A Paige in Cupid's Book

by Ginny B. Nescott

  Paige’s breathless, silent cry locked her mouth to an open O as she felt the fullness of his cock buried in her pussy. The pounding rhythm increased the frenzy. She clenched him and bucked against his body. Limber from her yoga, her rush of sensation amplified. She whimpered, trying to hold back from exploding too quickly, but the pulsing crush of his broad chest against her with each filling stroke nearly drove her wild.

  Her eyes popped open when he knelt back on his heels, taking her with him, lifting her upright to near sitting. With each stroke, he arched and lifted his pelvis as he thrust into her, groaning a deep animal sound.

  “P-p-please come!” She heard herself scream.

  Colliding with each stoke, they did exactly that, gazes locked through the spasms. They clung to each other, Paige open-mouthed, breathless. Finally, with a gulp of air, her body unclenched. They unlocked and collapsed onto the bed on their backs. Both speechless. Both gasping.

  “That was…” Michael panted, rubbing his side.

  “Incredible.” She grinned, kissing his face.

  “Painful…ow…my side…stitch.”

  Both snickered. She massaged his side, kneading out the knot to his squawking groans.

  “Too much stress. I need more exercise,” he confessed.

  “I think it’s our exercise that got you this way,” she teased.

  He nodded. “A warm up next time. That, or greet me in your work clothing instead.”

  “You think that would help?”

  He shrugged. “It might slow us down. One extra layer of clothing.” He chuckled, drew her closer, and threw the covers over them.

  “Would love a few minute’s rest, sweet Flee.” Michael barely had his eyes closed when he fell asleep.

  It was only later that she learned he’d started at five a.m. just to get to her sooner.

  By the time he came to the kitchen, the roast and vegetables were done. The food had been plated and the simple table beautifully set for two, complete with a candle. As requested, Paige was in her work clothing—jeans and a sweatshirt that read, “Warning Explicit Content.”

  “Like what you see, handsome Yotahala Lukas?”

  “Thank you, Amelia Paige, tewakwelyákhwaˀ.” He had his hand on his heart, his eyes showing he was taking it all in.

  “I hope you just said you’re hungry. Because I am. Not to mention thirsty.” She chugged water again.

  Before touching his food, he reached for her hand. “I don’t just like what I see. I love it.”

  Their eyes met, and Paige diverted the stare first. The warmth of his hand holding hers shot through her. Time stood still. Had he just almost said he loved her? She couldn’t even think the word, let alone feel it, could she? Wasn’t it too soon, and who knew if he was even staying around? Maybe it was just afterglow talking.

  The adrenaline rush ended with a deep inhale and the scent of food, kicking her back to her senses. Still, his words lingered in her mind.

  He pulled back his hand, breaking the stillness of the moment. “Nice sweatshirt, too, although the warning is just a bit late.”

  ****

  After dinner, and perhaps inspired by the burst of released energy for Paige and the nap for Michael, the two began to research the clocks she had unearthed. The first idea had been to unload them all at an antique shop or two. When they looked up the value of a Howard Miller Emporia clock, at well over ten thousand, they saw the error of that method.

  “No, put it over to the right. Yes. Right there, Paige said. “Got it. These pics should work with the chimes video. What did we call this one?”

  “It was a German Hermle Black Forest Mantle clock, working chime, all original parts,” Michael said. “I think we said it was going to the antique dealer website. The next one is nearly the same but has dings and scratches, so it’s going on eBay, flat rate shipping or free pick up.”

  “Okay, set up that one, label it number… yes…number 14.” Paige said looking between her notes and the computer screen. “Just needed to make sure I have the right file…okay, ready.”

  Paige had explained to Michael, she’d only skimmed a few of the bills and was going to set up the books the following week for the house restoration. She suspected funds were far more limited than the costs, maybe even by half and preferred not to deal with loans. The clocks were one way to recoup costs.

