Sunday school. It’s the religious equivalent of passing matric. The fact that none of us has ever been back to church says a lot about the outdated system. Or maybe it says a lot about us.
“When are you bringing her home?” she asks, her smile widening.
I catch her gaze in the mirror again, but don’t reply. That depends on Jane, and I’m not sure she’ll want to visit this side of the tracks. Not that I blame her. No one who lives here wants to be here. We’re here because we don’t have a choice.
The white shirt is half decent. At least it’s brand new. I never wore it except for that one time. Even then, I wore it open-collar. I don’t have a tie to my name. I flip through Clive’s ties, finding everything from cartoons to porn, but nothing fit for Oscars.
Mom takes the hanger from me, her fingers skipping deftly from tie to tie. “How about this one?” She pulls a silver one with a pink stripe from the back and holds it up in front of me in the mirror.
It’s better than Goofy or Teasers tits.
“Let me get this.” She turns me around and makes the tie, the ends the perfect length.
Memories of her doing Dad’s ties in the mornings flash through my mind.
My voice is extra soft. “Thanks, Mom.”
She pats my cheek. “It’s a pleasure.”
Clive shoots me a long look when I step into the lounge. He’s playing Scrabble with Sam. He doesn’t ask where I’m going, but there are accusations in his eyes.
“Wow,” Sam says. “You look different.”
I tap her nose. “Is your homework finished?” We have a no-homework-on-Sunday rule.
She bats her eyelashes. “Yes.”
“Bedtime is eight, not a minute later.”
“Yes.” She folds her arms over her chest. Her sweater is getting too tight.
“No more snacking. Brush your teeth before you go to bed.”
“Yes, boss.”
I tickle her. “Goodnight, piglet. Be good.”
Grabbing my black leather jacket, I kiss my mom on the cheek and give Clive a slap on the head, but he doesn’t reciprocate. He simply stares at me until I’m out of the door.
Running low on cash, I stop at the ATM on the main road. I don’t qualify for a credit card, yet. Tonight’s bill is going to eat a huge cut into my earnings, but this is important to me. As I pull the bills out of the machine, a Corvette rounds the corner. There’s only one Corvette in this neighborhood. Stuffing the bills into my pocket, I make my way to my truck with big strides. I’m opening the door when Monkey cruises by, his head turned in my direction. For a moment our eyes lock. There’s no smile on his face. He lifts a hand in a salute, and then he speeds up. By the time I’m in my truck, he’s gone. I should be worried about Monkey, but not tonight. Tonight, I have bigger concerns on my mind. It’s Saturday evening, and Abby is with her father for the weekend, which gives Jane and me all night. I’ve never dated anyone. My sexual experience is broad, but it consists of a string of one-night stands.
When Jane opens the door, my jaw drops. Fucking fuck. Holy cow. She’s wearing a short, red dress with matching heels. Her only accessory is a pair of solitaire diamond earrings. The lace of nude, thigh-high stocking peek out from under the hem of the dress when she moves, and she’s not wearing a bra, because the dress is backless, the V reaching down so low I can guess the crack of her ass. Her hair is sleeked back, and she’s applied smoky eyeshadow and black eyeliner. Her lips are bright red. She’s nothing short of a goddess.
I bring the flowers I’d picked up after work from behind my back. The florist said they’re Starfighters and mean prosperity. I only choose them because they smell nice.
“Oh, Brian.” Her eyes twinkle. “Thank you.” She takes the flowers and kisses my lips. “You’re the first one to ever give me flowers. Let me put them in water and get my bag.”
Satisfaction is warm in my chest, although I can’t fathom why no other man would’ve done this for her before. She deserves to be showered in petals. I follow her sheepishly into the house, watching as she arranges the flowers in a vase before picking up a clutch bag from the kitchen counter.
She tilts her head. “My car or yours?”
Her ease and self-assurance make me hard. There’s nothing sexier than a woman who’s comfortable in her own skin.
“Mine.” Call me old-fashioned, but I’m stuck-up that way. Plus, I want her to have a good time. I’ll stay sober to drive.
She waltzes ahead of me. With the way her ass sways, I want to take her right here, and not in a vanilla way, but I’m not allowing my lust make me jump the gun again. Taking the keys from her, I lock up and set the alarm before leading her to my truck. I’m drowning in her subtle grapefruit perfume and sensuality. It’s enough to make any man drunk.
“Are we going on a date?” she asks, glancing sideways at me as I start the engine.
