by Jewel E. Ann
I glance past him into the living room and fetch a throw blanket from the sofa to wrap around my waist before sitting next to him. He smirks from behind his mug of coffee.
“You bake, huh?” I eye the roll as I bring the coffee to my lips.
“Technically, yes. I baked these. Now, if you ask if I mix ingredients, roll out dough, and whatever else is involved in making cinnamon rolls … then no. These came from one of those tubes where all you have to do is bake and frost them.”
“That works.” I shrug.
“Do you bake?”
I pull apart the roll and pinch off a bite. “I don’t, but I can. My family was pretty old-fashioned. Mom has always stayed at home. She still wears aprons that belonged to my grandma. You know … the ones with white shoulder straps and deep pockets?”
Nate’s grin mirrors mine as he nods several times.
“She’d putter around the house in a dress and one of her many white eyelet aprons or linen pinafores doing shit all day—laundry, baking, sewing, ironing, cleaning. You name it. If we scraped a knee, she had ointments and Band-Aids in one of her apron pockets. Lose a button? No problem. She had a mini sewing kit in her apron. Stain sticks, tissues, pacifiers, aspirin, and antibiotic ointment for the dogs ears … all in her apron. It was like her tool belt for the day. My dad says she’s an old soul born a generation too late. When Kyle and I would bring friends home for the first time, they all assumed she was our grandma, not our mom. Of course, not because she looked old, it was the apron. And … she didn’t work outside of the home.”
“That’s awesome.” Delight overtakes Nate’s face. “So she taught you to bake?”
“Sorry … that long story went nowhere. Yes, she taught me to bake, iron, fold fitted sheets, sew, and kiss booboos. Dad taught Kyle how to mow the lawn, change a tire, fix a leaky faucet, and hang a picture. Ironically, I never married or had kids, so all those domestic skills were lost on me. And Kyle went into a very white-collar profession where he chose to hire everything out, including simple things like mowing the lawn and fixing a leaky faucet. I’m sure our parents’ motto for years has been where did we go wrong?”
“Conventionalism isn’t reality,” Nate says while staring at me rubbing my hands. “Did you hurt yourself … hanging from the balcony?”
I pause my movements and reach for my coffee. “No.”
“You have to tell me why? It’s flat-out cruel to keep it a secret at this point.”
I roll my eyes. “My hair. Are you happy now? I didn’t want you to see my hair. I’m not sure my hair has ever looked so hideous. I couldn’t look at it without cringing and feeling the need to look away. And we’re not together. What we have is based on physical attraction. Or … it was.” My nose wrinkles. “That’s no doubt over now.”
“First…” he wipes his mouth with a napkin after taking the last bite of cinnamon roll “…I’m not that shallow. And if I were, we could still enjoy each other’s company for the rest of the summer. A paper sack over your head works just fine.”
It’s not funny. Not even a little. Okay … my lips betraying me by sneaking out a smile might mean it’s a tiny bit funny. “So you just want me for everything below my neck?”
“No. I think we’d cut a hole where your mouth is.”
I shake my head and laugh. How did we go from aprons to paper sacks? “So I can breathe?”
“Um … sure … that too.”
“That too? Okay, so the main reason for the hole is so that you can kiss me. I see where your priorities are.”
His lips curl together, and he rubs his fingers over them, hiding a look.
“Not to kiss me …” Realization settles into my cheeks in the form of a huge blush. Could I be any more naive? The hole is for something else, for something that didn’t happen last night. Nate is a lot of things, but at his core, he’s still a guy with normal guy desires.
Once my mind accepts his original meaning, my thoughts conjure the craziest images of what it might look like. Giving a guy a blow job with a bag over my head and a hole cut out at my mouth is not sexy. It’s so weird. Really weird. And now I can’t get the image out of my head.
“You’re imagining it, aren’t you?” He chuckles.
