The Stand-In

by Leo, Rosanna

  Within seconds, Patrick stood nude before her. He palmed a substantial erection and her throat ran dry. “See? You make me hard, Winn.”

  As thoughts of Mike and disappointment scattered out of her brain, she sat up and touched it, smoothing her finger up and down the rigid shaft. In that moment, she knew she had to feel Patrick inside her, just once. She could go back to living in denial and fear afterward, but she needed this now. With that thought ruling her actions, she leaned in and wrapped her lips around him.

  Muttering curses, he dug his hands into her hair and guided her. “Ah, fuck, that’s it. You feel so good. You’re bloody amazing, Winn.”

  She released him with a pop and grinned. “You sure talk a lot during sex.”

  “I have a lot to say. That’s why I disappointed my family and went into journalism, instead of becoming a doctor like my dad and two brothers.”

  “Uh, Patrick.” She tickled his balls. “Do you really want to talk about your family right now?”

  “Point taken. You may resume.”

  With a giggle, she did, licking him from stem to stern, getting just as much enjoyment out of the activity as he did. As much as he concerned her, she liked being with him. He made her laugh.

  And sweet Jesus, she loved his cock.

  When she took him to the back of her throat, he groaned and eased himself from her mouth. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he let out a deep breath.

  “Don’t you want me to finish?”

  “This is not how we’re going to finish. We’re going to finish with me deep inside you. But first you come again.” He urged her to lie back on the mattress.

  Deciding she needed to give her body what it so craved, Winn followed his lead. Kneeling at the side of the bed, Patrick put his hands on her boot-clad calves and spread her legs. Once again, his mouth met with her pussy and she cried out at the sensations barreling through her.

  So good. As he devoured her, she recalled a time when she was at school. Having stayed late to work at the school library, she got caught in a storm on her way home. It seemed the sky had turned black in minutes and the wind had whipped her body, pelting her with rain and stray leaves. Terrified and awed at its power, she’d stumbled home, a changed person.

  Now, as Patrick’s focused attention roused her into a frenzy, she once again felt at a loss. Dazed. Devastated.

  Destroyed.

  And she couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

  He sucked harder and she unraveled, crying out. As she came, he glanced at her from his position, his eyes dark and intense, as if analyzing her reaction. As if memorizing each shudder. Only after her quivers ended, did he close his eyes and bring all his attention back to the wet muddle of nerves between her legs. Catching her breath, she realized he showed no signs of stopping.

  Was he planning on doing it again? She didn’t think her heart could take it.

  Tugging at his arm, she interrupted him. “Patrick, I want you inside me.”

  Staring at her, his lips shiny from her moisture, he paused, as if making a decision for himself. As if deciding whether or not to torture her some more. With a soft curse, he stood and leaned over toward his bedside table. He opened it and rummaged in a box, producing a condom. Unwrapping it with his teeth like a pro, he pulled out the latex ring and sheathed himself. Patrick then leaned over her, letting his cock throb against her sex.

  They gazed at one another, caught in that exquisite moment before penetration. Every tense muscle in his face demonstrated his hunger, while his gaze showed something deeper. Something more mysterious. And Winn knew if she stared at him long enough, she’d drown.

  “Fuck me,” she urged, keeping her message succinct and filthy so she wouldn’t mistakenly spout the romantic crap filling her head.

  With that, Patrick breached her entrance and sank deep inside her. She gasped, astounded at his girth. No, astounded at how much they seemed to fit each other. He touched all her sensitive walls and plumbed her depths. Each thrust was accompanied by more muttered curses on his part, making him seem a little less confident. She closed her eyes, grabbed his back and held on, once more caught up in a cyclone of emotion she’d warded off for over a year.

  Each touch from Patrick, each kiss, made her feel.

  She didn’t want to feel. She just wanted a mindless screw.

  Enid’s voice cut through the storm in her head. You’re a love-at-first-sight girl.

  No. Never again.

  Despite her reticence, Patrick’s movements held her captive. She felt chained to a rock, like the mythical Andromeda, waiting for the monster to devour her. And despite her struggles, the monster came. As he fucked her, her orgasm struck, punishing her with its brutal devotion. She moaned in ecstasy, almost mad. Patrick continued the onslaught until she felt his balls stiffen as they slapped against her. He opened his mouth and she expected more profanity. However, as he came, he whispered her name instead.

  “Winn.” He panted and dropped his head on her shoulder. “God, Winn.”

  If she hadn’t known it before, she knew it now. Her heart had officially stumbled into dangerous territory. Her name, uttered by him like a prayer, only confirmed her suspicions and Enid’s warnings.

  And she just couldn’t go back there again.

  They lay together, sweating and catching their breath. Once their heartbeats steadied, Winn patted him on his back and rolled out from under him. As he watched, his eyes narrowed, she searched for her clothes, but realized they were in the living room. Shoot. Grabbing a discarded towel from a nearby chair, she wrapped it around her torso, needing to preserve whatever modesty she had left.

  He stood and reached for her hand. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going home now.” She managed a smile. “I had a lot of fun, but I won’t keep you. Thank you very much.”

