Snow on the Bayou: A Tante Lulu Adventure

by Sandra Hill

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  “I’ve heard everything.”

  “No sex.”

  “Uh-huh,” he agreed. Unless you beg me, and baby, you are gonna beg. Guar-an-teed!

  She decided to change the subject then, which was probably a good idea, considering the state of the hard-on he’d been sporting since he first saw her on the stage in that skimpy dress, which was fortunately covered now, on top at least, with a short, fleecy, jacket-shawl thingee, or he would probably be taking her in a wall-banger along some alley before they ever got home.

  “How come your friends are still here and staying with Tante Lulu?”

  “They have some liberty and have taken a liking to the bayou,” he lied. “Sort of a vacation.”

  “But staying with Tante Lulu? I would think their ‘liberty’ would be kind of restricted there.”

  “What? No place for orgies?”

  She gave him a sideways, teasing glance. “Well, I’ve heard stories about Navy SEALs. Not necessarily orgies, but…”

  “Oh, really? Exactly what have you heard?”

  “Belle said… well, never mind about that.”

  She seemed to be blushing. Cage reminded himself to ask JAM what Belle might have told Em.

  “SEALs are supposed to be kind of wild.”

  He acknowledged that might be true with a shrug.

  “Another thing. I understand that Bernie has been going to Tante Lulu’s cottage. All chummy, chummy with your pals.”

  “Where did you hear that?” he asked, suddenly alert.

  “My father. Bernie and my father keep in touch.”

  “That figures. How is the old geezer anyhow?”

  “Getting better. Especially since your girlfriend has been helping him.”

  “My girlfriend?”

  “Adele Hebert. Dr. Adele Hebert. Who else? Do you have girlfriends lined up and down the bayou already?”

  Em had put special emphasis on Adele being a doctor, as if that was a surprise. Maybe she thought he’d only be able to attract barmaids and brainless bimbos. Nah, that wasn’t it. She was jealous. Cage took that for a good sign and gave himself a mental high five. “Adele is just a friend. She’s been helping with therapy for my knee. Actually, she and Geek have a lot more in common. Turns out Adele is a computer geek, too.”

  Em seemed skeptical of his explanation, but conceded, “I’ve noticed that you’re limping less. Does that mean you’ll be going back to California soon to work?”

  He shook his head. “I’m here for MawMaw as long as I’m needed. I might have to go out on short missions, but as long as she’s here, this will be my base.”

  They’d arrived at Emelie’s building, but instead of going into the shop and up the interior stairs to her apartment, she headed under the porte cochere, where the E & B van and a VW bug were parked. When they got to the back, exterior stairway, she halted and turned. “Well, it’s been nice.” She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, as if to dismiss him.

  I don’t think so!

  “I’ll walk you to your door, chère,” he said.

  She made a tsking sound but allowed him to follow her up the staircase, which gave him the opportunity to take note of her nice, heart-shaped ass as her dress ruched up with each lift of her legs.

  She glanced back at him over her shoulder, saw the direction of his stare, and tsked some more.

  If she only knew how sexy that tsk sounded, a librarianish contrast to her hot mama outfit.

  And yes, thank you, God, there were French doors leading to her bedroom. In these old shotgun-type houses, the upper floors would be one bedroom leading into another into another. This was the back one.

  “You know, Em, this isn’t really a very secure setup for a single woman.”

  “We have a security system around the entire first floor, and cameras inside the shop and showrooms.”

  “A burglar or rapist could access your upper floor with ease, bypassing the security system. Those French doors—much as I like them—they’re practically an invitation to an intruder. You should let me bring Geek over here one day to check it out.”

  “I don’t need you—your friends—coming here to check my building. If I want more security, I’ll hire someone myself.”

  He wasn’t about to be deterred by her slip. What she’d really meant was she didn’t want him coming around. He had a lot of work to do in a short time. But first. “Darlin’, what you really need is a dog.”

  She laughed. “You’re not still trying to schluff that mongrel on me, are you?”