I cover my face with my hands. “Yes! And it’s awful. Why did you have to say that?” I giggle because it is awful, but it’s oddly funny in my messed-up mind. “Oh my gosh …” I drop my hands from my face. “I need to get into my house. I need clothes, and I want to brush my teeth. Surely Mr. Hans has a key hidden somewhere. Can I use your phone to call him?”
Nate wets his lips and rubs them together, his brow wrinkling a little. “He asked me to keep an eye on things, so he gave me a key. I can let you in if you need in.”
Slowly, I push back in my chair and stand, leaning forward to plant my hands on the table. “You … have … a key?” My teeth gnash. “I live there, yet he asked you to look after things? Look after what? Me?” My voice escalates with each word.
Nate gives me a tightlipped expression, eyes wide. “I think he’s like your parents, a little old-fashioned.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re just now telling me you have a key!”
His lips twist to the side as he lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “I wanted …”
“You wanted?” I lean in more, getting in his face.
“You …” His gaze slides down my body. “In my shirt. In my house. I wanted more … you.” He grins like that’s the golden answer, like I’m going to fall for his charm.
“I want to fuck you on my kitchen table before real life returns in two days.”
What the … what!?
That … that came out of his mouth.
Nice guy Nate.
Widower Nate.
Single dad Nate.
There’s no way I heard him correctly—even if my nipples have jumped to attention, volunteering for duty.
The number of rational comebacks is endless. My brain doesn’t do rational well. “I need to brush my teeth.” Clearly the obvious answer to someone wanting to fuck me on a kitchen table.
Nate grins. “I need to take a shower.”
Like the ultimate sign, the blanket around my waist loosens and falls to the floor.
Nate scoots his chair back. “Come here,” he demands with an eerie calmness as he spreads his legs.
Shirtless Nate.
I’m like a fly willingly tangling myself in his web, knowing I won’t be able to escape before he completely consumes me.
I step into his space. His hands slide up the back of my legs, and he grins when I visibly shiver from his touch.
Yeah, you do things to me, Nathaniel Hunt.
I like Nate’s hands. They’re large, calloused, and some of his knuckles are knobby like he’s suffered jammed fingers over the years. Capable … they are very capable hands that don’t remind me of anyone—not Brandon, not Andy who cheated on me, and not Michael. Maybe that’s the thing I like most about Nate. He’s physically nothing like my three previous strikes. I don’t spend time comparing him to anyone else. Well, except I’m doing it now because my mind spins out of control when he touches me.
“Gracelyn … what?” he whispers.
“May.” I roll my eyes. “I was born in May. So … Gracelyn May Glock.”
“Gracelyn May …” He slides his hand along my cheek and pulls me down to his lips.
He just jogged. Where is his appalling odor? Am I immune to it? Am I oddly attracted to his dried sweat? I think so because I find my mouth following a trail down his chest behind my hands, over his sternum, and down his abs. Nate pulls out my ponytail holder—Morgan’s—as I kneel on the floor. His fingers ease into my hair, and his stomach muscles flex beneath my lips.
I grin. Pulling away, I trace a heart-shaped birthmark to the left of his navel. It’s really just an absence of pigment. “Found it.”
When I glance up, he drags his teeth along his lower lip, eyes darker and filled with something that make
s me feel very powerful at the moment. He draws in a slow breath when I pull down the front of his jogging shorts and briefs.
“Jesus …” he whispers as I take him into my mouth.
I’m certain he’s no longer thinking about my matted hair or my crazy ass hanging from the balcony.
My hands and mouth take turns. He leans back in the chair, his grip on my hair tightening. My gaze lifts to meet his, but his head is back, neck stretched taut.
“Surprise! Oh! What the—”
When we hear Morgan’s voice, Nate jumps, seriously gagging me before yanking his shorts up to cover things. I bolt up with my back to her and wipe the gag tears from my eyes.
“Uh … Dad …”
Pushing the shirt down as far as it will go, I turn slowly.
