by Sandra Kitt
“Yes, but he never called to confirm, and then you got here.”
“I’m glad I got here first.”
Me too, Jean sighed.
Patrick began nuzzling her neck, her ear, kissing her nape. Jean couldn’t help wiggling against him as his gentle caressing became titillating and amorous. Immediately her body was responsive. His hands became busy, roaming to stroke and glide over her skin. His penis grew hard against her back. She drew in a deep breath, swallowed it. Patrick, fully awake, moved away, but only to ease Jean onto her back. He bent to clasp his warm mouth over a breast, to let his tongue tease around the nipple, causing it to stiffen. He stopped to regard her, his gaze questioning.
“What if your father had called earlier? Or showed up after all?”
“I…have no idea. And it doesn’t matter right now…” she murmured, falling quickly into a euphoria of physical sensation.
“I guess it would have been awkward,” Patrick theorized. His hand had gently begun kneading the soft flesh below her navel. His hand slid lower, the fingers trailing through the curly hair.
Jean’s ability to focus was severely challenged, as she tried to respond lucidly while Patrick’s lovely exploration between her legs became a serious distraction. Her hips began to move to encourage him. He leaned to kiss her, sabotaging her thinking even further. She was deep in the delirium of passion, her hips rocking against Patrick’s fingers.
He pulled a kiss from her parted lips. “No. It doesn’t matter right now.”
Jean remembered nothing more as she reached for Patrick and a little cry was torn from her throat and her climax turned her body to undulating jelly.
Patrick barely waited until she’d recovered before settling himself between her legs, effortlessly sliding all the way home. It was his turn and Jean welcomed him. His own needs overrode any other coherent thought, and he began to move with great pleasure against her.
* * *
Jean awoke the next morning to find herself alone in her bed. It was a little before noon. It was quiet. But the bedroom door was wide open. She sat up, and every movement of her body attested to the activities of the night before…and early morning.
She closed her eyes, relaxing, letting a wave of contentment wash over her. And, just for a surprise moment, Jean conjured up an image of Ross, and a memory of them together in those heady days of late courtship and becoming engaged. She’d been happy then. She’d made the right decisions then. Until Ross had blown it up with a humiliating and stereotypical move. It had crushed her at the time, and as her mother so sagely advised, maybe she and Ross were never meant to be.
It had been more than two years since her broken engagement, and she’d enthusiastically chosen to break her intimacy fast with Patrick Bennett. Jean smiled. She didn’t have one single regret. She felt the rich emotional sweep of a second chance placed before her.
“Patrick?”
Immediately there was movement from the other room. In seconds, Patrick appeared in the doorway. He’d pulled on his briefs. His hair was a little tousled, and a light layer of facial hair sprouted on his jaw, chin, and upper lip. He gave her a slow, crooked smile, watching her as she arranged herself against the pillows, pulling the top sheet over her chest. She patted the space where he’d slept beside her.
“You’re awake. It’s about time,” he mused, coming to join her.
“I had a very busy night,” Jean responded, making him chuckle.
“We’re not done yet. I have plans for us later today. I made a few calls to set everything up.”
“That sounds like you’re not going to tell me what those plans are.”
“You’re right. Now I know you’re not a fan of surprises, but I can almost guarantee that you’re going to love this.”
“Um. We’ll see.”
He plunked himself down on top of the linens, sidling close to her. He lifted his arm so Jean could come even closer to rest on his side. She finally noticed he was holding a book. She twisted it so she could see the cover.
“That’s my yearbook. What is it with you and my yearbook?”
With the book resting on his lap, Patrick began browsing through the pages. “I’m curious. I wanted to see if there were school pictures of you.”
“Not many.”
“Enough.”
“Why are you interested now? You have the real thing right next to you.” She glanced into his eyes.
He planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “Yes. At last.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what you think it means. Isn’t it interesting that after all these years we find ourselves together? Don’t you think maybe it’s fate?”
“Or fairy dust?”
He laughed. “I like that.”
He flipped through the yearbook pages.
“You were in the drama club?”
“Behind the scenes. I helped with costume changes between acts. I helped get a lot of the props.”
“You should have been one of the actors onstage.”
“Thanks. But I’m a terrible actress. I didn’t want that kind of attention.”
“Okay. I get that. You’re better at other things. Thank goodness,” Patrick drawled with meaning, giving her a warm, personal look. He turned a few more pages and pointed.
“That’s Mr. Spencer. He’s the math teacher who put us together so I could, maybe, get through the senior final exam.”
“I have a surprise for you, Patrick. You would have passed that test without my help. You knew more than you thought you did.”
“Maybe. But then I’d never have gotten to spend all that time with you.”
“You didn’t mind?”
“Not at all. I liked being with you. And, believe it or not, I actually did learn a few things. So…if I never said it before, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They kissed, a gentle sign of agreement.
“How come I don’t see you in any of the senior prom pictures?”
“I was there.”
“Were you?”
