Authors: Kathleen Lash
Their father was dead and buried. Billy’s father sat in prison for a hair brained robbery scheme involving a gun. Their mother—she was still Corey and Billy’s legal guardian—God only knew what she’d found to occupy herself.
She’d left ten years ago. He wasn’t too bright at twenty-two. She’d asked him to come home and watch the kids. His girlfriend at the time had gone with him, figuring a few hours out of her life wouldn’t be too bad. Mark had been ten, Corey six and Billy was five months old. A few hours turned into days and then weeks. Nancy left the first night and never came back. She married Maynard four months later.
Even the cops couldn’t find their mother. Keith gave up after the first year. Testing the courts and their view on guardianship had never been a priority. If things went wrong, the kids would never make it through another upheaval.
Whisper tempted him, made strong sexual urges and protective feelings surface. They’d been dormant for a while. It’d be best for everyone if he put those types of feelings back to bed. With a few painkillers so they’d stay asleep. In a locked room with no windows. Out of town.
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That Monday the weather turned bitterly cold.
Whisper offered to drive Corey and Billy to school.
Mark scrambled because he’d gotten up late and Nomad had already left. The boys went to school not far from Heather. The private education cost a bit, but the admissions woman had been less concerned with the detail of a social security number than other places. For a few thousand dollars, she could have the transcripts converted when Heather turned eighteen.
Back at the house, Whisper wrapped tin foil tightly around the seasoned beef, placed it in the roaster, and slid it into the oven to slowly cook during the day. A still warm pan of sausage gravy sat on the stovetop along with some biscuits for Keith when he woke. She really wanted to be gone when he came down.
She’d done very well to take up space in the same room with him while maintaining a distance.
She couldn’t afford a mistake, and if she continued straying too close to the very handsome, somewhat battered construction worker, she’d make one. It’d been years since she wanted skin-on-skin contact with a man.
Damn the cold Cleveland weather! Her back itched from constantly remaining indoors in the warm, dry environment. Heather rubbed lotion into her back in the evenings to alleviate the torment, but the relief never lasted. As she rubbed up against the doorframe, she sighed.
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“I could help, if you’d let me,” Keith said.
She spun around and there he stood. Even with a fifty pound cast and some crutches, she hadn’t heard him come down the stairs or through the living room.
“I just got done,” she said. “Dinner’s in the oven.
I’ll be back when the kids get home, you know, to finish. B-breakfast. Stove. Warm.” Alone. The two of them were alone and he looked freshly washed, clean shaven and smelled like baby powder, spicy cologne and warm man. His very presence threatened her. Not in a usual manner though. She didn’t really fear him. She feared her own actions when he got close. His strength drew her as did his non-threatening manner. His hands, fingers and mouth were particularly incredible.
“Do you have a minute?” he asked. “To talk?” She nodded. He’d been cutting back on pain medication, which showed in his eyes. They were bright and intelligent that morning. It kind of scared her. She’d need to be careful.
“I didn’t mean to upset you the other night. If I was out of line, I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t. No problem.” There was most definitely a problem, and it wasn’t necessarily him.
Guilt made her speak when she should’ve remained silent. “I don’t get too close…”
“With too many people. Yeah, it’s slightly obvious.”
She waited while he stood there patiently. She wouldn’t say anything else. No explanation would be forthcoming because she didn’t owe him one. She couldn’t afford to give him one. Having that settled in her mind, she looked down and her mouth opened.
God only knew why, but she blurted out, “I’m not comfortable.”
“With me?” His voice was low and rumbling, compassionate and calm.
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Shut up, Whisper!
She couldn’t decide between a hasty retreat and a seat at the table to talk. She wanted to be closer to him because he didn’t seem dangerous. That very fact also made her apprehensive.
“It’s all right. I won’t push you.” The worry faded and she leaned against the counter. Of course he wouldn’t push. They were neighbors; their kids hung out together. She got companionship from the kids, he got a few meals and some cleaning. For once, she’d found herself on equal footing with a reasonable man. Impending dread or fear shouldn’t be a factor between them.