  He cupped her cheek. “We just had sex. The fucking mind-blowing variety. Don’t talk to me as if we just shared a cucumber sandwich at a goddamned afternoon tea.”

  “Patrick, I don’t expect…”

  “That’s the problem with you, isn’t it? You don’t expect much anymore at all. Fun. Happiness. Romance. You don’t expect you’ll ever have it again.”

  Her eyes stung and she wrapped the towel more tightly about her. “And what about you? You said yourself you don’t believe in happy endings.”

  “Maybe not. I don’t know. But I’m man enough to admit what we shared in my bed was a game-changer.”

  Yeah, right. “Look, I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, but I know how these things go. After a booty call, you go home.”

  “Is that what this was? A booty call?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He stared at her and shook his head. “If you say so, then I suppose it is.”

  She offered him her queer grin again. “Thanks for a nice night. I’ll be on my way.”

  “At least let me drive you home.”

  “It’s not necessary…”

  “Winn Busby, I will drive you home. I’m not sending you to the bus stop. Do you understand me?” He glared at her.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll go get my clothes.”

  She wandered toward the living room, and even though he didn’t follow, she felt his heated gaze on her the whole time.

  * * * *

  As he started the car, Patrick eyed Winn while she fiddled with the door to his glove compartment.

  “I hear we’re getting rain tomorrow,” she mumbled. “And it’s supposed to get colder.”

  He inclined his head. “You’re determined to keep up the small talk, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, that’s my plan.”

  Shaking his head, he checked to see she was buckled and then peeled out of his driveway. Surrounded by early morning darkness, he didn’t see the recycling bins he’d propped at the end of his drive earlier and plowed into them, sending them crashing into the street. Coming to an abrupt stop, he smacked the steering wheel. “Dammit.�
� He turned to her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Gimme a second.” Turning off the ignition, he exited the car. He looked around to make sure he hadn’t woken up all the neighbors, but he spied no angry fists in the nearby windows. He checked out the damage. Luckily, the Mazda’s exterior hadn’t suffered any scratches, but his recyclables lay in a mess in front of his townhome. Angry in a way he refused to acknowledge, Patrick crouched and began to retrieve the empty cartons and bottles. “Shit.”

  As he began to toss the materials back into the large recycling bin, he heard the other car door open and close. Winn headed toward him, once more a vision in her pirate garb, and helped him pick up the items. She didn’t say a word, just quietly deposited the empty protein shake containers and egg cartons in the bigger bin.

  “You don’t have to help me.”

  “It’s okay. I made you angry. I guess you could say I caused this mess and I clean up my messes.”

  He gazed at her. “I’m not angry at you.”

  “Yes, you are. And I don’t blame you.” She retrieved a couple of tuna tins from the curb and tossed them into the bin. “I’ve never been good at the relationship thing, Patrick. I’m even worse at the casual thing. My sister says I fall too easily, that I’m gullible. Considering my history, I agree.”

  “So you had one bad relationship. We all have. It doesn’t make you emotionally challenged.”

  She cringed. “I had more than one. Before Shithead Mike there was Suddenly Gay Dennis, and before him…”

  “Wait. Suddenly Gay Dennis? You can’t throw that out there and not explain.” He grinned. He sat on the curb and patted the spot next to him. “You know the drill. Spill, Busby.”

  She sat next to him and a nostalgic smile lit up her face. “I met Dennis when I was doing community theater. We were in a production of Into the Woods. I played Rapunzel. He played my prince, so of course, I developed a crush on him. We hung out for months and our friendship turned into major flirting and that led to some…slightly awkward heavy-petting sessions.”

  “Oh, Winn.” He fought the urge to smile.

  “I know. I should have guessed but the signals weren’t there and he swore he was into women.” She let out a sigh and laughed. “It turned out he was experimenting with method acting and thought he should play straight to sell the role. He came clean before opening night but by then my heart was in smithereens.”

  He put a hand on her leg, squeezing her thigh. “So you’ve made a couple of bad choices in men.”

  “There were others, too. Dennis and Mike are just the most stellar examples.”

  She put her hand on his and for a moment, he thought they’d recaptured some of the passion they shared inside, but she removed his hand from her leg. As disappointment scored his insides, he fought not to make it obvious.

  “Look, I like you,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “But I have to protect what’s left of my heart. What we did tonight…it was a mistake. It can’t happen again.”

  “Winn…”

  “No, Patrick. I mean it.” She averted her eyes. “Or else I just can’t do this article with you.”

  Hell, could he do the article? Considering his journalistic ethics had flown out the window, he was starting to wonder. Granted, he wasn’t writing a piece on the political situation in Ukraine, but he’d still dropped the ball by sleeping with Winn. He needed to shit or get off the pot. Would he write the damned Player feature or not?

  He had to. And she was right. This couldn’t happen again. “Okay.”

  With that, she stood and finished clearing up the recyclables. Feeling older, his joints complaining with each movement, he joined her. When they finished, they got into the car and he drove her home. Neither of them said a word the entire time.

  Chapter 8

  “Hey, knucklehead. What’s the matter? I’ve goosed Edna Dooley three times today already and you haven’t slapped my wrists.”