  Cage pretended affront. “Thad misses you. Honestly.” Like I do. “The big lug jist lies on the porch whinin’ all the time.” Well, I don’t whine, but I do pine. “Every time a car pulls up, he gallops out to the driveway, hopin’ it’s you.” I don’t gallop with this bum knee, but I would if I could. “But then he comes back with his tail draggin’ between his legs.” Something else is draggin on me in the same general region. “Like he lost his best friend.” Precisely.

  “You’re making that up.”

  “No, I’m not. You should come see him.” Or check out my tail.

  She just smiled. Inserting the key in the lock, she turned to him and said, “Well, good night.”

  No, no, no! Not going to happen. Time to make a move.

  Moving forward, he backed her up against the door. Bracing both arms on either side of her head, he took a deep breath and began, “I want you, Em. More than anything in the world.”

  “No offense, Justin, but men say that all the time.”

  “Not me.” At least he didn’t think he’d said those words. If he had, he didn’t mean them. He meant them now. “My bones turn to butter when I look at you, babe. My heart swells when you smile. I can scarcely breathe when you turn your head a certain way. I ache for you.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly developed a new repertoire of seduction lines.”

  “Such a cynic!” He shook his head at her. “Hear me out, Em. I’m not promising you forever. I can’t, and I’m not sure you’d want me to. We’re both too raw, even after all these years.”

  Her big eyes blinked at him. Bingo! He’d hit a sore spot. Raw… she was still raw.

  He licked his lips and continued. “What I can promise you is pleasure. And maybe closure. Doesn’t it feel to you as if we never really ended things?”

  She nodded. He was definitely making inroads.

  “I still dream about you.”

  She nodded again. Definite inroads.

  “You ruined me for any other woman.” He could tell she was going to argue that point, but he rushed on before she could interrupt his spiel. “I need you, Em. Please end this nightmare of longing. Please. Let me love you again.” He blinked back tears. Tears! Damn, I’m falling apart here.

  Her eyes were misty, too. She seemed to gulp several times.

  “You’ll hurt me. Again.”

  “Not if we both go into this knowing it’s short-term,” he argued. “Two friends enjoying each other. When it’s convenient for both of us. Knowing I can’t always get away, because of MawMaw, and other things. You’re busy, too. Then finally closing a door forever. We start this affair as friends and end it as friends.” I’ve just sung a pile of crap or the best romantic overture of my life.

  “Do you really think that’s possible?”

  “I do.” Lifting one hand off the door frame, he used a forefinger to trace the line of her jaw from ear to ear, setting the sparkly chandelier earrings to jangling. He smiled as they shimmered in the moonlight.

  “An affair, Justin. That’s all it would be,” she said softly.

  His heart began to race. Was she actually agreeing? Oh, man!

  “No talk of love, ever,” she demanded.

  He started to ask her how he was going to stop himself from saying the words that were on the tip of his tongue all the time when he was around her.

  But she put a hand over his mouth to halt the words.

&n
bsp; He kissed her palm.

  Casting him a chastising glare, she drew her hand away and went on with her demands. “No discussing the past or the future.”

  “I can live with that, although there are a few questions—”

  “I would insist that you be monogamous during the time our affair lasts, and I would be, too, but only because I’d be uncomfortable sharing. STDs and all that.”

  “I’m clean, Em. I get tested all the time.”

  As if he hadn’t even spoken, she went on, “Friends, nothing more, nothing less. That’s all we will ever be now. Those are my conditions. Can you live with them?”

  A male fantasy, for sure, sex with no commitments, but somehow it felt wrong to Cage. Too sterile. Too businesslike. Plus, he was pretty sure Em had managed to turn the tables on him. Had she played him at his own game? Did it matter?

  Hesitantly, he nodded, but he’d be damned if he sealed the deal with a handshake. Instead, he picked her up in his arms and licked the inner whorls of her ear before promising in a husky whisper, “I am going to lay you down, sweet Em, and show you what a good friend I can be.”

