Needing Him

by Jeanne St. James

  I’m wearing my best-fitting jeans, a soft maroon V-neck sweater (the only one I have that shows any cleavage), the only push-up bra I own, and my only pair of unpractical boots (and by unpractical, I mean it has a small wide heel). So, it isn’t going to get any better than that.

  I study his face. The hollows under his cheekbones have disappeared. He’s filled out, but then the first couple years he’d been super thin, had dark circles under his eyes, and seemed moody.

  Not that he ever looked bad, even then. But now, he looks even better.

  Oh so much better.

  His flashing grey eyes study me back and I realize how rude it is of me to stare. I wonder how he’ll react if I brush my fingers over his tight beard, or his short dark hair. The beard is new, the short hair is not.

  The facial hair fits him, though. He looks more rugged, like an outdoorsy man, not one from the city where I know he’s from.

  Who cares where it looks like he came from, I can’t wait to see him naked.

  If he wants to go for the rugged look, being naked holding a carabiner in his hand will work.

  If he wants to go for the slick city look, wearing a necktie around his wrists when I tie him to the bed will work, too.

  I won’t be picky.

  However, I will be demanding.

  Because I did say it’s been a long time for me, didn’t I? (I’m pretty sure I did.)

  Right.

  The man wears a soft grey, cotton button-down shirt which matches his eyes (completely unbuttoned) with a white T-shirt underneath it.

  Aaaaaaand… I’m still staring like a sex-starved woman (which I am).

  I drop my gaze to the reservation book and clear my throat.

  Then I hear a chuckle which makes heat rush into my cheeks. Without looking up, I ask, “Would you like daily room service?”

  “Absolutely.” The way he makes that one word sound, it might as well have been a dirty word he whispered into my ear. I quickly look up and see the crinkles around the corner of his eyes as if he’s amused.

  He’s never wanted anyone to bother him or his cabin before when he’s visited. This year he does.

  Interesting.

  I slide the key across the counter and before I can pull my hand away, he covers it with his.

  “What did you say your name was?” Now it’s his turn to look embarrassed because he’s never asked and probably just realized it (though, you better believe I’m well aware of that).

  I swallow hard. “Grace.”

  “Grace.” My name comes out of his mouth like a whisper and something low in my belly heats up, perks my nipples, makes me want to leap over the counter and shove my tongue down his throat and other places.

  But I don’t. Instead, I pull at my hand. Not hard, just enough so he’ll release it. He doesn’t. Instead, he curls his fingers tighter for a moment before finally letting my hand go. I stare at it like it will never be the same again, then shake myself mentally.

  “That’s a beautiful name.”

  Uh… “Thanks, Mr. Landis.”

  “Nick.”

  “What?”

  “I’m Nick.”

  “Yes, I know.” I point to the reservation book and my horrible handwriting. “I have it written down.”

  “Please call me that.”

  Uh… “Okay.”

  “Nick,” he says again.

  “Okay… Nick.”

  When he smiles at me, I just about melt. This man is not the same man who first arrived four Octobers ago.

  I’m not saying I don’t like this new Nick. I do. But he’s different, which makes me suspicious. Not that I can help that, it’s just my nature.

  But look, I need to get laid, and I already tagged him to do the job, so I’ll take Nick anyway I can get him. New Nick, Old Nick, Nick on his back, Nick sitting, standing, doing the hokey pokey. Don’t care.

  Finally, he turns to leave and I sigh quietly. Not in relief because he’s leaving, but because his ass in his Levi’s looks absolutely spectacular (with a capital S).

  “Do you need help with your luggage?”

  He stops and glances at me over his shoulder, once again appearing amused. “Do you have a bell boy?”

  He knows I don’t. “No.”

  “Then I got it. I’m good. But thank you anyway.”

  “Sure,” I say and watch with disappointment as he walks out the front door and closes it behind him.

