“Should we go home?” I ask once we’re in the car.
“I’d like to go back to work,” she admits. “If I go home, I’m afraid I’ll brood. I’m in one of those moods where I want to put on melodramatic music and cry for hours.” At my wince, she laughs. “Even you don’t want that.”
“I feel like I could distract you.”
“I don’t doubt it, but you should save up your energy for tonight. I’ll be ready then.” She leans forward and gives me a quick kiss.
When I get to my office, Louis is waiting for me.
“Kaga okayed the SunCorp management. Let’s do some more due diligence about margins and ROI, and we’ll make a decision next week.” He nearly claps with glee.
At my desk, I flick through my contacts, pausing at the interior decorator that worked with me on the warehouse remodel. After a short hesitation, I delete her card. I slept with her during that remodel, and I don’t want Tiny to be the subject of any snide commentary if the decorator is miffed she’s not invited to stay the night.
Frank can give me a referral. I need to call him anyway to have his assistant pick out a dress for a fundraising event at the Frick in a couple of weeks.
“Ian Kerr!” Frank sounds unusually upbeat. “How are all the clothes for your new friend working out?”
“I hope no one from your office is in touch with the Observer.”
Frank gasps. “We’d never break a confidence!”
“I hope not. I wouldn’t want to stop working with you.”
“As if you could,” Frank chides. “I’ve dressed you for over a decade.”
“Longer, I think. I’m actually calling about two things. First, I need a recommendation for an interior decorator. The exterior is Northern European, but the interior can be anything other than modern. Tiny complained to me that the warehouse is soulless.”
“I have just the person. She’s worked all over the Hamptons.”
“I’m not looking for beachy, Frank.”
“No, no,” he reassures me. “She’s definitely classy.”
“Make sure you tell her that I’m happily attached to the woman who will be directing her efforts. If she can’t operate under that premise, I’ll work with someone else.”
Frank pauses and says hesitantly, “I’ve never had a problem with her.”
“You’re gay. Why would you?”
“I’m still hot. The ladies still want me and mourn constantly that I play for the other team. I’d be swimming in pussy if I were straight, I tell you.”
“Fair enough. Straight men all over the city rejoice that you are kind enough to vacate the field for them.”
“I’m a very generous person. What’s the other thing?”
“Get me samples of some bolder patterns for suits. Order a yard of each.” Tiny has been gravitating toward the more fashion forward suits in my closet. I haven’t decided whether she thinks it’s a dare or whether she really likes them, but hell, if it’s a game she enjoys playing then I figure she needs the pieces for the board. I don’t care if I walk up Fifth Avenue in my underwear if that’s what Tiny wants. A loud plaid suit? Maybe we’d start a new trend.
“He hates doing big swatches,” Frank warns. “He” is the Saville Row tailor who makes all my suits.
“I fucking hate those tiny swatches. They’re so small that I can’t get a sense of what anything is going to look like.”
“He thinks it’s a waste.”
“Tell him to sew some dolls and sell them on eBay. Also, I’m taking Tiny to the Frick Ball in a couple of weeks. It’s her favorite museum. She’ll need a dress.”
“A couple of weeks?” he shouts.
I pull the phone away from my ear as he sputters loudly for a minute about how women plan for months for this event, maybe even years, and how I’m a cretin with a bigger wallet than my fashion sense. “You have two weeks, Frank,” I state firmly and then hang up the phone.
The Frick Gentlemen’s Ball is an annual charity event that benefits the Frick’s art reference library. Tiny’s mother loved the Frick, and they went there together frequently. It was, in fact, the last outing they shared before Sophie passed away. I hadn’t told Tiny about the event yet—it had been a busy past few weeks—but I’d tell her tonight that I’d made a sizable donation in Sophie’s name.
As I think about charitable contributions, it occurs to me that there is another thing that Tiny might be interested in sponsoring. I walk down the hall and knock on Louis’s door.
“Change your mind about SunCorp?” he says, looking up in surprise.
