“Lydia, I don’t know a thing about finches, but I aim to find out.”
Out of nowhere, a crash slammed the table top and icy liquid rushed Lydia’s lap. “Sorry,” Dean replied lethargically. How could a man get so intoxicated so fast, Lydia thought. As he mopped up the liquid in and around the table setting, he tipped her dinner. In an instant, Lydia’s sweet crisp clothing was destroyed. Lydia’a apron would never ever be white again. “Oops,” Dean muttered. Lydia fired daggers, glaring at him. She would ring his neck if she could. “What? Just go upstairs and change. It’s no big. I said I was sorry.”
“What’s upstairs?” Mickey asked calmly, helping her brush off.
“That’s where she lives,” Dean chimed in.
This time Mickey was annoyed. “Thank you,” he said curtly. “I asked her.”
“I actually have the suite above the kitchen,” Lydia replied wanly. “And as it stands right at this moment, I do just wanna go up." She stopped and added. "You’re an incurable flirt Mr. O’Halloran."
“You’re an irresistible target, Ms. Finch.”
“So where do you live?” she decided to ask.
“My philosophy is home is where you are. I am all over the place,” he answered. Lydia didn’t like it. It was the first disappointing thing about him all night. He knew a lot about her in a short period of time, but she knew so little of him. But that was the way dreams went sometimes. Lydia figured she would ride this one out.
Mike Marsilio dropped coins in Ollie’s juke box and music filled the eatery. He and Chrissy got up from their places and danced. Mickey eyeballed them. “You tempted?” He moved in for a kiss, just barely brushing her lips with the tenderest contact.
“You know what, Mickey O’Halloran? I just might be. Will you take me upstairs?” she whispered. Before he could answer, she took their beers and led him past the counter, into the kitchen, and up the back to the stairs to the apartment.
At last they were alone, finally in the security of the stairs, Mickey’s hands found her hips. They trailed up and between her bare thighs, caressing her skin there. Lydia opened the unlocked entrance, flipping the latch behind them. In unison, in total synchronicity, as she shed her apron, they came together for an intense kiss.
In their own dance, Mickey helped her peel her soiled clothing as their mouths searched each other. She was down to her bra and panties; she guided him back to a love seat in the living room section of the apartment, and straddled him.
“Goodness, you might be a tiger, not a finch,” he murmured, and clasped her hips to intensify the contact. Lydia grinded against him, feeling his emerging hardness with the soft center of her body.
In a move, Mickey freed the wire-and-lace-cased flesh of a delicate breast and captured it with the moist heat of his mouth. His knowing tongue flicked her pert nipple causing Lydia to buck and jerk atop him. Her reaction to him was new and intense. This was what it was like to be with a real man. He had already taken her to greater heights. A surge of wetness streamed from her. She reached between them and pressed her fingers to his hard length wrapped mercilessly in denim. Lydia plied his mouth feverishly with hers, feeding her love-starved soul with the taste and texture of him.
“I’ve got to,” she announced fragmentedly and worked the buttons of his pants. She backed off his lap as he did the honors himself.
Mickey O’Halloran was magnificent in every sense of the word. Lydia instinctively poised on tip toes, arching and lowering to receive his generous member. The feel of him as she impaled herself on him—the way he filled her—was exquisite. She let him bear the weight of her as she sank to take him within her entirely. “You feel so amazing,” she gasped.
“So do you, beautiful,” he replied.
Lydia grabbed hold of the back of the couch and rocked steady. Mickey dragged his tongue delicately on the sensitive curve of her neck. She tried to wriggle free—the sensation was more than she could stand--but he held her and made her withstand it. Lydia had no choice but to pleasure herself, to bring to culmination what her body and mind were screaming for. Mickey pulled back and through half-hooded lashes beheld the spectacle with pleasure.
Without warning, he boisterously lifted her lithe body up and down for more dramatic movement upon him. The friction was too much and impelled her to the place she wanted to be. Lydia was on that sweet edge of erotic bliss and, with just a few more strokes, Mickey pushed her over. Sensual spasms rocketed through her flesh as she encased him. The combination of his steely hardness with her pleasured paroxysm was an ecstasy she could not have imagined. Lydia was wailing Mickey’s name. Calling him. Begging him. Praying.
“Sh-shh,” he assured her. “I am right here.”
Lydia was limp with the sweet battery of orgasmic waves. Mickey easily turned her around so she was cozily cushioned on the sofa, and he on his knees behind her. Without mercy he pistoned into her. Within seconds, his unrelenting hammering rekindled her pleasure and she was coming again. This time her climax was unbelievably hard. “Oh my goodness, how did you–” She could not finish her sentence. Lydia was in an altered state on an erotic plane, her body convulsing with pure ecstasy. Mickey was on his own erotic high, his cries now thundering the ceiling as his body powerfully exploded within her.
He collapsed, carefully, atop her. Lydia could have drifted to sleep this way, he was so comfortable spooning with her. As their climaxes waned, they moved to Lydia’s bedroom. They napped and had sex off and on until dawn.
