Mr. White

by Tessa Layne

  * * *

  Fine time to experience an existential crisis when the woman I love, or at least think I do - because what other bucket do I put these emotions in? These feelings of wanting to care for her and make her happy - tell me I can under no circumstances do the thing with her I don’t know how to do.

  Fuck. Me.

  So I resort to humor. Dark humor. Because that’s the only kind I know.

  “We’re all going to die, hon,” I say with a noncommittal shrug and a matter-of-factness I don’t really feel at the moment. But I at least read enough philosophy in college to accept that fact, even if I’m unwilling to examine the emotions that walk hand in hand with dying.

  Emmaline’s eyes go wide, then knit together. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  “Right now, yeah.”

  She makes a funny noise in the back of her throat.

  I bring her hands to my mouth and kiss each finger. “Look, sweetheart. I’m not gonna lie, it’s a lot to process. And I can see you’re hurting about your mom, which is what I’m most concerned about.”

  She looks utterly confused. “But-but I-”

  “Shhh.” I put a finger over her mouth. “Do you have Alzheimer’s right now?”

  “No, but-”

  “Let’s just stick with that for the time being. Right now, you’re healthy. We can figure the rest out later.”

  “But that’s just it. What’s the point if there’s not going to be a later?” She stares at me fiercely, and with more than a little fear. “If I’m not going to remember later?”

  Her words punch me in the gut, and I reach over and pull her back to my chest. “I don’t know. Maybe there isn’t a point. But tonight, two important things happened.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “First, we agreed no more secrets. That’s a good thing, right?”

  She nods.

  “And did you, or did you not tell me you love me? And did I or did I not tell you I love you?”

  She nods again. “You did.”

  “Now, I can tell you right now. I’ve never loved anyone, so I’m sure I’m going to fuck it up. When your brain goes, you’ll be glad you forgot me.”

  She hits me. Hard. Then follows with a sob. “Don’t joke about that.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Look, my beautiful Emmaline. Our conversation got derailed this evening. I had every intention of baring my soul to you, and telling you all my dark, awful secrets.”

  “And?” She asks, the barest hint of a smile flirting with the corner of her mouth.

  “They don’t matter. I’ll tell you someday, if you’re interested. Whenever you want, I’ll tell you. But I did learn at a pretty young age that humor gets you through life’s shitstorms better than just about anything. Even whiskey. And that’s saying something.”

  She lets out a half-hearted giggle. In my book, that’s a start.

  “So what do you say I feed you some cold pasta, and you can tell me about your mom, and afterward, when we’ve finished the bottle of wine, we can play bribe the landlord with sexual favors?”

  She slaps my shoulder. “You’re awful.” Her giggle is a little more full-hearted. “And I am hungry.”

  “Wait right here. Picnic on the bed?”

  “Sure,” she answers with a nod. I scramble up off the bed. “And Dec?” she calls when I’m halfway to the cutting table. I turn, heart pounding erratically. “Thank you.”

  I flash her a grin and bound back to kiss her before I retrieve our food. “Anytime, sweetheart.” But deep down in the place where I still keep my worst secrets, a tiny part of me worries what it will be like if she forgets me. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It’s Saturday morning and we’ve slept late, it’s nearly nine, but I don’t care. Between visits to her mother, and fulfilling orders for Madame M, and taking dress fittings for the burst of September weddings right around the corner, Emmaline’s been burning the candle at both ends. I understand from Austin that Jason’s bringing in the grapes, but he still hasn’t contacted me.

  Asshole.

  I do my best to let it go, because right now, my entire focus is Emmaline. But it still pisses me off. I’ve offered to go with Emmaline on her daily visits to her mother’s, offered to drive and even stay in the parking lot, but to no avail. She’s determined to see this journey through on her own. I admire the fuck out of her for it. At the same time, I think it’s insane, and I’m worried to death. Especially because she won’t let me hire her an assistant. She desperately needs an assistant. I sure as fuck can’t sew, and I don’t want to learn. I’m all about delegation, but she stubbornly refuses. It’s as if she’s sewing up her grief in every stitch.

