by Remy Rose
“‘You women?’ Grouping me again, Mr. Decker?” She arches an eyebrow at me, then smiles. “And I said grouping, not groping.”
“Ha. And you’re right. Sorry. Just speaking from experience. Anyway—I’d suggest a double outlet here, so you can plug in your hair dryer, curling iron, straightener, vibrator charger, salt lamp, nightlight…”
“Did you seriously just say what I think you said?”
“Nightlight? Yeah, I’ve found that most women who live alone have them.”
“No, it was a couple before that. I think you know what I’m referring to.”
“Point number four.” I put my finger to my mouth and start to mime another tally mark when all of a sudden, she’s standing directly in front of me, grabbing my hand. This time, I’m the one caught off guard.
“You talk like this to women, and they still pay you to do work on their houses?”
“All the time.”
She’s looking up at me, shaking her head slowly like she’s bewildered, her lips parted, and God, I want to slip my tongue between them.
“Tell me if you don’t want me to talk like that, Madeline, and I won’t. I promise.”
She doesn’t say anything. She lets go of my hand, looks around the room, and I can sense a change of subject coming. “You’ve done a lot. I think it will be a great size.”
“You have no idea how big it’s going to feel.” I can’t resist.
“You are...I just...” Her lips are twitching as she shakes her head and looks away.
I’m grinning like the smug bastard I am, as I go around picking up my tools and putting them in the bag. She’s watching me as I unfasten my tool belt. I’m hoping what I say next will ease some of the pressure. “Hey—all teasing aside, I just want you to know that I’ve felt bad, you not being here these past few days, and I apologize for anything I’ve said or done to make you uncomfortable. I can totally back off, and I mean that.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
God damn. Her words—the same line I used on her the day after we met—make my throat clench up. She is looking at me, her eyes deepening with want.
“Or I can totally not back off,” I say slowly. Without taking my eyes off her, I lean down to pick up my extension cord, coiling it around my arm. The sexual tension in this room is starting to climb, and judging from the rate of her breathing, she’s feeling it, too.
“What you said before—was that all talk?”
“Refresh my memory. I’ve said a lot of things,” I grin.
“The all of the above thing. About the ways. What you would—do to me.”
Fucking Christ, my cock is throbbing. “Madeline, I meant all of it, and I assure you, it wasn’t just talk. I’m a man of my word. Trust me.”
She gives a small, sad smile. “That word—trust.”
“You too, huh?”
“What do you mean? Have you—”
“Been burned? Oh, yeah. But I’ve learned to protect myself.”
“By viewing women as playthings?”
“Ouch, Callaway—that’s a little harsh. But yes, I have a good time, if that’s what you mean. And so do the women.” I pause. I want to add, you could be one of them, but I don’t.
“Your defense mechanism sounds a lot more fun than mine.”
“Which is…?”
She shrugs and gives a sheepish smile. “Keeping to myself. Not letting anyone in.”
“It’s safe though, right?”
“Exactly.” She folds her arms in front of her, looking down at the floor, filling me up with the urge to hug her. For more than three seconds.
I choose my words carefully, because she’s wearing her vulnerability like a shroud, and I’m not enough of an asshole to take advantage of that. “What if I told you that you’d be safe with me? That I would just be here for you—like a...plaything?”
“I’d say that you still feel dangerous to me. And that I like it.”
She’s got this pleased little smile on her face, because she knows I wasn’t expecting to hear this, and I’m digging that this woman can do that to me—throw me for a loop.
And then things kind of happen in a blur—I’m not sure who moved to the other first, or if we came together at exactly the same time, but all of a sudden we’re bodied up against each other, with her on her tiptoes and me bending down to crush her lips with mine. Her mouth is warm, eager, and she tastes so fucking good—wine and chocolate and bliss—and hearing her needy little sighs and gasps make me kiss her harder, deeper...thrashing her tongue with mine and pulling her against my hips so she can feel how much I want her.
