by Thalia Eames
He massaged his balls and shook himself in slow circles until he felt the rhythm of the pleasure tighten his nipples, travel down to his balls, and up his shaft. Shit yeah, just like that.
With tantalizing patience he stroked the hand at his base up to his tip, rolled his fingertips around the head, and stroked back down. He repeated several times, allowing the pressure to build low in his abdomen. He’d done this thousands of times, but it felt different with Jules watching—better, more intense.
Then, without warning he released his hold on his cock completely. A breath caught in her throat and she nearly jumped off her bed. Daz shook a finger at her and his lids drooped with the sexual buildup. He leaned to one side, to keep from obstructing her view, and went into a drawer on the side table. He found the oil he liked there and warmed a few drops between his palms. On a second thought he let a few drops drip onto his erection and Jules watched the liquid beads descend his shaft.
He knew he had her when she made a caged sound of frustration and he upped the ante. Reversing his hold he gripped himself with an upside down fist, and stroked, thrusting into his hand with each downward pull. Fuck. He stroked harder, then faster, building the momentum and the aching pleasure on the verge of climax.
“You see this, Blue? I’m imagining your mouth on me right now.” His hips came completely off the chair. He reversed his grip again and used just his thumb and first two fingers to massage the sensitive ring around his head. Each flick and tug of his fingers sent a shockwave of pleasure through his nerve endings. Up, down and a little flicker of his thumb, again and again. “A little bit more,” he groaned. “Just a little bit—”
Jules slipped one hand beneath her on the bed. When her muscles began to shift as she stroked herself, a hot climax shot free from Daz on a final high thrust of his hips. “Fuck me, Blue,” he said without thinking. Pearly white dappled his stomach and slid over his fist but he kept pumping until he had nothing left to give.
Daz released himself and dragged his palms across the thighs of his jeans, never taking his eyes off hers. They shared his orgasm in the matched rhythm of their heavy breathing. Then he leaned forward and turned the phone off.
Chapter Eleven
Nine days ago Jules had witnessed the most amazingly sensual sex act she’d ever seen, and it fucked with her head on a daily basis—so did Daz. Since the night he’d let her watch him masturbate he’d avoided her. He stayed in his room until she left to open the diner in the mornings and when she got home he’d already finished for the day and disappeared. Nights he didn’t come home until after she’d fallen asleep.
Jules didn’t know if his shifter senses allowed him to clock her sleeping habits or what, but he managed a total Daz blackout where she was concerned. She figured if she really wanted to track him down it wouldn’t take much. If she came home for lunch she’d probably catch him working on the house. But she’d decided to respect his wishes since she couldn’t seem to respect his personal space.
What was wrong with her? Seriously, what? More than once she’d thought about making an appointment with Dillon’s sister, who happened to be the town therapist. It might be a good idea to have Dillon check her out too. The changes in her since she’d met Dashiell Warren didn’t add up.
Mentally, she’d become an addict. Not seeing Daz, or touching him, or talking to him made her twitchy. Last night she’d gotten the shakes because she craved that man on a molecular level, as though he’d been written into her DNA. Fantasies had taken over her waking hours. Hell, she said fantasies but she meant delusions. She saw Daz everywhere. He’d become the hero of every romance novel scenario she’d ever read.
On Tuesday, some Marines came into the diner for lunch and she envisioned Daz as one of them. He broke away from his fellows and dragged her into the office where he showed her he was neither an officer nor a gentleman all over Lennox’s desk. In her fantasy, at some point near orgasm, Lennox walked in and caught them. But they didn’t stop.
Another time she’d heard a motorcycle rumble like Daz’s Hellion and she’d pictured him as the leader of a treacherous motorcycle club, who’d decided nothing and no one would keep him from claiming her body and soul, while his gang of bikers watched. Images like these stayed with her throughout the day and she had waking wet dreams every time.
Jules slapped her own cheeks and kept walking down Main Street in the heart of downtown LuPines.
Physically, she’d changed as well. Her breasts were fuller and sore most of the time. Her hips had taken on a plumpness the cupcakes she loved hadn’t put there, and her senses were more acute. A breeze across her skin became a sensual experience. The smell of a caramel latte blew her mind, and so on. She’d become hyper-aware and all she wanted to do was share those things with Dashiell.
That did it. She’d definitely make appointments with each of the Reardons. She’d lost her mind and her good senses. While she imagined Dillon telling her she’d die from a horniness overdose, the theme song from Doctor Who sang out from her handbag and she dug out her phone to answer it.
“Go for Juliana,” she said, reverting back to the slang tour managers and crew used when on their two-way radios backstage at rock concerts.
“I talked to your mother today.” Gran’s crisp, crackled voice came through without a greeting. “She called me something nasty in Tagalog.”
Jules stopped and leaned against a nearby storefront so she could enjoy the exchange. “Not possible. My Ina calls you names in English to make sure you get the message.”
Gran cackled. “I told her I have an umbrella waiting for her when she’s ready.”
“I’m sure she’s glad to know you love her.” Jules brightened. Since her parents didn’t live in LuPines anymore, they found various ways to send her their love. “When’s my care package coming?”