  So I do what I do best. I keep her fed, and in flowers, and thoroughly fucked. These things I can do well. And when she’s not at home, I work. It’s almost time for Big Mike to move his brewing operation into the warehouse, and it’s been gratifying to hear the buzz around town. I’ve always been a silent party in my projects, or flown in at critical times. I’ve never met people who’ve been directly impacted by, or excited about my projects. To be honest, the first time some lady gushed she was so excited about Mike’s brewery opening, I didn’t believe her. But the energy around town is… palpable. And I’m proud to be leaving my mark on Prairie.

  I glance over to Emmaline, who’s spread eagle next to me snoring softly. I fucking love those little snores. And the way her mouth twitches up at the corner while she’s dreaming. I want to wake her up with kisses, but she came to bed so late last night, she needs to sleep a little longer. And she’ll be famished when she wakes. Better to ply her with breakfast and seduce her after. There will be plenty of time to work this afternoon.

  I slip out of bed and quickly dress. Main Street is hopping as I step out of the shop door, no longer concerned about who sees us. Who fucking cares if word gets back to Jason? Funny if that’s what it took to make him come calling. I zip through the grocery store, picking up Emmaline’s usual plain yogurt and fruit. I grab two glazed donuts since the croissants are sold out. And two lattes. Emmaline’s not a coffee drinker, but she likes one latte first thing, and then some kind of mail order herbal tea with a bunch of weeds in it. She says it helps her concentration. Whatever makes her happy. I grab a bouquet of sunflowers, too, for extra bonus points.

  My phone starts to buzz while I’m in the checkout line, but I ignore it. I’m not working until this afternoon. But as soon as the call shifts over to voice mail, the phone starts to buzz again. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not today. The checkout girl gives me a funny stare when it buzzes a third time. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “Not all of us are permanently attached to our devices,” I say brusquely, giving her a judgmental stare. But by the time I’m halfway back, and the phone begins to ring for the sixth time, I yank it from my pocket. “What?” I yell. “This better be damned good.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Alison says. “I know it’s a Saturday.”

  Fuck.

  She never calls unless it’s big. One of the many reasons I know I made a good call hiring her. “What’s going on?”

  “Do you have a minute? Okay, even if you don’t. Why is your brother here?”

  I can tell from the sound of her voice, she’s pissed as hell. “You mean Nico?” Why in the hell is Nico at my vineyard?

  “Unless Austin took the redeye and no longer looks like your twin,” she snaps irritably.

  I cock my head. That’s a really odd thing for her to say. But then again, I’m not the only expert with Google searching. There are pictures of the three of us all over the internet. But I don’t recall telling her that Austin was here. Whatever the case, I want this wrapped up ASAP. “Why is Nico at my vineyard? Is he bothering you?”

  “I have no idea, and yes.”

  “Yes? Tell him I said to knock it the fuck off.”

  “Why is he here, Declan?” I can hear the patience weari
ng thin in her voice. “He can’t stay here. There’s nowhere for him to stay.”

  “What about your couch?” I’m reaching for straws as I vaguely remember texting Nico and offering him a place if he needed it. The fucker never bothered to call to tell us that Ronnie left, and in a fit of… something… I thought I would offer to help. Emmaline is rubbing off on me, I guess.

  “You want him to stay on my couch?” she squeaks.

  “Sure, why not? He won’t bite.” I swear I can hear the steam coming out of her ears. “Look. Just for a few weeks. I’ve got some business to wrap up here, and then I’ll be out for a visit.” I have no idea when that’ll be, but she can handle Nico, no problem. “You said there was something else?”

  “The barrels in the cellar - do you know how old they are?”

  “No idea.”

  “Or what they are?”

  “I assume Cab Sauv and Chardonnay?”

