The warm water soothed her in places she didn’t realize needed soothing until she sunk as deep as the tub allowed while David levered himself down at the opposite end of the tub.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a man with bubble bath.”
“Oh really. Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. It seems sort of…not macho.”
“You really do think I’m macho, don’t you?” His self-assured and self-satisfied look should have annoyed her. Instead, it charmed her all the way down to her tired toes. Even her feet were worn out by their horizontal workout.
“You’re pretty manly,” she reluctantly acknowledged. “At least, by Portland standards,” she qualified.
“Somehow, I’m guessing this is going to be yet another problem for you,” he said, as he ran a sudsy washcloth from the soles of her feet up her calf, to her knee, and then back again. Never before tonight had each and every section of her leg been so supremely sensitive. Maybe it was the man. Maybe it was his hands. Whatever it was, she was trying to tell herself to simply relax and enjoy it.
“I didn’t say that,” she responded, twisting her leg to give him greater access to the backs of her calves. Calves that were quickly turning into erogenous zones.
“Well, since whatever I think is appropriate, you seem to find completely objectionable, I’m going to out on a limb here and wager a guess that you’re about to tell me you’re not attracted to manly or macho men.”
“That’d be a big fat lie, don’t you think, given how we spent the last hour along with last night?”
He smiled at her, lighting her up from the inside out. Crap. If one smile and multiple orgasms were responsible for this kind of loopy behavior, how would she react if they were together for more than two days at a time? What if she fell in love with him? Would she fall at his feet, worshipping him? Do whatever he asked in bed and out of it? Beg him to never leave her? Promise to give him as many children as he’d impregnate her with?
“What I think is that whatever road trip you just took in your head, you need to stop, turn around and return to the here and now.”
His insight disarmed her, abruptly and completely.
She shook her head, intent on resuming her study of him. He embodied the phrase, “a man’s man.” His chest was delightfully masculine, with the right amount of hair on his chest before bisecting a respectable six pack in a happy trail. His shoulders were strong, deeply grooved with muscle and spanned the width of his tub. A five o’clock shadow she must have been too nervous to notice before roughened his jaw, making him appear slightly disreputable and dangerous in the soft candlelight. Of course, the man was dangerous. Dangerous to her emotions. Dangerous to her sex life. Dangerous to her self-control.
“So, it strikes me that I know exactly how your hands feel when you grasp my hips as you’re about to come, but I have almost no clue about your background,” she began, anxious to learn about him.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, continuing his gentle ministrations on her legs.
“Anything. Everything. Family. School. How you ended up out here. Any exes I need to know about. Children.”
“Let’s start with the easy stuff first,” he said, massaging a foot in each of his hands.
“I’m the oldest of three boys. I grew up in Missoula, Montana. My parents are God-fearing Methodists who believe in sports, God, family, food, and wine. In that order. My dad is an engineer with the Army Corps of Engineers. Mom spent most of her career as an emergency room nurse. She’s now a nursing professor at the university in town. They could have retired several years ago, but love their jobs way too much to ever do so. I think they’ll have to be forced out before the two of them will ever willingly slow down. I guess maybe it keeps them young, though.
“My two younger brothers are about as opposite as can be. Tim is a mechanical engineer and works with some outfit down in San Diego. He married his high school sweetheart, Sally, a few years ago. No kids. Mark is a freelance investigative journalist who, right now, is holed up with some poor woman in Chicago who’s supporting his freeloading, unemployed ass while he waits for his next story to sell.”
“No nieces or nephews then?”
“Not yet. I think Tim and Sally are probably working on it. They want them. And I hope for the love of mankind that Mark has no plans to reproduce. Not now and not ever,” he said on a shudder.
“Do you have kids of your own?”
“No.”
When he didn’t follow his answer up with anything, she was compelled to ask, “Don’t you want to know if I do?”
“I know you don’t.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“You never mention them. The only family you ever mention is your mother.”
“So? Maybe they live with their father.”
“There’s no way in hell you would allow that.”
Even though his statement was absolutely true, it still grated on her nerves that he seemed to be such an authority on her personal life and characteristics.
Even if he was right.
“Oh really? And why is that, Mr. Expert?”
“You’re about the most protective teacher I’ve ever met in my life. Given how you treat your students, there’s no way in hell you’d let your flesh and blood out of your sight to live with their father for any extended period of time. Not a chance.”
“Fine. One point for you. What else do I need to know?”
His hands were now doing delicious things to her toes. Who knew attention to her toes would send signals to other, more sensitive parts of her body?
“Well, I went to school at the University of Montana and knew I wanted to enter Sports Administration. After I earned my MBA from Stanford, I accepted an entry level job with the Dolphins in Miami and stayed there for about three years after graduation. After Miami, a better position opened up with Buffalo. I lived there for another five years. When the GM job opened up with the Tide, I made contact with the Silverstons to let them know I was interested. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“Buffalo’s about as different from Miami as football is from swimming. Was that a hard transition?”