“Any day now,” Gran answered. “Hey, can you go to Bailey’s Hardware for me?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Well, I’m making a storytelling wall for my great grandson and I don’t have enough of those special hooks for my picture frames.” Gran harrumphed. “Can you get me some of those?”
“Will do.”
“And find out what time Dashiell is coming home. I want to talk to him.”
Jules paused. “About what?”
“About enjoying my life more. He’s a really good coach for that,” Gran said.
A smile tugged at the corner of Jules’s mouth. “If I see Daz I’ll ask him to set up a chat time with you. Okay? I’ll see you at home.” Jules thumbed the phone off and turned down a side street to go to Pa Bailey’s. Her after-work cupcake run could wait.
The bell above the door chimed as Jules walked into Pa Bailey’s Hardware. To her left, Chaplin Bailey sat in his wheelchair, the same as always, staring out of the picture window with the store’s name across it in gold letters. She gave him a little finger wave and called out her greeting. Chaplin turned slightly and nodded with a hard-won smile, giving her a view of the indentation on the left side of his skull. The injury caved in one side of Chaplin’s head, from his eyebrow to a few inches above his ear. Jules smiled at him again. She remembered when he’d been a wisecracking, sweet as pie contractor who’d do anything for anyone if they asked nicely enough. Then he’d fallen at a work site and cracked his head on a crane on the way down. Brain damage had claimed most of the man she remembered, but Chaplin had held on to life because he’d always loved it.
Her gaze swept the store. The usual suspects were all here. Women and men who enjoyed DIY projects or were craft enthusiasts along with a few pros roamed the aisles, throwing items into baskets or getting advice from each other. But there were two guys and three girls at the front who seemed to be waiting around, maybe on something from the stock room.
Pa noticed Jules and beckoned her over from behind the long glass display counter spanning the right side of the store. Ju
les looked to the bystanders to make sure they’d been helped; she didn’t want to cut the line. They smiled and kept waiting; occasionally one of them would peer down the aisles toward the back.
Okay, Jules shrugged, and called hello to Pa. The old man behind the perpetually dusty countertop couldn’t be called anything but a classic. His store echoed his style. Pa Bailey’s Hardware took you back to the 1960s and the last great stand of mom and pop shops.
“Miss Juliana,” Pa said, pulling the knitted lapels of his cardigan together. “Did you say hello to Chaplin over there?”
“I sure did.” She grinned. “How’s Miss Marie doing?”
Because of his skinny build and white frothy hair, most out-of-towners thought of Pa as frail. Not true; whoever built the old man made him out of chicken wire and hardwood. Pa would bend and if he broke he’d mend good as new. The whole town had seen him do it. First when Chaplin had fallen, and shortly after when the stress and heartbreak had given Marie Chaplin a massive stroke. Pa had spent his life happily in love and raising a fantastic son. Now in his old age he’d been left to care for his loved ones in the shadows of those memories.
On impulse Jules reached over the counter and hugged Pa’s neck. He chuckled and gave her a hearty old man pat on the back.
“What can I—” Pa stopped abruptly, the clock tower rung three times signaling 6:00 p.m. in its broken way. “There he goes,” Pa finished.
Jules looked over her shoulder to see Chaplin oscillate in his chair, his hands twitching with excitement. She thought Pa had referred to his son until she looked out the window and saw Jeff Jacobs leaving his one-man law practice across the street.
“Oh, my feelings,” she said to Pa, who grinned back at her. Chaplin Thomas Bailey’s secret love for Jeffrey Dean Jacobs had become legendary in LuPines. Some people said from the first day of kindergarten Chaplin had been a goner. He’d stayed gone until this day. Everyone knew Jeff took his dinner break when the clock tolled once and only one time each day at six. And for three chimes, Chaplin was happy.
“I wish he’d gotten a chance to tell Jeff how he feels,” Jules told Pa, while watching Jeff get into his car. When the burly blond man drove away, Chaplin settled down in a slump.
Pa sighed and busied himself wiping the counter. “The terrible thing is, my boy planned to confess the day he fell.”
Jules’s fisted hands tapped the edge of the counter. “No.”
A sad nod from Pa before he continued. “Chaplin had asked Jeff to meet him for a late dinner after work. That morning my boy strutted around peacock proud and nervous as a hairless cat in winter.” Pa’s eyes swam behind his glasses. He took them off, his glasses not his eyes, and used a handkerchief to wipe away the moisture. “Sometimes I wonder if his getting all worked up caused him to lose his balance.”
Jules’s heart dropped. Her gaze drifted back to Chaplin whose silence seemed more oppressive than moments before. She couldn’t imagine the pain of being silenced and never getting to say how you felt or what you wanted. Pa patted her hand. “That’s the second time I’ve told that story this week. You young folks keep coming in here and getting me started.”
One of the girls, who’d been standing around the store since Jules arrived, unleashed a loud exaggerated sigh. Her four compatriots muttered their agreement.
“What are they waiting on?” Jules turned back to Pa.
He shook his head with contained mirth. “My new stock boy. He works in the evenings. They’re waiting for him to come out because I forbade them to go back there messing around.”
“He must be hot.”
