And, because I had gone all out and gotten the super deluxe model, a set of “rabbit ears” was attached that vibrated at speeds from “ooo” to “oh, fuck, yes” at the touch of a finger.
Safely beneath the covers, I parted my legs and turned on BOB. Ethan’s faint scent still hung in the air, and it didn’t take long before I was slick enough to advance from external to internal stimulation. I squeezed my thighs together to further muffle the whisper-soft whirs and hums as BOB did his thing. One more quick glance at the door assured me I had everything in place, so I closed my eyes, began to move my hips, and let my imagination take over.
I couldn’t say how long it took exactly. Five minutes, maybe ten on the outside. I tended to lose track of time when I let myself go, but I knew it wasn’t long. I’d become somewhat of an expert at self-pleasure, since that was the only pleasure I got.
Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t some lily-white virgin. I’d had two sexual partners. The first was in college. I’d let my roommate talk me into tagging along to a frat party off campus, and learned the hard way that I was not nearly as good at handling my alcohol as I’d thought. A night of jungle juice and Jell-O shots, combined with a house full of hot, ripped jocks, had not only loosened my inhibitions but had blown them away entirely. When the blonde-haired, green-eyed All-American quarterback asked me to dance, well, let’s just say he had no idea what hit him.
Needless to say, it wasn’t the stuff of romance novels. A lot of fumbling and groping, a bit of grunting and a moment of pain, and then it was over. What should have been a really big moment in my life was nothing but a healthy dose of regret and a damn good reason not to overindulge again.
Then, in my senior year at Cal State, I met Stephen. I was doing a co-op/internship kind of thing at his family-owned incorporated conglomerate. We literally ran into each other one day; I was rushing off the elevator while he was rushing on. It was a classic case of the rich, powerful guy falling for the poor but clever working girl. I’d seen all the movies, read all the books, so I thought I was an expert.
I did at least try to play hard to get, but he was too smooth and I was too naïve. Before long, I was moving into a penthouse apartment near the beach.
Stephen really liked sex, and I really liked Stephen, so we had sex. A lot of sex. It didn’t matter that I never came; Stephen thought I did and that’s all that mattered. I was disappointed, sure. After reading all the steamy romances I had, I’d been expecting more. But a bit of surreptitious research on the internet told me my situation wasn’t all that unusual. Lots of women didn’t orgasm during penetrative sex, and those that did rarely did every time. There were plenty of suggestions on other ways to achieve climax with your partner, but I was too embarrassed to ask, and he never offered.
I kept hoping it would magically happen one day. That Stephen would unknowingly unlock the key to my inner goddess and the resulting spectacular O would free me from whatever kept me from achieving satisfaction. But it didn’t happen. If anything, things got worse, and because of my shortcomings, the intimacy that was supposed to bring us closer threatened to push us farther apart.
I couldn’t talk to Stephen about it. Opening up was hard for me under any circumstances, but this hit me right at the core of my femininity, and if I had said something, Stephen would know that I’d been lying the whole time we were together. His trust in me would be damaged and his manly confidence would take a hit. Ours was already a fragile relationship, him being who he was, and I didn’t want to add any unnecessary complications.
Sex wasn’t everything, right?
So I did what any other strong, independent woman would do. I kept my mouth shut and bought me the biggest, baddest vibrator I could find. While Stephen snored away in his post-coital lassitude, I snuck off to the bathroom and took care of business myself. He was happy. I was (sort of) happy, and life went on.
Turns out, I was partially right. Sex wasn’t everything to Stephen. It was the only thing, at least as far as he and I were concerned. Anything more than that, he saved for his fiancée.
Familiar waves of anger, hurt, and betrayal rolled through me, but they were just minor ripples now. On the positive side, I’d learned some valuable lessons, and had gotten really, really good at taking care of myself.
Just like now.
When I was finished, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now that I’d taken the edge off, I felt confident I could make it through the rest of the day without making a fool of myself around Ethan O’Malley.
I was in control once again.
I carefully washed my toy with soap and (cold) water, dried it thoroughly, then wrapped it back in its lined sheath and tucked it away for the next time. That was another great thing about BOB. He was always there waiting for me, primed and ready whenever I needed him, but he was never clingy.
Ethan
Hannah was just hanging up the phone when I walked into the kitchen. She was in those baggy jeans again, wearing an old, faded T sporting the name of a rock band and tour dates from a few years back.
“You like DarkWing?” Somehow I just couldn’t see it.
She shrugged, neither in confirmation nor denial. Her hair was damp, curlier and wilder than usual. I liked it. A lot. She caught me staring and the next thing I knew, she was pulling a hair tie from her wrist and taming it at the base of her neck. My fingers itched to rip it right back out and tangle themselves in that mass of chestnut silk, but I clenched them at my sides and refrained.
“Did you need something?” she asked.
“PT’s done for this morning. Your father’s answering his email. I have some time to check out whatever issues you were having with your shower earlier.” It was the Colonel’s idea. He said a woman tended to look more favorably on a man who proved himself useful at fixing things. Sounded reasonable enough to me, so I deferred to his experience.
