“Daphne, hear me out,” Brady started to say. “I know neither of us expected this to happen, but now that it has, it would be a crime to nip it in the bud. Our bodies know each other. We have muscle memory together. Think how much fun this could be.”
Daphne bit her lip as she pondered her options. Lying on the floor with her pants pushed down and her shirt pushed up, exposing her breasts, was probably not the best way to do this. It could lead her to make a rash decision. She looked at Brady, the outline of his cock still pressing against his shorts. And yeah, she’d lied. It was not a teeny weenie. She remembered it as being quite generous in every way, and it might be fun to reacquaint herself with his best feature sometime. Besides, the rest of him was not too shabby either. He’d only gotten better-looking with age. And his body was in great shape. It seemed a shame to waste all that good manliness.
“Okay, fine. So, here’s the deal,” she said, turning onto her side to look him in the eyes. “The only reason I’m agreeing to this”—she pointed back and forth at him and herself and twined her fingers together symbolically—“is because I’ve been desperately deprived of this for too damned long. And it felt really fucking good. So, I’ll agree to a little, shall we say, dalliance, but on my terms: when I say so and until I say we’re done. I’m calling the shots now, and I will maintain control of what goes on. Deal?”
Chapter Ten
BRADY GULPED. THE LADY drove a hard bargain. But right now, if it was between a bad case of the blue balls threatening to require amputation and pretty much any nonnegotiable terms to allow him to advance the troops, he was all in.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m at your mercy, your highness.”
“Good,” she said, pulling her shorts up and tugging her shirt back down. “And now it’s time to get back to work.”
Well, fuck. She certainly had him by the figurative balls. He needed to get off so badly he would give the damned house away in exchange for her whacking him off. Or better yet riding him like a bronco till he shot his cum deep inside her. Though he knew beggars couldn’t be choosers.
He squinted at her. “You sure you don’t want to pick up where we left off? Kind of finish what we started?”
She grinned. “I feel pretty damned complete, thanks.”
He frowned. “Yeah but, well...” He glanced down at his crotch, which was starting to wither with the knowledge that his dick was not going to get an invitation to come out to play. He then fixed his gaze on her.
“Ahhh, you mean you want me to...” She pointed at herself, then at his dick, and shrugged.
He nodded, trying to maintain hope in the face of despair. “That’s generally the idea. Usually, a gentleman will pleasure his woman first, and then she returns the favor. Sometimes it’s with her hands. Other times—if you’re lucky—it’s with her mouth, or even better yet, with her steamy, glistening, swollen pussy. I prefer the latter, when she sits on top of it and gyrates around.” He hoped this dirty talk was stirring her up a bit, maybe tipping the balance in his favor.
She scratched her chin as if she was thinking. He knew she was dicking on him. “Gotcha. But right now, we need to get back to work, ’kay?”
She stood up, walked back to her corner of the room, and began sorting items as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.
Shit, she was being a ballbuster. Literally. But he probably deserved it. So, he delicately rearranged his junk and stood up. “If you’ll forgive me, I need a minute to reconnoiter.”
“Okay, but don’t be long!” She winked at him.
Oh, there would be hell to pay down the road for this... as soon as he could get the upper hand. In the meantime, his hand was going to be busy in the bathroom, taking care of necessary business.
AFTER EXCUSING HIMSELF to the second-floor bathroom, Brady rifled around in the cabinets till he could find some lotion. This was an all-hands-on-deck situation. He had to jack off or he’d be unable to continue working downstairs. He’d come so close to going for round two, but that didn’t seem in the offing right now. Only if and when she’d permit it. Fuck.
Brady dropped his shorts and boxer briefs and squirted the lotion into his hand—what better use for hand lotion than this?—and circled his somewhat stiff cock with his fingers, smoothing the lubricant around as he pulled and twisted with his hand, first slowly, then more quickly. He only had to think about Daphne’s slick pussy to stiffen his dick even more and imagine her gorgeous tits bared for his eyes only, her hard nipples in his mouth. His balls tightened and a tingly sensation stirred in his groin. God how he wanted to ram himself deep into her wet pussy, her legs spread wide so he could watch the slide and pull of his hardened cock, her swollen lips swallowing him up. As he trembled, his cock erupted in spurt after spurt, till he was spent with the effort. He sat on the edge of the tub, waiting to gather enough strength to clean up after himself and get back downstairs. He should’ve been angry that she refused to reciprocate, but for some reason it only served to amuse him. He loved to play sexual games and felt confident he would, ultimately, prevail in this game of cat and mouse.
At last, he returned to the living room, wishing he’d taken a ten-minute nap first, ’cause the exertion had drained him of energy.
“Everything okay?” she said, suppressing a laugh. That little witch! She knew what he was doing upstairs. But he was cool with that. He’d get the last laugh even though it might take some time. And hopefully it would involve her seated on his cock, exactly like he’d imagined.
