Mourning Wood

by Heather M. Orgeron

  Her gulp echoes in the stillness.

  “With tongue,” I add.

  Her trembling hands flatten against my chest, her little finger stroking absentmindedly over my nipple, driving me positively mad with desire. “O—only a little.”

  “A lot,” I counter, taking hold of her chin and smashing my mouth to hers with a feral groan. Without a second’s hesitation, her hands are fisted in my hair. The only fight is for control as our tongues war with each other, desperately seeking to fill the ache we spend every moment in one another’s presence denying.

  “Wyatt,” she mumbles against my lips.

  “So good,” I say, reaching around to cup her ass before spitting a laugh right in her face when I’m cock-blocked…in the most literal sense.

  She backs away, wiping at her face, offended and still panting from our kiss. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Sorry,” I say, hardly able to catch my breath. “I can’t.”

  Her eyes narrow to slits. “Can’t what? Kiss me? It was your idea.”

  I hold the massive penis out in the space between us. “I can’t kiss you with another man’s dick in my hand.”

  It’s been three days…

  For three whole days, I’ve been able to do little else but ruminate over that kiss. When I close my eyes, I feel warmth of his tongue flicking against the roof of my mouth, and the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. I can still taste the coffee on his lips. And the smell of his cologne is seared so deeply into my subconscious that it scents my every inhale with sandalwood and man.

  Desire heats my blood whenever I recall the way he dominated the situation, commanding complete control. And my God, did it feel good to shut my mind off for those brief seconds and relinquish it—to react on instinct—to exist wholly in that moment…a luxury I’m realizing I seldom allow myself anymore.

  Now here I am, seated less than two feet away from he who occupies my every thought, in the cab of his pickup. We’re headed out to join Kate and Beau for some line dancing—my idea—and I can’t focus enough to hold a simple conversation.

  My game is so off…

  Yeah, right, what game? More like nonexistent.

  “You all right, Whit?”

  “Huh?” I turn from where I’ve been absently staring out the window. He’s looking like some kind of model in his signature ass-hugging Levis and a brown leather jacket. Beneath it he dons a crisp white tee that would make anyone else look underdressed. But he wears it better than most men wear a three-piece suit.

  Truth be told, Wyatt isn’t what I’d normally go for. I prefer my guys a little more…clean cut. But the way those unruly blond whisps curl over his ears has me pressing my thighs together thinking about all the dirty things I’d like him to do to me. I steal a glance at him gripping the wheel and suddenly feel those work-roughened hands scraping along my smooth skin, sending tingles down my spine. “Yeah. Why do you ask?” I give my head a shake, tossing my hair back and away from my face.

  One broad shoulder rises and falls before he runs his fingers through his locks, offering me a hesitant smile. “You just seem far away.”

  If he only knew.

  “Sorry.” I scrub my palms over my thighs, drying the sweat on my jeans. “Just thinking about work.”

  He nods, turning back to the road, whistling along to some old rock song playing on the radio. I’ve been so distracted that I hadn’t even realized the music was on. It dawns on me he might’ve resorted to listening to it as a result of my stellar company, and I really start to feel bad. I mean, the man earned this date, and even let me choose the venue. The least I can do is be present.

  From that point, I give a concentrated effort to at least appear that I’m paying attention while he makes small talk about the construction going on over at his place.

  It’s not that I’m disinterested, per se. I’m just far too preoccupied by the overwhelming attraction I’m harboring for the man—an attraction that’s beginning to feel like a living, breathing entity between us, making it difficult to focus on anything but reigning in my reaction to it, lest I make a complete fool of myself.

  “Great, so, tomorrow then?” His thumbs thump against the steering wheel to the beat of the music, jarring me from my thoughts. His boyish smile is warm enough to melt butter…and soak my panties.

  “Tomorrow what?” All the agreeing I’ve been doing has apparently just backfired on me, as I have no idea what I’ve just committed to. Considering our history…banging against a dumpster, kissing in the crematory… There really is no telling.

