by Jordan Marie
“Do you always kiss your male friends?” he asks, and I frown at him.
“I don’t really have any. You know what? With you it’s either feast or famine.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You either grunt and don’t talk, or you talk about a subject until you’re beating a dead horse.”
“Beating a dead horse?”
“Exactly.”
“This is good,” he says, using his fork to point at his food. He’s evidently decided that we have played beat-the-dead-horse long enough.
“Thanks,” I tell him, hoping for some reason that he goes back to grunting.
My head jerks up when he stands. I watch him take out a glass and open the fridge. He gets a glass of milk, and I shrug. Guess he didn’t like the lemonade. I think it’s better than the store bought, but I don’t guess you can please everyone. I jump when he puts the milk beside me.
“What—”
“You need to drink milk. It will help Maggie grow,” he mutters and sits back down to eat again.
“You’re a strange man Michael.” I sigh, but I take a drink of my milk.
In response, he grunts and I can’t stop the smile that forms on my face.
48
Beast
“Michael…they’re so beautiful,” Hayden says from the corner, her hand brushing over the comforter and things she just put in the new crib. It’s no different from the six times she’s said it before. I watch her from my peripheral vision as she moves to the table that has the matching lamp on it. She brushes her hand over it gently, as if she was afraid just one touch would cause it to break. I finish tightening the last screw on the ottoman that goes with the glider.
“Finished,” I tell her. I expected her to turn around and look at the chair, but she doesn’t. She just keeps staring at the lamp. “Hayden?” I question after a couple of minutes. Finally, she turns around, and I’m surprised when I see a trail of tears that slide down her cheeks.
“I saw this lamp in the window in town a couple of weeks after I got out of the hospital. I wanted it for her, but I knew there was no way I could buy it for her. I told myself that it didn’t matter. I kept saying that I could paint her walls pretty and as long as I managed to get her a comfortable place to sleep it would be okay, you know?”
“Hayden…”
“You couldn’t have known, but I saw this lamp, and I wanted Maggie to have it, Michael. I wanted her to have all of this.”
She just stands there looking more than a little lost. She’s crying, and I hate the sight of her tears. Knowing what I do of her past, I have a feeling that she’s had way too many tears. I’m not equipped to deal with a woman and obvious pregnancy hormones. I walk over to her, I place my hand against her neck, tilting her so she looks up at me.
“Stop crying,” I order her, desperate to stop her tears.
“They’re happy tears,” she says, as if that makes them better.
“I don’t like them. It was just a gift.”
“It’s an amazing gift,” she corrects me, and the look on her face makes me feel...strange.
“You’re going to kiss me again, aren’t you?” I mumble, half wishing she would and half praying she doesn’t.
In response, Hayden laughs through her tears. “Considering how much it seems to bother you, no,” she exclaims. That shouldn’t disappoint me, but I know that’s what I’m feeling. “I don’t know how to thank you for all of this. I really appreciate it, Michael,” she tells me and I shrug it off, I didn’t do it for her gratitude. “I need to go work in the kitchen. I have to work tomorrow, but Pastor Sturgill needed his orders early so he’s coming by in the morning to pick up some cookies and pies for the Church’s widow’s dinner. You going back to your place or you want to stick around? You could watch television. Isn’t there like a ballgame on or something?”
“You cook for the church?” I ask, following her into the kitchen. Until I find out what the fuck is up with the Dwellers, I don’t see me letting her out of my sight. I don’t want to tell her that yet, because I don’t want her to panic. I’ll hang around here as late as possible and then I will make sure I always have my eyes on her place—and her. That’s the best I can do.
I lean with my back against the counter, angling so I can watch Hayden as she stands at the stove and begins wrapping cookies.
“Yeah, they’re one of my best customers, besides the diner and the Stop-N-Shop in town.”
“Why would a church buy baked goods?”
