Big Deck

by Remy Rose

  He grins. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, no. But today, I need you to, or I’ll never be able to work. You’re too goddamned distracting.”

  “Sorry not sorry. I’ll go find something to keep me busy.” Even though I have absolutely nothing in this house I want to do except you. “You can stay for dinner, right?”

  “Absolutely. And I can stay after dinner, too.” He winks, I blush, and I summon all the self-control I have to smile and leave the room.

  * * * *

  “This is delicious, Callaway.” Jack takes another forkful of his salmon fillet. “What’s the marinade?”

  “Brown sugar, soy sauce and rice wine vinegar. I’m glad you like it.”

  “Like it? I want to marry it.”

  The marry stupidly gets to me. I haven’t been able to eat more than a few bites; the caffeinated pelicans in my stomach won’t allow it. I don’t want to be rude, but if I only have a few hours with him, I don’t want to spend them at the kitchen table. I sip at my Pinot Noir and glance at the clock.

  “Do you have somewhere to be?” He’s grinning broadly, teasing me with the same line I’d used on him a week and a half ago.

  I crumple up my napkin and throw it at him. “You are going to drive me insane.”

  “You won’t have to put up with my shit after today. Just think, Callaway—your house and your life will be back to normal.” He’s still smiling, but his eyes have changed.

  I don’t want that, Jack. I want you as my normal.

  I force myself to smile back. “And you’ll be rid of me, too—free as a bird. But for right now, I’d like to take advantage of what’s left in my contract.” I make air quotes around the last word and then stand up to clear the table.

  Jack drains his glass of wine, picks up his plate. I’m setting my dishes in the sink when I feel his arms go around my waist, and I startle. I’m waiting for one of his clever, flirty lines, but he doesn’t say anything—just leans over me, pressing his cheek against my neck and tightening his hold on me. I draw in my breath. It is so surprising, so sweet and tender that I almost choke on the rush of longing in my throat.

  I don’t—can’t—say anything, either, so I slip my hand in his and lead him upstairs, almost like in a dream. I’ve waited all day for tonight to come, yet now that it’s here, I am overwhelmed by how bittersweet it feels. Because it will be our last time.

  When we get to the top of the stairs, I turn around and discover that Murphy has followed us. I shoo him back down the stairs. I love that boy, but I don’t want any distractions. I put my hands on Jack’s upper arms. “Wait here for just a minute, okay?”

  He nods. His sculpted face looks stonily beautiful, tinged with resignation. I stand on my toes and kiss him lightly on the cheek before I go into the bedroom.

  Moving quickly, I grab the lighter out of my nightstand drawer and light the candles that I’ve placed around the room, then step into my closet and slip out of my dress. Earlier this week on a whim, I did something I’d never done before—ordered a black lace bustier with garter straps and matching V-string panty...then took a deep breath, added thigh-high sheer black stockings and clicked place order (thank you, Amazon Prime two-day shipping). It was not me, but it is me, now—the me whom Jack has awakened.

  So the new me, quivering in anticipation, hurries to change into my racy lingerie. I flip my head upside down, run my fingers through my hair and stand up again, arranging it so it fans across my shoulders, the way Jack likes it. Quick dab of deodorant under each arm, then flicking on the ceiling fan and opening the Spotify romance playlist on my laptop.

  Candlelight, soft and sexy music, a big, comfortable bed, and me—all that’s missing is a man. Luckily, I know just where to find one.

  I open the door. Leaning against the wall, he looks up with widening eyes and says exactly what I hoped he’d say, in exactly the tone I hoped he’d say it: “Fuck, Callaway.”

  His hands go to his hips as he shakes his head, looking bewildered, astonished. “My God, woman. What you do to me.”

  My eyes immediately flick to his now-bulging crotch. I feel almost giddy thinking he will soon be inside me. The small scrap of fabric that is my panties dampens.

  Jack’s gaze scours me from head to toe, his lips parted. “You look fucking unbelievable. But you do realize you’re not going to be wearing that for very long, right?”

  “That’s okay. This is for you, Jack. It’s all for you. I want to please you, and if you want it off me, take it off.” My voice is low, throaty.