Jean heard the change in Patrick’s tone. It was…anticipatory. It was curious. As if he was going to be told something he wasn’t going to like. He’d already graduated. Why would he care?
“I went with a guy from my lit class, Jeremy. You wouldn’t know him.”
“Were you dating?”
Jean chortled. “Not Jeremy. Not anyone, really. The boys in my classes… I don’t know if they were really interested beyond…you know…looking to score. Mostly more interested in knowing what I was. Like, they knew I wasn’t white, and maybe that was important. Was I Latina? Was I half Italian or maybe part Pakistani? They couldn’t figure out what box to put me into.”
“Assholes.”
“Ignorant.”
“So, tell me about this guy you went to the prom with.”
“Jeremy is gay. He got bullied, of course, but he was actually pretty strong. He could fight back and put up with a lot of horrible things said about him. The other kids learned to leave him alone. He had a boyfriend he wanted to bring to the prom, but…”
“It wasn’t ever going to happen.”
“Right. So he asked me to go with him. I always got along with Jeremy. I liked him. I said yes. The way I saw it we were both ‘others.’ He was a talented artist and very funny, and I thought it would be fun.”
Patrick freed his hand so he could stroke her hair, press her head to his shoulder, kiss her forehead.
“How did that go?”
“Great. There were no problems. We danced all night. I think some of the other girls were jealous. My mom told me to invite anyone I wanted back to the house for breakfast the next morning, and that’s what I did. Me and Jeremy and maybe three other couples. It was very cool, Patrick. I don’t think I would have gone to
the prom otherwise.”
They were both silent as he continued to turn pages, Jean looking with him, reviewing the last year of school.
“I wished you’d gone with me,” he said quietly.
“With you? Where?”
“To my prom.”
“But you never asked me,” Jean whispered.
“Didn’t your mom tell you I asked her if I could take you?”
Jean turned to regard him, sliding her hand and arm across his bare chest to hold him lightly. “No. She never did. I only found out shortly after you won the lottery and she called me about the picture of the two of us that appeared in the paper.”
He was confused. “And she never told you?”
“No. Maybe she thought that once she said no that would be the end of it. Why didn’t you ask me first? I would have said yes.”
“And what would you have done if your mother still didn’t agree?”
“I would have found a way to change her mind. I would have gone with you anyway. Who did you take?”
Patrick closed the book and bent to drop it on the floor next to the bed. He turned to her, encouraging her to slide down with him until they were lying flat, side by side. His hand rested on the sheet covering her breasts.
“I didn’t go. I pretty much knew before graduation that you were the only one I wanted to take. We’d spent a lot of time together, Jean. I feel I got to know a little of the real you. Not the school social version. I liked what I saw. I felt really comfortable with you, like you knew a lot about me too. I wanted to take you and be uncomfortable in a rented suit. I wanted to bring you a flower to wear on your dress or wrist. I wanted to come and pick you up at your house. I wanted your mom to see you were safe with me. No funny business. I wanted to hold your hand as we walked to my car…and for the whole night. I’m not a great dancer, but I knew I’d get to hold you during the slow numbers. That’s what I wanted.”
Patrick’s fingers curled over the edge of the sheet and slowly began to pull it down. Her breasts were exposed, and Jean knew her nipples had stiffened with the growing desire stimulated by his words, his wishes.
“Patrick,” she whispered but got no further. There were a lot of things she wasn’t going to voice.
He kissed her gently, merely an introduction, a head start. He pulled the sheet away, laying her bare, and shifted atop her, wiggling to settle them both comfortably onto the mattress. Jean ran her hands through his hair, holding his head and forcing Patrick to kiss her in earnest.
Suddenly Jean heard a growl. She felt a quivering roll of his stomach. They broke the kiss and stared at each other and quietly began to laugh.
“The ‘urri upps,’” Patrick murmured.
Jean nodded.
“But first…” he said, going back to kissing her and beginning everything it would take to bring them together again for another round of mutual satisfaction.
Jean reached as far as she could to help him out of his briefs and sighed deeply with the sheer joy of skin-to-skin contact again, of his penis resting on her groin, of Patrick lifting to seek her entrance, and then of the slow dance that came so naturally, and meaningfully, between them.
Chapter 9
Jean stood patiently while Patrick worked the texts, calls, emails on two smartphones. She’d never been fully aware before that he had two devices—three, if she counted his tablet—until inadvertently eavesdropping on a few of his calls answered her question. One was clearly a business phone, supplied by the station. It was not any different from the one the mayor’s office issued to its management. She was management, and she had a phone. The second one was personal. And that was the smartphone Patrick was more likely to be talking on. His station staff texted schedule changes, last-minute announcements or events. But Patrick’s personal cell was, to Jean’s discomfort, alive and active with what she suspected were former, and maybe still present, girlfriends.
