Calendar Girl - An erotic novel (Xcite Erotic Romance Novels)

by Marsden, Sommer

  I didn’t miss a beat. ‘June!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m busy until then!’ I waved and left to the sound of his warm, kindly laughter.

  ‘Busy?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘Do not deviate from the plan,’ I said. ‘I need until June. I need to do it month by month like we planned.’

  ‘Good girl,’ Jeffrey said, ‘I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Now take me home. I need to unglue all this stuff and go to bed. I have to go back to the hoarding house tomorrow. I can’t be hung-over’

  I was sohung-over.

  Dr Calibri met me at the curb. ‘She’s doing well today. Michelle has heartily impressed me this week.’

  I grunted, it was meant to be a greeting. ‘I’m really glad. Good for her,’ I managed. Sunlight and hearing stuff in general had my head pounding and my stomach churning. ‘I have some supplies in my trunk. Can you help me?’

  I piled his arms high with cloth boxes, collapsible cubes, hangers, shelves. All the stuff required to get a hoarder on track. The whole: A place for everything, everything in its placething. If you had a place for everything and taught them how to introduce new items into the house while conversely removing something for trash, donation or sale, they were less likely to relapse. From what I’ve seen. Which hasn’t been much, but I had hope for Michelle. I hoped making room for her art and mementoes would help her a great deal.

  We passed the piles of throw-away items. Some so damaged or decayed they were barely recognisable for what they were. A mannequin head, an old threadbare ottoman, a teddy bear, a box of books so swollen with water they bowed out. ‘Why do they keep all this stuff?’ I asked Dr C.

  ‘We all have ways of expressing our dysfunction.’ He stepped over a baby doll that had slid from the pile. We headed toward the porch where Michelle waited with some of her family.

  ‘But some of this stuff doesn’t even make sense. ‘I nodded to a walker. A medical toilet for bedside use, usually of an invalid.

  ‘Loss, most likely. She’s lost someone or something important to her. I can’t really–’

  ‘I know, Doc,’ I sighed and my head took up a fresh thumping tempo. ‘I didn’t mean to actually ask. More of a musing-out-loud thing. I’ll go set these up. Do you need any help sorting and cleaning? I want her to help me arrange her stuff in the storage, so I’m free until that step is ready to roll.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Merritt, but it’s not necessary in your job title.’

  ‘Can you use me?’ I asked more bluntly.

  ‘Well, yes. Any hands to help are welcome.’ He smiled at me. A nice smile. A gentle man.

  ‘Good, I’ll report for trash duty when I’m done.’ I gave him a nod and off I went. Maybe some good hard manual labour would clear my head. And my heart.

  I finished by asking Michelle’s brother to hang the small shelves I’d bought. ‘I’m going out to help them toss,’ I said.

  He waved to me, ‘Thanks for helping above and beyond, Merritt. I know you don’t have to.’

  ‘But I want to.’

  I pulled my long messy hair into a pony tail and lowered my shades. It was kind of a gloomy day but my eyes (and my gag reflex) needed all the help they could get. I zipped my hoodie up because the overcast clouds had kept the temperature a touch on the chilly side. I found Dr Calibri and saluted with a small laugh. ‘What can I do, boss?’

  Michelle, the hoarder, smiled at me and blushed. ‘Thank you for all of your help, Miss Evans.’

  ‘Please, Merritt. And no problem. Your brother is hanging some fancy shelves and all the organisational stuff is up. We’ll fill it tomorrow and devise a game plan.’

  She put her head down, cheeks flushing with colour. ‘I’m just so embarrassed,’ she said.

  I looked around at the trucks in her yard. The piles of utter trash and stuff that could be salvaged for donation. Then the stuff that would have to be sorted to be kept. The trash bags of debris from the yard comingled with keepsakes and valuables. Utter chaos. And my heart broke for her. ‘Don’t be. I’m here to help. Embarrassment won’t help anything.’ I gave her a quick hug and my eyes teared up. ‘Now! What can I do?’

  Dr Calibri led me to the trash pile. ‘That was very kind of you,’ he said in my ear so no one else could hear.

  ‘Nah, it was the truth.’

  ‘But she needs to let go of the embarrassment and you allowed her to do that a little more than she had just a few moments ago.’

