by lesley,allyn
But, Chelsea...
I swallow a groan. I thought Emma’s car was a pain in my ass. But, nope, her sister is; well, not her really. I just want inside her—fuck, that feels good to admit—but all I’ve gotten is JC and Emma’s gratitude. I have to have her. Chelsea’s legs in those shorts have been plaguing my dreams, hell, my every waking thought, for two fucking weeks. The thing is she’s everywhere, except in my reality. I’ve not seen or heard from her since our date, and frankly, I’m pissed. She has me so tightly wound that I can’t think straight.
Eating has become damn near impossible.
Now, she’s messing with me getting laid! Last week, I was busy trying to get some, and I couldn’t seal the deal. I was harder than Chinese fucking math, got the chick off twice, but I still couldn’t come. I finally left when I realized nothing else would be happening that night. And, that—not being able to get off—has never happened to me.
I’m experiencing a lot of firsts, because of Chelsea: first date, first time remembering a woman’s name, and first time missing someone who isn’t family. The last one is hard to admit. I head outside, silently fuming. This shit is for the birds. I’m not sure what to think about this whole thing. I’m grateful JC picked up on my angst to hear something, anything about Chelsea because he’s been dropping hints about her whereabouts over the week. But, really, they’re probably lines Emma feeds him to appease me.
Chelsea’s busy.
She’s packing.
Chelsea went into the city to meet an alumni group.
I call bullshit. I know it when I hear it, and it’s all thanks to a woman who shaped my outlook on women with brown hair. She was the biggest bullshitter ever. Even at three years old, I could always tell when she was pulling shit out of her ass to get MeMaw to give her a few bucks.
I blow out an exaggerated breath, craving a cigarette to take the edge off. A week ago, Chuck called me a cigarette addict. I dropped the habit quickly, vowing to show him nothing controls me. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m determined. This whole Chelsea situation makes me want to run to the corner store for one though, just to calm my damn nerves. I’ve never wanted to see or talk to any woman this much... besides Ma.
“There he is. I told you he’d be around here somewhere.” I hear JC’s laboring breath as if he has run a mile looking for me and I stiffen at his voice. He’s the reason I’m a knotted mess right now by bringing Chelsea into my life. I take my time facing him; already the ‘go fuck yourself’ is on the tip of my tongue. But, the person standing beside my brother stops me.
She’s here. For some reason, breathing becomes easier, and the craving for the cigarette vanishes. If I can just get beside her...
I find Chelsea’s eyes, hold them, and decide here and now that I don’t want to be released from this grasp. I could stare into her eyes forever and be content.
JC clears his throat. “We’ll just go get the car.” He gets the hint, walking Emma back inside the garage.
Thick silence clouds the outdoor space. Across from me, she shifts on her feet. I take a step toward her as I greedily drink up her form like a dying man. The body-hugging jean skirt, blue top, and nude heels... she could make paper bag look sexy. Her legs look incredible: long, sinewy, and toned. I’m filthy with car grease and grime, but that doesn’t stop Chelsea’s eyes from heating up as she looks at me from head to toe. She walks forward, stopping a few inches from me.
Through the lenses of her glasses, her dark eyes are sorrowful when she says, “Hi.”
All I can do is grunt like the caveman I turn into when Chelsea’s around. I’m not trying to play it cool—well, that’s partly a reason—but I’m tongue-tied seeing her in the glasses. They make her look innocent and sexy at the same time, a combination that I’ve never seen in a woman.
“Come home with me.” I sound like a thirsty fool who’s never been with, or around, a woman before. Chelsea steps back; maybe she’s shocked by what I’ve just asked. I mentally shrug at my idiotic request, blaming it on the geeky glasses that are sexy as fuck. But that’s not it. For fourteen days and nights, I’ve thought of nothing else than the next chance I’d get to see her. “Come home with me... please.” There’s no bluster, no command in my plea, and I know I sound desperate. As I wait for an answer I have to wonder: what the hell she’s doing to me? I’ve never begged before. I don’t know why but she nods her head in agreement. When she does, I give her a huge grin I’m sure all of New York can see.