  Yep, it was true what they said about SEALs…

  This was probably a mistake. No, it was definitely a mistake, Emelie decided, but she’d already crossed the line, and mistakes be damned, she was looking forward to a night of lovemaking with the only man who’d ever made her enjoy the sex act, the only man she’d ever loved.

  She’d never envisioned surrendering to Justin’s charms this night. She wasn’t even sure when her resolutions to resist him had melted away, but somewhere between the kiss in Ella’s restaurant corridor and the walk to her home, she had decided to grab for the brass ring. Oh, not the kind of ring that meant happily ever after, but happily for a while.

  While Justin went into the bathroom, she removed her pashmina, lit several scented candles, and turned down the comforter on the double brass bed, an antique handed down to her from her grandmother. She straightened when she heard the bathroom door shut.

  He was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, and oh, my goodness, had his body changed from the lean boy she’d once known! His shoulders were wider and muscular, as were his biceps and the sculpted planes of his abdomen, leading to a narrow waist and hips. Even his thighs and calves showed muscle definition. In his hand he carried a strip of foil-wrapped circles, which he tossed onto the bed.

  “Self-confident, were you?”

  “Just hopeful,” he said. “Don’t take those off.”

  She was about to remove her high heels, but stopped, staring up at him.

  “I have a fantasy about those shoes.”

  Oh. My. God. What have I opened myself to?

  “Don’t look so afraid. We won’t do anything kinky… unless you want to.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’m not the clumsy kid I was before, Em. I’ve been to a few rodeos. I know what I’m doing now.”

  She arched her brows. “Rodeos?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I never thought you were clumsy.” She paused for a moment as he approached her. “Have you had a lot of sexual partners?”

  He nodded.

  “I haven’t.” Actually, only two, but he would think she was pitiful if she told him that.

  “It doesn’t matter. Only now. Remember, that’s what you said. No past. No future.”

  I have a feeling my words are going to come back and bite me on the butt.

  He tugged on the spaghetti strap of her dress, drawing her closer so he could kiss her. With her high heels on, they were almost the same height, which was kind of nice. She went to put her arms around his shoulders, but he held them firmly at her sides. “Not yet,” he murmured against her mouth and wet her lips with his tongue, then moved his lips back and forth across hers as if seeking just the right fit before kissing her harder and deeper. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, she tasted bourbon and coffee, both of which he’d had at the supper club.

  His kisses were wet and openmouthed and hungry, and she already felt a thrumming ache between her legs. She arched her breasts out to rub the hardened nipples against his chest hairs.

  He must have liked that because he groaned and caressed her bare shoulders before sliding the straps midway down her arms and then lower, causing the top of her dress to fall and then catch on her ample breasts, which were encased in a strapless black lace bra.

  “Oh, Em,” he said, staring at her.

  Emelie was tall, but she had breasts, no question about that, 34Ds. Her hips and butt were ample, too, but set off by her small waist. It was a voluptuous figure she always complained about, but men seemed to like it. Marilyn Monroe-ish. Pamela Anderson without the artificial enhancements.

  Before she could blink, he had her bra undone from the back—Where did he learn to do that with such ease?—and was lifting her breasts from underneath, strumming the nipples with his thumbs.

  Her knees almost buckled, causing him to grab her by the waist and chuckle. “Still so sensitive.”

  “How about you, sweetheart? You still sensitive?” she said peevishly, brushing her palm against his erection, which was—whoo-boy!—very impressive.

  His knees did buckle and he fell backward onto the bed, bringing her with him on top. “Witch!” He laughed and nipped at her shoulder, then soothed the bite mark with the laving of his tongue.

  He undid the zipper on the back of her dress—with the ease of experience—toed off her shoes with his own toes—another learned talent—and rolled over so she was on the bottom. Straddling her hips, he looked down at her with a grin of triumph, as if he’d won some prize, then made quick work of the dress, tossing it over his shoulder. “Nice,” he murmured then, staring down at the black lace bikini briefs she wore, a match to the bra she no longer wore.