  ‘I spent a lot of time being embarrassed over something I couldn’t have controlled. It is pointless.’

  ‘Might I ask what?’ he said in such a shrink voice I had to smile.

  ‘Caught my husband with another guy before the end of last year. I had no idea. Didn’t see it coming and was mortified. Mortified that I hadn’t seen. Mortified that I just hadn’t somehow been ...’

  ‘Good enough?’ he asked, bending to toss a broken bike tyre in the truck.

  ‘Yeah. Good enough, smart enough, strong enough, funny enough. Enough,’ I sighed, wishing for an aspirin, a bucket of coffee and a nap. Instead I tossed a cracked oil lamp on the pile.

  ‘It’s good to talk about it. You ever want to see me, I offer special–’

  ‘Thanks, Doc, but therapy’s not my thing. And I feel like we’re kind of friends so it would be weird. This is our ... what?’

  ‘Third hoarder. I highly recommend you to my fellow therapists. Compassion is important.’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ I said. ‘Now, enough chit chat. Onward and upward.’ I flung a baby support pillow into the pile and it busted. Spilling foam and bugs like a festering wound finally empting. Maybe I was festering. Maybe I needed to empty.

  He patted my arm.’ Then let me amend, Merritt. If you ever need to talk to a friend. You call me.’

  ‘You’re very sweet,’ I said.

  ‘That’s not an answer,’ he smiled. So shrinky and yet so adorable in an older guy who could be your dad and was married with kids way.

  ‘I will, Dr C. If I ever need you, I’ll call.’

  ‘Good.’ He patted me once more and left me to work. I threw some of that trash a bit harder than I needed to. Especially the ancient, ruined valentines. A bride’s veil. A busted baby basinet. They all hit the pile with big, angry sounds and each one was satisfying. Because we all have ways of expressing our dysfunction. If you handed me a cigar and a Freud cap, my guess would be my ways currently were sex and rage with a tiny bit of drunken lunacy for garnish.

  Chapter Eighteen

  JUNE CAME WITH WARM breezes and me officially bent on getting myself off with toys and thoughts of Eli. On June 1st at six p.m. Matthew O’Neill called me. ‘It’s June,’ he said by way of a greeting.

  His voice was as deep and rich and somehow ornery as I remembered it even though I’d been drunk and discussing female genitalia at the time. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Are you officially unbusy?’

  ‘I am.’ I put my head down and tried to call up his handsome visage. I remembered the water-blue eyes that were somehow otherworldly and the shock of dark, lush hair.

  ‘Do you know who this is?’ he laughed.

  ‘I do. It’s Matthew with the super cool blue eyes from Captain Fred’s Fish and Chips.’ I smiled even though he couldn’t see me. Something about this guy made me feel instinctively flirty and relaxed.

  ‘I just got off of work, I’m the owner by the way,’ he said.

  ‘I thought Fred–’

  ‘Fred died in 1979,’ he said and laughed. ‘But most folks think that and I let them. Good for business. Anyway, I smell like fish and chips and need a shower so bad it’s not funny. But I was wondering if I could pick you up in an hour or so and take you for some mussels and beer.’

  ‘We could do it another night if you–’

  ‘Do you already have plans?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no! I just don’t want you to feel like you have to. Today was not a deadline or anything.’

  His
laughter was like dark smoke curling out of the receiver. It made my pussy wet and head buzz a bit like I was drunk. I missed feeling a man’s hands on me. I missed flesh induced orgasm. I missed being held. ‘I’ve been waiting for a few weeks for this, woman. I wantit to be tonight.’

  Was I flattered or horny or just plain greedy for attention. The answer was yes. ‘OK, an hour’s fine. I’ll be ready for mussels and beer,’ I said and then gave him my address. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Righto, and Merritt?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You are the one with the cool blue eyes. You are spectacular. You are a cruel woman making me wait so long.’

  I fixed my hair in a haphazard and calculatingly messy up do and dressed for a seafood joint. I was dressing for a casual dinner but the black thong and the lace bra were for dessert.

  ‘So you work with people who hoard. Like the show?’