“Well this is for a dinner, but they buy them to sell at their consignment shop, and they buy them for bake sales. That kind of thing,” she says, while continuing wrapping the cookies. I reach over and grab one when I notice it’s the peanut butter ones like she made me a week or so ago. I take a bite, stopping mid-bite when she stares at me. I figured she would scold me, but she only laughs. “Good thing I made extra.” I give her the grunt she seems to appreciate so much, and sure enough, the minute I do it, she laughs.
“How do they make money if they have to buy the things they sell?” I ask her, once I finish the cookie.
“They price them for more money than they pay. I give the church a discount.”
“I just figured the members would make what they sell.” I shrug, that makes more sense to me and if I’m going to be completely honest, I don’t like her doing things for the preacher. I’m not sure why. I just don’t like the way he looks.
“They do some things,” she says, turning back around to wrap some more cookies. “Actually, I figure Pastor Sturgill buys more than they need, just to help me. I’m grateful. He’s been a good friend,” she says and something about that really bothers me.
My hand comes up to the side of my face and my fingers push into the beard on my chin, as I move them over the indentions I find there. I trace the scars through my beard and think on what Hayden said, and the longer I do, the more I don’t like it.
“Do you kiss him?” I ask her, and my question comes out harsher than I intended. Hayden turns around to look at me and her steely eyes grow large as she looks at me in complete shock.
“What?” she gasps, surprise etched on her face—so much of it I want to smile. Still, I want to hear her deny it. I need her to confirm my thoughts. I’m not questioning myself as to why. I have a feeling that I don’t want to know.
“Do you kiss him?”
“Are you crazy? Why would I?”
“You said you kiss your friends when they do something nice for you,” I remind her, and I enjoy the way the heat moves into her face causing her to blush.
She’s got her hair up in a crazy contraption on the top of her head again. Wispy strands are going every which way. She’s wearing a red, long-sleeved t-shirt, and jogging pants. Her stomach is silhouetted softly in the shirt and she looks beautiful. Young, sweet, and untouched, which seems in direct contrast to her pregnancy. In this moment, I’m not sure I’ve seen a prettier woman. How did I ever think she was homely?
“Pastor Sturgill isn’t like you… well…I mean he’s a Pastor! I couldn’t kiss him. I wouldn’t want to. Wouldn’t God get mad or something?”
I smirk at her answer, while she’s busying herself with putting the now empty cookie sheet in the sink and washing it off. I know however, she’s just avoiding looking at me.
“I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of a priest.”
“What? Oh...Well, regardless. I wouldn’t even dream of doing that with Pastor Sturgill. He’s been good to me, but we’re not…friends. He’s not like you.”
“Like me?” I ask, suddenly more interested than I should be.
“Yeah. You know you’re different. You’re like Charlie,” she says, transferring the cookies into a cardboard box.
“Charlie’s a woman. A very old woman. I’m a man,” I remind her, suddenly feeling annoyed. This makes Hayden turn to look at me. Somehow, she’s managed to get a little dusting of flour on her cheek.
“Of course
she’s a woman. But well, you’re not a man to me,” she says shaking her head, and she says the words like she’s trying to explain something simple to a child. And now I know I’m annoyed.
“I’m not a man?” I growl.
“No. Well, I mean, obviously, you’re a man, but not to me. To me you’re…kind of…asexual.”
“Asexual?” I roar. Definitely roar. Fuck, I may have given up on my dick for longer than I care to think about, but I am definitely not ready for a woman to think of me as…Fuck. She thinks of me like a fucking old woman!
“What’s wrong with you?” Hayden asks, and I swear the woman is clueless, which just makes this worse.
“Maybe I’m upset because a woman is standing here telling me she doesn’t see me as a man!” I grumble. I didn’t think I had pride anymore. Apparently, I was wrong.
“Michael—”
“Don’t say it,” I warn her.
“Say what?” She stops, looking at me with her face a mixture of confusion and annoyance. She thinks she’s annoyed?