  Together, Michael and Paige started to get a better handle on the clocks, researching them, deciding which was for quick sale, which needed repairs, and which were the treasures. Some of the clocks they thought were valuable—an ornate cuckoo clock—weren’t and others far more valuable. They’d worked so well together, it was almost like a game.

  “And these are just the clocks. Who knows what else you find, Paige?”

  “But some have to go to the family or stay with the house. That grandfather clock for one. Might be lucky to be worth a few hundred with the warping, repairs, and chips, but it belongs here, cracked glass and all.”

  Michael looked at it. “Maybe. I wonder if we could have someone cut a replacement glass. Look, it just has rudimentary latches holding it in place.”

  “I do not,” Linney came in, knocking snow off her boots onto the pad near the front door. “My latches are well formed.”

  Paige helped her off with her coat, hanging it on the makeshift broken coat tree she’d recently set up with the help of duct tape. She hugged her aunt warmly.

  Her aunt smiled but said, “Quit.”

  “Aww, Auntie, are your latches all grouchy and hungry?”

  “Leave my latches out of this, and what are you and handsome doing? Or should I not ask?”

  “Each other.” Paige said quickly at the same time as Michael said, “clocks.”

  He threw Paige a fake stern look and came to greet Linney, holding out a hand. She grabbed him into a hug.

  “Sure, him you hug. Me, you shoo,” Paige protested.

  “Part of the work incentive program. So’s this.” She shook a bag and headed to the kitchen.

  Over some cocoa and a late-night dinner for Linney, they caught up on each other’s news, including an “attaboy” and “attagirl” for the sale method of Grandpa Benny’s clock collection. They learned of Michael’s work in vague terms, since he was not at liberty to divulge details, including his company’s name. The house progress was discussed as was the decline of Linney’s hospice person. Even the weather and predictions of impending storm were talked about over the surprise cookies Linney had brought—a gift from the family for agreeing to take on double shift through the next night.

  What they did not share was how Michael’s tie ended up on the foyer chandelier. The fixture was damaged and not ornate enough to be considered a true chandelier. With the tie hanging high overhead, the house was a cross between tumbledown country and frat house. The light was not on the immediate to-do list. Getting the tie off just might be.

  ****

  “But I have to get one more thing, Paige. I’ll be back soon. The glass took far longer than I thought,” Michael said through her cellphone. He had gone out to pick up window glass for the grandfather clock. Because it wasn’t deemed valuable but sentimental, especially since it already had repairs, replacing the glass made it appealing. It wasn’t the highest priority, though.

  “I think you are just trying to avoid the fun of digging through gunk,” Paige said then screamed. She had pulled open a drawer to a dresser-like piece of furniture tilted over some boxes behind the hutch. It has an old rodent nest in it.

  “Sounds like real fun. Maybe I need to run even more errands?”

  Paige heard a car door slam. “Chicken.”

  “Okay, but I thought of going for a nice meal out tonight.”

  Paige’s skeevies made her move to another location. “Now I know you are avoiding this house. Or is it me? Were you going to dinner on your own tonight?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good.”

  “How about I go try to pick up a woman in a ga
y bar? Oh, right I did that, and go figure she wasn’t even gay. You’re not, are you?”

  “Not in the least gay or happy even, since I’m stuck working on my own. Please get home soon.”

  He chuckled, agreed, and hung up.

  Paige stared at the fireplace a couple hours later. It was behind the mountain of books and had a teetering stack of antique, framed pictures on the mantle. With another storm due, she thought a fireplace might be useful.

  Linney came from the kitchen and stood next to her. “What are we doing?”

  “Looking.”

  Her aunt held her coffee and looked with her. “Why?”

  “I was wondering if this thing worked and why it was hidden, and if we needed another heat source, would burn this house down?”

  “It works fine. I had it cleaned before we piled stuff near it. I’m heading to work soon and have to stay overnight. How about you quickly pick five books from the heap, and I will do the same. The rest of the books, let’s pack up, and I’ll bring them to the hospice center. Then you can see to the fireplace. It’s not the prettiest, but you’re right, it would be nice to have it in the cold. Okay, ready, set, get your books.”

