His keys dangled from his fingers, and as if it was a signal—
I surrender
—he let them fall to the ground. I took that as my cue to reach for him. He stood still as I unbuttoned his shirt, his breath accelerating when I placed the tip of my finger on his bare skin.
“What do you want, JT?” I guess whatever he wanted, right then, I wanted to give it to him. Whatever it was.
Whatever it cost me.
“I don"t know,” he whispered.
I let my fingers graze and circle his nipple; then I pressed down and gave it a squeeze. “Am I the first?”
JT nodded.
My hand traveled higher, over his collarbone and to his throat. I brushed his Adam"s apple with my thumb, and my fingers curved around the back of his neck.
“The first you"ve wanted?” I asked incredulously.
Couldn’t be
. I knew I couldn"t be the first he"d wanted. I felt that Adam"s apple bob when he swallowed. His eyelashes brushed downward as he shook his head.
“You"re the first I"ve wanted
enough
. The first I couldn"t talk myself out of.
Maybe I"m just getting too fucking desperate to hide it.” I agreed, “Maybe.”
Our lips met, closed and teasing. Tender and in no hurry. He still held his arms to the sides, like…a gift. His hesitant lips, his shortened breathing, the tenderness with which he nuzzled his face against mine built my desire for him until it was like he"d poured rocket fuel and lit it with a match. He was beautiful.
Perfect. I slipped my hands around his waist and pulled him to me until he clung, at St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
71
last reaching for me. I slipped his shirt off his shoulders, but it hung there on his biceps because his arms were so tense. I cupped his face between my hands.
He unfastened the first buttons on my shirt, watching me as closely as I watched him. He mirrored my movements, so when I dropped my shirt, his hit the floor; when I toed off my shoes, he did likewise. It almost felt like a game, like I should feint and pretend, to see if he would drop his jeans before I did mine. That silly notion led to a feeling so genuinely breathless with anticipation that I thought my heart stopped, waiting to see him, wanting that last piece of clothing to come off so it could beat again. So I could look him over in all his naked glory, and when it happened, I wasn"t disappointed one bit.
Once again he held his hands out, and I took one and led him to the bed. I coaxed him to lie on it so I could look my fill. He was tan, and I was surprised. I expected to find that the rich, sun-kissed skin stopped where his sleeves ended, but it didn"t. The golden velvet stretched everywhere except for a line that I guessed meant he swam in a Speedo. He had the build of a swimmer, compact and streamlined, but wiry and strong, broad in the shoulders with full thighs and calves, but lean in the hips. His ass was round but firm, like you could crack an egg on it, and he had the most delicious curve to his spine, which enhanced it.
He rolled over and clutched the pillow, suddenly shy.
“You can stop me anytime,” I told him.
He looked up at me and batted his eyelashes. “If I get scared, will you only put it in halfway?”
“You"ve been sleeping with too many girls.”
JT nipped at me playfully, but when I looked at him, his eyes were serious.
“Yes,” he said gravely. “I have.”
I kissed him then, to make him forget them. I wanted to surround him with sinew and sweat and spunk so the women he"d had would barely be a memory. I coaxed him to his side, rising over him to press my advantage, rolling with him until he was on his back. It was awkward at first, fitting our mouths together, breathing and tasting. Finding a place for our noses, while our lips and teeth and tongues brushed and nibbled one another"s.
I found a spot just beneath his jaw on the right side that made him shiver, and he gripped my upper arms as tightly to hold me as I suspected he would later grab them to push me away. I nuzzled behind his ear, finding the skin there sweet with the scent of his aftershave. It was redolent with herbs and citrus, making the man underneath smell tasty and fine. I sipped at the skin there, and it was salty and sweet over the musky flavor of a thoroughly aroused human male.
Fuck
, I wanted more of that. I traveled lower, teasing JT"s skin and biting his nipples gently, testing and trying and measuring his response. He wanted that zing of gentle teeth after the sensuous lick of a tongue. He arched for me every time I did it, urging me on, pulling my head close, so I could hardly mistake his need. I slipped 72
Z. A. Maxfield
my tongue into his belly button, and he moaned, his legs falling open. I moved surely along a trail of light hair to the similarly hued thatch above his cock.
