The Other P-Word

by MK Schiller

  Evan smiled, shaking his head. “Nope, but I will make a toast. Let’s drink to thwarted plans.”

  “The best kind of plans,” Mike said.

  The glasses clinked and the liquor went down as it should—warm, rough and decadent.

  Chapter Seventeen

  William took Virginia’s hand and led her to the bedroom. “Dear one, let me show you all the love I have.”

  Okay…that kind of sucks.

  Virginia gasped at the sight of William’s tattoo. Its glorious design covered his torso. She wondered how long it would take to trace…with her tongue.

  Hmmm…not bad. But wait, my character was conservative. Plus, this was a historical. Did they have badass tattoos back then? I should know this. I got it. I’ll Google it.

  I had boundless procrastination when I wrote. I’d decided to rewrite the whole story, injecting it with a healthy dose of passion. Unfortunately, my passion stalled once in a while.

  I caught a glimpse of Evan on my bed. Okay, I purposefully turned in that direction, deciding that the opportunity to leer at him was not one I should pass up. He lay there deliciously shirtless, surrounded in a sea of orange and green sheets. His jeans were unbuttoned at the top, his sex lines visible. It had been a few weeks and we’d developed a rhythm. As he said, we owned each other’s nights. During the day, though, he’d usually leave to run errands. I had an inkling one of those errands was going to the cemetery. I’d stopped going myself, not wanting to intrude.

  He yawned and rolled over to my side, groping the bed. He wasn’t usually this restless. I would know because I wouldn’t get any sleep otherwise. His hand patted my pillow, before he pushed it off the bed with a hefty grunt.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked when he blinked his eyes open.

  “My cuddle buddy.”

  My heart stammered in my chest before melting into a puddle. Aww, I’m his cuddle buddy.

  “Why are you over there?”

  “I wanted to get some writing done.”

  He stretched himself awake before shuffling over to the fridge. He took out the orange juice and looked over at me, shaking the carton.

  “Can I have the rest of this?”

  “Help yourself.”

  He leaned against the counter, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he finished the container. No one should be this sexy when they first get up. Note to self, buy more orange juice and watch Evan drink it. He tossed the empty container into the bin as if he was making a basketball shot. To my disappointment, he headed for the door.

  “Be back.”

  I turned around and tried to concentrate on my book. Suddenly, William had a prominent Adam’s apple and a white scar across his jaw. My shoulders tensed when Evan peered over them to read the laptop screen, smelling of fresh mint and hot man.

  “May I read your book?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, covering the screen with my hand.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s private.”

  “I thought you wanted to publish it.”

  He had a point. “I’ll let you read this page for now.”

  His lips moved as he read the words, his grin growing wider with each sentence. “You writing a love scene, Price?”

  I gulped, almost shutting the laptop on his finger. “Do you like it?”

  “I like reading about it, but I really loved living it like we did last night.”

  I reread the scene. Shit. He was right. I wrote about us. I smacked my palm to my forehead. “I didn’t realize it. I swear I didn’t. I have to rewrite this…again.”

  “Leave it,” he said, tousling my hair.

  “You wouldn’t mind? Because that would work out great, since they’re difficult for me to write.”

  “Why is that?” He started massaging my shoulders so it took me a minute to remember his question.

  “They come out very mechanical, sometimes.”

  “Let me help you write another one then.”

  “You want to collaborate with me?”

  He chuckled. “If that’s what you call it.”

  I stared up at him. “Do you just want to have sex, Evan?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question? Hell yeah, I wanna have sex. I’ve got so much morning wood, I could build us a log cabin. But I promise my intentions are not completely selfish.”

  “You’re distract-a-licious, but I seriously have to finish this.”

  He grinned, dragging his hand across his stubble lined jaw. “Distract-a-licious?”

  “It’s a technical term,” I said, turning back to the computer.

  “Come here, Billie Marie. Let me show how necessary distractions are to the creative process.”

  I stood because what little willpower I had disintegrated when he used his commanding voice coupled with my middle name. Sort of like I was in trouble, but I would enjoy the punishment.

  He slid his hands down my body, rubbing my arms, lower back and ending at my ass. Just when the first moan started, I gasped because he picked me up and threw me on the bed.

  He lay over me, using his elbows to prop himself up. I leaned up to kiss him, but he backed away. The first time, I thought it was cute he was teasing me, but by the third time I was pissed.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded.

  “I’m waiting for you.”

  “To do what, exactly?”

  “Narrate.”

  I blinked, trying to figure out if he was serious. Hard to tell with the smirk on face. “You’re kidding.”

  “Do you want to write a sex scene or fuck me?”

  “Both.”

  He licked his bottom lip. “Then do both.”

  I took a deep breath and placed his hand on the top button of my shirt. “He slowly unbuttoned her shirtwaist, revealing her skin with each flick of his finger.”

  Evan began doing exactly what I said. “Correction, her creamy, silky skin that tasted like honey.”

  “Damn…you’re really good at this.”