  Sagging behind the counter, I peer down at Maggie. “You lucky shit, you. He had his hands all over you. But I’m next. So, keep your paws off him, you hear?”

  Maggie sits with a thump, her tail swishing across the floor, as her tongue lolls out the side of her mouth.

  “Okay, girl, now that he’s here, I need to formulate a plan.”

  I hear Nick’s car start and pull away from my small log ranch home that houses the office. He always stays in the farthest cabin from the house so he has privacy.

  Again, not that there’s anyone else on the property except for me and him.

  However, this year, he’s not getting any solitude. Though, I hope he doesn’t mind, I’m not sure I care if he does. I’ve got one mission. And that’s…

  Operation End Dry Spell.

  And he’s been recruited.

  For some reason, I missed his phone call last night, but he left a message on the office answering machine.

  “Grace, can I get some extra towels delivered?”

  Towels. Delivered. Apparently, last night while Maggie and I were busy formulating Operation End Dry Spell, I missed the biggest (not to mention, easiest) opportunity to get into his cabin (and possibly his pants). With his permission, at least.

  I look at the clock. Seven AM. It’s early, he probably hasn’t showered yet and I certainly can be accommodating by bringing him an extra towel or two. I grab a laundry basket, throw in some clean towels, an extra wash cloth, and a couple homemade muffins I made the day before.

  Because, you know, food is a way to a man’s heart. Not that I want his heart, I need something a little stiffer than that…

  I ask myself if I should bring him some fresh brewed coffee to go with the muffins, but that might take too much time and I’m anxious.

  Not to mention, a little bit excited. To say the least.

  I wonder if I should take some condoms with me (just in case). I could always tuck them in between the towels until they’re needed.

  Then I realize, dummy me, I forgot to buy them. I threw my other box out because they expired.

  Yes, expired.

  Because that’s how long it has been since I’ve needed condoms.

  So now what?

  Go with the flow. Operation End Dry Spell was under way and a little thing like being unprepared isn’t going to slow me down. If it doesn’t go as planned, I’ll make a trip into town later this afternoon and stock up. Well, as long as Mrs. Sanders isn’t working the cash register, because if she is? Everyone in Greenville will know I’m trying to get laid.

  Not that they’ll know by who. But they’ll wonder. Even start guessing. And the next thing you know, they’ll have me sleeping with Floyd at the Test ‘N’ Tune garage. Even though Floyd is about one hundred years old (not really, but he kind of looks it). Then Floyd might have a heart attack if he hears that and it’ll be all my fault.

  For just buying a box of condoms.

  Shit.

  As I throw the basket in the back of the golf cart I use to putt around the property, Maggie jumps into the passenger seat and off we go down the dirt lane to the very last cabin.

  With the golf cart, it only takes a couple minutes and I pull up next to his black Infiniti SUV which is parked in the grass in front of the log cabin. The moose themed curtains are pulled closed across the wide, lone window (which I admit needs replaced). I suck in some oxygen in an effort to soothe my nerves. But that’s a fat ol’ failure.

  Instead, I give myself a little pep talk. Not loud. No. Like under my breath, but apparently, Ma
ggie can hear me muttering, since she’s watching my face and tilting her head, probably thinking I’ve gone off the deep end.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You eat poop. No judging.”

  Maggie practically smiles at me, jumps out of the cart and sniffs the SUV. Then tracks the ground following Nick’s scent to the faded stained front door where she whines.

  I get my ass moving before the dog actually knocks on the door and Nick lets her in. For some reason, I can picture both of them having a wonderful time together while I’m outside looking in.

  Tucking the laundry basket under my right arm, I approach and hesitantly knock, then listen for any sound of movement.

  Nothing.

  I knock a lot harder this time and…

  Still nothing.

  I glance around, wondering if he went out for an early morning walk. But there’s no one around but me and Maggie, so if he’s out for a stroll, he’s far enough away where I can’t spot him. I transfer the basket under my left arm and knock one more time, not quite pounding but close.

