by Rebel Farris
“Yes, Xander. That works for me.”
He let his full smile free, and my stomach tumbled in response. “Good. My penis has been hard since your knees hit the ground. I plan to take you up on your offering.”
My lips pinched together, fighting a grin as my shoulders shook in silent laughter. His brows drew together. I decided to put his mind at ease because he likely didn’t know why that made me laugh.
“It’s a dick or a cock, but don’t ever call it a penis again if you expect those shorts to stay off.”
His eyes tracked to the chicken coop and back to me as his grin took its place back on his face.
“I know, I didn’t make the rules. That’s just the acceptable language here. But if you call it a penis, it’s more like talking to a doctor, or listening to a health class lecture in high school. And believe me, the last thing you want to do is conjure images of old Mrs. Belfry in the moment. It won’t work well for me.”
He let out a smooth, deep chuckle that had my thighs clenching together. “Noted.”
My gaze dropped to the subject at hand, and I could see the outline of him, straining against his pants. My mouth watered as my mind flooded with all sorts of filthy thoughts. I licked my lips and startled as his crashed into mine. He pulled our bodies tight together, and I could feel it pressing into my belly. Everything in my mind converted to a sordid playground. But at the center of it was him. It was always him who had the ability to turn me into this wanton creature, mindless with need.
His tongue tangled with mine in a way that felt like he was welcoming me home. It was hard to describe—I felt relief course through both of us, in the way that his body relaxed, pressing into me, and mine answered in kind. When he broke away, I stared into those indigo eyes as if they held the secrets to the universe and life. Maybe he did, but I wasn’t sure he’d ever tell me. And that was okay. He gave me my space, and I could give him his.
“Use your shorts to cushion your knees,” he said, his voice a rough growl.
I did as he said, but not because it was phrased as a command or that I felt like I should do what he said. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak, it was almost as if he was reading my mind and giving me permission to do what I wanted. I sort of loved that. My body definitely loved it as it responded with a pool of wetness, building between my legs.
I wasn’t normally keen on oral sex, but I wanted to taste him. I didn’t know why. It was just this urge that overwhelmed me. Out of all the ways we were together the other night, we hadn’t done that. He fucked me in several different positions and gave me multiple orgasms. He was attentive and focused on me the entire time. I hadn’t ever experienced anything like it my entire life. And perhaps that is why I had the sudden urge to please him. I didn’t dwell on it too deeply as I watched him slowly reach for his belt.
His movements were unhurried. My gaze was locked on his hands, tracking his every movement. When I peeked up, his features were settled into contentment. Like it was enough for him to watch the expression of unbridled lust that I was sure played out across my face, that locked up every muscle in my body. The anticipation of getting something I wanted buzzed through my veins like electricity. He smiled, and I heard his zipper, my eyes forced back to the movement of his hands.
The moment seemed to draw out forever until his cock sprang free. My mouth watered again at the sight of it, and I swallowed hard. It was darkened at the tip, with a vein bulging on its underside. He was so hard for me. I grew even wetter. What this man did to me was unreal. I was on my knees, begging with my eyes and my body to put my mouth on him. I was turned on so much my body took over, and I reached down to play with myself rather than reach for him. He groaned in response and took a step closer. His hand gripped the back of my head as the flared tip of his dick pressed against my lips.
I opened for him, and he pressed into the wet heat of my mouth. A shiver racked his body, and his chest rumbled. He lost control of his slow, methodical movements and shoved in the rest of the way, bumping the back of my throat. I swallowed to fight the urge to gag. I’d never felt more powerful than the moment I saw his legs tremble, before he pulled back.
The only other thought that threaded through my mind as he thrust back in with a grunt, was I might just be in love with this man. Why else would sucking his cock make me feel as if I could conquer the world, and bring me to the edge of orgasm, just watching him lose himself to me?
Rose
Two days. I’d been without pants in this house for two days, and to be honest, being with Xander wasn’t as horrible as I’d imagined it to be. It wasn’t as lewd as it sounded; the borrowed sweaters and shirts were as long as dresses. Granted, I wasn’t deluded enough to think that it would last forever, but for the time being, the arrangement worked well for both of us.
Like the next morning, when I got up and made breakfast. Instead of eating first, he fucked me on the kitchen counter. Then we sat and ate our mostly cold food and had a nice chat.
Despite the lack of warmth in our food, it was perfect. He was funny, made me laugh more than once, then excused himself and spent the rest of the day working on his truck. Simply put, he seemed to understand in a way that no other had before that I needed freedom, space, and time alone. He gave me a chance to think, to breathe without having to ask. I was sort of in awe. Either he was very astute, or we both needed the same thing and just fit.
It wasn’t the smothering fuckfest I imagined it to be. At night, we’d have dinner and watch TV. He’d rub my feet or keep his hand on my leg throughout the program. We’d go to bed, falling asleep in each other’s arms and waking up in the same position. He said that it would only be a few more days until he had all the parts “machined” and ready to reassemble. From there, it would be a day or two before he got it all put back together, depending on if he did it right.
