by S. L. Scott
The scoff comes out stuck in the middle of a belly laugh. “No way.”
“Why? Do you know how hot that is?” I lie back and close my eyes. “Thinking about you touching yourself like that, getting off.” I grab more than a handful of my dick. “It turns me on just thinking about it.”
Her voice is lower, the hint of debate heard. “I can’t, Hardy.”
Turning to look at her, I keep stroking my cock. “You can. Remember, with us, there is no judgment. No negativity. Just us. Just pleasure.” I lean over and kiss the side of her mouth while rubbing her hip. Pressing my erection against her leg, a slow gyrate begins. “You smell so good, and feel even better. Do you know how much you turn me on?”
An exhale of breath is heard from her nose before she gives in and opens her mouth for more air. “I can feel you, but when I do, I want you more than lesson three.”
I roll to my back. Putting my arms over my eyes, I release my own hard breath. “God. Me too. So much.”
“Maybe we—”
I look at her. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because the first time should matter and if we have sex right now it won’t be about you, but me.”
“I don’t care.” Now she moves to her side and rubs over my stomach and begins going lower. “I want to be with you.”
Grabbing her wrist, I stop her hand from reaching its intended destination. “I want to be with you so much. This is not just hard for me, it’s almost impossible, but I won’t treat you like every other guy out there. This is important to me. You’ve respected yourself enough to hold off. I’m just asking you to hold on a little longer.”
She lies back and as much as I hate that her hands aren’t on me, it’s not the right time, but I know when is. “What are you doing next Saturday?”
A slow smiles slides into place, just how I like her—happy. “That’s my birthday.”
“I know.”
When her eyes meet mine, she asks, “I was hoping to spend it with you. I didn’t know if you’d be able to get off work two Saturdays in a row.”
Hoarding in on her real estate, I make myself more comfortable and rest my head on her pillow. “Have you forgotten I’m the boss?”
“It’s hard to forget how bossy you are when you’re always reminding me,” she teases.
I pull her close and wrap my arm around her and spank her playfully on that fine ass of hers, then get a solid grab. Because I can.
She snuggles against me and closes her eyes. Then I whisper, “Can I take you out for your birthday, V?”
Her body is relaxed and molded to mine. You know those feelings I’ve been walking around with on my sleeve that I can’t seem to shake? Yeah, they crawl up into my chest making the beats bounce around my ribcage wildly. Holding her is just what I needed. She’s not just warming my arms. She’s setting my soul on fire.
“I’d love that. Thank you.”
I stroke her hair and kiss her head. “Thank you, sweet girl.” Closing my eyes, I whisper, “Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams.”
The woman needs blackout curtains. This blinding light is ridiculous. “Fuck,” I groan, rolling away from the window. “Who the fuck is shining a spotlight in here?”
Her laugh is light and the bed shakes a little. She leans her forehead against mine and says, “That’s called the sun. I know you work nights, but this is what morning looks like.”
Grabbing a pillow, I cover my head. “Morning is overrated. Let’s go back to sleep until a more sociable time. I’m partial to two.”
She slinks under the pillow and kisses my nose. “I can’t sleep anymore. I’m going to make coffee. Can I bring you a cup?”
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Yes, I’d like a cup . . . in about five hours.”
Laughing again, the bed moves when she starts to leave. I grab her wrist, and then her leg, and drag her back under the covers. “Stay.”
Without protest, she shifts and wraps her arms around me. I rest my head on her chest, letting the steady beat of her heart lull me back to sleep.
The next time I open my eyes, I’m alone in bed.
Which is wrong on so many levels.
I hear Christmas music playing softly in the other room. I flip the covers off and pad across the floor ignoring the massive boner I’m sporting. He can be handled in a moment. I peek into the living room and see Virginia sitting on the floor with wrapping paper and presents all around her.
Visions of a fast forward future: fire burning in a fireplace, music playing, her sitting surrounded by toys and a plate of cookies and milk comes to mind, completely freaking me out.
Boner. Gone. Just like that.
I duck back and get dressed. After a quick visit to the bathroom, I come out to find her standing in the doorway with a pink cup of coffee outstretched. “Good morning. I thought you might like this.”
“A travel mug?”
“Coffee to go. I figured you’d be ready to bolt when you got up,” she says with a smile that would devastate me if I weren’t already freaked out from the future that flashed before my eyes.
“Yeah.” I shift under her analyzing gaze.
I take the pink cup. “I’m supposed to open the bar.”
“It’s okay, Hardy. We don’t have to make this awkward.” Standing there looking at me like I’m a problem she’s trying to solve—the numbers out of whack and making no sense until she finds the missing factor, she adds, “I never expected you to stay.”
Well that made it awkward. Moving closer, I touch her cheek, hating that I don’t just hear the disappointment in her voice, but I see it in her eyes. “I’ll see you Saturday.” She nods, her words not coming when she moves closer and rests her cheek against my chest. I hug her. Tight. For her. For me. “Saturday, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Look at me,” I say, leaning back. When she does, I smile. “I’m glad I stayed.”
