Authors: Sommer Marsden
‘That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day,’ I joked.
‘Eat your sweets.’ He turned from me and I watched him walk away. Fine, fine ass moving with measured ease as he walked behind the counter. His chef whites showed off the tan on his forearms from being outside.
And speaking of those forearms, they made me think dirty things. I was a slut for forearms.
‘Did you make these too?’ I cooed, nibbling more flaky buttery biscotti.
‘I made everything,’ he said.
I heard him put my dishes in a small dishwasher. The place was so small that even at a table I could see past the counter into the small kitchen and to his work space. A metal table and two large ovens dominated the back room. Up front, one large stand-up case, then a wall of baskets to the right of the front door. Floor-to-ceiling bins of fresh bread, bagels, rolls and croissants. The place smelled like heaven – where good, clean eating folks went to die, living out eternity gorging on buttery, decadent baked goods.
‘Chicken salad?’ I countered.
‘Yep.’ He came back in, wiping his hands on a towel. ‘Croissant, yep. Biscotti, yep. Coffee, yep.’ He grinned at me and I felt that free-falling feeling in my middle again.
‘The table?’ I tried to keep a straight face.
‘Yep.’
I blinked. ‘Oh –’
‘Kidding, kidding,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you some leftovers tonight. Judging by the looks of you, you have no food in your house.’
‘The looks of me!’
‘Skinny,’ he said again.
‘Not too skinny,’ I countered.
‘Well, you do have a fine ass,’ he said. But then his cheeks coloured brilliantly, as if he wasn’t usually so forward and it felt foreign to him. Which was both sweet and sexy at the same time.
I blinked again – this man put me off balance, and I liked it. ‘Um … thanks?’
He nodded. ‘No problem.’
‘I do have to go. I have to get to my house and actually get
inside
it.’ I wiggled my keys at him. ‘Now that I have this, I can.’
Stephen Vogel nodded and said, ‘Let me wrap some donuts up for you. Hold you over till dinner.’
Who was I to argue with complimentary ‘welcome-to-the-neighbourhood-I-like-your-ass’ donuts?
You will not drop these boxes. You will NOT drop these boxes. You are such a dumb ass, why did you take this many boxes to begin wi–
‘Here, let me help you before you kill yourself.’
I jumped from the sudden unexpected male voice and when I jumped my boxes shimmied. Two hands plucked the top two boxes from my stack, leaving me with the bottom box only.
Coop.
‘Wow, thanks. Of course all my dishes are in there, so if I’d have dropped them, I’d have been, well, eating out of measuring cups I guess.’
He smiled, his brown hair falling over his brow again. The wind pushed at my back, urging me into my new home. I hadn’t even been in yet. Part of me was scared I guess. I had simply made a stack of boxes by the door. And there weren’t that many. Coming from a furnished apartment, I had a lot less than the average person.
Which reminded me, at some point I’d have to get a bed. And a sofa. And chairs. I sighed, feeling overwhelmed just thinking about it.
‘That was a pretty big sigh. You getting settled in okay?’
‘I just realised I need furniture,’ I said, laughing at myself. I dropped my box which was full of cookbooks and he placed his two in a pile.
I bent over to catch my breath, grabbing the banister when I became light-headed.
‘Whoa, you okay?’ he steadied me.
‘Besides feeling like an ass? Perfect. Just a little head rush. Ow –’ I shook my hand. ‘And a splinter.’
‘It’s been at least two seasons since this porch has been sanded and all that jazz. Maintenance is key with wood.’ He winked at me, which I found somewhat sexy instead of the normal condescending. ‘May I?’
He put his hand out, open palmed, and nodded to my hand.
Bad idea … three jolts in a day from three little pigs would be bad …
I put my hand in his. There was a jolt. A severe jolt from the way he possessively curled his fingers around my hand and raised my palm closer to his face. ‘Oh, that’s an easy one.’
I hissed and looked away. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit of a pussy.’
Coop made a low noise in his throat when I said pussy and I blushed. And the body part in question started to throb along with my heart. ‘Sorry, I guess I should say I’m a wuss.’
‘Pussy works,’ he said almost offhandedly, not looking at me but eyeing the long thick splinter just under my skin. His voice warm caramel, all campfires and dried leaves. That voice was sinful.
‘Take it out, take it out,’ I groaned, trying not to move.
‘Funny, usually women are asking me to put it in,’ he said, again not looking at me.