  ‘Not always, but I am sort of known as a good one to go to. A few of the therapists have me on speed dial as do the folks at the container store.’ Up close in the low light of the seafood restaurant he was perfect. Looked more like a man who should be carved from marble than real. His face a work of perfect proportions. Sexy full lips, strong chin, big eyes with dark, dark lashes. Matthew O’Neill was breathtaking. And that wasn’t an exaggeration.

  It turned me upside down and shook me hard to know he’s been tracking the time until he could call and ask me out. The oysters and mussels were known as aphrodisiacs, but I was pretty sure I’d want him if we were eating pizza and slushies.

  ‘And the work preceded the show,’ I said. ‘Just so you know.’

  He smiled at me, reached out and wiped the edge of my lip with his thumb. My nipples spiked and my pussy flickered. Just from one touch. ‘Butter,’ he said, in way of explanation.

  ‘Thanks.’ I swigged my beer to settle the flock of butterflies that had taken up residence in my tummy.

  ‘So you must be compassionate, then? If these therapists want to work with you.’ He forked another tender mussel out of its obsidian shell and popped it in his mouth. Just the movement of his lips was enough to make me want to grab his hand and drag him home.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it before.’

  ‘Do you judge them?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘The hoarders?’

  ‘Yeah.’ An oyster, a mussel, a bite of crusty Italian bread soaked in juice. A swig of beer. He must work out. He ate like a horse – a super sexy horse, mind you – and was surrounded by fried food all day and yet, not a spare inch of fat on his spectacular body. But I digress ...

  ‘Of course not. That would be like judging someone for having diabetes or cancer,’ I said.

  ‘So, you are compassionate.’

  That made me uncomfortable, the way he seemed to think I was ... special. ‘No more than anyone else, I’d imagine.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ His fingers settled on my face again and he smoothed his thumb over my cheek this time.

  ‘God, more butter? I am the messiest eater,’ I said and felt a blush stain my cheeks.

  ‘Nope. No butter. That time I just wanted to touch you. And you need to have a bit more compassion for yourself.’

  I blew out a sigh. ‘That would be nearly impossible. I think I cut myself too much slack.’

  He rattled off all that I had told him so far. Divorce, cheating husband, upset on the verge of cuckoo mother, recently outed brother, hoarders and said, ‘Sounds like you have compassion for the hoarders, the ex, your brother, your mom and your best friend ... but none for you.’

  ‘I ... I ...’ I had nothing to say.

  Luckily, that was when Matthew leaned in and kissed me. His mouth was gentle but insistent and I readily opened my mouth for him to kiss me deeper. We’d sat fairly close together on one side of the rounded table so we could hear each other above the music and the TV showing sports. His arm crooked around my neck in a gentle hook and he kissed me again.

  ‘Will you show compassion to me?’ I asked, not letting myself analyse my own words. I could over analyse the hell out of myself given even a fleeting chance.

  ‘What do you mean?’ He turned and faced me full on, kissing me in a gentle repetitive motion. Chaste soft pecks on my nose, my cheeks, my lips, my chin. It was both sweet and stunningly sexy at the same time.

  I put my hand on his hard thigh, rubbed my fingers along the worn denim, feeling the strength of his muscles and the warmth of his skin. ‘Will you take me home soon? I’m so ...’

  He grinned, his forehead to mine. He wasn’t kissing me now. His big blue eyes seemed capable of seeing into my soul. ‘So what?’

  ‘I’m a bit ...’ I shook my head, laughing softly.

  ‘Say it. Trust me. Just say it, Merritt.’ His amusement was palpable and I laughed again.

  I leaned in, pressed my lips to his ear and said, ‘See, the thing is, I’m really, really horny. And you’re really, really nice. And hot. Nice and hot.’

  He put my hand on the fly of his jeans under the table where no one could see. A fleeting gesture, he put my hand down, pressed, lifted it up. Just long enough for me to feel the lovely hard-on concealed under the table. ‘Sweetheart, I counted down the days until I could call you. And you are not the only one who’s horny. Or hot. Or nice and hot.’

  One more kiss and he drained his beer, ate the last mussel and smiled at me. That crooked smile was enough to make the parts of me that weren’t humming with want yet start up. The waitress, perky in her khaki shorts and green uniform polo sashayed up and said, ‘Can I get you guys dessert?’