“Yes,” I say honestly, not caring if I scare her, because if she runs I’ll only catch her and bring her back.
My hands are clammy on the wheel as I steer us through her classy n
eighborhood toward town. It’s got nothing to do with the too warm evening and everything with the way my heart sits askew in my chest. I’m out of my league with Jane, but also with where I’m taking us, and I don’t mean literally. I’m going down a road from where there’s no turning back. I’m here to stay. Rejecting me is not an option. I only hope I’ll be what she needs. I’m a good fuck, but am I good boyfriend material?
She places her palm on my arm. Her skin is white and soft against the black leather of my jacket.
“You look nice.” She grins. “I never imagined seeing you in a tie.”
I never imagined myself in her life, and here I am, the Sunday school shirt and Clive’s Christmas tie demonstrating not only the age between us, but also the difference between our worlds.
“What did you imagine seeing me in?” I wink. “Nothing?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t blink an eye.
Just like that, I go hard. Her honesty is refreshing. There are no games or unspoken rules, only expectations we’re not shy to verbalize.
“Since when?”
“Since you lifted me onto the pull up bar.”
Innocent awareness, on her part. Not so for me. My awareness came from much earlier, long before I orchestrated our paths to cross. I’ve been imagining her naked since the day I first laid eyes on her photo. I pride myself on making things happen, on getting what I want, and I’m planning on seeing her naked for a long time still to come.
At the restaurant, a valet parks my truck, and the same surly maître from before sees us to our table. It’s a different experience from the last time I walked through the door. This time, I’m not an outsider at the bar. I’m the lucky man who shares the most beautiful woman in the room’s table. I belong, if only at her side.
Before the waiter can get her chair, I pull it out and seat her. I don’t want his hands to accidently brush her arm or leg when he places her napkin. I can’t stand the thought of another man’s fingers near her. He hands me the wine menu when I’ve taken my seat.
“Wine?” I ask Jane.
“Yes, please.”
Good. I want her to drink and eat without a thought for my financial situation. Mike’s already agreed to give me an advance.
I scan over the wine list. The names and years hold no meaning. “Any preference?”
“The Veenwouden Merlot is always good.”
Good it may be, but that’s not what I asked. “Is it what you like?”
“My favorite.”
“May I suggest starting with an aperitif and deciding on the wine after you’ve made your choice from the dinner menu?” the waiter asks with his nose in the air.
I don’t give a fuck about pairing food and wine, but maybe Jane does. I look at her for a clue. She gives a small shake of her head.
“You may not,” I say. “The lady will have a bottle of Veenwouden Merlot. Water for me.”
“Wait.” She halts the waiter with a raised palm. “You’re not having wine?”
“I’m driving.”
“In that case, a glass will be sufficient,” she tells the waiter.
“Certainly, ma’am.” With a scowl and a slight bow, he’s gone.
I reach for her hand over the table. “You look…” I rack my brain for words, but all I can come up with is a lame, “…amazing.”
“Thank you,” she says, accepting the compliment gracefully. “I’m glad if you like the dress, because I got it especially for tonight.”
For you, her words imply.
I can barely hide my satisfaction. I’m the only man for who she’s worn it. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t joke.”
It’s the furthest statement from a joke. My thumb slide over her knuckles, the silk of her skin soft under my caress. “I never joke where you’re concerned.”
The waiter returns with food menus and I have to let go of her hand. We both decide on ostrich steak with a wild plum and bitter chocolate sauce. We talk about her work and my studies, our shared interest in advertising the focal point of our conversation. Even though her full, perfectly curved lips mesmerize me, it’s not difficult to remain focused on her conversation. She’s a skilled talker, but an even better listener. Her interest is genuine, and tonight her interest is in me. She doesn’t look at me as the boy from Harryville or the troublemaker who jumped her gate. She looks at the person I am, and most of all the man.
By the time the stuck-up waiter flambés Crêpes Suzette for our dessert, I know the names of her colleagues, as well as the challenges of her job. She knows my objectives for the medium and long term, but not yet for the immediate future. As soon as she’s finished her after-dinner coffee, I set that straight.
“I want to come inside your pussy.”
Her throat moves with a gentle swallow. She doesn’t look around to see if I’ve been overheard. “Then we better ask for the bill.”
“Are you on birth control?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“An implant.”