The hands on my upper arms gripped me harder, and I looked up. His eyes held apprehension and something I didn"t recognize, but that I worried might be doubt.
“Say the word no and this doesn"t go any further,” I told him, although I think it would have killed me if he had. “Tell me to stop now, and you never did any of it.”
“
Please
.”
Thank fuck. Thank
fuck
, because I didn"t know if I could have stopped, that close, just inches from his dick. The tip of his cock glistened wetly, and he smelled musky from arousal. I didn"t know if I could have turned away without tasting him.
I buried my face in his groin, pressing my nose against his skin, and inhaled.
After that I took his balls into my mouth one at a time and stretched the delicate skin there, tugging and letting them go with a little
pop
that both surprised and aroused him further. He tasted like salt and sweat and man—briny, bitter, and sweet—all at the same time when I took him into my mouth. I looked up and saw he was uncertain. Maybe his girlfriends didn"t do this much—or as willingly—and he had doubts.
I let him know that I liked what I was doing by pressing my aching dick against his hairy leg. I let him hear how much it aroused me by vocalizing the nonsense of my pleasure against his skin. I came just from blowing him, and I wasn"t ashamed of it at all. Even as the sticky warmth of my cum hit his skin, tangling, pulling, and tactile, he shot down my throat, clutching my head and murmuring soft curses up at the ceiling.
I wanted to stay right where I was, but he dragged me up by my shoulders, and we shared the taste of him in kisses that seemed to last forever, long enough for me to think we might go again, until he fell asleep in my arms. Exhausted? Yes.
Content? I hoped so.
I held him, but sleep was a long time coming for me.
Later I woke up with a bad case of beard burn in an empty bed.
JT was long gone. There ought to be a law that a guy has to leave a rose on your pillow to let you know he enjoyed the labor you put into his walk of shame.
St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
73
Chapter Eleven
I had to get showered and dressed before I went to Mary Catherine"s bakery. I wondered what she"d decided about moving. She probably slept better than I did, even though she had some big decisions to make.
When I arrived, Muse caught me by the arm and dragged me out the door. “In the name of all that"s holy, do you have a damned fork? I need to
stick it in my eye
.” She looked so outraged I had to laugh. “What"s going on?”
“Candace had a date last night, and she"s holding court.” Muse rolled her eyes.
“It"s making everyone crazy.”
“I saw her at Nacho"s Bar. She seemed happy.”
“That"s just it. She does this every time she goes on a date. She"s in there talking about everything they did.” Her eyes grew wide. “Everything.”
“Hot stuff, was it?” I opened the door and invited her to lead the way. When I entered, the girls were arguing as usual. I noticed Analise right away, as if she"d made some dramatic change, although it was hard to tell what it could be. She seemed more…visible somehow. While she showed no obvious signs of lipstick or blush, somehow she gave the impression of being more colorful that day. I wondered if it was possible she had heard about her ex-husband and was simply relieved that he wasn"t getting out of jail.
I walked past her, and she even gave me a sweet, tentative smile. I grinned back at her. “I promised Mary Catherine I"d help her write up her thoughts on a possible retail space.”
Muse followed me as far as the dough sheeter. “You don"t have a fork? I"d settle for a mechanical pencil.”
“She"s happy, Muse. That"s okay, isn"t it?”
Muse hissed, “She"s talking about the implications of frottage versus full-on oral sex for a second date. Considering she"s bipolar, this is like the forward motion of a rocket ship that"s destined to plummet to earth.”
“Hi, Yasha.” Candace beamed from where she was filling pie shells with custard. “Did you see my guy last night?”
“I did,” I said. “You make an excellent couple.”
“He was hot, huh? Good-looking? Tell the girls how cute he was.”
“He seemed nice—”
74
Z. A. Maxfield
“I mean, you think he looked nice, right? And you should know too, right? You look at guys all the time.”
I coughed to hide my embarrassment and shrugged.
Bianca made a seppuku motion behind Candace"s back with a wooden spoon.