“You’re back.” He clears his throat and races to give her a hug as she drops her bag on the floor. “Early … why are you back early?”
She pulls away, eyeing me with … well, I’m not sure what that look is on her face. Confusion and something else. Please tell me she didn’t see her dad’s penis in my mouth … me stroking and licking it. Please … please … please …
“You’re wearing my dad’s shirt.”
I glance down as if it’s news to me. “Yeah. I … uh … I got locked out of my house and fell into the water, so your dad loaned me a shirt.” That about covers it.
“Mr. Hans gave my dad a key to your house.”
Smart little shit.
“Oh!” Nate dramatically slaps his palm against his forehead. “He did. I totally forgot. My mind was all over the place with you leaving so quickly.” He glances back at me. “Sorry … I had a key all this time.”
Biting my lips together, my eyes flare as I nod. “Mmm-hmm. Well, I’m just going to run home.”
Morgan’s untrusting gaze shifts back to Nate.
Thank god.
“Hunter got sick. Food poisoning in the middle of the night. Her parents took her home, so Mr. Hans decided we should head home too.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re home safely.”
I sneak past her as she narrows her eyes at him. She knows … she’s ten, but she knows. She’s not blind. And that image will never leave her brain. Me and my stupid need to bring him condoms last night. Not only am I on course to destroy Gabe’s childhood, I’m set to ruin Morgan’s as well.
When I slip in the deck door, I hear Mr. Hans whistling from the office, probably unpacking, so I sprint upstairs. My luck has taken a tiny upswing. Gabe’s in his room, unpacking his bag with his back to me, so I make it to my room and ease the door shut without making a sound. When I’m safe in the bathroom and plopped onto the toilet to pee (because Morgan nearly scared it out of me), I can’t hide my grin. Closing my eyes, I brush my fingers over my lips. Nate is still on my skin, stuck to my lips, and lingering on my tongue. And the image of him stretching his head back and the moan that vibrated from his chest is etched into my brain forever.
Sadly, Gabe will never be able to hang out with Morgan again. If she saw and understood what was happening in the kitchen, she will tell him. Secrets are not her strong suit.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nathaniel
I was quick. I’m fairly certain I covered my junk before Morgan saw it, but she’s been quiet all day, knitting from the recliner while I work on my book. It’s the looks. When I glance up, I catch her glaring at me. Maybe I should say something, but if she didn’t see anything, if she’s not sure what was happening when she got home, do I dare spell it out for her?
B L O W J O B
I think not.
“I’m going over to see Gabe.” She shoves her yarn and needles into her canvas bag.
“Why?”
“Um …” She stands. “Because we’re friends.”
I play it cool, keeping my eyes on my notebook. “You spent two days with him. Maybe he needs a break.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
“Maybe you should tell me more about your time at Disney. You were really excited on the phone, but since you’ve been home, you haven’t said anything.” I risk a glance up at her.
She frowns and sighs.
It’s coming. I know it. Eight years of being on my very best behavior won’t matter. I kissed the nanny in the hallway when Morgan was a baby sleeping in her crib. That’s been my biggest indiscretion up until now.
“I need to ask you something.” She turns her back to me and crosses her arms over her chest.
This is new.
I close my notebook and lean forward, resting my arms on my knees, hands folded. “I’m listening.”
“Can we go to the store?”
I wait a few seconds to answer because I’m not sure I heard her correctly. “Sure.”
“Ugh!” She covers her face with her hands. “I started my period on the way home. I’m using a wad of toilet paper right now, but I need other stuff.”
Well, shit … I didn’t see that coming. No third degree over what she did or didn’t see in the kitchen. She got her first period.
“That’s great.”
“It’s not great!” She whips around. “I need a mom!”
My head jerks backward. I don’t want to make Jenna’s nonexistent role in Morgan’s life seem insignificant, but we’ve made it this far. I think I can handle a box of sanitary napkins.
