by Jules Dixon
I was doing my best to concentrate on her efforts but something else kept invading my mind.
Someone else.
I wasn’t anywhere near close to my finish line, but with how she was petting her lady parts and moaning around my cock, I could imagine she was. There was no use putting the poor girl through more time on her knees, unless I was behind her. Physically and metaphorically.
Pulling her up to me, I flipped her to her stomach on the bed, lifted her up to her knees, and slipped on a condom.
“Yes, Ollie, please … please.” Glancing over her shoulder, she panted and moaned while still continuing the impressive attention to her clit. At least she knew how to get herself there.
Face it, you might as well not even be in the room.
When I entered her, she bucked like a bronco out of the gate.
“Chloe Royer, you keep that up and you’re going to break off the part of me you really seem to like.”
“Oliver Aston, I like all of you.” Her dove-gray eyes sparkled over her shoulder, telling me she liked me a little too much.
Fuck.
This had been our tenth or eleventh “date,” or what most would traditionally call a date, and I’d had a feeling after the fifth or sixth that she was getting a little too close for my comfort. I was honest with her that I wasn’t looking for a traditional relationship, but that information evidently was lost to numerous orgasms and breakfasts I’d bought over the last four months.
I sunk my fingers into her pillowy hips and solidified my decision. After dinner and an enjoyable, albeit relatively shallow, conversation about celebrities and their lives, I decided these next few minutes would be Chloe’s parting gift bang.
One per customer, people. Sorry, no returns.
Aiming to send her out in style, I fucked her with a torturously slow rhythm with long and deep strokes, building the excitement. She moaned as I picked up speed, grinding into her and reaching around to take over for her hand.
“Yes! Ollie. Ollie. Ollie.”
For fuck’s sake, stop saying my name.
“Ollie. Ollie. Ollie.”
Not helping.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on getting her to her grand finale. Big mistake. The eyes I’d tried to forget for over a year seared through the darkness of my shut lids. Those dry dirt-brown eyes, with honey-tinged amber radiating like the North Star from the iris, burst into my darkened vision. In a moment close to torture, I remembered the special amber part was only visible when his lips were within a breath of touching mine.
Thinking about being with someone else while I was with Chloe made me want to get this show to the encore stage.
Without any encore.
I gripped Chloe’s hips with both hands and rocked her from me, dragging my cock from her body slowly, then pounding back into her. Her breathing altered to deep pants.
Come on … you can do it!
The mental cheerleading was for her, not me.
Her head flung in circles like she was on a Tilt-A-Whirl and her body started to get into the same gyrating movements. Her pants became moans of gratification.
“Ollie, come with me, please. I’m … almost … now!”
Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.
She plummeted over the edge, creating a vise around my cock, but the sensation did nothing for or to me. If anything, I was partially limp before she was through with what was splendid to watch, but I wasn’t going to reach the same peak of existence.
No way. No how.
I did the next best—or worst—thing I could as a man. I grunted a few times in an act worthy of a goddamn Oscar, and pulled out. She collapsed onto the bed. The continued praising and professing of my skills, which tonight had been lacking, only solidified my belief that she was feeling more than I was. In lots of ways.
Rolling off the bed, I crossed the room into the bathroom and closed the door. I peeled off the empty condom and cursed myself in the mirror.
Damn cowboy.
****
The next morning I was making headway through the pile of intel that had been dropped on my desk for next week’s project. My attitude was bent, some from not getting a significant release last night, but mostly because my dreams had only been filled with the same brown eyes that kept me from reaching any release.
“Aston!” The boss’s terse voice carried through the office floor.
I left my orderly cubicle and trekked across the building to his OCD-organized office before he could repeat the surly order for my presence.
“Rahl?”
“Bring Greenstein, too.”
I spun in my black military-style boots and marched to Jake Greenstein’s cubicle.
“Jake, boss-man wants you, too.”
“He sounded pissed. Does he look pissed?” Jake turned off his computer monitor.