Chapter Eleven
DID DAPHNE FEEL LIKE a bit of a jerk for having sent Brady off to masturbate when she could have easily enjoyed taking care of him herself? Nah. It was fun exacting a tiny bit of good-hearted revenge on the guy. Sure, a lot of years had passed since he’d left her heartbroken and humiliated, but this? It was better than therapy in helping her get that whole experience out of her system.
The next couple of hours they settled in quietly to sort and purge. Occasionally Brady would try to throw something away that Daphne would freak out about, sometimes a little irrationally.
“But they’re ticket stubs to some show at the Kennedy Center, Daph,” he said. “Who needs that, ever, anywhere?”
“Except it was when Violet took me to see Hamilton,” she said. “It was such a treat and so special. We had cocktails on the terrace at intermission and sang songs from the show.” She sighed. Clearly Brady was getting exasperated with this stuff.
“How are you ever going to purge all the stuff in this house if you can’t even throw away a ticket stub?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, a sure sign of annoyance.
“Sorry. I can’t forget about that date.”
“Okay, I have an idea. What say you take a picture of the ticket stub. That way you always have it to look back on, but the actual stub no longer causes unnecessary clutter. Can you live with that?”
Daphne lifted her brow. That was awfully reasonable. She needed to concede something. “Okay, fine.” She held up the stub in front of her face and took a selfie. She knew it was silly but it made her feel better.
At some point in the afternoon, they happened upon a big box of photographs.
“Whoa, I love old pictures,” she said. “So interesting to see the old styles of fashion and home décor.”
“Do you know anyone in any of the pictures?”
“Does that matter?”
“Well, sorta,” he said. “What’s the point of keeping a huge box of pictures of complete strangers?”
“But they belonged to Violet. It feels dishonorable to throw them in the trash.”
“Believe it or not, you can give them away to flea markets. There is a huge market for old photographs. Someone will find them and buy them and do something cool with them. That would make Violet happy to have her family photographs repurposed.”
She pursed her lips. “Huh. How do you know that’s even a thing?”
Brady heaved a sigh. “Just something I had to do one time.” He quickly
changed the subject. “I have an idea. How about I hold up the picture and you tell me if it’s something to keep or give away? You take two seconds per picture and we’ll make a game of it, okay?”
“Fine, but I’m making no promises.”
For the first half hour or so they were able to make a sizable pile of giveaways. But then midway down in the box, Brady found something and froze in his place.
Daphne looked up. “Everything okay?” He’d lost color in his face.
She reached over, pulled the photographs from his hands, and studied them closely. “Is there someone in these pictures you know?” She knew he had some distant relationship to Violet, so it was possible.
“Can you give me a minute?”
She frowned. “Yeah. Sure.”
BRADY GOT UP AND WALKED toward the kitchen. He didn’t even know where to go. Spotting a door, he opened it and it led him onto a nice deck that backed up to some woods. On it were a long sofa and a couple of lounge chairs with thick cushions. Tall, latticed screens covered with clematis vines and flowers provided a privacy buffer on either side. Window boxes filled with flowers lined the railings of the deck, which extended to both sides of the duplex. Huh, interesting. So this was a shared space for both Violet and Daphne.
Brady lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. The last thing he’d expected was to see a picture of his parents. At their wedding. Now, at least, he knew Violet was a close enough relative to have attended his folks’ wedding. They looked so young and hopeful. They had no idea they’d die too young. And leave him holding the bag, the sole survivor, no family to speak of.
Those photos threw him for a loop. He thought he’d put the past behind him, mostly by not thinking about his folks. If he did think about them, he knew a well of sadness would overtake him and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with. Especially now. A sound prompted him to look up to see hummingbirds feeding from flowers in the window boxes. It was soothing to watch those tiny creatures with their hearts beating a mile a minute. How they stayed still in midair while they drank the nectar was incredible. As he stared ahead at some birds perched in a bird feeder, a crow cawed from a nearby tree.
He nodded off for a little while, only to be stirred awake by Daphne.
“Hey,” she said, tapping his arm. “You all right?”
He sat up, shook the cobwebs from his head, and invited her to sit next to him.
“You ready to talk about it?”
Ugh, he totally didn’t want to discuss his dead parents. But he needed to share this with her. Otherwise, it would simply hang there, making things uncomfortable.
He sighed. “So, a few years into my itinerant life, I’d recently finished hiking the tallest mountain in every state in the country. It took me two years. I was kind of jazzed with my accomplishment. But then I got a call—the call no one ever wants to get—and learned my folks had died in a small plane crash.”
Daphne’s eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Brady, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She reached over and placed her hands over his.
God, he hated everything about this revelation when he had to share it, but he detested the pity the most. Inevitably, everyone he told would get that same look: their brows would furrow, a look of horror would cross their faces, they’d not know what to say, and then it would be awkward. There was no comfortable way to share this sort of news.
He nodded to Daphne. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“And what happened inside, a little while ago, when you were going over the photographs?”