  He shakes his head again, still wide-eyed. “Callaway. I don’t know how I’m going to...” He trails off. My heart skips, thuds, leaps. I’ve never heard his voice layered with so much emotion.

  Jack steps forward, hooks his thumb under my shoulder straps and slides them off, kissing both sides of my collarbone. I shudder. He dips his head down to kiss my lips, one hand going up in my hair to grip it tightly. His mouth is harder, more demanding—there is a raw urgency in him tonight, and I feel it, too.

  Suddenly, he scoops me into his arms as if I were weightless and carries me over to the bed. “I want you on your hands and knees, for starters,” he growls into my hair. Then, in a softer tone, as he sets me down on the mattress: “I’m going to lick you until you can’t walk.”

  My. Fuck.

  I am shaking. I get on all fours. He grasps my hips, pulling me back nearer the edge of the bed. “On your elbows, Madeline. I want your ass and pussy up in the air.”

  I feel his big hands on my bottom, kneading, squeezing, his thumbs just outside my labia. Propped up on my elbows like he asked, I rest my forehead on my fists. My legs are trembling.

  “Relax, sweetheart.” Jack’s voice is gentle but firm as he strokes my ass. “Open yourself to me, in all ways. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” My voice is small and muffled. I gasp when I feel his finger slide into the side of my barely-there panties. He drags it along my cleft, sighing when he hears me moan.

  “Christ, you’re so wet for me. As always. I love that.” He takes his finger away, and his thumbs return to their position on either side of my vulva. I have to tense up my thighs so I won’t start shaking again, but the feelings building up inside me are so strong, I feel like I will shudder, cry out, lose control.

  He spreads me open a bit. I feel his cool breath on my inner thigh, then the tip of his tongue snaking under the fabric to lick my seam. I groan, louder than I mean to.

  “Mmm...you taste so good. I want to fucking devour you, Madeline, and I want you to take it. It’s going to be intense, but I want you to take it. Even if you come, I want you to keep taking it until I’m done with you.” He pauses to lift the fabric away and lick me again, barely grazing my sensitive folds. “All right?”

  My response is practically a whimper. “Yes. I’ll try. I want you so, so much, Jack.”

  “You have me, sweetheart.”

  But just for one last night. The burning between my legs clashes with the aching in my heart, and to my dismay, tears spring to my eyes. I’m quickly distracted, though, by Jack sliding my panties down my legs. The draft from the ceiling fan chills my bare bottom, making me feel deliciously exposed.

  “Spread your knees apart more, and stay propped up like that,” he orders. I obey him, the throbbing between my legs growing stronger. I want to do as he asks; I want to hold off on my orgasm, but I don’t know how the fuck I can do that, being this turned on. I am already aching for his mouth.

  I feel his tongue, soft and warm, stretching out along my slit, the tip swirling around my already-hardened clit. He spreads my labia apart with his thumbs and pushes his tongue inside me, making me gasp his name. He uses his tongue like a cock, holding it firm and pushing it in and out, in and out, until I’m squirming so much he gives me a gentle slap on my bottom and tells me to be still.

  “Be a good girl, Callaway,” he croons. “Remember—you’re going to take what I give you.” Flattening his tongue, he begins to lap me firml
y from the top of my pussy to my perineum. I have never allowed anyone in the danger zone, and I clench my fists and bite my bottom lip to keep from screaming. Not so much because I want to ask him to stop, but because it feels so. Fucking. Incredible. The very idea of where he is and what he might do to me has pushed me to the very edge of a climax. I’m trying so hard to hold off, but my God, this is Jack Decker, and Jack Decker’s mouth, and I am going to come.

  He knows this. He starts eating me, hard—practically buries his face in my pussy—and laps, sucks, nibbles, sucks harder, tongues me, until I am twisting, begging, crying out...splintering into a million jagged pieces, and it’s only Jack that can put me together again.

  His breaths are coming in harsh, forceful gasps. “Madeline—I’m not done with you yet. I’m going to make you come again, when I fuck you. Get on your back, sweetheart.”

  I crawl toward the top of the bed, feeling the slick heat between my legs. My pussy is burning, my clit is on fire, and I cannot wait to have this man inside me. Settling back against the pillows, I look up at Jack’s face. His eyes are blazing with want.