  Paige was amazed at how easily her aunt turned de-cluttering into a game when she was in the mood. A doable fast game.

  She asked about Samuel and got a shrug with a smile. She then asked about George and was told her diner-date for tomorrow still worked with her schedule. All of it cryptic, but all of it on track for her aunt to have a happy Valentine’s Day.

  The doorbell rang, followed by Michael letting himself in and calling out, “Hey, the doorbell works. I have something for you. An early Valentine gift.”

  Both women ran to the foyer with Linney front and center. Michael stood holding a cat. A skinny, scrawny cat. A white-footed calico with a white stripe down its face and a red bow. It twitched, jumped from his arms, and ran into the kitchen.

  “A cat?” Paige said with a smile.

  “A cat,” Linney said with a snarl. “I do not want yet another thing to take care of. No fur. No beasts. What good’s a cat, anyway?”

  Michael started to object, “The gift was for—”

  “Valentine’s. I know,” Linney groused.

  Paige knew it had been meant for her. She kissed Michael on the cheek and whispered, “Shh,” and nodded toward Linney.

  “Here kitty, kitty. Here, you mangy mouth to feed.” Linney followed it into the dining room. All three gasped. The cat was eating something. Something possibly with a tail.

  “Good girl. Good boy. Good whatever,” Linney said. She stood close to the cat. “Look it’s winking at me.”

  She picked it up and gushed at it in baby talk, “What a good wittle, winky-dinky you are.” The cat twitched, then relaxed and purred. She petted it and put it down.

  Michael and Paige stood in stunned silence.

  “Valentine gift accepted.” Linney added a word that sounded like “yo yanny.”

  Michael leaned his head to translate for Paige, “It’s good.”

  “I’ll say,” Paige whispered. “A mouser.”

  “You two take good care of Winky there. I need to rush off to work.” Linney grabbed cookies, keys, her purse and turned back, remembering the box of books to donate. “Bye, now. Good luck with the fireplace.”

  After she left they heard her swearing outside, sending expletives about the snow coming down.

  “What just happened?” Paige asked.

  “I think she stole your Valentine present.”

  “And how did you think of getting me a cat in the first place, let alone that one?” Paige asked as Winky came out of hiding, stopped, stared at them, and then flew up the stairs.

  Michael struggled. “I saw the pet adoption sheet you had in your room, called the place, and asked them to show me a few mousers. This one was the thinnest and kind of needful. I figured it would mouse hunt the best.”

  From the foyer, they saw the cat bolt along the upstairs hall in one direction, freeze, and bolt again the other way, running full tilt straight into furniture.

  “And did you think to ask about mental issues?”

  “It’s male. What kind of problems could it have?”

  Winky yowled and flew down the stairs. It chased something…a small metal Ben Wa ball, which he’d pushed.

  “Yours?” Michael asked.

  Paige shook her head. “Glad to say it’s Linney’s.”

  Michael, thankfully, didn’t ask if she meant the ball or the cat.

  By that late afternoon, Michael and Paige had set up a make shift box with kitty litter in the basement. The kitty litter came from the supply used for traction, instead of salt, on icy driveways. Winky didn’t seem to mind and had already tested out the box. They also found an old, flat cushion, shook out the dust, covered it and made a bed for Winky in Linney’s room. Winky would have nothing to do with it until they put the second Ben Wa ball on it. He purred at that. Only Winky knew the whereabouts of the first ball, and he wasn’t saying.

  “He fits right in, don’t you think?” Michael asked cheerfully as the cat passed by.

  Paige twitched and winked back, imitating the cat. Then she nodded and laughed.

  She held the large glass panel in place while Michael worked on the grandfather clock. She’d finished telling Michael about Linney’s old flame and the possible new one.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Paige caught something small scurry by. It took all her strength not to let go of the glass. Winky zoomed out of nowhere, caught the something, and trotted off.