  “You and Miss Priss. Dinner at my place.” He grins. “To show you what I’m working on and let Prissy play with the pooch.”

  “Uh,” I stammer, fiddling with the hem of my top while trying to think up a way out of the mess I’ve just landed myself in. Okay, so, I don’t actually want out. But involving my daughter any further in whatever this is between us has red flags shooting up all over the place.

  “Sure…”

  “I knew it,” he laughs. “I don’t know where you are, but it sure ain’t here with me.”

  “Oh, I was with you, all right,” I mutter, closing the AC vents to keep the heat from blowing on my already flushed cheeks.

  “Is that what this is about?” he asks, whipping into a spot in front of Willa’s Honky Tonk.

  I catch my lower lip between my teeth as I gaze at his profile, the way his jaw ticks and the easy smile that moves across the lower half of his face as he maneuvers his beast of a truck between two others. He always looks like he’s having the time of his life when he drives this old thing.

  Come to think of it, I can’t recall a time he hasn’t looked like he was enjoying himself. It’s incredibly appealing, his zest for life.

  Resisting the urge to fan myself, I shift in my seat and swallow the lump building in the back of my throat.

  “You gonna be all weird now cuz I kissed you?” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and it’s all I can do not to jump him. Get a grip, woman.

  Instead, I toy with the pendant on my necklace, sliding it back and forth along the silver chain. “I’m not trying to be.”

  “We screwed against a trash bin, for crying out loud.” He shoves the gear shift up into park, twisting his entire body to face me. He just threw that out there so casually, without an ounce of mirth. “If we could get past that…” His gray-green eyes meet with mine, and I cease my fidgeting, completely entranced by the seriousness of his ruggedly handsome face. “It was a kiss.”

  A kiss that, by my estimation, was far more intimate than some drunken fuck.

  Then we were strangers looking for nothing more than a good time. But now? Now, I’m actually getting to know the man behind the six-pack abs and chiseled jaw, and finding that I like him—I like him a lot, actually. And so does my kid.

  Wyatt could be the one…or our complete undoing. There’s no in between. If I decide to take a chance—to go all in—the result could be the family I’ve always dreamed of for me and Prissy or complete annihilation of what little faith in love I have left.

  “You’re right,” I say, rather than reveal any of what I’m thinking. “I’m being silly.”

  He stares at me for a beat before tipping his head, turning for his door, and exiting the cab.

  I take a few deep breaths, adjusting the part in my hair in the visor mirror while waiting for him to come around to let me out. There’s a good chance he’s ruined me for all other men. I can’t imagine any other guy in this day and age will ever live up to the standards he’s setting.

  Wyatt Landry, unfortunately for the women of today, is a dying breed, and I’m constantly fighting the urge to grab hold of him with both hands and see how far this thing might go.

  Maybe it’s time I quit fighting?

  “How was it?” he asks when my door swings open, holding out a hand for mine. “Scale of one to ten.” He waggles his brows suggestively. “Ten being orgasmic.”

  I scoff, bec
ause I’m too flustered to speak.

  “Come on…you have to have an answer, being it’s all you seem to think about.”

  I give him my glariest glare as I step down into the gravel lot with his assistance.

  He doesn’t even flinch. “Maybe you could use a refresher?” he offers, pinning me against the side of his truck with his chest pressed to mine. My heart starts beating double-time.

  I lick my lips, practically panting for it and shake my head. “A three.”

  “Bullshit.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbles against my temple, sending my blood rushing.

  I can’t be sure, but I’m almost positive I feel the tip of his tongue trail along the shell of my ear. My head thumps against the window, and I look up at his scruffy chin. Without thought, my hand follows my line of vision, and I’m running a thumb back and forth in that stubble, imagining the way the coarse hair would feel on other parts of my body…brushing along my hard nipples, scraping the delicate skin between my thighs. “Seven,” I amend, still taunting him.