My mouth popped open I was so surprised and that’s when he gripped the tip of the splinter with his blunt fingernails and plucked it out. I gasped like I was having an orgasm and he chuckled.
‘Thanks,’ I said, pushing a finger to the tiny hole in my skin.
‘My pleasure. Now I’ll leave you to move in.’
‘You’re not … you don’t want to … come in?’
He shook his head. ‘New house. You go alone. I’ll come visit you later. Have a good one.’ He turned, his walk almost a cocky swagger but not quite.
‘Thanks, Coop!’ I yelled.
He waved without looking back.
‘Hey!’ I called, curious.
Then he did turn and the sunlight hit those gorgeous eyes even as the wind tousled his hair. Oh, this was a dangerous man. ‘Yeah?’
I pointed to Deke’s house. ‘He’s the butcher.’ I pointed to Stephen’s house. ‘He’s the baker. I guess that makes you the candlestick maker?’
What a smart ass I was.
‘Nope. I work for the power and light company.’
I put my head back and laughed. ‘Close enough!’
* * *
The house was silent and a bit dusty, and chilly as hell. A sign on the coffee table said ‘Cleaned by Helen’s Cleaning Service courtesy of Pann Realty’ and it was dated two weeks before. Right around the time I’d called to say I’d be claiming my new home.
‘Hallelujah!’ A sofa was in the living room under a drop cloth that was taped tight to protect the fabric. When I stripped the cover free of the frame the comfortable sea green sofa was in great condition. The carved feet were hard wood and I was willing to wager the sofa was worth something. ‘Like a good night’s sleep.’
I paused long enough to drop my donuts in the kitchen and drop a bag of snacks from the car ride on the counter. Then I headed to the bathroom to take a shower. Hopefully, no one had cut the water in the interim. I’d called ahead to get my electricity turned on, so I hoped I also had
hot water
. Otherwise I could complain to my neighbourly electric man.
I grabbed a towel from my bag and my toiletries. I’d unpack later. First I needed to get clean.
The water came on with a mild groan, at first it rushed out muddy but quickly cleared. I breathed a sigh of relief. The porcelain was freezing but the water was blazing. I relaxed under the spray feeling the mild but pleasant soreness between my legs from random slightly rough sex.
I washed my hair and used my body scrubber to lather up with lemon verbena shower gel. Lower, a quick stroke over my clit proved I was still turned on enough to react to even my own touch.
‘You will not sleep with Deke again, Farrell,’ I told myself, pushing my clitoris just a bit harder. My fingers flickered over the tender nub until heat flexed hungrily in my pelvis. My cunt clenched up and I leaned against the wet tile to drive a finger deep inside my pussy.
Memories surged up. Deke holding my leg high, moving into me, slamming against me. The smell of him in my nose, the tickle of his hair against my forehead as he kissed me. His cock – oh, yes, his cock – hard and perfectly curved to hit all the places I needed him most.
He was sweet and sexy and a hell of a fuck. I worked my clit in firmer circles, convincing myself even as I nudged my G-spot with my fingertips, my foot shaking where it rested on the edge of the tub.
‘I will not fuck that boy again. I will behave.’
Even as I manipulated myself with shaking hands, I knew that if he so much as looked at me cross-eyed, I’d have him naked. But then I got a flash of Stephen. Good looking, softer spoken, doesn’t smile as much but damn near angelic – Stephen.
‘And Coop,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t forget the first little pig, Little Red.’
It was official. I was losing my mind.
I managed to push my pinky into my ass even as I thrust deeper with my fingers. My other hand sliding with wet ease over my clit and when I pinched it, thinking of Coop then – Mr Machismo, Mr In-Charge – I came. Somehow with a bizarre mélange of all three men swirling through my head.
‘You don’t fuck your neighbours,’ I gasped, sliding my fingers deeper still, sliding it over my swollen G-spot and coaxing another sweet but small orgasm from my cunt. ‘Especially,
all
of them.’
But I guess that was to be seen.
I stepped out feeling pleasantly weak but satisfied. That should hold me. But even as I twisted my hair up in a towel to dry, I was pretty sure that my plan was bullshit.
I had no idea what time Deke was going to visit with wine, but I was going to busy myself putting away some of my things. So I didn’t go mad. One day in town and three men were occupying my thoughts. At this rate I’d be the talk of the town by Christmas.