“No, I want us to look into a charity for dyslexia.”
“Really?” He looks pained.
“It’s a good tax write-off.”
“You’re still paying 60 percent of it,” he counters.
“We can spare 60 percent of something. Have you always been against giving money away?” I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“When you hired me, your exact words were ‘your rapacious desire for success set you apart from the other applicants.’”
Those words sound vaguely familiar. At one time, I had a win-at-all-costs mentality. It’s the only mindset one can have when you’re poor, orphaned, and desperate. “We’re going to give more this year,” I say decidedly. “Get me a list of five potential charities. They don’t have to be the biggest or best but make sure the organization is spending the money wisely.” I turn to leave but then remember my plans for the weekend. “And I’m taking Friday off. Tiny and I are going to Connecticut. Pretend I’m vacationing in the Maldives and can’t be reached.”
Behind me I can hear Louis cursing. He yells, “They have phones there. And Wi-Fi!”
“Not where I’m going, they don’t.”
FIFTEEN
TINY LOOKS WORN OUT WHEN I pick her up at Jake’s.
“He’s still in his office,” she says. “I swear he sleeps here.”
“It takes time to build a new business,” I observe mildly. “Should we eat out tonight or order in?”
“Let’s make something,” she suggests.
“I don’t know how to cook and no offense, sweetheart, but do you?”
“My cooking rolodex contains about three recipes. Pot pie, shrimp with noodles, and a beef pot roast cooked in a crockpot—which you don’t have.”
Her mouth turns down a little, probably remembering all the wonderful things her mother made.
I try to cheer her up. “You do realize we live in a place where even fast food can be delivered, right? Not to mention that there are a dozen restaurants within walking distance.”
“I know, but I think it would be fun.”
Leaning forward, I tell Steve to drop us at the Chelsea Market. “Let’s cook then.”
Inside I can’t help pointing out all the food stalls with prepared items we could take home. “We could get seafood,” I say looking at the lobster advertised at the Lobster Place. “Or apparently enough bread to feed an entire city.”
Tiny shakes her head and drags me down the corridors to stop at a vegetable stand. She shakes out a plastic bag and hands it to me to hold while she fills it with a bunch of greenery labeled “spring onions.”
“Is this where you get food?”
“Yes, dear, it’s where mortals eat. Actually that’s not true, this is like a rich person’s grocery.”
I ignore the sarcasm. “Where would you shop for your mom?”
“About two blocks over was a market that had good fruit. We were trying to eat healthy, but it was so expensive.” She squeezes her lips together.
Leaning forward I palm the back of her head and pull her close. “Love you so much, bunny.”
She allows me to comfort her all of a second and then pushes away to grab another bag which she fills with an herb that even I can correctly identify as cilantro.
“What are we making?”
“Pasta and shrimp cooked in lemon and white wine sauce. Why don’t you go over and get some bread? Maybe sourdough rolls, a
nd I’ll meet you at the seafood place.” She points down a ways.
I kiss her again and leave to do her bidding. Inside the bakery, I find dozens of different loaves of bread and rolls. On the advice of a helpful clerk, I buy something called a Tuscan log sourdough, which is shaped like a log roll with short, stubby branches. I figure what we don’t eat, we can use to feed the ducks this weekend in Connecticut. Although I don’t know that we have ducks up there. I might have to buy some.
When I catch up with her at the seafood counter, there’s a man—make that an asshole—chatting her up. He has an arm braced against the glass case, and his eyes are taking off her clothes piece by piece
“Hey, Ian,” she says when I approach.
“Hi, bunny.” I put my hand on her neck and kiss her on the forehead. I need to get a ring on this woman right away. “Are you having problems deciding which fish to buy?”
He smirks. “Just making conversation.”
I run my tongue over my teeth wondering how mad Tiny would be if I punched this guy out. Pretty mad, I guess, so I lean down and kiss her again—only this time on the lips. Hard.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m waiting for our shrimp.”
