Faith leaned back on the baking supplies, eagerly presenting herself to him. Zander brought his lips to hers, while his fingers found the other pair between her thighs. Faith moaned into his kiss, rising on her toes to tilt her hips, making her most secret opening fully accessible.
In that perfect place between gentle and rough, Zander mined her heat until he struck the vein that brought forth the sweetness he had learned to crave. He primed her, coating his fingers then bringing them to her lips. Haltingly, she accepted his offer, reveling in her taste as he sealed it to her lips with a kiss. His fingers again dipped into her, probing deeper, matching the work of his mouth against hers.
Groaning, Faith clutched tight handfuls of his shirt, tugging it from his blue jeans. But when she went for the hard ridge angling away from his zipper, he swatted her hands away. Her second attempt to touch him was met with a decisive wrenching of her hands above her head, where Zander impatiently forced her to hold onto the lip of a metal shelf lined with a rainbow of bulk spices.
He threw her shirt open completely, then spent a short moment staring at her. Greed glittered in his gaze as his eyes moved from her face to the tight tips of her breasts, over the expanse of her abdomen, which clenched and unclenched from the force of her breathing, to the bare juncture of her thighs where she gleamed with her own diamond-colored fluid, and down the length of her legs.
Startling her for the second time, Zander grabbed her about the waist and turned her, making sure she resumed her hold on the shelf. He raised her shirt, his hands moving to the front of her pelvis as he did so. They met at the wetness between her legs, and Faith’s backside pressed into his groin. She imagined that she felt him lengthen against her, and since he didn’t stop her, she ground her buttocks against him.
Zander answered her actions with a new one of his own. He dropped to one knee and parted the firm rounds of flesh that had so taunted him. With a gasp of surprise, Faith buried her face in her left shoulder when Zander’s tongue traced her from front to back and hungrily nipped at the puckered place that, other than her doctor, no one had seen since she’d been in diapers.
The exquisite indecency of Zander’s act and the intense sensations it generated left Faith whimpering and begging him for complete release. But far too much, Zander enjoyed the taste of her.
Not completely merciless, Zander held tight to her left hip, steadying her, so he could work his right hand between her legs. His thumb entered her with enough vigor to wrench a cry of pleasure from her, but when he hooked his index finger and used the thumb side of it to knead her sweating pearl, Faith replied in a wordless language of mindless need.
His thumb sought the most sensitive spot within her, massaging it in concert with the motion of his index finger, creating a concentrated pinch that left Faith’s thighs quivering, her head thrown back and her fingers numb against the unyielding metal of the shelf. His hand left her hip to expose the wink in her gluteal cleft, and Faith hollered for mercy when he applied his tongue to it.
She writhed against him, wanting more, demanding more. Her need became Zander’s, and he quickly freed himself and plunged into her dripping center. Willfully disobeying him, Faith released the shelf to brace her left hand on the topmost sack. She reached between her legs with her right to discover another sack.
Clamping his jaw and shutting his eyes as tightly as possible, Zander submitted to his body’s betrayal. The contents of Faith’s right hand leaped higher, the contents of her sweet tunnel pulsated with his release, adding his heat to hers.
His thighs and bum hardened, his fingernails dug crescents in the skin of her hips, and he took deep, loud breaths through gritted teeth. The force of his climax left him dizzy and clinging to Faith for balance even as she continued to work his oversensitive flesh. He allowed her to pump every last twitch, every drop of satisfaction from him, and he assisted her by taking her breasts in his hands while he suckled her right earlobe.
Faith reached the summit of her pleasure, her body snapping against Zander with enough pressure to make him grunt in her ear. One long, hard constriction that flung her head back was followed by a series of shorter pulses, each one signaled by a moan that reminded Zander of the chorus from a song.
Zander held her to his chest, his hands constantly moving over her. He knew he should let her go, but he couldn’t. He had never experienced a more perfect single moment, and he wanted it to last.
Perhaps sensing his need, Faith didn’t try to disengage from him. His chin on her left shoulder, she turned her head to kiss him and nuzzle his nose with hers. She rested her hands over his, which were clasped at her waist.
“I don’t think I’m scared of cellars anymore,” Faith laughed lightly.
“I didn’t know you were.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Alex.” Catching herself, she hastily added, “Zander. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay when we’re alone.” He kissed her forehead to iron out her wrinkles of concern.
“It’s your name,” Faith said. She swallowed back the rest of what she wanted to say: It should be okay all the time. “We should get back upstairs before someone else comes down to get a bottle of wine.”
Zander agreed, but made no move to dress and leave until he’d kissed her thoroughly. Even then, Faith had to take his hand to lead him back upstairs and into the now full dining room.
* * *
“This place is heaven, man,” Grover said, rocking on the back legs of his chair. “You got mountains, a lake—”
“A reservoir lake,” Zander interjected.
“You got fishing in the summer, skiing in the winter, and pretty ladies all year round,” Grover went on. “I love livin’ here.”
“Where are you from originally?” Faith asked.
“The Southeast.”
“Have you always been a musician?”
“It’s just a hobby.”
Faith pressed on. “You don’t do it for a living?”