  I thought of my thong. My lacy black bra. His hard cock in those nice fitting jeans. ‘Goodness, no.’

  ‘Me, either,’ Matthew said with his molasses voice. ‘Just the cheque.’

  We practically broke our necks getting out of that place.

  We hit the foyer wall on the way in the door. He’d started kissing me on the doorstep as I tried to get my wildly jumping key in the slot. Jumping because my hands were shaking from the fact that my whole body felt like a live wire with an overwhelming need for this guy. His lips were on the back of my neck, kissing that bundle of nerves that always make my panties wet and my head swim. I was a sucker for that spot. It was the second best spot on my body.

  I turned just over the threshold to say something stupid like, ‘Welcome to my house’ and he hit me full force, pushing me to the smooth green wall. His lips on my lips, his chest mashed to my breasts, his pelvis crushed to mine so that I could feel the full firm length of him riding the slick ready cleft between my legs. I gasped, but he captured that puff of air with his kiss.

  ‘Where is your bedroom?’

  ‘It’s down ... it’s over ... we need –’

  ‘Too long,’ he laughed, pulling at the button of my jeans, working my pants down around my hips, my knees, my legs. I danced in place helping him to rid me of all the offensive layers of clothes in the way of our lovemaking. I felt the small packet outlined in his front pocket and pulled the condom out like a magician’s assistant revealing a trick.

  His mouth never left my body. My lips, my shoulder, my breast. As he fought his own clothes, I tore into the packet, ready for him. His lips were everywhere and nowhere but always on me. When he stood, free of his denim, I stopped. He stopped the kiss to look at me. Really look at me, bare assed and flagrantly ready for him, pressed to my own foyer wall. ‘God, woman, you are ... stunning. Simply stunning.’

  ‘Shh,’ I said, embarrassed, taking him in hand, rolling on the condom. Pulling him ever so gently by the cock, I tugged him in to embrace me, cutting off his kind words with yet another kiss. Then I wrapped my leg around his waist, opening my body to him. Letting him feel my wetness. Welcoming him in.

  ‘But you are, so don’t shush me,’ he said. Matthew slipped the tip of his cock up and down along the wet seam of my sex. He pushed just the head in, holding my leg over the crook of his elbow. Pinning me open against the wall. Wet, eag
er to the point of insanity. Unfulfilled. ‘Say it. Say you’re stunning.’

  ‘You’re stunning,’ I joked feeling silly and shy.

  He pulled back just enough that his cock did not touch me anywhere. I felt the absence like a blow. This was mental BDSM, if you came right down to it. ‘Say it, Merritt,’ he said. His teeth found my shoulder and he nipped me just enough to start a fresh rush of my own juices between my legs. His skin against my nipples, his lips on my throat.

  I caved. ‘I’m stunning. I’m stunning. OK, please. God, please, Matthew–’

  But I didn’t get to finish because he’d thrust into me and I was clutching at him. Trying to keep from falling or coming or bursting into little bits of light and smoke, which was how I felt. Aware of every single nerve-ending in my body as he fucked me up against the wall in my foyer.

  I wanted to wonder if the blinds were down. Or if anyone could see us. Or if anyone cared. But I didn’t. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the feel of him pressed to me, hot, imposing, sexy as hell. He filled me and stretched me, driving into me maddeningly slow until I felt my cunt so tight around him I wanted to cry. Then he palmed my ass, lifted me so I could bring the other leg up. I wrapped around him, open for him, desperate for him and he pinned me to the wall, moving fast and with intent until I came, crying just a little, laughing a lot.

  Matthew’s release curled in and around mine. Weaving through the spasms and cries of my orgasm. A stunned growling release that left us shaking in the small room and I counted his heartbeats as his chest pounded in time with mine.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MATTHEW SAT ON the sofa, his feet bare, jeans low on his hips, shirt off. My head in his lap I let him run his fingers through my hair as I purred like a feline. No wonder cats seemed so damn satisfied. This was awesome. ‘I want to do it again,’ I sighed. It was the second time I’d placed the request.

  His fingers dug into my mussed hair, rubbing soothing circles on my scalp. The feel of it resonated through all of me. Shoulders, belly, scalp, nipples, pussy. Even my toes tingled with pleasure. ‘Please?’