  “Open your legs for me, Callaway,” he says huskily. “Wider, please. Good girl.” Within seconds, his pants are off, and I am looking at his huge, beautiful, fully-erect penis in all its glory.

  “I want you in my mouth,” I murmur. “Please.”

  Wordlessly, he climbs to the head of the bed and positions his cock near my lips. Eagerly, I take the tip in, reveling in the groans he’s making. His hands reach inside my bustier, fondling my breasts and nipples as I suck him. I keep my eyes open, watching his washboard abs as he fucks my mouth.

  “Callaway—” He pulls away from me, breathing hard. “You’re so fucking good at that, but I’ve got to stop you before I lose control.” He climbs off the bed to retrieve his jeans, taking out a foil packet. I watch, my mouth fairly watering at the sight of him rolling the condom down his hard length.

  And then he’s on top of me, guiding himself into my wet opening. The only thing better than Jack Decker’s mouth on me is his massive member inside of me.

  “My sexy, sexy Madeline,” he whispers, just before he enters me. I wrap my legs and arms around him—I can’t get close enough—and he fucks me hard, giving me the full force of his cock. He’s on his elbows, and we are looking into each other’s eyes as if we’re seeing each other for the first time.

  Or maybe it’s as if we’re seeing each other for the last time. There is a filmy haze in his eyes, like he’s intoxicated, and he plunges into me once, twice more before he comes. I dig my heels into his firm buttocks and my fingers into his shoulders, crying out as I feel the ripples of my second release. For just these fleeting seconds, we are one body, one mind, one heart...one soul...and the only thing more powerful than this is the grief I feel at having to let him go.

  Chapter 25 ~ Jack

  August 16

  Something soft brushes against my cheek. It tickles. I wrinkle my nose. Man, I’m so out of it...hovering on the fringe of a deep, relaxing sleep, the best one I’ve had in months. I’m warm and comfortable, the kind of feeling like when you’re laying on the couch in front of a fire piled with blankets, or laying on the beach with the sun so warm, you feel like it’s pinning you down. So I absolutely don’t want to wake up.

  Again with the soft thing on my cheek—little more pressure this time. I try to swat at it, but my arm feels floppy and heavy. Now it’s touching my nose...there’s a quick little pinprick feeling, so now I’m sliding into awake mode, forcing my eyelids open.

  It’s a cat. Sitting near my pillow, looking down on me and purring like a motor boat.

  I don’t have a cat.

  A clutching feeling in my chest. Faster breathing, realization setting in, as a bar of sunlight streams through the sliver of space between the shade and the window trim. It shines like a beacon on the face of the woman lying next to me.

  I spent the night with Madeline Callaway. Slept with her, as in literally REM sleeping.

  I broke one of my rules.

  I broke one of my most important rules.

  I’m no longer feeling warm. Everything is suddenly ice-cold-crystal-clear, and every cell of me is on high alert.

  I spent the night with Madeline Callaway.

  The cat—Murphy—is squinting at me. It’s been my experience that cats usually look like they’re plotting your death, but this dude always has a friendly expression, if cats even have expressions. I give him a little scratch between the ears, and he closes his eyes and pushes his head against my hand.

  Beside me, Madeline lets out this deep, contented sigh. I’m lying on my back, stiff but not in the good sense, and I turn my head carefully, slowly, to look at her. I don’t want to wake her up just yet—partly because I don’t want to disturb her, but partly because I don’t know how the fuck I am supposed to act.

  She looks beautiful—like take-my-breath-away beautiful. She’s on her side, and there’s a soft pink glow to her face. It’s not like I haven’t seen women sleeping before—I lived with Brianne, and obviously had plenty of occasions to watch her, but it’s funny, I never really thought to do it. With Callaway, it’s different—like time is almost suspended, and like I can’t stop staring at her—looking at the rise and fall of her chest, getting a little morning wood seeing the swell of her breasts peeking out of the black lace top...Christ. I’m wanting her all over again.

