THE CHRONICLES OF STELLA RICE: APRIL

by Adrienne Kama

  “Nope.”

  We stared at each other. I was uncomfortable due my stellar performance of the previous evening. I couldn’t tell if the same thoughts were filling his head. If he was thinking of the same thing that had my face hot with embarrassment, he gave no sign.

  “You changed the bedding,” he said, shifting the conversation to another subject.

  I dragged a chair from under the table and settled down. “Yeah. I never sleep on strange sheets. You do realize you can get an STD from bed sheets…and toilets…and anything else an infected person decides to rub their genitalia against?”

  I cannot say how I expected him to react to this statement. Clearly there was no appropriate response. So when he got to his feet and started for the refrigerator, I didn’t argue.

  “Are you hungry?” he wanted to know.

  I considered the question, and then admitted I was. “After last night I was worried I wouldn’t have an appetite for days.”

  “You’ve gotten off easy.” He began grabbing various items from the cooler and setting them on the center island. Eggs, peppers, onions (yellow and green), cheddar, provolone, bacon, and turkey and ham lunchmeat. “Since you’re not on death’s door as I feared you would be, I’m sure you can eat something a bit more substantial than chicken soup.”

  For a moment, I didn’t say anything. I was stunned. But the shock proved too much for me to remain quiet for any length of time. “You made me soup?”

  He looked up from what he was doing—slicing onions—and grinned. “Not bloody likely. Jane, my housekeeper, brought some over this morning.”

  “You made your housekeeper make me chicken soup?”

  He swiped a tear from his cheek. “No. Her youngest, Tommy, is getting over a cold. I knew she’d have some on hand. She made a few tons of the stuff. I told her I had an ill friend.” He used the back of his hand to brush another tear from his eyes. “I wouldn’t discourage assistance.”

  I pulled my glance from his face to his busy hands, then back to meet his gaze. His eyes were glassy and red rimmed. He was sniffling back tears. The sight of such a large man, such a masculine man sniveling like a little girl was so odd I laughed.

  “You think it’s funny, eh. Then you can cut the onions.”

  I pushed back from the table and went to stand beside him at the counter. A shudder of awareness passed through me when I realized I barely reached his shoulder. Dear God, this man was pure testosterone. Being near him was like swallowing two tablespoons of an aphrodisiac.

  I moved further down the counter, dragging the square of cheddar with me. “Do you have a shredder?”

  “That’s it, take the cheese. Leave me to suffer.” He turned away and crouched in front of a cabinet. He rummaged around for a few seconds, then stood to his full height, shredder in hand. “Here we are.” He retraced his steps then plopped the shredder in front of me. “Have a ball.”

  It took me a few minutes to acclimate myself to the small plastic and metal objects he’d set before me. There were two rectangular objects. Both were orange with a series of grooves running their length. The smaller of the two had grating holes at the end. A small, plastic basket was situated beneath the grating holes and I supposed it was to catch the grated cheese. A third object, a sort of oval thingy with tiny, rounded spikes poking out of the underside, lay on the counter. What I was supposed to do with the second rectangle with grooves and this oval thingy, I didn’t know. Why couldn’t he have a simple, metal grater? I didn’t need all these bells and whistles; all I wanted to do was grate some cheese.

  “You’ve a Masters from Hopkins, yet you cannot figure out how to grate cheese?”

  I realized Nigel had been watching me with a bemused expression on his face. Brow arched in quiet, scholarly disdain, he shook his head.

  “This is stupid,” I accused, thrusting a finger in the general direction of the object in question. “Don’t you have a simple grater?”

  “That is a simple grater.” Sighing dramatically, he started toward me. “Let me show you.” In about ten seconds, he’d fitted the two rectangular pieces together, cut the cheddar in half, placed one half of the cheddar on the grooves, then set the oval thingy atop the cheese, prongs down. “See how it works now?”

  I mumbled at the counter.

  “What was that?”

  “Yes.”

  Five minutes later, after Nigel had cubed all of the onions and peppers, set the bacon on the stove to cook, and was slicing the lunchmeat into bite-sized pieces, I’d grated about a third of a cup of cheese.

