“Boo, life doesn’t come with guarantees, not even tomorrow. For real, most people live happy half-lives never feeling that chemistry. I’ve never felt that. I have always longed to. Don’t throw it away. If you do, you will regret it. ’Cause even if the dream is better than reality, you would still think about it. That ‘what if?’ feeling is not good, and I’d rather take a chance and be miserable, than not and be safe.”
Charli leaned over, opening her small side-table drawer. Pulling out a small pipe, she packed it with more herb and lit it, toking once. Handing it off, she said, “One more for the road?”
“Nah, I’m good.” Offering hugs, Charli let Makenzie out, waiting to close the door until her friend was safely inside.
Once inside, she heard the TV going. Peeking through the half-wall, she saw Charyn in her kitchen, wearing black gym shorts. He had swept, mopped, and washed the few dishes she had in the sink.
“Hey.” Mak was floored. Charyn with clothes was sexy as all get out. Without them, he was perfect. His large, sculpted, tan body was at least six and a half feet tall and thickly roped with muscles. His chest, well developed, had a sparse dusting of hair. Trailing her eyes downwards, she noted his wide shoulders and chest tapered to a v. The shorts hung low on his hips, barely hanging on for dear life.
“Welcome back, Mary Jane.”
“Huh? You must have your women crossed.”
Quirking a brow, he laughed. “I can smell, you know that right?”
“Ohhhh…”
“Yeah.”
“Is it a deal breaker? ’Cause I have to admit, it’s my favorite dirty secret.”
“Nope. I have been known to indulge every now and again myself.”
Jaw hitting the floor, Mak was stunned. “But you seem so…I don’t know?”
“Normal?”
“I think you haven’t ever known what it is to be normal.”
“You would be surprised at how many people smoke marijuana. At least one percent of people do every day, and over half of the population has tried it at one point or another.” Charyn continued, “My mom is a hippie. She smokes every day, even now. She never hid it from us, and if we wanted to try it, she would let us.”
“Mmm…interesting, my mom is the opposite. But I like my men smart and sexy.”
“So you think I’m sexy, huh?”
“You know you are, why ask?”
“Even men like compliments. But I do want to talk to you. Get to know you better.”
“Ask away.”
“Let’s make it fun. Would you care to play two-handed spades? Winner of each book gets a question?”
“You can play spades?”
“Yes, Mak, even lil’ ol’ white me can play spades.”
“I didn’t…” Thinking of what she implied took her aback. “Yeah I did. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I enjoy surprising you.”
“I think it doesn’t take much from you. Shoot, I’m amazed you’re still here.”
Charyn smiled. “You amaze me, too. I never thought to meet someone like we did, either.”
“Tell the truth and shame the devil.”
Grabbing a deck of cards, pen, and paper, Charyn pulled her to the coffee table. He laid out two large floor cushions for their seating comfort. The game began with a simple break down of house rules. After the first few hands, which Mak won, the tide turned. She was not surprised at his skill, as he seemed to do everything well. After a grueling game, Mak won by a single book.
The questions were fun, keeping them both awake until the early hours of morning. Mak used her questions to gather information about his family. He was the middle of three brothers. Deven being the eldest and Marques the youngest, Charyn was the middle brother. She found out how he got his name, from his mother, Charlotte Yves Warren.
“She took the first part from her first name, the middle from her middle name, the ending from her maiden last name. Doesn’t make sense to me, everyone else got normal names.” The conversation carried on late into the night, and Makenzie lost all sense of time until after two a.m. Enthralled by his voice, content with a good meal and the warmth of his arms, Mak drifted off. Her last waking memory was of Charyn watching her drift off, and she sensed movement as he carried her to bed.
* * * *
Early that Sunday morning, Makenzie awoke, needing the bathroom. She smiled when she stirred from the bed and caught sight of the man in it. He was nude, save the sheets his hips were tangled in.