Her smile grows and she tightens her hold around my middle. “Me too.” Lifting up, she kisses my lips gently and instead of dropping down, she stays. I close my eyes and savor the taste of her sweet lips. Then I kiss her back.
There’s no tongue and our hands stay above the waist, which is hard because she’s wearing these little shorts that hug her hips and barely cover that ass of hers. Why she wasn’t wearing these last night in bed, I have no idea, but the sweatpants are getting burned next time I stay over.
I weave my fingers into her hair and hold her there, realizing I wish I didn’t have to go. Her lips are soft and caressing. This just might be my favorite kiss of all time—easy, uncomplicated, simple. So good that I start to think maybe we don’t have to end badly after all. Maybe we don’t have to end at all.
She steps back, our hands still clasped. That look that’s starting to become a regular fixture in the green of her eyes is there, the corners at the top rounded and the bottom in a point. I don’t say anything because I’m not so sure that my brown eyes are doing the same.
Walking me to the door, she says, “I’ll see you next Saturday.”
“I’ll text you.”
The door is opened and she leans against it watching me walk through. I turn and catch her eyes on my ass. I wink, and say, “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”
Just as cocky, she raises an eyebrow at me. “My eyes are up here but that didn’t stop you from getting a parting eyeful of my tits.”
Shrugging, I laugh. “Can’t wait to see those perky girls again.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky next weekend. We still have one lesson left.”
Walking backward to the elevator, I let my gaze graze over her toned legs. I look up and smile while raising my arms out wide. “I’m a sure thing, honey, so you’re definitely getting lucky next weekend.” I punch the elevator button.
When the elevator arrives, I wave and say, “See you, Virginia.”
“See you, Hardy.”
I step on and am smili
ng like a loon. The lady already on the elevator pulls her little daughter under her arm and covers her ears. I can’t stop from laughing, but I give them their space. I’m tempted to spew a slew of curses just to make the hand-muffs worth the effort, but I behave.
When we get to the lobby, she scurries off, but the little girl says, “Goodbye.”
Smiling, I reply “Goodbye.”
They leave quickly. The doorman continues holding the door for me. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Just as I step outside, he adds, “Ms. Ryan sure is a lovely woman.”
“She sure is.” I smile and look back, thinking he has more on his mind than just a nice comment about V.
“She never has guests over.” I nod, wondering where this is going. He continues, “It’s good to see she had company.”
Standing under the awning, I look at him, digesting the information he’s sharing. She never has any company? I smile too big to let him in on why. I’ll just look like an asshole. I’ll leave that role to the asshole himself at her work, but I can’t not say something, so I do, “You’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” Claim. Staked.
He nods, his own smile in place. “Good to hear.”
I shake the doorman’s hand. “I’m Hardy Richard, by the way.”
“Barry Rusk.”
“Good to meet you, Barry.”
“You too. Have a good day, Mr. Richard.”
“Thank you. I plan on having a great day.”He tips his cap to me and I tip my imaginary one to him.
Great indeed. With three lessons down and one left that I’ve been saving for her birthday, the best is yet to come.
Do I really have to say it?
Fine. You win.
The best is yet to come. Literally and figuratively.
Chapter Nineteen
I don’t want to teach her.
I want to win her.
I want to be with her.
I don’t know when this change came over me. I can think of a million little things that swayed me to take notice of Virginia Ryan: utterly endearing smile, that little inch long scar on the side of her right kneecap, the way she smells of vanilla, or even the way her lips fall open when she falls apart from touching her in that most heavenly of places.
But I know the truth. Deep down I know.
The minute my Paloma walked into the bar, she walked right into my heart and claimed it as her own. It’s been two days since I left her apartment and I don’t think I’ve gone five minutes without thinking about her. I’ve been working long shifts, on purpose. Working beats sitting around beating off on my own. Well, I’ve done that too. I mean, I have fresh memories to get off to. I can almost taste V on my tongue if I close my eyes and remember her legs spread before me, her head pressed to the window for all to see us. Fuck, I’m hard again.
I tuck the bar rag into the front of my pants and tell Leo, the newest person, who’s a bartender and model, to join the team, “I’ve got to make a call . . . in the back.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it? A phone call?”
“Hey, you haven’t been here long enough to give me a hard time.”
“Doesn’t seem like I’m the one giving you a hard time, and if I am, then we need to have a talk.”
“Fuck you,” I say, flipping him off while shaking my head. I turn to leave. Fucker is funny. And ballsy. The ladies are going to love him.
I’m gone just over an hour. I went home to have lunch and deal with this situation in my pants. It took two spurt sessions to get out the pent up desire I have for that woman. Feeling relieved and less irritated, I leave my apartment and grab a ham and Swiss on the way back to the bar. I’m fucking starving.
When I round the corner to the street of The Hideaway, I stop and duck into a coffee shop’s doorway. Peeking around and staring, I’m not even sure why I’m hiding.
“Hardy?”
My face is plastered to the window when I jump from the sound of my name behind me. “Fuck.”
Laughter tinkles behind me. A hand takes my arm. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Hey Luisa.” I shrug and tug at the bottom of my coat to straighten it. “No, no, you didn’t.”