He shook his head. “Believe it or not, those pictures I came upon were of my parents. Violet knew my parents well enough to have been at my Mom and Dad’s wedding.” He shrugged. “I guess it threw me off. The last thing I expected to encounter. And the thing is, I usually feel like I’m past that, you know?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone ever gets over the loss of their parents. I mean, they’re your parents. They were the foundation of your life, right?”
“Sure. Of course. But maybe I’m good at compartmentalizing—”
“You are a guy, after all.” She winked.
“Yeah, one of our less admirable skills. Or more admirable, as the case may be. Anyhow, I felt as if I’d gotten past it. I mean, it was hard. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Or aunts and uncles, for that matter. I take that back. There is one uncle somewhere, my dad’s brother, but he went off the rails at some point, and I couldn’t even begin to tell you where he is. Never tracked him down for the funeral.”
“Oh, Brady, did you have to plan your own parents’ funerals?”
He frowned and nodded.
“And no one to help you?”
“My dad was career military, so they moved around all the time. But my mother had her core group of ladies—they all propped each other up throughout the ups and downs of that kind of lifestyle—and Mom’s posse helped tremendously. I was still in so much shock. And then afterward, there was so much to do: settling their affairs, closing up the house and cleaning it up and purging their lives, basically, then selling it.”
“Your childhood home?”
He shook his head. “Nah. We never had such a thing moving around like we did. But it was the last home I knew.”
“Still, a home base that you lost.”
He arched his brow at her. “You of all people should know I’m not one to keep a home base.”
“’Tis a shame,” she said, spreading her arms out wide. “Where else to store all of your accumulated shit?”
He laughed. “That is the truest statement you’ve made yet. A giant shit receptacle. For which you pay a bank each month for the right to dump more unnecessary shit into.”
She laughed too. “Ahh, Brady. I had no idea. I’m so sorry. Here I thought you were a soulless rat bastard and now I learn you’ve got so much more depth to you.”
“Maybe there’s a little soulless rat bastard in me. I mean, I did leave you high and dry.”
“In the interest of maintaining a respectable degree of empathy toward you, I’m not going to address that now.”
“Thanks for your generosity of spirit.” He grinned. “You aren’t such a bad person yourself.”
“Or maybe I’m badder than you realize.”
“Prove it.”
“You don’t think I can?”
“Surprise me.”
Chapter Twelve
DAPHNE STOOD AND REACHED for the hem of her tank top, slipping it over her head. Next she shimmied out of her running shorts and stood before Brady in her bra and panties. A grin spread across his face as she knelt between his legs on the sofa, unbuttoned his shorts, and pulled them down, along with his boxer briefs. She lifted his shirt over his head, leaving him naked on the sofa. Outside. Straddling his hips, she reached down and popped the clasp of her bra, quickly discarding it. She loved that he’d grown instantly hard and felt him pressing up against her panties, the only article of clothing still left on either of them.
“You’re surprising me, Daphne, stripping naked out here in the wide open where the neighbors could see. I like that about you. Exhibitionist tendencies, maybe?”
What she didn’t need to tell him was that neighbors on either side were on vacation right now, and unless there were some creepers spying from the woods, their privacy was relatively assured. But that was okay. If he wanted to think people were spying, so be it.
It was brave of her to do this—Daphne had never been known as much of a risk taker. Hell, she parked herself in her little duplex and worked till bedtime most nights. Boring had become her middle name. A big risk for her would be going to a bar with Binti, and even then, she begged off more often than not. Having sex with her ex—an ex she’d been pissed at within the past twenty-four hours—was on its own way out of her comfort zone. Though she did become comfortable with it quite quickly, because, well, sex. And having sex with her ex on the deck was far beyond her norm. She
was more of a sex-in-the-bedroom-with-the-lights-out kinda gal.
She rather liked the feeling of the late afternoon breeze across her bare skin, making her nipples pucker tightly. And she loved the look of pure lust in Brady’s eyes as he watched her, not knowing what to expect from her. She grinned as she pinched her nipples. It was kind of fun being the seductress, especially since she’d had no intention of doing this with him. She’d planned to make him wait long and hard. Sure, she knew he’d gone upstairs this morning and rubbed one out. She loved that he was that desperate for her that he had to do that or not function. And she loved the feeling of his hard, massive cock as she rubbed herself against him right now, nothing between them but her thin panties.
“Do you want people to see us having sex, Brady?” she said as she continued to stroke herself along his cock.
He reached up and pulled her close enough to kiss, pressing his mouth to hers as if his life depended on it.
“I want to watch you get off while rubbing against me. That’s what I want to see. While I suck on your gorgeous tits. Will you do that for me?”
She leaned forward so that he could squeeze her tits together, nipping first on one nipple with his teeth before latching onto the other and sucking hard. She let out a loud moan.
“Oh my God, Brady. You’re killing me.”
“If by killing you I’m helping you toward your goal of la petite mort, then by all means, let me do it.”
“La petite mort?” Her high school French didn’t include idioms, and as far she could remember, that translated to the little death. A far cry from her goal.
“It’s a French expression referring to the intense physical and emotional release one experiences with an orgasm.”
Hard to Get Over Page 5