Lydia awoke to the smell of fresh, hot coffee. Mickey had gone down to the eatery and made them some. The last person who made coffee for her in the morning was her mother. Lydia found it very touching. She sipped. “Pretty good. So, you hang with Royce who is a mean cook, and you do wonders with coffee. You know your way around a kitchen. Do you work in a place like this?”
Mickey was unexpectedly serious and Lydia felt the entire atmosphere shift. She was kind of scared. He looked her straight in the eye. “Up until yesterday afternoon, I was a patent attorney. But now I’m a rancher. I bought a ranch about 30 miles outside of town.”
“But that my—” Lydia couldn’t finish. He did that a lot to her.
“I bought your ranch, Lydia. That’s what I came into town for.”
“So you’re from Billings?” Lydia heard her own voice tremble. He nodded. “You took me to bed without telling me?” Now she was shouting.
“Well technically I took you to the couch first. Eventually to bed,” he replied. Lydia tossed a pillow at him.
“It’s not for sale," Lydia retorted.
“It’s sold, missy,” he answered. He reached for her but she recoiled. He reached again in such a way she could not evade. “Now stop,” he ordered.
“I’ll rescind,” she said feebly.
“You removed that clause from the contract. Remember? There was some back and forth. I told your lawyer, tell her to be sure. And you were copied on that. Ring any bells? Back and forth,” he said. And then he was quiet. They both were. She could feel him hard against her thigh. “I shouldn’t have said back and forth,” he smiled.
She looked at him. He was such a beautiful man. And now he was her neighbor. “Can you do something about that so we can continue this conversation?” she asked coyly, teasing him with little grazes of her mouth.
“Yes ma’am,” he took her mouth in a consuming kiss. He possessed her, sweeping her mouth, tasting her as he spread her knees with his. In a move he was inside of her. Lydia arched; the feel of him was so delicious. Joining with him felt like Eternity, like everything from all of time designed her to be with him. Just the slightest contact and she was revved towards time-old culmination. He drove into her and with a few short thrusts, her flesh was tremoring around him. Lydia mewled as he pistoned into her, shepherding her up that carnal climb.
Mickey nuzzled in the crook of her neck, murmuring hot, sexy, graphic encouragement that charged Lydia to no end. He pinned her, made her take their sexual heat at he chased his own ple
asure after hers. Just as he was about to peak and she was coming back to earth, she sweetly antagonized him with her counter motion, pushing her hips up wantonly, purposefully, grinding him. Lydia swung a leg up on his shoulder, taking him as deeply as she could. Mickey’s eyes fluttered as he dove headlong into ecstasy. Lydia rocked and thrust, pleasuring him down the wave as he came. It was just about the most sensual, erotic experience in her life to share his orgasm.
Mickey crumpled once he was spent. Their morning was quiet and somewhat solemn. He wasn’t planning to be back for 30 more days. And there were no promises after that. He showered and dressed. Dean fed all the guys breakfast as Lydia and another waitress straightened up from the night before. Mickey was almost formal in his goodbye. Lydia was thrown by it.
But she was a big girl. These were the kinds of nights adults shared. It didn’t mean they were married. But now it was the apartment she couldn’t face. Which was a good thing, because it motivated her to start shopping for a house and move on.
Lydia moved on.
***
The smell of coffee filled Lydia new kitchen as she sat at the two-seater round. Summer was just about at peak. The sky was bright. All was right and Lydia was on the mend. On a rare day off, she enjoyed her new place. Except for the occasional delivery here, from the straggling final touches of her home furnishing, her place was finally situated. And so was she.
Fully charged from her coffee, Lydia wedged her feet into her running shoes, already tied. Instead of untying them and making it easy on herself, she struggled. Then the doorbell rang. She couldn’t remember what she had ordered but she hoped whatever it was, it was the last of it. The thrill of shopping for the house has worn off. Lydia hopped to the door, skimpy tank top and her powerful legs showcased beneath brief running shorts. “Yes?” she answered not paying much attention.
Mickey O’Halloran stopped and checked her out. “My God, you’re beautiful.” So was he, she thought as her heart was flooded with all kinds of chemistry for him. He was holding a bird cage and inside were two birds. “Not sure exactly what kind these were but I am told they are finches. So I’ve been studying them,” he said as he crossed the threshold uninvited. “Nice place,” he looked around. “How many rooms,” he set the birds down and shoved the door closed in one motion. He swept up Lydia in a passionate embrace.
“Five I think,” Lydia struggled to think.
“Oh five,” Mickey murmured as he hiked Lydia up around his hips. “That’s one of my favorite numbers."
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KRISTIN FLETCHER
Riding Cool
Kristin Fletcher
Oscar Kincade lifted the welding torch from the steel sculpture he was working on and stood back, raising his welding visor. He nodded his head thoughtfully and then turned his attention to Buddy, a brother in the Pitch Wheels motorcycle club, "So, Sunday we're running to this beach thing? Bonfire? To chase fish?"