I stared at Jake. If Rahl Vendetti sounded pissed, Rahl Vendetti was most likely pissed. Plus, Jake was intelligent enough to know the answer to his own question. He cussed under his breath and followed me.
Rahl was the owner of Vendetti Security, Inc., or VSI as the employees started referring to the company. He’d started VSI, which specialized in security equipment installation, surveillance and intel gathering, and PSD-Protective Security Detail, at the beginning of the year and now, ten months later, the growth of the company appeared to be a little out of control.
October had slowed a little, but not significantly. Contracts from various government and local agencies were coming in daily, new employees were on assignments, plus home security systems and private protection requests were causing overtime for several staff possessing specialty skills those jobs required.
That included my skills and my time.
Rahl’s current mood was probably a sign of his stress level, not some major fuck-up that Greenstein or I had accomplished. Although, Jake had a way of fucking up that even I, on occasion, found impressive.
“Close the door, sit,” he directed without looking up from his computer.
When he brought his attention to us, the black circles around his eyes and the empty pot of coffee that rested on his desk stood out as new additions to his office. Rahl delivered the specifics for an upcoming classified project that would require a watcher team comprised of Jake and me, utilizing my background in surveillance and target acquisition, as well as Jake’s background in technology. In this case, his photography skills were needed, and after Rahl was finished, Jake left to order a new high-powered lens for the mission.
I stayed in the room. “What’s up with the new ‘no sleep’ look, boss?”
“You are excused, Aston.” Rahl searched his top desk drawer. He slammed it shut when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. The move was only a diversionary tactic meant to scare off concerned friends and family.
Seen it before, doesn’t work on me, boss.
“Rahl, I understand you pride yourself on being able to read people with your training, but you’re easier to read than you think.”
“I have a lot on my mind. Some other time.”
“Financial problems with the company?”
He stopped searching his desk drawers for clearly nothing but distraction, and glanced up. “No. VSI is doing better than forecasted, ahead of numbers. We’ll be in the black for the rest of this year and start the next one out even better. Now, you’re excused, soldier.” He turned to his computer.
“Is Sage okay?”
His eyes stayed on the monitor screen, but his jaw twitched like someone had tugged a string attached to one of the larger muscles.
I leaned forward, my arms on my knees. “Rahl, is Sage okay?”
His girlfriend, Sage Whiteman, had been my coworker at an interior design firm before Rahl recruited me to VSI. At Sugar Plum Dreams Design, I was a glorified cabana boy without the sexual benefits. I flirted my way through my days purely for entertainment value. Sage had been the only employee I’d ever considered getting horizontal with. She was jaw-drop stunning,
but her fluttering light green eyes told of innocence even I couldn’t sully with my special brand of playboy. Plus, from moment one of seeing her and Rahl together, I could tell she was 100 percent his. But now, Sage was pregnant with their triplets, and although she seemed to be doing great, everyone realized that a multiples pregnancy held higher risks.
He raised his head. “I understand you care about my girlfriend, but I don’t want to talk about it. You need to respect this. I promise, she’s not having medical issues.”
I stood. “I’m not happy with that answer, but I will respect your need for time. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be ready to hear what’s going on.”
At my cubicle, I texted Sage. Guys could be jerks. I would admit I occasionally fell into that category. From past experience, like when he punched my face after catching me hugging Sage before he really knew me, Rahl had made his way into the designation on occasion as well.
Aston, Rahl’s just grumpy. There’s a guy out there who might call you ‘jerk of the century.’
I needed to know what size jerk Sage was dealing with. As far as I was concerned, as a pregnant woman she shouldn’t be dealing with anything but fucking rainbows and goddamn butterflies from his mouth.
Ollie: Hey sexy momma. How’s everything going?
Phone calls occupied my time and concern preoccupied my brain while I waited for her return text.
Ollie: Sage, how are you?
In another twenty minutes, I picked up my phone to call Sage when I finally received a text.