  “You’re absolutely hopeless in the kitchen, aren’t you?” he said, bending at the waist to eye the meager results of my efforts. “That basket isn’t even half full yet. What have you been doing all this time?”

  “You’re grater doesn’t work.”

  “It works fine. It’s you that’s the problem.”

  I snorted. Then I stepped back and shoved the items in his direction. “You do it then.” I began to retreat, but was brought up short when I felt the pressure of a large hand on my shoulder.

  “Oh no, you don’t. Come here. You’re going to help.”

  “I don’t want to help.” But even as I said this I was allowing myself to be tugged back to the counter.

  “If you want to eat, you have to help.”

  I heaved a sigh. “You sound like my mother.”

  “Don’t try to distract me.” He positioned me in front of the counter then reached for the damnable cheese grater. “All right, let’s try this again. But give me your hands this time.” Saying this, he moved behind me.

  I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Every ounce of blood had drained from my head and pooled uselessly in my loins. I felt my stomach quiver as my body awakened to the nearness of this man. My nether lips seized spasmodically when the heat of his body enveloped me. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead when he pressed his crotch tight against my back. When he tired of waiting for me to respond and clasped my hands in his, a delicious tingle made its way from my nipples to my steadily moistening cunt.

  “This is how you do it,” he said.

  Glancing down, I saw he’d set a fresh block of cheese on the grater beneath the oval, spiky thing. I was clasping the oval in my hand and his hand was on top of mine, pressing firm. He was using his other hand to hold the entire contraption steady.

  “Ready?”

  Was he mad? Or was I mad? Maybe I’d gone too long without sex because this was the most erotic experience I’d had all month.

  He didn’t wait for me to respond, but began forcing the cheese over the grates by way of the oval in my hand. His hold on me was so sure; I doubted I could let go if I wanted to.

  He set an easy rhythm, our hands gliding back and forth even as our bodies rocked in time with one another. His biceps flexed and contracted against me, his chest expanded and contracted with every breath. The smell of Zest soap was in the air; more intoxicating than anything I’d drunk the previous night. I tried not to breathe it in, tried to pretend my panties weren’t getting saturated with my growing arousal, but subterfuge was never something I was good at. Especially not when I knew his awareness of me was increasing.

  Something hard and unyielding had begun to press eagerly into my back. It ground against me as we rocked forward, becoming harder until I could scarce breathe Every inhalation was a struggle, every exhalation spilled from me in a =sigh.

  I realized the heaving breaths weren’t coming solely from my lips, but from Nigel’s as well. Hot air peppered the top of my head; the clean scent of minty toothpaste and mouthwash warred with the scent of Zest.

  Abruptly, he released my hand then grabbed the edge of the counter. “Bloody hell.”

  I let loose an audible sigh when he let go of the grater and tweaked my nipple between two fingers The sensation that I was standing on a cliff, poised at the periphery, washed over me. I felt I was moments from falling over, mere seconds from going off the edge. Erotically charged heat made a path fro
m my breasts to my clitoris and I moaned.

  He stepped back and for a moment I felt the absence of his body. But his movements were too quick for me to lament for long. With an agility that left me stunned, he spun me around and lifted me until I was seated on the edge of the counter. Then he closed the distance between us.

  His mouth seemed to be everywhere, on my throat, my eyelids, my earlobes. He continued to tickle my breasts expertly, paralyzing me with his skillful touch. He tweaked my nipples, lightly pinched, but the most wonderful sensations were coming from between my legs.

  Even as he captured my mouth with his, his tongue tasting my lips, feasting on my flesh, he thrust his crotch against mine, rubbing slow and hard like a feline in heat. Though neither of us had removed a stitch of clothing, he managed to find my clit through the layers of material covering me, and use the knowledge to mercilessly bring me to my knees.

  I ripped his shirt from the waistband of his pants, slipped my hands beneath the cotton and scored his back with my nails, desperate for more of him. My legs wrapped around his waist and locked at the ankles. Moaning in expectation of release, forgetting there was anyone save us in the house, I lost myself to the moment.

