by Frankie Love
“They’d have to understand that interrupting someone when they’re reading is never a good idea.”
I shake a finger having something to add. “Yes, and the person would have to realize that when someone says they’re taking a nap, that they literally want to sleep.”
He laughs. “So you’re not a snuggler?”
Thinking about how many nights I’ve shared my bed with my kiddos, I reconsider my stance. “Okay, I can snuggle as long as everyone knows sleeping is the main objective.”
“I see,” he says slowly. “So you aren’t into middle of the afternoon spooning that leads to sex?”
Heat rises up my neck, burning my cheeks. “Now I sound like a prude. I meant I just really appreciate sleep.”
“Good, because if I were to share this lake house with someone, I’d need to them to be interested in sex in the canoe and sex in the hammock and sex--“
I cut him off, cracking up. “Hammock sex just sounds awkward.”
“True. Then where would you want to get frisky at this cabin?”
“At this hypothetical cabin, right?”
“Right.”
I shrug. “Uh, maybe in the woods? On a soft wool blanket, under the stars? Too cheesy?”
He shakes his head, and rests his hand on my knee, leaning close. “Not cheesy, pretty damn perfect.”
My heart is racing with anticipation as I realize how badly I want this night to be something different.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper. “Take me to your place.”
Maybe it’s too fast--to meet a man and let him take me back to his hotel room, but for me, it isn’t fast at all. I’ve been waiting years for this moment, the moment where I felt ready to try again.
“I was hoping you’d say that, Greta.” He looks at me with the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips. His dark brown eyes melt the icing that frosts my heart.
He closes the tab and walks me out of the wine bar, taking my hand in his. I swallow hard, grateful he can’t see me. Truth is, a man hasn’t held my hand like this in so long. I don’t realize, until Ansel’s soft fingers lace with mine, how badly I’ve missed it.
He looks back at me, concern in his eyes. “You okay?”
I nod, because I am okay. I’m more than okay. I’m taking the leap that’s terrified me for so long. And Mags was right--I am scared of getting hurt--but a guy like Ansel won’t hurt me. He’s all smiles and laughs and flirting and fun. He’s the opposite of stoic Luke in every way--and for that I’m grateful.
This is different. This is what I need.
“So I know you aren’t from Linesworth either, but I think the rental is this way, on Sixth Street,” he says, pointing left.
I purse my lips, as we begin walking.
Sixth Street is definitely to our right.
But I don’t say anything, because ... well, Mags said to role-play, to pretend I am an out-of-towner looking for meaningless sex.
She didn’t say the meaningless sex part, but that’s what this is. A one-night stand with a regulation hottie.
Okay, I need to get a grip because no one uses phrases like ‘regulation hottie’ when describing a grown-up man with muscles that would make Thor feel inferior.
I realize, that we’ve gone in a circle right about the time Ansel does. Maybe he should have left some breadcrumbs to lead him home after all.
“Why don’t we try the other direction this time?” I suggest as he wraps an arm around my shoulder.
We cross the street and he immediately recognizes where he is. “The house across the street is the rental,” he says, pointing to Lindy Lancaster’s winter rental. I don’t mention that I’ve been in book club with Lindy for the past two years or that I helped her tile the back splash in the kitchen before she listed it on Air BnB this past fall. Instead, I let him lead me inside, playing the part of a girl on vaycay.
Not the mom whose own home is one block away.
“Good, the guys are in bed,” Ansel says, locking the door. “Great place, right?”
I nod looking around Lindy’s home with fresh eyes. It’s designed with an IKEA budget, and it looks cute and modern.
“So, would you like something to drink?” Ansel asks, walking to the galley kitchen in the back of the house.
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t--tequila is only good in moderation.”
He pours us glasses of water and hands me one. “And are you all about doing things in moderation?”
I lean against the kitchen counter, trying to remember what people in movies do when they go to a guy’s house after picking them up in a bar. Luke and I were high school sweethearts--—adult dating is all new territory for me.
“Probably,” I admit. “I’m not a risk taker, usually. Or that adventurous. Steady, reliable--that’s how my sister would describe me.”
“A woman being reliable isn’t a bad thing. I think it’s pretty sexy.”
I twist my lips. “You’re crazy. Guys like women who are spontaneous, not practical.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t need spontaneity, but if you’re looking for some, why don’t you come skiing with us one day this week. How long are you in town?”
“Oh, I don’t ski, or go on the mountain at all. Ever.” I worry about the tightness in my voice, but Ansel doesn’t seem to notice.
“Really?” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “It’s so fun though.”
“And dangerous.”
He nods. “I get it, my mom is scared of heights, too.”
I don’t correct him. It’s not the heights that scare me ... it’s the memories.
“Anyways,” I say, wanting to change the subject. “I’m usually risk-averse, but tonight....”
Ansel steps toward me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Tonight you’re throwing caution to the wind. Taking a chance with an old guy like me.”
I throw back my head. “Old? Come on. You’re crazy.” I stop laughing and take a hard look at him.
He’s so close to me, and his hips press against my own. “Well, I’m an old soul, that’s what I mean.”