Madeline’s hands go to my upper arms, as high as she can reach, and her fingers dig into my skin. My mouth leaves hers momentarily so I can bend down more, like I’m cradling her, and the sigh she makes tells me she needed this. A feeling I had. A warning flashes in my brain because this is damned close to a hug, but I quickly stamp that out since now my hands are traveling to cup her ass in what is most definitely not considered a hug. It feels even better than I imagined—perfect, firm, rounded, grope-able cheeks. I bury my nose in her neck, and she smells like sunscreen and sunshine and woman. I nip and kiss a path along the skin behind her ear to the base of her neck, holding her tight as she squirms against me.
“You’re sensitive, Callaway,” I murmur in her ear. “I like it.”
“I haven’t been—touched in a while,” she whispers. “But it’s also just...you.”
Soo, yeah—I want to climb inside this woman, more than I ever have before. I return my mouth to hers, this time slowing my kisses, savoring her soft, wet mouth, taming her eager tongue. She settles into the same rhythm, and I can’t keep my hands from sliding up to her breasts, squeezing each one gently over the fabric of her blouse. Not enough; I need to feel her, skin on skin.
My back is aching a bit from the bending over and the work I did today, but towering her over like this and feeling like she’s completely under my control is a major turn-on. I pull her lower lip into my mouth to suck on it while my hands go to the bottom of her shirt. She shivers a little from the ticklish feeling of my fingers at her belly as I lift the blouse and pull it over her head, and Christ, looking at her right now, I feel like I’m a teenage boy with a teenage girl for the first time. She’s wearing a white lace bra which makes her skin look even darker, and she is all soft curves and flat, golden belly and innocence. I am thinking bad thoughts, very bad thoughts, about ordering her to get on her knees and service me, and then how I’d take her after her mouth makes me ready to explode. My erection keeps building and building, and it takes all my willpower not to strip off my pants and her shorts and fuck her on the bed that I know is just a few feet away.
Patience, buddy. Put what’s best for her first.
Breathing hard, I clench my jaw as I take my finger and trace the swell of each breast peeking out of the lacy cups. She has her eyes closed, her lashes thick and fringe-y against her skin. A shudder ripples through her as she feels my finger dip into her bra and graze the pebbled skin around first one nipple, then the other. I swallow hard, just seeing what this simple move does to her. Feeling what it does to me.
I lean down again and kiss her mouth, swirling my tongue against hers as I slip the elastic from her ponytail and rope her hair around my hand, pulling her head back. She sucks in her breath, and I kiss her harder with both hands up under her hair now, fanning it out on her bare skin.
I have to step back and look at her, this new woman who is somehow familiar to me: her cheeks flushed with lust, her delectable breasts rising up and down, her shiny brown mane of hair spilling over her strong shoulders like water.
Her eyes flash open at the interruption in my touch. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I answer hoarsely. “Except that you’re kind of killing me.”
“Just kind of?” She’s blushing like crazy now, but smiling.
“More like totally,” I growl, pulling her into me again and pressing my no
se into her sweet-smelling hair. “God, Madeline—you are the sexiest woman.”
“Jack...Jack...” She’s practically whimpering, driving me fucking bat-shit crazy. She’s tugging at the bottom of my shirt now, loosening it from my jeans and running her hands across my abs as she inhales sharply. I want her to go lower—fuck, do I ever want her to go lower—but I won’t push her. Not yet, not until I’m sure she’s ready. I take her face in my hands and tilt my head to kiss her. I can’t get enough of the taste of her mouth, of how she returns my kiss like she’s so hungry for it.
My hands go to her back, and I am just about to unclasp her bra when the sound of a cell phone ring tone from downstairs—hers, not mine—shatters the silence and the mood. The outside world, crashing our private party, and I want to kill whoever is calling.
“Don’t get it,” I tell her, but she’s stiffened up in my arms.