The guy still doesn’t leave. He hovers, like a stupid dumb cow, on my right as if Tiny is just going to peel away from me and give him her number.
“Check out is over there,” I gesture toward the registers.
“I’m not ready,” he says, confused.
“Oh you are.” I stare at him steadily, and he’s not as dumb as I thought because he finally walks away.
“A pound of prawns.” A tatted, bald-headed man offers Tiny a white parchment-wrapped package. “Where’s the guy who wanted the scallops?” He looks around.
“We’ll take those too,” Tiny says hastily.
We pay, and she waits until we’re in the hallway before questioning me.
“You looked like you were going to punch that guy out.”
“Nah,” I lie.
“Then why is the bread loaf crushed in your hand?”
I look down and the Tuscan log is indeed bent in half as if a sharp wind has sheared off part of the limb. “Looked like it was too soft. Just testing out the wheat-to-oat ratio.”
“Seriously? That is what you are going with?” She laughs. “You know you sound like a caveman.”
“That’s advanced evolution. I thought for sure I wasn’t much past the Neanderthal stage.”
“Ape,” she teases.
“Knuckle dragging when it comes to you, bunny.” I wrap an arm around her waist and usher her into the bakery to buy a loaf of bread.
“Even if I didn’t completely and totally adore you, I would never have been attracted to that guy.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s not you.”
“Keep that up and we’re going to have a really late dinner because words like that make me horny as hell.”
I manage to act like a normal human being and keep my dick in my pants until after dinner.
Tiny makes me dry the dishes with a dish towel I didn’t even realize I owned.
“We do have someone who comes and cleans.”
“Once a week, and she won’t be here until Friday. That’s two days away. The dishes would be disgusting by then.”
“Can’t we put these in the dishwasher? Isn’t that what it’s for? The washing of dishes?”
“You’re very spoiled, Ian Kerr.”
“I’m very hard,” I tell her. “Watching you move around the kitchen is surprisingly erotic. I think it was all the bending over and waving your ass in the air.”
“Did you drop the scallops on the floor on purpose? So I would have to bend over and pick them up?”
“We couldn’t eat that asshole’s scallops, Tiny. Besides, they fell off.”
“You are so full of shit.” She shakes her head and laughs.
“And I’d like for you to be full of me.” Throwing down the towel, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder.
She beats her fists against my back, laughing. “Let me go, you Neanderthal.”
“I thought I was a caveman.”
In the bedroom, I throw her on the bed and pounce on top before she can turn over. “You’ve been waving this ass at me all night.”
She wiggles it provocatively against me. “What you going to do about it?”
A strap on her sundress falls from her shoulder to her arm. Slowly I push up the skirt to reveal a pair of white sheer briefs. “I’m still hungry, bunny.” I press the base of my palm against her ass and rub my thumb against the wetness between her legs. “Very hungry.”
She moans and pushes back against my hand. “That feels good, Ian.”
Reaching around, I cup her fabric-covered breast. Her nipple juts into my hand, and I pinch it in approval. “And this? How does these feel?”
Her response is to grind her ass even harder.
“What I should have done in store is slide my fingers up the back of your skirt.”
“Is that right?” She pants lightly.
“I’d have my fingers inside your pussy.” I push the silk right inside her.
A whimper tumbles from her lips, but I can only shallowly pump inside her as the fabric constricts my movements. Suddenly, I can’t wait another minute. I rip the panties down her legs just far enough so I can plunge inside her. Her bare ass bounces in front of me like two glorious moons. Maybe I am a caveman because I feel the need to claim my woman.
Keeping her legs tight, I push inside her, gasping at the initial snugness and then groaning as she softens and accepts me. The tight sensation, the sight of her ass, the sound of her moans send me into a frenzy. I start thrusting and can’t stop. Reaching around, I pluck at her clit and pray she comes because after only a few thrusts, I’m coming.
“Goddammit,” I grunt, still pumping my hips. “Sorry…I’ll make it up to you.”