“Thanks, but I just called Schaeffer’s. They’re sending someone out this afternoon.”
Well damn, I hadn’t considered that. The woman was just too efficient for her own good. Plan Alpha had hit a snag so I improvised a plan Bravo. “Call them back and tell them to hold off. If I can fix it, it’ll save you the cost of a service call.”
Her expression was unreadable, her eyes shuttered. “You’re already doing so much, Ethan.”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind. It keeps me out of trouble.”
Her lips twitched as if the very thought amused her. I flashed a dimple and waggled my eyebrows suggestively. She laughed. It was a beautiful sound. Honest to God, it made my chest feel like it was suddenly filled with sunshine.
“Something tells me, Ethan O’Malley, that trouble will always find you.”
I grinned. She wasn’t wrong.
“But I wanted to see Jake anyway. I’ve been putting it off, but I should talk with him about bringing his financial setup into the new millennium.”
“Jake?” My innate male senses tingled at the name. At the way she said it with such... familiarity. Who the fuck was this Jake and why was this the first I was hearing about him?
“Jake Schaeffer. He runs the plumbing and heating place in town.”
I relaxed somewhat, picturing an older guy with a bushy mustache wearing a cap and coveralls showing up with a toolbox in hand. What can I say? I’m a product of the Nintendo generation.
“Oh, okay,” I said. “But next time, let me take a look first, okay?”
“Okay.”
I left her alone then, but made sure I stuck close by. There was something different about her. She was more relaxed. More agreeable. The only things I knew of that could change a woman’s attitude that quickly were a trip to the spa or a really good orgasm. And I knew Hannah hadn’t left the house all morning.
Ohhhhh. I had to get up into her bedroom and do a little recon.
As it turned out, Jake Schaeffer was nothing like the short, pudgy, Mario look-alike I’d been picturing. Blonde hair, brown eyes, easy smile. I hated him on sight. He was about my age -
—Hannah’s age -—and in pretty decent shape. Not as good as me, though. Not as tall as me, either. And I bet he couldn’t take down a tango with his bare hands in the fucking desert without making a sound.
It took him all of five seconds to see that the pilot light on the water heater had gone out. He teased Hannah about it, then looked like a douche when he relit it and it still didn’t work (I may have tampered with a valve or two). I didn’t like the way he kept touching her and sneaking appreciative glances at her ass.
Things went from bad to worse when she showed him into the small, cozy room she used as an office and closed the door. Seeing as how that bothered the shit out of me, I wisely decided to remove myself from the situation before I did something I’d regret (like break down the door and show his drain-snaking ass the exit) and did something positive instead.
I climbed the stairs with stealth born from years of practice and slipped into Hannah’s room. I’d been in here briefly earlier, but hadn’t taken the time to look around. It would have been counterproductive to my mission if she’d emerged from the bathroom and found me loitering.
The windows were open, the lightweight draperies moving slightly with the fresh breeze. It mingled nicely with the faint, delicate scent that I now identified uniquely with Hannah. Her bed was rumpled, as if it had been made rather hurriedly. The covering was a feminine one, white with light pink and green accents. It matched the rest of the room, which tended toward whites and soft pastels.
The furniture, what little there was of it, was white, too. A small dresser and a single nightstand looked old but recently repainted, with silver and crystal accented hardware. There were no pictures, no photos, no personal mementos to give me any useful insight into the woman.
What there was, was a lot of books. Dozens, possibly hundreds, of paperbacks and hardcovers were in neatly stacked piles all over the floor. It didn’t make sense to me. Why keep books here like this? Why not in the spacious library downstairs?
The answer became clear soon enough. I picked one up and smiled. Romance. A muscled Scot graced the cover in full kilt and tartan regalia. The book beneath it sported a similar cover. The piles were organized into genres, I realized. Moving away from the Highlander section, I came upon the paranormal section, finding vampires, shifters of various species, fallen angels, and yes, even Atlanteans.
I shook my head. I would never for the life of me understand the female psyche. Fantasies, I understood perfectly. I had a nice collection of them myself. But my fantasies tended to be more realistic, like role playing and props with actual humans; not imaginary creatures or mythical Celts.
Over in the corner was the biggest stack of all, piquing my interest. What was her favorite? I grinned widely when I saw that my little kitten had a particular affinity for servicemen. SEALS, Rangers, covert ops units, mercenaries.
Oh, yeah, I could definitely work with that.
The low murmur of voices drifted in through the open window from below, sending ripples of irritation through me. I glanced at my watch. Why was that guy still here? The idea of him alone in a room with Hannah bothered me more than it should have. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but told myself that as long as they were talking, they weren’t doing other things.
And I could make the most of this opportunity to continue my recon.
I probably should have felt some twinge of remorse as I began a methodical search of her drawers, but I didn’t. This was for her own good, I rationalized. Her father was worried about her and from what I could see, he had every right to be. I’d be remiss if I didn’t do what I could to help, and for that, I needed information. Besides, having a mission was definitely keeping my own demons at bay. I hadn’t had a drop to drink since I’d arrived weeks ago, and had been able to keep the self-pity to a minimum.