“Whatever you have cooked up in that silly noggin’ of yours.”
“Noggin’? Michael, seriously I think—”
“I assure you, Hayden, I am definitely a man.”
“Well of course you are. But not with me. With me you’re a friend. Like Charlie is my friend. And—”
“I warned you not to say that,” I mutter, turning to face her.
“What’s got into you?” she asks. “You’re acting crazy.”
“Men get that way when a woman doesn’t notice that they are, in actuality, a man.”
“Michael, you’re acting nuts. I just don’t see you like that. Just like you don’t see me as a woman. We’re friends,” she says again, and Jesus, can she be that clueless.
“Maybe it’s time I did something about it then.”
“About what?”
“Maybe it’s time I showed you that I am a man,” I gripe.
“Michael—” I don’t let her finish. I don’t let her finish because I know she’s going to end up saying something else to piss me off. So, I grab her and pull her into me. “Michael, please. I think—” Before she can finish I capture her words with my mouth.
I may regret this. Fuck. I know I’m gonna regret it, but I also know I’m going to kiss the hell out of Hayden Graham. She’ll never doubt I’m a man again.
49
Hayden
It’s like I’ve been transported into some Twilight Zone episode. That’s what this entire conversation with Michael has been like. I’ve never dealt with men much. I’ve had one steady boyfriend and then…Blade. I think it’s safe to say my experience in dealing with the opposite sex is limited and not good. The last thing I expect though is for Michael to kiss me.
At first, I’m too shocked to do anything. His beard scratches against my skin and tickles my nose. I hold myself still, it’s not that great of a feat, because I’m shell-shocked. My eyes are wide open and they must be huge with surprise. Michael’s arm is tight around me. His palm is spread out on my back, and I can feel each finger pressing into me with a bruising force. I’m thinking any minute he’ll back away and this will be over. We can awkwardly laugh it off and go to our respective corners. I’m waiting for that to happen. Any minute now…any second—
And then it happens.
I feel Michael’s tongue sweep against my lips, seeking entry. I don’t let him, of course. That would be insanity. This needs to have never happened. It can’t happen! Then, his free hand moves to my breast. There has been one side effect with pregnancy that has driven me insane. I want sex. I want sex all the time. Even with the early morning sickness, and my stomach starting to pooch out, I still craved sex. I’ve went through packages and packages of batteries for my vibrator, because after my experience with Blade there was no way I wanted another man around me. My brain is screaming that now. The traitorous lower half of my body is screaming that Michael isn’t just another man. He’s Michael. I like him.
Nerves assault me. Fear hits me. Before they completely take hold his thumb brushes across my nipple. A surge of heat pulses through me. Familiar, yet shockingly different. I’ve felt excitement for a man before. I’ve felt what I thought was desire, but this…this is different. It’s sharper, it’s more intense. I tighten my body up, and my hands brace against him to push away.
“No,” I whisper, and he pulls back. His eyes rake over me and I hate it, because I know he can read the fear there. The fear that I can’t push away. “We shouldn’t do this. I don’t want this,” I tell him, wondering if he will believe me, because I’m not sure I do.
“I think you do,” he says, and his voice is different…it’s gruffer, but it seems to vibrate—through me.
“Michael, I can’t do this,” I whisper guiltily.
“You’re scared,” he says, and I can’t even deny it. “Keep your eyes open, so you know it’s me,” he demands and his words confuse me. How could I not know it was him?
“Michael—”
“Trust me, Beauty,” he whispers, his voice dipping down, and my stomach feels like a thousand butterflies pick that moment to take flight. I gasp when I feel his palm slide against my neck. His skin is rough and callused yet gentle. His thumb strokes against the pulse point in my neck and when his lips brush against mine, I don’t think of denying him this time. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before, it adds a new sensation, but more than that, Michael’s lips are full, soft, and completely at odds with the surly exterior and personality he usually displays.
