Chapter Thirty-Nine
“You've decided then,” she looked up from her day dreaming to see him standing there, eyes gaping openly at her and her change in attire. She swallowed around her nervousness and straightened her back as he came to sit beside her again.
“I have,” she said. “I want to see where this goes with you. I feel...something, something more than just friendship, and something more than attraction for you, and I want to understand what it is.”
“May I...?” He tilted his head toward her again, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest once more at the implication.
“Oh, please,” was all she managed to get out of her before he crashed his lips into hers, a hand coming up to tangle in her pinned locks of hair, the other wrapping around her waist to tug her closer. She moaned at the sensation of feeling wanted, feeling him, all of him, encompassing him.
“Please,” the air in her lungs rushed out of her after a few moments of feeling her body quiver with need. “It's been so long...” she arched her spine just enough to feel her womanly pearl press against the velvet of the chaise cushion. She bit her lip and keened at the way that alone was enough to begin stoking the fire coiling in her belly. In a breath's span of a moment, she felt his hands lift her off of the lounge like a groom sweeping his bride off her feet, and she scarcely had time to yelp in surprise.
“None of that, my dove,” he spun and made his way over to where there was a soft bed in the corner of the room, setting her softly on the mattress. “If we had the time, I would quote sonnets and paragraphs of literature to you about beauty and affection,” She felt the bed dip with his added weight, and her flesh tingled in anticipation. She couldn't feel him, as he was clearly taking precautions not to touch her unless he wanted to, and it left her in this exhilarating limbo of knowing he was really there, and that this was really happening. Fearful of being woken from such a wonderful dream, she lay still upon the bed, and waited for him to drape himself over her like a curtain. “But we don't have long before I'm expected to leave. This time, we'll have to be quick, so,” he lowered himself, pressing a kiss tenderly into her neck. “I want this to be all about you.”
“Touch me, I'm begging you,” she only just refrained from rubbing her legs together for friction, knowing she would only be punished for it with further deprivation. Her words seemed to tug at the chord of restraint he had, as he finally, finally, pressed his body against hers, fingers inquisitively mapping out the canvas of skin stretched along her collarbone and tracing the curve of her thigh. She became cocooned in his musk, a heady mix of cologne and the masculine scent of his arousal that left her reeling. Gently, always gently, he traced out the outlines of her body like a cartographer would test the lines of a map.
In the darkness the blindfold wrapped her in, the rest of her senses were alight with heightened stimulation; the soft jersey sheets on her bed felt cool against the smooth flesh of her legs as she writhed against the fingertips that were mapping a path along them toward her hips. She arched her back with a gasp when those large hands hitched her gossamer chemise higher to allow his lips to leave open mouthed kisses along her middle on his way up. Her wriggling allowed the sheer fabric to brush her body with feather light caresses. When his hands had bunched the thin night wear up against the underside of her ample breasts, she felt him lean closer to her; his breath brushed against the valley of her bosom, her nipples pebbling from the attention, and she sucked in a breath in anticipation of what he might do to her next.
“Tell me where,” his voice was breathy, and a delicious press of his hips against hers gave away his arousal, straining against the fine fabric of his dress pants, long and hot against her thigh. She felt his breath stutter against her when she moved her thigh to stroke it. Flames licked her insides as her mind tried to sculpt his manhood with what she could feel. “Guide my hands, my dove.”
“Clara,” she's panting now, but she's too far gone to care. “If we're going to do this, then it's Clara, ah, please, please-!” She trailed off into a whimper when she felt his touch slide down her middle, and she lost track of what she was pleading for.
“Clara,” he whispered her name like he was tasting it, like the word was the most savory secret he could hope to treasure on his pallet. “My Clara, where do I touch you?”
“Here,” she fumbled for his hand, groping blindly with her head tossed back before finding his arm and sliding down to guide his hand lower. With her coaxing, he cupped her womanly rose, its petals fluttering from the teasing touch. “Need to feel your fingers more...” through the pleasant haze of her mind, she hoped he understood what she was asking for. She felt his lips part against her neck in a shaky exhale, and it was only then that she realized that she forgot to breathe.
Which was remedied when she sucked in a gasp of air when she felt his finger enter her. Her mouth hung open as he inserted a second finger to slip deeper in while the first stayed occupied at her bundle of nerves, and she keened at the sensation of being filled with something hot and thick and real and definitely not hers as he worked her swollen bud in slow circles. She bit her lip in concentration at the colossal effort it took not to rock her hips on his fingers. Sensing her need for friction, he began to piston his finger inside her at an agonizingly slow pace. It wasn't long before she felt like she needed more, and he must have sensed this, if his adding a second finger, and then a third, were any indication.
His other hand trailed up to cup her breast, squeezing the flesh and using his thumb to flick her pert nipple. Her molten core was tightening like a spring, and she could feel the evidence of her arousal begin to leak past her folds and onto his fingers. From above her, his moan tumbled from lips that she couldn't help but swallow in another deep kiss.