Curious, she cocked her head left and right, trying to see the rest of him. Mak really wished he would shift positions to allow the sheets, covering what she wanted to see, to give her even a small peek. Bladder complaining, she ducked into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, used the commode, and quickly washed her face. Walking from the bathroom, she padded over to the bed. Charyn had shifted, but only to hog the entire expanse.
Even with the addition of his restless motions, the sheet still annoyingly concealed the bits she wanted to see most. However, morning sunlight lay across him in slashes from the blinds, and her artist inside itched to sketch him. Getting the few items needed for the impromptu sketch took longer than she wanted. Impatient, she propped herself on one the floor cushions and went to work. She drew him as he lay, lazily sprawled across the full surface of the queen, feet hanging off the bed. She finished quickly, the lines of his form already mapped in her mind.
Standing and stretching, she decided to fix breakfast. Before she could set her sketches to the side, Charyn rolled to his side, smile sexy. The sketches and pencil fell, hitting the floor, sound muted by the plush bedside rug.
Voice husky, he asked her, “Like what you see? I wondered if you were going to pull the sheet back. But since you won’t, I will.” He rolled upright and climbed, long-legged, out of bed. The sheet pooled at his feet. Mak’s eyes glazed over at the sight. His cock lay along his thighs, large as the rest of him. Thick as her wrist, the head was plum dark, shaft heavily veined. She bit her lip, worrying the flesh bruised.
“Yes, I do,” Makenzie responded to his earlier query, way late.
“Good.”
He walked to her and leaned in, tasting the bruised lower lip gently. His breath was clean, minty fresh.
“How come you don’t have dragon breath?” Makenzie asked, eyes going squinty with suspicion.
“I’ve been up for two hours.”
“But you were in bed.”
“Yeah, I got up, showered, and came back to bed with you. I have to watch out for those nasty man juices. They tend to collect after twelve hours or so.”
Smirking at that, Makenzie agreed with him with a nonchalant shrug of shoulders.
“Can I see?” Charyn asked, pointing to the fallen paper.
“Sure—”
He leaned over, heavy cock slapping his thigh, a meaty thump. The sound forced her to chuckle, “Do you have a permit for that thing?”
“Yeah, it’s concealed.”
She laughed harder, her sides burning.
Makenzie saw Charyn as he looked down at the picture she just sketched of him in her bed. Even she knew this was her best sketch yet. The detail was so lifelike that even on paper the figure looked as if it would draw breath and roll over.
“You always say I amaze you, but even with what I saw in your studio last night, this is superb. You even added the scar I got at ten riding my bike downhill.” He then asked her, “Can I have this?”
“If you will pose for me again…yes.”
“Will do.”
“You hungry?”
Breakfast was wonderful, as Charyn ended up doing all the work. Whipping eggs into froth, he constructed omelets, adding ham, tomatoes, onions, and peppers. The only thing he let Makenzie do was fry bacon, since she begged him to. She didn’t want him to burn his dick, and he agreed. He laughed with her, sharing a memory where he got splattered with bacon grease.
“I was twenty-three, fresh out of college. At that age, you’re always hungry, and at
the time I couldn’t boil water, despite my mother’s attempts to fashion me into a passable cook. But, after watching a cooking show, I decided to try it, seeing as I had the munchies and no snacks. I opted for something simple, bacon and eggs. When the pan started popping, I was so dazed I just looked at it, not getting why it was popping so hard. By the time I finished, I was greasy as hell. Mind you, now I know you don’t combine a wet pan with grease of any kind.” Charyn laughed at himself.
Makenzie smiled at his tale as she pulled down plates and silverware. She used the square Asian-inspired dishware she had secreted away for special occasions, Thanksgiving and such. After pulling down glasses, she asked Charyn, “Is juice all right with you?”
“Yeah, but I would really like a glass of the Kool-Aid,” Charyn responded as he flipped an omelet out of the pan.
Laughing, she said, “One of these days, I won’t be surprised when you say something crazy. I was going to have the same, anyway.”
“Why is that crazy? I grew to enjoy it immensely during school. If you make it right, you can wake the dead.” Charyn laughed again.
“You’re right about that.”