  My voice is pure gravel. My limbs, putty.

  My breath heady with desire.

  He dips his head, and I shut my eyes, every cell of my body springing to life with awareness. His warm, minty breath clouds what remains of my senses. All I want in this moment is to taste him. To feel him. To surrender all my inhibitions.

  “Ten,” he says, before clasping my face between his massive hands and crashing his mouth to mine.

  Without hesitation, my lips part, easily succumbing to his advance. I vaguely hear the moans of desperation sneaking out from the back of my own throat. With my toes curled snugly in my boots and my fingers fisted into the front of his shirt, I’m once again becoming lost in this man. Whether it be the delicate caress of his fingers, the gyration of his hips, or the warm whisper of his breath as his lips trail a path across my neck, his every move feels deliberate. Practiced. The man knows his way around a woman. If I had my wits, that would probably bother me, but as it stands, I can’t feel anything but appreciation for the skillful way he’s molding me to his will.

  Calloused hands travel along my sides and over my hips before reaching around to cup my ass. He pulls me flush with his body, nipping at my lips before pulling back just a hair’s breadth. “That’s a ten,” he rasps before inclining my chin with the tip of his nose so I’m staring right at him. “Fight me.”

  I’m never one to back down from a challenge, but at the moment there is no fight in me—none whatsoever. I nod, gripping the back of his head with both of my hands and attempt to bring his mouth back where I want it—where I desperately need it.

  What is it about this man that has me willing—hell, practically begging—for him to take me right here, out in the open for anyone to see? The way my hips are grinding into his pelvis like they have a mind of their own—the mind of a slut—tells me what I think I already knew… I’ve not learned a damn thing from our past experience.

  “Say it,” he commands, through a jumble of nipping lips and gnashing teeth.

  “T—ten,” I agree, sagging into him as I mewl against his lips.

  With that, he breaks away, sporting a satisfied smile as he tucks my hand into his. “That’s more like it.” He tugs my arm, moving toward the entrance, but I’m still too worked up to move, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Come on, we got some rugs to cut.”

  “What?” I gawk at him like he’s speaking another language while adjusting my clothes.

  “Cut a rug?” He does a little shimmy. “You know? Dancing.”

  “Right.” I suck in as much of the cool December air as I can as we cross the parking lot, attempting to regain my wits before entering the bar. “You ever been before?”

  He inclines his head, looking up at the flashing neon pink sign. “Here specifically? Or line dancing?”

  “Either…both.”

  “Neither,” he admits, gripping the lapels of my jean jacket and pulling me in to plant a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m not really one for formal dancing.”

  “Great,” I rasp, reaching around him for the door handle. “This should be a blast.”

  My adrenaline starts pumping when we step inside, greeted by the flashing strobe lights and the familiar tune of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” blaring through the speakers. My hips start swaying along to the sound of boot heels stamping on the wood floor in time with the beat.

  Dancing might not be his thing, but I was born for it.

  “Keep that up,” he teases, pulling me back into his chest with a finger hooked through the beltloop at the small of my back, “And I’m gonna have to find the owner of this place…see if they have a dumpster out back.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I tease, feeling emboldened by the lively atmosphere, and also still more than a bit worked up.

  He nibbles my ear lobe before jutting his chin out straight ahead toward my petite brunette bestie who’s standing on a stool, flailing her arms in the air like a maniac to get our attention. “Wonder if she noticed us walk in?” he muses.

  Kate and Beau have somehow managed to snag one of the coveted high-tops right off the dance floor. They must’ve gotten here as soon as the place opened.

  They are adorable…all matchy, she in black leggings, a plaid tunic, western boots, and her hair in twin braids draped over each shoulder. Beau’s dressed down from his usual lawyer garb, in a black button down tucked into a pair of Wranglers and cowboy boots. His habitually styled hair is wind-tousled, giving him a playful charm. “Damn, Beau,” I tease, leaning in for a hug. “You look almost human tonight.”