"Grunion," Buddy corrected, reiterating the name of the fish. "It's for the kids and babes mainly. Danny will have a blast," he added, referring to Oscar's seven-year-old son, currently at school.
"Grunion," Oscar said with a nod, getting this into his head. "So these grunion, they just swim their way right up on the sand to lay their eggs, and then we catch them with our hands?"
"Not allowed to use a net or anything else," Buddy agreed. “Not sporting. Sunday the grunion are going to run, so we'll go down about five o'clock, have a bonfire, cook some hot dogs until the fish start running up the sand." Buddy walked over beside him, studying the sculpture Oscar was working on, "Want a line?"
"Wouldn't turn one down," Oscar told him, shutting down the welder and setting it aside. "I'll grab us a beer."
Oscar came back into the garage with two beers, finding a line waiting for him and Buddy back by the sculpture, which was almost complete. After the line he took a long drink from the beer and studied the nearly finished work himself. There was something missing, and he was certain he knew what it was, but he was not quite certain of the actual shape yet.
Buddy looked over his shoulder at him, "Ya'know, I skipped out of art appreciation in school, but I really like this." He walked back a few paces, accepting the offered beer. "It's like it's going to move any second. Like it's primed. Alive, even. It's really weird you can do that with a bunch of solid metal."
Oscar looked him over. Buddy always surprised him with the shit he came up with. If you didn't know him, the first impression of Buddy usually stacked him up as kind of dense. But he knew all kinds of shit, like what the fuck grunion were, and his descriptions of Oscar's artwork were insightful and generally dead on. "Thanks," he told him. "That's just what I was going for."
"One of these days I'm going to have enough cash to buy one of your pieces," Buddy said thoughtfully.
"Maybe I'll put one together for you," Oscar offered.
"No," Buddy shook his head, "This is how you feed your kid and pay the bills. I wouldn't want it that way."
Oscar let that slide. After Danny’s mother took off on them, Buddy and his wife Kathy helped out with more than a mere sculpture was worth—much more. "Danny is excited about coming over tomorrow and spending the night with your boys," Oscar told him.
"Rick and James are excited too," Buddy replied. "Kathy is looking forward to the party. She's even making fudge and cookies." Changing the subject, Buddy asked, "You going to hit the tavern tonight?"
"Naw." Oscar shook his head. "I got a parent/teacher thing with Danny, and then I'm a home body. Besides, my babysitter already told me she has a date."
Buddy nodded and restudied the sculpture. "I keep thinking it's about to pounce on something."
***
Rosie McCormack watched her classroom as parents came in the door, escorted by mostly excited students. The pairs, and some rare groups of three, moved through the various project areas and displays. Sometimes both the mother and father would show with their child, but most of the time is was one or the other—he mother being the most common.
Rosie was tired. She chided herself because she was only twenty-five, way too young to be this tired, but that didn't ease her weariness. This was a long day, and she was looking forward to a long bath when she got home.
She talked with parents about their child's work in the class. Most of these conversations were easy—the largest problem with children this age was attention span. Seven-year-olds tended to be like sponges; they sucked up everything.
When Rosie saw Danny Kincade come into the classroom with a man, who she assumed was his father—had to be his father really—the resemblance was stunning. Her heart froze in her chest. Danny's father was tall, with black hair and eyes so dark she got lost in them. His rugged strength and posture were arousing to her even from this distance, and his aura, while free and powerful, gave off the need for release from deep torments.
"A broken wing," she whispered, as she watched him walk beside his son to the wall where the art displays were posted.
With the fatigue from the long day dismissed, Rosie walked over to them, drawn in by Danny's father. She felt compelled to be near to him, even comfort him, but this was not the place, she reminded herself. Besides, he could be married.
"Danny is quite the artist," she said as she came up next to them.
"Hi, Miss McCormack!" Danny said, turning his excited face her. "This is my Dad!"
Danny's father turned to her, his dark eyes looking her over, and for an instant she registered surprise in them. "Oscar," he greeted, introducing himself, and extended his hand.
"Rosie McCormack," she replied, loving the warm, rough strength she felt enveloping her when he took her hand into his. "Danny's artwork always surprises me."
"I get it from my dad," Danny told her with the pride of hero worship in his voice. "He's a real artist."
"Yes?" Rosie asked, turning her attention from Danny bac
k to Oscar.
Oscar shrugged and simply said, "I've been lucky so far," and that seemed to be all he wished to share on the matter. "How has Danny been doing in the other areas? Any problems?"
"I have some notes at my desk. Would you mind joining me for a moment?" she asked. She did have notes but she hardly needed them. Danny was one of her best students, with only a minor struggle in math. But she did want him to herself for a moment, if only for a moment.
"Wait for me here Danny, I'll be right back," Oscar told his son, who nodded with patience in his eyes and zero apprehension.
At her desk she pulled out Danny's file and told Oscar about the mild struggle Danny had with math.
Oscar didn't appear surprised. "I had the same issue as a kid," he explained. His eyes roamed her body, and she fought the urge to push out her breasts a little, or lift her ass. God, if only he could find her as attractive as she found him.
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