“You sure about that? By looking at the face print you left smeared on my window, I think you might be kidding yourself there, buddy.”
“I never kid myself.” Virginia comes to mind immediately. “Okay, maybe sometimes.”
“Anyway, who are we hiding from?”
“Not hiding. I don’t even know why I ducked under. It’s my parents.”
“Ohhhh,” she replies, looking around the corner. “Do you not get along with them?”
“No, I actually get along with them great.” I catch a glimpse down the sidewalk. They’ve gone inside. “I think I’m just not in the mood to be interrogated about my life, and when I say life, I mean love life.”
Laughing, she wipes down one of the bistro tables. “I see. So how is the love life? Has anyone managed to catch the eye of the unhookable Hardy Richard?”
“Ha! Good one.”
“Even funnier because it’s true.”
“Maybe.”
She squeals and jumps up. “Maybe funnier because it’s true or maybe because someone caught your eye?”
“Aren’t they sort of the same thing?”
“Maybe.” She laughs again. “So tell me.”
Walking back onto the sidewalk, I smile and raise an eyebrow. “Let’s just say . . . maybe.” I leave her with that, now laughing myself.
“You’re incorrigible, Hardy.”
“So I’m told.”
I reach the bar and pull the door wide open. Time to face the music. My eyes haven’t even adjusted between the glaring white of the snow outside and the dim lighting inside when I hear that familiar clasping of hands, and then, “Hardy, darling.”
“Hi Mom. Hi Dad.”
Leo stands up from behind the bar with a bottle of champagne in hand. “Your parents are here.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads up.”
“My pleasure. Or maybe it’s been yours for the last two hours.”
Glaring, I remind, “My parents are here.”
“I know,” he replies, chuckling. Leo’s busy pouring three glasses while I hug my mom and then my dad because he’s become a huggy bastard since he retired.
“What brings you by?” I hand them each a glass.
My mom tilts hers to tap against mine. “Cheers.”
After we drink, my dad leads us to a table. “We were in the neighborhood.”
We settle in, and I ask, “Brooklyn? That’s quite a ways from the neighborhood of another state.”
“Connecticut’s not that far,” my mom says. “Anyway, we wanted to get some shopping done in the city.” She looks around. “The place is looking good. You’re keeping it very clean.”
“We have a service. They’re paid well.”
“Good. No one wants to hang out in a sticky, stanky bar. A nice kempt establishment brings in nice kempt customers.”
“Yes, we like catering to our upscale clientele.”
My dad says, “So business is good?”
“Solid. I might need to hire a few more bartenders in the new year. I’m also considering bringing on some wait staff.” I take a sip and set the glass down and spin it by the stem between my fingers. “Remember Eddie? I just gave him a promotion to help manage the place. I’m going to start focusing more on the overall operations.”
My mom smiles. “You hoped when you left New York finance you would not work as much, but here you are working more I suspect.”
“This time it’s for me—solely and good for my soul.”
She asks, “Speaking of souls, you mentioned at the fundraiser that you might have met someone? How is that going?”
“If I remember correctly, I told you I didn’t.”
“Do you really think I don’t know your tells. I’ve known them since you were thre
e, Hardy. You couldn’t hide behind a lie then and you can’t now, so tell us so we don’t have to worry about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m good.”
“Happy?”
“I’m happy.” Medium. Her lips purse. “Fine. Mostly.”
“Who is she?” Dad asks. Leo makes a round, topping off our glasses.
“It’s complicated. I don’t want you getting invested when we’re not meant to be.”
“We care about you and if you care about her, then we’re invested already,” my mom says.
“That’s so pressuring, Mom. Don’t you see?”
My dad leans his elbows on the table. “You know what I see, Son?”
Sitting back, I cross my arms over my chest. I can tell this isn’t going to be as quick as I thought. “What?”
He says, “You and your sister have been so busy with your careers that neither of you have even a second in your day to spare for the stuff that matters at the end of it.”
“I—”
His hands go up. “No, Hardy. I want you to listen to your mother and me.”
I drop my reactions and relax, willing to hear them out. He continues, “I worked hard for thirty-five years and what did that get me?”
“A five bedroom colonial in New Canaan and a retirement that you and Mom can actually survive off and live nicely.”
“Yes, it did, but it’s this woman next to me,” he says, taking my mom’s hand, “that really made it all worth it. She gave me purpose.”
“I have purpose, Dad. I like my life.”
My mom leans in. “What your father is trying to tell you is we want to sell the house and travel the world at our leisure without the heavy ties of a mortgage. Do you understand what that means?”
“No.”
“It means we can’t do that because our children are unsettled in their lives.”
“Sabrina and I are fine. She’s got an amazing job overseas and I have the bar and my life here. Don’t let us hold you back from doing what you want to do.”
“You’re not understanding. If something happens to us, we don’t want you to be alone. I’ve read about The Hideaway. You have wonderful reviews, but there’s mention, more than once, of a . . .” She lowers her voice to a mouse’s whisper, “Sexual undercurrent.”