“Let me just check. My dad had a hip replacement today, so it might be my mom. Also, we had a big closing scheduled at work, and I want to make sure it happened. I’ll be right back. Promise.” She gives me a quick, apologetic kiss, grabs her shirt off the floor and hurries down the stairs. My hard-on wanes quicker than if I’d imagined Rosie O’Donnell, and I tuck my shirt back in my pants, because I’m quite sure we’re done this round.
When I come downstairs, I find her sitting at the kitchen table, just ending the call. She’s put her hair back in a ponytail, and the only indication that anything happened is the pink in her cheeks. I grin at her to let her know that everything’s cool, and she flashes me a grateful smile.
“It was my office manager, letting me know that the closing went fine. Six million dollar property, so this was kind of a big one.”
“That’s good, then.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, though, about—you know.”
“Yeah, me too, although you emerged unscathed yet again.”
“Unscathed, huh? I don’t mean to be rude, but your intelligence is beyond what I’d expect from, uh...”
“You expected an uneducated hick with a rusty truck and tools spilled all over the floorboards. Probably with half his ass hanging out of his jeans, too, right?”
She’s giggling, her hand over her mouth. “I actually pictured an older guy with a beer gut.”
“And I actually pictured you as an uptight, high-maintenance chick. What do I get for being right?” I’m grinning at her shocked expression. “Admit it, Callaway. You’re a bit of a snob. You’re the kind of woman who’d never think of using a Target bag to line your bathroom wastebasket.”
She’s sputtering. “That—that doesn’t mean I’m a snob! Maybe it’s because I prefer to have a scented liner.”
“Ever use bed sheets that aren’t Egyptian cotton? Sferra Millos, perhaps? Dreamsacks for special occasions?”
I’ve really got her going, and the result is absolutely charming. Her eyes are wide, snapping with indignation, and then she points at me. “Wait a minute—how do you know about all these things if you’re so damned down to earth?”
Whoops. Got to be careful here—I’m not ready to share all my history. “It’s from all the upper class women I service.” I flash her a smile as I start to walk toward the door. “I won’t see you for a few days—got to work on a project in Holden. And in case you’re wondering, it’s a retired male teacher with too much time on his hands, who’s been texting me for the past week asking me when I’m coming back. But I’ll plan to see you Wednesday. Unless, of course, you can’t handle being here again.”
“Wednesday.” A shadow of disappointment falls across her face, and I feel a zing in my chest at the thought of her missing me.
“Anxious for me to take care of your...bathroom, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Sorry, Callaway. But it might be a good thing. You know what they say about absence.”
“Jack, wait.” Her eyes and her voice are plaintive. “Can you stay for a little bit? I bought some wine today—you know, when I was avoiding you.” An embarrassed little smile. “We can have a glass, and talk, and I can make dinner, if you want...”
Shit. This is starting to feel like a date, and she doesn’t know this, but one of my rules is that I don’t date. What to do...I don’t want to hurt her feelings, and for whatever reason, she seems really needy tonight. Part of the issue is that honestly, I want to stay, and I need to fend that off, too. I just don’t want either one of us getting the wrong idea. So I guess I’ll compromise.
“Sure, a glass of wine would be great, thanks. But I’ll pass on dinner.” I fake a yawn. “Long day, so I’ll probably just kick back at home and catch the Sox game.”
So what ends up happening? Three glasses of wine, a baked potato, grilled chicken and peppers and a slice of strawberry cheesecake later, I’m still here, feeling full, comfortably buzzed, and...comfortable. No trepidation whatsoever, which in and of itself causes me some uneasiness, because this isn’t about sex. It’s about talking, laughing and getting to know someone.
I really need to leave.
Madeline has other ideas.
“Can we talk, like about what you do?”
“My job?”
“I guess I mean talk about who you do.” She’s smiling as she takes a sip of wine, but her eyes tell another story.