“Before you leave, would you trust me a little?
It’d mean a lot.”
“All right,” she replied, not liking the words
trust
, and
it’d mean a lot
.
He turned her so she faced the cupboards and leaned his crutches against the counter. He stood at her back. That’d probably be where the trust came in. “Can I lift your shirt?”
“Why?” she asked, trying to twist around.
Stopped by his hands, they remained gently on her shoulders.
“Do you know how often you rub against a doorway? I’d like to scratch your back. That’s all.”
“My back?”
“Yeah, your back. Harmless enough. The interesting stuff’s in front.” She burst out laughing.
“I could do it over your shirt, but I find it generally makes the itching worse.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I might not let you stop.”
“You ready? I don’t want to startle you.” She nodded and felt her shirt rise before he rolled it at the top of her shoulders. Her breasts 98
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remained covered but she still felt strange.
Fingertips and short nails stroked her shoulder blades exactly where it itched the worst. Her eyes closed in unadulterated pleasure. She stretched her neck forward and he worked down her spine.
Nothing compared to the delicious scrape of his nails.
“Feel good?” he asked.
“Incredible. Do all Ohioans know this secret?”
“How to scratch a back?”
“Mmm.”
“No one’s ever scratched your back?” He sounded different, intense somehow.
“No. I could get used to it, though.”
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. It’s like a continuous pre-sneeze.” He laughed and she grinned, imagining the smile on his face.
“Is that a good thing?” he asked.
“Sure. Right before you sneeze, you feel it coming on. You know what I’m talking about. That deep twitch that makes your body get all tight as you breathe in. Your eyes close, your body gets tense and it keeps coming, teasing, teasing until whammo.
Instant, intense release.”
“I never thought about sneezing. I’ll have to enjoy it more the next time it happens.”
“Maybe it’s just me.” She could be peculiar at times. She knew she wasn’t like other people.
“No, you described it perfectly. I never paid attention before.” She’d wear his arms out, the satisfying gliding of his nails felt too wonderful. “Are you ticklish?”
He’d worked to the middle of her back.
“I don’t know. Why?”
He kept scratching. “I don’t want to go too far against your sides and tickle you. You’re getting nice and relaxed and that’d spoil it.” He worked his way 99
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off center of her mid back. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Still all right?” He strayed a little further.
“Yes. No!” She gasped before crowding the counter to get away.
His palms smoothed the skin until it no longer tickled. “Better?”
“Much.”
She’d never been tickled. The feeling was alarming but made her laugh. What a contrary thing! Once he’d worked his way down to the waist of her jeans, he started all over again. Slow and thorough, he’d melt her into a puddle of goo by the time he finished.
“Whisper?” He’d moved closer because his voice was lower, softer but she heard him very clearly.
“Mmm.”
Don’t stop. Not yet.
“The rest of it.”
“Hmm?” Her eyes remained closed as she slowly rolled her shoulders so he’d hit every single inch.
“Your bra. Can I unfasten it, move it to scratch your soft skin?”
“Yes.” The word came out breathy. She didn’t worry about anyone walking in on them. Without a phone call, the kids wouldn’t be leaving school. Even if Mark or Nomad unexpectedly came home, it took some fiddling to get a key to open the front door.
They could hear it clearly in the kitchen. For now, the older home had only two people inside.
He took his time, one clasp, then another, and finally the last. His palms smoothed the material aside and swept the straps away. Without the bra, his fingertips and nails touching everywhere felt erotic.
She kept slowly squirming, loving being touched just hard enough to ease the itch. With the patience of a saint, he made sure every single spot was soothed.
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“I’m going to rub you now. It’ll make your nerve endings settle down. Is that all right?”
“Yes.”
Large hands spread on her shoulders before he brought his fingers together to rub the muscle beneath. She groaned and curved her spine, arching into his touch.
It felt too wonderful.
Palms and fingers slid lower and rubbed, then lower and rubbed. As skillful fingertips kneaded her lower back, she pushed her rear end against him.