  She grunts dubiously into the phone. “Have you tasted them?”

  “Have you?”

  “They’re fucking amazing and they need to be released. Immediately.”

  “What? Can you even do that?”

  “Look. You hired me to be the winemaker. I’m telling you, these are fantastic wines that we need to get to market. Yesterday.”

  I blow out a long breath. This couldn’t be happening at a worse time. “Okay, do it.” It’s not my usual M.O., but I want to get back to the soft, naked body waiting in my bed.

  “Don’t you want to come taste them?”

  “Look, I don’t care if it’s Cougar Juice,” I snap, while silently thanking Austin for that little gem. “If you think it will make us money, get it to market.”

  “But you need to sign off on labels, on-on names. Fuck, Declan, you don’t even have a name for the winery.”

  She raises six notches in my estimation for dropping the f-bomb. I run my hand over my head. “Look. I’m paying you a fuck-ton of money to do this shit. I can’t give this my attention right now. I trust you. Just run with it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You want that profit-share don’t you? Do you trust your instincts?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

  “Great. Go for it. Look, my coffee’s getting cold. Call if you have an emergency.” It’s rude, but I hang up on her. I just want to get home.

  Thankfully, Emmaline’s still asleep when I creep up the stairs. I sit on the edge of the bed, drinking her in. I’m hit with the realization that I want to wake up to this every day. To gently tease her into consciousness with coffee and treats. I lightly stroke her arm. “Wake up, beautiful. I have treats for you.”

  She stirs and her eyes flutter open. Her morning smile is one of my favorites. It has none of the weight or stresses of the day attached.

  “Do you know how lucky I feel to see you like this every day?”

  She beams, still half-asleep. “I’m locking this memory in my treasure box,” she mumbles.

  “Coffee?”

  She props herself on an elbow, hair wild around her, and extends her hand. “Nectar of the gods,” she says after taking a long gulp.

  “No work this morning. Just rest?”

  “But not too much rest, right?” she says with a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes.

  “Exactly. Eat up.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emmaline drops the towel with a come-hither smile as she exits the bathroom. We’ve enjoyed a languorous morning, but I feel myself thickening as she catwalks toward me, tits bobbing gently. “Put on some of your lingerie,” I say, voice dropping an octave.

  “Do you want to play, bad boy?” she teases as she diverts from her intended path to the bed, where I’ve propped myself up against the headboard, sheets at my hips.

  “I discovered a basket of very… naughty… items while you were in the bath,” I say, pointing to the basket I’ve pulled onto the bed.

  Most women might die of mortification, but not my Em. She gives me a wicked grin, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ooh, I see. Do you want something for me to leave on, or for you to take off?”

  “Hmmm.” I tap a finger to my mouth, pondering. “Something to leave on, I think,” I say, eyeing the basket of dildos, vibrators, and about six different varieties of lube.

  She disappears behind a Japanese silk screen with cranes painted on it.

  “So, I’m curious… why so many?”

  “You mean the basket?” She peeks over the edge of the screen, and I think I might melt at her sexy cuteness right now.

  I nod.

  “Well, when I’m in the design phase, I swatch test the major brands of lube on the fabric, so that I can write use instructions.”

  “Of course,” I answer with an eye-roll. “Why didn’t I think of that? And what about the-”

  “Dildos and vibes?” She asks as if we’re talking about oranges and bananas. “I have to make sure the openings are big enough.”

  “The openings,” I repeat, because these are the things you discuss when your lover is a high-end lingerie designer.

  “Toys in holes? Have to make sure the holes accommodate the toys. Or the fully engorged male penis.”

  Is there another kind of penis, I wonder, as I root around the basket. “What about this?” I hold up a tiny butterfly vibe.

  “Same with those- I have to make sure the pocket in the lining accommodates the remote control vibe without pulling the design of the panties out of alignment.”