She and Patrick were now waiting outside her building—for what, she still didn’t know. Patrick had been closemouthed and mysterious about this great plan he had arranged for them. And, of course, she trusted him. But so far, in just a few minutes while waiting, Jean now knew Patrick was fielding calls from other women. Just two weeks earlier, she would have accepted the flurry of outreach as his life, his business. After all, she and Patrick had only recently reconnected. But now things were different, at least in her mind. What a difference a few weeks made. They were now engaged in a relationship that had, beyond the fun and engaging ability to communicate and phenomenal sex, already changed the stakes for her. Jean was already aware that what she was starting to seriously feel for Patrick was no longer casual. But it was very possible that it was just that for him.
“I’m really sorry about that.”
She turned her attention to Patrick, working hard to keep her expression nonjudgmental and glad that she was wearing dark glasses.
“Friend, foe, or work?”
Jean thought he might look a little sheepish behind his own shades, as he slipped the device into his pocket. “Someone I used to know.”
“And dated?” Jean asked with what she hoped was mere curiosity.
“Yes,” Patrick admitted. “Apparently there’s a different definition of ‘it’s over’ than when I say it. Or maybe I’m not clear enough.”
“I don’t think it’s either of those things.”
His brows shot up. “Really? What is it, then?”
Jean realized she’d backed herself into a corner. She could either be very serious or play her answer lightly. But how much would she be revealing of her own feelings either way?
“You’re popular, steadily employed, reasonably good-looking”—he chortled loudly at that—“a fun date, and interesting conversationalist…and, maybe for some of your former flames, you’re the one that got away. Or”—she put up her hand to stop Patrick from speaking—“or, they do get the boundaries and are just being genuinely friendly. They’re happy knowing you. They want nothing from you.”
Patrick blinked, staring at her as he considered the two options. He nodded and sighed. “Maybe it’s a little of both.”
“You’re not flattered? Women are coming out of the woodwork after you. I’m aware of that.”
Now he stared at her with what Jean knew was a serious consideration before shaking his head and reaching for one of the devices again and reading a message.
“No, I’m not flattered anymore. It’s a little exhausting…and embarrassing. Here’s our ride.”
Jean watched as a private car slowed at the curb in front of her building. Patrick opened the back door and held it as she got in, climbing in after her and closing the door.
“Is it pointless for me to ask where we’re going?”
“Totally pointless.” Patrick grinned. “But I’ll play Twenty Questions with you.”
“Is there a prize if I guess correctly?”
“You can have anything you want, if you guess.”
“That’s pretty generous.”
“That’s pretty confident, because you’re not going to guess.”
The conversation didn’t stay on her attempts to guess their destination, but it was surprisingly fun trying. Patrick was absolutely correct. She would not have even come close to the right answer.
Their car exited the FDR on the East River at Thirty-Fourth Street, with Jean’s curiosity starting to get the best of her. She looked to Patrick for any hint and found nothing but a calm demeanor and zipped lips. He was torturing her and enjoying every minute. They were on some sort of landing platform. A few hundred feet east, and they’d be in the river.
A stocky man of medium height walked to meet them as she and Patrick exited the car. He was smiling broadly, his arms opening.
“Bro!” the man said with cheerful affection as he and Patrick hugged briefly and went through a series of hand clasps and
fist pumps as she witnessed among males everywhere.
“Hey, man! Good to see you,” Patrick said with equal pleasure.
“If you’d waited any longer to reach out to me, I’d have been on a walker!”
The two men roared with laughter, as neither of them looked like that was likely to happen. They were two fit men in their prime. Jean stood watching the reunion, enjoying the display of friendship between them.
Patrick turned to her, extending his arm to urge her forward. When Jean approached, Patrick placed his hand possessively around her shoulder.
“This is Jean Travis. I think Jean and I have known each other almost all our lives.”
Jean grimaced and smiled at the other man. “He’s exaggerating.”
“Well, since high school. Aaron Jacobi…a.k.a. AJ.”
Jean shook hands with AJ as he welcomed her to the East Side Heliport. Only then did Jean realized there were several helicopters of varying sizes parked on the tarmac. Nearer the entrance to the highway was a low, almost hidden building that was discreetly labeled Reception Lounge.
“Welcome, Jean. Have you ever ridden in a helicopter before?”
“No. Is that what we’re going to do now?”
Aaron glanced at Patrick. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, so I’ll leave Patrick here to fill you in.” He shrugged. “He said it was a surprise. I’m just going in to officially log the flight, and we’ll be on our way.”
Jean watched AJ jog away, and turned to Patrick, who stood grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Can we start the Twenty Questions over?”
Patrick shook his head. “Nope. But you have nine more guesses. Look, don’t work so hard at this. Relax. Enjoy the experience. I promise it’s not going to hurt and we’re not leaving the country.”
Aaron was back in a few minutes and walked them to a helicopter that looked like it was brand-new. Jean stopped in her tracks and glanced at Patrick, her mouth dropping open. “You didn’t… Don’t tell me you bought…”
He burst out laughing. “My garage isn’t big enough, I don’t fly, and it’s a pure high to be able to rent now and walk away later. Besides, AJ has been after me, literally for years, to come fly with him.”