  “Well, the men are coming out of the woodwork, but so are the mice,” Michael said, adjusting the final piece.

  She couldn’t have said it any better if she tried.

  “Look,” Paige pointed inside a corner of the main part of the grandfather clock. She saw a tiny carving etched into the wood.

  They made out “I+B” scratched inside an etching of a heart. Ida and Benny. Unfortunately, right next to it was a chewed hole. Michael was right about one thing. A mouser of some sort was needed, even with some quirks.

  Winky came close to them, then shook and twitched his head before settling down to watch them. Quirks didn’t even cover it.

  Chapter Ten

  Though Paige sometimes claimed she wasn’t very romantic at heart, she looked forward to the promised candlelit dinner more than she ever had before. No dust, no work clothes, no chiming clocks, no cat, and no fumes. An escape from renovation to relaxation, and not just that, the outing was with Michael. White linen, candlelight, music—all of that with amber-eyed, deep-voiced Michael.

  She thought all those things when she showered to get ready, encouraging her hands to linger slowly over her body. She shook out of the moment. She had to hurry. He was buff, and she needed to do just that—buff. No time for a full mani-pedi. This is where her Carolina upbringing stepped in.

  She sped through her primping process, coating her toenails right over the previous color to a shiny Valentine Red. Her fingernails were buffed, trimmed, and clear coated. She even dared a swash of make-up and dashed to the bedroom, eased on her sheerest pantyhose and her LBD, the one with a crimson accent. A touch of jewelry and Paige was ready.

  Michael stood at the bottom of the stairs, straightened his cuffs, and looked up to see her. He froze, wide-eyed. Carrying her exquisite red shoes in one hand, slim pocket book in the other, she bounced down the stairs, earrings sparking as they caught the light.

  Michael said nothing but beamed. Suited, as he had been so many times since they’d met, he never had seen her in cocktail attire. “You look…”

  “Like I am going to freeze,” Paige finished his sentence as she glanced out the window. The snow was already on the ground. She handed him her shoes and bag and slipped on the only boots she had, her waterproof work boots. She threw on her coat and flung her scarf around her neck.

  “I’m really looking forward to going out with you.” Paige said, without fully acknowledging
the look of amazement in his eyes.

  “Oh Paige.” Though one hand held her shoes and the other gripped the wine bag, he found a way to embrace her, sweet, long, and tender. “You’re stunning.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure. You have to say that or something like it. Honestly, I don’t see it,” Paige said, standing bundled before him. She thought she looked like she’d forgotten her pants under the white puffy coat.

  “My cute, adorable, sexy Flee. One of these days you might even realize you’re beautiful.” He shook his head. “Bet you’ll just say it’s what’s underneath that counts.”

  “My coat?” she teased.

  He shook his head no.

  “Under my dress? Actually, I have on black lacy things.”

  Michael’s breath caught. “I meant your warmth and light heart. But, hold on, black lacy things? Care to stay in and head back upstairs?”

  “You do realize you are talking to a hungry woman in a coat who will go all Southern on you again.”

  “Please do.”

  “Food now, handsome. Tablecloth, candlelight, music, the works. I’m not going to wear those spikey heels for nothing.”

  “You’re not wearing them, Flee.”

  “I will be Groundhog Man.”

  She took her shoes and pocket book from him and tried to flounce out the door. It was more like a childlike stomp. Outside, she tipped her head back and caught snowflakes on her tongue. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  When she looked, his heated gaze was directed at her and not the softly blowing snow.

  ****

  A powdery snow began to swirl, making visibility lower and the mountain roads slow going. Paige snuggled into the plush seat of Michael’s rental.

  “I think you’ll like the Italian restaurant I found,” he said, his hand brushing against her upper thigh but soon had to return to the steering wheel on the slick roads.

  If you keep that up, I would be happy in a snowbank, Paige thought, but all she said was, “I’m sure it’s going to be lovely.”

  They came to a T intersection with a red light and stopped to turn into town. Two boys were holding sign boards in the cold, taking turns calling out to their car.