  He cupped the back of my head and drew me forward, his hips working rhythmically against my clit and sending me into fits of rapacious need.

  “I want you so bad,” he said, pulling back long enough for me to catch my breath. Then he came forward, spearing my lips with his tongue and delving deep within the warmth of my mouth.

  Our tongues danced as the kiss intensified. I gloried in his rough texture, languished in the deliciously erotic vibrations filling me as he angled his head and swallowed my moans.

  I could feel his breaths increase as his climax drew near even as I panted hungrily into his mouth, my own release beginning to crest.

  “So close,” he muttered. “So good.”

  Tension built inside of me as the fever rose to inhuman proportions. My legs clenched in reflex as the damn began to break, my hips bucking wildly. When I felt I could hold on no longer, knew I was about to go over the edge, I grabbed the hard moons of Nigel’s ass and squeezed.

  He threw his head back, a low, wavering groan erupting from his lips.

  Seeing him climax, knowing jets of hot spunk were exploding form his cock and saturating his pants, pushed me over the edge. I came hard, rocking against him even as I threw my own head back. My orgasm came at me in waves, each more intense than the last. I was helpless against the force of them, powerless to control my body’s spasms.

  We writhed together, our voices raised in erotic harmony, our mingled pleasure too strong to control.

  When it was over and I felt myself returning to earth, I fell back against the counter, resting my weight on my elbows. I stared up at his glistening face, saw his lips were puffy from kissing, his eyes bright as a Caribbean sea.

  “That was amazing,” he said, between gasps.

  I didn’t have the words to describe it, so I nodded my agreement.

  He opened his mouth, but shut it again when we heard feet tramping down the stairs. Abruptly he took a step back. My eyes went instantly to his crotch where a growing wet stain was already visible.

  Seeing where I was looking, he set a finger against my chin and angled my face up until we were staring into each other’s eyes.

  “I have to go,” he said. “As you can see I’ve made a mess of myself.”

  Again, I nodded.

  “I want to see you later. You’re coming to my party tomorrow night, right?”

  Still too stunned to speak, I nodded again.

  “Good.”

  He set a peck on my lips and retreated out the back door. I slid from the counter and tried to catch my breath. I heard his hurried footsteps as he descended the deck stairs even as the girls filed into the kitchen.

  I turned from the entrance and tried to seem like I was busy, but it was useless. Ann made her way around toward me, took one look at my face and grinned. “Do I have to ask what you’ve been doing?”

  Chapter Eight

  4/16/05, 3:17 p.m.

  I stood in the bathroom, staring at my reflection as Dev spoke into my ear in that sexy, baritone voice that never ceased to rouse my body to wakefulness. Not exactly what I wanted when I was on my way to Nigel’s house.

  “It runs like a dream, kitten. I like it a lot more than the truck.”

  Coming out of my stupor, I realized I’d only applied lip-gloss to my lower lip. I swiped a few layers on top to match, then blotted.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  When Dev spoke, I always listened. Especially now that we’d figuratively kissed and made up. “Of course. But Dev, you don’t have a regular job. How can you afford to buy an Infiniti on a musician’s income?”

  The line went silent and seconds ticked by. Finally, Dev said, “I didn’t buy it.”

  “Jake?”

  “Why shouldn’t he?”

  The confrontational tone in Dev’s voice had me taking a quick, mental step back. I didn’t want to argue with him again. Though more and more I could see how things would be between the three of us if I continued my relationship with them. Jake would always be papa bear with Dev and me playing mama and baby bear—incidentally, I wasn’t mama bear in this vision, Dev was. To Jake, I was little more than a plaything and as such, should be treated accordingly. While I didn’t mind the whole sex toy thing in the bedroom, I couldn’t stomach it in everyday life.

  “There’s nothing wrong with Jake buying you a car. I was just asking.” When Dev didn’t respond, I went on. “So how is Jake? Has he forgiven me yet?”