She’d been accustomed to the contact from smooth, clean, lazy hands. In all their perfection, they’d often wrought pain. The hands touching her now were bigger, stronger and coarsely textured.
They’d been occupied with hard physical labor to provide for a family. She doubted they’d grown addicted to giving agonizing lessons on obedience or forcefully silencing crying women.
He caressed her denim covering hips, and squeezed with exactly the right amount of pressure.
Gooseflesh rose when he stroked her stomach. Long arms came against her sides, not to trap or detain, but to hold and give reassurance. She loved being in his arms, held securely. Each and every stroke and touch relayed he wanted her, but for pleasurable outcomes that could happen between a man and woman. He no longer wanted to gentle dry skin. His intent was to arouse.
Moisture from her tongue spread over her lips when she leaned against him. Her buttocks pressed back and she felt the swelling of his erection. To know he enjoyed rubbing and holding her, made warmth and wetness saturate the panties and denim between her legs.
“You okay with this?” he asked.
“Standing in your kitchen,” she replied, licking more dryness from her lips, “with your hands on my skin?”
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“Yes, there’s that. But what about the rest?” He kissed her ear and nuzzled her neck. “Are you comfortable with how hard I am and how much I like having your ass rub the front of my jeans?”
“Yeah, I’d say so. Do you mind?”
“You rubbing against me, getting me hard? No, it doesn’t bother me too much.” She grinned because of his joking. He had an extremely unusual approach to intimacy. “In fact, it makes me think about your breasts and how they’re free beneath the front of your shirt. It reminds me how good they felt in my hands.”
The moan from her sounded expectant. Even his words didn’t pummel her. They sounded sensual rather than crude. Grasping his wrists, she pulled his hands under her shirt, and placed his roughened palms against her breasts. Cupped and plumped, he held and gently massaged the sensitive flesh.
“Oh,” she said, whining the word, “how did you learn to touch like this?”
“From you. Everything about you is delicate. I’m anything but. The last thing I want is to put a mark on your skin or cause you any discomfort. You see,” he said, catching both nipples between thumbs and fingers before gently pinching, “if I’m careful and remember how small and sensitive you are, you’ll let me keep touching you, arousing you and maybe you’ll let me go further.”
“Further?” To fantasize about sex was safe. She wouldn’t allow it outside of her mind. She couldn’t.
Further
wouldn’t be happening, not if it meant lying beneath him.
“Relax, Whisper. I’d never take anything you didn’t offer.”
In her heart, she knew he told the truth. His words concreted the knowledge, and she leaned back against him to enjoy.
“That’s better. Touching you is a pleasure.
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Having you enjoy it and respond, goes through me like lightning. If you wanted nothing more than my hands on your body, I’d feel lucky.”
“Why?” She arched her back to press into his hands and against his groin in one motion. She’d never been seduced. His words, as much as his body, accomplished it then.
“Because you don’t let just anyone this close.
You don’t like having your breasts touched, and yet you strain to get more firmly into my hands. I like making you needy. I like you trusting me with your body.”
“What do you get?” Her head fell back against his chest. Her knees weakened as she caressed the hands cupping her breasts.
A wet, warm tongue traced the side of her neck before he nibbled her earlobe. “Me? I get hard.” She grinned.
“And I get to feel your firm, perfect breasts. If I behave, I might get kissed. And believe me, I like the kisses. I love getting in your mouth, and then you hold me and rub your tongue against mine.”
“That feels good?”
“Mmm, incredible. What else do I get? If I do it right, touch and arouse you enough, you might need my hands lower on your body.”
She groaned and twisted in his arms. The thought of his hands going
lower
forced a spasm deep inside. Moisture trickled and the wet spot grew between her legs. “I know what that would do for me, but what would you get?”
“To see you spread your legs for me. That’s an incredible turn on. Then I’d get to touch your soft lips and open them. I love the way you smell and feel. You get so wet and excited.” With trembling hands, she placed them on the waist of her jeans and slowly let the button slip through the hole. The sound of the zipper descending 103