“Listen, Squirt—”
“Stop calling me that! I’m a woman now. I could have babies!” She turns and runs up the stairs.
“Holy shit …” I try to keep from laughing, but it’s hard. My baby went to Disneyland and came home a little woman with all the raging hormones. In my delusional mind, we had a few more years. I’m in trouble.
After I let her news settle, I head next door via Gracelyn’s private entrance. Something tells me she’s hiding in her room … possibly for eternity.
Knock, knock, knock.
She peeks through her curtains before unlocking the door.
“Hey.” I close the door behind me.
Big eyes stare me down.
“I need a favor.”
This elicits a few blinks from her. “A favor? Your daughter caught us doing really inappropriate things and you need a favor? I need an update! What did she say? What did you say? Do you think she’s going to say anything to Gabe? Should I say something to him first and get ahead of the situation?”
I shake my head. “N-no … It’s not about that. She hasn’t said anything about that. I don’t think she saw anything, or if she did, it wasn’t clear enough to pique her curiosity and ask me about it.”
Blowing out a slow breath of relief, Gracelyn nods several times. “That’s good. Thank god.” She slips her hands into the pockets of her capris. “So what’s the favor?”
“Morgan got her first period.”
“Oh … that’s …”
“Early.” I shrug. “At least it feels early.”
“She needs pads?”
I nod.
“Got it.” Gracelyn disappears into her bathroom and returns with a box of pads. “They’re bigger … well, more absorbent than she’ll need.” Her nose wrinkles. “You know what I mean. Just get her something that’s regular absorbency.”
“Actually, I was hoping you could help her out. It’s not about the pads. I can get her pads, but she had a little breakdown and needs, in her words, a mom. I think what she needs is a female. Can you be a female?”
Gracelyn chuckles. “I think I can manage something close to female.”
“I’d be forever indebted to you.”
Her eyebrows slide up her face. “Forever indebted? I like the sound of that.”
“Okay, not forever. For the next…” I glance at my watch “… five weeks.”
Her smile fades, and she nibbles her lip while staring at her feet. “I’m sorry I did what I did in the kitchen.”
“No. Please don’t be sorry for that.” I lift her chin with my finger. “I really, really need you to not be sorry for that. It was …”
/>
Dark hazel eyes wait for me to finish.
“Just …” I duck my head and brush my lips over hers. “It was too damn good to ever regret.”
I nip at her lips and take a step backward before she makes things fuzzy in my head again.
“You’re only saying that because she didn’t question anything other than your shirt on me. She didn’t give you the third degree. Had she royally embarrassed you and demanded answers to what we were doing when she came into the kitchen, I think you would not have this no-regrets attitude.”
“I think we can both agree there are regrets. I made the huge mistake of going for a jog instead of making breakfast before you had a chance to escape. The timing was off.”
Her lips pause, nose wrinkled. “You just explained every tragedy that has ever happened in the world. The timing was off.”
“Nope. Sorry …” I shake my head. “Your mouth doing what it was doing to me could never be tragic. The only thing tragic about it was the ending. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to move on with your day after getting half a blow job?”
She giggles. “Sorry. No. I don’t really know that feeling because I’m female … which is why I’m going to go talk to Morgan about her menstrual cycle. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to devote seven days of every month to bleeding from one of your orifices?”
When I realize she’s not feeling that sympathetic to my partial blow job, I open the door and step aside. “Thank you for your service.”
Gracelyn pauses as she walks past me. “You’re welcome.” Her finger traces the length of my cock over my shorts.
“Not cool. Not cool at all.” I frown.
She smirks and steps outside, leaving me with a growing problem.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gracelyn
My first period arrived at the tender age of thirteen. All of my friends got theirs around eleven. I didn’t want to be the first to get it. What young girl wants to pioneer that situation alone? However, being the last to get it also meant I was the last to get boobs, the last to look like a budding woman instead of a boy with long Black Beauty hair … that was actually auburn.