Pa shrugged. “Well, I’ve never been into boys, mind you, but I suppose if I were, I’d want a taste of this one. He’s got something about him.”
Shocked, Jules widened her eyes at Pa. “I didn’t know they made such enlightened men in your day.”
“Pshaw.” Pa flicked both hands at her. “They sure did. You can’t go around believing everything on the internets, Juliana.”
Jules sucked her lips in to keep from laughing her face off. Who knew Pa Bailey had such insight? She needed to swing by and talk to him more often.
“Come to think of it…” Pa said, with a thoughtful look. “…that’s the second time I’ve said something along those lines this week too.” He put his glasses back on. “What do you need, Juliana? I’ll have the stock boy get it and we can watch the floor show when these five fall all over themselves.”
“Gran wants some of those hooks you can put on and pull off the wall without damaging it,” Jules said.
Pa pressed the button on his antiquated PA system. “Picture hanging strips needed up front,” he announced. He released the button to ask, “How many do you need?”
“I’m not sure.” Jules tugged her ear. “It’s for Gran.”
Pa pressed the button again. “Three packs of sixteen hanging strips needed up front.”
A murmur of excitement passed through the five young adults waiting. Jules shuddered. They reminded her of fans. This teenaged stock boy must be something serious to cause so much puppy dog love.
Sudden energy raised goose bumps along her skin and Jules’s lips parted in anticipation. One girl hopped up and down as the energy source got closer and all five fanatics took out their phones to capture the moment.
Jules should’ve known. Daz appeared on the aisle closest to the counter and moved toward the register with animal grace. Goddamn.
He wore the cargo pants he favored for work and a long-sleeve white T-shirt woven in a thermal pattern. Over the top, the bright green Pa Bailey’s Hardware apron covered his muscled chest and thighs. His hair looked especially wild but he’d done his best to tame it with a thin elastic band, which managed to keep the dark mass off his face.
Her nipples tightened on sight and Jules quickly covered them by crossing her arms. Good thing no one could see what was going on below her waist because her lady parts were having a celebration in Dashiell Warren’s honor.
Pa Bailey tsked. “Guess that makes six of you, huh?”
Daz stopped; his big body only two inches from hers, too close for formality. He handed Pa the hanging strips. “Those the ones?” he asked.
Pa nodded and began to ring Jules up.
Jules tried to ignore the camera shutter sounds and giggles coming from Daz’s fans. But she gave in and glared over her shoulder in time to see a blonde girl step forward with her phone held out in offering. Daz’s gaze flickered toward the girl. “Give me a sec,” he said to Jules. Walking over to the breathless group, he took the phone from the blonde girl and turned to stand in the center. His fans converged on him, but somehow managed not to touch him.
“One selfie, all of us at the same time, yeah?” Daz asked, looking around.
They squealed in response. The group crowded tighter around him as he murmured, “Get your cameras up.” They all did. Daz threw his arms around all five fans, making sure only his cotton-covered arms touched them, and unleashed a heart-stopping grin. They all died. Jules knew this because his smile slayed her too. Of course the fans were smart enough to take the selfies before they succumbed to Dashiell Warren induced heart attacks and aneurysms.
“That’s it for the day,” Daz said. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” The group sighed but gave up on spending more time with their idol. Various “see you tomorrows” “we love yous’ and “okays” answered him as the fan club slowly, so very slowly, dispersed throughout the hardware store though they didn’t actually leave. Jules shook her head.
Daz rejoined her and Jules let her gaze roam him from top to toes. His effect on her hadn’t lessened with distance or learning about the existence of his fans. The way he made her feel had only intensified. “Come home,” she said before good sense could shut her up.
Daz gave her the same full body perusal she’d given him. “I come home every night,” he said.
/> “Not to me,” she whispered, working hard not to run a fingertip up the ridges of muscle on his stomach. Giving herself a moment to get her brain working, she said, “What are you doing here?”
“I help Pa and Chaplin out in the late afternoon and evenings.”
“How’d that happen?”
“I came in for nails and other things and found out Pa runs this place alone.” He let his words taper off. This man had so many facets, each of them making him more beautiful and brilliant in Jules’s sight.
“My Dashiell,” she breathed.
Daz took a step back, then another forward. “Don’t do that, Blue.” He stalked back down the aisle. Halfway, he turned to her and crooked a finger. His power reeled her to him.
“If she won’t come with you, I will,” one of Daz’s fans yelled behind them.
“Maybe later,” Daz said, without looking back.
Jules heard five pairs of feet rush to follow them but Pa quickly intercepted the fans and ordered them to the front of the store.
When Jules reached Daz she rested her backside against the counter and he angled his body to face her.
“Say nothing unless you mean it,” he said. “Spending a week with Pa and Chaplin slapped me awake. This thing between us is fucking with my mind, and when I think about Chaplin…” He jerked his attention away from her and stared at the front of the store. When his glittering gaze returned to her she saw an explosion brewing. It caused the livewire between them to pulse with their shared energy. “Chaplin didn’t get to tell the lawyer across the street how he feels. They never got to find out if they had a strong enough bond to override the pain life throws at lovers.”