I confess that I only partially listened to him through most of his rundown of the truck situation. His explanations of the car repairs were always rather technical, going over my head. So, I just nodded and watched him as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world, which he was—car stuff aside.
I closed the book after reading the last words in The Queen of the Damned. I’d finally found time to finish it with most of the cleaning done. The only thing left that hadn’t been scrubbed spotless were the upstairs rooms. I was putting it off because no one went up there anymore. I’d officially moved into his room with the momentous event of relocating my purse to the top of his dresser and bringing down the items he gave me the night I arrived.
I’d also been threatening to clean out the pantry after finding a few expired items in it over the last couple of days.
I leaned back on the couch and looked out the window. I could hear the steady rhythm of his movements, between the sounds of his welding torch, alternating with the hammering of metal on metal. I’d seen mechanics work before. They ordered parts and put them in the right places. But what Xander did out there was beyond mechanic skills. I was starting to think that, given enough time, he could build a car from a heap of scrap metal.
It made me curious about his past. Did he work in an automobile factory back in Czechoslovakia? I didn’t want to ask because asking questions was also an invitation to be asked. And we both knew without saying that neither of us was ready to venture down that road.
I watched the strobing lights from his blowtorch through the screen door. I vaguely recalled being told that you weren’t supposed to do that—look straight at the light. You could go blind from staring at it, right?
Shaking off the stupid thoughts, I rose from the chair, thinking about the fact that I might be starting to get a bit of cabin fever.
I lived alone, but I was rarely at home. I worked more often than I did anything else. I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t working, having been on my own since I ran away from my foster home at fifteen.
I walked into the kitchen and trudged my way toward the pantry. Not exactly enthusiastic
about the task at hand, I pulled open the door. It was large for a pantry, but small compared to most rooms and closets. A person could walk into it, but they couldn’t do much more than spin in one spot. There were deep shelves on three walls, so it did hold a fair amount of food.
I stared at it for a moment as my mind flashed with memories of my foster father, the reason I ran away. Aren’t you turning into a beautiful woman? Listen here, you little spic bitch… Perhaps, this was why I didn’t sit still long enough to really think. Too much time alone can dredge up things a person didn’t want to remember.
My mind strayed back. He’d never had a chance to touch me because by the time he built up the balls to make a move, I was gone. Not that he would’ve been the first or last to try. I wanted to scream. These thoughts wouldn’t stop assaulting my mind. I shook my head to clear them away and forget everything about that creepy asshole, then decided to just start pulling everything out of the pantry. Once I got it spread out all over the counters, I’d be able to sort through and organize everything better.
I found some large empty glass jars in the back of one of the lower shelves and decided to transfer all the dry goods into them. With some masking tape and a pen from a junk drawer, I labeled each one before filling it.
I was pouring a box of powdered sugar into one when I felt something cool and silky brush across my shoulder where the sweater had slipped over to one side, exposing bare skin. I jolted and shrieked, causing a cloud of white dust to explode in front of me. I knew it wasn’t life-threatening, but it still startled the crap out of me. White dust coated my hair and arms. I’d squeezed my eyes shut to protect them, but I already knew the responsible party by the low snicker over my shoulder.
“Cute,” Xander said.
“I’m sure it is.” I frowned and attempted to peek my eyes open. “What the hell was that?”
He leaned over my shoulder and presented a yellow rose in front of me. My brows drew together.
“Where did you get that?” I asked, grabbing a hand towel off the oven handle and cleaning myself up.
“It grows out by the gate to the garden. This was the last one left, but they said it might freeze tonight, so I knew it wouldn’t survive either way. I thought you might like it.” He pulled me against him and kissed my shoulder. “Sweet.”
“Thank you.” I plucked the flower from his fingers. “It’s beautiful.” I turned in his embrace and offered him a smile.
“It matches your tattoo.”
I snorted. “Don’t remind me. I’m tryin’ to forget I did that.”
“Why? It is a beautiful piece of art on a beautiful work of art.” His fingers traced the edge of the sweater where the art in question undoubtedly peeked out.
“You’re sweet, but it was a drunken dare. I mean how unoriginal is a rose tattoo that you get because your name is Rosie?”
It wasn’t even a pretty tattoo. I’d asked for a realistic sketch of a rose done only in black ink and that was what I got. The only thing unique about it was that the shading was all done in cross-hatched lines. Thin lines overlapped the others, and where they grew closer together, the shading was darker. I also knew that the artist did that to make it less painful than trying to color in a large area with varying degrees of pressure. Xander interrupted my reverie.
“I have never met another Rosie with a rose tattoo, so I would think it is very original.”
I grimaced. He’d be the first. “What brings you in here this time of day?” I changed the subject and looked around the room, avoiding his stare. “I made a mess of the kitchen.”
“I can see that. What are you doing?” He squeezed me a little tighter to punctuate his question.
“Organizing the pantry.” I shrugged. “Your old system was horrible. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“I thought I would get something for lunch.”