“I’m good…” she sighs, sounding satisfied. Grateful she found her own pleasure while I was lost in mine, I pull out and drag her panties down the rest of the way and sit on the edge of the bed. When I lift her into my arms, bracing one of her legs on either side of my waist, the hot juice of her orgasm mixed with my seed seeps out of her and wets my groin. Impossibly, I harden again.
“Really?” She sounds amused, which is better than irritated or—worse—uninterested.
“I’m not sure. Let’s go test him out. For science.”
“You do seem unnaturally robust. It may be worth further study.” She tugs at my hair playfully. The sundress is unzipped and tossed to the side.
“I agree.” Pulling her head down I kiss her hungrily. The short interaction has only whet my appetite. “We’ll need to go through this routine several times so that we can account for variables like clothes, distance in the car, how many times we’ve kissed before entry, that sort of thing.”
“Maybe I would have been a better student if this was one of my high school classes,” she grins.
“No, this is an independent study that can only be conducted with one particular instructor.” She busily unfastens my shirt, and I awkwardly shuck my pants, holding her with one arm and then the other so we aren’t separated for even a moment while we dispose of all my unnecessary clothing. Turning over, I place her on her back.
Her body looks like an art piece against the dark comforter. There’s only a little light as the skylights filter the colors of the darkening twilight into the bedroom. I’ve had other women lie on this bed, sprawled out and wanting my touch, but none have moved me like she does.
“I’m going to test you,” she says and runs her hands along her inner thighs to her knees, spreading herself wide for me.
My knees buckle and I fall onto the bed between her legs. Despite having come not ten minutes ago, I can’t wait to be inside her again.
I lock a hand around an ankle and expose her even more. “On what subjects will I be tested?”
“It’s a hands-on exam. One where you show y
our, ah, aptitude through…”
Her attention wanders when I slide one finger inside her. She’s swollen and very sensitive from her recent orgasm. I drag my finger slowly out and then push back in, this time with a second finger. She opens her mouth to speak, but when I use my thumb on her clit as I pump with my fingers, she’s not able to form words.
“I’m very good with my hands.” Resting on my haunches, I release her ankle to grasp her hip with one hand, holding her still as I stroke deep inside her with the other. “What kind of grade do you think you’ll give me?”
A whimper rises from her throat. “A-a-average.”
“Really?” I shove three fingers in her this time and use my pinky finger to brush against the tender ring of flesh that I’ve only lightly played with before. I want to be in there, too. I want to fuck, conquer, claim every part of her body. “Your body is telling me something different. Your skin is flushed all over from your arousal. Your lips—both sets—are swollen and red. And you’re very wet.” I shake my head in mock dismay. “Listen to yourself.” In the stillness we both hear the decadent sounds her body is making as I stroke her. I increase the pace and slap my palm against her clit, using my entire hand to stimulate her.
“It’s o-okay,” she breathes. “But I still feel like I’m missing something.”
“Is that a challenge, Tiny?”
She stretches her arms up toward the padded headboard and uses it as leverage to push back against my hand. “Always.”
I can’t help but laugh at this. Always challenging me. I love it. I love her.
“Is it this what you want?” I release her hip, still palm deep in her pussy. Capturing my throbbing cock in my free hand, I stroke firmly, tugging on the head and squeezing pre-cum out onto the tip. I swipe a bit of the pearly fluid onto a finger and bring it to her mouth. “Do you want this inside you?”
“Always,” she repeats, eyes glittering with want. Despite having finger-fucked her, she’s still tight and it takes a moment for her to adjust to my size. And then I’m finally fully seated, surrounded by her slick flesh. A hushed sigh of relief and pleasure quavers in the air.
“My hand is drenched.” I lift up the fingers that were inside her, clearly coated from fingertip to base with her wetness. With deliberate slowness, I swallow all three fingers, sucking hard so I don’t miss even one tiny drop of her essence. “You taste fucking magnificent.”
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