He doesn’t even kiss me like I expected. Instead, it’s a soft touch, a smooth, sweet glide of our lips. It’s merely a teasing touch and then he pulls away, a mere breath, before coming back. He does this a few times, and it’s almost as if he’s hypnotizing me with his movements, luring me with them, because each time he breaks away, I find myself following him.
Then it happens. This time as his lips tenderly touch mine, his tongue sneaks into my mouth. It doesn’t go far, it’s not even assertive. It slides in and teases against the inside of my lip, moves against my cheek, before going back out. I miss its presence immediately.
I could taste him.
Minty, fresh, musky and…naughty.
That feeling that you’re doing something you shouldn’t, but it’s so good you can’t stop.
Seductive.
I lose myself in his taste, and when his tongue comes back for a second round, I seek it. Our tongues wrap around each other, carefully at first as if neither of us are sure what we’re doing, and then again, with more intensity. I think I moan, maybe it was him, because all at once the kiss changes from a shy, gentle exchange into something else. Something different from anything I’ve ever experienced before.
My hands bite into his shirt, and I hold on for dear life, because I can feel the heat surround us.
Passion.
I’ve been so stupid. My whole life I’ve been stupid, because it’s suddenly crystal clear that until this moment, I’ve never truly felt real desire. As many times as I’ve kissed and been kissed, I’ve never felt like this before. I might have thought I had good kisses before. I might have even thought I had a connection with the person I was kissing. I was wrong. I’ve never been kissed this way before, until him.
Michael owns my mouth, but with that same thought, I’m pretty sure I own his. It’s as if we’re fighting a war to see who can claim victory. When he lets out a half-muted growl and I swallow it down, I feel like I am the clear winner. I feel as if I’m in control.
As if that’s the signal they needed, my fingers move up to tangle into his thick hair. Michael’s hands move down to my ass, biting into the flesh as he pulls me up his body. I break away from his mouth, as my feet leave the floor. When he pulls me up to him, he claims my mouth again, and he kisses me deeper. I wrap my legs around his waist, our tongues continuing their war with one another, my fingers fisting tightly in his hair, holding him to me.
I can feel desire course throu
gh my body. I’m not acting on anything but need and instinct, lost completely in the taste and feel of Michael. He pulls me even tighter into him, and the heat from his body is so hot, it feels as if it could burn me. I’m wet with desire. I feel it pooling against my panties, and coating along the inside of my thighs. I want more…I want more of Michael. I’m lost in a fantasy where I can be a woman who doesn’t have baggage, who doesn’t have scars. A woman who can just enjoy the moment. And then it happens.
Maggie picks that moment to push out hard. Her kick pushes against Michael. I pull away from his mouth immediately—it’s that strong. She kicks again, and this time, Michael must feel it because he pulls on my ass, giving us a little distance between each other. I hold my head down, afraid to look at him and feeling helplessly embarrassed. Then I remember, I’m pregnant, and he’s holding me up in the air.
I immediately unlock my legs, and he lowers me to the ground. I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve never experienced a kiss like that before in my life. I can still taste him. I’m already missing him and the connection we had forged. He moves his hand back to my neck and forces me to look up at him.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” I croak, my voice sounding as if I haven’t had anything to drink in weeks.
“You’re right,” he says, and disappointment blankets over me like a thick fog. Before I can even process that, he’s places a kiss on my forehead and turns to leave.
I’m so confused and my hormones are raging. I don’t know up from down right now, and the fact that he’s leaving only adds to that. I don’t try to stop him, though. It’s best he leaves. It’s best I get control of myself—alone.
“It definitely shouldn’t have happened,” he says again, as he opens the door. My fingers are touching my lips. I can still feel his pressed against mine. My body still feels like sparks of electricity is arcing through it. “It’s probably going to happen again, though,” he growls as he leaves, closing the door behind him.