Then, because I can’t help myself, I press myself against her curves. I’m not sure what to do, but her scent lures me closer. Using her hips, I pull her flush against me then tip her face toward me. Her surprised ‘yelp’ is buried in my chest, but because I need to see her, I tip her chin up. I remove her glasses and place it on top of her head. Maybe I’ve developed a librarian fetish, because I growl out my earlier thoughts. “Those are sexy as fuck.” Her answering moan pulls my lips to her neck. Chelsea’s skin is fragile and tempting. I make a promise to myself to go slow, to go easy, but I can’t. I scrape my teeth against her flesh then suck lightly, enjoying her taste.
“Dyllan.”
I almost ask her, what she’s doing to me, but catch myself in time. I pull away even though I haven’t had enough of her. Regretfully, I release her. Even though my desire is plain to hear in my tone, I still tell her, “Just let me clean up, and then we can leave.” I move to step past her, but an afterthought stops me. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make us dinner.”
“That’ll be nice.”
A small smile plays on her lips seductively. All I can think of doing is running my tongue along that corner, where her lips meet. I don’t let the fact that she’ll be the first non-family member that I’ll cook for trip me up. It seems nothing can stop the next words from flying out of my mouth because I’m anxious to keep her near. “Give me thirty minutes. Wait in the front, yeah?” I’m running up the stairs that lead to the private offices and even though I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack, I don’t stop until I reach the bathroom where I to mutter in the mirror: Calm the hell down. She’s just a chick, Dyllan.
Unfortunately, none of this works to slow the beats of my heart or make my raging hard-on disappear. Stripping out of my clothes, I enter the shower and let the water beat on my back, and slowly, my breathing becomes regulated. There is no need to shower standing at full-mast when I can take matters into my own hands. So, imagining that my rough palm is really a softer one that belongs to a girl with hypnotizing brown eyes, that’s exactly what I do.
“This is really good,” Chelsea says, biting into the salmon.
We’re currently sitting on my patio with the Hudson River flowing miles below us, and in the distance peaks of New Jersey’s landscape serve as the kind of setting that begs me to capture the beauty on canvas. The scenery is a perfect backdrop to the intimate ambiance I’ve set up. Tea light candles dress the outdoor table, and my favorite tracks are playing low through the speakers. Chelsea smacks her lips, bringing my attention back to her.
“I’m glad you enjoyed dinner.”
The smile she’s worn since we arrived at my condo is on full display for my enjoyment. “Who taught you to cook?”
“Are we going to play question and answer again?”
“If you want.”
“I’m game,” I reply. “Ma showed me the basics of cooking, and the rest was all trial and error.” I’m nothing but proud of Annaliese Sterling, my Ma. She did a good job of turning a mute into a self-sufficient man. When I remember the boy I was, a tight pain crush down my heart. I’m glad for the gentle breeze that’s cooling down the August evening. It distracts me from a past I don’t want to revisit.
I notice Chelsea’s curly tendrils are over her face, and I get lost in the silky richness of her hair and her lickable skin. I guess the few wisps of hair blowing in her face is bothersome, because she takes a black hair tie from her wrist, and pulls everything into a po
nytail. I really don’t know what she’s doing to me. The littlest thing she does captivates me.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
Do I tell her she’s making me break all my rules?
Do I tell her that her presence calms me, which is something only two other women in my life have ever been able to accomplish?
Do I tell her I’m scared shitless by everything I’m feeling in the two short weeks she’s been in my life?
Nah, I’m not looking like a chump, so I keep what I’m thinking to myself. “Are you ready to start this little Q&A?” At her nod, I say, “Ladies first.”
“Okay.” She taps her forefinger on her chin, looking real cute in her innocence. “What’s another thing that would surprise me about you?”
This one’s easy. I don’t have to think about it at all. “Besides my Ma, you’re the only woman I’ve had here, inside my home.”