  “Mr. Landis?” I call out. “Nick? I’ve got the towels you requested.”

  Not a peep. I look down at Maggie, she looks up at me, sneezes, then looks at the door like she’s waiting for me to open it.

  Hmm.

  Yes, I can just let myself in, drop off his towels, and come back later.

  Good idea, Maggie! My dog’s so smart.

  I tentatively turn the handle, checking to see if I need to use my master key, but the knob turns. Wherever he went, he left his door unlocked.

  Not that this isn’t a safe area. It is. But still…

  The hinges creak a little when I slowly push the wood door open. WD-40 is my first thought. Then as I peer into the dark interior of the small cabin, my second thought is…

  Holy fuck.

  Nick Landis sprawls across the bed on his belly from corner to corner, his head turned away from the door, the sheet barely covering his long, naked body, one teeny-tiny corner of it crosses over his hips. And there’s clearly nothing between him and the sheet which is wrinkled like he’d slept restlessly. He’s completely bare.

  Yes, bare.

  And not the bad type of bear (which we have in the area), but the good type of bare (which I haven’t seen in way too long).

  Yessssss.

  Frozen in the doorway, I clear my throat, hoping he’ll turn and see me. I get nothing. His back rises and falls like he’s now sleeping soundly. Maggie’s nails clip along the wide planked floor as she heads to the bed to check on the sleeping man. (Did I say he’s totally naked? Because he is!)

  “Maggie!” I whisper in a bit of a panic, then freeze when she nuzzles his armpit with her nose.

  I make a low noise, one that means, “Oh fuck me. She's going to wake him up, and he'll catch me staring at him while he slept and think I’m a weirdo stalker.” And being considered a weirdo stalker will not get me laid.

  I think about dropping the basket on the nearby table and rushing out of the room before he catches me, but Maggie’s having none of that.

  She shoves her muzzle deeper under his arm. Did I mention that she’s an attention whore? She probably just wants his hands all over her again.

  I slide the laundry basket onto the table and almost knock over a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

  Fuck.

  Apparently, he didn’t fix his problems. In the past few years, after he’s checked out, he’s left behind a bunch of empty bottles in the trash. And by a bunch, I mean more than one person should drink by himself.

  I figure since his attitude seems changed this year that maybe it won’t be the same. But it appears it is. Maybe he isn’t over whatever he comes up here to escape from.

  That being said, he’s probably passed out in bed in an alcohol-induced stupor and not really sleeping.

  Damn it, I’ll never get laid if he stays in a drunken/hangover/passed-out stage all week.

  I move closer to the bed, stepping tentatively in case he really is sleeping.

  “Nick?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”

  At least if he hears me, then he’ll think I’m only checking on him, concerned about his well-being and not planning on jumping his bones.

  “Nick? Mr. Landis?”

  Still nothing. However, no one sleeps that heavily.

  I approach the bed on the side nearest the door, opposite where Maggie is. Opposite of where his face is turned.

  I bravely poke at his shoulder.

  All of a sudden, he moves. I don’t (since I’m now frozen in place once again). And he groans. Which makes me want to groan because I can imagine him doing that while he’s inside me.

  Fuck. I squeeze my thighs together.

  I shake myself mentally because maybe he’s hurt and needs assistance. It’s been a while since I’ve been CPR certified, but I’m sure I can administer mouth-to-mouth to Nick without a problem. He may enjoy it, too.

  Give him a little slip of the tongue and—

  His hand snakes out with super human speed and snags my wrist. Before I can react, I’m twisting through the air and landing on my back with a soft oomph. Suddenly, I find myself pinned to the bed with a heavy weight on me.

  Not surprisingly, that weight is one hundred percent Nick.

  His face is only a few inches from mine and I’m breathing heavily. Probably due to the fact I was just knocked off my feet, and maybe a little due to the fact that the man is now very naked and very hard against my thigh.