  He shrugged, concentrating on my buttons. After a second he continued our dialogue, “He fumbled with the stupid-ass buttons because they were so tiny.”

  “Stupid ass?”

  “It’s a technical term,” he grumbled.

  “His clumsiness was odd because his hands typically had incredible dexterity and skill.”

  “Just a sign of how much he wanted her. Fuck it, he said, ripping the shirt.” Evan looked at me hopefully.

  “The idea of his hands on her naked flesh outweighed any affection she had toward the garment.”

  Before I could register the sound, buttons were flying in every direction and his mouth was tasting the honey of my skin…his words, not mine.

  “He bit into the lacy material of her brassiere, pulling it away to reveal her breasts,” I said.

  He gave me a peculiar look when I said brassiere, but he started doing it before I even finished the sentence. “Her perfect breasts,” he whispered, his voice smoky.

  My nipples hardened against the caress of his warm breath.

  “They weren’t perfect.”

  “They were to him. He loved the way she moaned when he did this,” Evan said, flicking his tongue across one nipple and his thumb over the other.

  I arched my back, suddenly incapable of speech, running my fingers through his hair. “She ran her hands through his hair, pulling it rougher than she had intended.”

  “She had no need to worry. He’d never complain, except to ask for more.”

  “He worked his way down her body, his mouth kissing, licking and even gently biting her along his path.” I propped myself on my elbows and watched him do what I said. And it occurred to me that I might be able to voice what I wanted in this almost anonymous third person sort of way. Maybe that was part of Evan’s plan too. “He pulled off her jeans in one swift movement.”

  Evan sat up and grasped the hem of each leg. The movement wasn’t as swift as I’d pictured but it was hot nonetheless. He rubbed my legs on the wa
y up until his nose was buried in my panties.

  “Then there was only this scrap of silk between them. Although it was sexy, he hated it because it stood in the way of what he wanted and craved most.” The moisture on my panties must have been noticeable because his eyes widened. “So he ripped those off too.”

  I winced, both excited and nervous as he the material ripped away from my skin. Evan kissed the insides of my thighs before pulling them apart. He kissed down my runway strip and licked my opening. I decided to seize the control he’d given me before I totally lost it.

  “His tongue entered her sex just then.”

  He paused, tilting his face. “What?”

  “His tongue licked her sex.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Yes you do,” I said, not hiding my impatience.

  “Rephrase.”

  “Her chasm.”

  He shook his head. “That’s even worse.”

  “Her folds.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Her cunny.”

  “You’re getting colder.”

  “I’m writing a historical.”

  “There’s a limit to how far I’ll go. Modern times call for modern words.”

  He didn’t laugh. It would have been better if he had. Instead, he ran his nose down my opened, sniffing me. “Don’t be shy. Tell me what you want. Because I sure as hell fucking want it too.” He pressed his lips on the inside of each thigh. He moved his mouth over my mound, kissing me over and over. Holy heat…he’s making out with my other lips. His hot breath against that sensitive area made me beg. Of course, I couldn’t form any words so it was more like a whimper.

  “Evan!” I finally screamed when his tongue just barely grazed me.

  He let out a frustrated groan. “Fucking say it, Billie. Say what you need and give me what I want.”

  “Pussy. Please… Suck my puss—”

  I couldn’t finish because he started then. He stroked me with that tongue and every time I got used to a movement he changed it up, causing me to cry out again. He held onto my legs, keeping them spread. I fell back on the bed, falling, falling, falling apart. He hooked both of my legs over his shoulders and sat up, lifting the lower half of my body with his. I watched him eating me out like he was hungry for me…starving. And I don’t know if he meant it to be instruction, but it sure the hell was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. His thumb gently pressed on my clit and he inserted another finger, while his tongue still thrust inside me.

  He peered down at me, his eyes blazing.

  Evan might have been part porn star and part rock star, but in that moment, a new nickname surfaced above all others. Evan David Wright was…the Pussy Whisperer.

  When I did come undone, he was very gentle with me. Massaging my legs, which I was thankful for, since they’d lost feeling.

  “Shall we continue?” he asked, taking out a condom out of his back pocket.

  I took a few deep breaths, and bolted upright. “I want to hum for you, Evan.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, even though his expression clearly said he knew my intentions.

  I unzipped his jeans and pulled them down along with his boxer briefs. I stroked his long, hard length, proud of that I could make his breath shallow too. I meant to slide down to the floor, but I sort of fell instead. The move wasn’t my most graceful moment.

  “You okay?” he asked, helping me to my knees.

  “Fine,” I said, clearing my throat. I grasped his balls, rolling them in my hand. “She wanted to give him back some of the pleasure he’d given her. She wanted to taste and tease him with her tongue.”

  He clenched his teeth. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sunshine, but I can’t hold out much longer. I really need you to shut up and suck my dick…please.”

  I did. As much as I could anyway. He threaded his fingers through my hair. A raspy, guttural, grunting sound escaped him. I loved that sound so I kept trying to get him to do it again.

  “Billie,” he said, scratching my cheek. Except it wasn’t his fingernails. It was a condom wrapper, rubbing back and forth under his shaky hand.