Chelsea doesn’t believe me. The disbelief is written all over her face. I want to convince her that I’m telling the truth. I do lie because I’m no altar boy, but this isn’t one of those times. “No other bitc—” I catch myself just as I’m about to call her a word she’s shown me that she isn’t. “No one else has been here.” I end uncomfortably, because now she’ll think she’s special. She is special, but admitting it out loud... I don’t know how to feel about that.
Chelsea’s smile is indescribable. No, I take that back; her smile makes me feel like I can conquer anything. I shift in my seat, because her simple reaction is messing me up. Looking for a distraction, I ask, “What would surprise me about you?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. The way her face lights up, I can see the imaginary bulb indicating she has something in mind. “Don’t laugh, okay?” she begs, continuing with that same smile that’s kind of awkward and sexy at the same time.
“Never.” I give her the official ‘Scout’s honor’ sign I used to see on commercials back in the day, with a smile of my own.
“I suck at math. Like, really bad, even though I was in advanced placement calculus in my senior year in high school.”
“That’s what would surprise me?” I’m forcing myself not to laugh in her face, because she looks so torn up about not being a mathematical genius. “Not that you snore, or your shoe size is that of a clown’s?” I can’t help it. I laugh out loud at her ridiculous ‘surprise’.
“Hey, I’m sharing here.” She chokes out through her laughter that’s way less awkward but is laced with the same sex appeal that’d have men throwing themselves at her feet. She throws her napkin at my head while her shoulders shake hard with her laughter.
The way she’s leaning toward me, like she has no plans to leave, gives me hope. I know I made a good decision—albeit an impulsive one—asking her to come home with me. Wiping away all traces of laughter from my voice, I tell her sincerely, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” Chelsea dips her head downward, looking intently at her plate.
Chapter Four
“Listeners, that was the UK sensation, Adele, with her version of Bob Dylan’s ‘Make You Feel My Love’,” the radio announcer says.
“I like this song,” she informs me.
“It’s sad.”
“It’s beautiful. One lover telling another how far she’s willing to go to let him know she loves him. It must have been an epic kind of love. Nothing sad about that.” She shakes her head like she wouldn’t mind being on that receiving end of that ‘epic-ness’.
It’s hours later, and we’ve moved indoors, sitting beside each other on the sofa in front of my fireplace. Throughout the night, I’ve learned her family is driving her up to Albany early tomorrow morning, and how she’s nervous about meeting her roommate and living on her own for the first time. I do my best to keep her mind off her big move, but I’m not so sure if I’m helpful. As the night grows later, I know it’s time to drive her home, even though I don’t want to.
Chelsea taps the back of my hand. “So, listen. Instead of dessert, how about we see who can tell the best knock knock jokes?”
“That’s what you want to do?”
“It’ll be a good way to end the night. Laughing is good for the soul, right?”
As she explains the rules of the game, I up the ante. “Okay, so here’s the thing. If I make you laugh, then I score, and if I don’t, I drink, and vice versa.”
“I’m game.”
By the time I head back to my living room with a bottle of beer, Chelsea’s sitting there like she’s a master at knock knock jokes. Before long, I’m kicking her ass, but not by much. She’s competitive as hell, and is one point shy of our agreed upon score of thirteen that’ll end the game. All I have left are mostly dirty jokes, so hopefully I’ll make it to fifteen, which is our cut-off to declare a winner, before I have to resort to those. Win or lose, it is good to see her like this: eyes lit up and in a relaxed pose.
Chelsea tells me one I’ve heard before. Her damn giggling almost makes me crack a smile. But, I’m strong. “Drink up, loser,” I tell her once she stops cheesing. I know she won’t hit the legal drinking age for another three years, but a couple sips of beer with a responsible adult like myself won’t hurt her.
“Darn,” she mutters. “I thought I had you with that one.” She shakes her head, clears her throat, and quickly swallows the beer. As her mouth widens, I imagine all kinds of other things entering her mouth: my fingers, my tongue, hell, even my dick.
“That’s fourteen for me.” I try not to think of her lips and fail miserably until I imagine JC naked. That does the trick. At least temporarily, until I look over and see her biting on the tip of her forefinger. Groaning, I rush out, “Damn it.”
She looks over at me all confused. “What’s the matter?” Chelsea’s index finger drops from her lips.