  Damn.

  Nah.

  Hot damn!

  Both of my wrists are encircled tightly within his fingers and my arms stretch over my head. When he nudges a knee between my thighs, it presses against my very needy pussy.

  Let me just say, I think I tagged the right man. (Go, me!)

  “You bring my towels?”

  His voice sounds rough from non-use and goosebumps break out all over my body, including my two biggest ones, my nipples. I’m wearing a stylish, purple long-sleeve thermal T that fits snuggly enough that he won’t be able to miss them. Especially since they press into his chest.

  Did I mention he’s naked?

  Yeah.

  I kick myself into action. Operation End Dry Spell is a go.

  “Yes. Sorry I missed your call last night.” My voice is so breathless that I sound like I just orgasmed. Which I may have. Just a little bit. “I brought your towels... And a couple muffins, just in case you’re hungry.”

  “Grace.”

  His deep voice saying my name stops my roll and I blink.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Oh yeah, so am I.

  “But not for a muffin.”

  How about that? Neither am I. “Well, there’s a diner in town—”

  “Grace,” he stops me again and I meet his gaze. His eyes are dark grey now and burning into my soul. Though, I’ll be glad to sell him my soul for a really, really great orgasm.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not hungry for breakfast.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “You know what I’m hungry for, Grace?”

  I’m hoping me. “What?”

  “You.”

  Yeah. I was right. I’d high five Maggie right now if I could.

  “You were supposed to show up last night,” he murmurs, staring at my lips.

  I lick them out of nervousness. “I—”

  “Then we would have had all night. Now we need to make up for lost time.”

  We do?

  Oh. We do.

  Yes. I agree. One hundred percent.

  “Okay.”

  One corner of his lips lift. He has a beautiful mouth. Stunning eyes. And from what I can feel, he’s no slouch downstairs either.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs a hair’s breadth from my lips.

  “You have?” I also murmur, wishing he’d kiss me.

  “I have.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Good to hear that.”

 
; “Why?” I ask and then curse myself because he pulls back a little bit, going the exact opposite direction I want him to go.

  “Why what?” he asks, looking somewhat confused.

  “Why me?”

  “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left last year.”

  Now I’m the one somewhat confused. “Oh.”

  He smiles.

  I smile.

  Then he lowers his head once again and asks almost against my lips, “Do you want this?”

  “Yes,” I hiss. I don’t just want this, I need this.

  “Is there anything you won’t do?”

  What? Uh...

  But before I can ask him to clarify what he means, he crushes his lips to mine and I sigh into his mouth. He kisses me like he’s a starved man and I am his respite. I quickly forget his question as his tongue sweeps over my lips and explores my mouth. He tilts his head slightly to bring us tighter together. And now I’m moaning into his mouth.

  I usually don’t kiss the guys I sleep with... the mountain bikers, the snowmobilers, the fall leaf peepers. None of them. Because they’re one-night stands and kissing is an intimate act for me.

  But I like Nick kissing me and realize at that moment that, no, there won’t be anything I won’t do with Nick.

  Because it’s Nick.

  And I feel like after the last three years I know him better than any other man I’ve been with. Even though that might not really be true because I really don’t know him at all. But I feel I know him deep down inside, deep in my bones, deep in my psyche. Nick is mine. Even if only for the next few days.

  There’s always been something about him that’s intrigued me, even when he was moody and seemed to be in a deep funk. I liked him then. I like him now.

  Now that his weight presses on top of me and he’s kissing the shit out of me, making me wet, making my pussy pulse in need, I like him even more.

  How can I not? I’m all systems a-go in Operation End Dry Spell.

  He breaks the kiss and his eyes appear dark and stormy as he meets mine. “You’re not resisting.”

  “No.” Of course not, this may be the smoothest operation in history.

  “Do you like to play with toys, Grace?”

  Fuck, I love when he says my name with his deep, gruff voice.