Sage: Jeez, I’m doing fine. Why?
Ollie: Rahl seems to be a little off today. How are the babies?
Sage: Tummy is all good. The boy ogres seem to be crowding out baby girl ogre, she’s about 3/4 the size of them! Mean ogre boys!
I chuckled. Rahl had a reputation for being more than a little rough around the edges and Sage had nicknamed him the “Ogre” so their babies were now baby versions of him.
Ollie: As long as everything is fine.
Sage: It is. No worries :-)
Ollie: Let’s do lunch next week.
Sage: Please! Boss woman is being a P.I.T.A. by next week everything should be slowing down.
Ollie: Tell your boss, Ollie says she needs to calm the fuck down.
Sage: I can’t do that! Andi might be a little much to take some days, but I love my job. If it comes with a slightly crazy boss, I’m okay with that.
I chuckled. Sage didn’t know it, but Andi and I went way back. Way, way back to birth. I’d just never told Sage that Andi was my mother. It was easier when I worked there if everyone didn’t think I was getting special treatment. I didn’t want any. If Sage actually said that to Andi, my mother would be calling me to air her displeasure, not firing Sage.
Ollie: She’d probably laugh, but I’ll do it myself in the near future. And because I’m not at Sugar Plum any more BIG HUGS to you.
Sage had put the nix on physical affection from me after she met Rahl, and after he punched my face I thought about avoiding touching her, but she and I had come around to being like brother and sister.
Sage: LOL ! BIG HUGS from me and the three inside of me. <3 u
Everyone could see there was something special between Rahl and Sage. They’d started their relationship a little unconventionally, but conventional screams “boring.” Their story included getting together, creating the babies in a day-long event of passion, and breaking up while Rahl took care of some mental monsters brought on by war. Then, after Rahl sought treatment for his problems and Sage couldn’t stand another moment without him, she told him their news and they became a couple even closer than before. They hadn’t stopped giving bedroom eyes to each other since.
I’d love to say I wasn’t jealous but a small part of me was. I had that kind of relationship once, but I’d messed it up.
“Messed it up” is putting it mildly. I should be crowned King Asshole of All Time.
Chapter Three
Holt
After getting barely any sleep from dreams so vivid I could almost smell his cologne and feel his body on top of mine, I woke able to see my breath in the upstairs bedroom. I liked to sleep in a chilly room. However, this morning my testicles were hiding like a squirrel had buried them in my gut. But if a Nebraska October was anything like an Alabama one, the day would warm up and the cycle would start all over again.
A burning hot and long shower helped to warm my body until I stepped from the claw-foot tub, opened the cabinet, and realized I’d neglected to grab the towels from the dryer before starting my de-thawing. The two tiny washcloths weren’t going to be any help either. I trekked from the bathroom dripping water down the hallway to the stairs. The frosty morning had the polished oak floor colder than an Alabama coonhound’s back on a winter night. Making a birthday-suit pilgrimage, I took the stairs carefully. The laundry room was on the other side of the kitchen on the first floor.
I hit the bottom stair, turned to my left to enter the kitchen, and shrieks of a female bounced around the space while a blur of caramel-brown hair skittered across the room.
Her soprano voice sang out, “Oh, my God! I’m calling the police! Get out, you pervert!” The brunette dialed her phone as she opened the door to the back porch. “My boyfriend is huge and will kick your ass!”
“Miss. Miss!” I recognized her from family photos. “Sage Whiteman, please, just a minute.”
She turned in the doorway. “How do you know my name?”
I heard 9-1-1 connect as she pulled the phone from her ear. “Hello, is anyone there? Hello? I will be required to send emergency assistance to the GPS coordinates if you don’t answer.”
I walked over to her. “You gonna answer that or you want me to?”
She stared down at my crotch, blinked, and handed me the phone.
“Yes, hello, ma’am. There seems to have been some miscommunication. Everythin’ is fine here.”
