He threw his head back and laughed, then he knelt and stripped off my jeans right there in the foyer. He easily lifted me and carried me into the kitchen where he promptly set me on the counter. If felt weird having a top on but no bottom. And the granite was cold! “Where are your scissors, and is your razor in your shower?”
“The scissors are in that drawer there,” I said as I pointed, “and my razor is on the shower caddy in my shower.”
With a proprietary air, he ran hot water in the sink, gathered scissors, shaving cream, my razor, a washcloth and a towel. As nonchalantly as a man settling in to a familiar task, he spread my legs and went to work with the scissors. I looked down while he trimmed me close, his head turning and angling as he pulled on hairs and snipped them close to my flesh. I could actually feel his warm breath fanning me as he worked himself lower and I become more and more exposed. When he seemed satisfied he’d done all he could with the scissors, he laid them aside and using a dripping washcloth, soaked my genitals before rubbing shaving cream all over the area. “Now hold still,” he murmured as he began shaving me. Sure steady swipes of the razor left me baby smooth as he pulled my skin tight in every direction, removing all but the merest trace of hair on my mound, leaving a tiny strip up the center. His fingers were fast and clearly experienced. That was a little unnerving.
“This is the tricky part, don’t even try to watch,” he said as he reapplied more shaving cream. I leaned back on my arms and focused on the can lights overhead. He had turned the whole series of lights on that were over the counter, so I knew he could see every single bit of me. I felt myself flush with the knowledge of where his eyes were, where his practiced fingers were, and when he stretched my lips out to shave the area just below my opening, I bit my lip to keep from protesting his deft ministrations. Finally, I just closed my eyes and pretended this was a “normal” thing to do on a second date. Never once did I worry about him cutting me though. When his fingers delved even lower and he spread my ass cheeks, I gasped. “Surely, there’s no hair there,” I whimpered.
“Just a few stragglers. Almost done.”
Then I felt the warm washcloth cleansing me. It felt odd, having such direct contact with the washcloth. It also felt decadent as all get out. It was sinful and I wasn’t really minding it all that much. By denuding me, so to speak, he had awakened urges and nerve endings I hadn’t known I had, and I was happy to let him fondle and caress me to heights I didn’t know existed. It was delightful, the heat and tingling sensations he could elicit with his fingertips fluttering, tapping, patting and then lightly spanking me. Yes, there! Right there, between my legs, he was using his open palm to lightly pat me, over and over again. When the pats became harder I felt my temperature rise, I felt blood rush in torrents to the area he was lightly smacking. I trembled with desire, willing him to be more forceful but instead, he stopped and took his hand away. I was on fire. I needed his touch there. I needed something there! Then I felt his lips placing light kisses along the newly sensitized area on my mound and on their own volition, my thighs parted to accommodate him.
I have never had a goodnight kiss that took me to the edge and dropped me off so aggressively that I knew I’d not have a good night’s sleep, no matter what. His expert mouth left no part of my labial lips deprived, and I really had to wonder how he had acquired all that expertise, especially the part where he knew the exact second to lick, kiss, suck, or nip at my engorged button. It was the ultimate French kiss and it went on for many minutes while he held my legs open until he finally grasped my butt and scooted me to the edge of the counter for the finale. I came for what must have been the third time that night to wildly plundering fingers and a rhythmic sucking that would make me thank God in my nightly prayers for years to come for the privilege of being a woman instead of a man.
“My, you’re quite the screamer,” he said as he kissed me on my lips, the ones on my face this time. I could taste the musky essence that coated his tongue.
“Never did that before tonight either.”
“Dale never went down on you?” His eyes went wide, he was apparently aghast at the thought.
“Uh, yeah, he did that from time to time, but not like you do it. It was more of a preliminary kind of thing with us. It was only the beginning, never the middle or the end, or should I say the finale? It’s been quite a while, but I don’t remember him ever being so . . . thorough and uh . . . diligent.” I sighed deeply and then whispered, “or maybe the word I’m looking for is demonstrative. That was a grand finale, thank you.”
“My pleasure. You are a very compelling woman, Viv. Despite your hesitation, you don’t hold a single thing back. You are an amazingly sensual woman.” He brushed his lips over mine and soon our tongues were tangling. I was so caught up in the kiss I didn’t notice I was sucking on his tongue.
He pulled away and looked down at me, his eyes glinting with humor. With a wicked smile he asked if I’d ever tasted a woman’s essence before. When I said no, he ran a finger inside me and then lifted it to my mouth. Shoving his finger between my lips, he whispered, “Now you see what all the fuss is about.”
The musky flavor was actually quite pleasant, yet I was embarrassed to look at him and dipped my head. His fingers gripped my chin and he brought my face back up.
“You are delicious. Never doubt it.”
“But all the jokes . . .”
“They were never about you, or a woman like you, you take care of yourself and you’re clean. Some men live for this. I happen to be one of them.”
“Well . . . this is like . . . winning the lottery.” I managed a beguiling smile.
He laughed and kissed me deeply, all the time murmuring appreciation for the taste that lingered on my lips.
The phone rang and we both turned our heads to look at it. I noticed his eyebrow quirk, as if to question who would be calling me at this time of the night.
