Bells went off in his head and Jake salivated like Pavlov's dog while ol' Johnny swelled to painful proportions. He was staring straight ahead at a pair of hip-hugging, incredibly erotic cotton panties.
"Jake?" Emily sifted her fingers through his hair and a shiver rippled down his spine.
"Sweetheart," he whispered like the weak man he knew he was. "You are very forgiven."
"
Very
forgiven?"
Jake gently urged Emily closer, moving her legs until she straddled him and braced a knee on either side of him. He raked her luscious body with his eyes and every fiber in his body told him that he'd wouldn't make it in time to the stash of condoms in the bedside table. "Very,
very
forgiven." He had, at the very most, ten seconds before he exploded in his shorts. Less, if she touched him.
"And you," Emily bent down and brushed a too quick, too soft kiss across his mouth, "are a very,
very
understanding man. Thank you."
Jake blinked and the passionate haze clouding his mind cleared for a second. It was all he needed to get out of the chair and carry her into the bedroom. Understanding? No. He was tolerant and determined not to lose her.
"Jake," she whimpered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
Jake laid her on the bed and followed her down. It was time to get a few things straight and the only time she seemed willing to listen to him and hear what he was saying was when she was underneath him, in bed. "I understand only so much, Emily. Pull another stunt like you did tonight and I won't stick around long enough for you to walk all over me."
He watched his promise register in her eyes, then covered her mouth with his.
Emily put up no resistance. She melted into his arms and accepted his promise with the good grace he was teaching her.
Jake dedicated the rest of the night and most of the dawn's early light showing her that he was more than a convenient plaything to be taken out when she felt like it.
Some lessons were both a pain and pleasure to drill into her.
Lucky for Jake, Emily was an apt and extremely attentive pupil.
"Jake, ol' boy, what's the special tonight?"
"Anything with rum in it." Jake glanced over his shoulder at Booker. "You're early."
"Anything with rum in it? What kind of a name for a drink is that?"
"The kind which will help me get rid of a surplus of rum." Jake pulled an empty bottle of rum out of the liquor rack and replaced it. "You want your usual?"
"After the day I've had, I want something quick and potent."
"How potent? Tequila potent or Long Island potent?"
"Long Island," Booker replied without hesitation. "Last time I opted for the tequila, I woke up in boot camp."
Jake grunted and went about mixing Booker's drink. "Last time I opted for the tequila, I woke up in jail."
"One's no better than the other."
Jake laid a cocktail napkin on the bar, then set Booker's glass on it. "Unfortunately, my father did not agree."
Booker drained half his drink in one long gulp. "Jake, my friend, you mix a mean Long Island Iced Tea."
"Thank you." Jake held out his hand, palm up. "And I'll take your keys now. We're not gonna have another scuffle like we did last Tuesday."
Booker grimaced. "No need to fret. There will not be another scene like last Tuesday. I was dropped off and I will be picked up in precisely one hour."
"Good. Emily still hasn't forgiven me for knocking you out."
Booker rubbed his jaw. "It's been a long time since someone's landed one on me and lived to tell about it."
"And I thank you from the bottom of my cracked rib cage for letting me live."
Booker looked shocked. "I cracked your ribs?"
Jake winced and tenderly touched his left side. "Hell, no. Not you. You were pulling your punches. Emily laid into me when I got home."
"You got off easy," Booker told him.
"How do you figure that?"
Booker took another long swallow of his drink and motioned for Jake to start mixing up another one. "Lee volunteered me and my hundred thousand dollar Hummer to teach Tabitha how to drive."
"Hummers are designed take a lot of physical abuse," Jake said. "I, however, am not."
"But not the kind Tabitha dishes out. Two hours ago, little Miss Tabby Cat dropped my baby's transmission." Booker held up his hand to stop Jake's next question. "Don't ask how. Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to know how. Let's just say that I bawled like a baby and leave it at that."
Jake could think of nothing to say which would ease the sting off of Booker's tragedy. So, he picked up a wet cloth and wiped down the bar.
"But there is a bright side."
"There is," Jake asked, surprised.
Booker nodded. "Marilyn and her God given talent."
"This would be her talent of attracting the sex crazed grease monkeys?"
"That's the one. The minute she arrived on the scene, four tow trucks showed up and started a bidding war for the honor of toting away my baby." Booker finished his drink.
Jake tossed aside the rag and went about setting up Booker's next pain killer. "How much will it cost you?"
"One quarter labor and parts." Booker grinned. "Not even Lee and her God given talent could have talked those boys down that low."
"Which one of Emily's…," Jake trailed off as three regulars walked up to the other end of the bar and sat down. "Be right back."