  This is by far and away the oddest conversation I’ve ever held around sex. But it’s also awesome, and the thought of using one of these with Em has my cock bobbing against my belly when she finally reappears from behind the screen. I feel my jaw drop. She’s wearing the sheerest black chiffon I’ve ever seen. I can still see the darker color of her nipples through the fabric. The design is fairly simple, a plunging vee with spaghetti straps, cinching below her breasts and falling away. It’s scandalously short, stopping at pussy level, so that I can see, but not see her pussy through the folds of the fabric. It’s like a mirage - one second I see it, the next it’s gone.

  My mouth turns to dust, my body lights up. I can’t stop staring. She makes a slow turn. The back is just as sexy, highlighting the crease between her cheeks, and accentuating the curve of her spine.

  “This is my favorite,” she says, voice breathy. “Do you like it?”

  “Fuck, yes. Get over here.”

  My cock swells even more as she resumes her catwalk strut, then climbs on top of me, straddling her pussy over my cock. And fuck me if she isn’t already wet. So wet. I’m torn. I want her to ride me like this, but I also want to roll her onto her back and tease her with vibrators until she comes over and over again. In the end, the toys win out, and I flip her onto her back, capturing her wrists with one hand. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Do you have a favorite?”

  She bites her lip, eyes already glassy with lust. While she’s thinking, I take a nipple through the fabric, teasing her tight nub into an even harder peak. She arches into me, squirming and undulating. “I know which one,” she says after I’ve thoroughly explored her tits.

  “Tell me.”

  Her voice catches, and I totally get why. There’s something so wonderfully dirty and arousing about describing a vibrator to your lover. “The black one, with the little beads.”

  I root in the basket and pull out a short, thin wand with little graduated balls. “This one?” I show her.

  She nods, pink spreading across her cheeks.

  “And where do you want me to use it?”

  “Everywhere,” she says breathlessly.

  “Everywhere?” I confirm.

  “Yes.” She nods, eyelashes fluttering down.

  I turn it on. It’s quieter than I expect, which I like. “Open your legs for me sweetheart.” I start by teasing her inner thighs, her swollen pussy lips, pulling it away when she arches for it. Then I tease her opening, just the first ball, slicking it with her arousal, then drawing it up a
nd circling, but not touching her clit. “How about that?”

  She nods, sweat beading on her upper lip. I kiss her navel and the pale blue jewel there, before drawing my mouth lower and tasting her. Then, keeping my mouth on her clit, I insert the wand into her opening. With a cry, she arches into my mouth. “Oh, ohohoh.” She’s trembling, and I can tell she’s trying not to come.

  “Don’t hold back, it’s only the first one.” I seal my mouth around her clit and suck, covering her tight bud with the flat of my tongue, while I keep the wand right at her entrance.

  She comes almost instantly, with a sharp cry and a series of spasms. I don’t let up until the last spasm has faded. She looks at me with a happy smile. My heart expands beyond my chest. If only we could spend every day holed up in bed, fucking until noon.

  “Ready for more?”

  She nods and bites her lip again. “Would you…” she hesitates.

  “Would I what?” I ask gently. I have a good idea what she wants, but I want to hear it from her first.

  She blushes furiously. “I want to try it in my ass while we fuck.”

  That’s about the hottest thing she’s ever said.

  “And what are you going to say if it’s too much?”

  “Mustard.”

  “Do you have a lube preference?”

  “The one in the blue bottle is the nicest,” she says, lifting her knees and pulling her ankles back to her hips.

  I squeeze a dollop onto my finger and slide it around the tiny puckered opening, pressing gently. It gives way easily. Next I coat the wand generously. “Are you ready?” She nods with shining round eyes, her whole heart, her whole trust glowing in them. I settle myself between her legs, and taste her again, taking my time to explore all the layers and petals of her beautifully pink pussy. “Your pussy is amazing,” I say, before taking a long lick up her wet seam. “And my cock can’t wait to be inside.”