“How old are you anyways?”
“Twenty-six.”
I grimace, running a hand through my hair, thinking about my kids and mortgage, feeling a decade older than I am. “I’m twenty-seven. Scared of an older woman?”
“Not in the least,” he says leaning closer. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” he says.
“Likewise,” I admit.
“But I’d like to find out,” he says, his hands move under my sweater, warm hands against my cool back. Sending shivers over my skin.
“Me too,” I murmur, closing my eyes and letting his touch envelop me.
It’s been so long. Years. I want to be felt and held and kissed and touched. I want to be seen.
Even if just for one night.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Greta,” he tells me.
It’s like he understands that I need to hear these words to prepare myself for the moment another man’s lips press against mine.
I nod, ever so slightly, lifting my chin, and offering myself to Ansel.
He may be charming and effortless but he is also soft and smooth and when he pulls my mouth to his, I sink into the kiss. I sink into him.
5
Ansel
She kisses like her life depends on it. Like this is the first kiss she’s had in years, like this means the world to her.
I won’t let her down.
And damn, holding her against me, a hand on the base of her neck, without any intention of letting go any time soon, I swear this is the kiss of my life.
Her mouth is experienced, like it knows what love is. She kisses like she understands passion and desire in a way other women I’ve kissed don’t. Greta kisses as if she knows there are no guarantees.
“Oh, Ansel,” she groans in my mouth. She is all in--I feel it as she moves her hand, pressing it against my chest, feeling my body--wanting to be sure I am here.
“I won’t let you go,” I murmur in her ear, wondering when the heat level between us rose so damn fast. We were all smiles and flirty glances back at the bar--but something’s taken over her. Over both of us.
Desire.
“I want you so bad,” I tell her, unable to hold back the truth. I want her to understand how hot she’s getting me.
“How bad?” she asks, kissing my neck, her fingers on the hem of my shirt.
I grin, then breathe hot air in her ear, getting hard as she giggles from the sensation.
“So fucking bad,” I admit, scooping her up in my arms. “And I’m going to show you.”
I carry her to my bedroom, opening the door, and setting her down on the bed.
“Getting straight to business, then, are we?” She lifts her brows, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” I walk toward her, leaning down, and taking her face in my hands. I lean down, kissing her sweet lips again, and her hands tug on my belt buckle. “Are you in a hurry?”
She looks up at me, her eyelashes fluttering and her pink tongue darting over her lips. “Too forward of me?”
I shake my head. “I love it.”
“Good, because I am not one to tiptoe, I don’t have time for that sort of thing.”
“You’re a busy woman then?”
She nods slowly, and for a moment I think I’ve ruined the mood. Then a smile spreads across her face and I know she isn’t going anywhere.
“Yes, usually I am over booked--but tonight,” she says. “I’m free. Tonight, I’m yours.”
Her words give me the permission I was waiting for, and I don’t hold back. I pull up her sweater and toss it on the floor. She has on a little tank top, her perfect breasts tempting me. She leans back on the mattress, and I undo the buttons on her jeans, pulling them off. Her long legs are bare and ready to be spread.
“The lights?” she asks.
I don’t press, even though I’d love the lights on -- I want to see every inch of Greta -- I want her comfortable.
Flicking them off, I return to her, ready.
I get out of my jeans, and tug off my shirt. Looking down at her, the darkness covering us, I run my fingers over her shoulders, her breasts, and when I get to her panties I pull them off by the waistband, ever so slowly. The room is still, the night is black, and the intimacy of the moment covers us.
I shimmy them down, inch by inch.
“You’re teasing me, now,” she groans playfully.
“I am,” I admit. “But I don’t want to rush this, Greta.”
“Why’s that, man-bun?”
“That’s my nickname, now?”
“I think you’ve earned it.”
I laugh, pulling the panties past her ankles, and pushing my boxers down as well. I lean over her, hands on either side of her narrow frame. “You make me nervous,” I admit. “Excited, but nervous.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who gets nervous around women,” she says. The moonlight floats through the window, casting a faint glow on Greta’s face.
In this moment she looks so beautiful, so delicate--it’s the light of the moon, sure, but more than that, I see something desperate in her eyes.
She’s more than she lets on and I don’t know what she is exactly, but I know it’s something special. It’s like there’s another person behind those eyes, a person who hasn’t opened up in a long time.
“Usually I’m confident, but now, being here with you ... it’s like....” I shake my head, embarrassed at the sentiments I am so close to sharing.
“What?” she asks. Her nearly naked body is under me, and her legs move, as I inch closer to her. It isn’t forced--being here with her feels like second nature--which makes no sense--Greta is a stranger.
“It’s like I suddenly feel inexperienced. Like, you know more about your body ... about being loved, err, touched, than any other woman I’ve been with.”
She runs a hand through my long hair, looking in my eyes. “I know a thing or two about love, but not much about hooking up. I’m guessing you have a lot you could teach me, Ansel.”
“Should I be offended that you think I sleep around a lot?” I tease.
She twists her lips, and wraps her legs around me. She reaches a hand between us, taking hold of my hard cock. Fuck, it feels good to be touched by her.