He reached over, checked the caller ID, saw it was blocked, and picked the handset up—he pushed the talk button and handed it to me.
I looked at him nervously, wondering how I was going to talk to whomever it was with him staring at me, naked from the waist down and still tasting like . . . me. “Uh . . . hello?”
Of course I wasn’t surprised that there was no one answering on the other end. Then I heard a woman’s voice in the background say, “For God’s sake Michael, don’t call her when you’re like this!”
“Mom, I need to talk to you Mom,” the words were slurred and I could barely make them out. “You have the wrong number and I would appreciate it if you’d stop calling me. I’m not your mother. You’ve got the wrong number,” I reiterated, and then I pressed the red button to disengage.
Philip looked at me with concern.
“Some idiot keeps calling, I finally went to the police, tomorrow the phone company is supposed to start tracing my calls. I guess that’s not going to be necessary now. It’s just some drunk dialing the wrong number over and over again. What a nuisance.”
“Hmm . . . you’re sure it’s not a problem? I can help.”
“Nah, it’s no problem. And believe me,” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck, “you’ve already helped, in a very big way. I’ve never felt this relaxed, at least not without a whole lot of alcohol.”
He chuckled, “You’re easy to please.”
“You’re wicked with that tongue.”
“I am wicked period. And you are bringing out my wicked side, big time. I want you more than I’ve wanted any woman in a long, long time.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He kissed me on the nose and then left, leaving me sitting naked on my kitchen countertop. I brought my knees up and rested my head on them.
When the phone rang again, I just listened to it ring, staring off into the family room and seeing nothing. When the machine picked up I heard, “Mom? Mom?” Then a woman’s shrill voice, “I told you, don’t call her like this!” Then I heard a click so loud it made me jump.
/> Chapter Seventeen
Girl missing The next morning I took Mom to the beach, and while she wasn’t able to keep pace with me, she didn’t do half bad. I was surprised by her endurance. She didn’t need a break or want to turn around before we got to the end. So at the Jetty, we tapped the toes of our sneakers on the rocks and turned.
On our walk down I told her all about the mailbox and what it meant to the community, and about the notes Jazzy and I had been exchanging. I mentioned I wanted to check the mailbox on the way back, curious as to whether there would be something from Jazzy.
There was. OMG! I wish I had listened to you. Crystal went to Myrtle Beach to meet that man and now no one can find her. She didn’t come home and she doesn’t answer her phone. I had to go over and talk to her parents and then the policecame and took her laptop. They say if she’s not found in the next day or two the trail will start to get cold and that she may never be found. Everybody’s mad at me now, especially Crystal’s mom. She says I should have told her what was going on. I got angry and screamed at her that I did, that I was the anonymous caller. I don’t like that they’re blaming me for this. Crystal’s the one who broke all the rules, lied her ass off, and refused to listen to me. But I’m the one being punished. I’m grounded. Can you believe that? I can only come here because my grandparents live on the beach and they let me walk because I told them my track coach requires it. No one pays enough attention to me to even notice that I’m not even on the track team this year! Crystal quit and made me quit because she said attending the meets was screwing up her weekends! What now? I AM SO WORRIED ABOUT HER! But I am also SOOOO mad at her!!!! Part of me thinks she deserves what she gets, the other part is scared to death. What if he’s killed her?
Jazzy. “Oh boy,” I whispered to Mom as I handed her the notebook for her to read. I stood up and gave her the tilted and splintered bench then I walked down to the ocean and looked out across the waves. It was a clear morning, a bit damp, with the choppy waves churning between each curling break. I put my hands to my temples and rubbed. What was this generation doing to itself? Why were these kids being so stupid?
Afew minutes later Mom came up beside me and rubbed my shoulders.
“I read back through the notebook. You did what you could. Kids these days just have no fear.”
“Is it just these days? I seem to remember Shakespeare wrote about some pretty dumb teenagers, too.” I used the sleeve of my fleece jacket to swipe at a tear.
“Every generation has its problems. This one stems from too much freedom, and parents who are too self-involved to devote the time necessary to raising kids.”
I looked over at my mom, whose auburn tipped-hair was listing with each breeze. She was still a lovely little lady, wrinkles and all, but the part that made her especially beautiful was her heart. You could actually see sympathy and concern shining in her eyes.
“I wish I could help her.”
“Who? Jazzy or Crystal?”
“Both I suppose.”
“You know as well as I do that the man who’s taken her has plans for her. Plans she may even want to go along with. You know Bonnie was not at all unhappy that she latched onto Clyde.”
“Oh yeah and that turned out just peachy keen.”
“I have an idea . . .”
Uh oh, her ideas were never good. “Please save it, this is not something eye of newt can fix.”
“No . . . it isn’t. But . . . maybe Lester can help.”
I spun around and faced her square. “You’ve got to be kidding!” Lester was my uncle, my mom’s brother, and while she thought she was a witch, he was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent convinced that he was a warlock. I will admit that while I was growing up I was constantly amazed at how animals responded to him. Once I heard him tell our cat to get him a peach from the tree we were sitting under in our back yard and then I watched as the cat leapt off his lap, jumped onto the tree trunk, and disappeared among the branches overhead. Moments later I heard leaves rustling above us and I looked up to see my mom’s cat right over our heads batting at a peach. It broke free and fell into my uncle’s waiting hand. I remember he rubbed the fuzz off on his jeans before eating it.