Setting the pitcher of cherry-lemonade out didn’t take very long, and Charyn was finished with the last omelet. He slid it on the plate with the others and carried it to the table.
Makenzie sat down as he loaded the heavily laden plate onto the small dinette. “Are you cooking for a small country? Bet you used all my eggs and bacon.” Shaking a finger, she said, “This better be good, or you are in trouble, mister.” After saying grace, they both dug in.
“You cooked all the bacon, if I’m not mistaken,” Charyn responded to her pre-prayer complaint.
“So? I still can blame you, cooking in your nasty suit. Plus, you’re too large of a man to be satisfied with a small portion of anything.”
“That’s right, Makenzie. I tend to be greedy with my meals.” The look in his eyes was lustful and filled with need. “And why ever does my nudity have to be nasty? I think that’s where your mind is. Somewhere in the gutter, but I like it.”
“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
“I think you just did.”
Scrunching her face up, Mak dug in. The first bite was heavenly. He could really cook. Her face must have told him how good the food was, since he said, “You like? Was it worth the loss of a few eggs?”
Elbows planted on the table edge, she leaned toward him. Smirking, she retorted, “What you gonna do if it wasn’t?”
He cocked a brow, and he leaned across the table, sucking both her lips between his. Running his tongue tip across the seam of her mouth, he coaxed her to open her mouth. She did and was rewarded with a hot lick up her upper palate. Shuddering in delight, she backed away. Her fresh panties were soaked already, and she really couldn’t handle an orgasm over the brunch.
Chapter 8:
Dinner for Perverts
The beautiful Sunday morning was mild, and since it was her regular cleaning day, Mak grabbed a bucket. Filled with her favorite cleaning supplies, she sat it by the patio door. She needed a few hours to herself, so she sent him on his way, telling him to get some real clothes and do whatever work he needed to do tonight.
“I can help, you know.”
“I know you can, but you’ve already done too much. Let me do this much. I only clean once a week. Just lemme do the thang.”
“If I go, you have to let me take you out tonight. Otherwise, I may think you’re using me for my sexy body.”
“Oh, I guess you found out my nefarious plan.”
“Mmm, I see. Come here, girl, so I can have my wicked way with you.”
Leaning in, she kissed him, tasting the faintest hint of mint, followed with a lemon chaser. The kiss started innocently, but as their mouths worked together, their tasting grew heated. Charyn pulled back, his lips barely touching hers.
“Let’s not get this started, unless you want me to lock you in the bedroom for the rest of the weekend.”
Mak licked her lips, craving another taste, just not knowing how to ask for it. “All right, go on already.” The southern twang drew her words together like molasses. She watched him leave and already missed him as though he had been gone for days.
Once she pulled herself from staring down the driveway, she hustled into gear. Setting her kitchen microwave timer, she pulled out dinner for Charli tonight. She decided on a simple meal so she could set it and walk away. Roast and potatoes would be hearty enough for Charli, and she would have leftovers to eat for lunch tomorrow. Setting the Crock-Pot to low, she filled it one third of the way with hot water and dumped in some favored generic seasonings, leaving the meat to simmer.
She vacuumed, dusted, and changed her sheets with perfect military corners. Last she moved to the en suite bathroom, performing a quick scrub-down of the tub and toilet, finishing with a sweep and mop over the floor. As she whisked the mop, Makenzie recalled Charyn cleaning last night. The flashback brought heat to her cheeks as she thought of him bare-chested and damp with sweat. What man, she thought, would sweep and mop without being asked? She wasn’t letting him going anywhere yet. Even if he was crazy, she liked his brand of it.
Chores done, Makenzie moved to her personal grooming needs. She decided to wash and treat her hair first, and a hot bath would allow her to hit up the rusty spots with her razor. Pre-bath, she grabbed panties, sport bra, and a long sleep T-shirt proclaiming her America’s next top model. The tights she picked were boldly patterned, a zebra-inspired print in green and blue. The clothes were well worn but clean and most importantly sported no holes. Mak took her fresh clothes with her to the bath and turned on hot water after lathering her legs with shaving cream.