“You’re the most handsome man I’ve been with in ages--I mean no offense when I say you look like a guy who has lots of sex.” She runs her hand up and down my length, and I pull her cami down, needing to kiss her breasts. I pull down the cups of her bra, licking her nipples, turned on by how fucking big her tits are.
“You’re so gorgeous, Greta,” I tell her, slipping a hand between her legs, feeling how wet she is. I groan as I touch her cunt, loving the fact that soon I will press myself inside her, and make her scream my name.
Reaching for a condom in my jeans picket, I roll it on quickly. Then I return to her--running the tip of my cock against her creamy pussy. I kiss her neck, her ear, her nose.
“You don’t need to flatter me to get me in bed,” she says softly. “I’m already here.”
“Greta, there is no flattery in my words, only the truth. You are divine, and tonight, you are mine.”
6
Greta
He pushes himself inside me, gently, and I bite my lip, shocked at his size, my pussy stretches to take him--my body already begging for more. One inch at a time won’t do--I need to be filled and fucked and fueled.
I need him to make love to me and at the same time, take me hard. Harder. As hard as he can. I want it all tonight. I want to remember what it is like to be consumed.
He runs a hand under my cami, and I don’t steer it away. I may not be ready for the lights to be on, for him to see stretch marks from pregnancy, but I do want to be touched. Taken.
I inhale as his hands run over my belly, holding me at my waist as he sinks inside of me. He is big, filling me so completely.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks, brushing away a loose strand of my hair.
I whimper, but shake my head. “No. It feels so good. So right. Please. Don’t stop.”
I close my eyes, the worries from my real life slipping away--Milo and Lucy and Christmas shopping and gingerbread houses--all of it disappears as Ansel rocks his perfectly shaped body against my own.
As he takes me, his muscles intimidate me in their absolute strength, but it makes me feel safe too, beneath him. He towers over me as he fills me up. Under him, it’s like he’s the shelter from the storm.
I’ve missed this sensation, the way my pussy opens to take a man, the way my heart pounds as my skin remembers what it means to be kissed and held and licked and fucked--so many good memories. As Ansel moves against me, I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him as we move toward climax.
I’m loud--I forgot that about myself. And Ansel laughs, teasing me for my cries.
“You’re more wild than I expected,” he growls in my ear, turning me on even more. I roll out from under him, climb on top, straddling him. I pin him down playfully with one hand, as I lift my ass and ease him back where he belongs. Deep inside of me.
“Oh, god, woman,” he groans as I rock my hips in a circle.
“I’m so close,” I moan, moving faster and faster. “Oh, Ansel, oh, oh.” I come hard, my hands pressing against his chest as the orgasm washes over me. The pleasure ripples through my body and Ansel knows it. It makes him needy and I know he’s ready to come. He thrusts inside me, hard, coming against me too.
“Oh, hell,” he groans in pleasure as we rock softly until we both still against one another. I look down at him, this man that is unlike anyone I know--handsome and so damn smooth--and I laugh. Hard.
Hard enough that I cover my mouth as the laughter escapes.
The room is dark but I can faintly make out his face and for a moment his brow is knit with concern. “That bad, huh?”
I erupt in a fit of
giggles, leaning down, close enough to kiss him. “Not bad at all. In fact, it was exactly, one hundred percent amazing.” I’m on my back and he is above me; it’s a moment full of moonlight and stolen kisses and skin on skin.
A moment where all is right.
“Thank you,” I say softly, as the laughter fades.
“For what?” he asks, rolling beside me on the bed, lacing his fingers with mine, and kissing the top of my hand.
“For reminding me that I’m alive, breathing.”
“Oh baby,” he says, wrapping an arm around me again. “You’re not breathing, you’re panting.”
I laugh again, covering my face with my hands, as Ansel lowers himself on the bed and pushes apart my legs.
Guess if I was looking for a good time, I’ve found it.
I wake around three am, with a start. I sit up in bed, looking around, disoriented. Then I see Ansel, bare chested and asleep, beside me.
Blinking, I remember the night. Did I seriously just sleep with that hunk-a-hunk-a-burning-love? I’m such a dork--yet he was all over me. It’s been so long since I felt so adored.
My shoulders fall and my face breaks out into a grin.
I seriously dominated that one-night stand.
Slipping from the bed, I tiptoe around the room and grab my clothes, dressing quickly. Standing in Ansel’s doorway, I pause, smiling at what is clearly the most uninhibited experience of my life.
Walking home in the early morning, I use the flashlight on my phone to lead the way--but that small stream of light is hardly necessary--right now I’m on cloud nine.
At home I shower and change quickly, knowing I need to get to the bakery to start the morning routine that starts at four am sharp. The biggest downfall of this profession is the early morning. I usually have a sitter who comes to be with the kids, but today they’re with Hazel and Clive.
I put on my uniform of choice, thick black leggings, a tunic long enough to cover my ass, and clogs. Not sexy, but certainly practical.
Pulling my winter coat back on, I head to Main Street, knowing the smile on my face is going to tell Maggie everything she’ll be dying to know.