  Then, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him, he slid off the bed and onto his knees, yanking her forward so that her heels were on the edge of the bed but spread wide. She tried to sit up, but he wouldn’t let her. She tried to close her legs, but he wouldn’t let her. Only then did he kiss her, there, through the lace of her panties, but she felt it as if she was bared to him. Oh, how she felt it! He nuzzled her with his nose, then raised his head to stare at her as he used only the palm of his hand to press and release, press and release, press and release, against just the right place, until the ache became a pulse, and the pulse became a rhythm, and the rhythm increased faster and faster until there was an explosion of pleasure so intense she began to cry.

  “Shh, shh, shh!” he said, lifting her up and onto the pillow and arranging himself on his side, looking down at her with a smile. “That was just to take the edge off.”

  “For me! What about you?”

  “My turn is coming,” he said, winking at his clever play on words.

  “I never did that before,” she confessed.

  His raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Not even with Bernie?”

  “Definitely not with Bernie.” And that was all she was going to say on that subject.

  When he realized that she wasn’t going to disclose anything else, he began to play with her breasts. Palming them. Tweaking the nipples, then strumming them with fluttering fingers. “I love your breasts,” he said.

  When he lowered his head and began to suckle her, she let out a long, keening wail, arched her hips up off the mattress, and climaxed again.

  She turned her head away. “I am so embarrassed.”

  He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Never be embarrassed about something so beautiful. Your coming almost made me come.”

  That made her feel a little better, but only a little. All thought left her head then as he stood and shimmied out of his shorts. His penis was large and engorged, the veins standing out as if oversensitized, the mushroom head ruddy with arousal.

  “Are you like that all the time?” she asked before checking her hasty tongue. “I mean when you’re having sex, not when you’re just walking around.” Jeesh! I sou
nd like a blushing virgin.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Only for you. I’ve been wanting you for a long time, baby.” He knelt on the mattress at the end of the bed, tugged off her panties, then crawled up and over her. “Talk about embarrassing, I don’t think I can wait much longer.” He rolled a condom on one-handed… another talent bespeaking his experience. Then, without asking if she was ready again—he must know—he nudged her knees apart with his own, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he eased his penis inside her body, which welcomed him with grasping clasps of her inner muscles as they adjusted to his size. She was too far gone in excitement to be embarrassed anymore.

  Buried inside her fully, he closed his eyes and seemed to be counting when what she wanted was for him to begin moving. In fact, she urged on a soft moan, “Move, dammit.”

  He tried to laugh but it came out as a choked sound. “Wait, or this will be the fastest fuck in history.”

  “Nice language.”

  “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t look one bit sorry. In fact, he appeared to be in pain. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. The muscles in his shoulders appeared tense. And he was panting.

  So she decided to jump-start things herself. While she couldn’t lift his big body off her by raising her hips, she could move from side to side, and that was almost as good. Bliss!

  And it must have felt blissful to him, too, because he lifted himself up on extended arms until he was almost out of her body, then slowly, slowly, slowly down. Over and over he performed this maneuver until the sweat was dripping off his body, and every nerve ending in her body was quivering with tension.

  “Harder,” she pleaded.

  “Like this?” he asked, slamming into her, hitting her clitoris dead on. But he only did it once.

  Darn him!

  When he raised himself up the next time, she reached between his legs and tickled the underside of his balls at just that place which he’d once told her was his happy spot. With an expletive bursting from his gritted teeth, he pushed her knees to her chest and looked at her directly. “Game on, chère?”

  “Game on, cher,” she countered.

  Justin made love to her then with all the expertise he’d garnered over the years. Alternating between long and short strokes. Embedding himself in her and, at the same time, kissing her until she was a whimpering mess. Then plunging into her depths again. Occasionally, he murmured words to her in a foreign language, which she hoped were endearments, but were probably coarse sex words.