“Miss Mary Catherine is in the back.” She jerked her chin toward a storage room.
“Yasha”—Candace turned hopeful eyes my way—“is it really true men give the best blowjobs?”
Muse pushed in front of me like she was going to take a bullet. “Candace.”
“I don"t have anything…to-to base a comparison on,” I stammered. “Really.”
“Well, maybe you could just—”
Muse growled, “
Candace
.”
“All
right
.” Candace pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “I"m just asking. We could all use a little—”
“Yasha,” Mary Catherine called from the doorway to the storage room. “I thought I heard your voice.”
“I"m here, Mary Catherine.” I left Muse to deal with Candace. When I got to the back room, Mary Catherine had a cup of coffee waiting for me.
“I brought my laptop. I think we should start by making notes about goals, okay?”
“That sounds great.” I took the coffee gratefully and added a sugar to it.
We sat on metal folding chairs with some boxes pulled between us. She put her computer down and opened it. I saw that her desktop wallpaper was a picture of Ken, whom I"d met the day before, and a man close to my age. I angled the screen so I could look closer. They were dressed for camping. Ken wore a bucket hat and a backpack. He held trekking poles. The other man had on a floppy-brimmed hat and carried his own pack. They made peace signs at the camera. “Hey, he has your eyes.”
“That"s Jordan, my son.”
“They seem good together. It looks like they have fun. Do they camp often?”
“When they can. My son works full-time at a gym, and Ken is getting his real-estate license.”
“Yeah?” That made sense. Ken seemed to be interested in investing in property.
“That"s how he found out about the appliance store. He"s a real go-getter.
Originally it was Ken who gave me the courage to go into this business.” I watched her computer screen while she brought up a spreadsheet program.
The numbers looked good; I could see that Miss Independence Pies was doing better than most start-ups could expect.
“What do you envision when you imagine your retail space?” St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
75
Mary Catherine looked at her hands. “I don"t know if I"m so good at imagining things,” she said quietly.
I thought about that. “Me neither really.”
“My husband used to say I was full of crazy ideas.”
“Did he?”
“Maybe he was right. What do I know about—”
“Where is he now?”
“In Wisconsin. We"re divorced.”
She continued to look at her hands. I took them in my own, and they looked very small by comparison. “It"s hard to let that kind of thing go, isn"t it?”
“Yes.” She swallowed.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course, Yasha.”
“It probably doesn"t matter what your husband thinks anymore.” I guess she expected something more profound. Her lips curved into a small rosebud of a smile.
“How many years did you let him tell you that your ideas were worthless?”
“Thirty.”
“Did you try to stick up for yourself?”
She snorted. “What do you think?”
“I think if you"re anything like my mother, after you had to explain your first few black eyes to the neighbors, you didn"t talk back,” I told her. “And that didn"t exactly stop him. So you stopped letting the neighbors see you.” She closed her eyes, and I thought I might have gone too far.
I gave her hand a squeeze. “So. You owe yourself.” She nodded and opened her eyes again. They shimmered a little but looked hopeful. “I think—”
“Don"t tell me. Let me guess. You want to decorate in pink flamingos.”
“No.” She laughed a little.
“Clowns?”
“No.” She gave me a playful push and began to describe her ideal store. We made a few drawings, wrote down some ideas. Then we talked about the menu, about starting small at first, doing a short list of things really well, then expanding the range when she saw what went over well. We talked about how important keeping her restaurant-delivery contacts would be when she branched out. And how she might be able to expand her business with wedding cakes and catering. How it might be possible to turn it into a full-service bakery business eventually, rather than a pie shop. My thought was that one of her employees, maybe the silent Analise or even Muse, would attend baking courses at the local junior college or a baking school. The way she described what she wanted reminded me of a Parisian bakery/bistro, and I could tell she"d thought about it for a long time.
76
Z. A. Maxfield
“Have you ever been to France?” I asked.
“No, but I"ve seen pictures of the cafés.”
“Is that what you want? A French café in St. Nacho"s?”
“Yes.” She closed the laptop and put her pencil down on the yellow legal tablet we"d been doodling on. “I do.”