“Ah,” she was struggling to keep her cries of pleasure quiet now; she was slipping closer to her climax, and she knew he could feel it the moment he began to pump his finger faster into her. Some small part of her sent a silent thanks to the fact that she had gotten sound proofing installed when the loft was made hers. “Close, close, Daryl, I'm so close-!” The small of her back lifted off of the soft jersey sheets from the sheer amount of pressure that needed release, demanded it. It's shameful, really, how quickly she was brought to this state; she has had lovers, even attentive ones, but it had been such a long time, and she just wanted to feel her release. She wriggled her hips against his fingers working her insides in an attempt to help him find the stoke that would make the coil in her belly snap.
He finds it for her with one artful stroke of her insides that caught every sensitive nerve she had so sinfully she had to bite her hand to keep from wailing as her pleasure peaked, and she was seeing stars from the intensity of it. The haze of her orgasm hit in waves, and he was clearly an experienced captain, sailing his fingers through every cresting tide. By the time the surf of the sensation had calmed, his fingers drifted out of her like a ghost ship, and in the high following her climax, and for a few wild moments where her mind was spinning she wonders if he was ever even there, and whether or not this was all a wonderful dream. But then he was solid again, steady hands taking care to stroke her hair, her face, to pull her blankets around her to keep the chill away from her body.
“Was I to your satisfaction?” He hummed as she managed to sit up.
“More than I could have hoped for,” she sighed at the dizzying sensation of sitting up. “What about you, though? Don't want you walking away unfulfilled,” she lifted a hand and stroked his stubble cheek. He sighed, pressing his face further into her ministrations.
“Unfulfilled?” She hummed happily as he traced her shoulder with his fingertips, punctuating the trail with kisses pressed into her skin. “Clara, this night was more than I could have hoped for. I am more than satisfied,” she wasn't entirely convinced, and he must have read the suspicion on her face, because he added after a few moments. “In the early hours of the dawn, when I am alone, you will be in my thoughts, and keep me company.”
“Artful way of saying, 'I'll touch myself to thoughts of you,' wouldn't you say?” He barked a laugh at her unexpected jab.
“As cruel a mistress you may be,” he said as his chortles subsided. “You'll no doubt be in my thoughts regardless, my Clara,” he said much more seriously. “But I fear I must take my leave; I left an assistant back at the ball, and he'll want to be able to find me before we leave.” She nodded, knowing how much grief Charles' assistant gave him if he were ever off schedule for anything. She tilted her head and hesitated in asking what she dreaded hearing the answer to.
“...Can we have a go at this?” She thought she heard a sharp inhale, but she couldn't be sure. She tapped her fingers against her knees to try and distract herself from counting how many seconds it took him to reply. “A real try at a relationship, you and me?”
“Do you want to?” She nodded.
“I should think so. I fear this experience has left me ruined for loneliness.” She heard his feet hitting the carpet approaching her, stopping beside her bed. She cooed at the feel of his hand cupping the side of her face affectionately.
“If it would please you, I would visit every night,” he sighed, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone. “If only to lay my eyes on you. But I fear that sort of reckless abandon would lead to my assistant having a heart attack from scheduling conflicts,” they chuckled at the thought. “So instead, I will promise you this,” he drew her to him in a tender embrace. Her nose nuzzled into his neck when he bent down to properly hold her close, and she breathed in the scent of his cologne- sandalwood and elderberry, now that she was thinking more clearly. “We can stay in touch as often as our schedules allow, and I'll let you know when I'm going to be in the area. If you don't want to see me on that particular time, or you can't see me due to scheduling, just let me know; I won't force myself on you, Clara,” he paused when she wrapped her arms around his middle. “And if you decide that this should stop, you need only say so, and we part as friends; if you would have me, I would like to still stay in your life.” She felt his hand stroke her hair comfortingly. “Is this agreeable?”
“More than,” she nodded into the crook of his neck. She felt his chest stutter in staccato breaths with his soft chuckling. He pulled out his phone, and she keyed in her phone number into his phone. After it was saved, he sent her a message so she would have his number as well.
“And glad I am to hear it,” he stepped out of their embrace with a kiss pressed into her hair. “But now I really must go before my assistant begins to mount a hunting party. Until next time, my darling.” The fading of his footfalls seemed to rattle in a hollow place in her ribs she hadn't even realized she had. She was tempted, so very tempted to reach out and ask him to stay the night with her, to pull him by the hand back onto this bed that was entirely too large for her. So she sat on her hands, and tried to wince at the clicking of her door closing.
Chapter Forty
She wasn't sure how long she sat there, curled in the darkness, staring at the door he'd left through, but when she finally pulled herself up to clean out the tea mugs and the plates where the fruit had been, she hadn't thought her legs would be nearly as shaky as they were. She also wasn't expecting to feel so empty inside when she walked around her loft, now bereft of company. And yet, she didn't feel abandoned; he would return, in time, and she would rise to the occasion when she got his next message. As she went about straightening her loft to remove any evidence of their time together in the space, she struggled to stay focused; the constant movement of her legs was rubbing her labia together, and her quim was beginning to trek sluggishly down her thighs.