It took Jake longer than he'd anticipated to get back to Booker and continue their conversation. It was nearly twenty minutes later and Alex had returned from his dinner break to help Jake with the start of the Happy Hour rush. So, needless to say, Booker was well on his way to feeling no pain and polishing off a drink which Jake suspected contained a vast quantity of surplus rum.
"Okay, so which one of Emily's God given talents were you referring to?"
"The one which can make any man do what she wants," Booker replied in a slightly slurred voice.
"Can you be a little more specific?"
"Specific? Okay, I can get specific." Booker took another swig of his drink. "Imagine if you will, Lee in a little Catholic girl uniform. The kind with the blue plaid skirt which barely covers her—"
"Hair down or up," Jake interrupted.
"In pig tails."
Jake groaned, picturing the scene clearly. "Go on."
"And she's wearing heels which can kill a man."
"And thigh highs," Jake murmured.
Booker shifted in his seat and leaned forward. "She's standing there. Her feet braced shoulder width apart. Her chin is down, almost touching her chest, and she's watching you from underneath her lashes."
"Uh-huh." Jake's breathing came in ragged gasps. "Go on."
"She sticks the tip of one finger in her mouth, then ever so gently bites down on it, pulling it slowly out of her mouth and…." Booker swallowed audibly. "And then that finger… down her chest to the hem of her shirt and she toys with the fabric."
"Where the hell did she do this," Jake demanded.
"The Loose Screw. Now, for the really good part."
"It could only get better if she admitted to being naughty and asked for a good spanking," Alex commented from behind Jake.
Booker's head came up. "You've seen the act before?"
Alex laughed. "Oh yeah. I've got a cousin down in Norfolk who owns a T&A bar. The Catholic girl routine is a classic. It's the essence of what every red blooded male dreams of. The virgin-slut."
"You know it," Booker agreed, raising his glass in a toast. "And I've got to say that Lee played that routine to perfection."
Alex made a choking noise. "Emily was a…
stripper
?"
"She was one of the best I've ever seen. Marilyn taught her everything she knew and—"
"And Lee improved on it," Jake finished in a cold, hard tone.
"You know it."
Jake smiled a smile which didn't have a prayer's chance in hell of reaching his eyes and, taking Booker's drink, asked, "What time did you say they're picking you up?"
"In an hour. But you know how women are. They're always late."
"Yeah. I know women. Always late and they always have an excuse." Jake threw ice into Booker's glass, then added a short spurt of Coke and filled it to the brim with rum. "What other acts did they have at the Loose Screw?"
"Jake." Alex called, putting a hand on Jake's arm. "Don't."
Jake looked down at Alex's hand, then raised his eyes and let his best friend see the full extent of his silent, internal rage.
"Damn, Jake." Alex retracted his hand and cleared his throat, then slammed two cubes of ice in the already filled to the brim glass. "Booker likes his drink with more ice than that." He turned on his heel and stalked to the other end of the bar, leaving Jake to interrogate a drunk and loose tongued Booker.
The front door closed and clicked locked behind Emily as she floated through the living room, dropped her briefcase on the couch, and headed for the bedroom. The one thought which had gotten her through this nasty, rainy day was the fact that Jake would be waiting for her when she got home.
The best idea she'd ever come up with was giving Jake a key to her condo.
The bedroom was immersed in shadows and eerily silent. A chill prickled her skin. "Jake?"
"Over here."
Emily spun around and peered into the dark corner shrouding the high back chair situated in the corner. She was barely able to make out his features, but she clearly saw the fierce gleam in his gray eyes. Her body tightened with acute desire. "What are you doing sitting in the dark?"
"Waiting." His voice, rough and hoarse, scraped deliciously against her skin.
Emily settled her fingers on the buttons of her blouse and unbuttoned one with every step she took towards him. "Did you get my message that I was running late?"
"I got it."
Emily stopped in front of him and braced her feet shoulder width apart, then let her blouse fall to the floor. "Would you like to know why I was late?"
She took his silence as a yes.
Emily unzipped her skirt and pushed it down over her hips, then kicked it aside. "I would have been home on time if I had spent more time paying attention to my work instead of daydreaming." Next, she removed her bra and tossed it aside. "Interested in knowing what I was daydreaming about?"
His gaze raked over her exposed body and Emily gloried in it. He made her feel beautiful and special and…
no one
had ever looked at her the way Jake did. There was no shame in his eyes. No disgust. He made her feel feminine down to her very toes and there were times that when he touched her that she could forget the shame and humiliation of dancing before a crowd of nameless, horny, drunk men.