The operator interrogated me with a few questions about the situation and even giggled when I relayed that I was standing naked in front of the granddaughter of the owners of the farm. My status as hired hand just hadn’t made its rounds through the family yet. I would introduce myself and Miss Whiteman could verify my employment with her grandparents, Winnie and Han Whiteman.
I disconnected the call and handed the phone back. “Gonna go get a towel and make myself presentable. I’ll be right back, Miss Whiteman.”
She blushed. “Take your time.”
I turned and my bare ass beamed to meet the morning sun. She giggled as I walked to the laundry room.
Returning with a towel wrapped around my waist, I held out a hand. “Miss Whiteman, I’m Holt Jamison, the new hired hand.”
“I guess you know my name from my grandparents?”
“Actually, no. Your friends, Kanyon and Willow, they were here last week. They said you gave them permission to be on the property so I didn’t give ‘em any trouble. Nice couple.”
Sage bit her lip. “Ooops. Kind of my fault. I didn’t think anyone would be here. I’m sorry, Mr. Jamison.”
“Don’t be. It was nice to meet someone here, seeing as I’m new in town.” I pulled out a chair. “And please, call me Holt. Mr. Jamison is my daddy and even he would insist you call him by his nickname, Red.”
“Please call me Sage, Holt.”
“Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?”
Sage rubbed her small but noticeable belly as she sat. “Thanks, but no caffeine. There are three growing offspring in here.”
“Three babies?” With a twinkle in her eye, she nodded at my question. “Congratulations. I believe your friends said your boyfriend is … Ralph?”
Her belly bounced with her chuckle. “Rahl … Rahl Vendetti.”
“My apologies. Rahl. I can’t wait to meet the man behind the glowin’ woman. Can I get you a glass of water?”
“Sure. I can’t stay long, though. I need to get to work soon.”
“Where do you work?”
&
nbsp; “Sugar Plum Dreams Design. It’s an interior design firm.”
I poured a glass of water for Sage and a cup of chicory coffee for myself. I handed off the glass to Sage and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.
“I’ll assume your grandparents didn’t tell you that Dave isn’t coming back to the farm?”
I probably should’ve been uncomfortable sitting in just a towel, but as my mama had said, if I’d had my way as a child, I’d have gone without clothes. She insisted I cover up. I resisted the insisting. She won. She always wins.
Sage’s back straightened. “Actually, I’m having a little family disagreement with my grandparents, but no, they didn’t tell me.”
“Last I heard, Dave will be moving to long-term hospice after his stay at the hospital. Hope things get better between you and your grandparents. Family is important and nothing takes the place of knowing there are people who will be there for you no matter what happens.” My words tasted as nasty as whole bean coffee, so I took a drink of chicory to wash them away.
“Well, as the saying goes, sometimes we hurt the ones we love.” A tear trickled down her pink cheek as she mumbled the words that had proven true to me as well.
“I’m sorry, Sage. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She wiped the drops away with the sleeve of her gray sweater. “You didn’t. What happened is my problem, not yours to worry about.”
I reached over and placed my hand on hers. “My momma says, ‘Listen to your heart and it will tell you what you’ve always known and which way to go.’ I’ve always believed she was speakin’ from her heart.”
Sage relaxed and smiled, brushing away the few tears. “Your accent definitely isn’t Midwestern. What brings you to Omaha, Holt?”
“That’s a long story, and you have work to get to.”
Her pale green eyes opened a little wider. “I’m starting to think a late start at work might be a good idea.” She glanced at her phone. “Today’s Tuesday, I don’t have any meetings for a while. So, tell me what? Family? Friends? Career?” She softened her voice. “A special someone?”
“Mostly I was in need of a change of scenery. Alabama was my home from birth ‘til college and then I joined the military. I left the Marines a couple months ago and wanted to go back to my roots of farming. The land and I have a love affair that only farmers can understand. And then Nebraska for other personal reasons.” I mumbled the last sentence, hoping she wouldn’t dig into that piece of information.