* * *
‘So, explain twenty-eight.’
Deke hadn’t only brought a bottle of wine. He’d also brought a huge beautiful artisan pizza, fresh fruit and a pie from the farmer’s market. I’d made the mistake of mentioning my serious life-changing age limit.
I shrugged, taking the glass of wine he offered and the paper plate he’d also provided. ‘Twenty-eight was the age I had in mind that I’d have my shit wired tight, you know?’
Deke put two pieces of pizza on my plate and we sat at the centre island in my kitchen. Thank goodness stools had come with the house. As had – I was overjoyed to see – the pot rack and a bunch of copper pots I’d seen on my previous visit with my dad. Sidney, or his estate, had left a lot of items in the house I was more than happy to have.
‘Seems reasonable.’ His dark-brown eyes studied me as he ate. I had a dreadfully vivid flash of him holding my leg up and fucking me against the wall. Of his teeth grazing my skin. Of his big body pinning mine.
I cleared my throat. ‘I had an aunt … well, I
have
an aunt. My dad’s sister. I think she’s in Ohio now, she moves a lot. She says she’s a free spirit. Anyway –’ I chewed for a moment trying to gather my thoughts and capture my intentions ‘– when she was twenty-eight I was totally enamoured with her and her life and at the time she was living in West Virginia in a trailer.’
He choked – laughing – and I swatted him.
‘It was a really nice trailer! No lie! And she had the perfect hair and the perfect body and the tan. She wore a coral bikini and seemed like she was comfortable in her own skin and she was pretty and nice and all that jazz. And I was a kid. And she was twenty-eight and –’
‘So twenty-eight became the magic number. The goal.’
‘Yes,’ I sighed, feeling silly but relieved.
‘I get it. It makes sense.’
‘It does?’
Deke shrugged again and finished off his first slice. ‘It does to me. It’s like I automatically figured when my writing failed, I’d become a butcher. I had a great-uncle who was a butcher; he taught me while I was growing up. Our family Christmas party was always in the outer room of his butcher shop, but after a few adult beverages, he’d take us kids back and show us how to break down a hog, or a turkey, or a deer. The women would go bonkers, but us kids … especially me, we loved it.’
‘So you
do
get it,’ I snorted. The wine was laced with cherry and oak with a hint of tobacco flavours. Perfect and heady and sweet.
‘You get an idea of what’s right in your head and if you’re stubborn or even just talented –’ he winked at me and I blushed, flustered by his closeness ‘– you stick with it.’
‘I think I’m the stubborn part.’
Deke traced my finger with his own. His touch was light, so light if I hadn’t been seeing him touch me, I wouldn’t be a hundred per cent sure he was. I coughed to break the spell and shifted on my stool. Bad move, my cunt very readily and thankfully took to the sinuous movement and a small rush of fluid escaped me.
I swallowed hard and ignored my unruly nether regions.
‘So tell me.’ My voice was husky and I coughed again. ‘About my house. This tower business. It’s rather odd to look up and see a tower in one’s neighbourhood.’
‘The story goes that Maxwell Shore built the tower in Maple Terrace so he could look down on the town and see his one true love. For whatever unspecified reason, he couldn’t be with his love. So he sat in the tower almost nightly right up until the time that he died and watched over the town.’
‘Wow, that is … creepy but also kind of romantic.’ I poured us both two more glasses of wine.
Deke got up and pointed to the fireplace. ‘May I?’
‘Oh God, please!’ I laughed, clapping spontaneously. ‘I’d love a fire. It’s sort of … raw in here, don’t you think?’
‘Fall’s been here for a few weeks but your heat hasn’t been on at all. The stones soak it in. So, you need a nice fire to ward it off.’
He set about crumpling newspaper and stacking kindling and I watched him. The long, sexy muscles in his arms. His broad back, taut muscles visible beneath his grey thermal shirt. The way his torso tapered down to a nice trim waist. And cargo pants that somehow were bulky but managed to hug his ass in the most effective way.
‘And all this time no one ever found out who his love was?’ I asked, my mouth dry, my tongue sticky and reluctant.
Jesus, he was nice to look at.
Deke turned his head and caught me looking. His grin brought out the whiteness of his teeth and the Satan-ish aspect of him I’d been admiring from our very first moment of acquaintance. My gut tumbled nervously, my pussy flexing with wet abandon. I had to get myself under control.