Get a handle here, Dyllan.
“Nothing.” A deep breath, filled with my anxiety and all-encompassing need to have her, rushes up from my lungs and through my lips. “You ready?” I unleash my masterpiece, the one that’s sure to close this game out, but once I tell it to Chelsea, it seems it’s not such a winner. She doesn’t even bat an eye before tipping her head toward the bottle she’s just had her lips on.
“Heard it before, not funny.” I’m drawn to her impish grin. Chelsea’s curly hair flows down her shoulder. A few buttons on her blue shirt have come loose, and I glimpse her nude-colored bra when she shifts on the couch. Her glasses lay nearby on my ottoman. Chelsea rubs her palms together as if she’s got the one joke that will tie us up.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Anita,” Chelsea says, looking like the Cheshire Cat.
Her low, satin-like voice is doing all kinds of things to my cock. I barely respond with, “Anita who?” Maybe I can cool down with a sip of water. My hand finds one of the bottled waters I’d pulled out from the refrigerator earlier.
“Anita dick inside me!” she says, cracking up.
Water comes flying from between my lips. Chelsea is beside me, cackling, and I’m choking. Did she just say she needs a dick inside her? I can’t catch my breath. I think about my next move. How much can I say? Fuck it. Might as well be upfront. Once I collect myself and put the bottle down, I catch and hold Chelsea’s gaze. “How about mine?”
“What?” she whispers, leaning away from me in a hurry.
I move closer to her as I’ve longed to do since we sat down. I have to touch her, and I settle on fingering a few of her long curls, twirling them around. I’m trying to collect myself and not come off as a desperate fool. I take in a few deep breaths to help me regain some of my composure. “I know where I’d like this to end, Chelsea.”
Her tongue slips through her lips and moistens them. I move closer to her, breathing her in, and I do believe I could actually come right now. Mutual desire saturates the air as our eyes connect and our bodies lean in at the same time. Unable to decide where to touch again, my hands drop to her thighs, where her ski
rt is hiked up.
Counting helps to calm me down. “I’ve been dying to see what’s under this thing since I saw you at the garage.” My hand slides up from her bare flesh to the edge of her skirt.
She hesitates, even though her mouth opens.
“Come on; you can tell me,” I prompt.
“I’ve wanted to see more of this for the last two weeks.” Her hand travels up my arm then grips it.
That’s all I needed to hear. I drag her over my lap so she’s straddling me. Her skirt rides up even more. All of her is exposed: gorgeous thighs and her more-than-handfuls ass cheeks. My hands get greedy, palming the body part—one of many—that has driven me wild since seeing her in those denim cut-offs. My finger trails down the thin strip of material that’s between her ass.
“Mmm,” she hums.
“Chels, you have to tell me to stop.” I give her an out, just in case she needs one. But she rubs her barely-covered pussy on me, and I take that as her answer.
“I don’t want you to stop.” She pushes my head backward and teases my Adam’s apple with her tongue. Then, she pulls my shirt off, and I feel her eyes fall to my chest.
“That’s gorgeous.” She nods to the ink over my heart.
Hand-drawn to perfection, it’s a three-dimensional cracked heart mimicking the exact dimensions of the real one that beats below my skin. “Took me six months to sketch it exactly how I wanted it to look.” Thick, red blood flows throughout it and can be seen through the fractures. The fractures in my heart—unlike my tattoo—are real, and present to this day.
“It looks so real. Like I can reach my hand out and it could get cut it on the broken edges. Why so many breaks in it?”
This is the first time I’ve ever shared any of this. “Because the real one is just as broken and cracked,” is all I can admit. The saying “time heals all wounds” is bullshit, because most of those wounds are a motherfucker.
“Oh.” She sounds sad, and just as I’m about to open my mouth to hurry this little show onward, she squeals. “I love this one.” Her nail outlines the small, cursive words ‘Family is Forever’ running under my right lower pectoral, near my lung. These are the words I breathe in daily. They remind me that I’ve got people who’ll always be there for me. They’re the words Ma recited when my adoption was finalized.