“No.”
“So what do you do for a living?”
“You’re just full of questions,” Grover said, an amused grin dancing across his face.
“You’re a scientist, right?”
Grover’s face froze for a tell-tale second.
“Your fingernails gave you away,” Faith explained. “Every scientist I’ve ever met bites his fingernails down to the quicks.”
“I’m a biochemist,” Grover said. “My focus is on nutrition and creating safe, natural alternatives to chemical-based food additives.”
“Sounds noble,” Faith remarked.
“I try.” Grover turned at the sound of his bandmates taking to the stage. “Think I oughta scoot. Time for me to bang out a note or two for these kind folks.”
“It was nice talking to you, Mr. Dylan,” Faith said.
“ ‘Mister’,” he repeated with a chuckle. “I ain’t that old, kiddo.”
“How old are you?”
“She sure asks a lot of questions,” Grover said to Zander, who gave the comment a dismissive roll of his eyes.
Grover made his way to the center of the dais, where two guitars—one electric, one acoustic—were propped up near the mike stand.
“He’s a fascinating person,” Faith said. “Very enigmatic.”
“Yeah,” Zander said. “He never asks questions. That’s why I like him.”
In replaying their conversation, Faith realized that Grover never once asked her anything. But something else occurred to her. “That’s why you want a dog.”
“Huh?”
“Dogs don’t ask questions, either. You want companionship without letting anyone in close.”
“I let you in,” he said a bit defensively.
“Not all the way.”
The discordant notes of Grover tuning his acoustic guitar sounded through the bar, and sitting so close to the speakers, Faith winced at the noise.
“I’m in the mood for something low-key tonight,�
�� Grover mumbled into the mike stand. “I hope you like this.”
“C’mon, let’s go,” Zander said, standing and offering a hand to Faith.
“I want to hear him play,” Faith protested.
Zander took her by her hand, pulled her from the chair and swung her into his arms on the area of scuffed hardwood designated as the dance floor. Grover began to play the acoustic guitar unaccompanied, and at first, Faith didn’t recognize the evocative arrangement of a song popularized by Roberta Flack.
With Zander’s hands at her hips, pulling her in close, she loosely draped her arms around his neck. Grover’s rendition of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” harkened back to the original, the 1957 folk song Ewan MacColl wrote for his wife. Just as Roberta Flack had with her soulful rendition, Grover had taken the song and remade it into something that truly belonged to him.
“He’s got a great voice,” Faith marveled. “I wonder if Magda would send Personality!’s music reviewer to hear him.”
“Grover likes his privacy,” Zander said, moving Faith a few feet to one side to make room for two more couples entering the dance floor. “He plays for fun, not for fame.”
“He’s so good,” Faith persisted.
“Then just listen to him and enjoy him. Don’t think about promoting him.”
Faith did as asked, threading her fingers through the hair at Zander’s nape. His hands pressed her closer as they moved over her back and bum, his eyes never leaving hers. Faith took pride in her ability to use words to communicate her thoughts and feelings exactly, and Zander took just as great pride in his talent for bringing the words of others to life. Yet they readily allowed Grover’s passionate performance to reveal every emotion they shared as they danced in each other’s arms. If a decade apart was all it took to lead to this moment, neither of them regretted a second of it.
The final notes had been sung and the other couples were returning to their tables while the drummer and bass player for Knuckle Deep took their positions for their next song. Faith and Zander remained in place, with Zander stroking Faith’s curls from her face.
“I think we should get another bottle of wine,” Zander suggested.
“I’d like to try that Australian shiraz I saw in your wine cellar yesterday,” Faith said.
Grover, still at the mike, had strapped on his classic Les Paul, amped it up and was starting an original Knuckle Deep song meant to liven a staid Sunday night at He’s Not Here. Making eye contact with Grover as he and Faith paid their bill, Zander nodded his thanks for Grover’s opening song. It had been an incredible gift, and surely Grover’s way of telling him something that he already knew: that Faith was a treasure.
* * *
The ride back to Zander’s house was difficult.
It was very different from his first and last ride with her on his ancient, dilapidated Harley-Davidson. He’d certainly enjoyed having a teenaged Faith clinging to him on the ride home from the Calliope Grill, but it was far more exciting now, with Faith’s lush and meaty woman’s body wrapped around him.
She had clung to him in excited fright back when they were kids, her fists knotted in his belly, her arms stiff, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her thighs rigid as they gripped his hips.
Her strong legs framed him and her hands were locked just below his waist. There was no tension in her body now, but there was plenty in his, especially with her hands fooling about so far below his waist. He had never been in danger of losing control of the bike, given the excellent handling and responsiveness of the Hellcat between his legs, but the one behind him was sorely testing him, especially once her right hand slipped into his jeans.
She stroked him, her fingertips light despite the constriction of his jeans once he filled the front of them. The brush of a feathery fingertip over his tip made him speed up, to get her home before he had no choice but to pull over and take her astride the bike.
Thankfully, the ride home was short, and he parked his bike in his driveway upon arriving. “It’s distractions like that that get people killed on the road,” he chastised as he removed his helmet and then hung it by its strap over one of his handlebars.