Good. There’s no chance of forgetting to take a pill. “I’m clean. Do you want to see the blood work results? If you wish, I’ll take new tests.” I should’ve offered before I fucked her ass, but she makes me forget crucial things like that.
“I trust you.”
Her words spread through me like a fire, lighting my skin with heated satisfaction, but also with guilt. My gaze slips to the bar. I should tell her, but what’s growing between us is still too fragile. I’m not risking crushing it, not before it’s taken root so deeply she’ll never be able to rip me out.
“I’m clean, too,” she adds. “I took tests when I found out about my ex-husband’s infidelity.”
“Did you have other lovers except for Evan and your ex?”
“I didn’t cheat on either of them.”
“You haven’t told me about your ex.” Not a subject I should bring up just after I’ve told her we’re going to have sex that will end with my cum in her cunt, but I want nothing between us when I take her to bed.
She avoids my eyes, toying with her napkin. “There’s not much to tell.”
Her body language says otherwise. “How did you meet?”
“We got together straight after Evan died.”
“On the rebound.”
She looks up quickly. “You could say that. We were both studying at TUKS at the time.”
“If he studied architecture and you communication, you would’ve been on different campuses.”
“I enrolled for BSc Food Science.”
This is a surprise. “Food Science?”
“I’ve always loved cooking.”
That part makes sense.
She pulls up her narrow shoulders. “My dream was to own a restaurant.”
“Why not attend a chef school instead?”
“My father insisted I get a university degree, something to fall back on if the restaurant flopped. I guess he didn’t have much confidence in me.” She takes a big gulp of water. “Anyway, it didn’t work out. I dropped out before the end of the third year.”
“Why?”
Her smile is gentle. “Abby.”
“You fell pregnant.”
“Yes. Francois had a long and costly degree, so–”
“You worked to pay the bills so that he could study.”
“Yes, again.”
My anger with the bastard for what he did to Jane escalates to a new level. She only ever had two lovers. The first died, and the second left her after she sacrificed her dream to have his baby. What a piece of shit. He may be better educated and cultivated than my dad, but he’s no better than the man who walked out on me, Sam, and my mother. I’m not going to be either of them. I won’t let Jane down.
Taking her hand, I pull her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
There’s a sudden urgency in me to be alone with her, to take away the wrongs of her life, and fill her with the pretty words
she deserves. And my seed. Coming in her ass was as close to heaven as a devil like me can come, but spilling everything that makes me a man in her pussy is the pinnacle. It deserves to be savored.
The sexual tension is thick in the truck on the way home. It squeezes around my ribcage until I can’t breathe or think about anything else. I take the keys from her hand and rush her inside, but that’s where the hurrying stops. In the kitchen, I take her bag from her hand and leave it on the counter. Then I kneel to remove her shoes. She offers them freely. I take my time to run my hands up her calves and thighs, worshipping her with my eyes. Straightening slowly, I continue a path over her hips and sides. Her breasts are a beautiful contrast through the silk–soft curves and hard nipples. Her stomach flutters when I place a palm on it. I drag my greedy hands over her arms and push the dress from her shoulders. The silk gathers around her feet, exposing a lace thong and those thigh-high stockings I glimpsed earlier. I run my fingers over every inch of her skin as I remove her stockings and panties, memorizing her curves and learning what makes her gasp. The more I get to know her, the more I feel like I’m getting to know myself, because she’s a reflection of what I am. She’s an answer to my call. Two damaged souls. The only difference is with her there’s beauty in the broken.
Moving behind her, I place a kiss in her neck. Goosebumps break out over her skin. She sucks in a breath as I smooth my palms over her extended nipples, the touch barely there.
“Do you like that?” I whisper in her ear.
It’s more of a statement than a question. There’s no need to answer. I increase the pressure, massaging her curves. Her back arches, pushing her ass against my erection. On instinct, my hands drop to her hips, pulling her tighter against me as I grind my cock against her. Her skin is supple and warm, flexible under my hands. I knead my fingers deeper, needing to leave bruises, marks, hurt, and possession. I want to stain her and keep her pure. I want the world to know she’s mine, yet I can’t tell a fucking soul. It drives me nuts. Beyond madness. I want to get rough with her, not like in playing, but the real shit. I don’t want to go slow. I want it all. I want it to be so intense she’ll scream my name and say it in her sleep. What I want is dirty, depraved, and raw in its honesty, but tonight I don’t want to take. I want to give.
Old Enough (The Age Between Us Book 1) Page 19