“Crap. I forgot that it was before lunch. Luckily, I opened that jar there to figure out what it is. Turns out, it’s peach preserves. You wanna peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich?”
He cringed.
I smirked. “A turkey sandwich?”
His head tipped to the side. “Better.” He gave a slight nod of approval.
“Okay, then. One turkey sandwich, coming right up.”
Slipping out of his arms, I stuck the rose in a smaller glass jar I half filled with water, then set about making him a plate. I put the sandwich on a plate with a couple of boiled eggs that I’d made this morning after breakfast. They were piling up, the eggs, though the cooler weather had slowed the hens down a little. I added a pickle spear and brought it to him, where he was sitting at the table.
His grin was infectious as he pulled me onto his lap after I set the plate down. The corner of my mouth tipped up in answer.
“I like this. You… here… I like you, Rosie.”
My mind locked up, unable to formulate a response. “I…”
He shook his head, saving me from my floundering. “I just wanted you to know.” His lips brushed over mine softly, and his arms dropped from around me, freeing me to go as I pleased.
I searched his eyes. He didn’t look angry or disappointed; he just looked understanding. Anger flared from somewhere deep inside me. I didn’t know where it came from or why I felt it, but it was there. I stood stiffly and returned to the kitchen to finish my task. I needed to finish this pantry job before it was time to start dinner. Fuck, I was becoming a regular June Cleaver.
Wired
Xander left after he finished eating, with a kiss to my cheek and no words. I set about finishing my task in silence as well. The goddamn silence was making me crazy. I normally languished in the quiet, loved the solitude, but now it was bothering me. Xander was bothering me. And the more I thought about it, the more I understood.
It was because my silence was giving away too much. He was reading all of it correctly. Knowing when to back down and when to push—he was too much. He was too close with his distance, too accurate at adjusting his actions to my moods, and it was aggravating me. It was like he knew me without permission. An invasion of my private thoughts.
I knew that feeling all that was ridiculous. You can’t be angry at someone for being a good person, for fitting well into your life, for accommodating your moods and preferences. But I couldn’t stop myself.
I was overreaching for flaws in his perfect facade. I’m sure that said a ton of horrible shit about me as a person, but I couldn’t stop it. So, when I was clearing the shelf that was third from the top, the one at eye level, and found the hole in the wall, I was forced to investigate it. I gathered the flashlight I’d seen in the junk drawer of the kitchen and my powder compact from my purse. I held the flashlight next to the hole and used the mirror to look around inside the space.
It was just the normal space between walls in a house. Empty, save for a few wires. I was just about to call myself crazy and leave it alone when I noticed it. Just below the hole, there was a wire that had been cut and spliced into a new wire. I’d no clue what that meant, but I followed the new wire up to where it disappeared into the ceiling. It led to the room above me. And the room above was the other upstairs room—the one I hadn’t been in yet.
I couldn’t run up there at the moment to check it out, but I knew that was my next destination as soon as I finished this task. I’d find out what was up there. A sinking feeling took up residence in my bones. If he was really hiding something, what could I do about it? I couldn’t run. I’d no way to make it back to civilization. I didn’t know which direction to go; I could follow the roads, but that would be too obvious.
Why was I making plans like that anyway? Why was I even giving validity to these thoughts? I told myself I was going to stop running and give him a chance, and a fucking wire had me hatching escape routes and plans. What the hell was wrong with me? No, I just needed to let it go. This was just me self-sabotaging, again.
I shoved it to the back of my mind and finished the pantry, deciding to bake some bread wh
en I was done. We were out of bread again after the sandwich I made. It was necessary. He’d given me the recipe a few days ago when we ran out of bread the first time. Making it was much easier than I thought it would be. I was addicted now. Nothing was better than a fresh-baked loaf of bread.
Fully distracted and hungry, my mind settled, and I let thoughts of the mystery wire go.
The next morning, I found myself at the landing at the top of the stairs. With a broom, mop, and other cleaning supplies in hand, I decided to get to work on the last bit left uncleaned. I’d thought about getting out of the house, taking the gun and the camera with me to get some pictures. I still had two and a half rolls of film left.
But of course, that morning the weather decided to get shitty. A cold front had moved in during the night, dropping the temperature and pulling all sorts of nasty sleet and hail along with it. I was surprised when Xander left to go outside after breakfast. He assured me he had a space heater in the garage, and he’d be fine. But he didn’t want to put off the repairs for another day because he was close to finishing.
Part of me wondered why I didn’t seem as concerned with going home as he seemed to be in getting me there. And on the other hand, the thought had crossed my mind that he was rather keen to get rid of me.
Were those the same thoughts?
I did want to get home. I needed to see if my job was salvageable. Plus, rent would be due soon, and while I’d enough savings left to cover it, I did just spend a good chunk of change on the camera. I’d have to find another job, if there was no way to keep the one I had.
Not that working at the diner was the best job on the planet, but I liked it for the most part. I’d a couple of friends there that I’d be sad to not see on a regular basis, and a few customers I enjoyed talking to. Just thinking about walking back in there sent a pang of homesickness coursing through me.