He didn’t give Faith a chance to defend herself. She was still fluffing her curls after freeing them from her helmet when Zander twisted and took her by her shoulders, dragging her across his lap. Her helmet bounced to the smooth black pavement of the driveway as Zander kissed her, one hand reaching into her jacket to mold her breast to the shape of his hand.
“Having you only makes me want you more,” Zander whispered against her lips. “What have you done to me, Faith?”
Caressing his cheek with a finger, she broke their kiss to say, “Nothing yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
Lying in his arms, she stared past him, into the inky depths of the star-studded sky. “You see so many stars out here with so little ambient light. It’s gorgeous.”
Zander took her chin to return her gaze to his. “Don’t change the subject. What did you mean just now with that ‘nothing yet’ comment?”
“You don’t seem to like it when I touch you,” she said on a sad sigh.
He laughed out loud. “Faith, I can’t get enough of you. I—”
“You touch me,” she explained. “You don’t let me touch you. Not the same way. Your abdomen jumped when I touched you on the way back here.”
“You caught me by surprise,” he said. “Come on.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Not you.” He abruptly stood her on her feet and dismounted the bike.
“Yes, you are,” Faith accused. She wasn’t about to be cowed, not now, and not about this. “Why won’t you let me in?”
“I have.” Zander started for the front door, his discomfort, both physical and emotional, evident in his stiff gait. “I’ve never been closer to anyone than I am to you.”
“Then let me in all the way,” Faith requested earnestly. “It’s been too long and we’re too old. I gave you my whole heart a long time ago. I want nothing less in return.”
Zander unlocked the door. Faith jumped when he explosively kicked it open and went inside.
Hesitantly, she followed him, peering carefully inside the door before she entered and looked for Zander. He was standing in front of his dead fireplace, his face as hard and dark as the cold stone before him. “I don’t know what the hell happened between the time we left the bar and now. One minute you’re grabbing my package and the next you’re accusing me of not letting you touch me. You can’t have it both ways, Faith.”
Without a word, she walked right up to him. She rose on her toes to kiss him, cupping him as she did so. Zander’s hand clamped around her wrist, drawing it away.
“I rest my case,” Faith said. “And now I’m going home.”
She was at the door before Zander forced himself to call out to her. “Faith!”
“What?” she snapped without turning around.
“I don’t want you to go,” he humbly admitted. “Please.”
She went back to him. Standing toe to toe, her face aimed up at his, she challenged him. “Then let me touch you. The way you touch me.”
He threw his hands up in mock surrender and sat heavily on his sofa. “Fine. Whatever,” he said, his right thumb and forefinger worrying his right earlobe. “I’m yours, baby. Do your worst.”
Chapter 10
Faith took her time.
She asked Zander to make a fire, which he did. She asked him for the shiraz, which he retrieved, along with two glasses.
Her final request, that he take a seat on the sofa before the fire, was obeyed, albeit hesitantly.
Faith came at him slowly, carefully, rather the way she would have approached an injured wild animal. In some respects, that’s exactly what Zander was. Faith was no expert, but she had her own idea as to why Zander always took such control of their intimate moments, and she wanted to prove it one way or the other.
She joined him on the sofa, sit
ting astride his lap to unbutton his shirt. He settled deeper into it and rested his arms along the back of it. His casual demeanor seemed strained; a flash of defiance in his eyes belied his apparent willingness to give Faith control.
Faith soldiered on.
She opened his shirt wide, baring his chest. She hunched forward to take one of the tiny tips capping his broad pectorals between her teeth. Her tongue swirled around it, sampling the smooth disk of flesh at its base before she nipped at it, pinching it with her teeth just hard enough to make him squirm in his seat and clench his fists.
He rose, solid and heavy, beneath her. She undid his jeans and tugged them down past his knees, leisurely studying his legs while she pulled off his athletic shoes and socks.
“You have man hair,” she commented softly. “I really like that.”
“What’s ‘man hair?’ ”
“Too many models and actors wax things that should be hairy,” Faith said, glancing at his neat, honey-wheat nest. “Pruning the jungle is good, complete deforestation—not good.”
Zander absently stroked himself. “Exactly how many naked trouser snakes have you seen?”
Carefully watching the movement of his hand, Faith pulled his jeans free of his legs. “I’ll bet I’ve seen fewer bare batons than you’ve seen bacon strips and naked dugouts.” She stood and undressed, watching him watch her as she did so. His fingers closed around his baton, his motions growing more animated as more of her body was exposed. Once all of her clothes had joined his jeans on the floor, she parted his knees wide and kneeled between them.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“Who was what?”
“Your first.”
“My first what,” she purred.
“You know what. Was it Jeffrey Winslow?”
“Jeffy Winslow was never really interested in me. He came to visit me at NYU once, and loved the city so much that he moved there. Everyone back home thinks he works in theater, and he does. He performs in tribute revue called Tina, Diana & Friends.”
Zander’s abs bounced in a light chuckle. “Who does Jeffy play?”
Tempting Faith (Indigo Love Spectrum) Page 17