He shook his head. “Not hard at all. Weather wise, I never really acclimated to Florida. Too hot and too muggy all the time. Buffalo was more what I was used to growing up in Montana. Cold, harsh winters. Crisp summers.”
“Now you’re in Portland.”
“Now, I’m in Portland,” he agreed. Switching gears, he asked, “How sore are you?”
Intentionally mistaking his meaning, she said, “My legs feel a lot better since you’ve been rubbing them. And letting them soak in this water seems to help as well.”
He sort of grinned. Not completely, but partially. “That’s not the soreness I’m talking about. Am I going to have to make you use your words again?”
The heat on her face told her that she wasn’t just overheating from the water.
“I ah, I think I’m okay,” she stammered.
“Come over here and let me be the judge of that,” he commanded. He widened his legs so that she floated right over to him. He arranged her legs on each side of him while she rested comfortably against him.
“Just let yourself relax, Calleigh. Don’t tense up your muscles,” he said as his warm, wet hands started kneading her shoulders before moving down over her back.
The water loosened her up all over, internally and externally, but even still, this was entirely new. She’d never bathed with a man in her life.
“Just relax,” he pleaded, leaning up to kiss her neck right under her earlobe. He nuzzled her neck continuously until he introduced one finger to her sensitive flesh as he continued kissing a myriad of different points on her oh so sensitive neck. His finger dashed all around, coaxing her walls into heating up and preparing for him all over again.
“It’s as I thought,” he whispered into her ear.
“What’s that?” she asked, gyrating her hips
softly around his finger. At first, it had felt like too much pressure. Now it wasn’t enough.
“You’re wincing,” he replied.
“No, I’m not. I’m fine,” she said, trying to persuade him to finish what he started.
“You can’t see the expression on your face which tells me all I need to know. You’re sore. I knew I should have used lubricant. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Let’s dry off and get back into bed.”
David took great care, drying her off with the plushest towel her skin had ever known. Up and down, he didn’t leave one single spot on her body untouched. He even dried her hair before taking her hands and leading her back to his bed.
“Lay down.”
She did, never dropping her eyes from him at any time.
“Open up your legs for me.”
She did.
He crawled towards her on the bed, like a dark panther intent on feasting on his prey.
And feast he did. Without any preamble or warning, he placed his mouth directly on her. She couldn’t stifle the moan that floated from her lips.
He rode her with his tongue, up and down, back and forth, never staying in one place too long, never quite letting her fall off the sexual cliff she was continually perched on. Over and over again, he loved her with his mouth. She derived great satisfaction from looking down and seeing nothing but his dark blonde head between her legs, shoulders bunched up, working his mouth hard over her.
She lacked all sense of time, all sense of beginning and end. Right now, at this moment in time, nothing existed except for the two of them. Anything he asked of her, she’d give.
Finally, he began letting her come. Once one orgasm was completed, he kept working her towards the next one, until finally, even he must have been exhausted. Gently kissing the top of her mound, he moved up to spoon her in bed and pulled the duvet over both of them.
Reaching behind her, she found his cock, hard and unsatisfied.
“But, what about you?” It would be selfish not to see to any of his needs after the gifts he’d given her tonight.
“I told you. You’re too sore. Even with lube, you couldn’t take my size. Not tonight. Don’t worry about it. It’ll go down shortly. Go to sleep.”
She turned towards him. “We don’t have to have sex. We could do…other things…”
“What’s on your mind?”
“How about if I show you instead?” she responded, as her hand closed around him, and began pumping him steadily up and down.
Show him she did.
§ § §
The following night, Calleigh tooled around her loft straightening up. Opening up and separating her mail into bills and trash. That was all the United States Postal Service delivered to her door. Bills or junk mail singularly destined for the garbage can. Ads for handbags she couldn’t afford. Oil changes she continually forgot about. Her Macy’s bill that never seemed to reach a zero balance.
Her plants were dying for water and she’d ignored a stack of magazines on her living room table for far too long. Maybe tonight she’d catch up on the events of the world she’d been too busy to notice while she was having wild, crazy, hot sex.
With David Shalvington.
In positions she’d never expected and had only marginally experienced before him.
David. He’d kissed her slow and deep when she’d set off that morning, neither one of them saying anything about when they’d see each other again.
The last two nights had been a revelation in more ways than one. David was dominant, domineering, and controlling. He could also be incredibly gentle and had exhibited those traits when she so needed them. In the tub and afterwards. He was also loving. And tender. Was that how all sexual dominants were? She worried that if she Googled “BDSM,” she’d be marked as some sort of sexual weirdo by people who kept track of that kind of stuff. Irrational? Absolutely. But she’d never even looked at porn online. Had never ordered an adult movie on demand through her cable provider. Now, she could only imagine what such a search would generate. Were there internet porn police? What would they do? Send out some search and rescue for her. Send out some sort of alert to the Walker administrators along the lines of “One of your math teachers is into some shady stuff. Better keep an eye on her.”