“He has shown some skill in divining.”
“Mother, he finds lost dogs!”
“Well he does a bang up job at it! He’s lived off the reward money for the last twenty years, so that’s saying something.”
“Finding a missing teenager who’s taken off with a man twice her age is not like tracking a dog!”
“I wonder. Must be some similarities. I’ll call him when we get back.”
I shot her a dark glare.
“Can’t hurt.”
I stomped over to the mailbox, fished out the notebook and scrawled a few lines.
Jazzy, I wish I could help. Please don’t blame yourself. Crystal knew the chances she was taking by doing the things she was doing, and maybe after she realizes this man doesn’t really care about her, and that he’s only using her, she’ll come to her senses and come home. Meanwhile, help the police as much as you can, tell them everything you know, even if it gets you into more trouble. Now is not the time to hide anything that might prove helpful in finding her. Be optimistic—she could be home tomorrow. But face facts, your relationship with her will probably never be what it was before. This might be a good time to reach out to your other friends and to get involved with some new projects at school. And if you enjoyed being on the track team, go talk to the coach. And of course, you can always talk to me.
V. I shoved the notebook and pen back into the mailbox and stomped off down the beach, heading back toward the pier. Out of the corner of my eye I saw mom talking on her cell phone, her free hand gesticulating wildly. Great.
A few minutes later I heard her running up behind me. “He’ll be here tomorrow,” she panted.
I held both fists tight to my side and screamed, just screamed. She did this to me. She made me so angry sometimes that I just had to let it all out. It was primal, and although I hadn’t done it in many years, she was used to it.
“It’ll be a good chance for a visit. You haven’t seen your uncle in ages, what’s it been, fifteen years?”
“I’m happy with the record I was working on.”
“He’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“Well, bully for him!” It wasn’t that I really didn’t want to see him, I actually wouldn’t have minded had it been any other time. Good God, a witch and a warlock, putting their heads together—this would not be good.
There was silence for several minutes as I purposefully tried to outpace her. Miraculously she managed to keep up. We were both panting, big time, by the time we went under the pier.
“And don’t even think about bringing him to the house.”
“Cat’s place has three bedrooms.”
“You’d better ask her if she wants that old coot there. He was nitpicking lice out of his beard last time I saw him!”
“That was because he had staked out that puppy mill and had to live in that rundown barn. He doesn’t even have a beard anymore. He did find a whole passel of stolen dogs that time, ya know. Made a lot of dog owners very happy. You should be proud of him.”
“He stinks, he always smells like wet dog.”
“You’ve only seen him a handful of times and that was usually when he was on his way back from working a case. You can’t be around animals and not smell like them. Remember that time I tried to raise Alpacas?”
“Oh God, yeah.” I laughed at the memory. “You smelled like goat cheese that had gone bad. My boyfriend at the time left our house and never came back.”
“That was the red-headed kid with the cobra tattoo. I never liked him anyway.”
“I had forgotten all about him. He kept wanting to show me his piercing.” I looked over at Mom with a raised eyebrow trying to convey without words just where that piercing was. “Had I known that, I would have had my Alpaca’s spit on him!”
We both laughed and things were okay with us again. I gave a big sigh. My mom, and Uncle Lester, at the same time, here at Sunset Beach. What had I done to deserve this? Thank God Philip was back in Charlotte.
Chapter Eighteen
Dressing up temptation That afternoon a package came in the mail from Adam and Eve. I knew without looking at the return address who it was from. It was a pretty big box, and knowing how tiny lingerie was, I was still surprised to find it filled with all manner of sexy underwear instead of packing material. This had to have cost him a fortune. I read the labels on the plastic bags as I delved into the box, lining everything up all over the carpet. This was like Christmas. There were six different kinds of lace shelf bras, one with rhinestone hearts, a skimpy white one called Venice Vanity, another called Cora Cage, one with flirty ruffles that could easily be moved aside, one with eyelash fringe, and one that matched a pair of boy shorts in hot pink. And there must have been two-dozen panties: Naughty Knickers, Crotchless Tangas, Cheeky Tangas, thongs, and boy shorts in every color. I had to admit that there were some nice perks to dating a millionaire.
When he called that evening I told him I was wearing Venice Vanity with matching boy shorts under my nightshirt and he tried to get me to take some digital pictures that I could email to him.
“No. No pictures. I’m going to try to be open-minded about trying new things, but that is not one of them. Not even up for negotiation.”
“Well then I guess if I want to see you in your new frippery I’m going to have to come down there or arrange for you to come here. Heidi Meier will be performing at the Charlotte Symphony on the 26 and 27th and I’d like to see her, how about I send a plane to Ocean Isle to fetch you?”
“You have a plane?”
“No, but I have a lease partnership with six other businessmen, a plane comes in handy from time to time, but not often enough to justify buying one or leasing one on my own.”
The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands Page 14