  “I need you now.” And he didn’t scream or demand it. He said it like a plea.

  Disappointed he wouldn’t let me finish, but not about to deny his request, I took the condom and slid it open between my teeth. I rolled it on him and crawled onto his lap. He held me tight and buried his face in my neck as I sank onto him.

  He tilted me back and thrust into me with such power that I almost lost it again. This time we both made sounds. It was offbeat and animalistic, but I loved the harmony of us. My favorite symphony. He grasped my hips, conducting our tempo. But it was me who set the tone, singing his name from my lips as he swallowed the words from my mouth.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’d just returned from a day with my family when Evan knocked on the door. I pretended to be unaffected by his black skull cap and ripped jeans. He shoved his hands in his pocket.

  “Horny?” I asked.

  “Always, but hungry too. You?”

  “I could eat.”

  “Good, because I would like to make you dinner.”

  I tilted my head, shocked because I hadn’t known he could cook. “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “I’m asking you to have dinner with me at my place.”

  “So…like a date.”

  He shrugged. “Pick a label—any label that will get you to agree.”

  “What time?”

  “Now.”

  “Oh, okay. Should I bring anything?”

  His eyes skimmed down my outfit—a pink cardigan, black tank and long slacks. “No, but you could take off a few things.”

  I laughed, taking his outstretched hand and walking to his apartment. My eyes widened when I entered.

  “The lit candles are a nice touch.”

  “I have real plates too, thanks to Tilla. She said I couldn’t serve you dinner on a paper plate.”

  It kind of touched me that he’d asked her advice. “She’s a smart girl.”

  He pulled out a chair for me and even pushed it back in.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  “How about water? I’ve been drinking a lot lately.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, it’s an occupational hazard when you work in a bar.”

  He set down two glasses of ice water and took the seat opposite me. “How was your day with your family?”

  “I had the best time. My sister’s pregnant so we all went on a shopping spree. They make the most adorable things for babies now.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” He looked uncomfortable, as if talking about babies, even in a six degree of separation sort of way, was too close for comfort. Of course, my voice probably sounded wistful. Not that I wanted babies right now, but what girl doesn’t sigh when imagining holding a little bundle in her arms?

  “What are you making me?” I asked, happy to change the subject.

  “Roasted beef with mushroom and red skin whipped potatoes.”

  My stomach growled. “That sounds delicious.”

  “I thought so.”

  I sniffed the air and looked toward the kitchen. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “I haven’t started it.”

  I glanced at my watch. “Don’t you think you should since we have to be at work in an hour?”

  “It only takes eight minutes…well, at least each one does.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re making me a frozen dinner, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kind of suck at this.”

  “That’s okay. It still sounds awesome either way.” I wasn’t disappointed at all. Maybe because Evan wasn’t a fancy let-me-make-you-dinner kind of guy. And the fact that he was trying at all meant something to me.

  “That’s a relief.” He walked to the kitchen. I followed him.

  I sat on the counter, dangling my legs while he put the
first meal in.

  “You know the best three words in the English language, Price? The ones that make everything simple and easy?”

  “My guess would be ‘I love you’.”

  He rubbed my legs. “You’re batting outside the ballpark, baby. In fact, I’d say you’re using the wrong kind of ball. Those are the most complicated and least easy words.”

  “What then?”

  The microwave buzzed. Evan put in the second meal and threw me the empty cardboard box.

  “Read it yourself.”

  I looked down then back at him, completely confused.

  He didn’t make me guess again. “Heat. On. High.”

  “Heat on high are the three best words? Really?”

  “There’s none of that heating at fifty percent, taking it out, stirring shit, putting it back in. Taking out the brownie. Why do you always have to take out the brownie? What’s that shit about? You know how hard it is to get a frozen brownie out of a plastic container?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat a lot of frozen dinners.”

  “I do, and I really appreciate the concept of heat on high.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant it as some deep metaphor or we were really just having a conversation about convenience foods and their cooking requirements.

  We took our seats again and I had to admit that for a frozen meal, it did look tasty on the white china.

  “Next time, I’ll cook,” I offered.

  “You only have chocolate and chips at your place.”

  “You forget about the fruit, Evan. Don’t worry, I’ll go shopping.”

  “I wasn’t worried. When?”

  “Sunday. Our night off.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I closed my eyes, realizing I had plans on Sunday. “I forgot, I’m having dinner at my mom’s house with the family.”

  It happened so quickly, I didn’t know if I’d imagined it, but I saw a flicker of disappointment in his face. “Another time then.”

  I smiled as the idea came to me. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  He chuckled as if I’d made a joke. “I don’t think so.”

  “I get it. You’re scared.”

  Evan’s expression read like offended amusement. He jabbed a finger against his chest. “You think I’m scared to meet your family? Honey, I toured with Rob Zombie. I’ve swerved my motorcycle at ninety miles into oncoming traffic when a couch flew off the truck in front of me. And I’ve run with the bulls. I’m not scared.”