  “Huh?” Winn looked at Grandpa Ernie. “Oh, sorry. I was miles away.” She turned to Mrs. Dooley. “Is he bothering you?”

  “Oh, no, dear,” she replied. “Truth be told, I don’t see much action down there anymore and I always liked it a little rough.”

  “And I think that calls for a break,” Winn announced to her troupe of pensioners. “I know I need one. Take ten, everyone.” She raced over to the refreshment table and grabbed three gingersnaps, earning a look of disgust from her reluctant Phantom Mr. Singh.

  A couple of the other seniors shot worried looks her way. She supposed her attention span had been short all afternoon. Hell, all week.

  Patrick hadn’t called once, hadn’t texted. Why did it bother her so much? Besides, she hadn’t exactly reached out to him either. She’d made it clear they couldn’t associate in an unprofessional manner, and she knew if they spent any more time together, there was a distinct chance he’d end up screwing her until she screeched his name, begging to join the choir invisible.

  However, a part of her, the most annoying part, seemed insistent on bemoaning his absence between her legs. How was a girl supposed to concentrate on The Phantom of the Opera with such a racket plaguing her brain and her sex? She bit off half a cookie in order to stifle the weird, hunger-less growls in her belly.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Staging The Phantom of the Opera with a bunch of seniors. Okay, so her production consisted of basic blocking and a ninety-year-old piano accompanist, but she’d done her best. God only knew her cast was uncooperative at the best of times, preferring to flirt and crumble biscuits between their dentures. Some days, she swore she wore a name tag that said Winn Busby, Chief Cat Herder.

  Grandpa shuffled over and motioned toward a couple of empty chairs. “Sit, Winnie.”

  She did, eyeing him the whole time. “Gramps, I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. I know my girls.” He eased into his chair and cursed his sore hips. “I can tell you’re having love problems. You’re easy to read.”

  “So Enid tells me.”

  “She’s sharp, that one. Nothing gets by our Enid.” He put a hand on her leg. “And my Winnie is the soft one. Tell your grandpa who hurt you so I can rearrange his face.”

  She laughed but tears gathered at the corners of her eyes at his possessive tone. “I don’t want to be the soft one, Gramps.”

  “I know, but you are. And it’s not a failing in my book.” He grinned and his own eyes watered. “You remind me of your grandmother, God rest her sweet soul. She was the warmest, most lovable woman I ever met. And if I could have her back, even for a day, I’d spend that time telling her how much I loved her softness.”

  “Oh, Grandpa.”

  He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with a faded handkerchief from his pocket. He reached over and wiped Winn’s eyes and then blew his nose into the hanky with a trumpeting noise. “Don’t be ashamed you’re sensitive. It’s the best thing about you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, who’s the young buck who got you upset? That man you brought to my birthday party?”

  “He didn’t hurt me. In fact, he’s been really nice to me, but I’m afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve.”

  “Knucklehead, look at me, an old man. I don’t regret aging, but if I could go back and do anything over, I’d have worn my heart on my sleeve a lot more.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Sweetheart, I know you had your heart broken, and badly. But not every affair ends in tragedy and not every man is Shithead Mike.”

  “Oh my God. Does Enid have you calling him that, too?”

  “He is a shithead. And if I could see more than two feet in front of my face, I’d teach him a thing or two.” He bit into his gingersnap, chewed, and swallowed. “Now, are we going to rehearse? I think I’m finally getting the hang of this Phantom role.”

  She giggled. “Gramps, you’re not the Phantom.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

  As he groaned and got out of his chair, she considered his
words. Should she be trying harder? Should she really tell Patrick she…felt things for him? The idea scared her so much her knees knocked.

  Oh, well. She imagined she had time to consider it. After all, they weren’t really talking right now. As much as she wanted to text him, just to say “hello,” she wasn’t sure she had the nerve yet.

  Of course, another wedding loomed on the horizon, and she figured he’d still want to attend. Perhaps she should just ask him and be done with it.

  While she was at it, she could tell him his touch made her feel more alive than any other’s man’s touch had ever done. That his whispered words in her ear made her feel hot and sexy and cherished in a way she didn’t understand. That he turned her normally strong stomach into a home for flutters and quivers.

  Yeah, and maybe she should just jump in the lake.

  “Come on, Busby,” she urged herself in a whisper as she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “Just a quick text. Say hi and leave it at that.”

  Breathing in deeply, she flipped to his contact information and prepared to hit the phone icon.

  Before she could touch the screen, the phone buzzed and vibrated in her hand. Almost dropping it in surprise, she retrieved the incoming text. When she saw it came from Patrick, her jaw dropped.

  “Hey, Busby,” he wrote. “I hope this week finds you well. You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t run down any more recycling bins.”

  She let out a soft laugh, a puff of air.

  “I have a question for you,” he continued. “You’ve been nice enough to allow me to escort you to two weddings and I haven’t reciprocated. I just found out I have to attend a family wedding this weekend. The prospect was so boring it totally slipped my mind. How would you feel about being my guest?”

  She stared at the screen. Emboldened by his friendly tone, she dialed his number and waited for him to pick up.

  “Is this my favorite pirate wench?”