  “Could say the same about you,” he counters, looking me over from head to toe. “Where’s the pencil skirt and red bottom heels?”

  “Ahem,” Kate hacks, loudly. “We’re standing right here, assholes. Stop flirting…damn.”

  I roll my eyes, making my way around to give her a tight squeeze. “You look very pretty.” It’s nothing new where she’s concerned, but I’m always sure to say it anyway. I’m a good friend like that.

  “Thanks,” she beams. “So do you.”

  “Ahem,” Wyatt interrupts. “We’re standing right here. Damn, Kate, stop flirting with my woman.”

  My best friend’s eyes widen. “Are you two…?”

  “No!” I rush out at the same time that he answers in the affirmative.

  “We are not dating,” she insists, glowering at me.

  “We totally are,” I argue, getting a kick out of the matching shit-eating grins on our best friends’ faces. “I held another man’s dick in the palm of my hand to earn the right to say that.”

  Alcohol sprays out of Kate’s mouth. “I’m sorry, you did what?”

  Whitney shields her face with both hands.

  “You didn’t tell her?” I wince, becoming a bit anxious because I think I may have just landed myself in a heap of trouble. “I assumed—”

  “And you know what they say about assuming,” she snaps back, her hands moving to rest on the curves of her hips.

  I look around for a little help, finding none from these two clowns. “No, actually I don’t… What do they say?”

  “Precisely.” She winks.

  I can only imagine how dumb I must look at the moment, because whatever point she thinks she’s just proven has gone way over my head.

  “Means you shouldn’t assume,” Beau says, finally jumping in with the save. Better late than never, I guess.

  “Well, one of y’all better start talkin’, cuz my imagination’s runnin’ wild!” Kate holds both palms out, flashing her fingers opened and closed with her curious eyes bouncing between us.

  “It wasn’t an actual dick,” Whit shouts just as the music fades out. At least five heads whip in our direction, and I cannot control my hysterical laughter at her expense.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Mind y’all’s own damn business,” Kate growls, shooing them with a flick of her wrist. “Buncha freaking busy-bodies.” She redirects her attention to Whitney, who by the loo
ks of it would like nothing more than to evaporate into thin air. “Go on…”

  “I’m not trying to spread anyone’s business,” Whitney shoots me a pair of laser eyes that warn I’d better not either.

  “Too late.” Beau’s worse than a woman once his interest is piqued. “Out with it.”

  “Relax…it was just a dildo.” One look at Beau and Kate’s wide-eyed, slack-jawed expressions lets me know that I should have just kept my big mouth shut…again.

  “I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Whit offers, slinking back around the table to lace her arm through mine. “Didn’t feel it was my place…” She pats the top of my hand with hers, as if trying to comfort me. “But I guess the cat’s outta the bag. Y’all, Wyatt here is one kinky mofo.”

  “Is he now?” my nosy cousin-in-law croons, resting her forearms on the table and leaning in close.

  “You think you know someone,” Beau adds, scrubbing a hand over his jaw like he’s trying to figure me out. “We’ll revisit this topic later.”

  “The fuck we will.”

  Whitney’s back vibrates against my chest while she fights to control her laughter. “Let’s not embarrass him, y’all. We came here to have a good time.”

  “Speaking of a good time”—Kate pushes a glass across the table—“I took the honor of ordering you a Crown and Coke.” She dangles her drink in the air. “Heavy on the Crown. You got some catchin’ up to do.”

  “Been here a while?” Whit asks, before bringing the tumbler to her lips.

  She sniffs the liquid, pulling a sour face before shrugging and taking an impressive pull from the straw.

  Kate doesn’t get the chance to answer before the familiar intro to “Cotton Eye Joe” filters through the speakers. A stampede of patrons rush to the floor, arranging themselves in neat rows. I find myself drawn to their energy as I watch them collectively clapping their hands above their heads and howling at the moon like a bunch of fools.