This particular cream was her favorite, sold by a local sex-toy consultant. She could shave any body part with it and even use the same thick shaving foam as hair conditioner, if desired. Makenzie ran her bath with the new bath bubbles from her gift basket from Charyn. The soak was wonderful, scented well and the water as hot as she was able to tolerate it. She drifted off, the heat carrying her away, and in her mind’s eye, she saw him. Charyn. He was in front of her, sitting with spread thighs, wearing the shorts from last night. He was looking at her, gaze deep, and rubbing his thick cock, which hung at a lazy angle over the waistband. The motions were long and slow, his wrist moving evenly.
When he reached the head, he rotated his hand and rolled it. The return back to the base was slower than before, and more maddening, in some way. Her skin, heated from her visions, made the bath feel cool, much like pool water in the summer. She touched herself, just a small caress over her clit. The gentle pass of fingers was nowhere near enough to satisfy her. But imagining his hands on her flesh kicked the solo session up a notch. No longer her hands cupping fleshy breasts, instead she felt his calloused strength. Not her fingers in her pussy, but his digits rippling inside her sex. Mak’s head lolled backwards as she felt the tension gather. She panted, the heat building, and she was unable to it hold back. His name on her lips, water rippling around her. She came tightly, the sensation locked in her belly. Makenzie descended the peak gladly, more than ready to leave the chilly embrace of the tub. She rinsed and climbed out, drying off.
Pulling on her carefully chosen house wear, she towel dried and proceeded to moisturize her scalp with oil, at this time of year especially important because she wore a natural and her hair tended to be dry. Mak checked the Crock-Pot, and she walked off to finish her ’do. As she hit the hall, the doorbell rang. Walking over, she called out, “Who’s there?”
“Only the lady that gave birth to you,” was her mom’s dry response from the other side of her door. Sharon Stafford was beautiful even well past fifty. Her body still carried little spare fat, and she enjoyed the maturity of her gray hair peppering the black in chunky highlights around her face. After the cancer, she kept her hair cropped close, spunky bangs in her face.
Opening the door wide, her mom hugged her tight.
“Sorry, mom, it wasn’t bad, I just had to stay for observation overnight. I had a slight concussion. A couple of bruises. That was it.”
“That’s the point. I find out from someone else and then don’t hear from you, of all people. Then I’m definitely worried. At least if I had of heard from you, then I can be sure you’re alive and awake.”
“You’re right, mom, I’m sorry. I should have called you. By the time I got home and settled in, I just forgot.”
“Hmm. Forgot, huh? All right, but I don’t believe you. Something’s up. What it is, I don’t know. So what about your car?”
“Bessie’s in car heaven now. Well…maybe car hell, ’cause she was bad sometimes. I’ll go pick up my rental tomorrow and then hopefully buy something new later in the week.”
“All right then, you want me to come with you?”
“No thanks, mom.” Her mom, while wonderful in every way domestic, was a terrible negotiator. Her last car-shopping episode was a debacle. Mom ended up paying more than the sticker price, and how she haggled backwards Mak didn’t want to know. Smiling to take the bite out of the phrase, she hugged her mom. The scent she was enveloped with brought back memories of her childhood. Ivory soap and Elizabeth Arden.
Mak drew her mom inside the house and sat her at the kitchen table. She ended up pulling out a bag of chamomile tea and jar of honey after turning on her rarely used kettle. Making a pot of tea, she added liberal amounts of honey to hers, handing her mom the signature bear-shaped bottle. They commiserated over their brunch, enjoying the tea with tomato sandwiches and some cobbler her mother brought with her.
Three hours and many hugs later, her mom headed out the door to go home. She now taught kindergarten and needed to get in bed at a decent hour. But when they opened the door, Charyn stood there, hand upright, fisted to knock. He smiled slowly, the curve of lips transforming into a grin.
Willows, Jennifer - Bound by Accident [Moreland Brothers 1] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 7