With a huff, she shed her chemise and pulled on some cotton pajamas to sleep in. Bundling the seductive evening gown with her discarded silk robe and tucking them into their original drawer. Padding back to her bed and slipping under her covers, she was startled at how quickly exhaustion crept up on her. Try as she might, the weight on her eyelids grew too heavy for her to keep them open. Even as her jaw extended in a wide yawn and she snuggled deeper into her blankets, she noticed the bed felt just a little less empty, and smiled to herself for it.
Chapter Forty-One
With morning came dressing in more than her dress from the previous night (thankfully she kept spare clothes here for when she would stay the night,) gathering up her discarded clothes from the night before, and getting her car from the garage to drive home. The whole time, she felt as though she were floating, and was only certain that the events of the last night were real because when she woke, her phone had a message from him – 'I hope you slept well, and dreamt of me.' She still felt like she was floating on a cloud when she pulled her car into her house's garage, and began to walk to her front door.
Upon reaching her front door, something out of place caught her eye: resting upon the door to her house was a white box, wrapped with a red ribbon. She frowned as she approached, not remembering expecting anything to be sent to her. Then again, perhaps her mother wanted to send a gift of some sort. As she neared, she saw a note tucked into the ribbon, folded. 'To my Goddess most Divine' was scrawled neatly on the top. Her lips thinned into a wry smile. There was sure to be gossip amongst her neighbors, if there wasn't before, even if all anyone might have seen was a gift box. She arched a brow, but brought the box in her house nonetheless.
Setting the mystery package down and hanging her keys up on her key rack, she opted to ignore it in favor of unpinning her hair and setting the pins in her jewelry box. Next came her necklace, and it soon joined her ornate pins in the menagerie of baubles and finery. But even as she sat down to brush the tangles out of her hair once it was freed of its intricate hairstyle, she found it difficult to pull her gaze from the mysterious box. With a sigh, she set her hairbrush down. With nothing left to use as an excuse to keep ignoring it, she plucked the card from the top of it, and opened it to read what message she could see scrawled there.
'Clara – I couldn't find golden roses to match your eyes, so please accept these blue ones that matched mine – Daryl P.S. No, I don't know your address, your brother promised he'd get these to you!' She tamped down on her excitement and pulled the ribbon free so she could lift the lid of the box. She gaped at the contents, lifting them for inspection. Tucked safely inside was a vase of beautiful bright blue and gray roses. The vase itself was an intricate gold swirled thing, clearly expensive. She eased them out of the box tenderly, her cheeks hurting from how wide her smile was.
Going to the kitchen to fill the vase with water for the roses, she was struck by how very much like Daryl these flowers and this vase were. No, Daryl may not fit perfectly into her life, much in the same way that these roses and vase looked positively clashing against both each other and literally everything in her house, but even still, she could make it work. She could appreciate the way that the roses looked on her kitchen table, even though they didn't fit with her posters, or her rugs, or her walls in any way shape or form, because it was something she chose to have in her life in spite of that. She pulled her phone out to call Daryl immediately, to call him and thank him for the flowers.
“Hello?” She heard him say after a few minutes of just hearing the dial tone.
“You're no doubt going to be leaving soon,” she said softly, fingertips touching the petals of the roses, enjoying their soft texture.
“I was actually about to gather my things to check out of my hotel, and go to the airport. Is everything alright?” He sounded so concerned, her heart hurt from how happy she felt.
“Everything's fine,” she reassured him. “I just wanted to thank you for the roses. They're lovely.”
“Ah,” he coughed, clearly embarrassed. “I wanted to send you something nice, but I didn't know what. Charles actually gave me the idea. I hope they aren't too out of place?” She could sense the double question, the implication of him being fearful of having no place in her life, of their relationship, still in its infancy, having no place in her busy schedule.
“Not a
t all,” she decided on both counts, smiling so much that her cheeks were sore. “I think they're perfect.”
The End
Exclusive Novels
Part I
New Neighbors
Chapter One
I’ve always wanted to own a house. My grandmother owns one. It’s a hundred-year-old farm house, updated just enough for indoor plumbing, which clangs and sputters each time you turn the spigot on or flush the toilet. The floor boards are splintered, the varnish peeled back, but I think if you tried to sand down the floors to refinish them, there wouldn’t be much left of the wood.
It has a hundred-year smell; cooking scents piled one over another, moldy corners, human and animal sweat, continuous living that never noticed the house was settling into old age. I grew up in her house after my dad abandoned me and my mom. I don’t remember a great deal about it except we had lived in a trailer park before and when we moved, the house felt like a huge, wonderful, mysterious castle to a six-year-old girl.
I’ve always wanted a house, but at twenty-nine, it seemed a distant goal. There aren’t a lot of options growing up in rural North Carolina. I had attended the University for a while, earning a culinary arts degree, but truthfully, the greatest demand was for chicken fried steak and when it comes to southern cooking, there’s a whole lot of competition.
My big dream was to live in a big city as a chef at a four-star restaurant, but that didn’t really seem possible either until something very surprising happened. I should say tragic, except I didn’t feel much tragedy, only complete amazement. My father died, leaving me, Jenna, the daughter who he never made contact with, the sole heir of his fortune.
Housekeeping Page 48