Of course, her rational self urged her that she was acting slightly irrational. Maybe she should travel to Powell’s and find the “adult relationships” section and check out some books on the subject of BDSM. But what if one of her students saw her? Or their parents? Or any of her colleagues?
A veteran of numerous relationships of varied lengths, intensity, and commitment levels, and here she was, utterly captivated by a man who’d piqued her interest the first time her eyes ever rested on him across a muddy soccer field. What was he doing tonight? Did he think about her? Wonder what she was up to? Had he thought about her at all during the day? Wonder whether she was having dinner with anyone? Was she one in a stable of women craving everything he promised them? Willing to wait around for any little sexual favors he’d throw their way? Was that what she was doing?
Her soreness from the last couple of nights hadn’t interfered with her daily activities or her workout. Although, tonight, she’d opted for forty-five minutes on the elliptical rather than the sixty minute spin class for fear the bike seat would rub her the wrong way, so maybe David’s sex effectuated some long lingering after effects.
As if on cue, her phone jingled, letting her know that she’d received a text.
I’m still stuck in the office. Are you around tonight? I could pick up some late take out and come over if you’re up for it.
David.
In response, she texted back, I thought you had to be the one ‘up’ for it. LOL.
Five seconds later. Don’t you worry about me being up for anything. And everything. 8:30?
Sounds good. See you then.
Crap. That left only about an hour before he arrived. She jumped in the shower, washed her hair, dried off, blew out her hair and selected her outfit. Boot cut jeans with a cranberry v-neck sweater, an emphasis on a deep vie. And black heels. The man had a serious fetish for heels. Which she enjoyed indulging him in. The additional height boosted her to almost his level, which evened out the playing field. Sort of.
Right on the dot, the building’s entrance buzzer sounded, letting her know he’d arrived. Ringing him up, she quickly checked her lip gloss, and opened the door.
He stood, silhouetted against the hallway’s lighting, a man in black carrying a large plastic bag.
Indicating the bag, he said, “I wasn’t sure what you preferred, so I picked out a little bit of everything. I hope you like Thai.”
She smiled at him. “I love Thai.”
He leaned into her, placing a quick kiss on her cheek before marching to her kitchen and placing the bag on the center island before removing its contents. As he opened the various boxes, the sweet and spicy aromas tantalized her nose and her taste buds.
“You want something to drink?” she offered.
“I don’t suppose you have a beer.”
“Of course I have beer. Blue Moon okay?” She’d picked up a sixer that evening specifically for this occasion.
“Perfect.”
Cracking open two bottles, she covertly studied him from the corner of her eye as he continued opening what appeared to be no less than six separate containers. No doubt, the man loved to eat.
“Is someone joining us?” she asked.
He looked up at her before responding. “Not anyone I invited. Look, I eat a lot and like I said, I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I took a gamble and ordered several options in the hopes that something will please your palate. If not, I’ll scramble you an egg.
“We’ve got some salad rolls with chicken and peanut sauce, pad see ewe with beef, panang curry with pork, the red dragon, which is basically chicken stir fried with a bunch of vegetables in some sauce, and pad thai with chicken.”
“Everyone eats pad
thai,” she offered, savoring the view of him and relishing his culinary accomplishments. Alright, accomplishments was too strong a word, but she couldn’t recall the last time a man concerned himself with what pleased her to eat. Most of them took her at her word that eating wasn’t that important. Which it wasn’t. However, a man who ordered a variety of dishes in the hope one of them would appeal to her on his way home after a long day of work pleased her.
“I hope that includes you.”
“It does,” she assured him.
He piled two plates high and carried them into her living room where they sat down in opposite corners of the couch and dug in. The flavors exploded on her tongue while the dishes themselves warmed her up. They chewed in companionable silence. Several minutes passed before either of them spoke.
“You look tired,” she observed. Bags under his eyes aged him while a general air of weariness surrounded him.
Taking a substantial pull on his bottle, he paused before responding. “You wore me out last night. You’re a wildcat in bed.”
She was tickled pink. No one had ever called her wild in bed. Ever. Coming from this man, it was pretty much like the Pope telling a Catholic she was the most pious of the devoted.
“Please. Maybe you can’t keep up due to your advanced age,” she teased.
His affronted look almost wounded her until the light glinting in his eyes assured her his wounded pride was false and all for show.
“How old do you think I am?”
Chewing the delicious egg noodles ladled with broccoli and beef, she thought about it for a second before she answered. “I don’t know. Thirty-six? Thirty-eight? Forty?”
“Close,” he grinned.
“How close?”
“Close enough.”
She huffed. “You’re not going to tell me?”
“You go first.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s never polite to ask a lady her age?”
“My mother taught me a lot of things I’ve chosen to overlook. Give it up. Unless you’re embarrassed. You’re closing in on forty, right? I just want you to know I’m an equal opportunity boyfriend. I have no problem dating an older woman.”
Bound Hearts Page 9