  “I don’t want to discuss that.”

  Ah. So that meant he hadn’t. “I’m not asking him to forgive me Dev. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “And anyway, why’s it only me he’s pissed at? I wasn’t by myself.”

  Again, the line went silent.

  This conversation was proving increasingly frustrating. Had Jake made Dev beg for forgiveness? Was that why he’d gone quiet? Somehow that didn’t seem right. I couldn’t picture Dev begging for anything. Maybe he was struggling with his loyalties.

  Suddenly, the effort of continuing this conversation was too much. Hell, the effort of trying to continue my relationship with Jake and Dev felt like too much, especially when faced with an independent, charming, and successful man like Nigel Browning.

  After checking my reflection one last time, I went into the bedroom and slipped on my sandals. “I have to go, Dev.”

  “Where?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  As I contemplated wearing heels instead of sandals and pantyhose instead of going barelegged, I let the words spill out. “The man who’s renting the house to us is having a party at another of his houses.”

  “What man?” His voice sounded decidedly serious.

  “Nigel Browning.”

  “The developer?”

  I pulled the phone away and rubbed my poor ear for a few moments. “Yes, the developer. You don’t have to shout, you know.”

  “The Brit?”

  “You know him?”

  Dev muttered something. “I know of him as do half the women in the US. He has a reputation, Stella. I hope he hasn’t tried anything with you.”

  I heard footsteps tramp across the floorboards of my room and looked up in time to see Ann come to stand before me, hands on her narrow hips.

  “I gotta go Dev. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Has he tried anything Stella?”

  I don’t know why I said what I did…okay, that’s a lie. I know exactly why. I wanted to make Dev jealous. I wanted Dev to see that while he and Jake were content to treat me like a pretty little toy, there were other men, incredibly rich and handsome men, who took me seriously.

  “He’s been pursuing me all week,” I said as though this sort of thing happened to me all the time. “He’s very determi
ned. Actually, the effort of staying one step ahead of him has begun to exhaust me.”

  Dev breathed into the phone.

  Ann was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re so bad,” she mouthed.

  “I know,” I mouthed back. “Look Dev,” I said into the phone, “I’ve got to run. I’ll see you tomorrow. That is, I’ll see you as long as Jake hasn’t banned me from your house.”

  He’d begun to say something but I figured I should disconnect. This way, I’d leave him wondering what I was up to all night long.

  Adolescent, perhaps.

  Effective, hell yeah!

  4:04 p.m.

  In my slinky black dress with its ankle to thigh slit and black strappy sandals, I was feeling pretty damn good. I’d kept the jewelry to a minimal, hoping Nigel would appreciate the smoothness of my skin far more than unnecessary accessories.

  It was still light out when we’d arrived at the house he’d been living in, but full darkness had come relatively fast, bringing with it a moist night breeze that clung to the skin and dampened the flesh.

  For what was touted as a small, off-season, get-together of a few business associates, Nigel’s house was packed. Everywhere I looked I found clusters of animated locals embroiled in conversation. They cooed over the large stone fireplace in the great room, gestured toward the exposed beams lining the high ceiling, gaped at the al paca rugs. When they caught sight of the starched servers in their black tuxedos, they grinned as the all male staff made their way through the rooms balancing trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres. I was having more fun watching the people than I was in taking part.

  Nigel had attempted to keep the gathering contained in two rooms. The great room and what he called his parlor, but overflow had trickled into his living and dining rooms, out on the deck—of course—and there were even a few people filing in and out of the kitchen. I supposed if Nigel were around he’d attempt to prevent this breach, but I hadn’t seen hide or hair of him since arriving. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen anyone I knew in close to an hour.

  Despite our vow to stay joined, I’d lost Katarina long ago. She had left with Jim after only an hour. She’d left my side hinting that her butt was feeling better so she was ready to give the anal thing a go for real. Where Gerard and Ann had gotten to was anybody’s guess. All I knew was I’d been wandering around the oversized house on my own, making small talk when the opportunity presented itself and losing myself in my thoughts when it didn’t.