  Last night was incredible. Our best yet. Part of the reason I fell asleep, I’m sure, was because I was totally drained after being with her. Wrecked. Annihilated. We did it three times (the anaconda was definitely up to the challenge, so to speak), our last one being in the shower. We got to break it in together: tested out the Drench rainshower head, which was amazing—so many individual jets streaming down on you with that ten-inch model. Standing in the shower with her, I got hard all over again washing her—lathering up my hands and soaping her beautiful tits, her flat belly, the seductive slope of her hips...sliding one hand down to her sweet heat and getting hornier than hell when she spread her legs and tipped her head back, the water running down in rivulets between her breasts. I lifted the hand-held massager out of its holder, turned the dial to a gentle pulse, and directed the jet at her pussy. I’m all about customer satisfaction, I had explained. I want to make sure everything’s in good working order. Her laugh turned very quickly into a sigh, then a series of heart-stopping moans when I went down on her. She got there within seconds, and she repaid the favor with one of the most phenomenal BJ’s I’ve ever had.

  This woman...Jesus, I’m thinking she’s ruined me for anyone else.

  Scariest fucking thought I’ve ever had. It goes way beyond spiders.

  Some of Callaway’s hair is laying across her forehead in a coppery-brown tangle. I feel like I should push it away from her face, so I reach my hand toward her. But then it hits me that this seems like a boyfriend or husband thing to do.

  Can’t do that. I bring my arm back fast.

  So I’m lying here, still as stone, and I’m weighing my options—wondering if I can slide out of bed and slip out the door without waking her up—maybe leave her a goodbye note or text her from my truck. Nah, that’s bullshit, a total dick move. She deserves more. I’ve got to man-up and deal with this error in judgment.

  While I’m trying to figure out how to wake her—whether I should clear my throat, or cough, or give her a little nudge—her cat takes care of it for me. Murphy climbs over me like it’s no big deal that I’m laying here and walks along the side of Callaway’s body like she’s a balance beam. She makes a little sound. I watch her eyelids flutter and then open. She’s in that hazy phase in between asleep and awake that I was in just a few minutes ago, but as her senses become clearer and she realizes that I’m beside her, her eyes widen and brighten, like she can’t believe I’m here.

  That makes two of us.

  I decide I’m going to do what I do best—play it cool, keep things light, smile. “It would appear that I
, uh, spent the night.”

  “It would appear that way, yes.” She’s blushing and so goddamned adorable and sexy, I want to have her for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.

  Watch yourself, Big Deck. “Guess I liked your sheets.”

  “Egyptian cotton, 800 thread count.”

  “Nice. Although I think it had more to do with the woman in them.” Ahh, shit. Shit and shit and shit. What the fuck am I thinking, saying things like that, especially when I’m supposed to be easing up, backing away? Especially when I fucking spent the night.

  I mentally gut-punch myself and toss off the covers like they’re suffocating me, because that’s kind of what’s happening right now. “So...I’m gonna get out of your hair, Callaway. Didn’t mean to sleep over—sorry about that.”

  She sits up against the headboard, pulling the sheets up to her chest and blinking at me. Her voice is soft. “I’m not sorry, Jack.”

  I get off the bed and go to find my clothes. I’m naked, and I don’t usually get self-conscious about being in my birthday suit in front of women—ever—but we’re talking about this woman, and seeing as I’m feeling like she can see right through me, I’ve got this need to get dressed and put some sort of barrier between the two of us. Real rational, I know. But I’m not feeling rational, and I haven’t had coffee, and I need coffee and I need to get out of here.

  My plan to drive through Coffee Express on the way home is changed to me having coffee and a bagel at Madeline’s kitchen table, because Jesus, her face. She’s quiet, and I get it—I’m not feeling too talkative myself.

  I’m dressed in last night’s work clothes; she’s wearing a short, silky-looking robe with flowers on it and her hair up in a loose bun. I watch her move around the kitchen: taking the bottle of creamer out of the refrigerator, opening the pantry door to get Murphy’s food dish, reaching up to get two mugs out of the cupboard, her bare, tanned calves flexing.

  She sits down at the table and slides the container of cream cheese toward me. I slather some on my bagel. She has her fingers wrapped around her mug, staring down at her coffee like it’s got answers. A wavy lock of her hair falls forward, dangling over her mug, and without thinking, I do the thing I was debating doing before, in bed: I reach out and brush it away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She looks up at me in surprise and gives me the smallest of smiles.