A few minutes later, a choking sound burst from my throat as I stared at the red silk thong dangling from my finger. I looked down into a whole drawer of them in varying colors. Was this what she was hiding beneath those saggy baggy pants?
There were enough that I didn’t feel too bad about tucking one into my front pocket for motivational purposes. Call me a perv if you want, but there was something incredibly hot about knowing that the next time we faced off I could slip my hand down into my pocket and fist her panties.
But that was nothing compared to what I found in her bedside nightstand.
“You naughty, naughty girl,” I whispered as I examined the seven-inch toy, taking great satisfaction in the fact that while it was big, I was bigger.
Erotic romance? Silk thongs? A vibrator? Beneath all that snark, Hannah was a sexy, passionate woman, just like in my dreams. My subconscious must have picked up on that. If I had been interested in breaking the Hannah code before, now I was obsessed.
I carefully returned everything back to its place (with the exception of the prize now safely tucked in my pocket) and went back downstairs to make my presence known and mark my territory.
Remember how I’d said that I’d felt like I’d been drifting along without direction, wallowing in self-pity? No more. Things were crystal clear now, and I’d come to a very important conclusion. Hannah McGinnis was mine, and it was time to kick this mission up to the next phase.
Chapter 9
Hannah
“Thanks again for coming out on such short notice, Jake,” I said, trying to move things along. I had things to do and Jake didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. I hadn’t meant for this to become a leisurely stroll down memory lane; I just wanted to be able to take a hot shower again and plant a bug in his ear about a potential business arrangement. I guess that was a bit short-sighted on my part. After all, Jake and I did have some history.
“Anytime, Hannah,” he said, his smile warm and friendly. “It’s good to have you home again, even if the circumstances aren’t the greatest.”
Was this home, I wondered? It had never really felt like that to me. My grandparents were pretty old by the time I got dumped on them, and I don’t think they were too happy about spending their golden years looking after a troubled teenager who’d just lost her mother and been left behind by her grieving father.
Don’t get me wrong, they were good people. They were nice enough and made sure I had everything I needed, but let’s face it, there’s a huge difference between duty and love. They did what they thought was right, and I’ll always be grateful to them for that, but I never had any illusions that they actually wanted me around for anything more than the occasional weekend or holiday visit. Which kind of sucked for them.
I smiled benignly, silently pushing forth repeated suggestions in Jake’s direction that he suddenly remember another appointment. A very important appointment. Apparently I had acquired no additional psychic skills in the last few hours, however. Either that, or Jake was impervious to my telepathic powers of persuasion (like everyone else on the face of the earth).
“And this is a great house,” he was saying. “They don’t make them like this anymore. Needs some work though. I’d be happy to help out. I’m sure my uncles and cousins would, too.”
Ah, yes. The Schaeffer family stranglehold on all local repairs and renovations. Call one, and soon you were on all of their preferred customer lists. “Thanks, Jake, but I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with the place.”
He frowned. “You’re not thinking of selling, are you?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to wrap my mind around everything, you know?”
The place did hold a certain charm, I guess, but I just couldn’t see myself here once Dad was gone. The memories I had, including those that involved Jake, weren’t exactly fond ones. I had no desire to get into any of that with him, though.
“I could have Hank come out, do an appraisal for you.”
“No, thanks.” Inwardly, I was growing more impatient. Hadn’t I just said I hadn’t decided?
And why was he still here? Didn’t he have other service calls to make? Plumbers were su
pposed to be in higher demand than doctors, weren’t they?
He’d gotten the water heater going again. Had taken it upon himself to inspect the exposed pipes in the basement while he was down there, too. Now he just seemed to be lingering.
Jake paused, looking a little hesitant. “Hannah, can I ask you something?”
I nodded warily. So far, neither one of us had brought up what happened all those years ago and I prayed he wouldn’t now. I told myself that just because he asked a question didn’t mean I had to answer. And if it would get him out the door sooner...
“What’s the deal with the guy staying here?”
“Ethan?” I said, surprised that that was what he chose to ask.
“Yeah, I guess. We weren’t formally introduced.”
Why the hell would he ask about Ethan? Then I remembered I wasn’t in SoCal anymore, and that around here, sticking your nose in your neighbors’ business was a favorite pastime. By bringing a single, attractive male into our home, we’d probably given Muskrat Falls enough fodder to keep the gossip mill going for quite a while.
It was a small town, after all, and we had all the drama of a really good soap opera going on (cue dramatic music): a dying, widowed war hero returns to his family’s ancestral home (four generations, anyway). His quiet, moody daughter suddenly reappears from the West Coast, but does she do so out of love for her father or a nefarious desire to get her hands on the family land? (da da daah....) And let’s throw a brooding, hunky, dangerous Army Ranger into the mix, have him move in with possible ulterior motives...
Letting Go: A Contemporary Romance of Snark and Feels Page 8