I shift a little in my chair. We’re still in the kitchen, with dusk painting the sky in reds and pinks, a symphony of crickets outside the open window. “That’s a great sound, isn’t it? Crickets. Can’t get much better audio than that from nature, although peepers in the spring is another one of my favorites.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”
I’m smiling inside, because she’s lying. It’s like when a woman tells you it’s fine that you forgot her birthday.
“I’ll tell you, Callaway, if you really think you want to hear it.”
“I do.” She straightens in her chair and looks at me. She’s looking hot with her hair loose at her shoulders, her face glowing from drinking, the candlelight from the table dancing in her eyes. I want to suck the wine off her tongue, take the bottle and dribble it over her tits, lap it up off her skin…
Cut out that shit, Jack, or you’ll never leave. “Okay. I take jobs mainly from women. I, uh, seek them out.” This is probably making me sound like a major douche, but I’m going to be honest with her. “I set up at places like the ‘What Women Want’ expo, but mostly I just advertise on Facebook, with a targeted audience. I do leave my cards at local businesses, restaurants, and I’ve run an ad in the local papers, which is how I get...”
“The non-women?”
“Ha. Yes. How did you find me, by the way? Prayed every night for a hot guy with a huge tool, and my card just floated in your bedroom window?”
“My God, your level of self-confidence is just astounding, seriously.”
“Thanks.”
“It really wasn’t a compliment.” She’s trying not to crack up. “I saw your card at Jasmine’s, this restaurant in Ellsworth. The watermark of the giant penis was a great marketing move.”
Now it’s me trying not to crack up. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun with a woman that didn’t directly involve her vagina. “You get major points for that one.”
“Thank you. So you target women, and you do work for them, and the ones you find attractive, you sleep with. Correct?”
“I don’t sleep with anyone, but I do fuck.”
The word gets to her, as I hoped it would. I love seeing her unsettled, aroused.
“All right. Fuck.” She says the word like she’s trying an exotic new food for the first time. “And how long do these relationships last?”
“I wouldn’t call them relationships.”
“What would you call them then, Mr. Semantics? Affairs? Trysts?”
“I prefer...alliances.”
She snickers. “Okay, how long do these alliances last?”
“It depends on the length of the project I’m working on.”
>
“So when you’re done the project, you’re done with the woman?”
“That’s the harsh reality, yes.” I can tell Madeline’s a little ruffled, but she forges on.
“Do women ever want more? You know, like a commitment?”
“Some of them do. But I make it clear at the very start that I don’t do long-term relationships. I’m exclusively theirs for the duration of the project, and that’s it.”
“And after that, you move on.”
“Exactly. No strings, no issues.”
She processes this for a few seconds, her brow furrowed as she takes another sip of her wine. And then, another question that makes me squirm a little inside.
“Have you ever found yourself—getting serious about any of them?”
“Honest answer? No. I haven’t felt that way about any of my clients, and even if I did, it’s not something I’d allow myself to pursue. I try to head things off if I sense the situation getting complicated.”
“Explain ‘head things off.’”
“It’s easy, really—I finish up the job as quickly as I can, make sure I get there after they’ve left for work and I leave before they get home—if they even work, because some of them have some pretty solid alimony packages.”
She gives a little laugh. “You realize you’re sharing some of your secrets with one of your clients, don’t you?”
“Yeah. But I’m okay with that. You’re...different.”
“You’re not grouping me with all the others? I’m flattered.” Her face gets serious. “You said that you were burned before...so you must have been in love.”
“I thought I was. Looking back, I’m not so sure. What I do know is that I don’t want to go through that again.”
“I was in love, before,” she says softly. There’s a change in her face, her voice. “Part of the reason I wanted you to have a drink with me tonight is because I saw my ex in Bar Harbor, and I was feeling a little sorry for myself. But most of the reason I wanted you to stay is just so...” I see her swallow. “I could look at you.”